Particulates

“Did someone remember the bug spray?” Emily calls to us as we leave the volunteer house, ready for the beach. We were off to our favorite spot. One of the region’s many rivers meets the ocean about a ten minute walk from our house. We like to swim in the cool, clear waters of the river just before the fresh and salt waters mix. The river bottom is stony instead of sandy there; our feet maneuver the thousands of small brick, navy, and deep green-colored rocks as we wade across the current.

I look up and notice how different this spot looks compared to yesterday. The beach between the river and ocean had shifted and a new pool of water had formed apart from the sea. It happened so quickly, I think to myself. In reality though, the change had happened ever so gradually. The river current had been gently carrying the sand and sediment, precipitate and particulates as the ocean persistently lapped at the dunes. Even as we stood in it, it was changing all around us, forming new beach and erasing old resting places. I squat to dip my shoulders beneath the surface and feel the pull—the change, really—all around me. How often do we overlook this constant evolution? I decide the progression will not be lost on me.

Just over three weeks of charlas, exercise classes, meetings, and almacigo plantings have passed. We’ve been elated, exhausted, inspired, and frustrated many times over by now. Enough time has passed so that even I am no longer carne nuevo for the mosquitoes and averaging twenty new bug bites a day. But what has changed here? What have we changed? How have we, the volunteers, changed throughout these past few weeks?

After some thought, I realize we’re standing knee deep in the estuary now.

Currently, there are home gardening lessons led by a local and exceptionally enthusiastic agriculturist, women’s exercise classes and nutrition talks, a school gardening program, and a few other endeavors either underway or in the works. New connections between community leaders are being made and past relationships are deepening as more people realize they have similar dreams for El Porvenir. You could say that same thing is happening between us volunteers as we realize we have bigger dreams for our own capabilities. Among us, we have an aspiring motorcyclist, a soccer player, a runner, a singer, a linguist, and a farmer—just to name a few. I can’t help but believe that as El Porvenir is slowly becoming what it is meant to be, so are we.

In other words, this town is basically a college student. Full of knowledge and resources and desperately searching for ways to connect it all and put it into practice. A little scared it doesn’t have what it takes to step out on its own and shine, but ready to add to the good in the world. And most importantly, constantly changing.

I don’t think we’ll ever get to witness or fully comprehend the changes that take place because of our presence here. Nor do I think will we wholly understand the changes that have taken place within us because of our experiences here. Sure, we can measure it in terms of how many gardens planted and how many henna tattoos given, but we’d leave out the pride of a young mother transplanting a new pepino seedling and the sense of freedom gained from reaching fifth gear in the middle of a pineapple field. We’d miss all the little triumphs, all the little grains of silt and sand as they fall into place.

What will the river sculpt for us? Where will the beach be tomorrow? I guess we’ll find out the next time we pause amidst the flow.

-Jessica Schultz (Senior HNFE major)