Category Archives: Everyday Wonders

China Musings: Views from a Different Well

China Musings: Views from a Different Well    —by Jinny Batterson

Last September, I set out to post a weekly blog entry about some of my experiences and impressions of China. Now, as June begins, the school year is winding down. I have only a few weeks to go before I stop posting as regularly about China. I’ve tried to write what is true to my experience. I expect that once the year’s posts are complete, I’ll revisit some entries from time to time to update them and clarify them. Perhaps I’ll expand or prune some further as my experiences change. As this school year draws to a close, I’m nearly as puzzled by the vastness of China as I was at the year’s start, and just as intrigued as ever. Early on in my attempts to set some impressions on paper, I remembered a Chinese folk tale that some of my students in China had told me about a frog:

This frog lives at the bottom of a well. She finds there all the nourishment and beauty she needs.  From her vantage point in the well, it’s possible to see a small disk of sky. This is what she knows of the world above. One day, a large turtle happens to hear the frog croaking as he passes by the top of the well. He stops to chat with her.  The frog invites the turtle to climb down the well to share in the bounty she has found there, but the opening is too small for the turtle’s shell.

The turtle then tries to describe some of what he has seen to the frog—wide expanses of sky stretching to far horizons, a sea so broad and deep that it maintains its level despite the most massive floods or droughts. The turtle invites the frog to climb out and travel with him to view the wider world. The frog considers, then decides to remain in the security of the well, enjoying a more predictable life and viewing the sky she can see from the well’s bottom.

I like to think that, like the turtle, I’ve seen a bit of ocean during a fairly long life so far. However, I’m aware that, like the frog, I can still see just small parts of a larger sky—my views have been colored by my culture, my “American well,” and the times during which I’ve lived.

Most Americans and Chinese I know tend to view the world from different wells, shaped by our respective cultures and histories. My aim with this year’s set of “China W(a/o)nderings” has been to show the small disk of sky that I can see, perhaps to broaden its edges a little, and to nourish conversations that may over time broaden the edges of other wells, too. Happy June!

Voyeur

Voyeur   —by Jinny Batterson

February—not just endless, but endlessly fickle.
One day teasing with early warmth.
Later freezing with near-zero chill.
As a departing insult, dumping three storms’ worth
Of ice, sleet, snow, freezing rain onto roads,
Trees, and power lines grown brittle with the cold.
Finally exiting, unlamented.

March blows somewhat warmer, yo-yoing toward spring.
Along parkways, Bradford pears pop open their pearly baubles.
Magnolias simper in front yards, flashing creamy white flesh.
Everywhere, daffodils lift their jaundiced cups to Saint Paddie.
On medians, apricots, plums, early cherries flounce their inverted tutus.

Abandoning these floozies’ displays, I stalk quieter innocence.
One morning, I spy four deer browsing in a nearby woods.
Nuzzling beneath fallen leaves, intent on tender twigs and shoots,
They pay me no mind.  After a while, they wander off.

Adolescent pines, some bruised and bent, line the wood’s edges.
Hollies stand stolid here and there, berries mostly gone.
In the understory, tucked back among oaks, maples, poplars,
Beeches cling to leaves bleached pale, worn thin by winter’s abrasions.

If I am quiet as the deer, if I am vigilant, always watching, watching,
I may get a glimpse, before later greenery masks their deshabille,
Of the young beeches, blushing, shedding their paper skirts.

Simple Gifts

Simple Gifts    —by Jinny Batterson

“Ruby” is a Chinese economic success story. Ruby grew up in poverty in a mountainous rural county about 5 hours’ drive across the mountains from the regional hospital in Ya’an, Sichuan, where she is now a doctor, a kidney disease specialist. Since her youth, she’s completed high school, university, and advanced training. She has earned enough to purchase an in-town apartment, one she shared with her aging parents when she wasn’t either on duty or catching a few hours’ sleep at the staff dormitory at the hospital between work shifts. She dresses well and enjoys travel, but has been somewhat limited in her leisure time because of work and family obligations.  I first met Ruby at an autumn evening’s “English corner” session, open to students, staff, and town residents in Ya’an where my husband and I were spending the 2008-2009 academic year as foreign teachers at a local university. For much of the year, when she could get time off, Ruby practiced her English with us while she showed us around many of the tourist sites and natural areas closest to our university town.

Over the course of the years when I’ve traveled in China, living standards have improved tremendously.  The “three most wanteds” list that in the 1950’s included such basics as a bicycle, a radio, and leather shoes, more recently moved up to washing machine, mobile phone, television, computer, air conditioner, and even car for China’s burgeoning urban middle class.  The poverty rate throughout China, measured as those surviving on less than $1.25 per day,  decreased from 81% in 1981 to only a third as high, 27%, by 2012. In many urban areas, the rate is even lower. Still, there are pockets in the countryside that the new affluence seems largely to have passed by. Ruby’s hometown was one of these. It was inaccessible via major road. We never had a chance to see it during our year in Ya’an. Its isolation, we heard, reinforced the largely agrarian, hardscrabble existence of its inhabitants, who grew subsistence food crops plus fruit for regional markets.

After our teaching year was over, we kept up with Ruby intermittently by email.  On a later China visit, we reconnected. We were excited when she was able to arrange a weekend in the area where she’d grown up.  During Ruby’s childhood, settlements in Hanyuan County were mostly located in a fertile alluvial plain, tucked between successive ranges of the mountains of western Sichuan. Then came the double whammy of the 2008 Sichuan earthquake plus the impending relocation of all low-lying settlements to make way for an impoundment lake that would soon flood the valley, backed up behind a hydroelectric dam being built downstream.

By the time we got to Hanyuan, most low-lying areas were abandoned. A steep, raw new city was taking shape higher along the mountain slopes. We had a hot pot dinner at one of the few remaining lowland restaurants, then went to visit one of Ruby’s friends in her new apartment block in the new city.  Not many foreigners came to this part of the country, so we were a novelty.  On Sunday, before starting the long trek back to Ya’an, Ruby took us for a walk along one of the major streets. Locals came up to her and asked her who we were and why we were in Hanyuan—she replied that we were her friends, and that she’d brought us from Ya’an on a short visit to her hometown. We were headed back uphill to the apartment block where her friend lived when still another group of locals approached us from behind.  Three little girls, dressed in warm colorful jackets against the chill, were out walking with their grandfather. The grandfather checked with Ruby to see who we were, then explained in local dialect to his granddaughters. After a block or so, the eldest girl walked up to Jim and took hold of his hand. A little later, the two younger girls, emboldened by their cousin’s example, came up beside me and each took one of my hands. Ruby used her cell phone to snap a low-resolution picture of the group of us—two foreigners, several local adults, and three adventuresome young Chinese girls, enjoying the simple gift of a weekend walk together.

Popcorn Snow

Popcorn Snow   —by Jinny Batterson

(This weather commentary was written in late winter 2010, a previous cold and snowy winter in this part of North Carolina. It was originally published, without picture, in an edition of the magazine Carolina Woman. That year, spring eventually came, as it will this year…)

p2010popcornsnowSaturday morning.
Sister safely aloft on the next leg
of her winter off-the-farm vacation.
Larder well-stocked.
Tummy full of pancakes and hot chocolate.
No immediate chores.
A welcome window of time to explore
the whiteness that coated our yards and trees overnight.
Not heavy and dense, like the late January storm and chill
that trapped us indoors for days.
Barely noticeable on roads and sidewalks,
But wrapping itself around branches and bushes and
twigs and leaves and pinecones,
Making miniature moguls so insubstantial they’ll be gone
as soon as the sun comes out.
No need just yet for Olympic vistas of snow-majestic peaks–
Enough to have a morning amble in popcorn snow.

A Good Failure

A Good Failure

(Generations run long in our family. My older grandfather was born in rural Mississippi in September, 1869. He lived until 1961, through immense changes in the political and social landscape which he puzzled to make sense of.  I hope this remembrance does him justice.)

“You can learn a lot from a good failure,” my grandpa used to say,
Whenever he could get anyone to listen, which was not that often.
He probably spoke from experience, as someone who went bust
During the Texas oil boom at the turn of the last century.

Undaunted, he moved furniture and family further north,
Though he never lost some of the regionalisms of his upbringing.
For the next 20 years or so, he plodded along as a Baltimore bookkeeper,
Counting other people’s money, until the Depression dried up even that.
He got odd jobs when he could, but mainly lived out the rest of a long life
Supported by the earnings of his wife, and later his children.

If that hurt his Southern male pride, he got over it.
He raised berries, which flourished, and pecan trees, which
Grew spindly and refused to bear fruit
In the Maryland climate. During the summer,
He sat in their shade in a rakish straw hat, waving a straw fan,
Telling his granddaughter stories of triumphs and failures.