Category Archives: holidays

Exceeding Expectations–Three Score Years and Eleven

Exceeding Expectations: Three Score Years and Eleven    —by Jinny Batterson

My birthday happens this month.  As I age, the years tend to go by more and more quickly. Overall, it’s been a marvelous ride so far. 

Having a spring birthday is a quirk of my arrival on earth for which I’m very grateful—spring is generally such a hopeful time of year.  Most of my birthdays have long since slipped out of memory, though a few have associations that persist: 

—my 5th birthday, the first after the birth of my younger sister, when my mother staged outdoor scavenger games in our small yard. The weather was wonderfully warm and sunny; several friends came to enjoy prizes and homemade birthday cake. For one glorious day, I didn’t have to share the limelight with the cute, dimpled new baby.

—my 11th birthday, the final year I spent in the cramped first house our family lived in, before moving to a much larger house that summer.

—my 21st birthday, when I was nearly finished college and got engaged over my birthday weekend to my future husband.

—my 30th birthday, when I was pregnant with our younger child, and we staged an “over the hill party” with friends and colleagues.

—my 50th birthday, when our children were both grown and living elsewhere and I treated myself to a decadent chocolate cake.

At the time I was born, between 1940 and 1950, life expectancy for white women was between 67 and 72 years, increasing each decade. The small liberal arts school I was attending when my twentieth birthday arrived had a college springtime tradition: attaching short poems to a weeping cherry tree in front of an ivy-festooned brick classroom building. Often a handwritten copy of A.E. Housman’s “Loveliest of Trees” was among the offerings:

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

Back then three score years and ten seemed impossibly old—older even than my parents, aunts, and uncles in our long-generation family.

In the part of North Carolina where I now live, early spring days in 2018 have seen more than one frosting of actual snow, so warmer days and cherry trees hung with blooms are most welcome.  In our woodlands, white-blossomed cherries share center stage with white and pink dogwoods plus redbud trees whose smallish flowers are more pink than red. Along major roads and interstates this year, an extensive array of big, blowsy lavender wisteria clusters has draped adjacent trees. 

And I’ve had the chance to watch the “woodland ride” now for threescore years and eleven—a wonderful bonus. Happy springtime, y’all, wherever you spend it!       

Dragon Kites on Tiananmen Square

Dragon Kites on Tiananmen Square    —by Jinny Batterson

(Portions of this post have been adapted from my upcoming book, Where the Great Wall Ends: A China Memoir, due out later this year.)

A growing number of locations world-wide are sponsoring kite festivals. In the town where I now live, March winds bring out people of all ages, eager to enjoy the outdoors as winter ebbs, to search for just the right spot and orientation to launch their creations skyward. The basic homemade wrapping-paper-and-balsa-strut diamond shaped kites I flew as a child pale in comparison with the elaborate heirloom and contemporary kites that participate in some of these festivals. A quick internet search turned up an American-based kite flyers association with members in 25 countries, with at least one U.S.-based festival in every month of the year.  (http://kite.org/activities/events/event-calendar/)

One blustery spring day in 2000 on Tiananmen Square in Beijing, China, I got to see a few of the world’s most cherished, most elaborate kites. My husband and I were partway through a tourist stay in Beijing. Our first two days had been filled with organized guided tours: the Forbidden City, a nearby section of the Great Wall, the Summer Palace, some of the subterranean tunnels built under the modern city during the 1960’s and 1970’s to shelter residents in the event of a bombing attack by “the Soviets or another country,” as our tour guide put it. Now we had a free day to explore on our own. We decided to return to the vicinity of Tiananmen Square.

As we approached, we noticed several box kites bobbing and weaving in the sky above.  Once on the square itself, we found several older men preparing their heirloom dragon kites for flight. The kites, nearly fifty feet long, had extensive tails made of circles of paper glued to lightweight wooden rings, all linked together by three parallel strings that ran the kites’ entire length and could be used for steering. The rings were decorated with sturdy feathers for stability. Only when the tail was almost fully aloft was the dragon-shaped head of the kite attached and quickly pulled skyward. We watched until our necks cramped from craning upward. We had little language to express our amazement—Jim gave a thumbs up sign. Perhaps our rapt attention was language enough.

Groundhog

Groundhog  —by Jinny Batterson

Harbinger of spring, furry cousin of a squirrel,
We celebrate your special day
By snatching you from burrow and sleep
To blink at the light–strong sun means longer winter.

Midway between poinsettia and forsythia,
We want a fellow creature to provide some assurance
That winter will end–a prognostication from one
Who also dislikes freezing cold and biting storms.

You don’t much care about the splendor of the overcoats,
Scarves, or top hats of those who briefly torment you.
Their race, religion, creed, or politics also matter little.

What’s more important Is that they make their
Ceremony short, so that you can return to needed
Rest before the frenzy of spring.

Plump marmot, I salute you; I beg for
Your wisdom to forebear when poked and prodded
And made to squint in uncomfortable directions.

And, yes, I want to believe that spring is on its way,
Whatever its speed.

Chinese Lantern Festival, An American Version

Chinese Lantern Festival, An American Version  –by Jinny Batterson

Lantern Festival Lion

Happy (Western) New Year!  As global cultures mingle more often, more of us Americans of all backgrounds are getting exposure to holidays and calendars celebrated elsewhere.  For the past three years, a traveling exhibit of lighted silk-skinned “lanterns” has come to our North Carolina town during the darkest period of winter, a little earlier than the period of “Chinese New Year,” which typically occurs in late January or early February and includes a lantern festival on its final day.

Lantern Festival Dragon

Yesterday I braved colder than normal temperatures to see this year’s display at a local outdoor amphitheater that otherwise would be shuttered for the season. This year’s North Carolina Chinese Lantern Festival was bigger and better than ever, its signature lake-surface dragon periodically spouting water rather than fire into the frigid air.  Weather had diminished last night’s crowds somewhat, but not the enthusiasm of those who braved the elements, sometimes fortified with spiked hot chocolate or coffee. Most of the twenty-five major complexes of lights had placards describing them in both English and Chinese. 

“Lantern festival” in China is an old celebration, thought to have originated almost two thousand years ago, celebrated at the first new moon of the lunar new year, the final day of the two-week Chinese Spring Festival celebration.  According to legend, a leading Chinese deity, the Jade Emperor, was angry with villagers for killing a crane, one of his favorite birds. He planned to send down fire to destroy the village, but the villagers, warned by the emperor’s daughter, hung red lanterns around their houses, set off firecrackers, and lit bonfires in the streets, tricking the emperor into thinking the village was already on fire and thus saving the village. Ever since, in towns and villages throughout China, people parade with lanterns on the evening of  Lantern Festival.  If you have a chance to see the North Carolina version, please wear plenty of layers, and prepare to revel in winter light.   

The Light is Starting to Come Back

The Light is Starting to Come Back   —by Jinny Batterson

So far, 2017 has not been my favorite year. I’ve been fortunate to have had generally good health, good friends, good weather, and adequate finances, but I cannot say the same about the wider world. Hunger and disease have decimated our most vulnerable human populations, while many other species suffer from man-made changes over which they have little control. Our American political culture has mostly continued to turn away from civility and dialogue toward further name-calling, dissension, and gridlock. Economic disparity grows unchecked. It remains to be seen whether a recently enacted U.S. tax reform plan will provide relief for those less well off. Catastrophic storms and weather events have become more common and more deadly. Globally, tensions in multiple regions have produced lethal violence.

So as a somewhat bleak December drew toward its close amid tidings of discomfort and malcontent, I marked the times of sunrise and sunset on December 21, the winter solstice, more carefully than usual: where I live, our nourishing star made its grand entry that day at about 7:22 a.m., and exited around 5:05 p.m.  On Christmas Eve, the sun rose at about 7:23, and set near 5:07 p.m. The shape of our days changes as the sun returns—it takes a while after the solstice before sunrise starts to get earlier. The first inkling of longer days comes in later sunsets. Detailed charts show a December 24th day length a scant eight seconds longer than at its minimum, but the rate of increase accelerates day by day until around the spring equinox in late March, when each day is over two minutes longer than the day before.

Our civic culture, if it is to recover, will not right itself immediately. Underlying diseases of racism, sexism, classism, heterosexism, and all our other “isms” will not diminish or disappear without ongoing effort. Needed changes will require shifts in both personal attitudes and public policy. Still, just as the physical light is strengthening, I see a few first glimmers that our civic light level may also be on the rise. Participation rates in recent state, municipal, and special elections have increased. Women and other minorities who’ve previously suffered in silence are finding the courage to speak out about abusive behavior. Charitable giving has bumped up. Like the lengthening of days, societal changes often start at the “bottom” or sunset, rather than at the “top” or sunrise. A warm smile to a neighbor, a small kindness to a stranger, an hour or two spent volunteering at a homeless shelter, are not as likely to be highly publicized as our current chief executive’s sneers and slurs. They are just as important, or more so, to our society’s health.

At the beginning of 2017, I participated in our local edition of the global women’s march. Rather than spout vitriol about the 2016 election outcome, I tried to look forward. I crafted a sign to help inspire others, and also to remind myself of what I found most important, a three-pronged plan for action:
–adapt to climate change
–support voting rights
–practice kindness
In smaller letters at the bottom of the sign, I added a postscript: “Make Trump irrelevant.” 

I’m not sure what follow-ups will occur in 2018 to the shifts begun this year. I have to believe that the light is starting to come back.

Waiting for the Sunday Paper Carrier

Waiting for the Sunday Paper Carrier   —by Jinny Batterson

One of the things I notice as I continue to age are some cultural habits I picked up in an earlier, slower, more personalized time, habits less practiced in our increasingly rushed and electronically mediated society. This season makes me especially aware of the ongoing shifts. I still address postal holiday cards, prowl store aisles searching for an appropriate gift for a “secret Santa giftee,” and prepare small cash “bonus” envelopes for the public and private service providers who help make my life more comfortable throughout the year:

—the landscaping crew that cuts my lawn and maintains the shrubbery near our condo;

—the mail carrier who lugs sacks full of promotional brochures, catalogs and magazines, along with the occasional piece of personal correspondence, to our neighborhood mail station;

—the recycling crew that regularly picks up our cast-off bottles, cans, and papers;

—the newspaper delivery person who throws our Sunday paper, well-protected inside plastic sleeves against cold and damp, onto my front stoop each week.   

One of the aspects of retirement I relish most is the increased flexibility in my schedule. If I want to stay in my jammies until 10, on most days I can. If I prefer to avoid driving during rush hour, I can usually adapt my errands so they are done on off-peak days and at off-peak hours. Sometimes I can even take the local transit bus and not drive at all! 

Scheduling flexibility is a special gift at the holidays. Being at home so I can flag down a member of the lawn crew a couple of weeks before Christmas and hand him a holiday envelope gives nearly as much satisfaction to me as to the lawn crew members. It’s a little harder to catch the recyclers, slightly less regular in their schedule, but I can typically hear their truck coming with enough advance notice to run out and give them their card.  Catching the mail carrier on his/her rounds is harder still, since mail delivery times are pretty variable, especially at this time of year. Also, our mailbox station is out of immediate sight of our condo. However, by putting the holiday bonus envelope at the far back of my mail slot, I can be fairly confident the mail carrier will pick it up before depositing the following day’s mail.

That leaves only the newspaper deliverer.  Only rarely am I aware of the arrival of the Sunday paper—if I happen to be up using the bathroom in the predawn hours, or sometimes if the newspaper catches a corner of our front steps with a louder-than-usual thunk.  So last weekend I wasn’t sure how early I would need to set a wake-up alarm in order to catch the delivery van on its rounds. I guessed that 5 a.m. would be early enough.    

Turns out, I had about an hour to spare, which I spent watching early morning news (on this particular day somewhat less shrill than prime time, a blessing!) and reading part of a library book. I hope our deliverer has good plans for the small tip I was able to provide; I got a lot of satisfaction from actually meeting her, and thanking her for another year of reliable service.  Seeing her smile made my holiday happier.  Then, due to my happily retired state, I ended my early morning vigil by going back inside, casting a quick glance at the comics and the headlines, taking off my robe and slippers, and putting me and my jammies back to bed. 

Veterans of Domestic Elections

Veterans of Domestic Elections    —by Jinny Batterson

Last Tuesday, I got up before 5 a.m., put on multiple layers of clothes, grabbed a hurried breakfast, packed water and snacks, then headed for a nearby precinct where I was assigned to work during this year’s municipal elections. This year was the third year I’ve served as a non-partisan precinct officer during early voting and/or on election days, after receiving initial training and participating in annual refresher courses.

A touchstone of our training is to do everything in our power to allow a prospective voter to cast a ballot. As our political process has become more divisive and hyper-partisan, this can be complicated. Successive gerrymanders and court challenges have sometimes moved voters from one jurisdiction to another, even when they have not physically changed address. Economic downturns and regional disparities have caused other voters to relocate, often without the will or the resources to become aware of issues, candidates, or election dates and procedures in their new locales. Identification requirements have changed frequently and can be confusing, even to precinct workers. Some prospective voters are homeless, making address verification especially difficult.

Luckily for me, the precinct where I worked in this year’s election was relatively stable. Interest in the election was high, with contested races for town mayor and several town council seats. During the nearly thirteen hours from the time our doors opened for voting until the final voter revved his car into the parking lot and panted his way through the precinct entrance a minute before closing, we were rarely idle. Seven of us combined our efforts to perform needed precinct tasks: we verified names and addresses, authorized voting for those properly registered, handed out ballots, answered questions, redirected those who’d showed up at the wrong precinct, gently dissuaded those who’d showed up on the wrong date, provided advice and provisional ballots for those whose voting status was in question, thanked citizens for voting and gave them “I voted” stickers, checked and cross-checked voting tallies to make sure our manual and automated counts stayed reconciled.

A few days after the election came Veterans’ Day. Originally established as a holiday to commemorate the armistice that ended the “war to end all wars” on November 11, 1918 at 11 a.m. and later expanded to include all U.S. veterans, we’ve sometimes degraded the day’s significance. Rather than a reflection on the tragedies and sacrifices of war, we’ve sometimes substituted a jingoistic, commercial-laden extravaganza of pious political sloganeering and holiday sales. The original meaning of Veterans’ Day came home to me more clearly the following day, a Sunday, when our religious congregation honored the living veterans in our community of worshipers and seekers. Some in this varied lot of men and women, ranging from oldsters to those barely out of their teens, had endured hardships and dangers much more severe than the uncomfortable chairs and brief days’ spells of disrupted eating I’d experienced. Yet their sacrifices were partly in service to the work I’d recently participated in. The values we hold dear—fairness, humility, compassion, inclusion—have been fought for at the ballot box as courageously as on any battlefield.

One of our oldest and largest veterans’ rights organizations, Veterans of Foreign Wars, states its mission as honoring veterans’ service, plus making sure veterans get the full benefits they deserve. To ensure this, the group lobbies as an organization, but much of its strength comes from members’ capacity and willingness to vote.

Helping preserve our values and our democracy requires free and fair elections in which as many of us as possible participate. My election-assistance services are episodic and short-lived, but important nevertheless. I’m glad to be among the veterans of domestic elections.

The Labor of Voting

The Labor of Voting —by Jinny Batterson 

During the past several months, my small townhouse complex mobilized like never before. In our previously sleepy suburban neighborhood, people circulated petitions, attended multiple zoning hearings, even overcame fears of public speaking to testify on our own behalf. We want to preserve as much as possible of the leafy canopy that has surrounded us since our 100 or so garden-style condominiums were built over the course of a five year period in the late 1980’s and early 1990’s.

We had an impact. Though the recommendation of the town’s zoning board is not final, we persuaded a slim majority that a new development adjacent to our condo community, as currently proposed, does not adequately preserve the balance of natural and built environments that is part of our town’s appeal. Further revisions are needed.

Next month, our town and nearby jurisdictions will hold municipal elections. Turnout for municipal and local elections nationwide is usually very low—only 10 to 20 percent of registered voters make the effort to show up—a much lower proportion that the over 75% of homeowners who signed our rezoning petition (though a little greater than the 7% of owners who actually spoke at the zoning hearing…)

National politics has gotten so polarized and nasty lately that many of us have been tempted to give up on voting. Why even bother to register and vote, especially in local elections? What difference will it make? Actually, local elections may be the most important of all, for lots of reasons:

1) Town councils/county governments have the final say on zoning, property taxes, local budgets

2) Politicians DO pay attention to where their election margins come from

3) Local elections are typically among the only remaining non-partisan elections (no party labels on the ballot)

4) A vote has even more impact when “less diluted” by other voters (but don’t let that deter you from encouraging others to vote)

5) If the person you support wins a council seat and later runs for higher office, you may have additional clout as one of his/her early supporters

Because of expected low turnout, some localities provide less publicity and fewer convenient options for voting in local elections—not as many hours or sites for voting early, stricter rules and not as much notice about voting absentee.

My read of our national history is that we have had a see-saw record when it pertains to the voting franchise. As an American woman, I gained the right to vote through efforts of generations of suffragists who came before me. I’m dismayed at what I perceive as current efforts to disenfranchise the most vulnerable members of our society—minorities, the young, the frail elderly, the disabled, the poor, the homeless. 

At least in my state, voting in political elections is not as convenient as registering a “like” to an online post, or signing an online petition. It takes some planning, time, and effort to request and return an absentee ballot, or to find your polling place, show up at an appropriate time, and cast your ballot. Compared to the instantaneous nature of some other parts of our lives, voting can be labor intensive. 

Still, voting is among the most precious labor rights we have, whether in a labor organizing effort, a presidential election, or a local one. So, this Labor Day, once you’ve cleaned the grease off the grill and put the remaining sweet tea in the refrigerator, please consider the importance of the labor of voting in this year’s elections. If you haven’t already, please go register to vote. Once the election process starts, please vote!   

Where the Great Wall Meets the Sea

Final Great Wall tower juts into the Bohai Gulf

Where the Great Wall Meets the Sea  —by Jinny Batterson

Earlier this summer, I had a chance to check off a minor item on my “bucket list,” finally visiting an eastern terminus of China’s Great Wall. I’d first seen a section of the wall near Beijing nearly forty years ago. Much later, I’d visited the wall’s western terminus near Jaiyuguan along a portion of the Silk Road in Gansu Province. Now I wanted to see where this 5,500 mile plus engineering marvel met the sea. One balmy, pleasantly breezy mid-June morning, I got my chance.

This Great Wall excursion was part of a much longer China trip, first reconnecting with old friends, then checking out areas of northeastern China that were new to me. Internet access in China had improved tremendously. My husband, our family’s computer nerd, was able to find enough English-language variants of Chinese travel apps to help craft an unaccompanied land tour in China’s northeast. We benefited from great advances in China’s transportation and public transit infrastructures, including high-speed rail service between most major cities. As a retiree, traveling with my retired husband, I could create an itinerary that was more flexible and slower paced than a package tour. My Mandarin skills had advanced to the point where I could carry on very basic conversations: asking directions, purchasing train tickets, ordering in restaurants, swapping basic biographical information with people in more remote areas who were curious about two “big nose” visitors.

For the Great Wall portion of our adventure, we booked several nights’ stay at a luxury hotel in the nearby city of Qinhuangdao, along China’s fashionable “gold coast.” When we arrived, the area was basking in an interval of June weather when the skies were clear and temperatures were comfortable.  Our second morning, after a sumptuous breakfast buffet featuring both Chinese and Western dishes, we ordered a taxi and headed the dozen or so miles toward the coast to visit where the wall jutted into the sea, at “Old Dragon’s Head” (Laolongtou) along the Bohai Gulf, in northern Hebei province.

Substantial parks surrounded several sections of restored wall. For centuries, walls had been built in this area in attempts to keep marauding northern tribes from attacking Chinese settlements further south. The seaside sections of the wall had been reinforced and greatly expanded during the 16th century, near the end of the Ming dynasty. Close to the wall’s descent to the sea, a few Ming dynasty stones had been left bare to show layers of the original wall’s structure. Along most other accessible portions of the wall, modern stones had been added during restoration efforts in the 1980’s and 1990’s to provide a more uniform surface.

We spent parts of two days exploring several portions of the wall, getting to and from town sometimes by taxi, at others by inexpensive public bus.  The area was blanketed with signs in Chinese, Russian, and English. A major toll road, the Jingshen Expressway, runs from Beijing over 400 miles northeast to the city of Shenyang via Tianjin, Qinhuangdao and Beidaihe, a summer hangout for senior Chinese officials. As we skirted parts of the expressway, we saw familiar green and brown highway signs, signaling exits (green)  and sights of interest (brown), the same color scheme used along many U.S. interstate highways. Tourist services were abundantly available, including a KFC where we shared a chicken nuggets lunch, surrounded by conversations in Mandarin, Italian, French, and Russian.

Looking right from the final seaside tower at Laolongtou, I could see a wide sandy beach. A little further in the other direction was a major modern container port.  I was impressed with the scope and strength of the wall itself, but flummoxed by the notion that the wall could keep out anyone out who desperately, passionately wanted to get past it—a simple small boat under cover of night might suffice. Actually, forces of China’s final imperial dynasty, the Qing, had come from north of the wall and marched south through it at a strategic pass after the Ming Dynasty disintegrated due to corruption and infighting.

If, among its other craziness, our current national administration persists in plans to build a wall along the U.S.’s border, American officials might benefit from a visit to Old Dragon’s Head as a cautionary reminder. 

Chinese Girls in Frilly Dresses

little girls in frilly dresses, Qingdao, China

Chinese Girls in Frilly Dresses    —by Jinny Batterson

Last fall, one of our favorite former students in China emailed us exciting news—she was about to get married.  A few weeks later, our former student, “Mona,”  sent a second message with an attachment: a picture of her and her new husband in their wedding clothes.  Mona looked fetching, much dressier than the Mona I was used to—she posed, seated on a high stool, in an elegant flower-print dress with a brimmed hat to match. Her husband, decked out in a casual summer suit, looked over her shoulder.

For much of June this year, I had a chance to travel in mainland China and to reconnect with some former students and colleagues. Especially wonderful was a chance to visit Mona, whose new husband had been a high school classmate I didn’t yet know. They’d chosen each other after a long, sometimes long-distance courtship. I got to spend a couple of days with them. While I was visiting, Mona explained the logistics of arranging her wedding pictures, an increasingly common part of Chinese wedding preparations:

Few people actually buy clothes for their wedding pictures or have pictures taken on the wedding day itself, she explained. Rather, they rent dressy attire from specialized businesses and pick out a place and time to have professional still pictures taken, sometimes adding a brief video. They usually choose a historic or natural beauty spot, on a weekend day when both partners are off work. Because Mona is short for a woman of her generation in China, preparations were somewhat complicated. One weekend, she and her groom-to-be visited a rental agency and picked out clothes they liked in close to the proper size. The following weekend, they went back to the agency to pick up the clothes, which had been altered slightly for better fit.  On still a third weekend, she and her fiancé dressed in their rented finery and met a hired wedding photographer at the agreed upon site and time. Scheduling was tight and did not make allowances for weather. The day Mona’s pictures were taken, it poured down rain. The search for a “perfect shot” took most of a very long day and left both photographer and subjects tired and bedraggled. It took a fourth week to get the rental clothes dried, cleaned, and returned to the rental agency.   

Not long after my visit with Mona and her new spouse, I ventured out on my own to parts of central and northern China where I’d never visited before. In the northern seaside town of Qingdao, I came across a cobblestone plaza more filled than usual with elaborately dressed Chinese.  Primed by Mona’s descriptions of her wedding picture adventures, I realized that what I was viewing were a whole series of wedding photo shoots. June is a prime wedding month in China, just as in the U.S.  I counted eighteen different couples having their wedding pictures taken. The weather was windy and blustery—gowns and photo accessories were hard to keep steady. A dozen of the brides were wearing western-style dresses in white, while others had flowing formals in red, considered a lucky color in China. For one set of pictures, an entire wedding party was assembled, including five or six young girls in frilly white dresses. 

Over the course of this China visit, I noticed more and more young girls dressed in frills and bows, and not always in wedding groups. I’d see them on public busses, on trains and subways, in public parks. All were with at least one parent or grandparent. Often, a parkland family group would be taking selfies, the grandparents somewhat subdued in both manner and dress, the dads fairly casual, the moms dressier, anchored with the latest shoe fashions, the daughters often in white or pastel lacy dresses not much less formal than bridal finery. I crossed my fingers that the attention these girls were getting was a sign that the traditional stigma of having a daughter in China was lessening. None of the girls I saw looked neglected or abused. Many were far from docile. Most seemed valued family members, confident without being arrogant.

A few times, I saw girls and young women in less frilly outfits—on one park walk, the mom and dad in front of me strolled along at a normal pace, while their two daughters in trainers, shorts and tank tops raced ahead running sprints. At another public square, I noticed a young woman in jeans and a t-shirt with an English-language slogan: “Women are the Future,” it proclaimed.

My re-entry into the U.S. was through our 49th state, Alaska, where few women are shrinking violets. I saw the kennels run by the family of Susan Butcher, who’d earlier won the  long-distance Iditerod sled dog race four times.  I got to meet her elder daughter, now actively involved in training new generations of sled dogs for new challenges. Perhaps China’s daughters, and America’s, will one day soon be ready to take their places in a rapidly changing world that needs and welcomes their skills.