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Last Friday, I went to San Xavier for the first time with a diverse group from the Cronkite School at Arizona State University including their newest graduate class, the current Humphrey Fellows and this years Murrow Fellows.

San Xavier is a cathedral built by Padre Kino among Tohono O’odham people in an area they named Wak. Today it’s open to the public and maintained by the non-profit group Patronato San Xavier, which also give tours of the building and grounds.

Our guide, Judith, first showed us a model of the structure and explained that the restoration process now underway is strictly allowed to maintain and preserve the existing buildings but not add or embellish anything. She led us through the courtyards and side rooms while telling us about the history of the Tohono O’odham, Padre Kino and the Franciscans who came later. The museum holds locally made baskets and art as well as books and vestments saved by the congregation during the years that the church’s future was uncertain. (I’ll post photos of the grounds and chapel next.)

After the tour, some people climbed the hill where early morning services are often held while others bought fresh frybread in the front plaza in front of San Xavier before we all boarded the bus and drove away.

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Since moving to Phoenix, we’ve only been back to Kansas once – a lightening quick holiday tour of four cities where friends and family live, in wicked winter driving conditions and with an international flight out of Phoenix’s Sky Harbor to catch within hours of getting back to Arizona. It was a good but hardly thoughtful trip, a blur of hugs & faces & snow under that familiar big Midwest sky.

This time we flew back (thanks to an unbelievable sale on airfare). Cutting out four days of driving gave us more time, and there were fewer deadlines and less homework to keep track of.

Should it have felt like a trip home?

It didn’t.

As we drove through places so familiar, I felt recognition but not nostalgia. I realized that even as we pulled out in the U-Haul just over two years ago, the house my family owned for 20 years was already becoming past and I had to remind myself to take one last look in the side view mirror, in case I wanted that memory for later, just before we slid around the corner.

Today, I can show what matters most to me about Kansas in a single photo of my cousin’s bookshelf.

This is why, wherever I end up, I’ll be drawn back from time to time, making the drive or taking the flight.

And from now on, this is the time of year I want to visit. The green of summer is at its lushest, the rivers are high and the earliest fields are beginning to boast hay bales instead of faded corn. In a far more modest way than the flashy bright pinks and oranges of the desert sky, the sunsets can be spectacular.

OK. Maybe there’s a little bit of nostalgia after all.

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Growing up my birthday always fell over spring break. My parents would take my brother and I to California, where we could see family from both sides – my mom’s sister and brother-in-law, my dad’s siblings and parents – and then there’d be a few days for just the four of us at the Monterrey Bay Aquarium or a funny little motel in Seattle, the city where my parents met and where I was born. As we made our way up the coast, each stop with relatives would mean a few presents and a different cake.

When I was 14, though, my school offered the opportunity to go to Rome for just over a week. I’d been dreaming of going “abroad” for longer than I could remember. There was no way I could say no.

When we stepped off the last plane, the air was different. There were palm trees and mopeds, arches and pillars, fountains and ruins.

I was addicted – I had a passport, and my life would never be the same.

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When the semester starts, so does A LOT of responsibility: classes, homework, teaching, etc.

The end of break was in sight. The situation was dire.

Trish, Steven and I figured we had just enough time for one last trip and we headed south…

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Black swan = cygnus atratus

This 200-year-old uncredited drawing is probably the first European record of the Australian black swan, locally named mulgos. As this little guy below can tell you black swans are also found in New Zealand and the UK where their aggressiveness is feared to be endangering native birds – and they’re among his neighbors on the beaches that ring Lake Taupo.

Black swans known for their bugle-like call, for usually mating for life, and for aggressively defending their cygnets. I’ve been told that, like geese, these large birds are powerful and can cause injuries at full charge.

A few days after I arrived my mother introduced me to this spot, this friendly duck and the area’s five newest inhabitants. I was lucky – they were all conveniently awake and about despite unseasonably damp and chilly weather.

Suddenly, something happened –

Forget heroics or action photography – I straight out froze when I heard the sound.

Luckily, something kicked in and my trigger finger moved again before my heart did. I never figured out what startled her – she calmed as quickly and inexplicably as she had raged.

Feathers were re-ruffled, water droplets settled – and my own mother told me it was time for everyone to go.

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When it comes to weather, Kansas is a bit unpredictable. I never counted on a white Christmas or even a cold Christmas and always figured I was flexible when it came to how the holidays “should” be. But spending the holiday season in New Zealand this year was confusing.

With the sun out and the beaches full of kids on holiday, there’s no trouble getting into the swing of summer. I can wear sandals, shorts and t-shirts walking to town and eat lunch on my parents’ back patio while the house’s doors and windows are all open to catch the breeze.

On the other hand, I could totally get into the holiday spirit just by reading in the living room next to our family’s tiny Christmas tree with white lace snow flakes, or when the kids the language school where my mom works learned to bake holiday pies.

The problem comes with doing both at the same time. Every time we turn on the radio or tv, there’s advertisements: “Do your holiday shopping during Farmer’s summer blowout sales!” “Get your Kiwi bloke a grill this holiday season!” “Spend your Christmas Eve at AC Baths – swimming, raffles, prizes!” Every time we watch tv, there’s commercials that just do not make sense to me.

I realized just how embedded some of my seasonal patterns are; I get little twinges when things don’t match up, whether it’s tourists who show up in July and complain about the cold or my mother referring to April as “last fall.”

Luckily, this complicated problem has a simple fix : there’s nothing more relaxing or more joyous than a family Christmas picnic at the beach.

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