Aqui vive una familia que cambio una selva de cemento por una bosque de esperanza

Yesterday when I got home from work, the radio made a point of telling me that the snow that had been forecasted wasn't going to arrive today. It didn't just omit the snow from the forecast. The voice told me that the snow was removed from the forecast. Some meteorologist is in trouble today.

Our blinds are behind the plastic that I've put over the windows, so I couldn't immediately look outside upon waking this morning. It was a real surprise when Zach yelled, "Mommy! Daddy! Look! It's snowing outside!" when he looked out the patio door on his way to the breakfast table. We had a nice film of snow, and it was still falling at a decent rate. All through breakfast I alternated between watching the snow (and the stray cats playing in it) and watching the look on Zach's face ("Somebody has to get my boots out for me!"). Every year I wait for winter, and the tension broke this morning. I'm one of those cold-weather maniacs that hopes for more snow and temperatures with wind chills. I love to be my own packet of warmth walking by myself on a winter morning or evening. I love the feeling of holding a hot cup of tea, and I love warming up under the blankets with my wife. I actually love the difficulty of getting out from under those same blankets about a half hour after the alarm has gone off in the morning, too. I must be insane.

I wanted to ride my bike to work this morning. Even when I saw the snow, I decided I wasn't going to let that stop me, so I pedaled the half hour through the heavy wet snow curtain on the slushy bike trail. By the time I arrived, I was soaked with the slightly brown-tinted slush, and my legs and face were numb. But I had the dim gray morning to myself, and I felt like I'd accomplished something. And I hadn't given in to the (very brief) temptation to drive. I'd done something that nobody else had done--at least by that time--for there were no other tracks on the trail and only two broken bikes in the bike rack. I looked like hell and it's still shockingly cold every time I sit down with these wet pants on, but I feel good.

When you're trying to make a difference in the world, it's nice to have people around who feel the same way you do. I don't really have that around here (aside from my wonderful wife), but I've got another book for inspiration now. It's about a village in Colombia, South America that was founded with principles of sustainable living at its core. In an area where cocaine producers, guerrillas, and the government army continuously fight and kill each other (and innocent people), Gaviotas is free of crime and weapons. They have a good life, finding ways to live in balance with their environment. They've had some tough times, too, but they didn't give up. Students from the national university are required to do a year of rural service. Many of them go to Gaviotas to meet that requirement, and many of those end up staying permanently. The village has been established for about thirty years, now. If it can be done there, it can be done anywhere. They're serving as a model for the rest of us to follow, and they should be getting more attention.

http://www.friendsofgaviotas.org/about.htm

or read Gaviotas: A Village to Reinvent the World by Alan Weisman

One of the families that lives there was from Bogota. They have a sign outside their home that reads:
Aqui vive una familia que cambio una selva de cemento por una bosque de esperanza.

It means, "Here lives a family that traded a cement jungle for a forest of hope." I want to be able to put up a sign like that in a place similar to Gaviotas some day. We can't say that we traded a cement jungle, exactly, but it'll be similar.

That's my hope.

Merry Thanksgivoween!