What's your nationality?

What's your nationality?

It's a simple question with responses about being German, English, French, more likely a combination of ancestral heritage. I've asked the question of friends and friends have asked the question of me. And we've answered without much thought to the question or our answer.

It's a conversation starter.

But not the type of conversation I was expecting when I asked a friend while hiking this past summer.

Her answer startled me. Embarrassed me. And made me think.

"What's your nationality?" I asked.

"I'm American." she replied.

But of course she is. I had not intended for my question to imply that she wasn't. I sputtered an apology and reframed my question and she answered, Taiwanese, and our conversation continued. As did the conversation in my head.

I wondered why I was startled and embarrassed until I realized that she had slapped me upside the head with my white privilege as my mother would have slapped me when I did something stupid. A solid backhanded slap that let me know she was tired of my antics. Here I was getting the verbal equivalent from my hiking buddy.

I know I have privilege. I was not born with the proverbial silver spoon - far from it. I was a farm kid who ate her pets. For a time when dad was out of work, I would accompany mom to the food bank for our weekly allotment of butter, cheese, and oatmeal. I was however born with a hereditary silver spoon - I was born a white American. And I have benefited from that privilege - simple things mostly like being served more graciously than people of color were served. Yes, I've noticed the difference.

You see, to be born white in America grants you the privilege of never having to remind people that you are an American. You never have to defend your American heritage. It is automatically assumed. We've all made that mistake - looking at a European family vacationing here and not realizing they're tourists until they start speaking. But my friends who are Asian and my friends who are Hispanic, well it's assumed that they were not born here or, worse yet, are "illegal".

We expect People of Color to prove to us that they are American instead of assuming that they are.

My question that I asked my friend - how many times have you actually been asked, "What's your nationality?" I know I haven't been asked very often. Have you? I neglected to ask, but I am sure my friend has been asked that question all her life and far too often than she'd like to recall. I am sorry I added to that list. It was my assumptions based on my privilege that made me ask.

I was reminded of this conversation today when I saw a "corrected" meme. The original meme stated that It doesn't matter if you're black, white, yellow or brown - You're an American start acting like it. The corrected version stated that Whether you're black, white, yellow or brown - You're an American start treating each other like it.

I really don't have the answers for all of us to magically get along, but I know that taking the time to ask the wrong questions, listening to the response then finding a better question - a conversation can get started.

In the Shadow of Dege Peak

In the month I’ve been away, the alpine meadows have begun to tarnish under the summer sun. The vibrant yellows and purples of spring wildflowers are replaced reds and golds of autumn.

Just yesterday, my sister posted a photo of bog gentian – its deep blur bell shaped flowers a stark contrast with the yellowing grasses in the frame. It is the herald for summer’s end. My friend Karen Sykes would look upon the low-lying blooms with sadness knowing autumn was right around the corner and the first winter snows nipping at its heels. Soon the high meadows will be under feet of snow.

There is no such thing as a lazy summer at 6400 feet. Spring is a hard-fought season in the NW mountains with avalanche and glacier lilies pushing their way through the last snow drifts into July. As summer arrives, you can begin seeing the colors of autumn kissing the foliage and flowers start to seed. Life is on a limited clock in the alpine zone. In a few weeks, purple cascade asters will curl onto themselves and the only blooms left are the white heads of the pearly everlasting. But the huckleberry bushes and the false hellebore leaves change to more vibrant colors.

Albert Camus once said, “Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” In an alpine meadow the flowery leaves come in the warmer hues of the rainbow. The seed pods are gathered by the critters who will live under the snow for the next months. If there is any season that luxuriates in the mountains, it would be winter. Flurries begin coating the warm meadow colors as earl as September and last well into our low-land summer celebrations.

In Seattle, our only hint of oncoming fall and winter’s first flurries are fresh faced kids waiting at the bus stops and the Halloween decorations stacked up at our local stores. But here, in the shadow of Dege Peak on Mt Rainier, autumn has arrived.

Oh the Fern!

I learned an interesting little fact today. Quite surprised me.

The bracken fern is the most common fern in the northwest and throughout the world.

Growing up in the northwest, I had always thought our most common fern was the dark green sword fern. It's the fern that is seen on our forest floors all year round with its Christmasy green leathery leaves. You will always see the sword fern along your trails and paths. Then I'm told by a national park ranger I trust that no, the bracken fern is even more common than the sword fern.

So yeah, I had to look it up and wouldn't you know - the ranger was right. The bracken fern grows on every continent (except Antarctica) and in all life zones (except deserts). That's pretty amazing.

Not only is it prevalent around the globe, its fossil remains have been dated to 55 million years ago. It's old and abundant. The plant that just keeps going and growing no matter what mother nature throws at it.

In fact it was made to be dominant and take over. Allelopathic chemicals that inhibit growth of other plants are produced and released by bracken ferns. They seem to take over in areas of forest fire because of this chemical.

Another interesting tidbit I found is that the name bracken is derived from Swedish & Danish words that mean simply, fern. So when we say bracken fern we're really saying fern fern.