Special Edition: Together

The alarm buzzed too early. I groaned and rolled over in bed. Beside me, Tyler hummed thoughtfully. He was wide awake, checking the results of the presidential election. He flipped the phone towards me. My hazy eyes only made out a blur of blue and red. It was the image of a country divided. 

In the 1930s, America experienced a landmark tragedy that still haunts our historical consciousness. My great-grandmother was born during the Great Depression. She and her siblings experienced poverty and hardship as they grew up in the hills of Appalachia. At Thanksgiving one year, I remember her strongly rejecting a bowl of mashed turnips. She had eaten turnips too many times as a child during the Depression. With the comfortable abundance of adulthood, she had declared herself turnip-free. The echoes of her experiences during the Great Depression still reverberate throughout my family. I am the third generation of women who obsessively stock basement shelves with canned goods. My freezer is full of meals and meats. In my family, self-sufficiency is a virtue. I am certain that many other families have similar patterns learned from Great Depression relatives. 

What is striking about the Great Depression is how it became a harrowing force of unity. In modernity, the Great Depression still draws my family together every summer. As one, we work to harvest our gardens and preserve food. During the throes of the Depression, the shared tragedy brought people together. One of my favorite examples of this is the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC). The brainchild of Franklin D. Roosevelt, the CCC was a means of providing housing, food, and an income to millions of unemployed young men during the Depression. My great-grandma’s brother was one of these young men. The CCC wasn’t just a government aid program. It was a way to bring people together, to raise morale, to provide purpose and direction to the wayward. When the men weren’t planting trees or fighting wildfires, they were making friends, taking educational courses, learning trades, holding religious services, and having fun. Eleanor Roosevelt spearheaded a similar program for young women. One such camp in New York, named Camp Tera, reported massive success amongst the impoverished attendees. Many women reported that they gained weight, rediscovered hope, and for the first time in a long time, felt like themselves again. 

The effects of the CCC are longstanding. Much of the environmental work done by the CCC still plays a part in America’s landscape, especially in our national parks. Tyler and I have seen much of their work in our travels. In Theodore Roosevelt National Park, for example, we perched on the walls of a stone structure that the CCC built. Shivering in the morning chill, my legs dangled off a stone block that had been hand-chiseled by an unknown young man. On top of that ridge, Tyler and I held company with the ghosts of the CCC as the sun rose. Moments like this create a sense of continuity between past and present. Out of the tragedy of the Great Depression, the CCC is still creating a mark today. 

We all create impacts like this. When hiking in Arizona recently, a friend remarked, “I don’t envy whoever did the hard work of creating this trail.” After this comment, I found myself examining the trail. Rod-iron poles were embedded in rock faces to create safe places to walk. Cables were strung to help me pull myself up the mountain. Rocks had been blasted and cut away from the trail. Somebody somewhere had put a lot of time into this trail. My thoughts were drawn to my friend, Alena, who works for the U.S. Forest Service in Idaho. This past summer, she sent me photos of her own trailblazing work. She and her crew moved boulders, cut trees, and built steps just so hikers like me could enjoy the landscape. Without trailblazers like Alena, our hikes would be much, much harder. (I would probably injure myself a lot more often too!)

This sort of relationship exists everywhere. I work in the pharmaceutical research industry. Every menial piece of paperwork I handle eventually becomes a medicine. That medicine might even save somebody’s life. When I drive home from work, I stop at a traffic light because an engineer wanted to save lives too. Somebody on a work crew installed that traffic light. I drive a car because somebody constructed my car. Somebody invented the engine. Somebody manufactured the tires. When you think about it, our daily lives are impacted by thousands and thousands of people. Just an hour of activity has been touched by innumerable hands. Even when I’m sleeping, I am impacted by the people who made my bed, my blankets, my pajamas, my house. Every life is an intricate intertwining of other lives.

On a recent journey through the Navajo Reservation in Arizona, we stopped so I could buy some earrings. While I was being indecisive, the Navajo vendor noticed the jewelry of another woman.

”Oh, I love your earrings,” she gushed. I glanced up to take a look for myself. The recipient of the compliment was a young indigenous woman with a beautiful smile. Her beaded earrings were eye-catching. The woman smiled and thanked the vendor. 

“The earrings are really beautiful. Where are you from? Diné?” the vendor asked.

I recognized the term. Diné is the name that Navajo people call themselves.

“Yes, Diné,” the woman confirmed with another smile. 

“Ah! What tribe are you from?”

The women continued chatting with each other as I excused myself. I sensed a connection being formed, one that I didn’t want to interrupt. There is significance in the community that the women shared. Diné is a people group, but it’s also an identifier. It’s an identity. It acknowledges communal experiences and history. What I liked most about this interaction was the way that the vendor sought out connection. She didn’t have to say anything to the woman. She could have been buried in her phone and nobody would have thought twice about it. Instead, she extended a hand. She formed a relationship. She recognized the intertwinedness of humanity. 

During this election season, I posit that we would all be better off if we did the same. What if we stopped focusing on the things that divide us and search for the commonalities instead? What if we spent just a little time considering how much we rely on each other? If you found yourself in the hospital today, I wager you wouldn’t spend much time trying to determine the political affiliation of your paramedic team, your nurses, your surgeon. You would simply be grateful that they’re there. At the grocery store, a Democrat stocks shelves alongside a Republican. Maybe an Independent runs your local gas station. Regardless of their political decisions, they are impacting your life. For this, we can be grateful. 

If you allow me to remain on my soap box a bit longer, I might caution us to not elevate politics above where they belong. Our young country has weathered its share of difficult times and poor leaders. This presidential election is important, yes, but should not be all-consuming. In the grand scheme of things, we are still immensely blessed. We are an affluent country. We are a spacious country. We have food, jobs, and vehicles. And we have each other. 

I am grateful for the people that have impacted my life. I’m thankful for the CCC, for the trailblazers, for the hard workers, for the thinkers, for the artists. I’m thankful for the Democrats. I’m thankful for the Republicans. I’m thankful for all of you. And that’s enough for me.

The photo album this week is a compilation of beautiful places impacted by people I’ll never meet. Take an extra minute to look over the photos. Consider the hands that have come together to build the scene. Take time to give thanks. I know I will. 

Featured photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/2GoRaXj5o6VixcfdA