Every now and then, though, I see or hear something that zings like a zap in my spine - it comes as a sharp reminder that, to me, this land is, and to some degree always will be, foreign. Most recently, it was a simple but strange sighting that caused me to, quite literally, stop and stare.
Picture this. Here I am strolling through the park like I do every other day; it's Olympic Park, the biggest one around, but I go there often so I know the routes.
As I'm coming over a low hill, I see an old man - white hair and wrinkles, but still standing with a strong posture - begin to head off the trail. I didn't think anything of it until he started climbing a tree. Old men can climb trees? Old men can climb trees in parks? Old men want to climb trees in parks?
Wondering why he was climbing the tree, and if he was going to make it, I slowed my pace and conspicuously glanced in his direction. Then, suddenly, I heard the sound of a quick wind, looked up, and realized he had positioned himself so as to get a good grip. He was up there wildly shaking the tree branch. It was a big branch, too.
Before I knew it, dozens of little orange-colored fruits were falling to the ground. Two men and a woman were at the base of the tree scrambling for them. I stopped dead in my tracks and stared. Then, another elderly woman or two, who had been some distance away, hurriedly scuffled over and joined the scavenge.
The old man continued to shake the tree branch as four or five other grandfathers and grandmothers prowled about below, suddenly diving for flying fruit like kids dive for candy at a parade.
Equating stealing fruit from old people to swiping candy from kids, I decided not to join the scuffle. So, satisfied with an initial understanding of the situation, I continued on my way, wondering not only what next I will see as strange, but also when next I will be seen as the same.
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