Removed

*Solomon with his buddy Veniel (our guardian angel)

Today Patrick went to Port-au-Prince to try to locate our partners and other friends we haven't yet heard from. I was desperate to go with him, but Veniel refused stating it wasn't a good place for Solomon to be. With that, it was settled.

I was left to be mom and hang with Solomon for the day in the green mountains where there is ever a chill in the air. The surrounding scene is beautiful and surreal given the events of the week: green mountains folding into mountains, the sun illuminating the lush vegetation, the smell of wet dew on green leaves and rich earth, the sound of a waterfall nearby tumbling down a rock wall into a pool below. Here Solomon can find rocks to throw and sticks to pound with, he discovers leaves and flowers, climbs stairs and can run. For a little boy, he is safe and encountering a new, rich wonderland. For a mom, I can breath. But for the missionary, the doctor, its hard feeling so removed.

Veniel's family scooped us up and brought us into their home perched in the mountainous slopes of Kenskoff. We descended down a rocky slope into their yard full of children and chickens, were greeted by his wife, sister, father and many cousins. Solomon was taken by the hand by the children in the yard and and introduced to wonderful sticks and toy cars and a bin used for drumming. I was escorted in and invited to share some homemade french fries with picklize and conversation. Veniel's wife was there with her newborn who she passed to me so I could cradle the tiny life that had escaped such a scary situation just days before. So fragile, so breakable, yet unscathed.

We didn't talk much about the earthquake. Mostly we were quiet. Veniel's father, a wiry man with calloused hands and a face that broke easily into smiles, gave us a tour of his land and gardens. He lead us along a footpath while chewing on a matchstick, pointing out fields of cabbage, lettuce, beans and parsley. His cows munched lazily on the pastor grass, his goats took naps in the sunshine. A stream ran through the valley below leaving vegetation lush and watercress plants ample.

The landscape was breathtaking... green patchwork gardens stitched over the slopes, mountain peaks dissapearing into misty clouds. On these hillsides, houses held sturdy, children laughed and played, neighbors visited, women carried things on their head to market. Life. Life going on.

All Haiti is not in rubble. The smell of decomposition does not reach these piney heights. Food is being grown for tomorrow's hungry.

Certainly the entire country will suffer in the aftermath of the earthquake. The fragile infrastructure the country once had lies broken. Banks aren't open, ports are closed, hospitals toppled, gas and diesel stores drained, water purification plants may have been harmed--and even if not, their trucks need fuel to bring water to the people, jobs have been lost, and schools closed. Even the people living farthest away from the most damage, the people with sturdy homes and blooming gardens will find it harder to sell food to masses with no jobs and no money, will find it harder to get a ride down the mountain into town.

From a point in our walk, we could see the entire valley below harboring Port-au-Prince, the harbor and the ocean beyond. The fresh air and the fragrant life of the countryside were healing, and helped restore my hope that Haiti has not lost everything. Haiti will persevere, live, grow, rebuild, heal. Because that is what Haitians do.