Flapping and Fluttering

I could go on and on with a specific introduction to what exactly I'm doing here in St. Paul. I could explain that I've gone from seeing the US Capitol each day by metro to seeing the Minnesota Capitol each day by car in a mere four months; I could tell you about how wonderful the AmeriCorps program is for all of us who have graduated from college in a year where headlines each day scream No Jobs for Grads; I could tell you what my new apartment and office look like (thanks to Ikea) and what it's like to be applying for food stamps, but I think I'll begin with a short story and leave the rest up to your imagination (or well, my future posts).

For the past four days we have been canvassing the neighborhoods our after school program, Youth Connections, will be hosted at to chat with kids and their parents, let them know when we'll be starting, what we're doing, when the Pizza Party is, you know, recruiting and the like. It's not easy navigating the public housing developments, full of construction and hills and homes that all look the same, but there is certainly more good than bad that comes from it. We finally get a glimpse into the lives of the children we'll be working with each day.

St. Paul has the largest group of Hmong people outside of Laos which means this Asian culture will be one I learn the most about in the coming months. Knocking door to door we admired the bright gold and red decorations hanging above the peepholes, the huge baskets of onions fresh from the garden and the peppers neatly laying out to dry on the sidewalk. The smells of spices and cooking seeped from every home, and I began to fall in love with the Hmong culture.

We were rapidly making our rounds at one of the sites when it happened. This house, this door, seemed typical, normal, nothing out of the ordinary. I knocked. We waited. There was a chair next to the door with a plastic bag holding something black hanging from its side. Thought nothing of it. As we opened the screen door my body shifted into the chair, I lost my balance and tipped right onto the plastic bag. Almost immediately there was a fierce and severe flapping and fluttering. I sprinted to an open patch of grass and tried pathetically to gain my composure. For someone who is seriously afraid of birds, stepping on a chicken in a plastic bag could not have been more terrifying. Seriously, terrifying.

I think the chicken survived ... at least until supper I suppose.