Home on the Crabgrass Range

by Cristen Jansson (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find USA

Perhaps it was the scrubby grass and rolling hills that evoked a sense of California. Just replace the sparse evergreens with palm trees. Nah. I still didn’t see it. “Welcome to Yakima,” the sign proclaimed, “The Palm Springs of Washington.” I clutched to my duffel bag as our carpool rolled into the hotel parking lot. The four of us stepped into the sunlight as we waited for the rest of our group to show. Well, I thought to myself. There’s sun. At least that’s something. The Alternative Spring Break trip, organized by our university church, took us two hours east from Seattle to Yakima, where we would spend the week volunteering at two local charities: La Casa Hogar, which supports immigrant women in learning English and technical skills; and Volunteer Services, which organizes volunteers to do household chores for in-need elderly folks. I was excited. It was my first service trip, and my first time experiencing Washington State east of the Cascade Mountains. My family had moved to Western Washington four years prior, and I was ready to see what was beyond the towering evergreen trees and perpetual rain. Bright and early the next morning, we arrived at La Casa Hogar, which translated to English roughly means “The House Home.” The building was a house that was converted for use by the organization. The upstairs was a classroom and a computer lab. Downstairs was a daycare for their children. In the classroom, we led lessons and activities for the ladies designed to help them learn English skills. After that, they prepared lunch for us and we dined with them, giving us the chance to further engage with those we were helping. After lunch, we were assigned into carpools to go perform household chores for the elderly community. When we were at our assigned house, we would do whatever the occupant needed to be done, which could range from cleaning the inside of the house to doing yardwork. This is what we did every day of our trip, and every day would be a new adventure. When I signed up to do this, I knew I would be doing good, but I didn’t know that I would also be feeling good. What surprised me was how rewarding it felt being able to help people who really needed it. Normally, I would balk at cleaning toilets or raking leaves. But seeing how happy it made the elderly folks made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Many of them had lived in the same house for years and were no longer able to take care of their homes anymore. We would only be at each house for a few hours, but those few hours could mean the world to them. At La Casa Hogar, many of the women have been participating in the classes for years. For them, it was about more than just coming to learn English, it was about the community they had created there. Spending time with others who were in similar life circumstances, speaking the language and eating the food of their childhoods in Latin American countries. In essence, it was about creating a sense of home. On our last afternoon in Yakima, my group went to do yardwork at the last house. It was out in the rural area. There was a good view of the hills in the distance, and the sun was shining. When we arrived, I went to pull weeds in the garden. As I bent down near the rosebushes, I noticed a sight I hadn’t seen in years, and it caught me by surprise. Crabgrass. The smooth little long green blades I hadn’t seen since I had moved away from Texas. It was the first thing I encountered in Washington State that reminded me of home. Three-thousand miles away, and the weeds were still the same. It might sound silly, but kneeling there with my knees in the dirt, marveling over the wonders of crabgrass, I experienced the most joy I had while on that trip. Maybe Yakima wasn’t meant to evoke a sense of a specific town in a specific state. Maybe it’s just meant to bring you a sense of home.