to a true friend.

Lydia, this one's dedicated to you, wherever you are, you little nugget.

Several mornings ago, I stood in the large expanse of green rolling hills that surround my grandmother's house in New Hampshire. It was a soft, dewy moment, and I was glad for the stillness in the midst of my third week back in fast-paced American life (though admittedly, I haven't done too many fast-paced things just yet).

Because my grandmother's Swiss Chalet-style home sits in the middle of twelve acres of protected deciduous forest and grassy fields, set against two gentle mountains brimming with birdsong of every kind, being back on her land, the landscape of my childhood, has a completely sublime effect.

My mind drifted to Madagascar just then; it's in quiet times like these that I am able to bring myself back to the place and people that defined my life for over two years. I've been composing blogs in my mind ever since I left about a month ago, and wanting to make sense of all the words and experiences swirling around in a discombobulated, disjointed fashion.

This blog is one of the many to come that seek to reflect upon my past experiences within the context of this insane place we call America. More to come soon about my re-adjustment process; thanks to all who've been asking me to write about it.

In any case, in that moment, I thought of my dearest little six-year old friend Lydia, a consummate companion through all the trials and tribulations of my Peace Corps service... I thought of how much she would have enjoyed playing in those green fields, deep forests and trickling creeks at my grandmother's place, just as I had as a child. I wish I could have snuck Lydia in my suitcase (we joked about it constantly), but I don't think kidnapping is looked upon too fondly by the Peace Corps.

Truth be told: I miss her. I knew I would, and this blog is in honor of her. I've wanted to post some photos and stories of Lydia for several months now; I just needed fast enough internet to upload videos.

These first photos are from a series I would like to call "Lydia vs. The Bees."

One day in my village, Lydia came running up to me quite happily, proclaiming she had discovered a bee's nest in the forest where we could get honey (an extremely special treat). I told her that getting honey was no easy task and asked her if she knew how to do it without getting stung (I didn't).

She said she did: all you needed was a big stick; the bees fly away and you take the honey. I explained that bees get mad when you try to do that and asked her repeatedly if she was afraid of bees. She insisted she wasn't and begged to take me to the nest where she swore she could get the honey, no problem. She skipped off ahead of me, down the trails into the forest, and in no time we arrived at the bee's nest.

It buzzed with hundreds of giant bees. I told her about how I'd been stung when I was her age and it made me cry. I asked her dozens of times, Are you sure you're not scared of getting stung? She laughed, telling me I shouldn't be so afraid!

With great gusto, she starting smacking the nest with a big stick. I told her I'd be standing nearby to film... just a little further away.

Click on the video below to watch exactly what happens. And don't tell me taking this film is cruel. I warned her.

She starts off by telling the bees to "miala" (leave). I ask if they're "masiaka" (angry) and if there's still a lot of them left. We talk about how it's good the bees are "miboaka" (coming out); I get closer since they don't seem to be bothering her.

After she screams and runs (no surprise there), I basically tell her "I told you it would hurt a lot!" and tell her to get far away from the nest. When I say,"Abwa," I pretty much mean, "Show me where it hurts." You silly girl.

Poor little Lydia, the brave six-year old who thought she could get honey by just smacking the bees away.

Luckily, as with all children, she's quite resilient, and by the following night, she was back to her cheerful self and teaching her little sister how to dance "amban-bany" (getting down low).

During my final weeks, Lydia was constantly asking if she could try on my things, play with my random bits of discarded items or other gadgets & gizmos she'd never seen before. Her sweet presence helped me so much through the difficult days of packing and moving.

Lydia watched me do yoga for almost two years, and even on my less motivated days, kept encouraging me to do "Oga" (for some reason, she could never pronounce the "y"). By the end, she was pretty good at it all by herself! My cat, lazing in the background however, couldn't have cared less about yoga. Or oga.

This is from our final meal together, a particularly delicious lunch of rice and leaves. When she eats, she really gets into it.

I miss you, Lydia!