Sukmaya asks, “Why?”
“Because we want to keep it nice for everyone.”
“Oh, I don’t understand,” she says.
“Nobody likes garbage on the trail,” I say.
“We do,” her cousins laugh with her.
I sign us in at the trailhead, and Harka asks me how anyone will know that we are missing. I am out of answers but I try to explain the system. It seems that I am often trying to explain our system. We have a 45-minute uphill climb with rocks and stumps, not too steep but rocky with slippery roots and wet leaves in all the reds and yellows of a summer sunset. Half of our team is wearing flip-flops. The teenage boys are up front, with their noisy, competitive jabs at each other. The middle section whines about being tired and out of shape, blaming America and pizza and fast food while they stop for a smoke. I bring up the back end with the elders who are soaking in the pine smells and almost choked with emotion.
A man named Amber is taking a break on a rock, out of breath. “Sister, it’s so pretty here. Why nobody live here?”
“It’s preserved for everyone to enjoy.”
“Hmm.” he says. “Our Nepal is not like that. No more trees. Everybody takes.”
Govin pipes in, “If we were in Nepal right now, all of these trees would be cut down for firewood. The kids would shoot the little squirrels and chipmunks with catalysts for food.”
“Catalysts?” I ask.
“They are a stick like a V-shape, with a rubber band and you shoot it like an arrow.”
“Ah. Okay. A slingshot.”
13