Prompt 1: Kathleen L. LaRiviere

          A hammer. A trowel. A badge-covered Girl Scout vest. Eight years old, and sporting a toothy grin, I was introduced to Habitat for Humanity. It felt good sitting in the dirt, getting muddy in mid-January while planting bulbs. The bulb packages were adorned with photos of Dutch tulips in a symphony of colors – from a dark purple to the sunniest of yellows. My feeling was warm and happy, knowing that spring would bring a beautiful garden to this family’s new home. And, it felt good to know that as a citizen of two countries, I was literally bringing together a bit of The Netherlands and the U.S. into little holes in a new Habitat home in the City of Richmond. A dirty, fertilizer-ridden, and mulch-filled experience began a part of my life that is forever a treasure.

         That happy feeling drove me to continue working with Richmond Metropolitan Habitat for Humanity. There were always small things I could do at the Habitat ReStore: organizing pamphlets in the display unit, polishing the glass doors, windows, and table tops, and dusting the furniture that was for sale. One particularly boring day, I separated bolts from nuts, and sorted door hardware. But that day was the same day that she walked in the store’s front door, and changed my life. Nodding her approval, she patted my shoulder with enthusiasm, and told me that I was a good worker. I felt so proud. She was “Miss Mary,” humming church tunes, full of pizzazz, and topped off with a fuzzy purple hat – a kind lady and memorable character. But, it would be years until we met again.

          I am a dual national. The Dutch part of me delights in cinnamon-sprinkled speculaas cookies, and the Southern side of me craves Cajun- boiled shrimp. Every day, I experience a unique kind of symmetry – an equal proportion of Dad’s liberal Dutch family and Mom’s conservative Southern heritage. The differing opinions on government, politics, and religion are incessantly articulated. One conversation trigger is the fact that Holland is one of the wealthiest and most highly taxed countries in the world. Ergo, the need for volunteerism is nonexistent. Conversely, the U.S. is dependant upon a vast contingent of volunteers to complement both private investment and governmental spending. The U.S. even places a dollar value on volunteer service, with the current rate falling in the $17.53/hour range. The inevitable conversations regarding free enterprise, partially-socialized government, and taxes ensue. But, there is one thing about which our family always agrees – the need for each of us to engage, and find ways that we can be of service to the community. To believe. To do. To matter. I believe in the critical need for a safe, decent home for families. I believe in affordable housing that is aesthetically pleasing, and environmentally sustainable. And, so, six years of my life have been spent with joy as a volunteer with Richmond Metropolitan Habitat for Humanity.

          It all began in the 6th grade at Bailey Bridge Middle School in Chesterfield County.

There, my twin and I were part of a pilot program – an “all girl’s learning team” within the public school. We called ourselves the Pandas, and decided to do something for the school. Together, thirty 11 and 12 year old girls decided to plant the school’s first student garden. I can remember sketching the layout for plant placement, and searching for indigenous Virginia plantings and other hardy plant species that wouldn’t require a lot of maintenance during the student-free summer days. Learning about the benefits (and the smells) of natural compost, and soil additives, we used manure from the Harrell’s barn.

The “Panda Garden” was replete with variegated liriope, butterfly shrubs, and helleri holly. The kind of muddy that we got that day was cause for maternal laundry angst. But, no amount of Clorox would every wash out the imprint that experience left on me. The

Panda Garden is a habitat for butterflies, birds, and a plethora of insects, and a thing of permanent beauty at the front of our school. During the 7th and 8th grades, I took the path from the bus loop to the flagpole to watch the garden grow and mature. Every day, I saw tangible evidence of the beauty that people can create together.

           Later that year, my mom was a volunteer chairwoman for a Richmond Metropolitan Habitat for Humanity building initiative. Leading women’s groups and women-owned businesses to raise $50,000 and recruit 450 women, the first “Women Build” initiative was launched. Benefiting from this effort was a Habitat partner family consisting of a mom and her two daughters. I knew that the girls’ “Panda Team” should do something. So, I asked if we could help build the house. Sadly, mom explained that our group of 6^th graders was too young to help, because safety regulations at RMHFH stated that all construction volunteers must be 16 years or older. By the end of the month, the determined Pandas had raised enough money to sponsor lunches for the Women Build volunteers. We decorated lunch bags with our “girl power graffiti.” With glitter paint pens, swirls, polka dots, flowers, and drawings of a family and a home, we created messages of hope for hundreds of lunch bags for the “Women Build” volunteers. Then, we made ham and cheese, turkey and cheese, and two-cheese sandwiches, securing each one tightly in plastic wrap. Next, we packaged chocolate chip and sugar cookies, chips, napkins, “wet wipes,” and Washington Red apples, placing all in the lunch bags. As a final element, we wrote notes to the volunteers. There were the requisite “go girl” phrases, the “you’re the best” and “girls rule, boys drool” messages scrawled across lined notebook paper. When our bus rumbled on site, and the volunteers ate the lunches and read our notes – there was a kind of satisfaction that I could not name.

         For the next few years, I volunteered in the Richmond Habitat offices. Conducting a variety of office support tasks, I helped archive public relations and media materials, completed data entry in the database, researched the web for staff support, organized and shelved books, dusted and vacuumed.

          Finally, it was the year that my identical twin sister and I turned 16. Officially allowed to be “on site,” we decided to celebrate our birthday in a different way. Rather than a “Sweet Sixteen” we had more of a “Sweat Sixteen” on a Habitat for Humanity construction site. On a hot Saturday morning in June, friends, family and even our high school administrators came out to finalize the construction of three new homes in the Angus Road neighborhood. I couldn’t believe that our friends showed up for safety training by 7:30am. Nor could I believe that, by sundown, this team had painted and sealed block foundations, primed and painted interior spaces, built sheds, and nailed down railings for three new homes. It wasn’t until lunchtime that I became emotional. All fifty of us crammed into one of the houses and plopped on the floorboards with our lunches. Everyone began to sing “Happy Birthday.” My generation is often depicted as “Facebooking”, texting, and “IPod-loving” societal miscreants. But I saw something very different that day.

           A year later, another major Habitat opportunity arose. This time, it was a full-scale neighborhood landscaping project – with hundreds of people completing the landscaping efforts for 17 homes. Community members, the County extension office, Va. Garden Clubs, RMHFH partner families, U VA, Va. Tech, U of R students and alumnae reported for duty. As I was spreading mulch underneath the porch, feeling the wet dirt slowly soak itself into my favorite jeans and Midlothian hoodie, something amazing happened. She walked back into my life. “Miss Mary” in a jaunty purple scarf and black quilted coat bounced up to me. Six years prior, the same lady had spoken with me at the ReStore. She had complemented me on my “good work” then, and she did so again. Only, this time, I watched her walk in the front door of the new Habitat house whose garden I had just completed. And, that’s when it happened. I realized that it wasn’t me who had changed the life of Miss Mary. That wonderful, appreciative, inspiring woman had changed me.

Prompt 1: Kathleen L. LaRiviere