Intensely Unconditional

After snowy weather foiled our field trip plans and closed school early last week, we finally headed out this morning on the hour-and-a-half journey to Havre for a field trip to the park, Pizza Hut, and the local fire station. I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with my students outside of the school setting. Although still in charge of the livelihood of each of the children, I felt a sense of freedom, as if their bubbling excitement effervesced into my own sphere of energy. From chasing them through tire toys to zooming airplane-style through the grass, and from stuffing ourselves with pizza to ogling in awe as we climbed through a fire truck, my heart rejoiced in the pure and simple joy we call childhood.

In these moments, I realize the intensity of love in my heart for each of these students, as I have learned about their hearts, their souls, and their lives--some beautiful and some broken. It is hard to believe that I only have three more school days with them. Much of my heart is ready to move on, but when I look into the fabulous and faithful faces of each child, I don't feel ready to leave them behind, knowing what difficult challenges they will face in the future. I was only here nine months and I did not come here with the expectation to fix any large scale social ills; I know that I will have little impact on their lives. Yet hopefully I helped to ignite a flame within each of them, as I know that I will never forget the unconditional way in which they reminded me of how to live and love with intensity.

Here's a fun photo of my class:

April Adventures

There is a peace of mind that has come over myself these past few weeks, and I think a lot of it has come from my new teaching situation—having the opportunity to pour into seven wonderful six-year-olds. I’ve had a sense of stability working in the same classroom with the same students day-by-day. I’ve enjoyed planning activities and projects for the kids, making the monotony of learning fun and engaging for them. There are days with extra challenges or when I don’t come to the classroom with a joyful spirit, but when I step back, I realize that having my heart in the right place is important for these students so that I can show them the infinite love of the Creator. And when I’m in those frazzled moments, the students no just what to say to soften my heart: “I love you Miss Johnson!” We’ve taken to having a group hung at the end of each day, a reminder that there is something incredibly special in each of our hearts that we had the opportunity to share today. Overall, the seven of us have begun to bond as I become more of a mentor and friend to them in the safety of the classroom, as well as a teacher. I can definitely say that my (very brief) experience as a classroom teacher been a wonderful and engaging experience.

While weekdays have been enjoyable, weekends have also been full of energy as well. Over the Easter weekend, our house was filled with 15 people, as the Jesuit Volunteer communities from Ashland and Billings (Montana) came to visit. We enjoyed a festive Easter brunch, wonderful hikes, and brilliant views of an evening thunderstorm. Coming through the snow a few days later, my mother arrived for a brief visit. It was wonderful to have one-on-one time with her and to show her my life in Hays. On the weekend, we went to the Professional Bull Riding championship series. The actual riding was not much of anything, but the introduction was hysterical: cowboys in full duds jogging through a ring of smoke and fire, an overture for the million-dollar bulls ridden in the event, and a heart-wrenching rendition of the star spangled banner. It was quite a spectacle and a real introduction into the Montana lifestyle.

This past weekend we took a quick trip to Great Falls for an annual fun run. We had loads of fun eating enormous amounts of free food provided by Fort Belknap’s diabetes prevention program, talking about anything and everything, jogging just a little, and learning from Hays community members, particularly our “chauffer” Rhonda--a riot of a woman—about their lives and values. Of course, just as the year is beginning to come to a close do I really begin to feel rooted, comfortable enough to learn, laugh, and live locally here in Hays. But I am glad that in a little while I will leave with a sense of joy in my heart about the experiences I have had in my moment here in Montana.

Below is a blessing for you. A reminder to breathe deeply the richness of our riot of a world, and to love life into being.

Hear, O Humankind, the prayer of my heart

For are we not one, have we not one desire,
to heal our Mother Earth and bind her wounds
to hear again from dark forests and flashing rivers
the varied ever-changing Song of Creation?

O humankind, are we not all brothers and sisters,
are we not the grandchildren of the Great Mystery?
Do we not all want to live and be loved, to work
and to play, to sing and dance together?

But we live with fear. Fear that is hate, fear
that is mistrust, envy, greed, vanity fear that is
ambition, competition, aggression, fear that is
loneliness, anger, bitterness, cruelty… and yet,
fear is only twisted love, love turned back on itself,
love that was denied, love that was rejected…
and love…
Love is life—creation, seed and leaf
and blossom and fruit and seed, love is growth
and search and reach and touch and dance.
Love is nurture and succor and feed and pleasure…
love is life believing in itself.
And life…
Life is the Sacred Mystery singing to itself, dancing
to its drum, telling tales, improvising, playing
and we are all that Spirit, our stories all
but one cosmic story that we are love indeed,
that perfect love in me seeks the love in you,
and if our eyes could ever meet without fear
we would recognize each other and rejoice,
for love is life believing in itself.

-Manitongquat

Making the Move

I will look back upon this year as one of constant challenge and growth as I learn to adapt to new situations along every step of the way: on Tuesday morning, another boiler burst in school, and this time the damage was enough that we had to move. A few books and supplies had a little smoke and water damage from the firefighters, but overall we were able to transfer the whole school to a small abandoned church a few blocks away with help from the community in one day, and the next we were back in action. Fifth and sixth grade split the sanctuary, third and fourth shared the multi-purpose room, second grade went to the living room of the church house, first grade was relegated to the living room of a trailer just behind the church, and kindergarten was split into two classes in office spaces in the back of the church. For breakfast and lunch, we unfortunately have to bus everyone the five minutes it takes to get up to the Mission Recreation Center, where a large enough kitchen and cafeteria are available.

Because of the split, I’ll be taking half of the kindergarten class for the rest of the year, teaching seven wonderful children basic reading, math, science, social studies, handwriting, and religion. I hope to get a few library and art classes in on the side as well, but I’m excited for the challenge of working with a group of students day in and day out. And besides, my little classroom, albeit sparse, has a window that lets in the morning sunshine, which is better than the windowless and drafty hall I’ve been in up till now. We’ve had two days of class in this new situation, and so far all has gone well. I’ve gotten into the groove of teaching a little as well as getting back into the groove of life in Hays after a brief trip to Washington, D.C.

Unfortunately, I was quite sick for most of my stay in D.C., but I was able to visit with a few college friends, have a productive job interview, and see the sights… no Obama, though… It was a bit of a culture shock to go from the middle of nowhere Montana to the big bustling United States capital, with such a different pace of life and a different set of values. It was overwhelming to realize how much of our country is on a go-go-go schedule, when I’ve learned to take life a little more slowly out here and savor each moment just a little more, a skill I hope to take with me as this year comes to a close. Even when situations may be wild, people out here have the capacity to step back and take a deep breath. Sometimes things don’t get done, but in other moments it allows for life—despite how over-the-top it may be—to seem feasible.

Refiner's Fire

This year has been full of unexpected challenges, sporadic ups and downs, and a whole spectrum of feelings, emotions, and experiences in between, both for me and for all others at Mission Grade School. As I rolled out of bed on Thursday morning, we received a call from the principal that school was canceled due to a burst boiler. It had been installed in a faulty manner only a month ago, after having only one of our three boilers working in a season when the weather was frequently below zero. Luckily, as we went to investigate the situation (a few hours after firemen handled the fire), we found that the only room with fire damage was the boiler room. The fire had begun to spread into the basement, but was thwarted when it melted and thus spilled a number of large water bottles that quenched its nerve.

We canceled school for two days to let the smoke clear out and to clean up the one classroom that received a little smoke damage (a classroom which had originally been the stage above the gym but had to be converted due to a lack of space). It seems as though we can’t get enough of fires, what with the original fire that burned the school down in June, our little kitchen fire, and now the boiler. Our temporary school has provided many other fiascos as well… as school was canceled one day because the boilers kept the school barely at a chilly 30 degrees, a pipe in the kindergarten bathroom burst from frozen water, rain spilling into the gym and various classrooms from a leaky roof, lights deciding to shut off when the system is too overloaded, the phone line ceasing to function… to name a few. Perhaps in each of these challenges is a message from the Higher Being as we are guided through the Fiery Furnace. Here, in the refiner’s fire, our faith and endurance continue to strengthen.

In addition to fires in actuality, we’ve experienced a few emotional firestorms within our small community of Jesuit Volunteers the past few weeks. Tensions had been mounting up between each of us for a while over small issues that grew to astronomical proportions, and finally came to a head on Wednesday. After a few angry words and tears shed, however, our differences were solved, and the embers of anger have subsided. It was the first time I had been in a situation with housemates that was difficult and tense, but hopefully it is one I can learn from—how to confront conflict with grace.

One last fire I’ve felt is within my own heart. We have helped out Sister Laura, the nun who supports the community of Lodge Pole in the next town over (about 10 miles away) with her bible study classes for fifth and sixth graders the past few weeks. The group of four to eight students is wild, full of energy and often lacking in discipline. At first, it was hard to get to know and appreciate them when there was a general air of disrespect, but as we returned for a few weeks in a row, they have come to trust us and I have learned how to both respect them as youth and earn their respect in return. I can say that we all had a good time this week, learning a little about God, playing sardines, and laughing over pizza. As we drove the students home, soaring over the hills smoldering with the last blazes of the setting sun while singing country songs at the top of our lungs, my heart was ablaze with compassion for these kids. Each of them is coming of age in such a difficult time, learning to be resilient to the world yet I see somewhere deep inside a longing for affection, for an appreciation of their humanity and not just the airs of their pre-teen personalities. It was a beautiful moment to spend with them, and although I hardly know the students, we all felt a closeness to the shared fires within.

Expressions

“Catch me if you can, Miss Johnson!” hollered Chastity, a stout seven-year-old with a wily smile, as she stormed off into a puddle of slushy mud around the churchyard. I ran wildly after her, lobbing a snowball in her direction and stomping in all of the mud puddles in an attempt to catch her (and make her guardian mad at her for having completely soaked and muddy clothes). In this moment, I felt fabulous, embraced by the warm sun, covered in mud from a recent slushy run in the canyon, and surrounded by the smiles of silly students. It’s coming to the time of the year where everything tends to slow down and life gets a little dull, although there’s plenty to keep me busy. But at times like these, enjoying a laugh with local children, I am reminded of the splashes in life, letting each day come as it will. I am here to take hold of each day, as I dive into each moment and embrace the sunshine of the moment.

As part of these moments of experience, last weekend I had the opportunity to attend a Sundance Singing, an event in preparation for the Sundance, a ceremony held in the summer. The event provided another cultural window for me, another puddle to peer into as I get my toes a little wet learning about the local culture. Prior to the Sundance, a number of people make the decision to be active participants in the tradition of prayer, fasting, sweats, singing, and dancing for four days held up in the Mission Canyon. The ceremony is very important—it is a form of intense and dedicated prayer for healing, for oneself, another, or one’s community. It is often a last plea to the Creator for help.

In preparation for the event, a number of preliminary gatherings are called throughout the winter and spring, and I was able to attend this one (there was a previous Sundance Singing, but I was not allowed to go because I was “on my moon.” Women are believed to be both too powerful and too vulnerable at this time of the month, so they refrain from going.) To give a taste of Indian Time, the event was scheduled to begin at sundown (around 6 pm), but we arrived at 8, and waited until about 10 for the proceedings to get underway. We only lasted until midnight, but singing probably continued until well after dawn. And like all gatherings on the reservation, the Sundance Singing began with a feed. The women sat on one side, the men on the other, and the food was brought out onto a tarp on the floor in between. The women prepared the food, and the men served. Each item was briefly lifted up off of the tarp as an offering to God first, and then the men went from person to person providing food—and it is very disrespectful to say no, so we took a few plates of various meats, pastas, pastries, and pop home with us.

After the meal, the men and boys sat on the floor in a circle and smoked peace pipes prepared by the pipe-bearer with cedar, sage, and tobacco. The women were passed out cigarettes, which we were meant to light in prayer or pull apart and spread to the North, East, South, and West. I did the latter on a walk in the hills the following day. It is interesting to see tobacco used in a traditional way—as part of a sacred ceremony. Yet, too, in a world where tobacco is highly advertised as a narcotic and use of tobacco for recreation is also widely prevalent, I wonder what effect this experience has on the younger generations present at the ceremony.

After the smoking, the singers were prayed over with smudging—burnt sweet-grass and eagle feathers brushed over their bodies. A buffalo robe was carried in and laid on the floor with the hid facing up. The men and boys gathered around it with sticks, beating in rhythm against the tanned hide. Others gathered around with drums, while the women sung from the chairs on the outskirts. Each person involved in the Sundance took a turn leading the singing, filing the room with the heartbeat of humanity.

One truly humanizing moment was when one man brought his granddaughter to the front of the room, who sat in a wheelchair with a listless expression on her face. He prayed upon her and her family as he spread eagle feathers over her person, asking for her seizures to disappear so that she may experience a life to its fullest. The whole family began to cry as he sang, unafraid to express themselves in a world where we are too often told to hide our emotions. It was a moment when I felt truly moved by the challenges of the family, finding that I, too, prayed with my whole being for her healing and for the healing of all those on the reservation who suffer from sickness and disease, be it alcoholism, fetal alcohol syndrome, seizures, diabetes, arthritis, depression…. There is so much need in this community, yet also such a passion for change, for renouncing the sorrows of rural reservation life. It is a juxtaposition of hope against actuality. Pray with me that in the seasons of time hope be the stronger of the two.

Young at Heart

Time seems to be speeding up as I look back upon the past seven months and forward to the next three. Lately during my free time it has been easy to get caught up with the “what ifs” of the future, wondering where I’ll be next in my life, planning out time to work on applications, stressing over e-mails I haven’t yet received. But while at school, the eyes of every child remind me that the important time to live is in the now. I have been enjoying school greatly, although the past few weeks have dragged out a little, perhaps from a lack of initiation on my part to make sure my soul truly is present. I hope in the upcoming week I can rededicate myself to the moment and to the magnificence of each child I encounter.

Two weeks ago I had the challenge of substituting for the first grade class, a small group of fourteen splendid students, but rowdy nonetheless. I enjoyed spending my whole week with the class, getting to know them better and learning about the ins and outs of an ordinary day in the life of a classroom teacher. I can definitely say that I came out of the experience with a little more compassion for the work that our teachers do, and I don’t think I’ll be pursuing grade-school teaching anytime soon….

As refreshment from the challenges of the first grade class, we had our Winter Retreat with the Jesuit Volunteer Corps the following weekend. The focus of the retreat was on social justice, and it was very insightful to take a step back from my current environment and evaluate the micro and macro interplay of social issues that intertwine into the lives of students in Hays and Native Americans on the Fort Belknap Reservation. I was reminded of the statement I hear many people say on the reservation, “Some people visit, and they wonder if they’ve suddenly ventured into a third-world country.” I have almost become numb to the harsh reality of life on the Rez, and it was good for me to remember that what I see from day-to-day is not the norm within our nation. Instead, it is a great injustice, a network of issues that need to be addressed, not ignored. It was helpful for me to remember my task as a volunteer and what I can do to help. No, I cannot save people, nor can I expect that bearing the White Man’s Burden will help anyone. But I can take this life day-by-day and lay it down for others.

What I also found helpful while on retreat were the moments of rest and the relaxation of being with people my own age again. I enjoyed practicing standing on my head, trying to pick up a paper bag on the floor with my teeth while standing on one foot (and being champion of this so-called “Bag Game”), playing sardines in an ancient and enormous schoolhouse, and taking long runs along the frozen Missouri River. It was a humanizing time for me, as I remember that after all I’m only 22 with a life ahead of me, and it’s ok to act young every once in a while, an opportunity I don’t have very often in Hays. Additionally, as an activity with my community, we went out to get tattoos before returning to Hays. Now I have a permanent picture of a dove in henna-brown on my left side, perhaps a permanent testament to my future self that both social justice and the joy of youth can always meet in the middle.

Speaking on youthfulness, on Friday evening we had a school dance, decorating our gym with crepe paper and doily hearts. I enjoyed selling cupcakes to smiling students, playing limbo, singing the hokey-pokey, and electric sliding across the floor with dolled up and dandy grade-school children in their best red dresses and cowboy getup. It was also insightful, too, to see the wonderful family turnout—a testament that there are families who care for their children, dropping their own Friday activities so their children can have a little fun. And also a testament to the fact that Valentine’s Day here on the Reservation is almost more important than Easter or Christmas…. Trying to teach on Friday was quite impossible with the sugar-spun students. Personally, I had a wonderful Valentine’s Day as well. Us gals were invited to the priest’s house for a splendid brunch, and I enjoyed a peaceful afternoon watching Sleepless in Seattle and venturing out for a short while to watch the last home basketball game of the season for the Hays-Lodgepole Thunderbirds.

Sunday was spent touring around with 81-year-old Father Retzel, learning about a day in the life of a Jesuit priest. We had the opportunity to visit a number of people’s homes, eating two breakfasts, two lunches, and an early dinner as we went from place to place as Father Retzel prayed with and administered Eucharist to those who could not make it to church on this sub-zero day (the cold weather has returned). We ended our excursion at the Red Whip Gym at the Fort Belknap Agency, where a Round Dance was taking place. It was poorly attended, but I enjoyed listening to the circle of drummers singing and dancing (walking in step) in circles around the gym with my fellow volunteers. Historically, the round dance is not Gros Ventre or Assiniboine, but over the past fifty years it has been adopted by tribes across the country as a social dance—a community activity for any and all. And I am always blown away to see how much more integrated people are here on the reservation, the young mingling with the old and in-between in a magnificent melody of personalities all dancing to the beat of a drum.

Loving and Learning

Both my life in Hays and Mission Grade School have been in back session for three weeks, a span of time that has rapidly passed by as I have spun from one activity to the next. At moments, I can experience the peace of rural America: watching snowflakes drizzle out of the sky and re-coat the cinnamon colored hills with a fresh whitewash while I curl into a pile of blankets and enjoy a cup of hot cocoa and good company. At others, though, I have been able to stay active in this place of relative hibernation. Here's a taste of the flavors of my life here in Hays these days. It’s long-winded, so feel free to pick and choose what you would like to read about.


Traditional Hand Games

Two weeks ago, we were invited to participate in a round of hand games, an American Indian activity performed at the beginning of the year as a way to bring both joy and prayer into the new season. The games began with a series of prayers over the bundle and the bundle-keeper, the cloth satchel filled with materials and the woman who has been entrusted with the task of keeping the bundle for a number of years. She, among others, sang, played hand drums, and prayed for the success of a new year as she unwrapped the bundle. Each person was given a small stick with an eagle feather attached, which we poised behind our heads, and we all prayed over the future year.

Then we let the games begin, in the traditional men-versus-women style. There were four games, in which each side (men/women) chose four people to kneel on the floor and hide small wood cubes in one of their hands, rocking the cubes in our hands to the beat of the drums and voices rising high in the Assiniboine language. A member from the opposite side was then appointed to pray over each person, passing by each person hiding the cubes with an eagle feather adorned rod. After the prayers, they then use symbols with the rod to guess which hand each cube is in, often trying to trick us newbies who don’t yet know what sign means which hand. If the guesser chooses the correct hand, the team gains a point, and if wrong, they lose a point. When a point is gained, the team pulls an eagle-feather stick from the opposing team, and the team that ends up with all of the feathers.

It was a very enjoyable game, although it was unfortunate that the women (far superior beings) lost overall. The games ended with a feed in which women prepared food and men served. The food was prayed over, and then each dish was lifted up off of the tarp (it was all laid out on the floor) as an offering to our ancestors above. Men went around the circle of chairs and filled our plates with every item. Contrary to White America where it is polite to deny food and eat with frugality, here in Hays you’re not allowed to refuse any food, so I ended up taking home two heaping plates of pasta, meat, and sweets.


Meditations in a Sweat Lodge

On Wednesday, I had the opportunity to go to a second sweat, this time in Hays. We were advised to buy tobacco, the traditional form of prayer and thanksgiving offered to the sweat leader. It was the first time I contributed to buying cigarettes (don't worry, I didn’t smoke them), and although it was befuddling and against my better judgment to bring narcotics as gifts, tobacco is and has been a part of the traditional Native American ceremonies for thousands of years. The cigarettes are given ceremoniously to the leader of the sweat, mentioning the reason for the gift, such as: “my grandfather is very sick, I need prayer for him.” We were told that each time people use one of the cigarettes offered at the beginning of the sweat, he or she offers a prayer for the individual mentioned.

At this sweat, the leader provided more of a spiritual and contextual backdrop for us newbies. The sweat is a tradition for all people, but leadership over different styles of sweats and the lore behind it is inherited down the family line. Our leader, Howard, learned his tradition from his father after apprenticing for ten years. As an introduction, Howard told us that the sweat lodge is meticulously made, and is created to symbolize the womb, a rebirth, a cleansing, as people come with their challenges, their sufferings, their joys, their prayers, and offer them up to the Creator.

The first hot rocks were brought in to the center of the lodge (a small dome of willow branches covered with blankets, hides, and tarps to create an absolute darkness) as we sat cross-legged in a circle, women facing South and men North. The door flap was closed, and water mixed with sage and cedar was poured on top, creating a steam that rose into the room. The sweat was divided again into four separate rounds, and the first round was dedicated to the East, to the rising sun, to the Eagle, to signs of new life. In this round, we were encouraged to pray for the infants and children of the community in Hays and of our global community. We began by speaking our own individual prayers for a few minutes, followed by a Gros Ventre song led by Howard. He finished and would say, “Ohai wankia, open the door.”

After a brief respite in which the flap was opened, we ensued our second round, praying to the South, to Mother Earth, and for all youth--especially for those on the reservation who fall prey to the variety of social problems due to isolation, discrimination, and poverty. The third round was the prayer of healing, where we were prayed for the greatest need of our hearts, be it a sick relative, a struggling family member, our own challenges, or any other prayer. We prayed for ourselves as a reminder that we can do no service to the world unless we reconcile ourselves to our own struggles. We also prayed to the West and for the adult generation and to Thunderbird for strength. In this round I was reminded of the rising need for adults on the reservation to rekindle their native beliefs, to follow the "red road" of spirituality. In our fourth and final round, we prayed to the North, to the great Bison, to the elderly within the community, to our ancestors who surround and watch over us.

During each round, the sweat lodge became a superheated sauna, my pours opened, and sweat came scalding off of my skin, as the voices and songs of those in the sweat lodge rose to the Creator and to our ancestors. There was an intensity of prayer that I had never achieved before, and it was an amazing experience to feel the closeness of God in the dark womb of the red road. On the last round, however, it got almost too hot for me, as my face and ears became scalding hot and I had to cover them with a towel (Howard, the leader, is known for making his sweats uncomfortably hot). I survived, however, and he told us that we able-bodied individuals are capable of suffering for a little while here in the lodge in order to pray for those whose suffering is great and long-term. It was an eye-opening moment into the significance of the sweat—a sweet suffering of supplication.


Vibrant Visitations

Yesterday afternoon, we went to the house of Liz and Toby, two of our community liaisons. We spent time relaxing with Liz and the children, and then attempted to go sledding in sub-zero weather. This activity, however, was abandoned after about ten minutes. We were told that you know its cold when your nose hairs freeze... I ended up giving a piggy-back ride to Aubrey, their 3-year old dynamite of a daughter, just to get some blood pumping in my veins! We returned to the house for a sizzling cup of cocoa and popcorn, followed by a delicious “Gene Auntry” pizza covered with avocados, chicken, and a rambunctious ranch dressing (believe it or not there’s a great pizza parlor 45 minutes away—the Hitching Post). We spent the rest of the evening playing Guitar Hero (complete with drum set, microphone, and guitar) with the children and later relaxing with Bazoo, Toby’s elderly father (who has fathered nine children) while an old western played in the background.

A week ago, Bruce, our area director who checks up on us a couple times a year, came to visit, and we had a potluck with a wide variety of people over for brunch. It was wonderful to have such a peppering of people from the community, to open up our house, and to enjoy the company of others. We had invited quite a mix—and a number of people we knew were not necessarily on the best of terms. We had hoped that this would be a place for them to gather and see the good side of each other, and luckily all went well. It is at moments like these that I enjoy the small town atmosphere, the value that is placed on visiting, and spending time enjoying the company of others. Time is not as fixed out here, where people still remember the days when there were no need for clocks and schedules. In small aspects of life such as this, I see a window into how the community on the reservation still retains aspects of its former lifestyle. For instance, there is no such thing as a short visit… you’ll drop by for a five-minute stop, and it turns out to be five hours… but what could be more important than listening, learning, and sharing with others, anyways?


Fire in the Hold!

On Saturday evening, we had the brilliant idea to try our hand at making Fry bread (excellent fried bread used at almost all gatherings in lieu of soup rolls, dinner bread, pastries—with maple topping on them, and a variety of other uses). Unfortunately, instead of bringing the oil to a boil like our original plan, it started burning in the pan. Luckily, the fire never got off of the stove, but our stovetop fan got a little charred and the cabinets and wallpaper just above it look a little smoky. It was minimal damage and no one got hurt, but it was quite a nerve wracking few minutes of my life. Needless to say, it was quite an experience to use a fire extinguisher for the first time, and luckily the grease fire was small enough that (even though such procedures are usually different for grease fires) it went out right away. Hopefully that will be the first and last time I’ll ever need to put out an (accidental) fire.