So, the folks in last week were a family from Ohio. Back home, they run a mini mill that caters to the exotic fiber industry in America. Through a series of acts of God and other Divine revelations, they decided that they should pack up and move their family, and their mill, to the rural reaches of Kyrgyzstan. I met them last year on a fact finding mission, and organized their return trip last week.

Folks, it was magical. I introduced them to every reliable worker and relevant handicrafter that I’ve encountered over my past two years here. We had a strategic business session, saw a full fledged shyrdak workshop, and then went to the village that, God willing, they will move to within two years time. This year, the crew included mom, dad, and two kids: boys aged 11 and 12. I watched the boys light up at the plethora of local horses, and saw them connect with the local kids, sharing only the international language of play. Mom connected with other village mothers like a champ. At one point, we stopped by a woman who was milling her own wheat. The Ohio mother stopped in to ask why she was separating the wheat germ and gran from the rest of the flower, pointing out that this is where the greatest nutrient lay.

The Kyrgyz mother listened and then said, “if I do what you say, will my sons grow big like yours?” The point was a relevant one: sporting Levi’s that measured 36×30, her 12 year old son towered over nearly everyone else in the village, not hardly to mention the kids his own age. They were like walking advertisements for proper nutrition.

The father, himself a former linebacker, had a moment of his own. Last year, he had met a 70 year old farmer who had stolen his heart, by telling him that he’d love nothing more than to take some American boys under his wing, and teach them about the wilds of his homeland. This year, as we were touring a facility that might house the wool factory, this old man came down from the mountains, on horseback for the sole purpose of reconnecting with the Giant from Ohio. There were hugs and photos all around.

Since their dramatic coming and departure, we’ve really been wrapping up life here in Sunny Naryn. I went on my last hike in our magical hills, and am now delightfully sore, a feeling that I hope leaves me before I get on that plane. I’ve already had a series of going away dinners, and just last night, I cracked out the gift for my host family that I’ve been preparing for so long: a little laptop, packed with as much educational software as I can find.

As I opened the machine last night, my host dad asked first if it was a real computer, or just a gaming console. Then, however, regardless of my answer, his eyes opened wide when I fired up my pride and joy: the complete Rosetta Stone sweet. Every language in one program. All these months of Korean soap operas gave the girls a leg up on basic vocabulary, goofing around with Turkish was like meeting a long lost relative, and they’ve hardly been able to set the English portion down.

As I prepare to leave, I seem to be only concerned with the future. I have these dreams that one day I’ll come back here to find a flowering apple tree and a family with more modern knowledge in their collective minds than I could even imagine.

Now, as I enter the real final stretch, I will spend the weekend with my friends here, doling out our warming goodbyes to this place that has very much come to mean home.

From the cold and snowy mountains of Naryn, we headed into the dramatically warmer Chui valley. This is the land of Bishkek, where there is more money, and much more will grow. Dan was surprised to see how prolific the small plastic tunnels are that cover many of the vegetable fields in Chui. Like mini green houses, these cheaply extend the local growing season. Back in Naryn, we only even heard mention of locals using them once.

We went down to Chui on the request of a volunteer named Kristian, as well as Kojo, his organization. They run farmer schools, and were eager to hear the words of wisdom that an organic farmer from America might bring. Here, in this land of relative wealth, instead of crowds of drunks around cars, or intimate sessions inside people’s homes, we conducted our training in a proper classroom.

The room had pictures on the walls of livestock, highlighting relevant parts, like birthing canals. We came in to a group of nearly 30 students, ages 18 to 60, from two different schools, some even ethnic Russians. In this setting, rather than use index cards with plant pictures to play the crop rotation game, we had everyone draw out sample rotations, draw them on the white board so Farmer Dan could comment on them, with his excellent farmer experience. While he may have caught people off guard with his yellow beanie and colorful backpack, once he started getting into detail, the students hung on his every word.

Our lodging there in Chui was different too. Rather than holing up with a host-family, we stayed with Kristian and his wife, in their plush Bishkek apartment. Their problems included showers that were sometimes too hot, and wireless internet that occassionally went out. It was like being in America, but with the most hospitable hosts around. Dan and I decided that the best way to repay them, besides with our excellent company, was with a house plant:Farmer Dan, making the world greener, every step of the way.

Since then, we have traveled up to Talas, where people seem to need a little more pushing. We had a meeting this morning with Corey’s organization, the local farmers union. Perhaps, we imagine, they figured we were too good to be true, and didn’t have venues for us prepared. So we went in to their office, and after a long, jovial conversation regarding bean processing and Kyrgyz-American farmer pen pals, we got to talking compost. Now, I am happy to report, we have two sessions, drawing on four schools, starting tomorrow.

And also, folks, last but not least, I am proud to say that with 36 donors, Trees for the Kyrgyz 2011 is nearly 90% funded. Folks, that means we have only 50 more trees to funded before the project has its official green light. At $17.50, or 5 trees a person, we need just ten more generous donors. Get yourselves to clicking on the box on the top right corner of this site before it’s too late!

So, folks, I’ve got my delightful friend, Farmer Dan, here by my side, and he has been that way for over a week now. Dan is good natured and patient. He likes my stories. He is six two and built like the farm boys of old. When he walks into a room, he is quiet and respectful, and always waits to see how the locals act before doing anything himself. This, folks, might sound like shyness, but put him in a garden, and he springs to life.

The state of the state this past week has been trainings. We traveled to nine villages in 5 days and taught upwards of 120 farmers the details of composting, and the basics of soil nutrients and crop rotation. We’ve been a monster team: I talk; Farmer Dan answers questions; and my fellow volunteer Corey sits in the background, watching the crowd, answering questions, taking notes, and facilitating the little games that we’ve set up for the participants to play. (Namely index cards with crops on them so the people can practice rotation patterns.) Then, when we get to the end of the classroom portion, I always ask the groups, “Who lives nearby? Let’s make a compost pile!” And that’s when Farmer Dan in his plaid shirts and sandy hair springs to life.

I can’t keep Dan’s hands away from pitchforks, and he can’t help himself but gather fresh manure. He mixes mounds of moldy hay like he’s been doing it since birth, and waters them like they are his own progeny. He explains his actions with the simplest of terms, and then I translate. After we leave dusty villages and snowy ones, I can’t help myself but to beam: for the first time since coming here, I am directly in the field with a concrete skill to offer. No connection building or grant writing. No esoteric goal setting. I am teaching people concrete skills to improve their lives. No more burning leaves, no more smokey spring evenings, just healthy soil. We are making a difference.

But it hasn’t been just me who has been impressed out here. Dan had the great fortune of being here for Noruz, the traditional Kyrgyz (Muslim) New Years, just yesterday. We took two of my host-sisters to the center of town where we bought ice-cream and watched traditional dancing, had lots of fried food, and even listened to a professional teller of the Kyrgyz epic, The Manas. Dan also got to see the famed At Bashy Animal Bazaar. We bid on a baby yak and trudged around in the mud. We ate grilled meat and drank skunked beer and vodka just after noon, and Dan told us it was reminding him all of college.

Furthermore, my host family has been absolutely taken with ol’ Farmer Dan, despite his chewed finger nails and muddy shoes. He came bearing incredibly thoughtful gifts for the family as a whole (sent by our mothers in America), and brought out candied nuts and other healthy sweets for the Noruz celebration. Between all of these gifts and the honesty which brought him here, my host family couldn’t help but to dote. At the present time, much to the jealousy of nearly everyone around, Farmer Dan is happy the owner of his very own shyrdak, or felt rug. This one made by my very own host mother. When they presented it to Farmer Dan, he was speechless.

Now, folks, as Dan and I have been saying, our talk is going national. Tomorrow we head down to the Chuy valley, where we’ll be teaching the skills of composting to the students of two separate farmer schools. We are curious what kinds of things will go well there: will the participants already about crop rotation? Will our samples of finished compost still make them go gaga?

Then, after Chuy, we head up to Corey’s home base, and will deliver the talk four times in villages around Talas. However it goes, it can’t be more of a roller coaster ride than just the trainings we had today. We started in the most desolate of all the villages we’ve seen. Dan has me looking at soil these days, and this place was practically all white, and the residents said they didn’t have any irrigation at all. When we arrived, the community organizer wasn’t there, and we ended up delivering the talk to an impromptu group of 20 VERY drunk men with our posters taped to the back of a car. They did little more than badger me about how I hadn’t brought anything to give them, and only one came out to actually make a pile. But then, in the second village, we found 9 very sober women. They were quiet and curious, and very graciously corrected my Kyrgyz. Theirs was the most productive village we’ve seen yet, and we built the best compost pile there so far. The ladies hung on my every word, and absorbed everything I could say. It was a nightmare of a morning that turned into a paradise of an afternoon.

How will the rest of our weeks together turn out? Stay tuned, and your very own Kyrgy Carl will be sure to tell.

First off, a little back story. For those of you just tuning in, last year around the beginning of May, I learned that high quality fruit trees could be transported down from the beautiful Lake Issyk Kul for just $3.50 a piece. At that time, though, we were already at the very end of the season, and if we were to get any planted, we needed to do it in less than a week. Do you remember this? Because I sure do. (If you don’t, of course, you can see the resulting video here.)

Now, I know it is tree time again because I just finished up the last details of the project from last year. As you can imagine, planting trees is not enough. People need to know how to tend them. Just last week I traveled back to the little hamlet of Orto Nura. This time, however, I came prepared with a professional tree-keeper. He is from Lake Issyk Kul, but lives here in Naryn city, on a contract with the University of Central Asia, teaching the locals to tend to fruit trees. His name is Mr. Gold. We met by chance as I was hitch hiking back from a monitoring trip to a little handicraft cooperative. We talked shop during the car ride, and after discussion of composting, soil preperation, and the details of branch splicing, it became clear to me he really knew what he was talking about. A week later Mr Gold and I went to Orto Nura, holed up in a classroom, and told everyone we could find about how to prepare their trees for the spring, and how best prune them. To boot, we showed them how best to keep the grass around the trees, and even passed out some pruners.

But that was the end of last year’s project. This year you can call me Mr. Experienced. This year, we are planning this not one week in advance, but one month. Next week, when my friend from America, Farmer Dan gets out here, Dan myself and Mr. Gold with go to the little village of Emgekchil to get details on the climate. That will inform us on the best varieties of apple and apricot trees to bring down from the Lake. About three weeks later we will gather all interested families (starting, of course, with the school teachers) at the school, and explain the program. A week after that we will show up with a truck load of freshly excavated saplings. On the day that we deliver them, we will gather the locals to tell them about how to best start their new gardens. We will tell them to face the knot at the base of the root towards the rising sun. We’ll tell them to plant their new trees 4 years apart, and to put some iron in the hole with the apple tree roots.

It will be fast and fun and just as magical as last year. And now folks, this is where you come in:

Despite rising food prices world over, just like last year, each tree only costs $3.50, and the goal is 500 trees. That’s $1,750. Just like last year, I have set up a program with the wonderful website chipin.com Using this site and your credit cards, you can buy a few trees to donate to Emgekchil. My recommendation is just five little ol’ trees. That’s just $17.50. Last year, we reached this goal in less than 1 week. It was amazing. Let’s see if we can’t do it again.

I don’t remember this day making such a splash last year, but the other day Sunny Naryn was a bound with discussions of the holiday. While the typical public signs of holiday were missing, namely cakes in the bazaar and pictures in store windows, conversation was buzzing.

I found the first of it with ten of my village coworkers who had come in to Naryn city for a strategic planning session. While they were in for work, the work simultaneously celebrating the successful year passed, and therefore included vodka. The atmosphere was festive, and while the women sat silent, the men only wanted to know if I had a girlfriend, and how we’d be celebrating.

“We are going to make a chicken marinade,” I told them, “and we have a new movie.” This answer was sufficient, and so we toasted with vodka.

That night, as we were well into our movie, I got a delightful little text message from my host dad. He asked if I’d be coming home, and then wished us a happy evening.

The next day I arrived to a hug from my host sister, and a valentine on my bed. It was a glittering heart, was printed in Russian, and was signed, “from your family.” The front featured a little boy in a tuxedo kissing a little girl. A heart had been drawn around the heads, and “Anne and Karl” had been written over each. I thought I was special, but then my host sister opened up the cabinet where she keeps her school books, to show nearly ten valentines tapped up inside.

“In school we all address our cards in put them in an anonymous bag. Then the teacher pulls them out and gives them to each kid. I got eight.” She was proud and giggly. It reminded me of my own grade school, and I marveled at home similar this whole experience seems to be.

My host dad, on the other hand, displayed a different picture. “This is not our holiday,” he said simply. “Besides, in Kyrgyzstan, we have so many holidays. Our country is poor, we need to develop, and all this celebrating doesn’t help.” He has said this about the country’s myriad of festivals before, but still, I couldn’t help by laugh to myself, and wonder if his wife bought the excuse.

In other news, folks, has I’ve been ruminating lately, my time here is coming to an end. Just as I have been wondering what mementos will help me remember my time here, it has come to my attention that some of you all have been similarly looking for something to remember these two years of letters. So, here comes the pitch:

I’m happy to bring home any of the myriad of small handicrafts that I have been working with all this time, namely laptop sleeves and slippers, and if folks really want, I’ll talk to Andrew and ask about those silk/felt scarves. So, go ahead and check out www.kyrgycarl.com/handicrafts. There is plenty of stuff there to satiate your wildest and most colorful fantasies. Slippers will cost about $10, laptop sleeves about $25, depending on the size, and Andrew’s scarves about $30. If you would like something, just give me a basic idea (men’s/women’s, big/medium/small), then I’ll plan accordingly, send an order to ladies, and get the stuff home.