A Pear Tree and Past Life

I dropped out of school. Not because of any particularly paramount event. I didn’t lose a lover or a loved one. I hadn’t faced any critical hardships or major financial struggles. I worked my whole life to be here. I’d more than earned it, and I just gave up before I really had the chance to begin. I was studying botany and environmental science. I imagined myself in a lab someday engineering cross breeds of plants and trees, searching for new sources of energy, creating innovative alternatives to sustainable living. The more I studied, the more I realized there was no point. Climate change was in full swing, and no one important was doing anything significant enough to stop it or even try to reverse its effects. That’s when fantasy collided with reality, and I had the revelation that there was no way of stopping it. Our planet along with the entirety of our human existence would all be dead and gone in the next 200 years or so. What was the point in trying to save it? What was the point in trying at all?

I left my prospective school in New York, packed my bags, and hopped on a plane to Peru despite the output of jet fuel and its carbon footprint on the world. It was all going to burn anyway. I didn’t know much Spanish, but I didn’t let it stop me. It was like something was calling me to this place that I knew very little about. When I arrived in this utterly foreign setting, I received the stamp on my passport allotting me the longest permitted stay, 180 days. The clock started ticking the moment my feet landed on Peruvian soil. I knew there was something I had to accomplish here. I just didn’t know what that was yet. I’d booked an extended stay with an Airbnb nearest to Vinicunca that I could find. It was quaint, historical, and most of all, cost efficient. The mountain was roughly four hours away, and my trip would consist of three parts.

I left Cuzco Airport by taxi, was dropped at a bus station, and took my final ride by motorbike to the homestead. The residence was less of the castle-like structures that could be seen in cities like Lima or Arequipa, but appeared more as a collection of small huts randomly placed about an enormous ranch. The surrounding nature offered ample grazing for the alpacas that were being raised on these ancient lands. The people of the area were humble, respectful, and as such, lived simply among the mountains, foliage, and animals. I found my hut and settled in. The structure was comprised of various rocks stacked and sealed in place. The roof offered a substantial covering of thick and tightly bound reeds. It was more than what I needed to rest and keep the rain off my back. There was a hot plate and a small basin that acted as a kitchen and sink. Somehow it felt like home.

The people of the community sourced drinking water from the stream that ran down the mountainside and through the edge of the ranch. They shared in gardening and harvesting a variety of vegetables, herbs, and grains. The alpacas were raised as a sort of homage to the old world. The indigenous people aimed to honor their heritage and treated the animals with love and integrity. Their coats were cut only when the animals required adjustments to the climate. Then, the materials were made into blankets, clothing, and other common essentials. Nothing was wasted. This was the life I had always wanted to live.

My first night in the hut induced a wave of emotion. I cried myself to sleep, though I wasn’t sure what brought on these intense feelings. I was not sad to start this new journey, rather eager and determined to make some sort of discovery. This end to a “normal” life was a rebirth, an awakening into a strange and unfamiliar world. When the tears stopped streaming and my consciousness began to fade, I dreamed of saplings that I couldn’t identify.

The next day, I wandered around the ranch talking to the natives and admiring the roaming animals. I wanted to better understand their beliefs and this alternate way of life, though few here spoke English. I did my best to interpret their messages and pick up new words when I could. The air felt strange in a way that was more significant than the change in altitude. Once the day grew warmer, I figured I should start collecting water for food and bathing. I grabbed the bucket and wagon that was left outside the hut and made my way to the stream. The walk was somewhat far, but the terrain didn’t pose any considerable difficulties in traveling by foot. The people of the land made the trip nearly every day. As I walked, the sun grew higher in the sky, and I could feel my skin warming to its touch. The rainbow colors of the mountain grew brighter and small creatures like foxes and rabbits began to rise from their underground burrows. I was amidst a magical world and a circle of life that most could only see on film.

When I reached my destination, I sat by the stream for a while, breathing and contemplating the reality of the environment surrounding me. Vinicunca had not always been a mountainous range of rainbow colors. It had only been roughly ten years since the snow melted from the mountain tops and the multitude of mineral life was exposed. Though the various brightly formed layers of the rock proved beautiful to the human eye, it was our paralleled society that had caused the climate of the mountain to spike. If it wasn’t for global warming, white people like myself would have never bothered to explore this area or disturbed the natives in their farming. It was a gorgeous tragedy. The mountain was getting warmer every year and the colors continued to grow more vivid. Though the weather was unpredictable, these enormous rocks would never be fully covered in snow and glaciers of ice again.

I hadn’t realized that I was not alone until I heard the soft footsteps right behind me.

“White girl, why do you cry?” She was dressed in plain, timeless clothing and thick boots that appeared to be made from the coat of an alpaca, though it was nearly seventy degrees today. She held two buckets of water in her arms. Her face was wrinkled by time, and her grey hair was pulled back in a long ponytail that reached below her knees. I hadn’t realized that I was crying until she spoke.

“Um, hello. I’m sorry to be in your way. It’s… just so beautiful.”

“So pretty, you cry, huh? Why is that?” She was insistent, almost as if she knew me. She reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t think of who it was.

“Well… I mean. It’s just that... it shouldn’t have been this way. I wish I could save it.”

“Oh you wish to save the mountain, do you? Well, I tell you something and you listen to me. The tourists like you, they come. We cannot stop them. They fly in their airplanes, and they destroy our land. It is too late for saving now.”

“I know. I just wish there was some way to give back.”

“How is that you know? And why then do you come? You travel by airplane like all the rest, do you? If it makes you so sad, then why are you here, white girl?”

“I don’t know...” I mumbled in shame, looking down at my feet and then back into her dark, hooded eyes.

“Ah, just like the rest then. Well, I tell you one more thing. The mountain, it knows. If you listen, it speaks. You must eat its fruit, and you will know too.” She turned her back to me and began to walk up the mountain, the opposite direction of the commune. Her buckets splashed water at her feet as she went.

“Wait, what do you mean? Where are you going?”

“You will know.” She said one last time in a stern voice as she disappeared into the valley. I sprang from my rock and tried to follow her, but she couldn’t have entered the valley. There was no sign of her or her buckets. Maybe she was a mirage, caused by the increased altitude or severe jet lag. Maybe I was losing it. I ventured deeper into the valley, but could find nothing indicating which way she went. Before I knew it, I had gone so far, I couldn’t remember where I’d started. I sat in the valley and cried again. This time I knew why. I cried for the mountain, for the people that once thrived here, and for all of the earth and its atmosphere that would soon be lost in oblivion. I felt hopeless, and even amidst this wondrous place, I couldn’t pull myself together. Now I was lost.

I closed my eyes and imagined a world untouched by climate change, the beauty that could have been beheld, the mountains covered in snow and glaciers, no exposed mineral rainbows. When I opened my eyes, I noticed a small tree in the distance. I could see the fruit hanging from it’s branches. I came closer only to realize it was a pear tree. Shocked by this discovery, I examined it further. This tree did not belong here. It didn’t even belong in this region or hemisphere for that matter. I couldn’t fathom where it came from or how it could grow such robust fruit in this climate. Without thinking, I plucked a pear from the tree and took a bite. It was delicious, unlike any pear I had ever tasted in the states. I closed my eyes again and suddenly streaks of light surrounded me as if there were a billion flashing cameras. I opened them to find the earth shaking beneath my feet and lightning striking in all directions. The mountain and everything around me was spinning like a cyclone. A low hum started in my ears. It grew louder and louder, until everything was still. I was face to face with a mirror. I didn’t know where I was. This room was dark and damp. Silence now filled the air. I stared at my reflection in this mirror, but it was not my own. I was looking into the eyes of the same elderly woman I had encountered earlier. I looked down at myself to see that I was dressed in the same clothes. I had the same long gray hair and wrinkled skin. I spoke aloud.

“This is who you are.” I said to myself in the woman’s voice. “You are who you will become.” I watched my mouth move, but I couldn’t believe what I was seeing or hearing. “Do not doubt. Your purpose is to serve this earth. The answers you seek lie within your life from the past, this life. I will be your guide. Eat the fruit and the mountain will speak.”

I awoke lying face up in the valley. The pear tree was gone and so were all of the little critters that had been prancing about in the sunshine. There were no mirrors or dark rooms, no bright flashing lights, no mysterious women to guide my path. There didn’t appear to have been an earthquake and the sun was already setting though I could have only been gone for a few hours. I forged my way back to the ranch in the dark and mulled through my mind for some sort of concrete explanation. I didn’t know what happened to me out there, what any of this meant, or if it was even real. The only thing I knew for certain was that my journey was far from over.