Candy Kitchen

          Sometimes reality seams to go away, and you find yourself having an adventure of a lifetime. When I close my eyes, I can still hear the singing of the wolves, howling for only me, and I wish that I were still in the New Mexico Mountains with them. Because of the trip to New Mexico, I have a new respect for wild animals, and I have come to see how horribly we treat them.

          The day our adventure began, we all felt like explorers in a new land-leaving our homeland, friends, and all beeping electronic items behind us to settle in a New World-in our case, New Mexico. A staggering 15 hours after we left home, we stumbled out of the car to be met with something we thought we would never see: Candy Kitchen Rescue Ranch. The people there warmly welcomed us, showed us the bathrooms, and pointed toward our campsite. Setting up the tents and downing the burned dinner were disasters, but we got through it all, eagerly awaiting the next day-when we could meet the wolves.

          That morning, we got up at six, scarfed our breakfast, and waited (not so) patiently for the rescue workers to get there. It didn't take long, but the safety talks combined with the gratification speeches seemed to last forever. Finally, though, we got to meet the wolves. They were in pens, of course, but we could still see their beauty, flashing in yellow eyes as they glanced at you, and their strength in the way they walked and moved, prancing, dancing... It was like they knew that they were down on their luck, and in a rescue ranch, but they could get through it all, and life was worth living. The first jobs we performed included carrying water, mixing food, chucking vitamin meatballs over the pens, and just smiling at everything. Somehow, it was absolutely wonderful, every bit of it.

          The whole week went by so fast, but somehow we got to know every human and wolf by heart. As we did our chores, the other volunteers would tell us stories about the wolves around us. Most were sad, but some made me feel warm inside, like I had just had a big bowl of chicken noodle soup on a cold winter day. We did many things in that week-raking fur and pulling weeds, digging out muck from ponds, cleaning the gift shop from ceiling to floor. And through it all, I was so happy.

          Sometime while I was at Candy Kitchen, there was a change in me. I began to care about everything and everyone; plants that I usually would have crushed under my feet were carefully avoided, bugs caught in the tent were gently shooed out. It may have been the people who worked there that inspired such a change, but I credit the wolves. Watching them in day, and hearing their singing at night, something clicked, and I just realized how wonderful we all are.

          Far too fast, it was time to go home. We said our good-byes, to wolves and humans, packed up everything, and just started to drive away. Waving back at the place that had become my home, I a wave of sadness hit me, followed by the realization that Candy Kitchen would never truly leave my heart. Now when I see a bug on a wall, or a mouse-tail vanishing into darkness, I don't think "yucky." I think "Good luck."

Katie

We came, we saw, we helped.