When I was growing up, I had an old neighbor named Doctor Gibbs. He didn't look like any doctor I'd ever known. He never yelled at us for playing in his yard, but was always very kind.

    When Doctor Gibbs wasn't saving lives, he was planting trees. He had some interesting theories about planting trees. He believed in the principle “No pain, no gain”. He hardly watered his new trees, which flew in the face of conventional(传统的) wisdom. Once I asked why and he told me that watering plants spoiled them because it made them grow weaker. He said you had to make things tough for the trees so that only the strongest could survive. He talked about how watering trees made them develop shallow roots and how, if they were not watered, trees would grow deep roots in search of water. So, instead of watering his trees every morning, he'd beat them with a rolled-up newspaper. I asked him why he did that, and he said it was to get the tree's attention.

    Doctor Gibbs died a couple of years after I left home. Every now and then, I walked by his house and looked at the trees that I'd watched him plant some twenty five years ago. They were all tall and strong.

    I planted a couple of trees myself a few years ago. Two years of attending these trees meant they grew up weak. Whenever a cold wind blew, their branches trembled. Adversity(逆境) seemed to benefit Doctor Gibb's trees in ways comfort and ease never could.

    Every night before I go to bed, I check on my two sons. I often pray that their lives will be easy. But lately I've been thinking that it's time to change my prayer. I know my children are going to meet with hardship. There's always a cold wind blowing somewhere. What we need to do is to pray for deep roots, so when the rains fall and the winds blow, we won't be torn apart.

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    A minister was on a long flight from China to London. The first warning of the approaching problems came when the sign on the airplane flashed on: Fasten your seat belts. Then, after a while, a calm voice said, "We shall not be serving the drinks at this time as there is going to be something unexpected. Please be sure seat belt is fastened."

    Soon the storm broke out. One moment the airplane was lifted on terrific currents of air. The plane dropped as if it were about to crash.

    The minister believed that he shared the discomfort and fear of those around him. As he looked around the plane, he could see that nearly all the passengers were upset and alarmed. The future seemed ominous and many were wondering if they would make it through the storm. Then he suddenly saw a little girl. Apparently the storm meant nothing to her. She was reading a book and everything within her small world was calm orderly. Sometimes she closed her eyes and then she would read again. Then she would straighten her legs, worry and fear were not in her world. The minister could hardly believe his eyes.

    It was not surprising therefore that when the plane finally reached its destination and all the passengers hurried to leave, the minister walked up to the girl he had watched for such a long time. Having commented about the storm and the behavior of the plane, he asked why she had not been afraid. The girl replied, "Because my dad is the pilot, and he's taking me home."

    You've flown halfway around the world; you've sniffed out this place that nobody in Falongland or Thailand seems to have ever heard of; so what on earth is there to do here? You consider this question as you sink into an old wooden beach chair that holds you above the sand.

    It was a long journey from Bangkok to Huaplee. By the time you found the bus station and got yourself sorted out, it took almost as long as the flight from Falongland.

    Huaplee is located just south of Hua Hin, about two hundred kilometres from Bangkok, down the west side of the Gulf of Thailand. Not many tourists find this place，and the ones that do wonder if finding it has been their purpose all along.

    There's an apparent laziness that surrounds you here. It's what this place offers, and it，s free of charge. The small waves that tap the shoreline seem to slow everything down. You settle into your beach chair in preparation for a long rest. You sit there and watch the sea.

It's early afternoon, so the cook comes out and asks what you'd like to eat this evening. Before long he's rushed off to the market to buy the ingredients for whatever it was that you ordered—every meal fresh and to order. No menu here.

    There is no poolside noise here but just that wonderfully warm, clear blue sea. There⁹ s no street noise. The only sounds are the murmurs of nature.For now you just count your blessings (福祉)，listing them in the sand with your toe (脚趾)• You don't have to worry about being late for work. You don't have to do anything.

    The beach to your right stretches off to the horizon (地平线)，slowly narrowing to nothingness only to re-emerge again on your left, now steadily widening until it covers the chair beneath you. Sand to your left and sand to your right; it's unbroken, endless. No start, no end, just sand, sun,and peace. Step off it, and you re-enter the world of traffic, stress, work，and hurry.

    Normally you，re the type who can，t sit still for more than ten minutes, but you're on Huaplee Lazy Beach now and, in the right frame of mind, it stretches all the way around theworld.

     “How could it take me so long to find it?” you wonder.

    Sandra Cisneros was born in Chicago in 1954 to a Mexican American family. As the only girl in a family of seven children, she often felt like she had "seven fathers ", because her six brothers, as well as her father, tried to control her. Feeling shy and unimportant, she hid herself into books. Despite her love of reading, she did not do well in elementary school because she was too shy to participate.

    In high school, with the encouragement of one particular teacher, Cisneros improved her grades and worked for the school literary magazine. Her father encouraged her to go to college because he thought it would be a good way for her to find a husband. Cisneros did attend college, but instead of searching for a husband, she found a teacher who helped her join the famous graduate writing program at the University of Iowa. At the University's Writers' Workshop, however, she felt lonely—a Mexican American from a poor neighborhood among students from wealthy families. The feeling of being so different helped Cisneros find her "creative voice".

    "It was not until this moment when I considered myself truly different that my writing acquired a voice. I knew I was a Mexican woman, but I didn't think it had anything to do with why I felt so much imbalanced in my life, but it had everything to do with it! That's when I decided I would write about something my classmates couldn't write about."

    Cisneros published her first work, The House on Mango Street , when she was twenty-nine. The book tells about a young Mexican American girl growing up in a Spanish-speaking area in Chicago, much like the neighborhoods in which Cisneros lived as a child. The book won an award in 1985 and has been used in classes from high school through graduate school level. Since then, Cisneros has published several books of poetry, a children's book, and a shortstory collection.

    On average, Americans spend about 10 hours a day in front of a computer or other electronic devices and less than 30 minutes a day outdoors. That is a claim made by David Strayer, a professor of psychology at the University of Utah. In his 2017 TED Talk, Strayer explained that all this time spent with technology is making our brains tired.

    Using an electronic device to answer emails, listen to the news and look at Facebook puts a lot of pressure on the front of the brain, which, Strayer explains , is important for critical (有判断力的)thinking , problem-solving and decision-making.

So, it is important to give the brain a rest. And being in naure, Strayer claims, helps get a tired brain away from too much technology. More than 15,000 campers from around the world attended an international camping festival in September. That is when friends and family take time off and escape to nature for several days. They take walks, climb, explore, swim, sleep, eat and play. Camping may be just what a tired brain needs.

    Take Carl for example .He lives in West Virginia and enjoys camping. He says that staying outdoors makes him feel at ease. It also prepares him for the work he must do. Kate Somers is another example who also lives in West Virginia. She says she enjoys camping with her husband and two children. She calls it a “regenerative” experience.

    At the University of Utah, David Strayer has studied both short-term and long-term exposure to nature. He found that spending short amounts of time in nature without technology does calm the brain and helps it to remember better. However, he found, it is the long-term contact with nature that does the most good. He and his research team found that spending three days in nature without any technology is enough time for the brain to fully relax and reset itself.

I was cutting up lettuce in the kitchen when I suddenly remembered watching a video about soaking the lettuce stub (莴苣残余部分) in water to grow a whole new vegetable. So I took out a wide-mouthed cup and placed the stub into it, gave it a little water, and placed it by the window. 

On a snowy morning I noticed the first sign. A first small leaf from its heart spread out. A tiny green flag of hope. Beaten, but not defeated. This lettuce was not done living! Within days, it was impossible to see the cuts where I had removed the leaves. The growth was explosive. And when I lifted the blossoming head out of the cup, tiny root threads fell down, seeking for the earth. 

What is growing here? Lettuce or hope? 

If I were a lettuce in a similar condition, I'd want to skeptically assess where I found myself before committing to full growth. Yet for this lettuce, my inadequate offering of water and a place by a window was enough for it to decide to reclaim itself again. It grew in a cup of water, in faith. This is the heart of this lettuce: alive, strong and fearless. It deserved a name. I decided to call it Monty. 

Monty wanted to grow, as we all do. I think I gave him a little love and freedom. Those two were all he needed to return to himself. I see joy in this lettuce. The return to self is always an expression of joy, which is life itself. This is the tendency of all living things. 

Monty still lives in a cup, but I'm going to transplant him outside. He deserves to become his full self. The only problem I see now is my ability to support Monty. I hope I have enough of a green finger. 

I'm surprised to find myself where I am. Maybe Monty is, too. I have the same choice as he does: give in or start again. The prospect of starting again is discouraging. But my lettuce-friend, Monty, leads the way. I can only hope to be as brave.