Half Way to China
It all began on a breezy Saturday afternoon in May, the kind of day where the sky forgets to bring any clouds and the sun just hangs there like a happy golden pancake. Three second-grade girls—Lila, Jaya, and Maple—stood on the edge of a wide cow pasture behind Lila's grandmother's house, each gripping a shovel, a bucket, and a wildly optimistic sense of international ambition.
"We'll call it Operation Dig," Lila declared, jabbing her shovel into the dusty earth. Nothing happened.
"Or maybe Operation Moo," Jaya said, eyeing a cow that was slowly chewing grass and watching them like a curious old librarian.
"No," said Maple solemnly, brushing her braids behind her ears. "It has to be something grand. Something... global."
There was a silence. Then all three shouted, "Operation: Hole to China!"
The dirt was not impressed. It was stubborn, sun-baked, and packed tighter than Lila's dad's suitcase on vacation. After ten minutes of scraping, scooping, and grunting, all they had to show was a blister and what Maple insisted was a "shallow dent of progress."
They flopped on their backs and stared at the sky.
"Maybe we should wait for rain," Lila suggested, her voice somewhere between exhaustion and big-picture genius.
"Yeah," Jaya said. "Let the weather do some of the work. We'll come back when the earth is more... emotionally available."
They spent the next two weeks checking the forecast. It rained for two whole days straight. Not polite drizzle—real, honest puddle-making, mud-splashing rain. The ground, they assumed, would be as soft as mashed potatoes.
That Saturday, they returned to the pasture like tiny engineers, fully prepared with gloves, a small thermos of chocolate milk, and a plastic Tupperware box labeled Snack Vault. The dirt, at last, yielded. It squooshed. It slooped. It practically volunteered to be shoveled.
As they dug, they talked.
"What do you think it's like in China?" Maple asked between scoops.
"Bright," Jaya said confidently. "Very bright. Everything probably glows. Even the dogs wear lanterns."
"Do you think we'll learn to speak Chinese on the way down?" Lila asked, her brow furrowed with logistical excitement.
"Oh for sure," Maple nodded. "We'll just absorb it. Like how you get glitter on you just by walking near it."
They paused to slurp chocolate milk and debate Chinese activities.
"Okay, so—fireworks, obviously," Lila began, counting on her fingers.
"And dumplings," Jaya added. "Like, a dumpling feast where the plates are also dumplings."
"Don't forget pandas," Maple said. "We need to schedule panda time. But—wait." She put her shovel down. "Should we be planning all this now?"
The other two girls blinked.
"I mean," Maple went on, "maybe we should wait until we're, like, halfway to China. That way we know we're really going."
"True," Jaya said. "You don't pack your beach towel for a swimming pool that isn't built yet."
"Halfway it is," Lila agreed. "When we hit the halfway point, we'll plan everything. Lantern dogs, panda brunches, all of it."
And then came the trickiest conversation of all.
"Should we tell our parents?" Jaya asked.
Maple frowned. "If we do, they'll probably say something like, 'Don't dig to China. There are rules.'"
"Or they'll bring safety gear," Lila sighed. "Hard hats. Reflective vests. Adults love reflective vests."
There was a long, thoughtful silence.
"We won't tell them," Jaya declared. "Not until the hole is almost finished. Then—BOOM! Surprise! Look! Hole to China!"
They all nodded. It was settled. Secret China Hole. Parents would be wowed.
Over the next several Saturdays, the girls returned with new resolve. They dug. They decorated the hole's edge with flags made from old socks. They posted a sign nearby that read:
"CHINA—THIS WAY ↓"
One day, Lila brought a measuring stick and declared that they were officially halfway to halfway to halfway to China.
They whooped with joy. That was good enough for them. Plans commenced. There would be gift exchanges. There would be Mandarin karaoke. There would be at least one dragon dance, preferably involving real dragons.
Finally, one afternoon, when the hole was about four feet deep and surrounded by a border of muddy boot prints, Lila stood back with her hands on her hips and said, "I think it's time."
They ran to find their parents.
"You have to see this!" they shouted.
The parents followed, curious and a little suspicious.
When they reached the hole, Maple announced proudly, "We're almost done digging to China!"
The parents blinked.
There was silence.
Then Lila's dad said, "Well, I hope you packed snacks."
And Jaya's mom said, "You know, I always wanted to go to China."
And Maple's grandmother—who had grown up halfway around the world—smiled and said, "Just remember, wherever you dig, the real adventure is what you find in the dirt."
The girls didn't quite understand what that meant. But they smiled anyway.
And the next Saturday, they returned—with more shovels, bigger snacks, and a plan to build a halfway-to-China clubhouse in the hole.
Because sometimes, the best part of digging to China… is everything you do on the way there.
https://philshapirochatgptexplorations.blogspot.com/
"Wisdom begins with wonder." - Socrates
"Learning happens thru gentleness."
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