ramble of the week.

I've been feeling feisty lately. I think it is well-warranted and being appropriately expressed, but it has been an interesting thing to observe within myself in terms of my interaction with kids. Over the years, my level of coddling and tentativeness has definitely transformed into something more dynamic. I've enjoyed the challenge of learning how to dispel the genetic characteristic of overbearing that runs on my mother's side.

My years in AmeriCorps have definitely helped me develop an mentoring style that feels authentic, authoritative yet collaborative, firm yet gentle. I remain authentic and ever-curious about the inner emotions and outer behavior and I've learned how to pick and choose battles.

I've found that the longer I work with kids, the more I become comfortable communicating with them on a broader emotional spectrum.

So, when after months and months of being told to get their act together, the kids in Mrs. Shooks class are still acting like 3rd graders (I'm even inclined to go a grade younger...) I've found myself becoming far more mater-of-fact. Yesterday, I made some very blatant remarks to kids in the classroom and kept a flaunted a very unimpressed demeanor. I've taken into account what Mrs. Shook finds to be an acceptable level of detectable frustration and made my own act. Sugar coating is a grave detriment at this point. Students don't know what a sentence is. They can't write three paragraphs. They confuse the formulas for Area and Volume, they blurt "I don't get it" before they even get their math sheet for the day.

Our frustration is warranted.

And I will never understand how their mind functions. Because we spend half the class battling apathy and they still have the audacity to say they are putting forth their best feet. Still, it was a perk yesterday to be left managing their behavior for the last 5 minutes before lunch. I witnessed more respect from them than some of the substitute paras get and when they lined up, they all told me I should be a teacher. Connor came up to me and said "if I had kids and you were a teacher, I would move them to where you teach." They were sweet sentiments, but really, dealing with their behavior has not enticed me to pursue public school education.

Open Gym has been a vacation compared to the classroom. We've had some enjoyable crafty days the past couple of weeks, particularly in the rediscovery of Fuze-it beads. Remember those things, with all their mess and fuss as you'd pour heaps onto the table to find your color? I'd known of their existence for a while, hidden away in the back closet with too many other odds and ends going to waste from lack of use. Finally, I was ready to throw cleanliness precautions to the wind and break out the big bag of maybe 3-5 pounds of little plastic tubes. The kids had a blast and made the mess to prove it. I found myself having flashbacks as I ironed their delicate molds, remembering how I hawked over my counselor's quivering hand as they ironed my art, watching for a possible break. Now I was the one being diligently observed. Luckily, I managed not to be directly responsible for any complete demolitions, of which there were a few. After the first day of beading, I decided to refrain from sweeping; I think it will be a fairly regular activity for the next few weeks.

Yesterday, a group of girls with big personalities randomly asked me if they were good kids at open gym. I told them they were sassy a lot and after some initial denial, they admitted to knowing what I was talking about. I think it worked though, because at the end of the night, one of them helped me clean without so much as a scoff.

So sure, the behaviors and the chaos are still there at the gym. But at least there, I can take the reigns one-on-one. In the classroom, there comes a point where you just feel like a helpless ghost trying to bang pots to get people's attention.

Which brings me to the realization that I may like teaching in some capacity...the thought of designing my own curriculum is appealing...

Shameless Self-Promotion

Check out what Koreanne is letting me put up in the Butter Butte! I was fortunate enough to be putting this together at a table this morning when two other artists came in. Kali kindly gave me some advice: I was charging way too little for my stuff! Anyway, I'm excited to see how this works. I've gotta get my butt in gear and make more now!

Another stone set

Spring fever has hit in Packwood. 

Anna’s visit kick-started my social mania just in time for work to pick up at the coffee shop. The combination of new work and the week’s social gatherings have put me back into the public sphere to an intoxicating degree. I am continuously falling back into love with my Packwood community. As the weather continues to warm and weekends of races start to bring familiar faces back to town and signify the approach of memorial day, I want every day to be a social vacation. I’m getting pumped to be palling alongside my lovely friend and co-worker Patrice, I’m anticipating the witness of goofy new friendships formed from intoxicated Karaoke scenarios and my own connections with vendors and visitors. Patrice and I concocted a last minute cookout of Salmon after work the other night, Debbie and Gaven’s family had me over for my first clam experience and we’re talking cook-out plans, bonfires and picnics. 

The honeymoon season begins. 

In the midst of my good natured feelings toward this home of mine, Chris offered me a job at Blanton’s for the summer. Hal has been wanting to hire me since last year and apparently, they are literally hold this position for me, should I decide to stick around for the summer. 

And I have decided. 

Hey Packwood, let’s get ready for some fun in the sun. 

I could feel myself leaning this direction even before talking it through with my mother. As we talked, I only became more confidant in my decision. Instead of having to pick up and move right after I finish, sticking around will allow me to decompress and plot my next moves while still in a place where I am already established as an active community member and have a job that I enjoy. This will also make job-searching much more feasible when the time comes, because it won’t be at some awkward, mid-year stage and places will actually be seeking for the time i become available, revving up for the fall and holiday season. I’ve also nowhere near exhausted the tip of the iceberg in terms of the trails and sights in this grand state so between work, my hope is to venture out into some of that unexplored territory. I’ve been connecting with a few experienced hikers and my hope is that I’ll be able to advance to backpacking/overnight trail level at least once or twice. 

But beyond that, I’m just not ready to leave this town. I want to see the Butter Butte become Goat Rocks Cafe. I want to see our community garden through a full season. I want to watch the kids enter their next grade level and marvel at where the time has gone. 

Man, its gonna be hard when the time comes. 

But at least for now, I can feel my soul settling. It is odd how a simple affirmation of a thought or decision can create bigger shifts inside someone. I feel a sense of calling here home in a way that I didn’t when I was wavering. I’m not running full-speed towards a cliff anymore. I'm building my path, and the next stone has been set.

One of the first of many fabulous evenings with this lady back in 2013!
I never would have felt so welcomed into this community
so quickly if it weren't for you, Mary Payne! <3

Adventures of Anna and I Part V: So-long Saturday

And then before we knew it, it was Saturday.

Although it would be a lot of driving, I was still determined to get Anna to the ocean. We left town by 8 and headed to Manzanita. She’d not been thrilled about the long drive but once we were on the shore, she was completely won over. After walking for a bit and driving through Manzanita, we headed up to Seattle. The hope was to get there, have dinner at the cider house and not feel rushed to get to the airport. Then, right around Tacoma, we hit a collision back-up. I began to freak as my phone showed a growing red line of traffic and started to consider back-up plans. Then, right as I was about to pull off the highway, the line began to shrink and we slowly picked up the pace. Free from the stagnant anxiety, we turned up the radio and jammed out the rest of the way to Seattle. 

We ended up having plenty of time to sit and take in the last week together. What I always fear with these sorts of visits - as in the case with my mom - is reaching the end and noticing spaces where we took each other for granted or didn’t respect the moment as much as we’d wished. As I reflected on our time, I didn’t feel that intense, gripping desperation that I’d felt many times before. I felt thoroughly satisfied. Sure, we’d had moments of melancholy, exhaustion, humdrum, tension…but we had kept ourselves completely and fully present to one another and had some of the most meaningful conversations of our entire friendship. Everything that needed to come to pass had come to pass. 

As we hugged one another goodbye, Anna shared how proud she was of us. 

“We’re pretty fucking awesome.” I replied. 

I love you, Anna!

Adventures of Anna and I Part IV: Packed week in Packwood

Anna had the day to unwind while I was at school, which went off without much of a hitch. I’ve been having a more direct one-on-one role with a couple of the more troublesome third graders at the end of the day so by the time I got back, I was certainly ready to unwind. We’d procured all the ingredients to make veggie sushi and got a bit carried away, since two of the night’s guest were culinarily unadventurous. It was wonderful to introduce Anna to a taste of the Packwood crowd and finally christen my new fire pit set-up that Dean had constructed just before the winter break. The rain was kind enough to hold back and we basked in an evening of summer fever until late into the night. 

For my half day of school, Anna was going to tag along. However, I hadn’t considered the possible complications of that. Mrs. Shook had been perfectly fine with the idea and I’d thought her permission would be enough. Apparently even for a couple-hour visit, Anna would need a background check filed. Having left her ID at home, she was stuck to nap in the car while I did my morning work. Luckily, she was still able to participate in Open Gym in the afternoon. She got along particularly well with JoJo, our little 4-year-old addition. I was greatly appreciative of her patience with her as other attention was split between games and kids wanting to do crafts. 

On Thursday, Mountain Festival weekend kicked off with the youngins’ field trip around town. Anna and I tagged along with Mrs. Wanda from the school to lead a group through the museum, library and post office. I’d been looking forward to the post office based on the kids’ enthusiasm for going behind the scenes last year. But this year, the group was fairly unenthused. The highlights were probably seeing the box of crickets that had been shipped (apparently you can do that) upon walking in and then watching what happens when you toss a letter in the slot. I still like the stamps the most.

For the Sheriff portion this year, the local detective came in and showed off his tazer, talked about collecting evidence and let us see the computers that tracked all of the active calls in the county; that was pretty neat. 

As things wound up, I wasn’t feeling great so we left and I went to lie down a bit. A few moments on the heating pad got be back on my feet and we had a whole afternoon ahead of us so we drove up to the pass to see the views of Rainier and then up to the watertower overlooking packwood. There, we cracked a cider and embraced the pause in our busy schedule to reflect on how the trip had shaped up. As we sat on the hill sharing our most authentic thoughts and feelings about the ups and downs of this experience and the uncertanties we were facing in our life, I saw our friendship reach new heights. I’d recognized earlier that day how part of me had been stuck in relating to my middle school Anna and I wasn’t giving full credit to the woman she’d become. Anna had done considerable work being honest with herself and not taking things as personally since our talk in Seattle and sharing acknowledgements like that brought us fully into this realm of equality. We were two beautiful souls pouring our hearts on a mountain.

We made our descent a little before 5 to begin our elaborate dinner plans. I’d found a recipe for gluten-free veggie Samosas, which, for those of you thinking it, are not a type of drink. They’re those indian pastry pockets, usually stuffed with potatoes and such. These ones were made with almond flour and stuffed with squash with a Rhubarb chutney on the side. As we worked about one another in the kitchen, things were getting stressful and Anna removed herself for a moment before coming back with the understanding of the stress source. From our childhoods of baking experiments together, we’d both moved on to be the primary cooks of our households and had developed very distinct styles of kitchen management. Our culinary egos were fighting for dominance. Luckily, just as it was getting steamy, we were nearing the final creation. We popped a cider, dished out place settings and sat down for a proper dinner together. Instantly, the stress was gone. The Samosas could’ve used more spice but we thoroughly enjoyed them and found the tweaking potential of the recipe could only lead to greatness. After dinner, we were feeling pretty jolly and decided to venture to the Spruce. We spent a short bit of time there and played a game of pool before calling it a night. 

proof of success!

Friday brought team meeting and Chili feed madness. I’d anxiously been awaiting the Chili event, crossing my fingers that we wouldn’t see a repeat of last-years disappointing turnout. to our relief, it was a huge success. We ran out of most of the chili and had to put out three more tables for extra seating. It was great to see so many of the faces I knew this year. I think part of the draw was that we’d decided to make it a cook-off, having team members make different kinds of chili to try instead of using one standard recipe. We were also on top of advertising, getting things out much further in advance. However, communication and team dynamics were a different matter and by the end of it all, Anna and I were ready to go to the Spruce. The tension was so strong that even Anna, who wasn’t a direct participant, was getting disgruntled by it. Since I’d gotten there on the earlier end before most that had made Chili, I figured it would be reasonable to leave once the majority of clean-up was done. Everyone was pretty much just crowded in the kitchen at that point, chatting as the last of the dishes got done by a few people. So I excused myself, too exhausted to be worried about trying to please the team anymore. 

Adventures of Anna and I Part III: Puckered out in Portland

The next day, we were on the road again. I was eager give Anna a taste of the Olympics, Portland and the coast and had foolishly believed we could get to it all in that first weekend. Glimpsing at the map, it really didn’t feel like the Quinault area of the Olympics was that far out of the way from our route to Portland but about an hour out, with grey skies drizzling down rain in frequent spurts, I began to wonder if this had really been the best use of our time. With an hour to go though, it was too late to turn back. 

We would make it to the park and walk the nature trail which in and of itself, made the trip worth it for the sensation of peace and calm that it brought to Anna. However, we also gained an unexpected story from the drive. 

This is one of those stories that you typically put a time-sensitive factor on, in terms of the telling of. Like, how you don’t tell your parents about your high-school dating life and your silly excursions until you’re out of the house and they are more removed from those protective years. So, I should probably be putting this away in my treasure chest. 

But I’m not. 

That afternoon, I had my first experience of betrayed intuition in picking up a hitchhiker. We were about 15 miles from the park and the rain had started down again. No one was on the road except us…and a man wearing a bright construction vest, hood pulled over his head to protect form the rain. He had his hand out and as we drove past, both of us registered him as a young, caucasian construction worker. Just past where we’d seen him, Anna made a comment wondering about where he was trying to get to and that’s when I said I’d been thinking about him also. We both agreed that he was a safe pick-up and turned around. As soon as we’d pulled the car alongside him, he put down his hood and our faces probably drained of all color. the man was older, missing a couple front teeth, and had a bloody gash on the front of his chin. I gulped as he came towards the car smiling in relief and before I knew it, he was in the seat behind me, thanking us for the ride. I’d never felt so uncomfortable with someone in my car in my life. My shoulders immediately hunched up as I kept imagining a knife coming at me from behind. As we started to drive, I began talking immediately, to take charge of the atmosphere. He said he’d been in Aberdeen to visit friends for the week and had forgotten the bus didn’t run on Sundays. I imagined that he probably hadn’t been sober all week. My prejudice was quickly forming stories. As we kept talking however, I found out he was native to the Quilette tribe up that way and had deep respect for the tradition of the tribal ways. He spoke of taking kids to learn from elders and participating in ceremonies. He worked with wood, carving small feather art and when I asked if he sold it, he said he preferred gifting. He spoke of visiting his kids who lived so far away and how proud he was of his son, who was quickly becoming a man and I shared my work with kids. We waxed a bit philosophical about culture’s odd animosity towards one another and how people should be more accepting. I realized the irony even as I spoke my belief; we are all on this earth to interact and learn one another’s stories. Why do we isolate ourselves from one another so much? Every so often, I would become anxious that I had maybe missed our stop since I’d become so involved in conversation but we had told him where we were headed and he had the courtesy to point out entrance to the park, telling us an easy turn-around point to let him off at. 

Once Daniel - that was his name - got out of the car, Anna and I breathed a huge sigh of relief and let out all of the anxieties we’d felt from that moment he’d opened the door. Even as I recognized my prejudice and hypocrisy in the judgement I’d placed on someone who had ended up being harmless, I knew I would never have made that same decision if we could repeat that. 

The rain let up long enough for us to enjoy our nature walk and on our drive back, Anna shared just how much her mindset felt shifted from being in that environment. I was excited to see this part of her and even moreso, that we were sharing those parts so well with one another. 

We arrived in Portland in time to do some groceries before dinner, which was a long awaited visit to Portabella. The burger I got was certainly flavorful and I loved their house made curry catsup, but Anna and I both felt that their pizza needed an extra something. Overall though, a wonderful experience and I would go back to try many more menu items. Afterwards, we met up with Tony for an evening of pool at McMennemins. I’d been vying for that most delectable warm pear brandy cocktail I’d had during the winter but it was off their menu and I wasn’t drink-savvy enough to figure out how to recreate it. Nonetheless, pool was fun, and we even got in a round of shuffleboard which Anna kicked our butts at. 

We were up bright and early the next day, aiming to get the rest of our groceries, meet up with Mindi who had arrived in town the night before, and make it to the coast before heading to Packwood. By the time we got to the store, I was feeling super anxious about time and realized we could tack the coastal visit to the end of the week instead. I was torn, but ultimately, we just didn’t have it in us to do all of that driving. Instead, we had a nice visit with Mindi at Harlow’s an went to the rose garden. We were a bit premature for rose season but there were a few buds out. Conversation between Anna and I was feeling strained again so it was good to have Mindi between us. I think that a lot of it just had to do with pure exhaustion and part of it was my own projected expectations of how we should be communicating. But mostly, we were just tired. We did perk ourselves up with a stop at Voodoo donuts before leaving town, which was a novel experience. 

We got back into Packwood before Open Gym started but I wasn’t about to be up for an afternoon with kiddos. We still had to unpack and I’d prepared to have teammates cover for me anyhow. We settled in and stopped by Loren’s cabin where I would be dog sitting for the next month before heading down to the Butter Butte for a pick-me-up. The evening was kept pretty calm, in anticipation for the next day’s bonfire festivities!

Adventures of Anna and I Part II: The Motion of Emotions

The next day was immediately off to a tumultuous start…quite literally. After waiting in line for an hour for the Ferry, we got our car on only for Anna to realize that the ill feelings she woke with were not going away. Still, we enjoyed a trance-like ride across the sound to Bainbridge Island where we discovered a sweet little farmer’s market going on. Again, my wallet lept uncontrollably out of my bag. I bought some fennel salt after being won over by a sweet conversation with the farmer who had a multi-faceted business that included soaps, lotions, jams and spices. The next farmer won us over by the simple fact that they were selling Goose eggs. 

(NOTE: This is one of those things that you’re coerced into buying for novelty’s sake and then turns out to be not only, unexciting but much less satisfying than its more commonly purchased relative. The egg yolk ratio of a goose egg is actually quite nauseating.)

most humorous moment? This manikin.

With our wallets suffering, pent up emotions building and feeling under the weather. Bainbridge didn’t seem like it had much more to offer us after the market. I did see a sign for a photography gallery and after Anna got some medicine for a headache, she agreed to stop by. Steven Fry’s photographs had a stunning color pallet and the fact that they were all done in film furthered my intrigue as I slowed down and stood mesmerized, image after image. Steven himself was operating the day-to-day business and when I made it around to the side of the room that he was on, he was in the middle of pressing one of his large prints. He was very humble and inviting and when I mentioned that I’d gone to school for photography, he offered to show us the darkroom set-up he had in back. We ended up talking for a bit about his experiences in the areas he photographed - he used to be an alpine climber and an all-around explorer of all things off the beaten path - and then we hit a point in the conversation where he eluded to having some summer employment opportunities. As Anna indicated we needed to move on, I offered myself for employment consideration; just another drop in the bucket of possible combinations I could piece together my future from. 

Leaving, Anna made it clear that her ill-feeling state was getting ill-feeling-er. By the time we were back on the Ferry, I was looking up all sorts of sites about altitude sickness and stress-induced migraines. Her pain was to that apparent stage which makes one want to cringe in pain by the level of visible discomfort. She was able to sleep on the ride back which seemed to clear up a lot of headache but in the meantime, I’d looked up herbal shops and called my mom to get in touch with resourceful healers back home.

Enter Master Kim, my mother’s mystical Tai Chi guide. All through a phone call, he was able to guide both her and I through an understanding of the origin of the symptoms and alleviate some more of the pain and panic. With things calming, I left Anna to rest in bed and went to talk to my mother. No sooner had I gotten off the phone with her, I received from back inside; Anna wanted to go home. 

I came in to ask if we could talk about it and that is when all of our past qualms and barriers with one another resurfaced. In a friendship that has lasted over a decade, it’s inevitable that the dynamic will change. Some “experts” say that friendships should be seriously re-evaluated every 6 years.  This was not the first time that we’d come to a crux of questioning our purpose for one another. For me though, flying home mid-trip would be a good indication that we were at an end. When I said this, she responded ‘that’s why I think I should go’. 

We followed that with some blunt blows to one another’s blind spots before we just let silence take over. I sat stark still as she collected some things to make a phone call about flights. Once she’d left, I made my way up the hill near our street to call my mother. The feeling was akin to ending a deeply troubled but involved romance. Were we really doing this? As my mom and I spoke, all of my hurt and frustration came pouring out. My mother had to talk me out of marching back down to express my most raw feelings about the whole ordeal. Both of us knew deep down that the things being expressed were not the real underlying issues and that reacting to those things would only make things worse. I prepared to tough up and set aside my personal needs to go address our predicament when Anna called. The first thing that was said was a sincere ‘I’m sorry’ and I felt a large shake in my breath as this huge inner stone was released; the acknowledgement I’d been needing was just met without request, something I never had thought would happen. That was all it took for me to be ready to forgive and come back to discuss a solution. 

Fear is the ghost of experience. It is lingering in our atmosphere, pulling and pushing on our energy without notice. To become a fear hunter is a practice in the sixth sense. I’ve gotten to the point with my fear where I can usually see it speaking for my actions and words as they are happening, as I am letting it influence my reactions. However, with as powerful a thing as fear, it’s a feat even to be able to detect it in retrospect. When we met back up to talk, Anna immediately identified where her frantic decisions had come from. “You know its hard for me to find the best way to communicate these things.” I hugged her deep and long, wiping the last of my shaky tears away as I told her I was fine with her yelling or screaming at me, telling me she was fucking scared or just telling me she didn’t know what the fuck she was feeling. The only thing I couldn’t handle was not talking about it at all. 

Given the tension, my mother had advised that I go back to Anna and try to have a quiet evening in. Usually, my mother has pretty good advice but after the intensity of the conversation, we were ready to shake things with a bit of funky fun, and we’d both been curious about one of the funkiest places around…The Unicorn Bar. 

It’s pretty impossible to miss The Unicorn; besides the striped awning and giant unicorn head, there happened to be a woman dressed in a full-body unicorn costume outside the bar that evening. Anna was in deep deep love as soon as we entered. The neon circus decor was dabbled with dozens of earthy tones…in the form of taxidermic animals. The bar was lit entirely by antique chandeliers, each on unique. We took a seat at a booth with a neon tiger plastered onto the table and a decapatated baby head on a bottle took watch over my head as we pursued the menu. It was definitely the occasion for a cocktail, all names of which featured Unicorn references. Since we’d had our tiff around dinner time, food had to happen. Their menu was a flared-up version of bar food and I was surprisingly pleased with my crispy quinoa burger, even though the plate was void of accoutrements of a meal. Anna got her long-awaited Seattle dog and we explored the basement which housed photo booths and arcade games. Back at the house, we fell asleep watching What’s Up Doc. 

Adventures of Anna and I Part I: Sleepless in Seattle

Two of the most manipulative film genres: romance movies and girl-friend road-trip movies. 

I’m sure I don’t need to tell you all that life doesn’t work like the movies. Nevertheless, it is hard not to put those expectations on ourselves of wanting to have the perfect once-in-a-life-time adventure with a close friend or expecting the dramas of our friendships to be big and explosive, soundtrack montage and all. 

I’ve found though, that the feelings evoked by those big cinematic elaborations of life are just as poignantly present if we really submerge ourselves into the meaning behind the moment. 

Weeks before Anna was to arrive in the PNW, both of us were dropping nervous hints and doubts about the visit. We reiterated physical limitations, she fretted over budgets and we both let the talk of these finicky details sugar-coat the real emotions that were rumbling underneath. 

Pike Place entertianment

But the day she arrived, we neglected all emotions and thoroughly feigned excitement to fuel us through a jam-packed sampling of Seattle.After dropping things off at Sarah’s AirBnB - now a second home to me - we confronted downtown Seattle streets and drove down to Pike’s Place. I  hadn't anticipated spending much but found myself swept up in her experience as a new patron and left with some honey, a sweet tonic, chocolate…you know, all things indulgent. While there, we hunted down Sarah at her colorful booth of bags and shirts and confirmed some dinner and cider plans with her for later. 

Taste buds sufficiently tasted-out, we left the market to drive across town and explore the Arb a bit. Being in that space brought me back to the time with mother weeks before when the colors of the flowers seemed so inaccessible past the pain i’d felt that day. The reminiscence brought us to the subject of health and we ambled about lie a couple of old ladies relenting our ailments a bit. 

Just as we were emerging from our botched navigation that had gotten us on a much windier path than planned, I remembered the possibility of catching a tour at the Theo Chocolate Factory. It was an easily agreeable plan and we made it over to Fremont just in time to get a slot in the last tour of the day. While we were waiting four our group to start, we wandered the store and noshed on their very thorough spectrum of product samplings so by the time the tour started, my palate was already satiated with cocoa goodness. Of course, that didn’t stop me from partaking in the full tasting experience during our tour! 

Anna and I were in immediate agreement that our guide, Erin, would be a fun person to have drinks she had no trouble making us feel invested in the story of the Cacao bean. We started the tour in a very green and leafy room where Erin fed us chocolate by the bowl-full and made it feel justified as we learned about how to taste for the nuances of each flavor. We began with their basic 70% dark chocolate which is a blended bar, meaning that the beans come from different locations. Theo primarily uses the following three bean origins: Congo, Panama and Peru. Congolese beans are deep and earthy, Peruvian beans are tart and acidic while Panama’s beans are in between. Indeed, they did taste different. However, it is strictly location/soil that effects the flavor because pretty much all cacao beans come from the same plant: Theobromine Cacao (hmm, I wonder where Theo came up with their name…) 

After gorging our faces a bit, we got more familiar with the miraculous plant. Cacao is a “calflerous plant” which means that its fruit grows off of its trunk. Such a gargantuan stem of course takes a while to mature to produce fruit. The tree doesn’t produce until 5-7 years into its quarter-century life, first blooming into a scentless flower as it is pollinated by Midge Flies over the next 6 months on its way to bean. If you’re anything like me, you are a prudent chocolate snob, forking over no less than $4 on a single hand-crafted bar. The prices seem obnoxious to those that will settle for Hershey’s but the economics pans out: most commercial chocolate is at about a 15% cocoa content. It’s like drinking sugar-milk. The good stuff is 60% cocoa on the lower end. The kicker is that a content of that level takes at least 4 pods for a single bar. 

This is because that big bulbous sac of a fruit is mainly surface fluff. Beyond the wrinkly skin is the inner casing of cobweb material called “mucilage” and finally, buried beneath that, are the small little seeds; the powerhouses that make the magic happen are the size of your pinky. 

So, if you’re going to participate in the consumerist luxury of the chocolate industry, go all out. 

As we entered into the factory portion of the building, Erin began to explain the bean-to-bar process. I’d already learned a bit from the exhibit that was featured at MOHAI last year but this time, I had the visual of the machines right in front of me…and I got to eat while learning : ) The first thing that was pointed out to us were the dozens of 69 kilo canvas bags that came into port. These beans have already gone through the week-long fermentation process that allows microbial activity to eat away the fruit debris and the acid production to cook the beans dry as they’re fermenting, preventing mold.

The first step the beans are taken through at the factory is the roaster. The origin of the beans will determine their moisture content, so not all of the beans are roasted at the same temperature or for the same amount of time. Once they are roasted, they are funneled through to the “winnower” which splits husks from nibs. At this point, Erin passed around a few bowls of different cacao nibs which I extended my hands out for excitedly while others in the crowd approached her bitterness disclaimer with caution. One man in particular was thoroughly unimpressed. However, he’d claimed not to like a single thing we’d tried thus far, which made me wonder if he even knew where he was. For those who don’t know, nibs are simply the de-shelled, roasted bean. No additives, no nothin’. Before the situation is sugar-coated, the nibs are liquified. In the next machine, they are melted down into liquor before finally being put into the mixer to be blended with the various amounts of milk, sugar and flavor. 

Our final stop was the confectionary room where gourmet gets excessive. Erin showcased her co-workers bordom-induced star wars creations and then broke out a scotch truffle and an “ants-on-a-log” truffle for tastes. The health snack in reverse literally included all the vital ingredients: nut butter (almond in this case), raisins, and celery seed. It was surprisingly delectable. 

It was a good thing that our dinner plans followed directly after the tour because both of our pallets were longing to be quenched with something savory and nutritious after all that sugar sampling. We walked over to Chiso sushi and placed an order while Sarah texted to say she’d gotten seat for us at the cider house. Since we’d never hung out beyond her property, I was worried that Sarah would be peeved by our late arrival or tired out from her long day at the market but we arrived to find she’d made herself at home and already tasted a few ciders (she’d picked some of my favorites). We sipped and noshed, Anna and I sharing our paths of unpredictability and Sarah sharing some of her experiences from those times in her life. She has become more and more of an inspiration to me, the more times I talk to her, if only I could get back into my art with more intensity. It was a relief to hear that she too experienced moments of compromise between business and creating. Ultimately, talking with her makes me feel like possibility is expansive instead of constrictive. 

We were all ready to call it an evening around the same time, and that is when the exhaustion of the day caught up with our emotions. Subtle hints in our communication indicated that we were stirring one another’s doubts, fears and tensions….