Bumpy roads

Hello, beautiful loved ones.

Sitting in a quaint coffee and tea shop in San Francisco this morning (succumbing to coffee after abstaining for a day while pondering the idea of quitting) I have been toying with how to create a blog entry about my past few days that surmounts the catharsis of a personal ventilation system and provides some sort of broader landscape of perspective. Ideally, I try to mold these entries around places and histories and learning that can maybe spark some interest for you. During my AmeriCorps time, my  hope is that this blog will turn more into a community focused sharing of ideas and projects.

But this may just be a days-in-the-life-of.

So, since I last wrote, I found out that Cormorant was probably rescued. It was last seen talking to two policemen. So big hooray for that.

On Tuesday, Jesse officially became my first Michigan visitor to the coast. We only had a few hours before her family had to head to the Porland airport but we did all of the essential catching uppy things. Saw the farm. Sat in cafes. Walked on the beach (for a few minutes before the wind defeated us). Made a delicious kitchen concoction for farmy dessert.

Her family also brought me organic apples.

On Wednesday, I had my last day at the farm. We had some of the best weather; sunny, slightly breezy, flipfloppy weather but not too hot. We had a great morning circle and I read a zen poem about inner power within and without. We weeded and thinned and felt the beginnings of sunburns and dug deep in the dirt. It was a rewarding, good old classic work day. That night, Mindi and I shared dinner from fresh farm produce and watched a movie together.

At 5 am the next day, my mini vacation began. I felt a bit displaced starting out, having been planted for so long. It was that shaky feeling of trying to break that shell of routine and creature comforts that come with being stationary. I pulled off the road shortly after starting when I saw a sign for a Munsen Falls. I took a small hike through impressive old growths to this towering, veiny crisp white network of water just as the sun was coming up and felt reinvigorated.

I stopped at a cute coffee shop and cafe that also played the role of a small health food store. Just before I left, a man walked in to use the bathroom. We were both in line and I made a comment about my travel plans. A couple minutes later, Jerimiah was in my car to accompany me south. As it turned out, his face had looked familiar, probably because not only was he at the gathering, but he had spent most of his time in Kid Village where I had cooked breakfast every morning. Small world. He was on his way from visiting his daughter to look for some work that would allow him a ticket back to Hawaii for the winter. Good company. I let him off at Harris Beach State Park where I met Matt and Emily and we had a makeshift luncheon in the back of my car, sheltered from what had turned out to be a day of fog and rain and grey.

I made it just over the border into the Redwoods that night. I realized I knew absolutely nothing about California or camping laws or parking or where I was going. I knew had to be in San Francisco by the next day so I felt a bit frantic and rushed. The vibrancy of the forest floor reflecting the red from the trees transformed my surroundings into a sanctuary and I just wanted to disappear into the depths and sit. But evening was coming and I couldn't make a sound judgement on continuing on. I was not going to spend $35 to camp in this natural wonder. After a halfhearted attempt to patiently navigate the spotty internet for California laws, I finally decided to take my chances and park on one of the Pullouts within the park line. Luckily, I wasn't bothered and I was glad I hadn't dashed out and left for some big store parking lot. The stoic, unwavering straightness of those trees creates such a sense of safety and peace. I need to get back there.


I woke up later than I thought I would, again. Again I felt disjointed, unsteady. I had to keep overriding my senses to stop and wander about in order to make it to San Francisco in time. But part of me kept wanting to slow down so I had the appearance of this nervous, disoriented wanderer. If I had set an exact goal time for myself to be in San Francisco, perhaps I would have been more focused. As it stood, I battled with myself at every stop, feeling like there was something more I should be taking in and constantly having to tell myself I would just come back one day.

I was just leaving a town full of hitchhikers. Only one couple approached me and I thought about taking them along for a bit but I was already nervous and feeling a little introspective. As I drove out of town to get back to the highway, the road took a route longer than I expected and I thought I had missed the turn. I kept seeing travelers and feeling guilty for having room in the car. Starting to question whether I should offer a ride and even if I was going the right way, my eyes began to dart to the sides of the road. I passed by an eccentric looking cafe with Giraffes and jungle animals on the front and wondered if I should stop there. In those seconds, a few things crashed: My reality check with my daydreaming self, my values and my behavior and my Vibe with a Tundra.

I felt stupid. I felt small. I felt empty. Confused. Definitely shaky.

The man in the Tundra was very understanding and patiently tolerated my slow uptake on doing anything useful. First I shook. Then I apologized. Then I called my mom and cried. Then I got my phone and ID while he advised me what to say to insurance who got me to call the cops. We didn't talk much while we waited - I did not think this was something you just wait out with small talk - but he tried to offer some consoling anecdote about how he had done the same thing once upon a time. Highway patrol got a tow and got him on his way. A local company from just down the street took me back to their shop. I spent the next few hours there between talks with the towers and phone calls to my dad and insurance to try and figure out what could be done and what would be covered. The tower's name was Mark and he and his brother offered all the input they could but could not actively do anything for liability. For some reason, California is not covered by our AAA package and so they would have to call an inspector out to check and authorize work on the car. This could take a few weeks. As the complications kept unfolding and I made my best effort to be calm and uplifting to the amazingly helpful gentlemen, I am sure they could tell how out of sorts I was. As we assessed the car, we determined that it was structurally in tact and began exploring the possibility of it being drivable. Mark knew a mechanic down the road and gave him a call. He happened to be on his lunch break and came by to inspect and give his opinion which actually evolved into him jerryrigging my car, free of charge with a few zip ties and twisting and crunching to re-secure and provide me with the option to continue on, unprofessional advice of course.

All things considered, I was incredibly fortunate. A slow speed impact. No injuries. No air bag deployment. No internal damage. And gracious souls that went out of their way to help.

A couple of things.

Me and cars. It terrifies me how many issues that combination brings about. And if it is any sort of warning, I probably need to slow down and be more present. It also brings me face to face with dualistic themes in my life. I have encountered some of the most free spirited people hitching on the road. With nothing but a pack and shoes, they are glowing. When I was first faced with the possibility that my car may have to stay in that town, I started to think about all my stuff... being without it but also resenting it. I started to think about where I wanted to be and how driving this thing gave me such an illusion of freedom but how I was also so tethered to it. And the stuff. On leap of faith, I could have left it there to get inspected, authorized, maybe fully fixed. I could have packed a bag and hitched. But I had all this stuff. Cold packs full of food. Clothes. Camera. Computer.

I don't think it is necessarily a bad way to travel. But I have to do it with the realism of how it informs my travel style, my responsibilities and how to fully appreciate and gracefully honor its limitations.

When I finally continued on my way southbound, I was definitely a nervous driver at first. And I had a sweeping sadness. Even though they explained that everything worked fine, I realized how much the damaged look of my car affected my comfort and feelings around it. I also saw this as how I relate to many of the things in my life, not always on their reason and function but on their aesthetic feel which in some instances, forces me to want things to "perfect".

Meditative moment.

I got to San Francisco and realized I hadn't been in a big city in ages. Not the place to drive after a car crash. You have to be thinking of your next move way ahead and constantly filtering out buildings and distractions. And I forgot that was the city with all the hills. See, totally blind trip.

I made it out of the main stream of traffic and headed straight for the venue address before looking for a parking spot. When I found one a few blocks away, I sat there for a good ten minutes tripple-checking everything around me to see if there were any loopholes, as it appeared to be an open, free parking space. I had tried to get a hold of friends here but couldn't so I went towards the venue and putzed around. Got in early. Sat alone wondering what I was doing where I was. Then the music started, I danced and released.

Found a new friend that night, danced some more and shouted words of great spirit and affirmation at the top of my lungs. Nahko was beautiful.

And that was the first day of my vacation.

I hope that beauty informs the rest of this journey.


Also, question of the day brought to you by the woman sitting near me in this cafe:

"How do you lick a woman's face and not be offensive?"

So about that shifting...

...check out what happened the next day. This lady happened to be in the area:

Officially the first Michigan visit: Jesse! What an amazing surprise!

The world continues to take me on a spin.

Nursing Wounds

The beach was packed. After the last few dreary days, tourists and locals alike were taking advantage of the sun in droves. While people whized by on peddle bikes and tried to keep their dogs in check, Mindi and I perused the natural exhibit of jellyfish washed up onto the sand just recently covered by high tide, still wet enough to mirror the sky and seemingly pull the ground from under our feet. Not too far down, I stopped. Singled out amongst the four-legged critters and rosy jewel globules spotting the shore was a large, black bird, strutting slowly and steadily on feet almost larger than his head. His slow pace imitated a sort of reverence but when he tried to fly off, the reverence became exposed as vulnerable injury. The proximity of the bird, let alone being the only aviary creature on shore quickly drew notice, but mostly in a passing gawk or with a sense of entitled onlook, as though the bird had been placed there solely for "your personal viewing pleasure."

"Mindi, do you think there is an Animal Rescue in town?"

After a couple of numbers, I was connected with a woman who as it turned out, had been waiting for my call. "Is it a Black Cormorant? Near Neahkhanie? Long neck? We've been looking for that bird for two days! I will find someone and give you a call right back."

Ten minutes later, a gruff voice that called himself Rich called to say he was zooming down from Canon Beach. The cormorant had taken to riding out into the tide and then gradually taking it into shore, realizing there was no where to go in the depths of water. I told Rich it was no problem for me to hang around. Shortly after I was off the phone, the cormorant ceased is ebb and flow and with that slow, metered pace, made its way more inland to where the water could not lap him back into the fray. He paused then, and slowly opened both wings as if to make an declarative admonition of his helplessness. 

Unfortunately, this called attention to more voyeurs who would stop to take their pictures and let their kids unnervingly close making clueless comments about "its being so calm" and "I wonder what's up with that duck?"

With the come and go of attention, the cormorant was now making its way inland without pause, towards the road and away from the spotlight on the beach. As he wandered, I kept pace and distance until we were moving at a consistent sort of stroll. I felt a kinship then, and began wondering what this painful journey had been like for him, how he became injured, whether he could sense that I was there to get help. 

Shortly before Rich arrived, he had made it into the grass line by a large Blackberry patch. It became apparent that he was going to keep moving away from people if he sensed that movement around him and I didn't want him going into the street so I held back now and waiting from a hill atop the grass patch he'd turned into. I thought for sure that when Rich arrived, his tumult would be over. 

But when Rich arrived, he was gone. 

We are so readily good at killing and harming and have this simultaneous altruism for protecting and saving. I felt betrayal. I felt both personally responsible and dejected from its lack of trust that had lead it most likely deep into the thorny berry plants and eventual death. Even as every inch of me realized how un-natural it is for a wild animal to receive domestic rehabilitation, I could not shake the disappointing sense of failure and loss. 

I stood by the blackberry bush, imagining the bird, torn and clawed at by the wild blades, nestled down into the earth to surrender. 

And maybe that is how it was supposed to be. 

Altruism is usually more about ourselves than about the other. And I had been seeking control and the miraculous and redemption all day after a series of let downs. In common reality, I had not done anything worth feeling guilty of. In the wilderness of its natural habitat, the bird would have had no other option to fend for itself and nature would play its part out as it was meant to. In my reality, it was an opportunistic moment to repair a torn sense of worth and achievement in my day. 

Rich let his dog out on the beach for a few minutes and I paced the roadside overlooking the bushes that had engulfed my goal. I imagined fantastical scenarios of the world turning to cater to me at the last moment as Rich made his way back to his car, maybe hearing a distraught squawk or catching a glint of yellow beak. But that is not what the world is always there for. And the more you expect it, the more disappointment you receive. And I had been expecting a lot. I finally surrendered and turned to walk home and in that physical pivot of letting go, a part of me accepted that as the lesson of the past few days and a shifting took place. 

Sometimes it takes some broken wings to figure out a different way to travel. 

The Dirty Post

Come on into the R-evolution Gardens classroom for a virtual Soil 101!

At the farm today, we were introduced (or re-introduced) to the wonderful world of up-potting. This is where seedling plants that have outgrown their cribs get moved to bigger pots where they can still be easily fed with nutrients while they grow strong enough to support themselves in the big, exposed farm beds. Because this is one of the most vital stages of plant-rearing, the day's work was interspersed with agricultural parenting tips. You know, learning the basics of how to not kill your child. 

Tip 1: Dirt First.

The way Ginger cultivates her crops seems like basic common sense. But as she invigoratingly shared this morning with an abbreviated swath of knowledge that I am sure she could give hours of lecture with, only .5% of agriculture is done sustainably with its attention focused in the right direction: what is under the plant. Health nuts preach about the multitude of vital nutrients we can get from our daily fruits and veggies. Yet studies show that most of our produce is diluted to a trivial amount of these body building-blocks, trading inner health for poster-child surface looks and a booming quantity. 

Ginger shared how she had been witness to farmers that can grow their crops pest-free and all organically with hardly any maintenance to the plants. This is because of what they are done before they even get in the ground. All of the nutrients that you hear about plants needing are only accessible once they are stirred up and processed through microbial action in the soil. If your soil is too cold or you don't feed the microbes, then the plant won't get fed either. 

Tip 2: Nature vs. Nurture

But not anything goes. As we prepared our Complete Organic Fertilizer, or COF, for the day Ginger listed off each component we added. Its commonplace to hear the essential "Nitrogen, Potassium, Phosphorus" formula rattled off.

Now, you'll notice I'm not adding Potassium to this blend. That's cause we tend to have a lot of it in our Pacific Northwest soil. If I were in the Midwest, I would be making a completely different blend." 

Also in the Midwest, it would be common to see one big dump of mix to ammend the soil. Out here since there is so much rain, Ginger builds her beds up with COF between every planting so as to not let it all wash away. Just as I wouldn't come out prepare for a winter out here with snowpants, there is no one size fits all to Plant-wear. Nature effects how you nurture. 

The mix that Ginger uses includes the following: 

• Alfalfa meal for a good balance of Nitrogen, Phosphorus and Potassium for the soil. Out of the three most common resources for these nutrients (the others being canola or cottonseed) it is the least likely to be genetically modified these days. 
• Bone Meal for calcium and phosphorus
• Kelp and Glacial Rock residue for micronutrients
• Lime
• Chicken Manure 

The COF magic

Down at the lower field, we added our COF to yet another delectable combination of plant treats. 

First, we piled a ton of compost into our wheelbarrow mixing bowl. Ginger uses one called 3-way, sourced from all-local ingredients:

• Cooked down cow poo from Tillamook, from which the gasses get put to use as energy
• local timber
• coastal sand

To add fluff to the mix, Coconut fiber is put in next. This is the recycled ruffage from coconut producers that would otherwise go to waste. 

Thirdly a super-heated volcanic rock sediment called Perlite is added to create air pockets. Ginger added an extra dose for our up-potting because at this stage, plants are commonly overwatered and the Perlite doesn't allow all that water to be held in the same way. 

finally, we added the COF and some leftover chicken manure and dampened the mix as we broke up all the large chunks. 

Nate mixin' the brew.

Delicious nutrients!

Tip 3: Create a safe environment.

Little babies all growin' up. 

A seedling is ready to be up-potted when it fully forms it's first two leaves. Like a baby taking first steps. It sits and sits, taking in all the TLC until one day, its on the move. This is when you really start worrying. Are there sharp objects? Will they eat something germy? Will they fall over when I'm not looking? Similar story with plants. 

Before anything, every plant box has to be sterilized by dipping each in a bath of Thieves (or Bleach) with water. Then each box gets filled with soil and the plants are carefully scooped out and tucked in, packing down every side to get rid of air pockets to allow for that initial watering to seep in. As each plant is packed in, more soil mix is added to make sure the stem and root is completely buried so that the plant can stay supported as it grows. 

And of course, there is always the constant new-parent fear that you're doing it all wrong : ) 

Always remember that every plant and every environment is different. Be curious and attentive to the surroundings and conditions. I was a root, biding my time until one day, launching forward into a non-stop walking machine. Roots do not get transplanted because they do not benefit from being up-rooted. The gradual walkers like leafy greens do the best. And Melons are in between, with sensitive roots okay for one pot to bed transplant. 

Thus endith the lesson. 

On another note, DJ from Florida is our new wwoofer for the week. 

On Another another note, I made a very impulsive no-recipe Zucchini Muffin that was decent enough to be gobbled up in one day. Perhaps I will invest in perfecting a recipe. 

Also. This came today. Thank you mother for Mitten Munchies. 

Also, beautiful evening sunset leads into a beautiful evening night. Peak of the perseid meteor shower. Go spend time with your sky! 

It's like babysitting or having pets...except with killing things.

It is officially August and in farmville, the veggie slaughter is in full force. The onslaught of overabundance was gradually making itself apparent, most notably with the zucchini which had taken a "Little Shop of Horrors" before we knew it.

But today, we could no longer contain the encroaching demands of culinary diligence and crop distribution that had been at the flow of maintenance equal to that of changing diapers or walking a pet.

After an afternoon of picking tomatoes that could not wait for harvest day, we found ourselves back in the hoop house gathering another 7 boxes of sly blush-bottomed juicers that had been cleverly camouflaged beside their even more fiery peers.

We are in the process of pulling a bed of beets and carrots that are bursting with both bulging beauties and bulging damage marks.


And then there are the squash.

It has become an obligatory routine to bake at least one loaf of zucchini bread per day.

These are the extra after CSA and Business orders were packed

There is now talk of tomato maiming and after three and a half hours of carrot-washing, experimental hummus contemplations have gone into effect.

This is why only one hour ago, at ten PM, I concluded a kitchen session that resulted in a one-gallon mason jar of some odd, newfangled Zucchini-tahini dip, two mason jars of pickled beets and extra of each crop to continue brainstorming with.

Who needs a dog or kids to keep busy?

Hellos and Goodbyes!

It has been a week of Good-byes, hellos, shifting and food!

This week, I was finally not scampering off like a racing chicken to get things done every day and I felt a lot more human-shaped. 

On Monday, Leslie's Mom, sister and family friends drove in from the Portland Airport to wrap up her stay on the farm. In the morning, we had a major weeding production rescuing small blueberry bushes from a forest of blackberries and yellow doc, as well as every other weed ever and lay down a ton of woodchips. It was the start of mission: Brigam's Beds which we worked up for the next couple of days, with his mom and niece's visit as a motivator for the clean-up. In the afternoon, we weeded Brassica beds in the lower fields. Most of it was ladies thumb so the root was easy to grab on hands and knees. From above, the whole thing would have been amusing to watch, as our bodies scuffled on the ground buried under giant kale and broccoli leaves, snatching at weed roots to disappear from the surface as we dragged them down with us. 

After work, everyone split like wildfire and Andrew and I found ourselves on the porch with a scrabble board. Leslie's guests showed up while she was out on a walk so Andrew and I gave them a haphazard tour of the guest house and played a round of Scrabble during which Brigam emerged and began a BBQ Spaghetti concoction for dinner. 

On Tuesday, Leslie's family came down to the fields with us to help harvest and got a bit over-enthusiastic with the carrots, as we found over half a dozen extra bunches when we packed the next day. For lunch, Sean made an enormous smorgasboard to feed everyone and we had a bit of mid-day shmoosing and last minute picture-taking before sending Leslie off.

Green, green everywhere!

Leslie, Paris and Leslie's sis

The crew

Lunch

That afternoon, Andrew and I worked on finishing some small tasks upstairs and got to leave fairly early, which was perfect for our hiking plans up Neakhanie Mountain! We talked much of the way up but when we got to a sort of overlook near the top where the sun beamed through some of the tall, old growth and the ocean could be seen peaking between some valley hills, we stopped and fell silent for almost five minutes before just picking up in unison and walking to the top. Andrew has been the perfect hiking buddy. Everything is so easily appreciated by him that never does it occur to me to worry about time because he seems okay with each moment. We talked a bit more at the top, climbing to the tippy-toppest peak before eventually heading down again at which point the conversation shifted from our deeper spaces to the tribulations of Michael Jackson and Amusement parks. An absolutely beautiful hike. 

climbing up to the peak

When I got to the farm on Wednesday morning, Leslie was back! Her family had stuck around the area so she came to help pack CSA boxes. 

CSA boxes. All the yum. 

Once she left, we began part II on the Brigam Beds mission and worked in wait for our new arrivals, Shelby and Barnabus.  

before...

after. life of farmwork. 

They arrived in time for the last of our morning weeding and then got taken downstairs with Sean and Nate after lunch while Andrew and I played Archeologist in the 3-year old rubble pile to dig out debris from the mess and put it in Brigam's truck to go to the recycling center. We also succeeded in shaping and soil-filling two more of Brigam's herb beds.

The day before, Andrew and I had gotten on the subject of all things delicious and at that moment, I set in on making a pie for his last night. After the work day, I hit a series of road-side Blackberry stands and hundreds of scratches later arrived home with 3 pints of berries and all of the extra makings. 

We gave Barnabus and Shelby their first harvesting lowdown the next day and got in some getting-to-know-you time after work. We all went down to the river with Andrew where, despite the exceptionally chilly day we'd had, he fulfilled his wishes of jumping in one last time. Brigam's niece and mom arrived that afternoon and that night, the four of us teamed for a wwoofer dinner movie to feed the inflated amount of guests. The process was replete with laughter and bonding interspersed with very loathsome sentiments on the overabundance of squash that we were obligated to make use of. A few hours, a few songs, a far less squash than intended later, we had a massive quantity of Tahini lemon-garlic kale salad, beans and rice and very droopy squash rings. Everyone trickled back home over the next hour and around 9:30, most everyone had eaten and was ready for pie. There is nothing like sharing my baking and having conversation outside the context of the day's tasks that feels more welcoming...and it is a good thing we made time that night to have a relaxed sort of send-off for Andrew. For the next day was market day, and it was one of the most hectic of all. 

A combination of things happened on market day that are not market day things. One, we stayed up late. Two, Shelby woke with a fever and checked out for the day. Three, Brian was meandering around with a video camera, stealing Ginger for odd, repetitive motions of handling vegetables for his movie shots. Four, new people with lots of questions eager to help.

The combination put us behind by at least two hours before lunch. After that, it was a whirlwind. pretty much every leftover in the fridge was splayed out on the counter to stuff ones mouth with in spare seconds and minutes. Julianne, a woman who makes snack packs and wraps with the produce to sell, usually employed Leslie for assistance but was now needing a new recruit and was switching up her menu to a grilled veggie experiment. I got pulled away from the normal washing routine fairly early to help with that and suddenly it was three o clock and everything was getting in the car. It was one of those days that you never quite understand how you fit it all into one day. But we did. Brigam's niece is a very enthusiastic, curious and endlessly energetic girl and although it seemed like her offerings of invisible mangoes and catering to her song requests and her insistent need to have Ginger double check every one of her market boquets seemed as though they would throw us back, she was incredibly strong and ready to lift anything to the car or out of greenhouses. And with Sharon, Brigam's mom doing all the grilling, I suppose the extra hands did make for faster work. 


That afternoon, I went to the restaurant, finally clear that I just had to simply be honest and voice my concerns. I went early in case she wanted to fire me but lo and behold, got to keep my job, void of worry about misunderstandings. And that night, the energy of all my interactions immediately felt ore positive. 

As Ginger likes to say, we are recycling energy and transforming every moment. To receive new energy, we must let go of the old. Holding to tensely will leave no room for new energy to grow. This week has been a week of releasing tension from worrisome notions and assumptive thinking and preoccupation, opening into present moments with honesty and less urgency to hold and the energy received in return has been a beautiful reminder of this duality of life. 


Also. I finally made FRESH FIG BARS.