For a moment the sun flares brighter, announcing progression
from the early August Sunday morning to earnest August Sunday day. Men in fine
department store suits and two-for-one ties sit on long wooden benches next to
women in dresses either too thick for the season or too thin for church.
Together they attempt attention as their thoughts roll over to-do lists,
over-due bills and what might have been. The other half, the heathen half, sits
on front porches drinking coffee and reading, or else lie late in bed still
exhausted from last night’s guiltless sinning. They listen to lingering
crickets, singing birds and gentle hums of a world at once woken and waking and
asleep. The sun climbs higher, slips behind a cloud, returns the softness of
earlier hours. The godless thank clouds for easing late summer’s heat, thank
oaks and maples and pines for beauty, and celebrate another divine turning of
the globe. No breeze rustles leaves on tall, old trees. An air-conditioner
rattles to life, cars pass on the distant highway. An opening hymn finishes and
the congregation takes its seats. Shadows grow bold and distinct with another
flare of the sun, then fade.
Sunday, August 14, 2016
Monday, November 24, 2014
Rose Mary Reidhaar
My grandmother passed away this past Wednesday. Aggressive cancer. She stood up to it stalwartly, as was her way. Her daughters were with her, and the end was peaceful. I was lucky to be able to talk with her one last time, the weekend before she passed. We share a few, precious words. It was deeply moving, and a rare gift to share with her.
It's a sad thing, but we can take solace in knowing Gramma was able to reconnect with many, including her brother, over her final months. She was wrapped in love, and there's not much else we could ask for.
My father wrote a really nice piece about her, which I'd like to share here.
It's a sad thing, but we can take solace in knowing Gramma was able to reconnect with many, including her brother, over her final months. She was wrapped in love, and there's not much else we could ask for.
My father wrote a really nice piece about her, which I'd like to share here.
My
mother-in-law could be tough and fierce in her way. She had the
ability freeze me in my tracks with just a look or pointed
question. She also had strong ideas about how things should be done, or
not be done, and how a son-in-law might be savable. She seldom missed a
chance to guide and advise me in her Rose Mary approved methods. I
learned to listen, really listen, to her during those teaching moments.
The fierceness often masked her deep feelings for her children and others. My wife Barbara related a story that touched me. Barbara, as a young girl, had broken her glasses at the nose bridge. Replacement glasses were well beyond the family budget at the time, but Barbara could not see without them. Rose Mary worked all night fixing those cat-eyed specs. She
glued the break, carefully wrapping color-matched thread to reinforce
the repair, and coated the thread with nail polish to further hide the
fix. That she would go to those lengths for her daughter is something that Barbara and I will always remember.
Over the years, I came to recognize a hard won earnestness in her that we both shared. An awareness of how things can go terribly wrong and that fierce commitment to protect those you love. I was finally on to her game!
On a visit some time ago, I noticed that she and I also shared a love of books. I was checking out her bookshelves and found many classics along with newer books that illustrate the human condition. I told her I was impressed with her small library and she said she had read some of them over and over. I
later told Barbara about the Great Books-based programs that are
offered at some colleges and universities around the country, and that
her mom had likely earned the equivalent of a college degree through her
readings. I am glad that Barbara shared that with Rose Mary. I will miss her.
Oh, and Rose Mary, I really am sorry I backed your car into that shrub.
--David
Friday, August 22, 2014
Ice Bucket Challenge
My friend nominated me for the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge last
night, and I must admit, I’m not sure how to proceed. A not-so-small part of me
had hoped the whole phenomenon would sail by on the newsfeed without demanding
my engagement. It’s gotten politically contentious, and I generally try to
avoid politics on facebook.
I tend to say facebook is not the appropriate place to hold
these conversations. I also know, however, that I have friends on both
sides of the spectrum, and I don’t fancy a fight with any of them. My cowardice
withstanding, I do truly think social media is a space fraught with pitfalls
for thoughtful debate. So much meaning is lost when we send a brief text-based
message. Our meaning is then invented or assumed when it’s received, and so the space is rife with miscommunication. Too much miscommunication on hot-button
topics flying around at lightning-fast speeds reinforces divisions, rallying
people into their opposing camps, making it feel safer to lob vitriolic
grenades at the other side.
Personally, I don’t want to take to the trenches. It makes
me uncomfortable when issues get framed as either-or—turned
into false dichotomies, as they’re called. Tell people it’s This Way or That
Way and we tend to form warring tribes, each tribe fighting valiantly for their
cause. Yet, it seems to me that in these conflicts, we don’t often fight for the cause by working
constructively toward our goal. We just fight the other side. It’s as if we
expect by tearing someone else down that we’ll magically achieve our aims. This
is the case even when there’s overlap in the goals of each side, which seems to
me is often the case. At least some central principle or core truth we all
seek.
You see, I’ve been paying attention to the news and
commentary on the Challenge. It’s pretty incredible—both the Challenge and the dialogue
about it. It’s made national news and is starting to shake people out into two
camps: Ice Bucket is the greatest thing
ever versus Ice Bucket is everything
that’s wrong with the USA. And, there are arguments on both sides.
On the Greatest Thing
Ever side, you’ve got that in the eight and a half months of 2014, the ALS
Association has raised about 25 times more money than in the same timeframe of 2013
(over $50 million as compared to $2.1 million). That’s incredible, especially
in an economic climate that has been wildly unkind to charitable giving. Beyond
the shear amount of money raised, awareness is skyrocketing. More people are
talking about the disease, it’s effects, and the challenges faced by those
living with it and those working against it than maybe at any other time in its
history. Being a relatively rare disease (as compared to those such as
cancers), it’s unprofitable for pharmaceutical companies, so they don’t develop
treatments. This makes the enhanced funding particularly critical for an
‘orphan disease’ like ALS. It’s bringing hope to people who personally struggle
with the disease, for those whose loved-ones are facing its terrible symptoms or
have already passed on from them. And quite simply, the quirky nature of the
Challenge has brought some joy, added laughter to a summer when many are
wanting for the lack of it.
On the Everything
Wrong with the USA side, you’ve got the waste of resources: money to buy
the ice that could be going to the ALS Association, clean drinking water dumped
over thousands of heads—without direct purpose—when half of disease worldwide
can be traced to a lack of access to sanitary water. Worse yet, they say, this
isn’t even a boost to charitable giving, but only shifting dollars that would
go to other charities, negating the net benefits. Most insidiously, the drive
behind people taking up the Challenge isn’t necessarily altruistic but more
often a new expression of narcissism, the video-selfie claiming a cause while
actually aggrandizing the individual. Where were your donations before it got
popular? Why do you need ‘likes’ to work for or donate to the cause? There are
folks posting Ice Bucket videos to facebook who can’t tell you what ALS is.
Overall, it exposes the conceit of the nation—a country where we are so awash
in privilege and material excess that we’ll discard the most basic necessities
for sustaining life, even celebrate the act of doing so, heedless of the fact
that we could literally save lives by merely giving to others what we throw
away in service of our own egos. And, as my friend Andy Smolski has pointed out, by focusing in on a spectacle such as the Challenge, we ignore the debate that needs to take place, over the public responsibility to support the work of the ALS Association (and like organizations). In doing so, we unintentionally excuse the public disinvestment in issues of health and well-being.
At the same time as our newfeeds are filled with friends and
family being doused with chilly water, profound conflicts are raging, at home
and abroad: Ferguson, Missouri; Israel and Gaza; Ukraine and Russia; Syria and
Iraq. That’s not to mention battles we’ve grown numb to in South Sudan,
confrontations over disputed islands in Southeast Asia, a wave of Central
American children coming to the US to escape violence and economic destitution
in their home countries. Another affliction, Ebola virus is devastating
communities and health systems in Western Africa. Upheaval in our weather:
droughts choking farms, diseases ravaging crops in areas once protected by climactic barriers, shrinking ice caps and growing deserts. Our world is full of
chaos, fighting, struggle.
I guess this boiling mountain of strife and suffering didn’t
offer enough opportunities for us to spew the full weight of our Pugilist’s Thesaurus at each other,
though. That’s amazing, considering these conflicts touch on so many raw wounds
from inequality to religious and racial tensions, from grand scale geopolitical
maneuvering to niche arguments over the ethics of developing and administering
experimental medical treatments in the international context. We needed another
fight, another chance to take up arms in verbal jousting as we battle for the
moral high ground. Why couldn’t we avoid this fight? Why couldn’t we approach
each other like people dealing with people?
In another version of the Ice Bucket Challenge, I see things
playing out this way:
A
young man, confronted with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis decides he wants to
make a difference in the effort against this disease. He notices some folks
raising money and awareness for the fight against another affliction, by
dumping ice water on their heads and calling more to do the same, and he adopts
it. Something is different: the timing, where he lives, his abnormally large
number of digital friendships, something. It takes off, catches like wildfire. Friends, whole families,
sports icons, film celebrities, thousands upon thousands from across the
country taking up the Challenge, passing it on, and donating to the ALS Association.
Money is pouring in, in unprecedented amounts.
Amidst
all the laughter and joy and help for a good cause, while allowing a little
personal embarrassment, some folks notice a small hitch. This thing has grown
so widespread, it might actually be doing unintentional harm. These
folks speak up, praise the support given
and the generosity shared, and encourage others to join in. But, ask that
when others do join in, they consider finding a way to save the water.
The
Ice Bucket crew doesn’t get angry and defensive, because they haven’t been
attacked. They acknowledge there are other ways to keep this great thing
rolling.
Maybe
we can collect the splash back from our daily showers, put some reusable ice packs in to
cool it down and dump it over our head while standing in home gardens, watering
the tomatoes at the same time.
Maybe
we could animate a filmstrip of Stick-figure Selves dumping a truckload of ice
water over their heads, then calling out others to do the same—as well as give
a few bucks to a good cause.
Maybe
we can also keep in mind the other struggles taking place right now, which also
need our care and attention—our collective action.
My philosophical bent is generally towards integration. I
think we’re better together than apart. I think when we bring concepts into
context, we understand them better than when we pull them into abstract
isolation. I think we accomplish more when we join forces than when we bicker
and fight and hurl insults.
The folks taking the Ice Bucket Challenge, they want to chip
away at some of the pain in the world, and they want to build stronger
friendships while they do it. The folks that want everyone to stop doing the
Challenge, they want to minimize waste and shift resources to people who
desperately need them, to chip away at some of the pain in the world, and I bet
they wouldn’t be sorry of stronger friendships while they do it, either. These
are the concepts (ease suffering, build relationships, ensure the planet
provides for all and keeps doing so), and the context of this situation
is—broadly—a better world.
Now, I know this is idiotic over-simplification. A better world can mean a lot of different
things to a lot of different people. These things, these meanings don’t all
line up; sometimes they even conflict. Sometimes one group specifically thinks
the eradication of another IS the only possible better world.
That doesn’t mean my philosophy is bunk, because To Ice Bucket or Not To Ice Bucket doesn’t
require any destruction to be resolved. And, I’ll bet you that deep down, folks
can always uncover an option other than
destruction that leads to a better life for themselves, a better world for
us all.
So, I’m not going to Ice Bucket. I will donate to the ALS
Association, in support of all whose lives are touched by the disease. In special
recognition of the Westerfields in Puyallup—my thanks to you for all the
kindness you’ve shown me over the years.
I am going to challenge myself—and anyone else with the
patience to read my obnoxiously long essay—to forgo the trenches. Escape the misguided
and phony battles. I'm challenging myself to engage more, even when it might upset somebody. I'm going to try and work through the rough patches, to build understanding and shift the focus towards gaining mutual benefit.
We can all work towards a better world through our compassion instead of our violence, through unity instead of division. We don’t have to choose This Way or That Way. We can choose a way that gets us all at least a little closer to where we all want to be. I think, but I could be wrong.
We can all work towards a better world through our compassion instead of our violence, through unity instead of division. We don’t have to choose This Way or That Way. We can choose a way that gets us all at least a little closer to where we all want to be. I think, but I could be wrong.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Robin Williams...
died earlier this week. It's a real blow. I think he was my favorite actor. Didn't connect as well to his comedy routines, but I loved his acting. Whether he was being super silly, like Mrs. Doubtfire and Aladdin and Jack, or deeply profound like Good Will Hunting and Dead Poets Society, or intensely emblematic of the human condition in Awakenings and Bicentennial Man and What Dreams May Come, or even super creepy like One Hour Photo, I was always able to connect with something he portrayed. Remember Hook? FernGully? His performances follow the landscape of my youth, and it's just hollowing to imagine the world without him. His daughter wrote:
Dad was, is and always will be one of the kindest, most generous, gentlest souls Ive ever known, and while there are few things I know for certain right now, one of them is that not just my world, but the entire world is forever a little darker, less colorful and less full of laughter in his absence.
That reminded me of an exchange from Jack, which seems suddenly, retroactively ominous. Bill Cosby plays Robin Williams' tutor in a story where Robin is a child aging physically at four times the normal rate (so he looks like a 40 year old at 10 years of age--perfect role for him, right?). In this scene, Robin is depressed and withdrawn, having been pulled from school because he had a heart attack. Bill is disheartened by the surrender. Mostly it's what Bill says:
Bill Cosby: You know why I like to teach children, Jack? So I don't get so wrapped up in being an adult. So I can remember there are other things that are important in life - like riding a bike, playing in a treehouse, splashing in water with your good shoes on. And you, my friend, were my most special student. And until recently, you were everything I ever wanted in a student. You were a shooting star amongst ordinary stars. Have you ever seen a shooting star, Jack?
Robin Williams: No.
Bill: It's wonderful. It passes quickly, but while it's here it just lights up the whole sky - it's the most beautiful thing you'd ever want to see. So beautiful that the other stars stop and watch. You almost never see one.
Robin: Why not?
Bill: Beacuse they're very rare. Quite rare. But I saw one. I did.
Robin: I just want to be a regular star.
Bill: Jack, you'll never be regular. You're spectacular.
He really was spectacular, and gone too soon for all of us who owe him a debt of joy.
Dad was, is and always will be one of the kindest, most generous, gentlest souls Ive ever known, and while there are few things I know for certain right now, one of them is that not just my world, but the entire world is forever a little darker, less colorful and less full of laughter in his absence.
That reminded me of an exchange from Jack, which seems suddenly, retroactively ominous. Bill Cosby plays Robin Williams' tutor in a story where Robin is a child aging physically at four times the normal rate (so he looks like a 40 year old at 10 years of age--perfect role for him, right?). In this scene, Robin is depressed and withdrawn, having been pulled from school because he had a heart attack. Bill is disheartened by the surrender. Mostly it's what Bill says:
Bill Cosby: You know why I like to teach children, Jack? So I don't get so wrapped up in being an adult. So I can remember there are other things that are important in life - like riding a bike, playing in a treehouse, splashing in water with your good shoes on. And you, my friend, were my most special student. And until recently, you were everything I ever wanted in a student. You were a shooting star amongst ordinary stars. Have you ever seen a shooting star, Jack?
Robin Williams: No.
Bill: It's wonderful. It passes quickly, but while it's here it just lights up the whole sky - it's the most beautiful thing you'd ever want to see. So beautiful that the other stars stop and watch. You almost never see one.
Robin: Why not?
Bill: Beacuse they're very rare. Quite rare. But I saw one. I did.
Robin: I just want to be a regular star.
Bill: Jack, you'll never be regular. You're spectacular.
He really was spectacular, and gone too soon for all of us who owe him a debt of joy.
Monday, July 28, 2014
Can Get Some Satisfaction
It’s outrageously gorgeous outside today. Low 70s, sunny,
pleasant breeze, just enough clouds to give the sky some character, and
unnaturally low humidity for Illinois in late July. Today, I received an overwhelmingly
positive yearly review at work. Yesterday, I whipped up a number of delicious
dishes from yogurt to pizza, loaves of bread to vegetable soup, and topped off
by putting away yet another gallon of dill pickles for the winter. Saw a
delightful play at the Shakespeare Festival, Saturday evening. Will be going to
Much Ado About Nothing on Wednesday
(with a date, no less!), and starting next week, I’ll spend two successive
weekends celebrating the marriages of close friends from college.
Here I sit on my… patio? Well, out back of my apartment,
anyhow. I’m sipping a beer on a Monday evening, watching the wind play through
a hodge-podge of potted plants. A solid month passed the halfway point of my
thirty-first year, enjoying such uncommon July weather following one hell of a
good workday that came on the heels of a beautiful weekend, and I find myself
thinking, does anyone deserve such contentment? No doubt many do, but I can’t shake the feeling the world
has been too good to me.
A social science heavy undergraduate degree, combined with a
graduate program in community development and Peace Corps service certainly
drove home the whole unworthy-of-my-privilege lesson, which I still fully
recognize and stand by. But HOLY SHIT am I grateful for it! The depth of
contentment I feel these days, the peaceful community I live in, the prosperity
I enjoy, clean bill of health, supportive family, generous friends, unrivaled
educational opportunities, expansive global adventures, varied skillset
building professional development, and full practical use of the world’s
preeminent, theoretical and legally codified, set of human rights (straight,
white male of upper-middle-class-educated suburbia, sup?). Fair few in the
current times are afforded so much. I note this fully aware, too, that life can get better.
My lifestyle is probably on the modest end of the spectrum
by U.S. standards, though undoubtedly on the lavish end worldwide. And, I
reveled just as much in the bounty of my daily life when I was on the
lavish end of Woleai’s spectrum, yet the modest end worldwide.
Reflecting on any of the happiest, most fulfilled times in my life says pretty clearly to me that material concerns aren’t so terribly important.
It’s the purpose. Just listened to a news story today, in
fact, talking about how stress doesn’t affect people living a purposeful life
in the same way as those less mindful of what they’re working/living for. That
definitely matches my experience to date. I feel so much purpose, deep and rich
purpose in my day-to-day, and it’s combined with clarity of vision to really
see both my goals and how I intend to reach them. Swirl it all together with
the belief that the World can-AND-will get better; well, then you have the most
honestly satisfied, stable and sensational days I’ve known.
Taken altogether, I even have an answer to the logical
question: what else could a person ask
for? That more people could enjoy the same. Living the Dream. Hope you are,
too.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Sunrise
"What do you expect?" The words pulled from his lips as a bent nail from weather beaten oak. "How am I supposed…? You come, demand these, things, as if it's poss--." Powerful winds swept in the vortex of his eyes, tumbling her questions, one's end over the other. "Fine. Okay," he rumbled, "What do I…?" Heavy lids closed, momentarily quelling the storm. One slow, surprisingly gentle intake of air, and twin hurricanes burst open. "I want animals to husband, land to steward, plants to grow, and a house to build." She might've thought that was all, but a flush of emotion on his cheeks belied more torrent.
"I want a woman to come into that house, take up the work of plants, land and creatures along side me. A woman to love. A woman to pour her love forth, and imbue the space surrounds us with her being. I want to push, challenge, fight, come back, find our rest together, make those separate selves more completely and deeply human as we each reveal the other to ourselves." His words grew quieter, yet only shook with the more power, "I want that we fill our home till the convergence of two hearts makes one, splits again, springs forth a child. To cradle, to care for, to teach, to raise to fledging. I want to watch that embodied Love fly from our home towards Freedom in the single most unique, rendingly beautiful, and common picture of loss and fulfillment."
No longer could his gaze be met, which had set upon her unblinking. She heard him turn his head towards the horizon, and his voice softened to broke canvas, "Through that loss, again to cling, one to the other, tend our home and selves knowingly and fearlessly into those finals days… beyond them." Hardly a whisper now, "What do I want?" She could hear his eyes once more upon her downcast face. "I want Life. A life. What else is there?" One hand to her breast, she retreated a half-step, drew closer. His breath came shallow, quivering, as his jaw absently chewed the sudden silence.
A weak, spring sun crept towards the eastern ridge's crest as slowly and timidly as she raised her chin. Morning light burned in her gaze the instant their eyes met, and he couldn't say for certain, to the day she buried him, from which source came the Fire.
"I want a woman to come into that house, take up the work of plants, land and creatures along side me. A woman to love. A woman to pour her love forth, and imbue the space surrounds us with her being. I want to push, challenge, fight, come back, find our rest together, make those separate selves more completely and deeply human as we each reveal the other to ourselves." His words grew quieter, yet only shook with the more power, "I want that we fill our home till the convergence of two hearts makes one, splits again, springs forth a child. To cradle, to care for, to teach, to raise to fledging. I want to watch that embodied Love fly from our home towards Freedom in the single most unique, rendingly beautiful, and common picture of loss and fulfillment."
No longer could his gaze be met, which had set upon her unblinking. She heard him turn his head towards the horizon, and his voice softened to broke canvas, "Through that loss, again to cling, one to the other, tend our home and selves knowingly and fearlessly into those finals days… beyond them." Hardly a whisper now, "What do I want?" She could hear his eyes once more upon her downcast face. "I want Life. A life. What else is there?" One hand to her breast, she retreated a half-step, drew closer. His breath came shallow, quivering, as his jaw absently chewed the sudden silence.
A weak, spring sun crept towards the eastern ridge's crest as slowly and timidly as she raised her chin. Morning light burned in her gaze the instant their eyes met, and he couldn't say for certain, to the day she buried him, from which source came the Fire.
Monday, January 27, 2014
Travel On
Late January in the year two thousand fourteen. Once again, I find myself sitting in a coffee shop in Bloomington, IL, reflecting on transition. Just a little ways down the page you can see the last time I sat, in this shop, and contemplated moving states and changing jobs, ‘round abouts May 2012.
Up until the second week of this month, I have been living
in eastern Pennsylvania and working on a small agricultural community. Up until
the second week of this month, if someone asked what I did, I’d tell them, “I’m
a farmer, and some other stuff on the side—working with folks with
developmental disabilities”. Definitely made me sound kind of interesting,
different. Now if posed that question, I’ll say, “I coordinate a graduate
program in community development at Illinois State University”. It’s definitely
fancier, and—for the first time in several years—neither ‘student’ nor
‘volunteer’ are applicable terms for describing my occupation. Soon my bank
account will be better situated for tackling my debts, and already my hands are
softening as callouses fade into memory.
I left Kimberton, PA and Camphill for Bloomington-Normal, IL
and the Stevenson Center, making the switch from community oriented
agriculture/care-giving to community development/education focused
administration. Left the sorta rural countryside for these little twin cities.
Packed up my little bedroom in a twelve-person home and unpacked in a one-bedroom
apartment of my own. Traded in my patched up jeans and flannel work gear for
business casual slacks and button-downs. A five-minute each way walking commute
turned into an hour-long mix of hoofing and busing it (hopefully soon to
converted into a twenty-minute bike ride). Left behind a solid group of friends
and pseudo-family for an as-of-yet undefined social landscape. My new
co-workers are great, and I certainly have some friends among the faculty/staff
here at ISU, but not quite to the point of a regular hey-let’s-kick-it-Saturday-night kind of friend you know? That’ll
come, no doubt, but currently still in the midst of that transition.
Heading into this move, I was in better shape than I’d been
for quite some time. Went through a break up over the summer, which left a big
void. The relationship had been a major driving force in my move to PA, and I
think that fact made staying in Kimberton a challenge. I wouldn’t arbitrarily
live far from family. Illinois isn’t, in practical terms, that much closer to Idaho, but I’m here with more personal drive,
which helps. Anyhow, I left the Village feeling very supported and
appreciated—very solid closure. Spent some really quality time with friends,
said my good-byes, boarded the train, and twenty-seven hours later pulled into Normal.
Being back here has been surreal in some ways, gratifying in
others, challenging in a few (getting a driver’s license has been obscenely difficult), and overall
positive. I love being in
control of my food. Though I was fed incredibly well in Kimberton, cooking for
myself is probably the best thing, most joyful part of my world right now.
Reconnecting with friends here is a close second, and if I could spend more
time doing so, it would probably at least tie cooking. Having a place of my own
is pretty stellar, too. It’s getting fairly settled, and the process is delightful.
Thinking about the approaching growing season and how I’ll plug into the local
agriculture scene is similarly a delight.
I need some friends to hang with, and a kitchen table.
Separately. Not the two together, but each individually. Though, bringing the
two together is certainly a well-worn recipe for fun. Need to get the bike
rolling again, too. Commuting via bus has its benefits, for sure, but I want
more freedom.
Freedom! That’s the emotion. Following the offer for this
job and, even more so, an amazing New Year’s vacation with friends from
Micronesia, I’ve felt freer than maybe any other time in my life. Not just
relieved of obligation but capable,
fiercely capable. I can do stuff. I can make my life what I want it to be. I can
attract a woman! Ha, well… we’ll see about that last part. Point is, that void
I’d felt in PA carried along with it a certain dragging quality. I was so
damned tired. Hanging out with
friends, for the first time in my life, I had trouble keeping my eyes open.
Literally. Even after the end of peak growing season—June through August,
abouts—I didn’t seem to have the energy I’m used to having. Knowing I had the
next step prepared and then being holistically reinvigorated by the amazing
spirit and inexpressibly deep friendships of Team Chuuk, led to a profound
change coming over me. No more drooping eyelids, no more longing for bed when
hanging out with friends at night. The fire is back!
It’s so damn cold in the Midwest today, the University
closed down. So, I’m off work and figured this a good opportunity for an
update. Not sure if they’ll ever get more frequent than the twice a year deal I
seem to have going on now, but hey, it’s something. Certainly is keeping track
of the travels.
A Traveling Porter continues into uncharted territory of financial
stability, professionalism, and adulthood. Thanks for following along.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Mid Season
Road to the Sankanac CSA garden |
It's July. It's July, and the farm is in full swing. The fields and greenhouses are full of food, the propagation room and hardening tables with seedling, the fruit trees and bushes with ripening bliss, and the days with hard, delightful, sweaty work. Since the video tour, I've become an agricultural apprentice, so I'm full time in the garden and just evenings and a half day on Saturday in Serena House. Deepening my involvement and responsibilities in this way has been amazing. I'm learning so much about all aspects, it'd take some time just to list it all. We'll skip that, save to say I feel more capable every day and see myself carrying on with the agricultural lifestyle for some time. There's so much purpose infused into every day I spend on the farm, such direct connection of work to outcome to reason, the why of it all. It's good stuff, and I dig it.
Clearing weeds |
I'm also super fortunate that the folks I work with are tremendous people. The two other apprentices, Brady and Anna, are hardworking, intelligent, down to earth folks with great passion for farming. We all come to the garden for different reasons, but they compliment, converge, rather than drive apart. Also, we have two interns, Shay and Nikki who are excellent. Shay was actually an apprentice for nearly two years, about half her time overlapping with the beginning of mine. To have her back as part of the full time crew is unbelievably great. Then there's the head gardener Todd and his wife Mary, our villager crew, Beth, Andy, Lisa and Nathaniel, and our two regular workshop leaders (young village coworkers who lead the villager crew) Joelle (mornings) and Eliza (afternoons). Finally, we have a number of coworkers who are in the garden for one or two mornings/afternoons a week. It's a pretty sizable crew and we've really started to knock out some good projects.
Italian Dwarf Shelling beans and amaranth |
Red Garnet Amaranth |
We've been dealing with a very wet summer out here, the wettest June on record and so far July is following the trend. So keeping on top of field work and weeds has been a challenge. Weeds keep slipping past the hoe-able stage and fields sit, needing plowed, disced, beds formed, what-have-you and then trays of seedlings sit on the hardening table or in the greenhouse. But, we have found some windows, made a pretty good push on planting and seeding this past week. With the aid of some school and summer program groups we've pulled at least even with the weeds as well. Celery looks to be going down to early blight, possibly taking celeriac with it, our lettuce situation could get sad in a couple weeks, and winter squash is at the perfect point to go in the ground, but it's field needs rows made first. Our cooler's been jammed full with cukes, zukes, summer squash and cabbage, the tomatoes are coming on the board for next week, as are early red potatoes and carrots. The blackberries are coming ripe along with our peaches and red raspberries. The cherry tomatoes are kicking major fruit, and the peppers and eggplant look gorgeous. So many jalapenos already! The backlog of work has put our horses out at pasture more than in the field, which is a bummer. They must be pretty bored, but I did get out a couple of times with our riding cultivator to hill potatoes, strawberries and sweet potatoes. That was amazing. It's definitely our most demanding riding implement (the walk-behind plow was at least as challenging) and it's just a blast... when everything's working right. We brought in four feeder pigs to raise up over the season, too, which replaced the three we raised over the winter and had butchered this spring. Otherwise, I've been getting some solid tractor time in, part of which has been prepping a new five-acre field the dairy here turned over to us. That's going to be a really exciting project, give us some new and crucial rotational options and practice at growing feed for the cows/horses.
Kabocha and Butternut winter squash |
Basil |
Life's pretty quiet else wise. After work on Saturday evenings, I tend to get up into my amaranth/bean/squash garden for some weeding and thinning. Coffee, breakfast and the paper Sunday mornings. Maybe another trip to the main garden to do this or that thing we missed during the week. Did get into Philly to visit my buddy Brian and his wife Sheila last weekend, which was great, and I got out to a concert with most the garden crew this past Friday evening. Took Eleanor (a villager in Serena House) out for ice cream yesterday and Karen (the householder in Serena--kinda my boss) to coffee today for her birthday. So my social calendar is reasonably full, too. It's a good life. Hope you're all lovin' yours and living the Dream.
Romain surprise |
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