Sky Miles

Magical Science

2012-01-24T08:06:00.000-08:00

Farming is alchemical, I'm learning. The numbers don't always add up until you put the right magic in them.

Two friends and I have started a business. By which I mean we have a "fictitious" name, a bank account and the government expects some gold. So now David, Zoe and I need to figure out how to turn silty loam, composted manure, tiny seeds, sweat, love, and just a few tears into gold.

I love maps and spreadsheets and order, so I was quite pleased on

Saturday when we got our fields all measured and mapped out. (Google Earth is amazing). We'd already roughed out a marketing plan, so we know about how mush zucchini and salad mix we need, and we planted out strawberries last November, so we know how much space they take up. We compared what we need to what we have and I think it just might work...

Financially speaking, we think it's going to be hard but possible for the three of us to "make a living" off our 5.16 acres. Though being our own bosses, elbow deep in good food, deeply rooted in our community make for a good living, almost no matter what's in the bank, I'd say. That said, I still pay rent, I need to find cheap health insurance, and I have a taste for good Porter, so we need to make it work.

Luckily, faith and good humour go a long way in my book, and when one of us falters, the other two seem to have enough to share. I hope that I say the same thing in August, when my calluses are ripe and my sleep deprived.

Well, this is nice...

2011-11-03T20:44:00.000-07:00

I came home tonight after reconnecting with a valued friend to the house cat on my bed. I am so pleased by his pleasure. I sat on my stoop, purring myself, in satisfied anticipation of what's to come, and in great appreciation of what is now: the distant, whispering, crashing waves, owls hooting, a waxing moon, the solid feeling of things being right, if temporary... Isn't everything?

Last night I cracked garlic with my future farm partners. We sat in a circle in my kitchen with 5 gallon buckets, sorting seeds, anticipating bounty. We don't know what's to come of our endevor but we are tickled with potential.

This afternoon I caught a rainbow over my house. I never tire of those things. Each one amazes me and makes me feel lucky to be looking up and the right moment.

I love my life right now. I am fully aware of all the hard times to come, of all the directions I am constantly pulled in. I don't feel lost in it all, though. I feel found.

Spirit Voices

2011-03-18T19:50:00.001-07:00

It's fitting that my current spiritual guides are a lesbian activist minister and an over-the-top pop star. Anyone who knows me or my family circle would understand. (My dad had a propensity for blond bouffants and black evening wear; one of my favorite memories of mother is of her dancing on a table; I attended my first drag ball at age 13. The theme was orange.)

Reverend Deborah Johnson of Inner Light Ministries in Soquel, CA, asks me to ponder the sacred. She asks me the consider what I think is sacred and what I treat as sacred, and to align the two. She tells me I am directly connected to everyone and to the Divine. The healing to be done, she tells me, is a sense of separation.

Lady Gaga challenges me to love myself too. She implores me to embrace my perfect self. Don't hide in regret, she says, but rather suggests I rejoice in my truth.

I like to think I hold my body temple as sacred, but in my reality, I don't always hold my own self as sacred. I struggled with an eating disorder for years. I don't give my sacred body enough holy water when I'm thirsty or lavish my temple with quite enough devotion. I like to think I consider each individual co-inhabitant of Mama Earth as sacred, but I don't treat every person as such. I give people nasty looks sometimes. I judge. It's true.

Last year I fell in love. One of the best parts of that love was that it opened me up to a much greater Love. I felt that oneness. I felt Divine. Falling out of love was hard, but my eyes and heart are open now, and still in Love.

So when Lady G says, "hold your head up, girl" I've got my eyes to the sky. When Reverend Deb says there is Goodness I have access to always, I'm listening. I'm toying with faith. I'm considering Truth. I'm celebrating what my mama gave me. I'm practicing. I'm falling on my face often, but I'm practicing. Lady G says I'm on the right track, baby, and I'm going with that.

Next Year

2010-11-13T17:59:00.000-08:00

Next year I will finally achieve raw unselfconscious faith in myself and my strong, proud backbone.

Next year I will start writing again daily, and running three times a week with joy, and riding, and maybe painting too. But painting might not be realistic, and I don't want to set myself up for disappointment; that would be unwise.

Next year I will inspire and make better and strengthen and slash and make clever note of.

Next year I will create stunning hand-made cards, and write sweet and poignant letters in them and send them to people I love, or I once loved, and they will be impressed and grateful, and I will feel accomplished yet humble.

Next year I will take classes in the evenings - creative writing and quantum theory and revolutionary poetry. I will devour my reading assignments and weep softly.

Next year I will stop thinking I have ESP and predicting the death of my loved ones, and look to see what time it is, and decide when they should return in that car certainly with bad brakes or destined to hit a patch of ice - it's 50 degrees out! - and then count ahead to determine what time I will start to worry, and mentally file through the nearest hospitals so that when that hour hits and they have not returned, I'll know where to call. Or do I call the police and ask about accidents first? Next year I will stop doing that, for sure.

Next year I will floss.

Next year I will fall in love. And we will dance.

Next year I will can tomatoes and dry apples and give them as gifts.

Next year I will tell everyone I love that I love them and then they will know for sure and they will love me and we will all be loved without question or doubt.

Next year I will make more flower arrangements and my home's inner spaces will more accurately reflect my pleasant and calm interior self.

Next year I'll totally settle down. I swear.

Misfortune Cookies

2010-11-06T15:59:00.000-07:00

You will fall; people will laugh.

You will not succeed.

These eggrolls will go straight to your hips.

You are not as funny as you think you are.

Cultivation

2010-06-20T11:13:00.000-07:00

One of my heroes Wendy Johnson wrote a book I urge everyone to open, called Gardening at the Dragon's Gate. In it, she says, “The word ‘cultivate’ comes from the Latin colere, to culture, to worship, to respect, to till, and to take care of."

These days I'm cultivating my skills and understanding of organic gardening and farming, and I'm cultivating my awareness of my self, my thoughts which keep me bound in tight circles, and my reactions and responses. I'm practicing how to notice. My life at CASFS offers time for engagement in the field and time for study. I have been reading lots about soil fertility and also about yoga. Some days I irrigate plants, noticing when their hue shifts to dull; I feel the soil and hone my skills for reading water content in the space between the soil particles. I practice moving water wisely and with an ethic of conservation. Some days I practice yoga on my mat, moving slowly and with intention. I pay attention to my posture, my ego, to where my breath gets stuck in my body. I practice pushing myself in a gentle and compassionate way and I practice accepting and forgiving my limitations. I practice balance and smiling.

These days I also notice my negativity and what I label as "enemy" - my own indecision, rosy apple aphids, Monsanto... As I know myself better, I notice opinions and judgements more. I haven't figured much out - what I want to "do" with all this study, how to change the world best with my little life, how to have ethics of right and wrong without feeding the global hate machine. The only things I know are that it feels good to look at oak trees and to grow food, to share meals with friends, to laugh.

I have been feeling really sad and stuck lately - I love farming and want to cultivate my own farm and gardens. This is a very time and place-based and endeavour; when building soil or pruning apple trees or designing crop rotation plans, one must think in terms of years and decades. I love and long for New England landscape, family and friends, and I long for a root cellar, a family, a kitchen garden to call home. But I also love San Francisco and the Pacific horizon and the deep friendships I've made here. I don't know where I'll be later, and I don't know how to figure it out. My mind can't "figure out" the future, and in its frustration at its lack of power, it makes me anxious.

So the only thing I can figure is to cultivate hope and faith, as Gandhi once suggested, as well cultivate my skills and passion for building healthy community and soil and yoga practice. The only thing I can do is to stay open and trust that when opportunities present themselves later, I'll have the attention to notice them and the courage to take them. I keep trying to make plans, and mostly they keep falling through, so what can I do but go make breakfast right now, and then go assess the soil moisture and perhaps give those plants out there at my current home farm some water. Thank God for water, and for deep breaths, and for any friends who feel like sharing advice or presenting opportunities. I'll take it all.

Next chapter, starring Chainsaw

2010-03-18T09:17:00.000-07:00

Updates: I'm in love with life (yes, in all the fallings in and out). I'm going back to school. I am surrounded by goats and flowers. (My favorite goat's name is Chainsaw). Life is good.

The last days of Pie.

2009-12-17T09:49:00.000-08:00

Last night I sat with the goats in the dark. I tried to pick out their sillouettes, to guess who's hot breath was on my cheek. I am leaving Pie Ranch in 3 days. I will no longer see these goats every day. I thought, as I sat with the goats and the calf and my cat nearby, who intently watched the darkness, this must be why people settle down. To avoid or at least extend the time between good-byes. Some day soon I want a home for my own goats, where I can know them their whole lives, from their wet births to their old age.

Until then, I'm grateful for having known these goats for a short time.

I feel at home here, where the mountains touch the sea.

2009-09-05T09:48:00.000-07:00

Bjork often wails sweetly in my mind, "emotional landscapes. They puzzle me."

One of my favorite things in school was writing essays and book reports. I loved to compare and contrast. Some times I feel that my life is one long essay: my journals are mostly collections of passages I read in books that strike my inner chord. I squirrel away words to refer to later in time of love or crisis. I have done this for years. I write down passages, draw comparisons, I weave themes.

(Who is my audience? Do I expect someone to find these journals when I'm dead, and feel that inner hum of struck chord? Is it my inner chorus I write for, hoping they will all agree? My jury is hung.)

This morning on the porch I copied passages from The Hours. I think of a passage I read in a Murikami novel years ago that has become part of me. I think of Joseph Campbell and Bjork. It is as if I am in open water, and to orient myself, I drop buoys. (why? to find my way back? sorry, self; it's a one way trip.) I set out passages and insights - paragraphs and lyrics floating in the water; all together, they create a path, or the illusion of a path. Stay to the right of that one, the left of that, and I'll find my way back, if I need to. But looking forward into open sea scares the shit out of me. Then again, following an other's buoyed path bores me. Perhaps I'll direct my eyes to the sky instead...

- - -

Yesterday I walked on the beach, and I thought, it is essential for me to live near the sea. I can breathe at the beach; the salty wind draws my own air out and I feel revived. Perhaps I love the ocean so much because of its endless metaphors. But that's also why I love mountains and canyons too. I have found a literal landscape that overlays my emotional landscape perfectly (I think of my grandfather, a navigator, with compass and trace paper on a ship). The sea is at once steady and tumultuous. The juxtaposition of the unfaltering horizon and the shifting shore soothes my soul. And the mountains - the creeping crevices of shady creeks. The bushwhacked paths and ancient trees which make me feel small.

- - -

Some of my favorite sea themed quotes:

"She is taken by a wave of feeling, a sea-swell, that rises from under her breast and buoys her, floats her gently, as if she were a sea creature thrown back from the sand where it had beached itself - as if she had been returned from a realm of crushing gravity to her true medium, the suck and swell of salt water, that weightless brilliance." The Hours, Michael Cunningham

"Once when I was younger, I thought I could be someone else. But like a boat with a twisted rudder, I kept coming back to the same place. I wasn’t going anywhere. I was myself, waiting on the shore for me to return. " Hard-Boiled Wonderland and The End of the World, Haruki Murakami

I live by the ocean
And during the night
I dive into it
Down to the bottom
Underneath all currents
And drop my anchor
This is where I´m staying
This is my home
-- Bjork, "Anchor Song"

Follow the YES!

2009-06-30T22:35:00.001-07:00

I LOVE convergences! I was just talking to two important women in my life this evening, about weeding out that which is not needed or wanted, and about saying YES! to that which inspires. One of these women is getting married soon and lives in LA. She was telling me about a great store she heard about that we have to go to to find a dress for me to look and feel fabulous in for her wedding. She said "search online for 'no boys allowed, vintage, chalk board'." Um, OK. THEN I was speaking with another member of my tribe, my heart family - I know that sounds SO Santa Cruz, but you know what I'm talking about - those people in your life so valued and true and on the same wavelength that they fill you with gratitude and inspiration and you both end up laughing a lot and saying "I love you!" and "thank you!" and nice things like "I'm so honored to know you!" You know, THOSE relationships - your tribe. Anyway I was talking to another sista in my tribe about my current state of becoming aware of what is needing to change, and about not knowing exactly how or what the change will look like, but the raw potency of that unknowing, of the openness, of the tingling awareness that the Yes! is coming. AND that one true gift of realizing something needs to change or end is the acute gratitude that can come with its impermanence. This friend is most definitely following the Yes! right now. The Yes! is bringing her love and health and feelings of being exactly in the right place at the right time, and I love it and her and the Yes! I told her about this here vintage dress shop in LA, and sent her the link to the dress shop's blog. Then I read this blog posting, which just seems so apt that it makes me want to type a lot of exclamation points!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Times like these are times that offer the possibility of great change. Trying times force the surrender
of ego and inspire unity, and therefore expansion. If your days appear to be uncertain, keep your mind open,
say yes to all new opportunities, show up and help, take an interest in that which is around you, do anything
happily to help others, and always be paid even if the pay is low. You are always a professional.
5 years ago I was babysitting, walking dogs, walking women, cleaning houses, garages, and organizing closets.
One day I said yes to helping someone at a flea market on a hot day in June for 15 dollars. The rest is history.
Say yes, stay open, show up with love and let go of all pre conceptions. GO.

Yes! So next weekend, my sista and another new friend will go on a day trip to an amazing bakery and garden north of San Francisco in a magical valley, following the Yes! and celebrating the tribe. GO.

be ignited or be gone

2009-06-01T21:22:00.000-07:00

I'm eating chocolate cake in bed and reading poems. Her are some of my current favorites:

"To Be of Use"
- Marge Piercy

The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half-submerged balls.

I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.

I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who stand in the line and haul in their places,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.

The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.

"Lead"
- Mary Oliver

Here is a story
to break your heart.
Are you willing?
This winter
the loons came to our harbor
and died, one by one,
of nothing we could see.
A friend told me
of one on the shore
that lifted its head and opened
the elegant beak and cried out
in the long, sweet savoring of its life
which, if you have heard it,
you know is a sacred thing,
and for which, if you have not heard it,
you had better hurry to where
they still sing.
And, believe me, tell no one
just where that is.
The next morning
this loon, speckled
and iridescent and with a plan
to fly home
to some hidden lake,
was dead on the shore.
I tell you this
to break your heart,
by which I mean only
that it break open and never close again
to the rest of the world.

"What I Have Learned So Far"
- Mary Oliver

Meditation is old and honorable, so why should I
not sit, every morning of my life, on the hillside,
looking into the shining world? Because, properly
attended to, delight, as well as havoc, is suggestion.
Can one be passionate about the just, the
ideal, the sublime, and the holy, and yet commit
to no labor in its cause? I don't think so.

All summations have a beginning, all effect has a
story, all kindness begins with the sown seed.
Thought buds toward radiance. The gospel of
light is the crossroads of -- indolence, or action.

Be ignited, or be gone.

Trouble in life & death

2009-05-06T21:18:00.000-07:00

It's not all wine and roses here on the left coast. It's not all apple blossoms and sick swells, though the waves have been killer... It's been a rough coupla days, a rough coupla months even. I am reeling from love lost, love misdirected. Today we buried a goat, Trouble, who died a painful death from bloat. It was a hard thing to witness, to say the least.

I've been having a hard time staying present, which is not unusual for me. I have this tendency to pendulum between worry about the future and romantic daydream about the future. Call it my nature, or a bad habit, or a result of a very nonlinear life as an orphan kid, but the unknown is generally terrifying for me, and also a familiar escape from the present moment.

I also have this habit of dishing out compassion to those who don't always ask for it, appreciate it, or need it as much as I would benefit from spoon-feeding myself. I was reminded today that usually when I'm being really judgmental and impatient with myself, it's mirrored by a similar attitude towards those around me. I'm sorry, folks. I forget sometimes I have an affect on the outside world - I get too wrapped up in my own drama and heartache and self-loathing. You think it's tough being under my scrutiny? You should hear it in here, in my head. The other day I was doing some therapeutic visioning and EFT with a friend, and I was literally beating up my inner child. I saw this hungry sad eyed Sailor Moon-esqe orphan girl in rags, and I had no patience for her neediness, and I kicked her. I have a bit of an abusive relationship with myself. I'm calling on my inner Warrior Princess, my inner Beyonce, to help take the helm, but my inner anxiety-prone abuser is really not happy about giving up control. Oye vey.

Trouble was trouble from the beginning. As a kid she got herself tangled in an electric fence. I had to cut her out. She was OK but became strangely immune to electric fences - we couldn't keep that goat in.

When she kidded 3 weeks ago, her first baby was all turned around and we had to go in and pull it out. It was intense, traumatic, and in the end, it was a big success with pointy bunny ears we call Beyonce. But despite motherhood, Trouble still wandered outside fences recently, and it eventually did her in. She got in to the grain bag yesterday and ate so much that her gut filled up with grain, which expanded in her stomach, fermented, changed her natural pH, produced a ton of gas which eventually filled her up so much that it crushed her lungs and heart. It was horrible. We tried all the usual remedies - feeding her beer, milk of magnesia, and Tide water to stimulate burping, massaging her sides, but she couldn't recover. I spent some of last night/early morning holding her listless head in my lap as she moaned in pain, sometimes crying out, her breathing shallow, her heartbeat erratic. It was awful. I cried for her suffering, for my suffering, for the suffering of so many creatures all over the globe. This, I thought, is what brings us together. This pain is universal. This is devastating.

This morning we had to decide if and how to end her life. We decided that while dying on her own terms at her own pace would be the most natural - how it would happen in the "wild" - letting her suffer was not the humane option. None of us felt confident we could find her carotid artery to bleed her out, so we opted for the shotgun. The blast was bone shakingly loud and she died instantly.

Now I am tired from sleepless nights of goat care, tears, and a host of emotions. Now I sleep. Tomorrow is a new day, and I will need to focus on getting some milk into Trouble's orphan kids, breathing the tension out of my shoulders, and harvesting berries for pies.

Rest in peace, Trouble. I'm sorry your life and death was sometimes difficult. I promise to take care of your kids as best I can.

spring jumps on long legs

2009-04-20T09:10:00.000-07:00

Jolene's water broke. I'm enjoying a quick breakfast of french toast and vegetarian sausages (don't tell Bacon) and coffee before I go check on her progress. She's the last of our does to kid, and I'll be kind of sad at the end of kidding season. I like being a goat midwife. Luckily, the kids are SO cute, and I really enjoy their company. Here, some pics.

The Life of Pie: The Mud & Blood of the Every Day

2009-02-20T21:18:00.000-08:00

Oh, Life. Today spanned a wide range of farm life activities, from killing to nurturing. This morning, as all mornings, I had coffee with Lauren in our farmhouse kitchen and threw the Tarot. Dede went for a run on the beach (she's so good; I swore I'd go after work, but then hot dogs and bonfire and s'mores won out...). To kick off the work day, we cleaned up the outdoor kitchen in preparation for a group of students who are here for three days; they are from California College of the Arts and might build us a cob oven.

We slaughtered two hens this morning before the art students arrived. These hens had been caught the previous day breaking and eating eggs. Their cannibalistic ways were their death sentence. Once some of them start, all the others follow, and that just won't do in any sort of production situation. Feed and labor are just too expensive to be raising chickens that eat their own eggs. So we decided to slaughter them. It was the first time I actually did the killing - last time I just helped eviscerate the roosters we killed. It was harder than it looked to cut the bird's jugular. I need to get better at that.

I could go on about how I feel about killing animals, and how I think, as a meat eater, I should do that at least once - "Know your food" means meat too. But I'm tired. I will say that it was so amazing to see eggs in various stages of production come out of these hens. Seeing inside of a recently alive animal is so amazing - bodies are amazing.

We cleaned the birds and the area up. The art students arrived. Dede, Lauren, Nancy and I spent the afternoon in the apple orchard where we pruned the young trees. I love pruning. Winter pruning is invigorating, whereas summer pruning is devigorating. In winter, I'm learning, we make cuts to stimulate growth. There are so many metaphors inherent in pruning fruit trees. It's important, for instance, to step back and get a broad view of the tree, and to envision your long term goal before you start cutting. But then you have to get in there and make decisions based on a mix of knowledge and intuition, and really, there is no one right way; everyone will do it differently.

I like the idea of cutting back to make room and energy for new growth. I guess I'm doing that a bit in my own life. I'm realizing more and more, as I get older, what I have time and energy for, and what I need to cut out. I want to devigorate negative habits and encourage positivity and abundance. I am cutting back sabotaging negative thoughts and stimulating flexibility and openness and authenticity. I dance between the overarching view - analyzing my choices along my path - and the mud and blood of the every day. Sometimes I kill things, sometimes I help them grow. Oh, Life.

Yeah, but what do you do?

2009-01-16T22:21:00.000-08:00

Today, 15 high schoolers came down from San Francisco to visit Pie Ranch, most for the 1st time. They are all part of a new gardening group; they've started a few raised beds in their school in the Mission District of SF. David has been to Pie Ranch before and participated in the Rooted in Communities conference last summer, but most of the other youth had never been to the ranch, or any farm at all. We played an ice breaker, walked to the upper slice, and broke into tour groups. I led the "crops" tour and explained what we grow, what's up with pie, what's a cane berry, what's cover crop, and why the strawberry beds are covered in plastic. It was cool that these kids had a point of reference from their participation in the gardening group; one girl guessed correctly that the plastic traps in heat and another guessed that it suppresses weeds. Many kids who come here have never eaten a fresh strawberry, let alone know how they are grown.

My friend Casey asked me the other day, "What is Pie Ranch, really? What do you do?" I had a hard time answering, partly because I had just come down off hours of meetings in the city and my brain was fried; partly because I have a hard time articulating all that we do in a few sentences. We do so much. We teach kids about where food comes from. We teach them about why they should care about that. We let them explore nature, to sit by a pond and look at bugs, to feed a chicken and see who is more nervous - the chicken or them. We create circumstances where cooperation works better than competition, like baking 4 pies or planting 200 bed feet of seeds, or making a meal for 30, or moving a 50 lb. bag of grain. We play games and share meals and give high fives. We play. We work. We try to seek balance between activity and reflection.

Today I baked pies with 3 students and a visiting teen from Philly. I asked for one volunteer to be the recipe keeper, and he did math on converting a recipe for 1 pie to a recipe for 4. One girl was the time keeper and the other were the mixers and dough makers. We busted out crust made with wheat grown at Pie Ranch, and they mixed pumpkins (grown here) with eggs (laid here) and sugar and milk and spices. One girl asked me if it mattered which color egg she used, because some are brown and some are blue and some are white. I explained they are all the same on the inside, they just looked different.

Tonight I met Casey and a few other local farmers for a drink at our local tavern - it's been owned and run by the same family since the late 1800's. The bartender knows our names and what we drink. John and I talked about cultivating tractors, and Airielle and I discussed how the garlic is coming up. Casey shared news of his basketball team (he's the high school team coach), and I made a mental note of the date of the next home game so I can support the boys. I invited them to Sunday dinner, a chosen-family tradition. John will bring desert. Casey the chocolate and wine. Airielle's good for veggies, and I will come up with something, maybe squash soup. I encouraged them all to come to tomorrow's barn dance, and hugged them goodby. It feels good to be sinking my roots into this coastal soil and around these people. I'm feeling good.

Intentions, daresay I, resolutely

2009-01-02T19:45:00.000-08:00

"2008 was quite a year," I remark with my backward glancing eye. Flicking opticals forward, I am hopeful for 2009. This year I will buy a bike and ride it; study and practice espanol; read more, in my own company and aloud with friends; play more games, like Trump and Mad Gab (so fun!); practice the art of gentle forgiveness; be silent; get adopted; write more; be more shamelessly me.

This trip back east is slipping through my fingers too quickly. I can't believe I've already hugged hello and goodbye Kate and George and Jason and Jade and Liz and Katie and Anna and Kim and Shanna and Alyssa... I wasn't ready. I miss them. I ache.

If you know me well, you know I'm a big head case. 2008 was an amazing year, but a rough one. Dede's theme song for me this fall was 'Walking Down the Line' (I just learned from the Interweb that's a Dylan song. Thanks Interweb, for helping to disguise my rampant ignorance, and thanks, self, for exposing it). It goes:

I got a heavy-headed gal
I got a heavy-headed gal
She aint feelin well
When shes better only time will tell...

Well, Bob, Dede, I think time tells that in 2009, my official theme song has transformed to Nina Simone's "Feelin Good," which, BTW, has gone on every mixtape I have made recently.

An aside: I am obsessed with Mixtapes. It helps if I'm obsessed with the person for whom I'm making such mixtape, and therefor I can really get into analyzing lyrics, moods, transitions from one song to the next, thereby embedding secret messages or insights into the relationship, my heartbrain, my desires, fears, and assumptions. You know. Mixtapes. This winter, I gave out a lot of mixtapes. And most ended with "Feeling Good" to really kick 2009 off right.

While I was hung on the rack of decision in the fall of 2008, stretched painfully between California and New England, between history and adventure, from sea to shining sea, weighing, debating, doubting, confusing, worrying, wanting desperately to set down roots and terrified by the significance of rooting and transplanting, while this tested the strength of my intuition guts and ripped my tendons of security and faith, I sought council from my almost-officially-adopted-parents. They repeatedly advised "don't worry so much" and "you can't avoid regret" and "it's not about the decision, it's about the reasons behind the decision." Then almost-adopted-parents said an interesting thing. They told me that this state of doubt and torture reminded them very much of my mother, who they knew and loved well. So apparently, it's genetic. My family heirloom.

When I've read my mom's journals I've noticed remarkable similarities in our passionate daydreams and constant seeking. We seem to share an affliction/blessing of optimism that crosses easily into dissatisfaction. "If I just do more yoga and meditate and take more time for my art and stick up for myself a bit more, I'll find that balance and happiness I've been so close to." It's so hard for me, as it was apparently for her, to take a deep breath, have faith, and roll with life. To trust I'm on my path, that I'll make choices when I need to and can't anticipate them too soon, and that it'll all work out as it should. We seem, me and mom, to have an amazing ability to question and gain perspective and wonder and change and adapt, and doubt and over analyze and worry. Oye. More so, Jason and I did my chart at astro.com and learned that in addition to being a Gemini (air sign), my moon is in Aquarius (air sign). I'm a double air. I float away with the power of my own head. Did I mention my name is Sky?

In contemplating this idea of genetics, I naturally thought, "well, what did I get from Dad?" But I didn't have to wonder for more than a second because I know what I got from him: a love of parties and costumes, an amazing toe point, big hair, and an affinity for men.

Of course this simplifies things, me, my parents, nature and nurture, but I do think it's interesting to know when I sound just like my mother, considering that I've lived most of my life, by a small majority, without her. My new approach to my self and bad habit of self loathing is to forgive myself for my shortcomings, to celebrate my oddities, and to not fight my self so much. So, I'm a hand-wringer by nature. So, relax and go for a hike, kid. Get some perspective. Be patient; you'll float back down to earth eventually. Keep moving, keep breathing, keep singing with Nina:

Its a new dawn, its a new day, its a new life for me, And I'm feelin good.

My heart is a vessel of creamy soup

2008-11-27T08:39:00.000-08:00

Given the consistency of the squash soup I made last night, which waits in a pot like a sturdy swollen silver goddess of strength and comfort, I feel like it is an appropriate moment to wax thankful about my delicious and bellyheartwarming life. I am in San Francisco on an extended weekend of ingesting. I am swallowing sweet soup and bitter coffee, fertile eggs from the chickens who share my home, a little bit of pride squeezed out of my sentimental heart like pomegranate juice through a fist, lotsa love thrown at me from my friendsfamily. I am anticipating swallowing a lot more before the day is out. There are 20 friends and friends of friends gathering in a few hours with a steaming turkey, hella fixins, 3 pies we made last night, including pumpkin (with Pie Ranch wheat and pumpkins obviously), coco-cutty-nutty pie (pecan, chocolate, whiskey), and an experimental persimmon pie, cuz tiz the season for those fruits and I'm all about the season. whew.

The soundtrack of this holiday is based on mixtapes (not literally, obviously, as everything has a file extension these days, which goes against my abhorrence of anything rhyming with "-egabyte"). My friend Airielle is falling in love (with herself, with a sharp dressed man) and mixtapes have been taking up a lot of our time, speech, and airwaves. I love it. I decided to not let the lack of a man-with-whom-I'm-falling-into-love stop me from making romantic mix tapes for my friends, who, let's face it, are my lovers. I love them, you. My heart is a vessel of creamy soup. I'm also trying to turn some of that soupy love inward, and feed my own hungry bellyheart. Of course it's a balance - hunger and fullness, too much, too little. So I'll make a lovey mixtape for me too, and it will definitely include Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward singing "Bring it to me. Bring your sweet loving. Bring it on home to me..." Their voices are like cream and squash - sweet and full and perfect together.

I want to tell you about the recent dance parties, about my plans for growth next season, about my excitement for a hopefully snowy New England Christmas, but it's a busy day and I have people to hug. So in the spirit of the day, THANK YOU for reading, for loving, for sharing, and for being in my life sphere. Sending soupy love your way, S.

Yo! Semite!

2008-11-01T19:14:00.001-07:00

I went to Yosemite with my friends Bill and Flavio a few weeks ago. I just HAD to see this place while I live in CA. Its really is GORGEOUS! Look:

Half Dome! It's half a dome!

We spent many hours hiking in silence and also talking about how to subvert the military industrial complex by growing your own food, bartering instead of spending, and collaborating instead of buying into the competitive fear mongering spit out by the Man. Good times.

Here are some more photos:

O Capitan, mi Capitan!

I'm a Japanese Monk in the Clouds

2008-10-10T22:04:00.000-07:00

I was reading Wendy Johnson's book the other day, Gardening at The Dragon's Gate, and was jolted to read about an "unsui" - a home leaver. An unsui is a Japanese word for monk, literally meaning "cloud and water wanderer," since the practice of the unsui is to travel across the mountains like clouds and water.

I think I'm an unsui (by nature or compulsion though?). I certainly travel a lot literally, but more fundamentally, I think my usual mental and emotional state could quite aptly be compared to watery clouds traveling over mountains. Floaty, rising, falling, heavy yet light, float, search, go. It's often tiring being a cloud monk, but oh, the places I go...

Reading on, I came across a piece of advice that made me wince. It's from poet and Zen practitioner Gary Snyder, who advises citizens of this millennium; "Don't move. Stay still. Once you find a place that feels halfway right, and it seems time, settle down with a vow not to move any more. Take a look at one place on earth, once circle of people, one realm of beings over time."

But Gary, what about us unsuis? How does a cloud keep from floating? I realized recently that I have moved every one to two years since I was 11 years old. When I was 11, I moved from my childhood home, which I loved with all of my heart, to Florida, which I came to despise with all of my being. Perhaps I have been searching for that home - that place that was totally mine. I knew every foot of garden, woods, sheds, forts, secrets and corners. Could it be that I haven't felt as at home since because of all the moving?

So what about the unsui? What if I have found two places that seem halfway right? What if yes, the time is right to settle down, to observe and work a plot of earth, a circle of people, but there are two plots, two circles? How does an unsui choose between when all she knows is floating? There seems to be an important metaphor here, like an ore in the rock, about embracing imperfections and staying anyway. If place is self, and I can't settle on the perfect place, or embrace a good enough place despite its imperfections, what does that say about how I treat myself?

I want to sing that song "Angel From Montgomery." Just give me something that I can hold on to. To believe in this living is just a hard way to go.

Any advice, peeps? I'm open. Just a wandering cloud, wanting to let down some rain.

Funnest Barn Dance Ever

2008-09-24T15:19:00.000-07:00

This month's barn dance was SO FUN! Dede's friend Eli came and took photos. He really captured the energy of the dance. Look at pictures! Click here!

The monthly barn dances are a celebration of community and shared intention. They are a heartwarming testament to the incredible work Pie Ranch is accomplishing to build a healthier world, one which values cooperation, celebration as well as hard work. I'm so proud and enriched to be part of this.

Enjoy the photos! Thanks Eli!

A Visit From Cousin-Uncle George

2008-09-19T21:07:00.000-07:00

I enjoyed a visit from my cousin-uncle George last week who lives in Vermont (he's my mom's first cousin). It was so great to reconnect with him. We went running at Big Basin Redwoods State Park; I showed him one of my favorite beaches; we drank wine and ate great bread; we soaked up the sun on the deck of this amazing house I was house sitting.

I was inspired to hear that George, who is very athletic, started running at age 30. There's hope! He also started skiing at age 35. It's funny to me, because running and skiing are two things I most associate with him (of course, I was born when he was 30). It is interesting to me what we define ourselves and others by. If I had to describe cousin-uncle George, "athletic" would be at the top of the list, with "(running, skiing)" clarifying, followed by "he has a silver ponytail," and "he lives in Vermont." But all of these qualities have time lines - he didn't always run or ski or have silver hair or live in Vermont.

I guess I find that particularly interesting because I've been thinking a lot about what defines me. I associate my work - how I spend my time - with my very self. And when I have reservations about my work, it cuts to my core, so that I doubt my Self. Like, if I don't define myself as a farmer, or as a fundraiser, or as an artist, then how will I know who I am?

I think being 30, and having tricky ol' Saturn visiting, is a good opportunity for me to look closely at what I rely on to define myself and get rid of those things that don't suit me. It's time to find a deeper faith in my good self that is not determined by things that are limited or variable. Because if I cling to thinking of myself just as "healthy" or "able" or as a "farmer" or a "good friend" then where would I be if I fell ill, can't work, and let my friendships slip? I'd still be me. I'd still be good enough.

ANYWAY, cousin-uncle George is more that a runner with long hair, and I really enjoyed spending time with him. I like getting to know him as an adult, as my self.

So please, loved ones, come visit! Come redefine your self or at least enjoy some red wine by the beach! Life is short!

Rooted in Communities

2008-09-02T17:07:00.000-07:00

In July, I participated in a youth leadership conference called Rooted in Communities. Youth involved in urban agriculture, community gardening and food justice from all over the country came to Pie Ranch for the day, and our resident youth leaders hosted the national visitors. Our Mission High leadership group led the RIC participants in games, tours, farm activities, and pie baking. Here are some great photos.

This conference was one of the moments that makes me so jazzed to be part of the good food movement, to use a Farm Aid phrase. Seeing kids be inspired, empowered, and intimate with food and agriculture makes me feel part of some motion towards betterness. Helping to inspire others inspires me. Enjoy the photos!

In the Field

2008-08-20T21:27:00.000-07:00

The corn looks amazing right now. We're growing pop corn and Hopi Blue corn for cornmeal. The plants stand erect like proud sentinels, ready for anything. The male flowers point ambitiously skyward, and the female silks bloom seductively in flowing magenta. Dede showed me how fun it is to run through the rows. Any day can become better after running through corn aisles.

I spent yesterday morning training apple trees. I really like learning about apple trees. I like persuading limbs to shift, to try a new perspective, to balance the tree's shape and health.

I meditated in the burgeoning orchard yesterday. After milking goats in the morning, I spent some time reading Edward Espe Brown's cookbook, Tomato Blessings and Radish Teachings, in preparation for cooking for 40 students who are coming tomorrow. I got ensnared in his words about cooking food, which I think are just as true about growing food.

"Cooking is not merely a time consuming means to an end, but is itself healing, meditation, and nourishment." Good food is nourishing for me as the grower as much as for me, the eater.

Along that same vein, Brown says, "Work is also a spiritual practice, another opportunity to see into the nature of things." I used my time in the apples as an opportunity for meditation. I practiced being present, being aware of the feeling of pounding stakes into the ground, of the sound of wind through leaves and nearby chickens.

"You are not just working on food," he writes, "you are working on yourself, you are working on other people." I am a firm believer (yet I need constant reminding) that I must live how I want to be, and how I want the world to be. I want to be balanced - I must practice balancing on one leg. I want to be strong - I must exercise my muscles. I want this world to be more respectful, cooperative, sustainable - I must cultivate respect, cooperation, sustainability on my literal plot of earth.

I am reminded of a passage I read recently in Pema Chodron's book, The Places That Scare You about cultivating the condition for joy to expand. "Train in staying present...in being steadfast with our bodies, our emotions, our thoughts. We stay with our own little plot of earth and trust that it can be cultivated, that cultivation will bring it to its full potential. Even though it's full of rocks and the soil is dry, we begin to plow this plot with patience. We let the process evolve naturally."

Edward Espe Brown suggests, "Just do what you are doing." May this be my mantra, my life vest when I flail.

(Click for a closer view: The blue coop by the corn; corn aisles; volunteer sunflowers and the sea of corn)

The Transfer Station

2008-08-18T08:33:00.000-07:00

I love small towns and juxtapositions. The other day, I spent the morning loading up our giant bio-diesel powered truck with trash and recycling, and Dede and I drove to the Pescadero transfer station, or, what we would call back east, the dump. We pulled in and started unloading beer bottles from weekend revelry, used paper cups from the farmstand, bags of trash from school groups' visits.

I realized that I like having to go to the dump. I like living in a place which requires me to deal with my own trash. I appreciate having to be literally face to face with what I am disposing of and not reusing. The idea of nameless figures carrying away trash from the curb and taking it to somewhere else offends my sense of personal and global responsibility. I'd rather have to stick my entire arm, up to the cheek bone, into the barrel to grab that gooey wrapper that I tossed out. Make me face my waste.

Dede and I paid our $2 dumping fee to the funny man who is transfer station manager, and we rewarded ourselves with a drive up a gorgeous road into the sweet little town of Pescadero for a cup of coffee and a cinnamon role. We couldn't find a sink to wash our hands, so we gave each other grimy high-fives and grabbed that cinnamon roll by the goo and ate up, germs and all. Delicious.

Later that day, Nancy, Rosa, Dede and I got fancy and attended the kick off party to the 18th annual Pescadero Art and Fun Fest. We went down to the I.D.E.S. hall in pumps and vests, and yes thank you, I'd love a complimentary glass of champagne. Along with more people than I though lived in town, we looked at local art, swigged plastic cups full of bubbly, and chatted with neighbors.

I love that my life affords me these two seemingly contradictory aspects. Dirty in the morning, fancy in the evening. It suits my Gemini nature just fine.

Pie Contest

2008-08-04T15:20:00.000-07:00

Dede and I entered the 2nd annual Mission Pie pie bake-off yesterday. We milled our own flour from last year's Sonora wheat (brought to CA in the 1800's from the Mexican missions, grown at Pie Ranch), we harvested rhubarb, took some of Pie Ranch's finest berries out of the freezer, and headed north to the city. At Dede's friend's house, we threw together a pie, complete with an argyle pastry top, and rushed to the pie shop. It was mobbed!! In hind sight, I wish we had baked the pie a bit lower and slower, and let it set up a bit longer. We didn't win, but we weren't really in it to win it.

It's funny that I'm entering pie contests now, and that I drove from the country to the city to enter such a contest. It's funny that so much of my life revolves around pie. Pie is so great. Who doesn't love pie?

The pie contest organizers asked Dede and I to help serve pie to the hordes of people (after the pastries had been sampled by the judges, of course). So we spent several hours of our day off dishing out pie to an enthusiastic mob. It was so fun! Some of the best pies included a banana caramel fluffy pie pile, a savory shepherds pie, an amazing peach pie, which, to my horror, I realized tasted so good because of the high fructose corn syrup drenched canned peaches. Oh well - it's good I don't consider myself a purist!

The winner was a stylish young lady who made a blackberry pie and cut a big cheerful star out of the top crust. She won a trophy and a round of applause.

Next year, I'll have a full year of Pie under my belt. Watch out, San Francisco!

(Photo, Pie Ranch and Mission Pie's own, the Phenomenal Karen H).

The Slice

2008-07-28T19:31:00.000-07:00

Last weekend Dede (my fellow Pie Ranch apprentice, and new best Cali friend), her friend Jenessa and I hiked up the ridge behind Pie Ranch. The views from the chalk mountain are amazing! The pie shape of Pie Ranch is really evident from up there; the Pie founders first thought up the idea fro Pie Ranch from seeing the land from this ridge. In this photo you can see the stripe of wheat (golden), the yurt, and the mobile chicken coops.

Dede and I spent some time envisioning what we would do with the land across the street if we could farm it. Ma and Pa would love to see us start A La Mode Dairy, to make ice cream for pie, of course. I'm intimidated by dairy operations, what with the schedules and living animals dependent on you and the 6 am milkings... but it's fun to imagine farming with Dede, and this land is so beautiful, in a windy, dry, kind of way. No matter what, it's fun to imagine and good practice for me to daydream.

East Meets West

2008-06-25T11:23:00.000-07:00

I'm back in San Francisco after an amazing short/long two weeks on the East Coast. It was an amazingly powerful trip full of intense opportunities for bonding and learning. I reconnected with love ones (you're probably the ones reading this), met a new person the very moment she was born, practiced honesty, even when it's difficult, and found surprises in unsuspected places.

A major theme for my trip was realizing my limitations. It was impossible to see everyone I wanted to see and to make up for being away for 6 months. A consequence of living on the other coast is missing people who are far away. I love my new coast and friends dearly, and by gaining them, I am missing other people and experiences back east, and two weeks cannot solve that. I had to stop stressing out and be OK with disappointing some people and myself by admitting I couldn't be many places at once.

Another theme was honesty and communication. Several instances on this journey afforded me the opportunity to put into practice ideals I've decided are important to me, such as admitting the truth, even when it's hard. I'm intentionally making myself vulnerable, with faith that it will inspire the same, or at least kindness, in others. So far, so good, but it's tough. I have to believe that it will pay off in my self and my relationships.

I'm really glad it rained so much while I was back east, as I probably won't see that much rain here in CA until the winter. It felt nice to be glad to see rain clouds, as in the past, they often depressed me. Which brings me to another theme of the trip - gratitude. This past year I have been practicing gratitude for what I have instead of focusing so much on what I don't have. It's a balance I think, between being grateful for what you have and envisioning what it is you want in the future. I am grateful for the rain, for my friends, for the way my heart got all tangled up back east. And now I'm grateful to be back in CA, to reconnect with Pie, to see this amazing coast, and to find out what happens next on my adventure.

The Abattoir

2008-06-09T15:01:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, the Pie Ranch apprentices, Caleb, Dede and I, took Fiesta the goat to the abattoir. We knew his destiny from his birth, but the experience was intense nonetheless.

I carried him on my lap in the truck. Dede drove. He barely made a peep and seemed more curious than afraid. We pulled up to the ranch and a man in rubber boots opened a gate. The time between parking the truck and Fiesta's death was no more than a minute, maybe two. We all wanted to watch the process, maybe for different reasons. Caleb is enthusiastic about learning how to kill and slaughter. I felt driven to observe a meat animal's death, given that I eat meat. Dede seemed the most unsure about wanting to be present for the slaughter, but like me, seemed pulled towards the experience by some force other than intellectual.

I wasn't prepared for the way in which the man in the rubber boots killed Fiesta, which was by high voltage electrocution. I had been imagining a hand slitting the goat's throat. The man in rubber boots took Fiesta's lead rope and led the little brown-headed goat into a raised stall at the back of the killing room. He sprayed Fiesta with a hose. Fiesta shook his wet head. He didn't seem scared and never made a sound. He seemed more curious as to why he was getting sprayed. I realized what was happening and had to look away. When I thought it was over, I made myself turn around and watch.

When I turned around, the man in rubber boots was pulling a knife out of Fiesta's heart, and bright red blood was pouring out of the little goat's chest. He shook his floppy ears once, and his stiff legs kicked a bit, but otherwise his death was calm. I appreciated how calm and quiet the man in rubber boots was as well. He had a well manicured dark mustache and moved with careful intention.

While the bright red blood poured out of Fiesta's body, the man with the rubber boots cut off his hind feet at the fetlocks, what would be his knees. For a brief second I panicked, wondering if he was dead yet, if he could feel the sharp knife. But then another, calmer voice in my head said, "This is the process. This is how this is happening," which somehow calmed me. There was no way for me to know what Fiesta was experiencing, and there was no way I could affect his experience.

The man in the rubber boots picked up Fiesta, now clearly dead and footless, by his back half legs and carried him to a bar which hung from the ceiling. In a quintessential slaughterhouse moment, the man in the rubber boots lowered the bar, which had a large, sharp hook at each end, by turning a noisy roll of chain. The sound, like the smell of the place, was metallic. The man then lifted Fiesta up and put a hook through each of his back leg joints, which were perfectly shaped for such a thing. I was impressed and awed by this. It became apparent to me that someone invented this hook bar specifically for fitting between those bones for this purpose. Someone who's job it was to kill and slaughter animals every day came up with this hook bar to conveniently hang an animal securely so that he could skin it. It was disgustingly ingenious.

The rest of the butchering happened quickly, and just as calmly as the killing. The man with the rubber boots skinned the goat with very few cuts of the knife - he mostly pulled off the hide. I could tell that this man had done this a million times before, and yet he seemed to take great care and pride in the task. The word that comes to mind is Zen. This man was very present - like the rare doctor who, even though she sees 50 patients in a day, is fully present in the room, giving you her full attention. The man in the rubber boots was giving Fiesta the metaphorical equivalent of direct and steady eye contact.

I kept waiting for some noticeable shift in my feelings toward Fiesta - I kept waiting for a moment when he stopped being Fiesta and became meat. But he was always Fiesta, just now, he had no feet, no skin.

My heart caught a bit when the man in the rubber boots lifted him off the hooks, and Fiesta's skinless body fell limp onto the floor. He had seemed so solid hanging - a miniature version of the barrel chested cows hanging turgidly to my right. But in a small heap, Fiesta was the size of a three month old goat. Hi little skinless legs folded under him. He was himself, dead.

One of the strangest thoughts I had in the abattoir was the fact that what was happening to Fiesta- his life, now his death, now his meat exposed - could and would happen to any animal. Any creature could be very easily killed and skinned with a sharp knife and would look much like Fiesta looked - pink and raw with bulging eyes in exposed sockets.

The other strange thought I had when the man in rubber boots was done, was that if any service provider deserved a tip, it was this man. His has to be a thankless job. He can't get paid that well. I was so grateful for his respect for his work, his respect for the animal, that I did thank him. I looked him in the eye. I wanted to tell him he did a good job, that the world needs more people like him slaughtering our meat. How awful and traumatic that experience could have been for me, for Fiesta, if a more aggressive, more loud or angry or resentful or careless person had carried out that task. There was no brutality in Fiesta's death. There was only a very simple transformation of life into death.

I won't get to eat Fiesta, whose body was taken to a woman-owned butcher shop in San Francisco, and who now exists corporeally in paper bags in our freezer, because I will be back east when my friends and coworkers barbecue him for Pie Ranch's monthly potluck and barn dance. I am sorry for this. I would like to experience eating Fiesta, to bring the process full circle. But I don't feel like I'm really missing out, because now I understand in a very real way that every bite of meat I chew once had an adorable face. I don't think eating meat should be easy or abstract. I strive for honesty in all things, including eating. And sometimes I eat meat. And sometimes I eat Fiesta, who had a brown face and was adorable as a baby and who was also just a goat.

The Farm in FL I worked on; Formerly Neil Young's Busdriver's Farm

2008-05-22T18:35:00.000-07:00

Hey friends. Here's a nice article about Wise Acre Farm in Florida that Jolie and I stayed and worked on in February. I met Kim and Mike, the current owners, through Farm Aid, and had a great time driving their tractor! Enjoy! (I just got word the goat kids are out - standing on my outdoor kitchen's picnic table - so I have to run!)

Quick Pie Update

2008-05-19T16:28:00.000-07:00

Here are some photos of my April and May. I've been enjoying milking goats, hiking among Redwoods, cooking and eating with new friends, beaching, and practicing my tractor skills (I can drive so straight!) This is Jolene the goat, Me in Wheat, Coop View, and some cuteness in the form of chicks.

Are you a Farmassist or an Agonizer?

2008-05-05T15:42:00.000-07:00

Last week Jered (Papa Pie) and I drove into San Francisco to meet with Karen (Pie business partner) and Mary (fundraising consultant) about Pie Ranch's capital campaign. On the drive up the coast, Jered and I talked about the global local food movement (is that an oxymoron?). Jered told me about his involvement in the birth of the CSA movement in France, which is called AMAP en Francais. He also shared his vision for a food system in which local producers partner together to provide a wide variety - maybe even all - of a community's food needs. The local fishermen would provide seafood; the mushroom guy would grow organic shitakes; the farmers would of course grow vegetables; the dairy down the road would supply milk and cheese; the Pie Ranches of the world would deliver pie and eggs each week. The eaters could visit the suppliers and have a direct relationship with the people who produce their food. The whole world could be made up of overlapping circles of foodsheds; just as rivers define a watershed, the topography, climate, and local personalities would define regional food systems.

The fire in my belly - that spark in my heart - licks its flaming tongues a little higher whenever I engage in conversation like this about a more perfect world. My constitution is such that I love to dream big. I am inspired by potential. I need to stick my hands in the soil to stay grounded. I need local soil - a physical farm - to toil in and stay grounded, as I envision a better, more sustainable and just world.

Cruising up the coast, Jered and I discussed the farmers of the future - the new crop of farmers like me and my fellow apprentices. What role will we play in shaping our future food system? While some folks are satisfied by a simple and isolated life of tending crops and timely harvests, Jered and I agree that many of tomorrows farmers will play a more activist role. What is this new job called, we wondered. How will these farmer/activists, these agricultural visionaries define themselves?

"How about Farmassists?" asked Jered. "Farmers who are assisting in the creation of a Good Food Movement."

"Or Agonizers," I said, and we laughed. "Agriculturalists/social organizers. Or people like me who agonize about their role in the movement."

At times I feel more like an Agonizer - I spend so much time wondering where I fit in the movement, in the world, that it feels like most of my time is spent worrying instead of accomplishing. I feel at times like a novice at everything - I know a little about a lot, but I don't know enough.

But, I also know that that's not true. I am doing good work with my one little life. I have so many amazing role models: Kate and George, Jered and Nancy, all my amazing and ambitious friends. I feel like a sponge - each day I learn so much, about farming, about living, about getting things done and taking breaks and not getting things done. I'm practicing. And eating pie.

Till soon, Sky

Unfolding at Pie Ranch

2008-04-21T15:32:00.000-07:00

Well, I have two weeks of Pie under my belt. I've eaten pumpkin pie, strawberry rhubarb pie, and apple pie. I found a nice headline in a magazine: "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might get pie." I cut it out and put it in my kitchen.

My first week at Pie Ranch was a whirlwind of energy. We were visited by 18 high school students from Oceana High, near San Francisco. It was great fun getting to know the students and their amazing teacher, who I hope will come back to the ranch this summer. I played volleyball, mastered the art of weed whacking, fell in love with the outdoor shower, collected eggs, baked pies, watched The Real Dirt of Farmer John, and ate s'mores round a camp fire twice. On the fifth and final day of their visit, we sat in a circle and shared what we learned and gave thanks. The kids promised to eat more organic food, to cook more, to join a CSA. We all hugged goodbye and felt a great sense of accomplishment and gratitude and loss too at their exit. (Photo: Oceana students making plant id signs for the native plant hedgerow)

Week two was slightly less intense, if only in the ferocity of human energy. It was a more "normal" week, and I began to establish some patterns, which is helpful in feeling at home. I make coffee in our outdoor kitchen in the mornings, and eat eggs or cereal, and sometimes I read. I hope to wake up earlier, with the sun rise, and incorporate a yoga routine into my life again. I also could use the mornings as time to call the east coast - I've been noticing the time difference when I want to talk to friends and it's past bedtime back east. In the coming weeks I'll be joining the milking rotation - Jolene the goat gets milked at 7:30.

I was sad to miss the monthly barn dance on Saturday. I got knocked over with a vicious cold/flu, and I'm still recovering. I've spent the last several days sleeping - in my fancy bed (thanks to a shopping trip for sheets and pillows with Bill and Reg) or in the hammock, which is a nice place to rest and recover. I'll have to wait till mid May for the next barn dance. Apparently it was a good one with several hundred attendees.

Overall, I'm settling in slowly and well. I got a library card in Santa Cruz, and already finished a book, The Italian Lover, by Robert Hellenga. Two themes of this delicious book stood out for me: 1)don't force the story, let the story unfold and 2)whatever you do, do it wholeheartedly. I have felt recently like I am obsessing about my story. I'm constantly thinking of the next step, of my future, of where I will farm or raise a family, will I move back east and when? who will be my community? who will I grow food for and with? It occurs to me that these two themes are interrelated. I probably can't let my story unfold until I commit to living it whole heartedly. So, my task this week is to practice giving in to now, to Pie Ranch, whole heartedly, and let my story unfold.

Serve Me Up a Slice (of Heaven! of Pie!)

2008-04-03T22:20:00.001-07:00

Well folks, though I'm actualizing every parent's worst fear when their kid embarks on a road trip, I've made it to California and I aint coming back! Mine eyes have seen the glory of the Pacific Ocean and the rolling green hills of the Central Coast, and mine heart has swelled to new capacities. I love this place, and I just can't leave.

Whether it's some cosmic serendipity, or my guardian angels wafting me down a certain eucalyptus-scented path, or my own work and intuition, or just plain chance, I have landed myself a sweet slice of heaven, in the form of pie. That's right - pie. As of next week, I will be employed, housed, and all tangled up in lovey brambles at Pie Ranch in beautiful Pescadero, California.

I'm so excited about this next venture of my journey. Pie Ranch is a great fit for me. I feel right at home with the people who work and live there, and I look forward to getting better acquainted. The setting is breathtaking, the soil is rich, the farmers are so knowledgeable and dedicated to teaching, the community is ripe with enthusiasm, and the capital campaign they are embarking on is in need of some brawn. That's where I come in. I'll lend my muscle and wit, my powers of organizing and love of structure to their noble endeavors. I will be perhaps the first and only farmer/fundraiser. I will take "Development" to a whole new definition - the act or process of growth; progress... of a farm; a campaign; an idea; an ideal; of capacity to make the world a better place.

Pie Ranch is a very special place. It is not just a berry farm; it is a center for social change. It's not just an ambitious family living sustainably; it's a place for community to gather and learn about how plants and bees and compost are connected to cities and pies and cooperation and self empowerment. I feel so blessed!

Today I visited the Ranch (my third visit) and was treated to a field trip to neighboring farms (a veggie CSA and a goat dairy), kite flying, beautiful pizza in Pescadero (one had arugula mint pesto), and I even helped make a pie (apple). I also read "The Little Red Hen" with toddler Rosa and picked out my new bedroom in the old farmhouse. With the help of my "uncles" Bill and Reg, I'll move in to my new home on Sunday. Reg already gave me a big down comforter, and Bill promises to hook me up with an orchid (he works with tropical plants). I have the beginnings of a beautiful new community and surrogate family. Hurray!

I think I'll keep blogging; whether or not it's well-read, it's a good way for me to remember these special times. But maybe now that I won't be racking up so many miles, it's time for a new blog. Maybe... "Sky in the Pie!"

Practicing Peace in Times of War

2008-04-01T16:34:00.000-07:00

I found this quote today and liked it:

"You can think of the groundlessness and openness of insecurity as a chance that we're given over and over to choose a fresh alternative. Things happen to us all the time that open up the space. This spaciousness, this wide-open, unbiased, unpredjudiced space is inexpressible and fundamentally good and sound. It's like the sky."

-Pema Chodron,"Practicing Peace in Times of War"

Ahh...

This quote made me think of a radio spot I heard recently of Iraq veterans speaking out against the war. Their testimonies were powerful, to say the least. If you're interested in hearing it or learning more, click here.

Sinking Into Place

2008-03-28T15:09:00.000-07:00

I feel myself falling in love with this place.

Today I visited Yerba Buena Gardens and was awed by the diversity - of race, of plane, of shape, and color. I was struck by how expensive it must have been to create, but I also appreciate its value. I would bet that cities that take care of their places also take care of their people. I am intrigued by the connection of people and place. Yerba Buena park is a nice place to be.

I was especially impressed by the Martin Luther King, Jr. memorial. It is built into a fountain, so that the visitor walks under a waterfall to read some of King's most moving quotes. I recorded my favorites:

(Speaking of the notion of place, read HOMEGROWN.org's latest blog on space and place and farming.)

Life is Good on the Pacific Coast

2008-03-25T10:51:00.000-07:00

I'm still in San Fransisco. I've been visiting farms, celebrating spring, and falling in love with this coast. There are so many flowers here! I recently saw Elephant Seals at Ano Nuevo state park, hiked among redwoods at Butano state park, and have been taking lots of photos.

I love that in this city it's normal to see a Tibetan man in robes and a wireless bluetooth ear piece, a man in nothing but a strategically placed easter basket, or men in nothing at all (well, that's only "normal" on holidays like Easter, I suppose). And I love that just outside this city, I can be in cityless din of birds and wind and waves. One of the coolest things I've done recently is to gently stick my finger in a swarm of honey bees, feeling their warm, tickling hum course through my hand.

The bees were swarming at Pie Ranch. I found this amazing farm through a Farm Aid connection, and I had planned on visiting for a morning to see what they had going on. They grow pie ingredients - berries, pumpkins, eggs, wheat, honey, milk... The have a partnership with a San Francisco high school, and students come to the farm and learn about food and nutrition and baking and community. The kids also work at the pie shop in the city, getting a host of job skills and personal gratification from being active members of the Good Food Movement.

It turns out, interestingly enough, that the Pie Ranchers are starting a capital campaign, and were talking, the day before I got there, about how neat it would be to find someone who was passionate about farming and also had fundraising experience. Which is weird, because that is such an unusual combination of qualities to find in a person. More strange and rare would be to find a person with those skills and interests who also is in the Bay Area, and who could potentially change her life dramatically and live at the ranch. Hmm...

Suffice it to say, I stayed at Pie Ranch all day and into the next day in a bubble of bliss, drifted to sleep in a yurt to the sound of waves, and even got to drive the tractor, spading a field that will be planted in wheat. I am negotiating with the Pie Ranchers to see if we can work out a trade. I would learn farming techniques from these very experienced and accomplished farmer/activists, and in return, I'd lend my strong back, my adeptness at planning events and managing capital campaigns, and my bubbling enthusiasm. It would, of course, mean staying out here for a while (3 months? a year? 3 years?) but the serendipity of the situation is too potent to be passed over lightly. And I'm all about burning fossil fuels, so I can hop a plane and visit the northeast! More importantly, this farm is right on the coast between San Francisco and Santa Cruz, among lush green hills surrounded by redwoods. Conveniently, there is a hostel right up the road with private and dorm rooms for rent, a hot tub overlooking the ocean, and a lighthouse to explore. So if I stay, I expect visitors!

(Below: The view from Pigeon Point hostel patio; a redwood family circle - when the elder dies, its progeny grow around it; Reg and I at Easter celebration in Dolores park for the "Hunky Jesus" competition and much revelry)

Saturn Returns

2008-03-16T22:33:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about Saturn Returning and turning thirty, which I'll do in May. I think it's significant that I'm in my third month of travel too- three is a significant number for me, and universally. My friend Matt who is a master dream interpreter always says that three signifies complex decision making, rather than a choice between two. Then there's the holy trinity, the triple goddess (maiden, mother, crone) and of course Triceratops. Three has always been my favorite number, and that one-armed Pueblo man gave me three kernels of corn...

Anyway, I've been doing some reading about the idea of Saturn Return. It is certainly true for me that 28-30 has been a time of major change; I switched careers, homes, boyfriend, lifestyle... you name it, I changed it! I've been ruminating on the idea of Saturn Returning as a spring cleaning. I'm practicing sweeping out unwanted patterns and habits, and exercising newer, healthier ones. I'm trying to make decisions based on what rejuvenates and inspires me to be most authentically me, rather than relying on fear as a motivator or automatically gravitating towards what's familiar without a deeper assessment. I'm trying to catch myself when I'm self-disparaging or judgemental. I'm encouraging self congratulations and working on accepting compliments. It's tough, but I like this new concept that I can choose how I live and how I react. I like liking me, and am enjoying my own company. That has been one of the greatest lessons of this journey.

Flowers in My Hair

2008-03-16T22:04:00.000-07:00

I LOVE San Francisco! I've been here for over a week, exploring this great city and driving over the Golden Gate Bridge into Marin and Sonoma counties. San Francisco reminds me of origami; gorgeous colors and patterns folded into interesting and mysterious shapes. The hills and views out here are amazing.

My intuitive shoulder is doing much better, thank you. All this green and sky and sparkle has helped me recenter. Last week I spent a day volunteering at the Occidental Arts and Ecology Center, an intentional living community, environmental education center, and organic farm in Occidental, CA, which is prolly one of the prettiest towns ever. I spent some quality time with my hands in the soil, learning to integrate principles of Tai Chi into farming to protect my back and body. The place is magical, and it was just what I needed to recharge and check back in. Driving from Occidental to the Pacific coast with dirty hands on the steering wheel, I felt a sense of clarity about my next moves. I became certain that I want to create some of my own magic on a plot of land, to some day have a composting toilet, and to stay open to new adventures.

I also visited the Green Gulch Zen Center and organic farm and spent some time lying on a bench near an amazing bamboo stand. I really like bamboo and want to see if I can grow some in the northeast. I also hiked to a breath-inspiring overlook of the twinkling ocean, and did some yoga on a green hill under the bluest sky. I think I found heaven.

This weekend I have been blessed with a visit from my dear friends Liz and Niq, who are in town looking at graduate schools in CA. We have already had many fun adventures, including hiding in redwood trees in Muir Woods, wine tasting in Sonoma county, and enjoying fabulous brunch.

All this living the good life has been made possible by my gracious hosts, Bill and Reg, who have opened their home to me as a base camp. I am so grateful for their friendship and kindness. It is truly a gift to be able to explore this amazing place and have a cozy home to return to.

This week, I am looking forward to visiting Pie Ranch, staying in some lighthouses, and hiking around Santa Cruz. I'm thinking of staying at a farm for a few weeks before heading back to New England for spring and my birthday. Even though not having a job or plan is slightly terrifying, I am intensely aware that life is good and I'm on a good track.

(a nice neighbor cat I met on a rooftop. we both like to lie in sunny spots.)

Death Valley and Tufas; Californ-I-A

2008-03-06T15:55:00.000-08:00

My intuitive shoulder is acting up. That's right, you heard me. I have an intuitive shoulder that tingles like spiders when something is going on, psychologically. It let's me know when I'm stressed or avoiding something or in a bad spot. It doesn't surprise me that my shoulder is talking to me, as I've spent the last three days stressing about where I want to work next season. I know thinking about it isn't helping, but I'm stuck in a mental vortex. I'm hoping (perhaps naively) that when I get to the Pacific tomorrow, I'll get new perspectives beyond oceanic.

Road trip update: I'm in Mono Lake, in the Eastern Sierras, with Ted from Farm Aid. Today we hiked along the lake, marveling at the weird limestone structures called Tufas, which are created when fresh water bubbles up into salt water. Weird!

I joined Ted in Mono Lake after several days in Death Valley, which is weird and amazing. Yellow wildflowers are blooming, and it was over 70 degrees in the valley, which is 200 feet below sea level! I camped out one night in a campground, but decided I don't like camping alone. It was cold, I was bored, I could hear my neighbors... I did see some amazing stars, and in the middle of the night, I was awakened by a very vocal and very close pack of coyotes.

So tomorrow I'll enjoy breakfast with Ted then head north to an open pass over the Sierras, and into San Francisco. I hope to visit some kick-ass farms and explore the gorgeous CA coast for the next few weeks. After that, I'll either jet home to start a new job in the northeast, or I'll have fallen in love with a farm in CA, or I'll return to NM to sweat at Chispas Farm, or some combination hereof. Probably though, I cannot even imagine what will happen, as only time will tell.

Manzana Springs Farm

2008-03-01T19:16:00.000-08:00

In Moab, at Manzana Springs Farm, it's time to start planting. I trimmed onion seedlings yesterday - in February! Can you believe it?! Me either! :) We also direct seeded mini onions, spinach, beets, and lettuce mix. I learned all about T tape (drip irrigation), which is good, because we didn't use irrigation at Drumlin Farm, and I knew nothing about it. They don't use tractors at Manzana Springs, so we did everything by hand - made beds, turned and spread compost. This only works because they only cultivate about a 1/2 acre - 70 50' beds in all. Chris, the co-owner, says they only cultivate what the community can support, so this size works for them. It was manageable, even without a tractor. (Check out this setting!)

One cool thing about working such a small space is that we prepped beds using measuring tape, stakes and string. This really appealed to my love of order. Beds are three feet wide, and paths are two feet. So we laid out long lengths of measuring tape on both ends of the 50' field, then measured the beds and staked them. Then we'd stretch string between the stakes, thereby marking the bed. The string showed us where to spread compost and manure, which would be tilled in later with a rototiller. They flattened out tilled beds with a little hand pushed roller, and the rows were also marked with stakes and string. We planted into hoed furrows and then laid out T tape. We covered the beds with row cover, since it's still cold at night in Moab, and voila! I Am Farm and So Can You!

As cold as it got at night, it was plenty warm during the days. In fact, during lunch yesterday, I enjoyed some time in a hammock strung between two apple trees (manzanas) with Waco the dog and a cup of coffee. It was about 62 degrees, and I was in heaven!

In all, I highly recommend visiting Manzana Springs Farm in Moab if you ever visit the area, or if you want a working vacation. In exchange for working for two days a week, you can stay in this sweet spot, and hike all the amazing mesas and canyons Moab has to offer the other five days.

This is the WWOOFers cabin. It overlooks the farm and amazing mountains and red cliffs. I didn't get to stay here (too cold yet) but would love to come back and stay here.

After parting pancakes, I bid farewell to my new friends at Manzana Springs and head west to Bryce Canyon. It's still very much winter at Bryce, and most of the trails are buried under snow. I'd love to return in fall and hike, but I think for now I'll jet to Zion, which is lower in elevation and bound to be less snowy. After Zion it's Death Valley!

Hello, Utah

2008-02-24T11:59:00.000-08:00

Well, here I am in God's Country (Utah). I love Utah. It's amazingly beautiful. Most of the land here is protected - either in National Parks, BLM land, or state parks. I'm staying at a farm in Moab - I'll work for two days and the rest of the week is mine to explore. I spent yesterday at Arches National Park. It blew me away!

This morning I ate free brunch at a youth gardening center in town. Every Sunday, they serve up a delicious brunch to the community. The mood was festive and familial. I sat next to my farm house mates and a young family - mom, dad, three little girls. Mom and Dad run a river expedition company and were looking for drivers. My house mates might supplement their farm income driving cars from drop-off point to pick-up point for people on river trips this summer.

Brunch was the second free meal I've enjoyed in Moab since arriving here on Friday afternoon. For Friday supper, my house mates and I piled into John's (a fellow WWOOFer) bright purple van and drive to a park downtown. There, a small group of people were huddled on the sidewalk around a line of pots and bowls. We were offered the remaining clean dishes, and we helped ourselves to a yummy vegetable mush (peas and potatoes), bread rolls, and chocolate pudding for dessert. I chatted with some of the other folks eating, and met a guy who lives in a cave and hasn't spent money in seven years! I also met the organizer of the feed, whose name is Brer. Or maybe it's Bre'er or Brayer. Brer is a tall, dark and handsome fellow about my age who, upon moving to the area last fall, started feeding the hungry. I asked if the city is supportive, and he said that they are indeed. He gets food donated from local businesses, and he was also offering sweaters from "the church lady."

I was so impressed by this simple yet profound gesture. Brer cooks food and serves it to people who need it. But the service he provides goes far beyond that; the affection and familiarity he shows these folks is touching. I wonder how many other people greet these men by first name, let along hug them.

Admittedly, I felt a little bit like a poser as I ate this food with people who have far less money than I do. But I made a small donation for brunch, and I feel like I did something good for myself and for the world by sharing a meal with a group of people who I probably, normally would have little to no interaction with.

Anyway, Moab has some good things going for it, including the landscape, Brer, the youth garden project, and an award-winning library. I look forward to exploring it over the next few days.

Not Skiing in Taos

2008-02-20T17:05:00.001-08:00

I'm in the adorable teensy village of Arroyo Seco, NM, near the Taos ski area. I don't ski. Instead, I visit all the cathedrals and ancient houses of prayer I can find. I went to several in Santa Fe, a town of nice lines and too many rich people. I went to the Santuario de Chimayo today, which receives 300,000 pilgrims a year. I also went to Taos Pueblo where native people have lived for a whole lotta years and still do. A man with one arm gave me three kernals of corn that his grandfathers grew. They are beautifully brindled red.

Tomorrow I'll see the high bridge over the Rio Grande gorge, poke around Taos some more, then go to a farm south of here, where I'll work in the greenhouses on Friday, before heading to Moab on Saturday.

More Photos

2008-02-19T12:08:00.000-08:00

If you want to see more photo from my trip, visit http://www.flickr.com/photos/skypics/

Austin, New Mexico, Philadelphia!

2008-02-16T17:18:00.000-08:00

It's been a while since I wrote - sorry to my fans! After Pineland, I drove west to College Station, Texas (home of Texas A&M - go Aggies!) to meet my dear friend/honorary sister Laura, who I worked with at Farm Aid. Laura was Deep-in-the-heart-of for the Texas Organic Farmers and Gardeners Association conference. I picked her up and we quickly drove west to Austin, stopping briefly to ogle puppies for sale on the side of the road, despite our best judgement.

Austin is a cool town. We stayed at the famous Austin Motel in a "comfy" (read: tiny) room. It's a funky place with a nice pool, right on trendy South Congress Street. This boulevard is packed with boutiques, thrift stores, restaurants, and bars. Luckily, Laura and I got into town with enough time to see the Super Bowl. Lament! Lament! Don't get me started.

More luckily, we had a mission while in town. I had to find a green dress for my dear friend Tabitha's Valentine's Day wedding to her One True Love, Ian (more on that later). We went into all the boutiques on Congress St., drove to the more upscale shopping district near the flagship Whole Foods, and combed the city for a clover green dress. In the evenings, we ate out and heard some music, which was a real treat for me, since I've been traveling on a tight budget. In fact, this was the first time I'd stayed in a hotel! Since Laura and I have a tradition of Girls' Vacation, this was to be our Vacation 2008. While not the Carribean adventures of past years, Austin was was fun, funky and rejuvinating. It was great to see Laura and get some hometown love, too, after all this traveling.

After much searching, I found a very cute dress for under $50. While it wasn't exactly what I had in mind, it fit my budget, guidelines, and figure, AND it had polka dots! I'll have to post a photo later - I was too busy at the wedding to take any pictures! I also found cute shoes at a fair trade shop and green jewelry at a thrift store. Mission Accomplished!

When not shopping or ingesting, Laura and I were on the job (her as a Farm Aid rep, I as a traveling farmer broadening my farmy horizons). We visited some Farm Aid funded groups, like YouthLaunch's Urban Roots project. Max the farmer showed us their new 5 acre plot near downtown Austin, and told us about the work that Urban Roots does to get young folks connected to food and farming. (Read more about what they do).

We also met with people from the Sustainable Food Center, another Farm Aid funded group. I was really impressed by SFC's work, which grows from the ground up... literally! They run farmers markets and urban gardening projects, they connect farmers to institutional buyers, like colleges and hospitals, and they train people to teach nutrition and cooking classes in English y en Espanol in their communities. We saw all of these projects first hand: we went to the University of Texas to meet a local farmer named Sonny who was delivering fresh produce to a UT cafeteria. It was awesome to see a farmer, a chef, and farmy non-profit staffers all in the same place. Talk about a local food system in action! Then we visited an SFC urban garden where folks rent plots to grow their own food. Back at the SFC office, we met with some staffers to learn about their marketing projects, and learned about some of the challenges they face, like the fact that TX is getting rid of paper food stamps, which means farmers need expensive electronic card readers to accept EBT cards. This is a real hinderance to making sure low income families have fair access to good, local food. Damn politics!

On Feb 6th, I drove Laura to the airport and headed west to El Paso, where I stayed at another hotel by myself. I dropped more money on lodging than I had yet (about $60), but after the 9 hour drive, I really needed a clean bed and a shower. I saved cash by eating hummus in my

room, and I watched some trashy TV before falling asleep. (Have you seen the Millionaire Matchmaker? I love that show!).

The next day, I headed north into New Mexico, which I had been looking forward to as a highlight of this trip. I've loved NM since I drove cross country in 2000 and was awed by the wide open desolation. I had a soul-drenching experience the first time I drove through the desert with mountain ranges looming purply in the distance. Some landscapes affect me on a deep, gutteral level that I can't explain but hope you have felt. I think I am meant to be in New Mexico. Luckily, I AM in New Mexico! I LOVE when that happens :)

I decided to stop at White Sands National Monument, which Alyssa and I visited on our 2000 journey. This place is wild! I'll have to post photos later when I find wireless, as my photos are on my laptop. White Sands is just that - a land of rolling dunes, white as snow. It's beautiful and weird. It's also surrounded by military lands - missle testing ranges to be exact. New Mexico is filled with bombing grounds and nuclear sites. I can't help but think it's not a coincidence that it's also one of the very poorest states in the nation. (Speaking of poor people and the military, check this cartoon my friend Bill sent me: Warning, the F bomb is dropped often).

After hiking through White Sands, I stopped in at the Riverbends Hostel and hot springs, in

Truth or Consequences, NM. The place has been spruced up since Alyssa and I were there in 2000. If you find yourself in southern NM, I advise stopping in for a soak in T or C, as we call it. Rive rbend offers private rooms as well as budget dorms, which I stayed in. The highlight of the place is the series of hot spring fed pools right on the Rio Grande. I soaked in 105 degree water, watching the river roll by, contemplating the turtle shaped mountain in front of me, and thanking the planet for providing hot water from its body to mine. Speaking of hippies, I met some nice ones in the tubs. I also shared dinner with them - one lives near Taos and is a CSA member. She brought a local, organic leg of lamb and we feasted! Yum! Her husband is a piano tuner who talks a lot. I learned more that I've ever known about pianos, most helpfully, to never stand near a piano when it's being tuned, as those strings hold thousands of pounds of pressure.

From T or C I drove north to Albuquerque, to the welcoming home of Eli and Amanda at Chispas Farm. Amanda grew up with a friend of mine who farms near Boston. Amanda and Eli are amazing, generous hosts, and I've fallen in love with their dogs and their farm. Chispas Farm is right outside downtown Albuquerque, and is an organic oasis in a sea of neighborhood. Chickens roost on the porch and fallow fields spread out around the house. There are also bee hives, a sheep pen (now empty), and a little orchard. I am seriously considering coming back here to work more later in the season. I love it here!

Some reasons why I love it here:

- The Sandia mountains turn hot pink every evening at sunset (Sandia means watermelon en Espanol).

- The sky has been clear blue almost every day. It's in the 50s and 60s during the day, and the 30s and 40s at night. I'm told that even in the hot hot summer, it's cool in the shade because there's such low humidity.

- Albuquerque is gritty but not scary or dirty. It seems "real."

- We went to a flea market that was so colorful, in personality, skin color, and presentation of stuff. I was taken back to my youth when my mom would cart me to flea markets in the wee morning hours and I would wander the isles, loving the sounds and textures, the crowds, finding pattern in the chaos of shoes, bottles, dolls, socks, flowers, tires, boxes...

- My hair looks great in this dry climate

- My sinuses are clear

- Albuquerque loves green chili sauce. I love green chilis. Therefore, I love Albuquerque.

- Chispas Farm takes advantage of irrigation canals that come off the Rio Grande. These canals were dug by the Spanish and have been irrigating fields and orchards since the 1700s. How cool is that?

Eli and Amanda were kind enough to let me leave my trusty Toyota at their place and drive me to the airport last Monday, where I caught a plane to Philly for Tabitha and Ian's wedding. The wedding was so fun - I worked like a dog making decorations, cooking vegan feasts, cleaning the house, and readying. The ceremony was personal and beautiful, and I cried a lot. It was so nourishing to see my friends again.

I flew back last night; my plane was delayed in Chicago for hours, but I ran into a friend from my days at the Harvard College Fund, and we enjoyed the time together. I slept so much last night and enjoyed coffee and berry pancakes this morning. Today I walked around UNM campus to stretch my legs and soak up sun. Now the dogs are snoring on my bed, and I'm thinking of heating up some tamales that some neighbors made. I'm so lucky to have such a cozy nest and new friends.

Pineland Pies; God Bless Texas

2008-02-06T18:16:00.000-08:00

After New Orleans, I sank deep into Texas, visiting my paternal grandmother in Pineland, near the Louisianna border and not much else. This place is pretty indescribable, and only a lucky few have gotten to experience it first hand (and have been changed forever. Just ask Alyssa or Teddy). Indescribablity notwithstanding, I'll give it a try:

Nanny, my uncle Lynn (short for Lendy Ray) and I had a full day at Walmart (I got my oil changed and filled the tank at the Walmart pumps), ate lunch at Pizza Hut, and watched a lot of TV. My little cousin Megan Leanne took the trash out - right out to the front yard where she put it in a steel barrel and set it on fire. At sundown, Nanny took me to the local candidates debate and pie auction at the Pineland firehouse, where my cousin Chad is a volunteer fireman. The place was packed! There had to have been over a hundred and fifty people there. Most of the men wore big cowboy hats, and many women had sweatshirts with fuzzy animals on them. Nanny saw an empty chair at one of the long rows of tables covered in brown paper (for the BBQ) but was told "Buckshot is settin there." (Did she just say "Buckshot?") Turned out Buckshot is running for Constable. So is Pee Wee. Other notable candidates included Jerry Dan McGee and Brenda Buffalo. The speeches were speechy, but the real excitement came from the pie auction. The Lady's Auxilliary Club had baked all kinds of pies and cakes, and they were going for like $250!

A state rep even came down from Austin and had some interesting things to say. He reported that he helped get the Toledo Bend lake levels up, which is great. Also, like us, he cares about the problems on our borders. He made sure $110 million were sent down there, because they're in our schools and hospitals, and we're payin for 'em. I exhaled deeply, as I have to do often in Texas, and wondered about the details of the $110 million (where exactly did it come from and go to?) He signed off with "God bless y'all and God bless Texas!" and we all clapped vigorously.

It was actually really fun, and my grandmother enjoyed showing me off. In the words of one lady, I was there "just long enough for you to miss her."

A Note on Love From a Friend

2008-01-31T22:28:00.000-08:00

Maybe this is what we get in life, a
few great loves; loves that return us to
ourselves when we need it most. And
maybe some of those loves aren't peo-
ple, but places - real and adopted
homes- that fill us up with light and energy and
hope at moments when we
feel especially tired or lost. That is the
beauty of love in all its forms. We can't
know when or how it is going to save us.

ny times/ style section/ modern love 20 jan 08

New Orleans, or Why I’m The Worst Tourist Ever

2008-01-31T13:50:00.000-08:00

So, I’m in New Orleans. I can’t help but smile in this city – everyone is so friendly. One policeman actually stopped me on the street, saying “Come on, smile! It’s not that hard.” He was so cute, how could I resist? Maybe everyone’s just feeling extra festive, because, did I forget to mention, it’s a week before Mardi Gras? That’s right folks. I planned a road trip, including a stop in New Orleans, not even realizing it’s Mardi Gras. And I’m leaving BEFORE the big day. Duh. Luckily, there’s parades and revelry galore leading up to the big event. Just now, I heard the tell-tale harumps and squawcks of a brass band as I walked up Conti looking for an internet café. “Ooh,” I thought, eyes opening in Yankee wonder, “A real live, Mardi Gras parade!” Little did I know, this was the best parade ever! Local elementary school classes were marching as future college classes. The Penn State College Class of 2014 wore blue and white and tossed me beads. Little dudes in caps and gowns threw me coins and cups. A catholic school class marched with a nun wearing gold and green and purple beads. I LOVE this town! (Click on that photo! That kid is majoring in Math in 2018!)

Another reason I’m a bad tourist: I arrived in the great city of New Orleans last night, after driving for a a good solid 6 hours from Tallahassee. That’s right, I drove through the gulf area in the dark! I didn’t see the lasting devastation left by Katrina. And this morning, I took the short ferry across the Mississippi from Algiers and went directly to the French Quarter. Maybe that actually makes me a good tourist... I feel the need to do something more authentic.

Luckily, my hostess, a friend of my parents, will bring me to dinner on Lake Pontchartrain (which, by the way, is one my favorite words to say. Say it with me: Pontchartrain). So that'll up my New Orleans cred a bit...

Finally Outa Florida!

2008-01-31T12:22:00.000-08:00

Well, after a million days, or at least 10, I finally left Florida yesterday. Don't get me wrong: for the most part, I had a great time in FL. Kim and Mike were fabulous hosts - they own Wise Acre Farm, a farm they inherited from Neil Young's bus driver. I know Kim from my days at Farm Aid. (She's a surveyor, hobby farmer, and a Farm Aid concert photographer.) Their "ranch" was a very comfy nesting place from which to take day trips to places like Gainesville, Tampa, and Cocoa Beach. Plus, Kim let me get some serious tractor time in. In fact, I'm basically a pro now. I disked, I tilled, I scooped poop with the bucket loader. I even made beds, which is hard because you have to drive really straight. At Wise Acre Farm, I upped my tractor hours about 800%!

Jolie and I got a good taste of Florida's organic farming scene. We visited farms in Gainesville, Tampa, Orlando, and Sarasota. We met with Florida Organic Growers - a non-profit with their finger on the pulse of the local ag scene, and went to a Farmers Market near Gainesville. We attended a Southwest Florida Small Farm meeting and seed exchange. (The head farmer was a cooky guy who got a microphone and went OFF on vague tirades about current administration and the meaning of "comfort"...) We ate at Florida's first vegan restaurant, Ethos in Orlando (two thumbs up!). We checked out the construction of the Simple Living Institutes's new log cabin. AND we got some beach time in. AND I got this amazing T-shirt! Yes, that's a T-Rex. YEs, those are lightening bolts.

Overall, I learned that sustainable farming in Florida is hard - the soils need lots of inputs, irrigation is essential, and sometimes, you aren't even allowed to have manure compost on your land (too smelly for the retired people's tastes, I guess). But there are a few gems: Sweetwater CSA in Tampa hosts a festive market each Sunday, with live music and lots of tie dye. Tim Laird, the guru of Drumlin Farm, started a CSA outside of Tampa.

An apropos story about Tim: As a Drumlin Farm apprentice, I spent all of last season hearing stories of the famed Tim Laird. Tim was the head grower for six years, before Matt took over. Tim may have left Lincoln, but his presence is certainly still felt. Matt passed along Tim's methods and knowledge to us wee ones. Last fall, When Tim requested seed potatoes to plant in FL, we dug up many pounds of our finest and sent them gladly. Tim requested some of our first class garlic to eat - the only organic garlic available in FL is from China! - but (gasp!) we forgot to send it. So I stepped forward, like the scarecrow in the Emerald City, and offered to Bring Tim The Garlic. When I finally met Tim at his house near Tampa, I gave him a few token heads of garlic - our last ones. I feel like my quest is complete. There's been some debate among Jolie, Matt and I if Tim is Obi Wan or Yoda. I think Matt wants to be Darth Vader (as long as he can splatter the black suit with pink paint). Any way...

So I've done Florida. I never need to come back. I actually kind of liked Gainesville. We stayed with a woman who works for an organic certifying agency. She's also helping to start up a community bike project called The Kickstand, and we all went to a fundraiser in support of this place. It's an awesome space in a warehouse called Discount Hi Fi. They've painted the walls with fun bikey murals and set up a stage for shows. We saw a great band called (unfortunately) Dirty Fist, which featured a girl on accordian, a girl on banjo, a stringy older dude on mandolin, and a guy on stand up base. They rocked in a "polka for the new milenium" kind of way. Then, the real highlight of the night came on stage...and kept coming on stage. Umoja Orchestra boasts 10 members, including a horn section, several percusionists, and a banjo. At least half the musicians were adorable and bikey in their cycle caps and rolled up jeans. One wore cashmere argyle and Italian shoes and made my heart go thump thump. Luckily, my heart thumped right in time with the awesome Latin-jazz-afro-funk. !Muy Divertido!

Our Gainesville host took us to a farmers market and bought fresh raw goat's milk (though it can only be sold for pet consumption) and we made fresh mozzerella, which is so fun and easy. We fed all of the cheese to her dog, I swear. I really want to learn more about cheese making! I also realized that I need crafty ladies around me to inspire me to make bread and cheese. But instead of feeling bad about that, like I would have done a few years ago, I feel great about it! That means I can surround myself with awesome friends and have cheese making parties!

At a train station near Orlando, Jolie and I finally parted ways (sniff, sniff). She's now at a farm outside Miami that is part of a 400 member CSA! She has joined the ranks of a lot of Haitian migrant workers for a week. Oh, Florida, you crazy bastard.

As for me, after staying in Florida for so long, I sped through three states at 70 miles per hour, and delivered my weary bones to New Orleans last night. More on that in a minute...

(This is me at Sweetwater Farm with with the crustiest little stray kitten I ever saw. It was all I could do not to take it with me and nurse it to health and love it forever. Luckily as I tore myself away, resigning us both to its fate, two little girls picked it up, their exasperated parents looking on, coming to terms with the fact that they would be forced to choose between bringing mange into their house or breaking their daughters hearts forever... )

Florida

2008-01-22T16:13:00.000-08:00

Things I love about Florida:
I get to drive tractors
Linear Woods
Baby ponies are everywhere
Breakfast in the sun
Canoeing
Sandhill Cranes
Eating good food with awesome ladies
Meeting a group of arborists in town for the "Over 40 Tree Climbing Championship"
3500 year old cypress tree named "The Senetor

Things I hate about Florida:
Fire ants
Bad drivers (Seriously! There was a 70 car pile up last month! And we saw TWO cars on fire!)
Bad memories/mojo
Rampant concrete
The state = swamp filled in to amuse people
Not enough farms!

The Linear Woods

2008-01-22T15:53:00.000-08:00

Jolie and I just made some movies. This one is called "What I Found in the Woods":

Here are some more photos of the creepy woods:

SPOILER ALERT: Why are these woods so creepy, you ask? Well, back in the 80's there was a bad freeze. The orange groves done froze up. "They" planted trees to keep their agricultural status with the state. Hence, rows and rows of pine trees.

The Hostel in the Forest

2008-01-21T08:11:00.000-08:00

I'm writing this from Florida, but I want to reflect on Georgia. After Atlanta, we did a quick drivethrough of Savannah. It really is pretty; too pretty to burn. Then we set off for Brunswick, Georgia to the Hostel in the Forest. We arrived at dark, winding down a dirt road into the heart of the hostel grounds. It was a twisty and mysterious journey into the unknown. We were shown to The Dragon's Lair which was to be our home for the next few days. The Lair is a screened in octagon perched among pine trees next to a muddy pond. At the ring of a bell, we gathered round the fire for some unknown pre-dinner ritual. We held hands, and a lanky fellow began the introduction. "Welcome to the Hostel in the Forest. Each night we gather round the circle and say who we are, where we're from, and what we're grateful for, but first we take a moment of silence to listen to the fire, the forest, and ourselves." Hmmm, nice. Slightly culty, but also nice... "My name is Tree," he continued, "and I'm from Here." We took turns saying who we were and what we were grateful for. That night I was grateful to be out of the car. I noticed that many in the group were "from here" and wondered what that meant exactly. We enjoyed a delicious dinner of rice, fresh greens from the garden, lentil soup, and an apple crisp. I met a man named Dennis from Deer Isle, Maine who knows Ian and Tabitha. I guess the hippie forest dweller world is a small one. I had first heard of this hostel from Tabitha, who met some Hostelers at the Common Ground Fair in Maine. So it wasn't too surprising that some of the people "From Here" know folks I know.

Some Hostel History: In the 1970's, a man named Tom heard Buckminster Fuller speak at a Savannah university about geodesic domes. These wonders of engineering have the highest ratio of enclosed volume to weight, according to my friend Wikkepedia. Tom was inspired to buy up a bunch of land in Brunswick and build some domes. He and his buddies opened a hostel for international journeyers to visit and make merriment in the saw palmettos and pine trees. Over the years, more structures were built, including "treehouses" (which are more like screen houses on stilts), the Glass House (a high-ceilinged, many-glass-sided meditation room), boardwalks, outdoor showers and composting toilets, gardens, ponds and a pool. The result is an enchanted forest of winding paths and mysterious buildings.

When we visited, the original dome was being demolished and a new one erected, and the significance of the transition brought many past family members back to lend a hand and commune. We learned that Dennis is building a hostel on Deer Isle and had come down to help with the destruction/construction project. It turns out that many people who come to the Hostel end up staying and working, leaving, then returning and staying and working... There were also several transients who were attracted to this place for one reason or another, and were working in exchange for a bed and a make shift family. Various people would be shuffled from treehouse to bunkhouse each day, depending on paying guests coming and going. Many of the Groundlings (as we came to call the people "From Here") did indeed consider the Hostel home- either for a few weeks or months among a larger journey, or the home they came back to year after year.

In the chilly damp morning, Jolie and I awoke to the sound of chatty fowl. Ducks squawked and roosters crowed and chickens scratched the leafy ground under The Lair. The day warmed up and time seemed to stop. Jolie and I had no eagerness to leave or drive anywhere, so we spent the day reading in sunny spots, wandering trails to gardens and ponds, writing letters, and enjoying the serenity of the forest. I did yoga in the glass house and really did feel the sacredness of the space. Laugh all you want - there is an energy about a place that is reserved for reflection and prayer. I feel it in cathedrals and ashrams, and I felt it in this house of glass surrounded by decks and woods and ponds. I got very reflective that day, thinking about lifestyle choices and sustainability, about family and friends and where I feel at home. I ruminated on my place in the Good Food Movement, of which I feel a part. Do I "be the change" I want to see in the world by living simply, growing good food, gathering friends around me, enjoying sunshine and slow time and chickens in the woods? Do I take a more active "stand" (is that an oxymoron - an active stand?) fighting corporate takeover of our food system, spreading the word wide that each person has a stake in how this world works with the simple yet so complex act of procuring food? Can those two things coexist? I decided to trust the feeling of "rightness" I get from growing food. I love being dirty with healhty soil and honest sweat. I love the rhythms of farming - seed, plant, weed, pick, sell, cook, eat, rain, sun, water, plant, pick, eat... Part of the reason I've loved working at farmers markets is the opportunity it affords me to talk to people about how this particular bunch or pound of vegetables they will eat was grown, and also the larger context of the exchange of food for money between grower and eater. I love growing food and I love talking to people about food! I love that no matter who you are or what you believe or who you pray to, you eat. I eat. We have that in common.

Suffice it to say, The Hostel in the Forest is an interesting place filled with interesting people. Around the fire circle on the second (our final) night, new faces showed up in flickering orange. A group of folks from a green building consulting firm in Atlanta came in to conspire over plans for the new dome. Past hostel managers were thankful to be back home. I was thankful for my good health, my family (which, for me, extends far beyond my gene pool), and for the space the magical forest provided me for exploration and reflection.

Atlanta

2008-01-16T17:31:00.000-08:00

It's snowing! Winter has been chasing us, despite our attempt at finding a current growing season. Precipitation notwithstanding, we had a great day in Atlanta. First, we went to the Cyclorama. Before there were movies, there were giant round rooms with huge murals: cycloramas. Atlanta's is the largest and I think one out two remaining cycloramas depicting civil war battles. It depicts the great battle of Atlanta (go figure). We were ushered into this circular theater. Spotlights highlight images on a huge - 50 foot tall - canvas painted with battle scenes. A voice starts narrating and the seats start rotating! It's like an amazing ride through history! It's like Disney World for dorks! Also, the Athens cyclorama features 3-D sculpted soldiers and foreground, bringing history even closer. It was amazing. I learned a lot. For instance, I learned that 1/5 of the 3 million men who fought died, many from disease. I did come away with many more questions about war reenactors.

After that venture into history, we decided we didn't get enough. So we went to Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthplace and museum. The museum is really amazing. I was very inspired by the presentation of information. We watched a short film about his life, then toured the multi-media exhibit hall. I was moved by his words and impressed that admission was free and the staff encouraged me to take photos. Get the info out there!

Walking through Atlanta, we saw amazing graffiti art. Atlanta is a weird place. It's growing twice as fast as the rest of the country. It is sprawling. New homes are everywhere. Yet many of the neighborhoods we saw had definite personality - outdoor art, funky colors...

We also went to the Dekalb Farmers Market - a GIANT indoor market warehouse filled with food - whole foods. There's so much of it! Fish! Cheese! Spices! Vegetables! Not mundane veggies - yucca and bok choy and mangos oh my! They wouldn't let me take photos, sorry.

Tomorrow, Savannah! The city too pretty to burn (thought the Union generals when they marched in). I can't wait!

West Facing Turtles

2008-01-16T07:49:00.001-08:00

At the Athens Arboretum yesterday, we saw a west facing turtle. There's a serious drought here in the south. In Native American tradition, Arboretum staff created a turtle out of small stones that faced west. This is thought to bring on the rains. Today, as we stroll Atlanta, Jolie and I will find stones and chalk and draw some West Facing Turtles.

Part 3: Jake's Farm

2008-01-15T21:22:00.001-08:00

Jake's Farm is an 11 acre organic farm just outside Asheville that we worked on a few days ago. Jolie and I were excited to get our first taste of WWOOFing, since that was a major goal of this trip. (WWOOF is a program that stands for Willing Workers on Organic Farms or maybe World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms). We were impressed with their operation and generosity, and by the number of dogs that greeted us. We were horrified at the smell of the trailer we'd be staying in: the stalest, smokiest place I've been in since... ever. How to paint a picture of this place? The man who'd most recently stayed there smoked 5 packs a day. The owner kept it well stocked with enormous quantities of food: huge containers of nacho cheese; a jar of mayo bigger than Jolie's head; a collection of mac and cheese like I've never seen. We took full advantage of the goods by baking bread, making cookies (oops! confectioners sugar isn't a good substitute for brown sugar!) and soaking a whole lot of pinto beans.

In the morning, we rose and shone, ready for work. We met Garrett and Jose, who run the farm, in the greenhouses. Jake's Farm grows herbs and greens year round and sells them to local groceries and restaurants. It felt good to be farming again! It also felt good to be in the heat of the greenhouse - it's been cold!

A few more words about the personalities at Jake's Farm - it's owned by Chris and Missy, who bought the property and started farming after they retired from their professions. What were those professions, you ask? Well, Chris was a poodle breeder in Hawaii. We were told he flew to NC with 13 poodles. Missy used to live in France and work for some Brittish equivilant of the Academy, as in Oscars. But Missy is not shwank and fancy, nor smooth and glitzy. She's more crass and gravelly. She sounds like she smoked for years (she did) and she waxed compainy about the unreliability of the AA people who work on the farm then freak and flake out. She's the one who seems to have a compulsion for procuring giant mayo.

After lunch we seeded broccoli then said "ta-ta" and drove to Smoky Mountain National Park because we just couldn't leave NC without going there. We had to go through the Cherokee Nation to get there, and man is that a trip. They take full advantage of the tourists. Giant cartoon prospectors beg us to "Pan Fer Gold." Neon teepees abound. A Ramada Inn sign said: "No snowflake falls in the wrong place" and we pondered this for a long long time.

We stayed with Julie that night and I locked my keys in the car. Dumb! Luckily, I'm a member of the Better World Club, and roadside assistance was at Julie's door in about 20 minutes. Take that, AAA! BWC is an eco-friendly alternative to AAA, and I encourage all to check it out!

Finally we left NC and cross the border into Georgia. I finally get to buy some boiled peanuts (it's a southern thang). Tomorrow we explore Atlanta.

Part 2: Asheville

2008-01-15T20:37:00.000-08:00

Jolie and I knew we'd love Asheville, but couldn't have guessed we'd be there for a whole week. We found a farm who needed some willing workers, but they wouldn't be harvesting til almost a week from our arrival date. Luckily, we happen to know lots of people in the Asheville area, and we did indeed like it enough to stay a while.

We arrived in Asheville on January 9th. Our first hosts are Jolie’s friend’s cousin Emma and her wife Hillary. We LOVE them. Their house is beautiful and they are so welcoming. On our first night, they take us to Rosetta’s vegetarian eatery. I try the peanut butter tofu, sauteed kale, mashed potatoes and gravy, a side of corn bread with Amish butter. YUM! I had an awkward moment, thinking I was at a vegan eatery, when I asked what Amish butter was (imagining some devoutly shaken vegetable oil spread), and the nice lady behind the corner replied slowly, "it's butter made by the Amish." oh. right. Asheville is so hip it has several vegetarian restaurants.

Jan 10th: We poke around Asheville, check out Maleprops bookstore cafe. I spot Amanda from America's Next Top Model and immediately text all my ANTM fan friends. OMG! Jolie and I also walked around the NC arboretum – hello funding! This place must have cost millions of dollars to build. The Carolina Mountain trail is lovely, but the infrastructure seemed excessive.

Jan 11th: We hesitatingly and sadly leave the serenity of Emma and Hillary's for W arren Wilson College. WWC is a working college where the students “run” the campus. They work 15 hours a week at such jobs like cleaning dorms, cooking, and working at the organic farm. There's even an arborist crew. Jolie and I visit the farm. A student worker, Fox, who is a Sophomore with bright red hair, shows us around. We help her plant two rows of lettuce mix in the greenhouse. There is a lovely river and bamboo stand which I sit next to and meditate on the gorgeous sound of water running over rocks. ahhhh. We get paid in lettuce greens - a good trade.

Later that day, we drive over a mountain range into a beautiful valley to visit Full Sun Farm, a CSA farm that Emma and Hilary belong to. This farm is run by Alex and Vanessa who went to UCSC (University of California at Santa Cruz has an amazing organic farming curriculum). They have 4 acres of mixed veg and have a 30 member CSA and do 2 markets a week. They are an adorable couple and I immediately put them on my list of role models. I like that Vanessa started farming the land solo back in '97, and then started dating Alex later. They seem like a good team, and it's refreshing to be reminded a woman can farm with or without a partner.

That night we stay at Warren Wilson in the “Eco Dorm” where a guy Jolie knows is the dorm manager. The Eco Dorm is a green building with a beautiful edible garden and patio with rocking chairs. We sleep on couches in the communal space. It's much better than any dorm I can imagine staying in, but a few students are there, even during break, and it was not exactly restful.

Despite the fact that we're both coming down with colds, on Saturday the 12th we are determined to get up in the mountains. We decide to hike Greybeard Mountain in Montreat, a Presbyterian community near Black Mountain, NC. Much of the trail runs alongside a nice creek – water falls gently over rocks through rhododendrons. It takes us almost 3 hours to get up, and the view is amazing!

Later that night we meet my college friend Julie for the Pats game. Go Pats! Then we return to (read: beg for) Emma and Hilary’s for a good night sleep.

Jan 13th: Sunday! This is a Sunday as Sunday's should be: pajamas til noon, big brunch, a cozy fire, good books, a snuggly cat, tea. Thank you Emma and Hilary!

We're not quite done with Asheville though: it's time to go to Jake's Farm. I'll save that for a new entry :)

Part 1: The Embark

2008-01-08T19:43:00.000-08:00

My friend and fellow neophyte organic farmer Jolie and I are taking a road trip. We'll travel together in January, making our way south from Boston to Florida. We'll visit farms and friends along the way. At the end of the month, she'll continue south to Panama and I'll head west to find gold I mean visit more farms and friends.

We departed on Jan 2 from Boston (thanks for the couch, Laura and Vance!), and headed to the state of my childhood: New Jersey. We stayed the night with my uncle Adrian and his new bride Pook. Uncle Acey fed us course after delicious course of home cooked food, and we conversed late into the night. Pook got home from work late - she's Thai and smiles constantly. We all ate breakfast together then said our goodbyes.

From New Jersey we drove to Philadelphia where we toured 2 urban farms: Gree nsgrow Farm and Mill Creek Farm. Johanna from Mill Creek took us out to lunch at a sweet little cafe that was very hip and bikey. We got some good tips about urban ag list serves to join and got a nice bite of the Philly urban ag scene. And it's only day 2!

From Philly we head through Delaware ($4 toll!) into DC. I dropped Jolie with her parents and journeyed to the Vyas household (my dear friend Liz's parents'). They greeted me with hugs and champagne. They are the best! I ate well (notice a theme?), played with Anya - Liz's niece who's 5 and amazing - and challenged Liz's brother Mike to a game of Wii Tennis. Turns out I'm the worst Wii Tennis player, but I'm a decent bowler. For those of you who are not technologically hip, Wii is a video game from the future. It's crazy. On day 3, Mike and I toured Our Nations Capitol. He was a great host, and we saw some weird outdoor art and ate amazing crab cakes at Eastern Market. I also toured the botanical garden - love that place - and Jolie and I met up at the Hershorn Gallery.

On the 5th, we drove down the Delmarva peninsula (OH! DElaware MARyland VirginiA! Clever!) to Assateague Island. Immediately, we saw ponies poking their fuzzy faces into car windows. I thought I'd died and gone to heaven! At this point, I pulled out the camera and took a photo of the pony safari then almost immediately lost battery power. Whoops! Jolie and I got to the ranger station in the nick of time - 3pm. It takes at least an hour and a half to hike to the backcountry camp sites, so we raced the sunset. We donned packs and set out on the beach for a long haul. It was chilly and beautiful. It was also a little strange, because SUVs would pass us on the beach every now and then. Cheaters! We met up with another guy who was camping at our site. To pass the time, Jolie and I invented a story for him. We decided his name was Beauregard von Twinkle and had acquired a pet Guinea Pig named Charles at a Palestinian check point. Turns out Bo's real name is Peter and he is a carpenter from Ithaca. He was a superb camp buddy. We shared dinner (I forgot to read the directions for my new camp stove - whoops! - but luckily Bo had one!). We also played a rousing game of Pass the Pigs, a game in which you roll tiny pigs for points.. Look into it - it's so fun. I did have a brief moment of "why am I doing this?" because it was SO COLD! But it was also an excellent adventure, and I drifted to sleep to the sound of the waves.

In the morning, we ate well again, of course: oatmeal with nuts and raisins, yogurt and granola, clementines... then hiked back. This was the day of the Chesapeake Bridge Tunnel!!! For those of you unfamiliar with the Brunnel, you will be shocked and amazed to learn of the 15 mile series of bridges that TURN INTO TUNNELS! it's bizarre! It's as if we were driving in the middle of the ocean, then dipped right down under. Then did it again! We met up with Bo/Peter and ate lunch at a Mongolian BBQ buffet. Here I got the best fortune cookie ever made. Ready? My fortune was: "Here we go. Low fat whole wheat green tea." Whaaaat?!?! Those crazy Asian fortune tellers! Actually, they're probably made in New Jersey...

Anyway, we had planned on driving down the coast to the Outer Banks of NC. However, storms have washed out much of the islands, and one of the ferries is out. So we opted to head west along the VA/NC border to Greensboro, NC. Our friend Fern who works at The Food Project in Boston, is from NC and was spending her last night in the south in Greensboro. So we met up with Fern at a hard core/punk rock show at a great little co-op space called the Hive. There were lots of punks on bikes, so Jolie was happy. It was very fun to see Fern, meet her friends, and be at a show filled with hip kids. I enjoyed checking out the hair dos. Some of Fern's friends generously offered up their deluxe couches, and we gladly accepted. After some persuading, the dog Sunday agreed to let me sleep on his couch.

After eggs and grits and newspapers at a Greensboro diner, Jolie and I headed back east to Durham to meet up with her friend Rachel. Rachel goes to Duke, and she showed us the campus and the Duke Forest. Jolie and I also hiked in the Eno River State Park - a lovely place.

On Jan 8th we checked out an urban farm/youth outreach program in Durham called Seeds. They have an after school program for little kids and teenagers grow veggies and sell them at market. Their gardens are a real oasis. We saw these little kids get off a bus and literally sprint into the Seeds building - they were so excited to be there.

Luckily, Jolie has many generous friends in North Carolina who have offered up couches and spare bedrooms. We also found a farm in Asheville who has some greens to be harvested, so we'll get some farm time in too.

OK, that's enough for now. More to come... Sky