Where we live
May 2, 2012 § Leave a comment
It is late, and I ought to be sleeping. I am tired from a day of organizing ideas and information, checking out bee colonies, and working on flower beds. This is the good kind of tired, where you feel like, Yes. I got something important done today.
Still, I am not asleep. Sometimes the creative mind gets all ramped up at the end of the day and I hate to stifle it. Tonight I have been thinking about two things, in particular: (1) which color I would like to paint my room, and (2) what sort of small house I’d like to create, find, remodel to live in someday.
These ponderings took me all over the web. The dangerous, dastardly, extremely useful web. Before the internet mushroomed into our lives, I used to take an idea and start drawing. Writing. Diagramming. Coloring. Now I hop online and away we go! Is this better or worse? Sometimes the result is helpful. Other times I just get off course.
The good news is that this time, (1) I settled on a color and am super excited to get down to painting, and (2) I found some fascinating small house links, including Tumbleweed Tiny House Company. Could I live in one of these little spaces? I think so. I might want to try it. Though I’m slightly more enchanted with building a Shelter-Kit sort of custom-designed to be at once a home, a studio, a workshop, and a barn. Either that or go about remodeling something divinely old and full of interesting corners and cracks (and probably problems, but I don’t mind a challenge, especially if there’s good history attached to it).
As we’ve been putting together bee hives, creating living spaces for ducklings, and considering the housing for soon-to-come livestock, I’ve been thinking about the whole idea of home – space – what we live within and how we choose to make it. I have always liked home. I want to create serene, strong, happy places for myself and others to dwell in. Even the animals. And it occurs to me that a good farmer makes good homes. Conscientious farmers give their animals appropriate shelter, according to the various animals’ needs. (For beef cattle a shelter belt of trees might actually be the best thing for them, as opposed to a barn. We can talk about this in more detail another time, perhaps). This does not include CAFOs, though I have toured them and been told about their many hygienic qualities (pressing my lips tightly together to keep from getting snarky). It does include space, ventilation, strong roofing, comfortable places to lie or stand, and area that allows for instinctive behavior and even, yes, even comfort.
This human is comfortable now in her bed in the white house with her favorite new-old red stallion lamp and a quilt her sister gave to her. Another rant for another day.
Mama duck
April 29, 2012 § 2 Comments
The ducks around the resort at Lake of the Ozarks had gotten remarkably comfortable around humans. We saw this little lady fly down into the bushes and settle onto her nest. Look how cozy she is in there. (Thanks to Elena for the shot.)
Little brother’s wedding
April 27, 2012 § 1 Comment
He still seems too young to me, but he always will, I think. He’s the little brother and it can’t be that he’s a grown-up. Even though he’s got a grown-up job, a grown-up apartment, and now, a wife. He makes his own decisions. He makes his own life. My job is to let him, and support him, and love him. (And sometimes play the big sister, even so.)
My sister and her husband and I hopped in their Taurus for a 9-hour drive down to Missouri, where we were met with heat and sunshine. We ate pasta with asparagus and white sauce out on the deck overlooking the Lake of the Ozarks.
Oh, water and boats.
The next day we had some time to explore Lake of the Ozarks State Park. (When you are the sister of the groom, as opposed to the sister of the bride, your wedding responsibilities are somewhat less extensive, so you can do these things!)
The day was misty and a little chilly, but it felt good to get out and hike together.
We saw dogwood trees and columbine. We scrambled up rocky bluffs.
Ah, green.
Some of us dawdled. Others were pressed for time: last-minute shopping for gift wrap and jewelry needed to happen before dinner!
I tend to resist rehearsal dinners, being a little on the shy side. They sometimes seem like an obligation to spend more time with people when the whole wedding day is going to be a crowd for hours and hours. And yet I’ve nearly always enjoyed the rehearsal dinners I’ve gone to. Know why? (1) They usually feel more relaxed than the wedding day proper. (2) You get to know people. Particularly, the family and friends of the person that is marrying the person you are really there for. In the best circumstances, this is a happy and encouraging thing! I don’t know my brother’s wife’s family at all, so it was great to spend dinner chatting with her aunt and uncle, talking about horses with their daughter, and listening to the grandmother’s stories.
Ah, and then the wedding day. This involved some reception set-up and some pictures. And moseying around while other people took more pictures.
We even had an early afternoon siesta on the beach.
Then, le mariage.
Laughter and tears, as always.
At the reception we told stories about growing up with these crazy kids that had now just married each other. And you know those baby-to-wedding photo montage videos? I know everyone does them, but they still get me. Especially, of course, this one. Flashes of memories of my brother over all this time that I’ve known him. Realizing that our lives, because we’re siblings, will always be intertwined. We shared childhood. And seeing Kim grow up gave us a glimpse into her experience of the world. She and Chris made the cupcakes (my favorite was the chocolate with cream filling) and after we all scarfed dessert, the newlyweds headed off for the Virgin Islands.
Where they still are, probably standing knee-deep in turquoise water. Lucky ducks.
And we, their friends and family, are back here, waiting to support and love them in this new journey. Congratulations, you two!
Snow in April
April 16, 2012 § Leave a comment
After that somewhat strenuous drive home through a pouring thunderstorm, and a much cozier evening tucked under the covers, and a very nice sleep, I woke up to see white out the window.
What?
I did know, actually, that flurries were in the forecast, but I thought that meant petty little flurries. Rain that just briefly, for a second, turns into snow. Not enough to be completely white and flying sideways with the wind.
Only later, after a solid morning’s work, did I get out for a walk to snap some shots, so the melt had already begun. Even now there is little left. Though, tonight is still supposed to be cold.
Oh, funny spring.
Come walk through the woods with Tassie and me:
Friday the 13th
April 13, 2012 § 1 Comment
All day has been overcast, with a few steady soft hours of rain and now the insistent wind howling outside the house. I’m sitting in front of the wood stove with a tall mug of coffee and a bag of chocolate chips. And A Severe Mercy beside me, which is one of the most beautiful books I have ever read, and a comforting place to go at the end of a day.
Yesterday I worked most of the day outside, me and my red truck and my shovel. I have a plan for a small hill all run a-muck out here, and yesterday the paper-planning found its way into action. Beauty and health come through hard work sometimes, just as they seem to come effortlessly other times. Anyway, I will do my part here. The feeling you get, settling down onto the couch with a cup of coffee or a glass of water, after hours of physical work – there is nothing else like it.
This afternoon I did nuts-and-bolts tasks, a bit of organizing, and then I found myself at an art event in little Amery, WI. I’m so pleased to say there is a talented and vibrant group of artists coming together here, and I met some quite lovely people while browsing watercolor cranes, clay pots, and prints of draft horses. We had asparagus wrapped in fillo dough with a touch of oil and lemon, and of course the wine was circulating. A few jars of pickles and jam were for sale beside handcrafted cards. The feel in these places is active, and awake. It seems to me that so many creatives have an intentionality about seeing the world. Even, perhaps, if they don’t know it.
Friday night. I am happy to be here with my book, and my plans, and my determination to keep my eyes open.
50 Dispatches
April 11, 2012 § Leave a comment
“Your hands are going to bleed.”
Anne Cure, owner of Cure Organic Farm in Boulder, Colorado, said this softly while looking off into the distance as Jack, one of the other farmers, described the day’s task of transplanting thousands of seedlings from the greenhouse into the field. The “bleeding hands” comment was not ill-natured in any way; it was merely a statement of fact, one learned through many springs of transplanting thousands of seedlings into the field. This was the acknowledgment that today the fields were going to be especially tough to plant. It would be a painful process for a new farmer’s hands.
This is an excerpt of an essay featured in The Atlantic from the Greenhorns’ new book.
And it makes sort of warmly proud and glad for a couple of reasons:
1. I had the privilege of preparing and serving farm dinners at Anne Cure’s farm two summers ago – her smiling face is a familiar one!
2. I also sort of know Jeff, the author of this particular essay, as he had dinner with us on occasion, and he ended up dating my friend and co-worker. AND he’s from Iowa.
3. I’m just excited about what the Greenhorns are doing here. I love the idea of this book. Sharing stories of enthusiasm, passion, pain, discovery, purpose. And dirt. No – better word – soil. I wanted to contribute when they sent out their call for essays, but I wasn’t farming at the time, and they requested words from farmers. That’s all right. I’ve got my own farm and book plans. For now, I’m happy to read others. Hooray, everyone!
Good things are happening.
On a walk
April 10, 2012 § Leave a comment
“Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake.” -Wallace Stevens
Good old-fashioned marketing
April 4, 2012 § 2 Comments
This sign is from Sol y Sombra Farm, where I worked from June to November last year. Isn’t there something perfectly nice about a wooden hand-painted sign propped out along a fence in front of the farm? There’s a touch of humanity in it; someone here made this and wants you to know what they have here for you. And on a farm, those can be very good things. To see some of last year’s harvest, have a look here.
Sol y Sombra is a CSA in Boulder County, with a lot happening on a few acres. I’m thinking about Allison and her new crew at Sol y Sombra, as flowers, veggies, and herbs just start to become available. Wishing you all well!
On prairie
April 4, 2012 § Leave a comment
Jump on over to The Prairie Ecologist to read a guest essay by Doug Ladd, Director of Conservation Science for the Nature Conservancy of Missouri. Here’s an excerpt from his essay, reprinted there, entitled “Why Prairie Matters”:
To visit a prairie is to be immersed in the result of thousands of generations of competition and natural selection resulting in a dynamic array of diversity, which, collectively, is supremely attuned to this uniquely midcontinental landscape.
Here flourish long-lived, deep-rooted perennial plants annealed by the frequent Native American fires, searing summer droughts, frigid winters, episodes of intensive grazing and trampling, and rapid, recurrent freeze-thaw cycles that exemplify the Midwest. These plants in all their varied magnificence in turn support myriad animals ranging from minute prairie leafhoppers that spend their entire lives in a few square meters to wide-ranging mammals and birds that travel hundreds or even thousands of miles in a season.
Prairie matters beyond the prairies themselves.
(Read on! Read on. We must be thinking about these things. And then, hopefully, carefully, acting.)
Woodland, farmland, and our new home
April 4, 2012 § Leave a comment
The buds keep coming forth. The leaves brush around my feet. The dogs rush back and forth, sniffing branches, finding animal carcasses, carrying sticks around with personal pride. The sunlight flickers through the trees and falls into patterns on the ground like a kind of intangible lace.
We walk in the woods, now that we have left Colorado behind, left Iowa behind, and settled in Wisconsin to help in the building of a dream. The restoration of a place. Suddenly I have a job in the rural Upper Midwest, where I’ll be reaching out to community, planning events and workshops, and fostering the wonderful oneness of sustainable agriculture and habitat restoration. I find myself thinking, often, Is this a dream? Luck, perhaps? It is something, anyhow, that ought to be meandered through with consciousness and purpose. Yes, and gratitude.
Kinds of Honey 