Door County, Wisconsin
August 9, 2012 § 12 Comments
I am drawn by the water. It stretches far away and it is fresh.
Suddenly having a boat seems the most desirable thing in the world. I imagine living on one. I imagine loving it. I remember the book A Severe Mercy and the boat The Gray Goose, and consider what a wonderful thing it sounds, a life of sailing everywhere and reading out in the open water and knowing the wind and many shorelines.
On the Door County peninsula, between the little towns full of quaint shops and local artists, we find the beaches. This is where we most want to be.
It’s about the blues of the sky, the pale sand, the smooth gray stones, the green of mosses. It’s about swimming and hiking and scrambling.
It’s about sleeping on the sand, and scattering sand particles in your tent as you change into dry clothes. It’s about smelling like the lake, and the campfire. It’s about s’mores and late night coffee.
It’s about all these things, and then, it’s about us.
Family.
Water’s edge
July 24, 2012 § Leave a comment
Summer sunshine and water lilies at Straight Lake State Park.
Heat, water, and work
July 2, 2012 § Leave a comment
My goodness gracious, it is hot.
The dog and I have been in the river twice today, once with iced coffee in hand. Otherwise I sit in here and sweat, and she sits in here and pants so heavily I can hardly think. Just now we are still damp and sprawled about the office/living room avoiding awareness of the air’s heat.
This week has been a doozy!
We began with a day and half ecology inservice at my job, where we spent time learning the native plants and birds of this region. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Afterward, I remembered to renew my Audubon Society membership.
Today while sitting in the cool, shallow flow of the river I listened for birds. It is like getting to know one’s neighbors. Learning their names brings you into relationship with place. I smile to walk past common milkweed, daisy fleabane, and orange hawkweed and to know their color, the shape of their leaves, the creatures that like them and the purposes they might serve. I am tickled pink to recognize the “fire-fire, where-where, here-here” of the indigo bunting, the “chhrrrrrrrr” of the clay-colored sparrow, and the “chip-chip-chip-chip-chip” of the chimney swifts darting above my roof.
Halfway through the week we brought in an expert to teach us how to build a ferrocement tank.
This involves pouring a cement pad, building up the structure with rebar, mesh, and EML in the shape of a short silo, and mixing sand, portland, water, and glue to sling mud onto the structure. The purpose of the ferrocement tank is to catch rainwater from the roof of the polebarn and redirect that water as needed for agricultural use.
Guess who helped a bunch? Or rather, supervised with affectionate brown eyes and a good deal of panting?
The work was fascinating and sometimes tedious, and by the third day with the heat of the sun beating down, our relief upon nearly finishing was significant! We ended the workday by unloading hay into the barn, eating a fine late lunch, and heading to the river for a swim followed by a nap. Keith (our instructor) gave us a brief information session on how to finish putting a roof on the structure, and then we went merrily on our way to an early bedtime. Though I made brownies and ate ice cream first.
And now, thank heaven, it is Monday. I am doing small work tasks like marketing workshops, updating facebook, and switching water lines as needed. But otherwise, this is a rest day to make up for the week’s hard work and large amounts of people time (I am one of those sorts who need a balance of people time and by-herself time). It is a satisfying kind of day, one where you feel you’ve earned your rest, and are excited for what’s coming next.
Life is good. Even in summer’s heat.
Conflict and resolve
June 22, 2012 § Leave a comment
“The most tragic conflict in the history of conservation is that between the conservationists and the farmers and ranchers. It is tragic because it is unnecessary. There is no irresolvable conflict here, but the conflict that exists can be resolved only on the basis of a common understanding of good practice. Here again we need to foster and study working models: farms and ranches that are knowledgeably striving to bring economic practice into line with ecological reality, and local food economies in which consumers conscientiously support the best land stewardship.” – Wendell Berry, “Hope,” The Fatal Harvest Reader
* * * * *
I just want to add: yes. And you know, as far as we have to go, in my experience there are already many moving in this direction. Berry’s essay was published in 2002. Ten years later, I’ve come across an encouraging number of farmers who want to work with conservationists, and conservationists who are working to understand the needs of farmers. Have we adequately defined “a common understanding of good practice”? Oh, no. That will long be a conversation in progress, a dynamic and region-specific process. But to begin to agree on some fundamental principles of good practice, alongside an awareness of what humans need to survive both in the present and long-term, is a foundation that, I think, many have begun to build. And we’ll keep on building it, as more and more of us realize that we must.
Summer solstice
June 20, 2012 § 1 Comment
It’s the longest day of the year! (That explains why this morning seemed to drag itself out . . . )
All ordinary, routine, and/or work-related things aside: what will you do with your many hours of light today?
We have overcast skies and storms, storms, storms in the forecast. So Tassie and I got outside while we could, just a short mid-day break down by the riverbank.
There are some arching trees out there that create space to invite you. I like the sorts of doorways, trees, gates, and pathways that seem to beckon.
A snapshot from our solstice. Tonight may be one for candles and books.
Bees, birds, and butterflies
May 10, 2012 § Leave a comment
A little video I made for our Hungry Turtle facebook page. Here’s a look into our back yard.
Trillium, ramps, and other wild wonders
May 9, 2012 § Leave a comment
Trillium seems to me such a gently joyful flower. It was one of the first flowers I learned to identify as a child out wandering the acres of our farm in Minnesota. There we had a happy mix of woodland, field, and pasture, just as we do here at Hungry Turtle, where we are working carefully towards resilient health and better farm-habitat integration on this somewhat well-worn landscape.
Fortunately, the woods bordering the pasture nearest the learning center (where I live and work) seem to be fairly well left alone, since bloodroot and ramps and strawberries and raspberries and trillium are wild and abundant here. I feel as if I’ve stumbled into a trove of nature’s offerings, which she has quite finely brought about herself, thank you very much, and which are not necessarily meant for me.
I will likely harvest some berries, a handful of ramps, and a good helping of stinging nettles (they are invasively everywhere). The bloodroot and trillium can stay and bloom and I will scarcely touch them. The creeping charlie at the edge of the wood tempts me to try to make it into tea, and I think I will.
But I want to barely make a dent. These woods are just a little of what remains seemingly wild in this world, and if I can forage here it will – it must – be gently, in a way that allows them to remain so.
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:
Kinds of Honey 