The Greenhorns and the irresistible
January 21, 2012 § 1 Comment
Do you know about the Greenhorns, and their blog, The Irresistible Fleet of Bicycles? I have heard of them, on and off, over the past few years. And in my recent farm-dreaming and job-pursuing I came across them again and have subsequently been completely, delightfully drawn in.
In 2011, the Greenhorns released their documentary about the rise of, and challenges facing, young farmers. Here’s the trailer:
Has anyone seen the full film? What did you think? Does anyone else own it – or know where we can get a copy? Once I figure out where I’m living in the next few weeks, I’d very much like to host a film night/potluck. (Or persuade someone else to, and have them invite me.)
Oh, how I love this stuff! It always makes me feel that the world is good, and full of good people.
Pella Crossing
January 17, 2012 § 2 Comments
Here is a collection of ponds.
Another place to walk. New shores with new outlines to follow. New patterns and textures to look over and feel.
Out there, just before sunset, watching the afternoon wind itself down, I might get all caught in nature.
I closed my cell phone. My mother and I had been talking over jobs, my future, the usual. But now, enough. I focused instead on the rustic perfection of fence lines.
The cattle, standing quietly near their watering hole.
The white scales on the ice’s surface.
And the always-loveliness of how water meets earth.
Reminding myself: Another day has gone along, and you, my dear, are alive and well. And so is your best friend.
And here, at the end of your walk, is one glorious tree.
Pointing you home.
The Wolf Moon
January 8, 2012 § 2 Comments
January’s full moon is tomorrow, the 9th – the Wolf Moon – though this night it was as near full as can be. It beckoned, as full moons can do. I listened, as I so often don’t.
I heated chili and poured it into a wide-mouth jar, then wrapped the jar in a tea towel. Took the cornbread muffins out of the oven and let them cool while stuffing books, yarn, and a spoon into my backpack. Found a scarf. Pulled on the wristwarmers my best friend gave me, slipped my feet into boots.
We went out, this white-blue night. Out to dinner meaning out to dinner. No cars in the parking lot. T bounded from the car. I walked slowly after.
It would have been best to get away from the sound of cars, the lights of houses, but that means going into the mountains and too far. So we take what we can have.
The first sound, over and beyond the cars, was that of the geese. The chorus of them raised their voices in a moonlit evensong, over the rise before the land slides down to the reservoir. We did not go to see them – we stayed on the trail – but they sang to us all night. I liked knowing they were there. I imagined the village of them, the gray and black gone silver, their wings tossing light as they moved.
Then came the sound of feet, T’s quick steps, my longer strides scuffing over gravel. Only patches of snow and ice to interrupt the rhythm. A few minutes of walking and I felt hungry. There is a picnic table that sits close to the water, which was white with ice. I spread burlap over the worn wood. The chili steamed into the air when I removed the lid from the can. It smelled so meaty and good that Tassie looked up from where she was nosing around the shoreline, then came over with her ears forward in expectation.
We had our dinner with lit candles, until they seemed too strong when I wanted only the calm of the moonlight. I blew them out, tucked them away. Honey-soaked cornbread. I rubbed my hands together and looked at the black silhouette of the tree against the half-frozen lake. No headlamp – forgotten in the closet at home – meant no reading, no knitting. Never mind; we would walk. It was what would make T the happiest, anyway.
In Colorado predators are always on my mind if I go too far or dark has fallen. Even here in the pinpoints of light from houses across the reservoir and up into the mountains, in the road noises not far away. A couple had walked past us earlier with a black labrador, so I reassured myself: If they thought it was safe, it likely was. Walk on.
T skittered and loped around, sometimes so far I could hardly make out her shape in the evening’s dim, though usually I could hear her well enough. Not stealthy, that one, but affectionate to make up for it. She is a breed meant for companionship, that’s for sure. I have owed her this walk and it was a nice thing to give it, at last.
And I found myself in prayer. I remember, now, how common a thing this used to be in this small life of mine, walking and praying. Often aloud, catching myself if another person happened to pass by. Nature became where I would best find Him. Walking was how I would begin to reach for Him. Clarity came in the space, and quiet, in my voice tumbling forth, and movement.
This has seemed a lost thing. Lost, almost without notice, in the pursuit of work and the appeal of technology’s entertainment.
When did I stop lingering through the woods? When did I stop allowing myself to be drawn into its holiness?
Only an hour or so, we had, this night. A duck rustled the water as we rounded the last bend. Only an hour or so, we had, but home I went with a hunger met, a spirit widened.
An excerpt, to entice you further
January 7, 2012 § Leave a comment
So the spell of the West, cast already by Mr. Grey, settled about Swede like a thrown loop. There’s magic in tack, as anyone knows who has been to horse sales, and a rubbed saddled, unexpected and pulled from nowhere, owns an allure only dolts resist. Swede’s was a double-rigged Texan with mohair cinches, tooled Mexican patterns on fender and skirt, and a hemp-worn pommel. It was well used, which I believe gave all our imaginations a pleasing slap, and it had also arrived quixotically. Davy had bought it off a farmer who’d bought it off a migrant laborer who’d traded his horse for a windbroke Dodge truck on a dirt road north of Austin; the migrant had said good-bye to his loyal beast but kept the saddle out of sentiment. Days later under northern skies he understood that its presence in the pickup only made him heartsick and he unloaded it cheap to the farmer, who, though confused by Spanish, understood burdens and the need to escape them.
All this Davy told us with Swede astride the saddle in her bedroom floor. Davy’s work had brought the thing back to near perfection; the smell of soaped leather, which is like that of good health, rose around us. It was flawed only in the cantle, where the leather had split and pulled apart. Davy acknowledged with frustration that this must’ve happened years ago and he was unable to mend it. “But it doesn’t matter for riding,” he said.
“That’s true,” Swede said practically, just as if there were a pony out waiting in the yard.
Well, the day defined extravagance. Though wisdom counsels against yanking out all stops, Swede did seem joyously forgetful of recent evils, and we kept the momentum as long as we could: waffles for breakfast, sugar lumps dipped in saucers of coffee. I remember it as October days are always remembered, cloudless, maple-flavored, the air gold and so clean it quivers.
– Leif Enger, Peace Like a River
Leif Enger and the outlaw journeys
January 7, 2012 § 1 Comment
I must put in a word for Leif Enger. Not as if he needs a word put in for him, by me; his debut novel, Peace Like a River, established itself as a bestseller years ago. I actually am reading this one second – as many times as I stumbled across the book while going to college, working in a bookstore, generally hanging with literary sorts – I didn’t, for some reason, feel the need to dive in with everyone else. (Sometimes I am contrary and refuse to read what is most popular. I did the same with Angela’s Ashes. Years later I picked it up and scarfed it down with the right combination of sorrow and appreciation.)
Enger drew me in, instead, with So Brave, Young, and Handsome, a novel which, you might guess, got me with its title. But it wasn’t about dashing young cowboys as I suspected on first glance. Instead it follows a postman, a family man named Monte Becket who’s had a one-hit wonder of a book and is trying, and failing, to write another. He happens to meet an older, gentle, drifter of a man who turns out to be a former outlaw. And this man has a dream, and it is of the wife of his youth, and he feels that he needs to go and find her and apologize for the past. So our postman-narrator gets invited to accompany him, and what adventures follow!
As much as the plot is rollicking and suspenseful enough that it tugs you along, what I (having spent most of my twenties trying to understand and practice the craft of writing) kept feeling so terribly happy about were two other things: (1) that his characters are colorful, believable, unique, and endearing – you want to spend time with them; and (2) that he uses language with such understated skill as he goes about unfolding his story. Beautiful, as one who has read and listened and practiced and revised extensively can make a story – can structure phrases, sentences, and moments. All throughout I would find myself pausing and even catching my breath, because that is what happens when something goes beyond what you expect, even when you have high expectations, with the deftness and subtlety of the perfect extra detail, the unexpected observation.
So I went to the horse barn raving about So Brave, Young, and Handsome. My boss was about to go off for a trip and needed something to read, and in the airport she found Enger’s other book, Peace Like a River. She sent me a text after skimming the first few pages, telling me how excited she was to read it; when I ran into her next the first thing she said to me was, “Love the book!” And when she finished she lent it to me. And now I am reading with the same kind of reaction I had to the first – hunger for the story, gladness to be reading, thankfulness for the kinds of writers who remain true to their art and yet, somehow, have also managed to make their work accessible to the general public (a feat that seems to be trickier than one would hope, and a source of frustration for many writers, who are torn between writing something with meaning or writing something that will sell). This story follows a boy named Reuben, and his sister and father, as they head West looking for the brother and son who has become a 20th century outlaw. I love this family. I want to know them. I feel as if I do.
Read his books! That’s all I’m saying.
Here are links to where you can find them, or your library likely has them:
P.S. He’s a Minnesota writer. Which is even better.
What is to come?
January 6, 2012 § 5 Comments
The dogs are wrestling in the middle of the floor. I have Peace Like A River propped open on my right, next to Miss T’s leash, next to an almost-done scarf, on top of my favorite quilt, on top of the puppy’s kennel. On my left are two sweaters that got stripped off at some point yesterday, the hot day, the non-January day. And I am in the middle of these things, in sweats, in need of a shower, lingering yet with my half-drank cup of coffee.
This is a Friday when I am fending off anxiety. What is to come? Where I will live in February is undetermined. How I will pay my bills is uncertain. Transition, again, stares me in the face. Such is life for this girl, and has been for a long time. Partly my own fault, partly just the way things have happened.
But what unfolds in the next few weeks may interrupt this pattern. There may be settledness at last. I must say that I have found it a strengthening thing to fly by the seat of my pants. The years from high school graduation until now have brought about a series of events to cure shyness and timidity. They have drawn out bravery, confidence, and risk-taking, or at least sometimes the appearance of these things. There is truth to the statement Fake it till you make it. I am that proof, for I have pretended to be outgoing, unafraid, and competent so often when inside I was quivering with fear, until somewhere the pretending became reality. And with that, a bit of surprise at one’s self – and a bit of satisfaction.
Still, I have my moments of anxiety, of trepidation, of simply being tired. My life doesn’t look like so many others along the American timeline, and there are those who would criticize me for it. And I can criticize myself for it, but then, what good does that do? Every step along the way offers a chance to learn. Every place and position presents a chance for living one’s beliefs. These are small but important victories.
Today. It is today. The tomorrows will come, one after another, and I will work through the decisions they present as I always have, and I will hope to make the right choices – or if I make the wrong ones, that somehow they work around towards being the right ones.
Breathe deep, self. To the rest of you – stay tuned! Interesting things are sure to happen.
Rabbit Mountain
January 5, 2012 § 4 Comments
This warm weather is too weird for early January. But if it’s going to be here, then I’m going outside in it. After getting the horses all fed and turned out, I headed home to fetch Tassie for a hike before I got too settled in and too lazy to go back outside. (I love my cozy moments of sipping coffee on the couch.)
We went to Rabbit Mountain instead of our usual hike round the lake, just for something different.
The thing about Rabbit Mountain is that it’s rather odd, and to me, slightly uninviting. You drive in towards a series of small slopes and notice at once how strange the color is all around you. The whole landscape is a kind of pale yellow-green-tan, dry, rough.
I’d be lying if I said I find great beauty here. I don’t. It is arid and exposed, and the sun beats hard. I find myself wishing for streams and the shade of deciduous trees.
Still, the place is interesting in a desolate, old West kind of way. And it makes for a nice hike, the effort of going upward, the breath coming faster, the very healthy-feeling beating of your heart.
And what’s this?
A yellow brick road?
So warm, today, that I had to take off my long-sleeve hoodie and hike in my tank top and jeans – and I wished those jeans were shorts, so badly that I looked down to consider if the holes in the knees were big enough that I might rip the legs off below (they weren’t).
We found a few patches of snow where T was able to cool down. She panted from the weight of her winter coat and working against gravity. She snorted and rolled in and ate the snow for relief.
Down we came with oxygen in our lungs and blood and a few more photographs on the camera.
Another place to have seen, to have traveled across, to add to our collection of notes about the world.
Resolution
January 1, 2012 § 4 Comments
Isn’t it a funny word? I find it interesting how many definitions the word resolve has. What fascinates me particularly is how resolve can be synonymous with determination (“He stepped forward with resolve”) yet it also can mean to move from dissonance to consonance – most directly in music, but the idea extends to matters of opinion, problem-solving, working through an issue – ending the tension to reach a resolution. And yet – and yet – the word can also mean to separate. What?
Language is so strange. English, especially.
My conclusion, as I’m inclined towards peacemaking, is that resolutions might be built on this handful of definitions. As we make lists of what we want to do or not do this upcoming year, can we move with determination towards things that will bring us together into pleasing consonance? This doesn’t mean we all have to operate on the exact same opinions, beliefs, and perspectives – we can remain our separate, unique selves, like notes in a chord. And yet as we consider who we are and who others are and who we want to be, perhaps we can learn how to live together in harmony.
On that thought, here is my 2012 resolution list:
1. Be generous. Even when I have little. Generosity needn’t be expressed only by the giving of material things. Time, work, kind words, a small note in the mail – these count, too.
2. Be frugal. Don’t spend on unnecessary things, and get what I owe paid off. (All right, that’s a bit lofty for a year, but make significant advancements in this direction.) Debt creates discord, in one’s spirit as well as in relationships, even purely financial ones.
3. Be healthy. That means being healthy personally as well as promoting health in my environment – physically, ecologically, and economically. If my body is forced to operate on poor fuel and/or my actions contribute to degradation and toxicity around me, that puts me (and others) in a state of disrepair. True, we all age, but let’s age well. And let’s have land and water that go on being clean and fertile beyond our lifespans. Good health tends to foster happiness! And happiness tends to foster harmony.
4. Be optimistic. I must confess I have been a bit of a negative Nancy this year. Part of me wants to defend myself by saying that I feel everything strongly and express it openly so y’all get to go on the ups-and-downs with me. But the truth is that I have caught complaints coming out of my mouth far too often and have gotten into a habit of tampering my eager, rosy hopes with the dim glasses of criticism and self-doubt. (It doesn’t all get on this blog – but my friends and family have heard it more than once.) And the worst part? It drags the people around me down with me. Aiyaiyai. So optimism. Looking for good, holding onto truths, closing the door on regret and shoving aside fear and self-deprecation.
5. Be faithful. For me, this goal directs itself towards two closely related realms. First and foremost I seek to be faithful to my Father God, His saving Son, and the amazingly wildly loving Holy Spirit. Second, I will be faithful to my loved ones. This means to stand up for them. To step in for them. To be there when needed. Even to put them before myself. Because faithfulness is the fruit of the kind of love that is more than just a feeling.
Can I do it? Will I do it? The good thing is that these are not deadline goals. They are lifelong goals. (And I am a lifelong learner! Yay!) The next steps for me are to (a) remain conscious of these goals – maybe put a list on the mirror or refrigerator or nightstand, and (b) map out what changes I might make – big and small – to foster and further these things in my little old life.
I am not one of those who is afraid of resolutions! No, sir. I am resolved. Resolved to resolve.
What are your goals this year? Do you like or dislike New Year’s resolutions? Do you have any suggestions for me regarding mine?
Happy New Year!
January 1, 2012 § Leave a comment
May yours begin with as much happy expectation as a dog about to take a long, off-the-leash walk.
Love, Tassie & Erica
Kinds of Honey 