Winter came into town a few weeks ago
Sent Fall into a tizzy
They argued back and forth for a month
Winter smothered Fall with a blanket of snow.
1.06.2010
10.12.2009
10.07.2009
Trash Piles
I've had a hard time journal keeping lately and this morning I realized that a major obstacle to my practice is that I have nothing but "fancy" journals right now. Before you ask what this has to do with urban homesteading, hang in there, it relates, I promise. These "fancy" journals are fun to buy, pretty to look at with their block printed covers and inspirational quotes, but they inhibit me. My epiphany is that journal writing should be a bit like composting or maybe even more accurate, like keeping your own garbage dump. They are repositories for the detritus of our brains. Places you throw all the junk into. Like trash dumps though, they can also be gold mines of recycling. Journals, like piles of items we are ready to burn but haven't quite yet gotten around to, contain artifacts that fuel our imaginations.
I used to mine our backyard dump as a kid for treasures, but it has since been shut down. "The dump" (as we affectionately referred to it)was a recessed area near the woods where we would pile our trash. You see, once every couple of weeks we would burn it and it is the pollution from thousands of rural folks burning their trash that has led to the practice being outlawed. I am not advocating for the burning of our own trash piles, but I have many fond memories of that trash pile. For one, once I was 12 or 13, I was allowed to load the trash in the back of our car and drive it down through the pasture to the dump myself, sans parents. It was pure, adolescent pre-driver's licence freedom. Then there were the times my friends and I would go through each other's dumps, Pippi Longstocking-style, looking for "lost treasures." We would find rusted out appliances, old cracked pottery, and feel like we were channeling Indiana Jones. Plus, we would sometimes find things that we thought would be great to use in a clubhouse we never built. Many of these things I may have actually thrown into the dump myself, discarding them as useless clutter. Suddenly, nestled among items that were truly beyond use, they took on a whole new life.
Living in town now, it's hard to store your own refuse pile. Not that I haven't tried, from the original single pane wooden storm windows that are full of lead paint to the brush pile. (I must resign myself to the fact we are just never going to rent a wood chipper.) I didn't know why I kept these things until this morning as I thought about my journal practice in relationship to that dump of my childhood. I keep thinking that the old scrap of fabric or the old windows might someday be useful in a new way to me. The perils of critters who like old wood or the limitations of the size our our little home, make my physical junk keeping practice impossible.
The journal practice I can start again though, dumping all the refuse of my racing mind into a bin where maybe I never look at it again and maybe I find gems later. I just need to get me a cheap, lined, stiff-backed Mead journal that looks more like a brain dump. There is a place for trash in our lives, a place for dumps where our imaginations can stretch. The trick is to actually go back at some point and sift through all of it, putting some of it to new use.
I used to mine our backyard dump as a kid for treasures, but it has since been shut down. "The dump" (as we affectionately referred to it)was a recessed area near the woods where we would pile our trash. You see, once every couple of weeks we would burn it and it is the pollution from thousands of rural folks burning their trash that has led to the practice being outlawed. I am not advocating for the burning of our own trash piles, but I have many fond memories of that trash pile. For one, once I was 12 or 13, I was allowed to load the trash in the back of our car and drive it down through the pasture to the dump myself, sans parents. It was pure, adolescent pre-driver's licence freedom. Then there were the times my friends and I would go through each other's dumps, Pippi Longstocking-style, looking for "lost treasures." We would find rusted out appliances, old cracked pottery, and feel like we were channeling Indiana Jones. Plus, we would sometimes find things that we thought would be great to use in a clubhouse we never built. Many of these things I may have actually thrown into the dump myself, discarding them as useless clutter. Suddenly, nestled among items that were truly beyond use, they took on a whole new life.
Living in town now, it's hard to store your own refuse pile. Not that I haven't tried, from the original single pane wooden storm windows that are full of lead paint to the brush pile. (I must resign myself to the fact we are just never going to rent a wood chipper.) I didn't know why I kept these things until this morning as I thought about my journal practice in relationship to that dump of my childhood. I keep thinking that the old scrap of fabric or the old windows might someday be useful in a new way to me. The perils of critters who like old wood or the limitations of the size our our little home, make my physical junk keeping practice impossible.
The journal practice I can start again though, dumping all the refuse of my racing mind into a bin where maybe I never look at it again and maybe I find gems later. I just need to get me a cheap, lined, stiff-backed Mead journal that looks more like a brain dump. There is a place for trash in our lives, a place for dumps where our imaginations can stretch. The trick is to actually go back at some point and sift through all of it, putting some of it to new use.
9.19.2009
Life and Death on the Farm
As a person who grew up on a farm, death was a normal part of life. It was not uncommon to find a random cow leg deposited in our yard by the resident coyotes. In fact, (if you didn't grow up on a farm, you might find this odd) it was sort of my job to report back to my dad if we'd lost any cattle. I would wander about our 90 acres and note any lost calves or cows later that day. Of course, that wasn't the sole purpose of my wanderings, I'd also be checking the fence.
Dogs would show up with puppies and the puppies would mysteriously disappear the next morning. This was an act we all willingly participated in. We knew dad took the puppies away, but none of us (including dad) wanted to acknowledge what really happened.
Cats, cats were a whole endeavor unto themselves. My sister and I wanted a cat so badly, we brought home probably half a dozen over the years with only one lasting more than a few weeks it seems. Eventually, with each cat, we would wake up some morning to find horrific remains. I will never understand why the coyotes would leave the cat out in plain site. I know they prefer old carcasses, but you'd think they'd try to hide their fresh kill. Only one cat, a cat who lost a leg from sleeping in my dad's truck, lived a full life on our farm. She was one stubborn cat. She was my cat alone and, while she deserves a full story, this is not a story about her. This is a story about my current cat and my urban farm.
With all the continuous exposure to losing pets and livestock, I have always told myself that death is a normal part of life. I have believed this in terms of people and our animal friends. It's just a simple fact of life. I've bragged about the fact that, on the farm, we don't let an animal suffer. We "put it out of its misery." With as tough as farm people sometimes seem, we pride ourselves in the fact that we approach death with compassion and reason.
What I didn't realize is that, in all these experiences, I was never the one choosing the time of death. It occurred naturally, or my dad chose. Now I am faced with choosing. My companion of 18 plus years is declining. She has lived with kidney failure for over 3 years. She now has a thyroid problem and a heart murmur. Despite these things, she has been spry and frisky. She'll adventure out into the garden, sleep on a window sill, play with a string. She jumps over three feet to her post to get her food. Most importantly, each night, as she has always done, she sleeps curled up in my armpit. Lately, she has gravitated to sleeping almost on my face or in the bend of my neck. We have stepped up her fluid treatments to once every 3 to 4 days and, until recently, she has responded very well to this.
Now, my family back home have been a bit surprised we have gone to the trouble to give her a subcutaneous fluid boost once a week in the beginning and that we have done this for 3 years. When a friend has been with you through college, your first jobs, grad school, different roommates, a marriage and a divorce, a mid-life crisis, coming out, and has shepparded you into a new relationship, it just seems like they will always be there. If you've ever read "The Golden Compass", she is my Pan. She is like my external soul. So, "As long as she is still happy," I tell myself. Plus, this past year she's been unusually affectionate.
This last few months I've noticed her beginning to decline though. She wanders about the house occasionally not quite as purposefully as she used to, almost as if she's not quite sure where she is going. This morning, she seemed stiff and as if getting up to go to her food were a bit of a chore. She was also grumpy. We've had more days like this lately than usual. The fluid treatment last night went right through her, leaving a baggy little apron on her belly. She and I had a good cuddle, with me crying and it struck me that, I may have to decide to put her to sleep within the next week. Now, we've been through this once before and she rallied, only to be running around the house two days later. I was thinking we'd just suddenly hit a wall and I would, as everyone keeps telling me, "just know when to do it." I don't think I'm going to be graced with that and I think Booger is going to be blessed not to have that.
So, on my urban farm this morning my thoughts are that I am missing those coyotes that just whisk your cat away in the night. Just a quick death, delivered by mother nature. I don't want to decide. She's the one who is always there when I'm the saddest. Curled up by my side no matter what. When I will want her by the most, she won't be there.
Dogs would show up with puppies and the puppies would mysteriously disappear the next morning. This was an act we all willingly participated in. We knew dad took the puppies away, but none of us (including dad) wanted to acknowledge what really happened.
Cats, cats were a whole endeavor unto themselves. My sister and I wanted a cat so badly, we brought home probably half a dozen over the years with only one lasting more than a few weeks it seems. Eventually, with each cat, we would wake up some morning to find horrific remains. I will never understand why the coyotes would leave the cat out in plain site. I know they prefer old carcasses, but you'd think they'd try to hide their fresh kill. Only one cat, a cat who lost a leg from sleeping in my dad's truck, lived a full life on our farm. She was one stubborn cat. She was my cat alone and, while she deserves a full story, this is not a story about her. This is a story about my current cat and my urban farm.
With all the continuous exposure to losing pets and livestock, I have always told myself that death is a normal part of life. I have believed this in terms of people and our animal friends. It's just a simple fact of life. I've bragged about the fact that, on the farm, we don't let an animal suffer. We "put it out of its misery." With as tough as farm people sometimes seem, we pride ourselves in the fact that we approach death with compassion and reason.
What I didn't realize is that, in all these experiences, I was never the one choosing the time of death. It occurred naturally, or my dad chose. Now I am faced with choosing. My companion of 18 plus years is declining. She has lived with kidney failure for over 3 years. She now has a thyroid problem and a heart murmur. Despite these things, she has been spry and frisky. She'll adventure out into the garden, sleep on a window sill, play with a string. She jumps over three feet to her post to get her food. Most importantly, each night, as she has always done, she sleeps curled up in my armpit. Lately, she has gravitated to sleeping almost on my face or in the bend of my neck. We have stepped up her fluid treatments to once every 3 to 4 days and, until recently, she has responded very well to this.
Now, my family back home have been a bit surprised we have gone to the trouble to give her a subcutaneous fluid boost once a week in the beginning and that we have done this for 3 years. When a friend has been with you through college, your first jobs, grad school, different roommates, a marriage and a divorce, a mid-life crisis, coming out, and has shepparded you into a new relationship, it just seems like they will always be there. If you've ever read "The Golden Compass", she is my Pan. She is like my external soul. So, "As long as she is still happy," I tell myself. Plus, this past year she's been unusually affectionate.
This last few months I've noticed her beginning to decline though. She wanders about the house occasionally not quite as purposefully as she used to, almost as if she's not quite sure where she is going. This morning, she seemed stiff and as if getting up to go to her food were a bit of a chore. She was also grumpy. We've had more days like this lately than usual. The fluid treatment last night went right through her, leaving a baggy little apron on her belly. She and I had a good cuddle, with me crying and it struck me that, I may have to decide to put her to sleep within the next week. Now, we've been through this once before and she rallied, only to be running around the house two days later. I was thinking we'd just suddenly hit a wall and I would, as everyone keeps telling me, "just know when to do it." I don't think I'm going to be graced with that and I think Booger is going to be blessed not to have that.
So, on my urban farm this morning my thoughts are that I am missing those coyotes that just whisk your cat away in the night. Just a quick death, delivered by mother nature. I don't want to decide. She's the one who is always there when I'm the saddest. Curled up by my side no matter what. When I will want her by the most, she won't be there.
9.09.2009
The Angle of the Dangle
No, this isn't a dirty post! It's just an observation on bean picking with a catchy title. Each time I pick green beans I try to pick all the beans off the bush. I prefer to get them before they get older and stringy so I pick even the small ones. Just a few days later I go out and I find beans that look like they've been growing for weeks. It seems like, no matter what, I always miss a handful tucked behind a leaf just out of sight. I've learned that to do a good job of picking, I need to look at the trellis from as many angles as possible. I'll get down on my knees and look upwards, look down into the middle of the trellis from my tippy toes, lift vines and even look sideways. I am starting to get the feeling this is another life lesson from the garden. I think the beans are trying to tell me to look at any problem from multiple perspectives and be open to finding solutions where you think they won't exist. Or maybe I'm just picking beans and spending too much time with my inner dialogue.
8.29.2009
A Grid of a Different Name Smells Sweeter
Growing up in a fairly small town and spending most of my summers alone in the woods, I oscillated between intense introspection to being thrown into the middle of everyone knows everything about everyone during the school year. I wanted nothing more than to find a way to live more quietly and more detached from the "petty"gossips and scrutiny of community. I think this "self-reliant" bent of urban homesteading (along with the environmental benefits) has been a real draw to me. One of the catchphrases of the homesteading movement is "living off the grid." This has meant, unplugging (literally and figuratively) from the electric grid by producing some or all of one's own electricity. It may also mean naturally capturing water for washing clothes or watering the garden through rain barrels or catchments - reducing one's need to be on the "water grid" so to speak. For the urban homesteader it's also about disconnecting from downspouts and reducing our input to the "water grid" in this way. People do this for environmental reasons (reduce our reliance on fossil fuels etc.), but also for economical reasons - sun power is free, water from a rain barrel is free... etc. So a lot of focus and attention can be on independence and disconnect. After a few years of trying to turn our little mid-century bungalow into an urban homestead, I would now argue that community is a homesteader's number one ally.
I came to this conclusion through trial and error and it's taken almost 20 years. Several key experiences have drawn me into the understanding of what connections to my neighbors - and I mean my actual next door neighbors, not my global neighbors- means. First, I can honestly say I did not realize how much my family gained from community while I was growing up. I spent just about every free moment as a child in the woods daydreaming about being Laura Ingalls Wilder or, as I became a teen, Thoreau. I felt most at home "walking the creek" alone or reading next to one of the three ponds in our back ninety acres. When the school year approached I frequently dreamt I'd forgotten an important article of clothing, such as pants, and, in my dreams, I wouldn't realize it until boarding the school bus. To me, school meant cacophony. It meant feeling alone in a crowd. I skipped pep rallies to read in the library because I liked the quiet (I still hate crowds). I blamed my discomfort on the typical complaints about life in a small town - everyone knows everyone, there's nothing to do, I never felt like I fit in etc. So I took off across the country for college and landed in a mid-sized city.
Strangly enough, I found that in a sea of people it was actually easier to disappear. I also realized I had to buy produce. You see, in the summer and fall, my dad would bring home bags of fresh tomatoes, gigantic squash and such. People would give him produce, he would give them corn or melons. We never had a garden and there was harldly ever fresh produce in the grocery stores, but we always had loads of homegrown veggies. I'd never realized this until I had to buy them. Of course, I was also enamored of the giant West Coast grocery stores, stocked with items from all up and down the I-5 corridor. Things like gorgeous red peppers even in the middle of winter! Oh, but my awareness of the fossil fuel cost of this food came much latter and is a different story. I missed all those free veggies from home!
After college and grad school, I moved to an even larger city where I "settled down" in a typical suburban neighborhood. We bought the house because it needed fixing up and was on a large plot. I had visions of secluding myself in a lush garden and growing plants that would insulate me from the sounds of next door neighbors. This worked for the first few years - before we started really undertaking the remodel projects. Then our current neighbors moved in and that led me to my second understanding of the importance of community. Our new neighbors did crazy things like invite us over to BBQ dinners that were delicious. Their cousins and parents would come to these dinners and at first we didn't realize they were inviting us to dine with other folks. We were a little surprised they would invite these two girls into their family like this. (OK so part of it is that is we're lesbians and they're a straight, catholic couple. We thought that maybe at first they thought we were just roommates. They shattered that delusion after asking if we thought we'd ever have kids.)
After about a year of living next to each other, our shared fence blew over in a storm. When we went to replace the fence, our neighbors (who are renters by the way) helped us build the fence. George, a burly ex-navy recruiter, dug up the most stubborn of the old concrete post-holes and Cheryl made dinner for all of us. At the same time, we invited a friend over to help with this project. When we replaced our floors, George helped us move our largest piece of furniture. We also had help from another friend who came in at just the right time to save our marriage. (I'm sure you understand that if you have done any remodel project with your spouse....)When we were sick with strep throat last month, George and Cheryl's nephew brought over a plate of food. Tonight, we are babysitting their 2 year old little girl.
And so, through obvious and many more subtle events, I have come to realize that good neighbors, a community of support and resources, are necessary for every true homestead. We learn things from each other that make independent living easier and richer. It's about swapping from one grid to another, more delicate, web of relationships. It's the cardinal rule of homesteading - know thy neighbors.
I came to this conclusion through trial and error and it's taken almost 20 years. Several key experiences have drawn me into the understanding of what connections to my neighbors - and I mean my actual next door neighbors, not my global neighbors- means. First, I can honestly say I did not realize how much my family gained from community while I was growing up. I spent just about every free moment as a child in the woods daydreaming about being Laura Ingalls Wilder or, as I became a teen, Thoreau. I felt most at home "walking the creek" alone or reading next to one of the three ponds in our back ninety acres. When the school year approached I frequently dreamt I'd forgotten an important article of clothing, such as pants, and, in my dreams, I wouldn't realize it until boarding the school bus. To me, school meant cacophony. It meant feeling alone in a crowd. I skipped pep rallies to read in the library because I liked the quiet (I still hate crowds). I blamed my discomfort on the typical complaints about life in a small town - everyone knows everyone, there's nothing to do, I never felt like I fit in etc. So I took off across the country for college and landed in a mid-sized city.
Strangly enough, I found that in a sea of people it was actually easier to disappear. I also realized I had to buy produce. You see, in the summer and fall, my dad would bring home bags of fresh tomatoes, gigantic squash and such. People would give him produce, he would give them corn or melons. We never had a garden and there was harldly ever fresh produce in the grocery stores, but we always had loads of homegrown veggies. I'd never realized this until I had to buy them. Of course, I was also enamored of the giant West Coast grocery stores, stocked with items from all up and down the I-5 corridor. Things like gorgeous red peppers even in the middle of winter! Oh, but my awareness of the fossil fuel cost of this food came much latter and is a different story. I missed all those free veggies from home!
After college and grad school, I moved to an even larger city where I "settled down" in a typical suburban neighborhood. We bought the house because it needed fixing up and was on a large plot. I had visions of secluding myself in a lush garden and growing plants that would insulate me from the sounds of next door neighbors. This worked for the first few years - before we started really undertaking the remodel projects. Then our current neighbors moved in and that led me to my second understanding of the importance of community. Our new neighbors did crazy things like invite us over to BBQ dinners that were delicious. Their cousins and parents would come to these dinners and at first we didn't realize they were inviting us to dine with other folks. We were a little surprised they would invite these two girls into their family like this. (OK so part of it is that is we're lesbians and they're a straight, catholic couple. We thought that maybe at first they thought we were just roommates. They shattered that delusion after asking if we thought we'd ever have kids.)
After about a year of living next to each other, our shared fence blew over in a storm. When we went to replace the fence, our neighbors (who are renters by the way) helped us build the fence. George, a burly ex-navy recruiter, dug up the most stubborn of the old concrete post-holes and Cheryl made dinner for all of us. At the same time, we invited a friend over to help with this project. When we replaced our floors, George helped us move our largest piece of furniture. We also had help from another friend who came in at just the right time to save our marriage. (I'm sure you understand that if you have done any remodel project with your spouse....)When we were sick with strep throat last month, George and Cheryl's nephew brought over a plate of food. Tonight, we are babysitting their 2 year old little girl.
And so, through obvious and many more subtle events, I have come to realize that good neighbors, a community of support and resources, are necessary for every true homestead. We learn things from each other that make independent living easier and richer. It's about swapping from one grid to another, more delicate, web of relationships. It's the cardinal rule of homesteading - know thy neighbors.
8.26.2009
The rewards of gardening are plenty. First and foremost, I grew up on a farm and I feel most complete as a human when I am getting my hands dirty. I love dirt. I like digging in it, building mounds with it, examining it, making it. I look at a fresh ploughed field and it comforts me like a crackly fresh-baked cookie. Nothing is as satisfying as eating something you have grown yourself, especially from seed. I love the feel of early morning sunshine on my skin and how it gradually warms me when I'm picking the day's harvest. I don't have to go grocery shopping as much in the summer - in fact, I can go a whole two weeks between shopping trips. I can control what goes into my food - what feeds it, what protects it from bugs and disease. I can pick something right off the plant and stick it into my mouth without even washing it. Best of all, I love the solitude of my garden. I like feeling surrounded by plants and insects instead of people. Besides, below is what we're having for dinner at my house this week.
Today's dinner:
Today's dinner:
- fried green tomatoes
- bulgar, mint, tomato and seasoned tempeh salad
- steamed green beans?
Thursday:
- BBQ chicken salad (Gates sauce of course) with green pepper, corn, tomatoes and chili-lime dressing
- grilled zucchini
Friday:
- pizza with chard, pesto, purple onion, sliced tomatoes and possibly applewood smoked bacon - top this all with grated pecorino romano cheese
From the garden ingredients (free!): tomatoes, mint, beans, lettuce, chard, green pepper, hot peppers, zucchini, and basil for pesto.
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