Acknowledging the Struggle, Part I

As readers know, I have been fermenting for quite some time, and quite unexpectedly, in a little coffee shop in downtown Missoula, I had a bit of a revelation.  I'm sure the caffeine (of which I'm not supposed to partake), the yummy bearclaw, and the majestic snow-capped mountains that envelope the small city of Missoula, provided me with an environment where I was able to subconsciously process what has been going on. 

I was reading the inaugural issue of a new periodical, Taproot and I found myself having this physical reaction to literally burrow into the arms of all the writers and photographers.  Here is a community of people who "get it". 

For years my darling husband and I have been attempting to live more simply and sustainably.  "Sustainable" has different meanings for different people, and people are drawn towards sustainability for many different reasons--economic, environmental, social justice, spiritual--to name a few.  For me, the whole concept of sustainability encompasses all of these reasons.  I think Shannon Hayes, author of Radical Homemakers, touches a large part of what I have been feeling in her essay, "Cultivating the Rich Soil of Our Lives":

We live in bizarre times, victims of a post-industrial era that, for the sake of efficiency, has segmented our culture into factions--some produce the food, some produce the education, some produce goods and services.  This segmentation fails to acknowledge our need to be human, to engage in daily work that feeds our minds and our bodies and reestablishes our oneness with the earth.  Perhaps more carrots can be produced, more books can be written, more art can be created, more kids can be schooled, more numbers can be crunched and more albums can be produced if one person plants carrots, and someone else writes the books, and someone else paints pictures, and someone else teaches our kids, and someone else crunches the numbers and someone else plays the music and someone else cooks the carrots.  But none of us is experiencing what it means to be fully human, where our unique minds and bodies work in harmony with our spirits and nature to create and provide for our wellbeing.  I believe this segmentation of our lives becomes a source of despair. 

And despair it is.  As I mentioned in earlier postings, our little village is setting up its own Farmers' Market.  The concept is a good one, and yet I am finding that something as simple and as vital as providing food for our neighbors gets bogged down in the economics of the situation.  In order to be vendors, we need to purchase rider on our homeowner's insurance.  In order to sell certain types of food, we need to become certified to use a commercial kitchen.  All of this requires cold, hard cash. All of it requires that we go through layers upon layers of red tape. I'm not lazy.  I like hard, physical work.  I fell content and valued and whole when I plant or harvest or care for livestock.  But I just want to give you the darn head of lettuce, and in return you can give me a bar of soap.  Or give me cash for the lamb, and then I will invest that cash into wood for heating next year. Why does something so simple always have to become so complicated?  The very process of working through the bureaucracy chips away at the primal and spiritual connection that we should have with our environment.  It certainly drains the life-giving force from me as I ponder in these moments of despair if the farming and the living off the land is really worth it.   Is it truly possible for us to all slow down, to reevaluate what is really important in our lives, and still be able to thrive in our world today?

Top Three Unexpected Country Moments of 2011

I know we are already well into the second month of the year, but while spinning some wool this evening, I was inspired.  And I haven't been inspired in a while (hence, no posts) so here it is.  Three of the top unexpected country moments of last year.

3.  At spinning group back in December, we were going around the circle for show and tell (I know, sounds elementary, but it's how we get to see each other's work and share ideas and upcoming events).  We get to Mother K, who is a nun and shepherd of actual sheep at the local convent.  Mother K had spent all day tending to the animals and had basically decided she needed a break for a while, so she came to  spinning group.  She stated somewhat sheepishly (no pun intended), "Nobody there knows I'm gone."  Then in a more playful confident tone, "It's easier to ask for forgiveness than to seek permission!"  Maybe I shouldn't be surprised by this statement as country nuns are people too and need breaks just like the rest of us.  And they certainly aren't infallable either.

2.  The husband of a friend of mine who is a nice guy and a "real" farmer and do-it-yourselfer (rough around the edges, slaughters his own beef cows, owns multiple tractors, hays his own fields, fells his own trees, builds his own house) stopped by one morning asking me for advice.  The questions were initially about nursing school, which caught me even more off guard, because it was the last thing I would expect from this person (he was looking into pursuing a "real" career).  We stood around for a while, looking at the pigs, talking about farming, the new USDA-approved slaughterhouse opening up, the harvest, etc. like any country farmers would do.  Huh.  While my darling husband has been able to navigate this road much more easily than I (no doubt in part because he is male and the perceived "head of household"), it only took me 5 years of running a small farm to earn some farmer respectability.  Not bad, in the grand scheme of things.  Kristin Kimball writes about a similar experience on her farm in The Dirty Life (I can't quote it exactly because I lent the book out to somebody but I don't remember to whom!). 

1.  My darling husband and I were sharing a quiet meal together in the kitchen one December day when the dogs started barking.  Old Farmer J down the street (another "real" farmer) was at the door.  He wanted to know if we were interested in a Kitchen Table discussion about local food and fiber.  Here is a guy who has worked on a farm his entire life, who puts up 10,000 bales of hay a year,  sells his own grain mixtures and basically lives off the land, and now is spear-heading a local movement.  While we have bought hay and grain and lumber from him for the last three years,  he is probably the last person I would put under the label "visionary".  And yet, here he is, driving up and down the valley, stopping at all the farms, big or small, wondering if we would be interested in such a discussion.  The group has already met twice, and what a lovely range of farming personalities.  The group consists of a couple life-long, honest farmers; there are several yuppy farmers; there are the farmers who want to be organic and use environmentally friendly practices; there are farmers who want to raise exotics; there are farmers who want to barter; farmers who want to sell their goods down in NYC.  We have already decided to set up a farmer's marker right in our little village on Thursday afternoons during the growing season.  Goods ranging from fruits and vegetables to honey to the fiber arts to meat to homemade goat milk fudge and breads will potentially all be available for sale.  Even if it never really gets off the ground, the fact that this particular person had a vision and acted on it is a testimony to all that is good and surprising in the world!

First Fridays: December wreath making

Where has the time gone?  I have two posts in my mind (one is on the kitchen floor, the other concerning turkeys and toilets) but obviously have not written or published them.  And, right now, it is December 2nd, which means it's  First Friday post time!

A couple of weeks ago, I decided to go help a neighbor make wreaths to support our sustainable living group (and to learn how to make a wreath).  The wreaths were going to be auctioned off in the annual village "Adorn-a-dore" contest which supports our local community art gallery in town.  So, it had to be at least a decent looking wreath.

What I discovered, is that using grape vine as a frame is the BEST THING EVER (well, at least when it comes to making wreaths).  It is the most forgiving natural material I have ever met.  You can use it dry or wet, and you just keep twisting the vine upon itself until you have the shape you want.  Unfortunately, I don't have pictures of the wreaths we constructed for the auction, which had a high bid of at least $75 (our informant left before the auction ended), but this morning (when I should have been studying pathophysiology) I spent about 45 minutes making a wreath for our household. 

The options for materials are endless, but I used evergreens, rose hips (holly or winterberry would also obviously work), some sort of dried seed pods, and white wool.  Here's are some photos to inspire you.  And I do want to remind everyone that I have ZERO creative or artistic talent.  I am an analytical, in-the-box thinker, and this was actually not that difficult to do, thanks to the grapevine. Also, the only "non-natural" part of the wreath is the little loop of wire attaching it to the nail.  There are no plastic or metal frames, wires or ties.  Again, thanks to the grapevine.

You can twist the grapevine into a variety of shapes.






Adding some greens.  I used two varieties from evergreen trees we have, but don't ask me what varieties.  One was more prickly than the other, that's about all I can say!  I just sort of wove them into the grapevine.





Adding rosehips and some seed pods. 





I added sheep's wool to add some white to the red, white and green.  Not sure what I think of it though. 

Happy wreath making!

Of Dirty Living and Rent-a-Rams

I finished Radical Homemakers over the weekend, and I'm looking forward to reading The Dirty Life by Kristin Kimball, an author who left the hectic life of NYC to work and live on a farm in Essex, NY.  The general idea of removing oneself from the extractive economy and towards a productive economy is powerful in my mind.  Honestly, I looked at the painted plywood counter tops in my kitchen the other night from a whole new perspective.  My counter tops are certainly functional and they don't really look that bad.  In fact, unless I point it out, people don't tend to notice. 

Whether this can be attributed to merely reading a book, or the alternative healing treatments I've been receiving, or a midlife crisis, my whole philosophy on enjoying life is not-so-subtly shifting. 

A friend just mentioned that there is a movie out, Affluenza, which I look forward to seeing.  Apparently, its basic premise is that affluence has become a disease.  Again, Shannon Hayes does a much better job at illustrating this whole idea in Radical Homemakers.  People simply aren't considering the hidden costs to living by the philosophy of always wanting/feeling they need more, more, more.  They're so focused on the destination, that they forget about the journey.  Our children are also trained in this idea, starting from the very beginning of their formal education.  Get good grades so you can go to college, and be successful (make a lot of money?).  Today, kids are in it all for the grades, not for the learning and they readily admit this to their teachers.

On a lighter note, our rent-a-ram, George, arrived yesterday.  We're breeding Tess, and two half sisters (one is Rachel's daughter, Velma the other Tess' Velveeta; both born in 2009).  "Auntie" Rachel who failed to get knocked up last year, is spending some quality girl time with the two ewe lambs from this year, far, far away from George.  Hopefully, Tess, Velma, and Velveeta will throw twins. This will mean our flock may double in size next year, and our lamb/wool operation could significantly increase.