It's official. I've been asked one too many times about what to do with ground pork glut. For those of you who have a half or whole hog in the freezer you're likely to have lots of ground pork (unless you had it all made into sausage, which is the best thing to do with ground pork). Here is a family recipe I received from a good friend at church. She is 80 something years old, grew up in Germany, lives in the quaintest apartment in town and manages to host delightful dinner parties for 12 or more people in a space that can't be larger than 400 square feet! You'll have to play with the amounts of some of these ingredients--like all great family recipes, the measurements are inexact!
Frickadellen
1 lb pork
some bread crumbs
1 egg
some cardamom
salt and pepper
1 tbsp of ground onion (I use lots of chopped onion)
capers (I don't use these, because I don't like capers)
So you mix everything (except the capers) together in a bowl and knead really well before forming little golf-ball size balls. Then pat them down. It's almost like you're making sliders. You put them in the pan to brown, adding some water at times to help with the browning process. My friend likes to pour a gravy (with the capers) over them. We eat them straight up. The cardamom really adds a nice flavor and the breadcrumbs keep the pork very moist.
Enjoy!
P.S When Belle was at the vet clinic, they asked me to bring in some human food for her to eat. The frickadellens were what I had on hand so I brought in two of them (I actually handpicked the onion pieces out because I wasn't sure those were good for her at the time). When the vet tech warmed the patties up and the smell of yummy frickadellen permeated the clinic the staff was very sad that the food was for Belle and not for them!
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Monday, May 28, 2012
Being Mindful on Monday: Memorial Day Observed
Carl Sandburg "Grass"
Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work--
I am the grass; I cover all.
And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we now?
I am the grass.
Let me work.
Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work--
I am the grass; I cover all.
And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we now?
I am the grass.
Let me work.
Friday, May 25, 2012
All Creatures Great and Small
It's been a tough week on Clearfield Farm thanks to our ten-year old beagle mutt, Belle.
After dinner on Monday night she began to display some obvious discomfort. When I called the vet clinic and recounted her symptoms, they wanted to see her right away. A few x-rays confirmed some sort of abdominal mass but it was unclear what it was. An ultrasound was also inconclusive. The vet, who happens to be a good friend of ours, set out our options which included supportive care, euthanasia, or surgery. I told her I would get back to her first thing on Wednesday. My darling husband and I had to talk.
It's an agonizing decision when it comes to spending significant sums of money on a pet, particularly an aging one (and one who is not so friendly to those outside her pack). My husband offered this advice...WWJD. "What would Jesus Do?" I asked skeptically. "No, what would James [Herriot] do?" "Well, because of the lack of technology available at the time, he probably would have put the animal to sleep if she was in as much discomfort as Belle currently is" I answered. My husband concurred. He added that if we were striving to live simply (I have often touted the "just because we can, does it mean we should?" philosophy), euthanasia would be our best option. But is that what we would do for Belle? What if it was just a simple mass that could be removed and give her several more years of quality life? But what if it is malignant? What if whatever it is was going to come back? Of course, it was impossible for us or the vet to determine any of this without going in in the first place.
She obviously needed something done because she was suffering. Euthanasia or surgery. After a quick discussion of our own financial situation and an understanding that extraordinary measures (say a trip to Cornell University) were out of the question, we decided that she deserved this one shot to continue on in this world. We agreed that if there was a relapse or if there was no improvement then we'd put her down if it became clear she was suffering.
When I called the vet on Wednesday, she agreed with our decision. She did want to know whether we wanted her woken up if the mass could not be removed. We said yes because Bud had not yet said his goodbyes and we felt this was very important. The surgery was scheduled for that afternoon.
Unfortunately, the surgery did not turn up good results. The mass is really coagulated blood and cannot be removed. It is unclear where this mass originated from or why. The vet and her colleagues felt that if they tried to remove whatever it is, she would bleed out in a "terminal event". So they ended up sewing her back up.
She spent two days at the clinic and was doing all normal doggy things (eating, peeing, pooping) so it seems like she feels a little bit better, although the long-term prognosis is relatively poor. Our vet was very realistic with us saying it could be weeks or months or it could be days. The best case scenario would be if this mass was the result of some sort of trauma and shrunk on its own after a bit of time. However, the onset of her discomfort and the unlikelihood of her getting hit by something without us noticing render this trauma hypothesis relatively weak.
So we will just wait and see. Daisy is happy to have Belle at home and takes turns with Luke the cat watching over her. Belle, whose favorite activity has always been lying out in the sun, seems relatively peaceful at the moment. As long as she doesn't complain we will give her as many sunny days as possible.
After dinner on Monday night she began to display some obvious discomfort. When I called the vet clinic and recounted her symptoms, they wanted to see her right away. A few x-rays confirmed some sort of abdominal mass but it was unclear what it was. An ultrasound was also inconclusive. The vet, who happens to be a good friend of ours, set out our options which included supportive care, euthanasia, or surgery. I told her I would get back to her first thing on Wednesday. My darling husband and I had to talk.
It's an agonizing decision when it comes to spending significant sums of money on a pet, particularly an aging one (and one who is not so friendly to those outside her pack). My husband offered this advice...WWJD. "What would Jesus Do?" I asked skeptically. "No, what would James [Herriot] do?" "Well, because of the lack of technology available at the time, he probably would have put the animal to sleep if she was in as much discomfort as Belle currently is" I answered. My husband concurred. He added that if we were striving to live simply (I have often touted the "just because we can, does it mean we should?" philosophy), euthanasia would be our best option. But is that what we would do for Belle? What if it was just a simple mass that could be removed and give her several more years of quality life? But what if it is malignant? What if whatever it is was going to come back? Of course, it was impossible for us or the vet to determine any of this without going in in the first place.
She obviously needed something done because she was suffering. Euthanasia or surgery. After a quick discussion of our own financial situation and an understanding that extraordinary measures (say a trip to Cornell University) were out of the question, we decided that she deserved this one shot to continue on in this world. We agreed that if there was a relapse or if there was no improvement then we'd put her down if it became clear she was suffering.
When I called the vet on Wednesday, she agreed with our decision. She did want to know whether we wanted her woken up if the mass could not be removed. We said yes because Bud had not yet said his goodbyes and we felt this was very important. The surgery was scheduled for that afternoon.
Unfortunately, the surgery did not turn up good results. The mass is really coagulated blood and cannot be removed. It is unclear where this mass originated from or why. The vet and her colleagues felt that if they tried to remove whatever it is, she would bleed out in a "terminal event". So they ended up sewing her back up.
She spent two days at the clinic and was doing all normal doggy things (eating, peeing, pooping) so it seems like she feels a little bit better, although the long-term prognosis is relatively poor. Our vet was very realistic with us saying it could be weeks or months or it could be days. The best case scenario would be if this mass was the result of some sort of trauma and shrunk on its own after a bit of time. However, the onset of her discomfort and the unlikelihood of her getting hit by something without us noticing render this trauma hypothesis relatively weak.
 | |
| Daisy |
 |
| Luke and Belle |
Monday, May 21, 2012
Transformations
I've been struggling this week with what to write about. After starting three different posts and then not liking the direction they've gone I've decided to take some wise advice and just pick a really broad topic so that everything can be made to fit into it. So here it goes. Transformations in the last couple of weeks...
First, the gardens. I have spent the majority of May in my gardens. A dear friend (that's you Deborah!) brought up the subject of edging gardens last fall. I never even knew that one was supposed to edge a garden until then. Having the time this spring (sort of), and after looking despairingly at the weed invasion in my perennial gardens, I decided to jump on the edging bandwagon. This was not a decision to take lightly as once you are committed to edging part of a garden, you have to do the whole thing. And once you edge one garden, it's impossible NOT to edge the others. While edging, I also tackled the vast majority of the weeds. My gardens are by no means weed free, but they do look substantially better than they do before. Speaking of gardens, we've got much of our large vegetable garden planted, and only two more 12 x 12 plots to double dig. Hopefully all will be dug and planted by the end of the upcoming long weekend.
Which brings me to my second transformation. My poor hands. As I do every year, I started wearing gloves when I garden. But I hate not being able to feel the cool, damp earth, and I have much better control of what I am weeding or digging with my bare hands versus gloved hands. So until I find some type of gardening glove that is like a second skin, I will continue to garden with naked hands. Which means I generally have dirt encrusted in the grooves of my fingers and of course under the nails. This was really only a problem back in May 2006, a month before I got married. I went to the day spa to have a trial run with the nails and my esthetician (that's a really hard word to spell correctly!) made me promise that I would take the month off from gardening. I don't think I did, but at least I wore gloves. So to remedy the chronically dirty hands I allow myself a long soak in a tub each night.
Which brings me to the third transformation. Children. I share my tub with a "Little People" castle and many plastic "guys" (and dinosaurs). I also find that the only shampoo downstairs is Cowabunga Coconut. Our coffee table has a veritable young adult library spread across it, and the back steps are always collecting something that belongs to Bud. And it's all good. This past weekend I went to visit a high school friend and her family in the Boston area. She has a two year old daughter. Where there used to be beer and music and card games, there are now juice boxes and diapers and nap times. I also happened to stop by another dear friend's home in the Berkshires on my way back to New York. She has a three year old daughter. I always loved her decor--sort of a French/African theme with lots of different textures and interesting prints. I hadn't seen her since right after her daughter was born and the house had been comfortably, tastefully and lovingly transformed into a toddler's haven.
Finally, the last transformation of this week regards more babies. My nephew, whom I last saw in person when he was a week old, now looks completely different at six weeks old. He has lost all of his hair, has filled out tremendously, and loves to smile. At least he still has his elf ears! It was startling to see the change. How quickly newborns grow up!
Enjoy the spring showers and the bountiful sunshine!
First, the gardens. I have spent the majority of May in my gardens. A dear friend (that's you Deborah!) brought up the subject of edging gardens last fall. I never even knew that one was supposed to edge a garden until then. Having the time this spring (sort of), and after looking despairingly at the weed invasion in my perennial gardens, I decided to jump on the edging bandwagon. This was not a decision to take lightly as once you are committed to edging part of a garden, you have to do the whole thing. And once you edge one garden, it's impossible NOT to edge the others. While edging, I also tackled the vast majority of the weeds. My gardens are by no means weed free, but they do look substantially better than they do before. Speaking of gardens, we've got much of our large vegetable garden planted, and only two more 12 x 12 plots to double dig. Hopefully all will be dug and planted by the end of the upcoming long weekend.
Which brings me to my second transformation. My poor hands. As I do every year, I started wearing gloves when I garden. But I hate not being able to feel the cool, damp earth, and I have much better control of what I am weeding or digging with my bare hands versus gloved hands. So until I find some type of gardening glove that is like a second skin, I will continue to garden with naked hands. Which means I generally have dirt encrusted in the grooves of my fingers and of course under the nails. This was really only a problem back in May 2006, a month before I got married. I went to the day spa to have a trial run with the nails and my esthetician (that's a really hard word to spell correctly!) made me promise that I would take the month off from gardening. I don't think I did, but at least I wore gloves. So to remedy the chronically dirty hands I allow myself a long soak in a tub each night.
Which brings me to the third transformation. Children. I share my tub with a "Little People" castle and many plastic "guys" (and dinosaurs). I also find that the only shampoo downstairs is Cowabunga Coconut. Our coffee table has a veritable young adult library spread across it, and the back steps are always collecting something that belongs to Bud. And it's all good. This past weekend I went to visit a high school friend and her family in the Boston area. She has a two year old daughter. Where there used to be beer and music and card games, there are now juice boxes and diapers and nap times. I also happened to stop by another dear friend's home in the Berkshires on my way back to New York. She has a three year old daughter. I always loved her decor--sort of a French/African theme with lots of different textures and interesting prints. I hadn't seen her since right after her daughter was born and the house had been comfortably, tastefully and lovingly transformed into a toddler's haven.
Finally, the last transformation of this week regards more babies. My nephew, whom I last saw in person when he was a week old, now looks completely different at six weeks old. He has lost all of his hair, has filled out tremendously, and loves to smile. At least he still has his elf ears! It was startling to see the change. How quickly newborns grow up!
Enjoy the spring showers and the bountiful sunshine!
Monday, May 14, 2012
Being Mindful on Monday
"Let it Go" by Dana Faulds
Let go of the ways you thought life would unfold:
the holding of plans or dreams or expectations – Let it all go.
Save your strength to swim with the tide.
The choice to fight what is here before you now will
only result in struggle, fear, and desperate attempts
to flee from the very energy you long for. Let go.
Let it all go and flow with the grace that washes
through your days whether you received it gently
or with all your quills raised to defend against invaders.
Take this on faith; the mind may never find the
explanations that it seeks, but you will move forward
nonetheless. Let go, and the wave’s crest will carry
you to unknown shores, beyond your wildest dreams
or destinations. Let it all go and find the place of
rest and peace, and certain transformation.
Let go of the ways you thought life would unfold:
the holding of plans or dreams or expectations – Let it all go.
Save your strength to swim with the tide.
The choice to fight what is here before you now will
only result in struggle, fear, and desperate attempts
to flee from the very energy you long for. Let go.
Let it all go and flow with the grace that washes
through your days whether you received it gently
or with all your quills raised to defend against invaders.
Take this on faith; the mind may never find the
explanations that it seeks, but you will move forward
nonetheless. Let go, and the wave’s crest will carry
you to unknown shores, beyond your wildest dreams
or destinations. Let it all go and find the place of
rest and peace, and certain transformation.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
On Mothering
On this gorgeous Sunday I'm taking some time for myself (and my garden) and so I send you to Courtney Cowgill's blog Life, Cultivated where you can read her very powerful post about mothering. She certainly captures how something as intuitive and integral to a woman as mothering has been turned into something so complex and controversial by our society (and particularly our fellow women in society). Trust your instincts and your intelligence. There are a million ways to mother correctly and the kids turn out okay! Happy Mother's Day!
Friday, May 4, 2012
First Fridays: Artisan No-Knead Bread
Okay, so maybe I'm stretching my First Friday concept a little bit here, but really, a good homemade loaf or boule of bread can be considered art. Plus I am super excited to share with you a new recipe that is SO easy.
I have been baking bread fairly consistently for about 6 years. A couple years ago I provided my parental units and my in-laws with a bread-of-the-month club where I baked a loaf of bread and sent it (overnight shipping) every month. Selections included a variety of yeast and quick breads such as anadama, French, Vienna rolls, squash bread, banana blueberry bread and challah. I've also had fun working with flat breads such as naan, pizza doughs and have even attempted making crackers on occasion.
When my brother and sister-in-law gave me Alice Waters' In The Green Kitchen, I flipped right to the "No Knead Bread" page. A quick Internet search revealed that this recipe was hot, hot, HOT! It has a cult following. I'm serious. The recipe entered the public realm in 2006 from the New York Times article printed here. It was adapted from Jim Lahey's recipe of the Sullivan Street Bakery.
Anyway, this is why I am in love with the bread. It takes 2 minutes to make, literally. You throw some flour (3 cups), salt (1 1/4 tsp) and yeast (1/4 tsp) into a bowl. Stir. Add water (1 1/3 cups). Stir. Cover. Let sit for 12-18 hours. Yes, that means you have to plan accordingly. The next day, flour your hands, scrape the dough out of the bowl, put it on a floured or cornmealed cotton dish towel. Wrap it up and let it sit for 1-2 hours. Then you bake it (450 degrees for 30 minutes) and you end up with a crusty, airy boule of bread. So good.
The hitch comes with the baking. Essentially you're creating an oven within an oven by baking the bread in a covered pot at 450-475 degrees (the temperature depends on the recipe you use). This means your pot has to be able to withstand high temperatures. All of the bakers seem to suggest Le Creuset Cassoulet pots but I am not so fortunate to own one. So the first time around I used my cast iron dutch oven. After 30 minutes at 475 degrees, the bottom was unfortunately burned although the rest of the bread was perfect (I simply sliced off the bottom and threw the burnt bread frisbee to our lab; she seemed to enjoy it). For the next loaf, wanting to get rid of the burnt bottom, I decided to change a few things (unfortunately, this is bad scientific method because I'm not sure which of the changes was actually responsible for creating the most yummy bread ever). I used King Arthur bread flour instead of all-purpose flour. I lowered the oven temperature to 450 degrees (and ended up baking it for 15 minutes longer). I also used my crock-pot insert to bake it in (with a foil lid because I wasn't sure that the crock-pot glass lid would withstand the high temperatures). The result is pictured below.
I think I may have found a new item to sell at the Farmer's Market this summer. It would be lovely if I could find some locally sourced flour. Until then I will continue using King Arthur bread flour. So much for the no/low carb diet this summer. This is too good to pass up! Enjoy!
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Game Day!
Bud loves baseball. My darling husband loves baseball. The laborador retriever loves baseball. I, on the other hand...well, I love the Boston Red Sox when they are doing well (and end up doing well...which, for most of their history, is generally not the case). I played T-ball for one season and that was about all of my baseball experience. I switched to more exciting (to me) activities like horse-back riding and tennis.
Last summer, my darling husband staked out a part of one of the horse pastures for the Chobani baseball field (Chobani, the Greek yogurt brand, is headquartered the next town over). The boys would go out there and play every evening, and they convinced me that it would be fun. Every so often I would join them. They stuck me in the "field" which encompassed playing first base, second base, and the outfield concurrently. I got pretty good at fielding, and my arm isn't half bad either. The problem was, I didn't have my own glove. I would use Bud's when he was batting (which was most of the time), and then I would switch to my husband's left handed glove (which means I wear it on my right hand!?) when he was batting (which meant I got pretty good at throwing with my left hand as well). For my birthday this year, I asked for a baseball mitt from Bud, and he got me one. I'm actually quite excited about it!
My darling husband loves, loves, LOVES Little League Opening Day (he's coached Bud's team for the past five years). He loves the pictures, the parade, the mayhem! Bud is of course a big fan as well. I, on the other hand, get a little overwhelmed with 400 elementary school kids swarming around in complete chaos! This is why I taught middle school. You can reason with middle schoolers. This is also why I continually bow down and kiss the feet of any elementary school teacher! I try to avoid all the hoopla and just show up for the actual game to cheer Bud on.
This year, however, my darling husband was called away from his Opening Day Duties rather suddenly. I had to pinch-hit so to speak. I was genuinely happy to help out although my mind set was "it's only a few hours...you can do anything for a few hours". So I jumped right into the fray and the chaos. Except... there wasn't any fray or chaos. I had built up Opening Day in my mind to be this overly dramatic, complicated whirlwind. But, careful planning had paid off and everything ran smoothly and was very enjoyable. The field was decked out with the traditional balloons and bunting. All the teams assembled on the in-field and the Masters of Ceremonies said a few words and thanked the sponsors. The jazz quartet from the high school played the National Anthem. Then one of the players threw out the first pitch to open up the season. I was assisting with concessions, and with the help of four or five teenagers and a Little League Board member we were able to take care of everybody's needs. It was all very simple. I took some time to soak up the activity and thought how this is what Bud is going to remember--a family-oriented, fun celebration of America's favorite past time. When he's a dad or an uncle, he's going to remember marching in the Little League parade every year, chatting with his buddies, swinging the bat, and hearing the crowd cheer him on. A lot of preparation goes into making Opening Day what it is. It's not fancy or extravagant, but it's so meaningful. And when so much hard work goes behind the scenes by dozens of volunteers who all respect one another, it turns out to be a wonderful, time-honored, and cherished tradition for so many of our children.
So, good luck Phillies. May you play well during the 2012 Season of Little League Baseball!
Last summer, my darling husband staked out a part of one of the horse pastures for the Chobani baseball field (Chobani, the Greek yogurt brand, is headquartered the next town over). The boys would go out there and play every evening, and they convinced me that it would be fun. Every so often I would join them. They stuck me in the "field" which encompassed playing first base, second base, and the outfield concurrently. I got pretty good at fielding, and my arm isn't half bad either. The problem was, I didn't have my own glove. I would use Bud's when he was batting (which was most of the time), and then I would switch to my husband's left handed glove (which means I wear it on my right hand!?) when he was batting (which meant I got pretty good at throwing with my left hand as well). For my birthday this year, I asked for a baseball mitt from Bud, and he got me one. I'm actually quite excited about it!
My darling husband loves, loves, LOVES Little League Opening Day (he's coached Bud's team for the past five years). He loves the pictures, the parade, the mayhem! Bud is of course a big fan as well. I, on the other hand, get a little overwhelmed with 400 elementary school kids swarming around in complete chaos! This is why I taught middle school. You can reason with middle schoolers. This is also why I continually bow down and kiss the feet of any elementary school teacher! I try to avoid all the hoopla and just show up for the actual game to cheer Bud on.
This year, however, my darling husband was called away from his Opening Day Duties rather suddenly. I had to pinch-hit so to speak. I was genuinely happy to help out although my mind set was "it's only a few hours...you can do anything for a few hours". So I jumped right into the fray and the chaos. Except... there wasn't any fray or chaos. I had built up Opening Day in my mind to be this overly dramatic, complicated whirlwind. But, careful planning had paid off and everything ran smoothly and was very enjoyable. The field was decked out with the traditional balloons and bunting. All the teams assembled on the in-field and the Masters of Ceremonies said a few words and thanked the sponsors. The jazz quartet from the high school played the National Anthem. Then one of the players threw out the first pitch to open up the season. I was assisting with concessions, and with the help of four or five teenagers and a Little League Board member we were able to take care of everybody's needs. It was all very simple. I took some time to soak up the activity and thought how this is what Bud is going to remember--a family-oriented, fun celebration of America's favorite past time. When he's a dad or an uncle, he's going to remember marching in the Little League parade every year, chatting with his buddies, swinging the bat, and hearing the crowd cheer him on. A lot of preparation goes into making Opening Day what it is. It's not fancy or extravagant, but it's so meaningful. And when so much hard work goes behind the scenes by dozens of volunteers who all respect one another, it turns out to be a wonderful, time-honored, and cherished tradition for so many of our children.
So, good luck Phillies. May you play well during the 2012 Season of Little League Baseball!
Monday, April 23, 2012
Acknowledging The Struggle, Part II
I'm back in Upstate after my three week excursion to Montana. My nursing program starts in a month so I have a few weeks to finish up some odds and ends, as well as get our new Farmers' Market off and running.
Returning to my post a few weeks ago, I realize that part of the struggle that I and others face in terms of wanting to live simply and fully is that we also enjoy the perks of our modern, consumerist world. I enjoy going out for a romantic dinner at a fancy-schmancy restaurant with my husband. I enjoy traveling to exotic places and being pampered. Sometimes I even dream of living like royalty on a permanent basis. I am thankful that I am able to purchase a vehicle when mine dies; I'm thankful that my husband and I own an old farmhouse and several acres of land. I'm thankful I can run out to the 24 hour supermarket if I am in dire need of some item. I do enjoy the convenience of all of these.
So how did I get to this place where I enjoy extravagant experiences and nice "stuff"? Are we, as humans, somehow born with a need to always want more? Is it a completely learned behavior? If I had never experienced any of this growing up, would I still yearn for it now?
But more importantly, is there a way to reconcile living simply with enjoying extravagance from time to time? It sounds so oxymoron-ish to me. I struggle with this on a daily basis. Today, I'm satisfied with the plywood countertops and painted plywood floors of my kitchen; tomorrow I know I will want a full kitchen remodeling job so it looks like something out of Country Living. And don't get me started on the fencing! Our horse-tape on T-posts fencing is certainly suitable, but then I gaze longingly at the farm up the hill where they've had miles of real wood posts and high tension cable and rail fencing professionally installed. I know, I know...I shall not covet my neighbor's fences!
Does it require a huge down-payment of time and energy (and complication) to get everything in order to ultimately live simply? I know this is not the case because there are many, many people who just say "to hell with it" and take themselves right off the grid. But I can't do that. I am too tied into the system at this point in my life to cut all connections; I wouldn't feel safe or comfortable doing so. I am therefore going to have to accept this tension and hopefully learn how to create some positive synergy from these two opposing forces.
Happy Monday everybody!
Returning to my post a few weeks ago, I realize that part of the struggle that I and others face in terms of wanting to live simply and fully is that we also enjoy the perks of our modern, consumerist world. I enjoy going out for a romantic dinner at a fancy-schmancy restaurant with my husband. I enjoy traveling to exotic places and being pampered. Sometimes I even dream of living like royalty on a permanent basis. I am thankful that I am able to purchase a vehicle when mine dies; I'm thankful that my husband and I own an old farmhouse and several acres of land. I'm thankful I can run out to the 24 hour supermarket if I am in dire need of some item. I do enjoy the convenience of all of these.
So how did I get to this place where I enjoy extravagant experiences and nice "stuff"? Are we, as humans, somehow born with a need to always want more? Is it a completely learned behavior? If I had never experienced any of this growing up, would I still yearn for it now?
But more importantly, is there a way to reconcile living simply with enjoying extravagance from time to time? It sounds so oxymoron-ish to me. I struggle with this on a daily basis. Today, I'm satisfied with the plywood countertops and painted plywood floors of my kitchen; tomorrow I know I will want a full kitchen remodeling job so it looks like something out of Country Living. And don't get me started on the fencing! Our horse-tape on T-posts fencing is certainly suitable, but then I gaze longingly at the farm up the hill where they've had miles of real wood posts and high tension cable and rail fencing professionally installed. I know, I know...I shall not covet my neighbor's fences!
Does it require a huge down-payment of time and energy (and complication) to get everything in order to ultimately live simply? I know this is not the case because there are many, many people who just say "to hell with it" and take themselves right off the grid. But I can't do that. I am too tied into the system at this point in my life to cut all connections; I wouldn't feel safe or comfortable doing so. I am therefore going to have to accept this tension and hopefully learn how to create some positive synergy from these two opposing forces.
Happy Monday everybody!
Saturday, April 14, 2012
A Home Birth
I'm going to preface this post with saying that any person who endeavors to raise a child/children is amazing and any woman who gives birth is also amazing. The process of birthing is a life-altering, emotionally/physically/spiritually challenging time regardless of how or where it is done. Any woman who gives birth should feel proud of her accomplishments and her partner should feel equally proud about being present at whatever level possible.
While women have been giving birth for millenia, no two birth stories are the same, and this is as it should be. Throughout the hours or days that a woman labors, throughout the 40 weeks that she has been pregnant, throughout her life reaching back to her own conception, thousands upon thousands of genetic and environmental variables have contributed to the particular path that a birth will follow. Some of these variables are within her control; most are not.
I had the great privilege of witnessing a home birth earlier this week. While I'm still processing the entire experience, there are several points I'd like to elucidate here. Women tend not to give birth at home for two reasons. First, they are scared about potential problems. Second, the amount of pain during a natural childbirth seems unmanageable.
To address the first, we are all very grateful that hospitals exist in case there is a complication. However, the event of one is unlikely. Really. Assuming the mother is reasonably healthy, if allowed to follow their natural course, over 90% of births will result in a healthy baby and a healthy mom without any interventions. Since the midwife follows her client carefully for at least 8 months prior to birth, she can pick up on any problem before the mom actually goes into labor (pregnancy toxemia, placenta previa, etc). If indicated, care is then transferred over to the medical specialists. If issues arise during the actual labor or delivery, including if the mom doesn't feel that she can truly labor through the pain (the couple and midwife usually agree upon a code word for this before labor), there is a hospital transfer. People who choose a home birth are not jeopardizing the life of their child. What we see happening in western medicine is that birth is approached as if there is always going to be a problem. The midwifery model of care is prepared to deal with minor problems, will transfer for major ones, but does not expect that there will inherently be issues. Birth is a normal process, not an illness. It is also beneficial to remind ourselves that there is a very wide range of "normal" when it comes to birth. Some women, like this new mom, are actively pushing for 5 hours. I know of one woman who was in active labor for 42 hours. She labored at home for 39 of them because she wanted to be in control of her environment although she did not feel comfortable actually giving birth at home. As long as it was clear that the baby was not in distress, she did not want to go to the hospital until the very last minute.
The above examples point out a huge benefit of home births (and to a varying extents, giving birth in a birth center or with a very progressive hospital staff): control over one's body and environment. In the case of my sister-in-law, she chose who was going to be at her birth (her husband, her midwife, her sister-in-law and one of her best friends) and who was not going to be at her birth (sorry Sam, no dogs). She was intimately familiar with her environment. She chose where she was most comfortable laboring and giving birth. During early labor, she and her husband walked circles around their living room. When I arrived, she was in bed on her side. Throughout labor, she moved to several different locations, and experimented with several different positions, ultimately deciding that the best position for her was on her back in her own bed. But these were her choices. She was allowed to stay hydrated with her favorite drink (grape juice), and if she felt like it she could have had something to eat. She had meditative rain DVDs cycling through the entire labor experience as well. The noises from the street below were all familiar to her because she was in her own home. She felt a sense of safety because if anything did go wrong her midwife, whom she had grown to love and trust, would tell her. She relied on the midwife's skill and expertise, and was comforted to know her midwife was there for the entire time my sister-in-law needed her.
As for the pain, my sister-in-law did say it was the worst pain she had ever felt in her life. There are philosophical, physical and emotional reasons why some women choose to have unmedicated births, but I'm not going to address those here. I'm simply going to tell my story as a witness. During the labor and birth, for the most part, my sister-in-law was relatively calm and focused. She maintained her sense of humor throughout. There was a period of time about four hours before the baby was born, probably when she was transitioning, where she hit a mental wall and was clearly distressed and overwhelmed by the pain. The midwife acknowledged her distress and said that she will find her way when she needs to. Instead of demanding that the mom push through these horrible contractions, she suggested that the mom could simply breathe through them. The midwife also explained that the baby "needed to turn that corner" and it would be necessary to work through that pain as much as it hurt but she will find her way just like the baby was finding his way. And, the new mom did find her way. She turned that corner with the baby, got into a new position, found her groove and methodically pushed through the pain, bringing her son into the world. Women's bodies are made to endure this pain. It was really interesting how in the last hour of pushing we all sort of got into a rhythm which was almost unspoken. Mom would nod, her support people would help support her, and she would push through the contraction. Then she would have two minutes of rest which were much needed (incidentally, inducing with pitocin can bring on such sudden, severe contractions that the down time between contractions is not there, which often leads to the intervention cascade of epidural followed by C-section. This is also why most hospitals now refuse to do VBACs, because pitocin contractions are so much more violent than natural contractions and do risk rupturing previous incisions in the uterine wall).
What is it that I find so particularly awesome about home birth midwives? For starters they've attended hundreds of births and have seen the entire range of normal. They approach the birth with an aura of calmness combined with love and wisdom. After the birth, the midwife sat down next to my sister-in-law and her new baby and mentioned that every woman goes through that self-doubt phase and they all come out of it. Obviously, this would not have been necessarily helpful to say in the midst of labor. She wouldn't have believed those words. When my sister-in-law exclaimed in the throes of transition that she could not do it and that all her effort and pain was not helping at all, we, as her support people, just said "you are doing it! You are awesome! You are amazing!" Her midwife kept reassuring her "You are doing fantastic. You are doing it just right!" Because in essence, she was. There is no right way to birth. And for a first time mom, it is a learning experience to figure out how to push to effectively move the baby through. But there was no sense of urgency among anybody present. There was no rush to get anything done. Obviously, mom wanted the baby out (as did the rest of us), but her support people, including the midwife, were there to provide emotional and some physical support to her as she figured it all out and worked within her own body at her own pace. The midwife consistently checked the baby's heart beat, which remained strong throughout, and certainly provided significant technical assistance (and reassurance), but she was not actively "managing" the birth. She sat at the foot of the bed for the last few hours, while the rest of the support people surrounded the mom. The last hour of pushing was very effective, and about 15 hours from the onset of contractions (early first stage of labor), my brother and sister-in-law welcomed their son into the world.
The midwife stayed for another two or three hours. Baby rested on mom with dad close by for about an hour before the midwife stitched up a small tear and examined the baby. During that resting time, the midwife completed some necessary paperwork and then showed us the placenta, explaining how the different parts functioned, as well as creating some fabulous placenta tree-of-life prints. While examining the baby, she showed the couple how to care for the umbilical stump, and answered any questions they had. She pronounced the baby "practically perfect in every single way" (which he is). She made sure mom's bleeding was under control and that the baby was well on his way to figuring out nursing before she left. Her standard protocol is to come back the day after the baby is born, the third day after the baby is born, and then at a week, two weeks, four weeks, and six weeks.
It is worth noting that my brother and sister-in-law were well-prepared to birth at home. In a day where not many people go through home births and therefore expecting couples are not hearing about stories or experiences from their own mothers or close friends, it is wise to be educated from other sources. They had taken a 24 hour Bradley course as well as another overview class about what to expect during birth. My sister-in-law went to prenatal yoga classes and learned more relaxation techniques and how to breathe deep from her belly. They would also call or email their midwife whenever they had questions. Likewise, for the last two months of prenatals, the midwife came to their apartment for appointments so she could develop a pretty good lay of the land and know how to maneuver comfortably within their environment.
As a future midwife, and particularly one is who is studying via the Certified Nurse Midwife route where I will see and assist in a lot of hospital births, I feel so fortunate and honored to have been able to witness a home birth as my first birth. If and when the fear-mongering western paradigm gets to me, I will be always be able to reset my internal compass back to my nephew's birth.
While women have been giving birth for millenia, no two birth stories are the same, and this is as it should be. Throughout the hours or days that a woman labors, throughout the 40 weeks that she has been pregnant, throughout her life reaching back to her own conception, thousands upon thousands of genetic and environmental variables have contributed to the particular path that a birth will follow. Some of these variables are within her control; most are not.
I had the great privilege of witnessing a home birth earlier this week. While I'm still processing the entire experience, there are several points I'd like to elucidate here. Women tend not to give birth at home for two reasons. First, they are scared about potential problems. Second, the amount of pain during a natural childbirth seems unmanageable.
To address the first, we are all very grateful that hospitals exist in case there is a complication. However, the event of one is unlikely. Really. Assuming the mother is reasonably healthy, if allowed to follow their natural course, over 90% of births will result in a healthy baby and a healthy mom without any interventions. Since the midwife follows her client carefully for at least 8 months prior to birth, she can pick up on any problem before the mom actually goes into labor (pregnancy toxemia, placenta previa, etc). If indicated, care is then transferred over to the medical specialists. If issues arise during the actual labor or delivery, including if the mom doesn't feel that she can truly labor through the pain (the couple and midwife usually agree upon a code word for this before labor), there is a hospital transfer. People who choose a home birth are not jeopardizing the life of their child. What we see happening in western medicine is that birth is approached as if there is always going to be a problem. The midwifery model of care is prepared to deal with minor problems, will transfer for major ones, but does not expect that there will inherently be issues. Birth is a normal process, not an illness. It is also beneficial to remind ourselves that there is a very wide range of "normal" when it comes to birth. Some women, like this new mom, are actively pushing for 5 hours. I know of one woman who was in active labor for 42 hours. She labored at home for 39 of them because she wanted to be in control of her environment although she did not feel comfortable actually giving birth at home. As long as it was clear that the baby was not in distress, she did not want to go to the hospital until the very last minute.
The above examples point out a huge benefit of home births (and to a varying extents, giving birth in a birth center or with a very progressive hospital staff): control over one's body and environment. In the case of my sister-in-law, she chose who was going to be at her birth (her husband, her midwife, her sister-in-law and one of her best friends) and who was not going to be at her birth (sorry Sam, no dogs). She was intimately familiar with her environment. She chose where she was most comfortable laboring and giving birth. During early labor, she and her husband walked circles around their living room. When I arrived, she was in bed on her side. Throughout labor, she moved to several different locations, and experimented with several different positions, ultimately deciding that the best position for her was on her back in her own bed. But these were her choices. She was allowed to stay hydrated with her favorite drink (grape juice), and if she felt like it she could have had something to eat. She had meditative rain DVDs cycling through the entire labor experience as well. The noises from the street below were all familiar to her because she was in her own home. She felt a sense of safety because if anything did go wrong her midwife, whom she had grown to love and trust, would tell her. She relied on the midwife's skill and expertise, and was comforted to know her midwife was there for the entire time my sister-in-law needed her.
As for the pain, my sister-in-law did say it was the worst pain she had ever felt in her life. There are philosophical, physical and emotional reasons why some women choose to have unmedicated births, but I'm not going to address those here. I'm simply going to tell my story as a witness. During the labor and birth, for the most part, my sister-in-law was relatively calm and focused. She maintained her sense of humor throughout. There was a period of time about four hours before the baby was born, probably when she was transitioning, where she hit a mental wall and was clearly distressed and overwhelmed by the pain. The midwife acknowledged her distress and said that she will find her way when she needs to. Instead of demanding that the mom push through these horrible contractions, she suggested that the mom could simply breathe through them. The midwife also explained that the baby "needed to turn that corner" and it would be necessary to work through that pain as much as it hurt but she will find her way just like the baby was finding his way. And, the new mom did find her way. She turned that corner with the baby, got into a new position, found her groove and methodically pushed through the pain, bringing her son into the world. Women's bodies are made to endure this pain. It was really interesting how in the last hour of pushing we all sort of got into a rhythm which was almost unspoken. Mom would nod, her support people would help support her, and she would push through the contraction. Then she would have two minutes of rest which were much needed (incidentally, inducing with pitocin can bring on such sudden, severe contractions that the down time between contractions is not there, which often leads to the intervention cascade of epidural followed by C-section. This is also why most hospitals now refuse to do VBACs, because pitocin contractions are so much more violent than natural contractions and do risk rupturing previous incisions in the uterine wall).
What is it that I find so particularly awesome about home birth midwives? For starters they've attended hundreds of births and have seen the entire range of normal. They approach the birth with an aura of calmness combined with love and wisdom. After the birth, the midwife sat down next to my sister-in-law and her new baby and mentioned that every woman goes through that self-doubt phase and they all come out of it. Obviously, this would not have been necessarily helpful to say in the midst of labor. She wouldn't have believed those words. When my sister-in-law exclaimed in the throes of transition that she could not do it and that all her effort and pain was not helping at all, we, as her support people, just said "you are doing it! You are awesome! You are amazing!" Her midwife kept reassuring her "You are doing fantastic. You are doing it just right!" Because in essence, she was. There is no right way to birth. And for a first time mom, it is a learning experience to figure out how to push to effectively move the baby through. But there was no sense of urgency among anybody present. There was no rush to get anything done. Obviously, mom wanted the baby out (as did the rest of us), but her support people, including the midwife, were there to provide emotional and some physical support to her as she figured it all out and worked within her own body at her own pace. The midwife consistently checked the baby's heart beat, which remained strong throughout, and certainly provided significant technical assistance (and reassurance), but she was not actively "managing" the birth. She sat at the foot of the bed for the last few hours, while the rest of the support people surrounded the mom. The last hour of pushing was very effective, and about 15 hours from the onset of contractions (early first stage of labor), my brother and sister-in-law welcomed their son into the world.
The midwife stayed for another two or three hours. Baby rested on mom with dad close by for about an hour before the midwife stitched up a small tear and examined the baby. During that resting time, the midwife completed some necessary paperwork and then showed us the placenta, explaining how the different parts functioned, as well as creating some fabulous placenta tree-of-life prints. While examining the baby, she showed the couple how to care for the umbilical stump, and answered any questions they had. She pronounced the baby "practically perfect in every single way" (which he is). She made sure mom's bleeding was under control and that the baby was well on his way to figuring out nursing before she left. Her standard protocol is to come back the day after the baby is born, the third day after the baby is born, and then at a week, two weeks, four weeks, and six weeks.
It is worth noting that my brother and sister-in-law were well-prepared to birth at home. In a day where not many people go through home births and therefore expecting couples are not hearing about stories or experiences from their own mothers or close friends, it is wise to be educated from other sources. They had taken a 24 hour Bradley course as well as another overview class about what to expect during birth. My sister-in-law went to prenatal yoga classes and learned more relaxation techniques and how to breathe deep from her belly. They would also call or email their midwife whenever they had questions. Likewise, for the last two months of prenatals, the midwife came to their apartment for appointments so she could develop a pretty good lay of the land and know how to maneuver comfortably within their environment.
As a future midwife, and particularly one is who is studying via the Certified Nurse Midwife route where I will see and assist in a lot of hospital births, I feel so fortunate and honored to have been able to witness a home birth as my first birth. If and when the fear-mongering western paradigm gets to me, I will be always be able to reset my internal compass back to my nephew's birth.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
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?
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?
Friday, March 2, 2012
First Friday: Variations on the "braided" rug
It's a good thing these First Fridays come once a month, because it forces me to get my butt in gear and finish projects that I start. I have actually finished a lot of projects, but I give them away as gifts, forget to take pictures and/or don't want to write about them until after the recipient receives them.
How many of us grew up in a home that had at least one braided rug? When settling down in my own home, I started pricing these out and they are not cheap. I was fortunate to inherit two large rugs from my parents as well as a smaller one.
When I was faced with 35+ pounds of wool roving last year, I was trying to think of ways to use the stuff up quickly! Spinning all of it would take forever (and indeed, it is a slow process...a 100 yard skein of yarn is about 3 oz--you do the math). Mother K from my spinning group had actually crocheted a "braided" rug out of roving and it was beautiful, and used a lot of roving! I am no expert crocheter but I know how to make a simple chain. So I set about making a rug for a wedding gift for my brother and now sister-in-law. It turned out well, and after a washing, felted a little bit to make it hold together more. Unfortunately, I have no pictures. To get the shape for an oval rug, you increase on the ends every 5 loops.
There are plenty of videos on the web for how to make i-cords. Below are two different methods (if you don't have double pointed needles, you don't want to use the first method).
The second method can be done with regular needles. On every row, you want to knit the 1st, 3rd, and 5th stitches and slip the 2nd, 4th, and 6th stitches onto the other needle as if you were going to purl. The video below demonstrates.
Once you have your i-cords, you simply have to stitch them together with carpet thread. 
I'm in the middle of stitching this round rug that I made with homespun yarn. As you can see, it is slow progress (hence the wine).
I wanted to make a more oval shaped rug for my bedroom. Just from trial and error, it seems you have to be very exaggerated in the shape of your oval when you start. The brown and white round rug actually started out more oval-ish, but I only started with about four inches of straight cord before I turned the first corner. In the purple and gray one, I have a 12-inch straight cord before I turned the cord. This rug will be made up of various scraps of yarn I have lying around (some of it, like the purple is homespun and dyed (with Kool-Aid!), alternating between lighter and darker shades.
So happy rug making. Hopefully, by April's First Friday I will have an update on the finished products!
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Fermentation
This post is not about home-brewing, although we do have three carboys (15 gallons) of "hooch" currently fermenting in our kitchen.
Rather, this is about my own personal fermentation. I have been reading On Becoming an Alchemist by Catherine MacCoun these past several weeks. Before you all decide that I've completely gone all mystical, I do want to point out that her approach to alchemy is about transmuting the self. For example, transmuting desire into devotion, false roots into confidence, territoriality into integrity, vulnerability into compassion, and obsolete desires and ambitions into magical will. That last one is what she calls "fermentation" and magical will is basically an unconscious will. For example, after fermenting, one may wake up being able to do things that he or she didn't previously know how to do. Or, one may find that his or her subtle perception (perception of energy and things that aren't matter) has sharpened. There's nothing really hocus-pocus about alchemy; it's just a greater state of awareness. If you've ever practiced mindful meditation, then you've worked on your subtle perception, and are practicing one aspect of alchemy.
MacCoun is quick to point out that the whole process of transmutation is messy; it doesn't feel good. When we go through calcification (burning) it feels like all hell is breaking loose. When we experience fermentation, we have the blahs. I definitely have the blahs. It has manifested as a sort of stagnation, which has shown up not only mentally, but also physiologically (reduced circulation). I'm sure I could fit my symptoms into a western medical paradigm (Seasonal Affective Disorder?, Raynauds?), but I prefer to use this more holistic approach as I feel it better encompasses who I am, who I was, and who I will become.
On a related vein, I had lunch with a good friend and former colleague or mine a couple weeks ago. We were talking about meditation and self-awareness and the idea of the inner saboteur came up. We are all familiar with this concept and I think many of us struggle with it. My saboteur comes in the form of "This is a really great idea, but I'll just put it off" usually because I have no idea how to implement it. I am not a go-getter nor am I a natural leader. For example, I could have pursued a lead to get a full cord of firewood through barter on Craigslist. I had a 1998 Civic lying around ("out to pasture") that I would be willing to barter. But I didn't pursue it. My friend said "Don't let your inner saboteur get to you". MacCoun's philosophy points out that the inner saboteur might really be your spirit sabotaging your material self for a greater purpose. Self-sabotage may not be a neurosis, but instead a sign of wisdom and I took comfort in that thought. I ended up donating the car to the Kidney Foundation and we bought a half cord of wood (that's a half of a full cord) from a farmer down the road who also sells us grain and hay. It was a situation that I felt more comfortable with, and while I like the idea of bartering, our farmer friend is aware of that preference and is definitely amenable to bartering in the future, but it didn't work out in that particular circumstance.
Anyway, I'm sure I will continue to ferment for a while yet. It's not a bad thing; it just is. Keep that in mind with the ups and downs of life. The uncomfortable and/or tricky parts of life facilitate our growth, not our demise.
Rather, this is about my own personal fermentation. I have been reading On Becoming an Alchemist by Catherine MacCoun these past several weeks. Before you all decide that I've completely gone all mystical, I do want to point out that her approach to alchemy is about transmuting the self. For example, transmuting desire into devotion, false roots into confidence, territoriality into integrity, vulnerability into compassion, and obsolete desires and ambitions into magical will. That last one is what she calls "fermentation" and magical will is basically an unconscious will. For example, after fermenting, one may wake up being able to do things that he or she didn't previously know how to do. Or, one may find that his or her subtle perception (perception of energy and things that aren't matter) has sharpened. There's nothing really hocus-pocus about alchemy; it's just a greater state of awareness. If you've ever practiced mindful meditation, then you've worked on your subtle perception, and are practicing one aspect of alchemy.
MacCoun is quick to point out that the whole process of transmutation is messy; it doesn't feel good. When we go through calcification (burning) it feels like all hell is breaking loose. When we experience fermentation, we have the blahs. I definitely have the blahs. It has manifested as a sort of stagnation, which has shown up not only mentally, but also physiologically (reduced circulation). I'm sure I could fit my symptoms into a western medical paradigm (Seasonal Affective Disorder?, Raynauds?), but I prefer to use this more holistic approach as I feel it better encompasses who I am, who I was, and who I will become.
On a related vein, I had lunch with a good friend and former colleague or mine a couple weeks ago. We were talking about meditation and self-awareness and the idea of the inner saboteur came up. We are all familiar with this concept and I think many of us struggle with it. My saboteur comes in the form of "This is a really great idea, but I'll just put it off" usually because I have no idea how to implement it. I am not a go-getter nor am I a natural leader. For example, I could have pursued a lead to get a full cord of firewood through barter on Craigslist. I had a 1998 Civic lying around ("out to pasture") that I would be willing to barter. But I didn't pursue it. My friend said "Don't let your inner saboteur get to you". MacCoun's philosophy points out that the inner saboteur might really be your spirit sabotaging your material self for a greater purpose. Self-sabotage may not be a neurosis, but instead a sign of wisdom and I took comfort in that thought. I ended up donating the car to the Kidney Foundation and we bought a half cord of wood (that's a half of a full cord) from a farmer down the road who also sells us grain and hay. It was a situation that I felt more comfortable with, and while I like the idea of bartering, our farmer friend is aware of that preference and is definitely amenable to bartering in the future, but it didn't work out in that particular circumstance.
Anyway, I'm sure I will continue to ferment for a while yet. It's not a bad thing; it just is. Keep that in mind with the ups and downs of life. The uncomfortable and/or tricky parts of life facilitate our growth, not our demise.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
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!
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!
Monday, January 2, 2012
A Brief Hiatus
Happy New Year everyone! I hope you are all enjoying the first few days of 2012. I am taking a break from the blogosphere in order to simplify my life for a while. I have just started an intensive 2-week course (a whole semester compressed into two weeks!) and really need to focus on that as well as my pathophysiology. In other words, the blog is taking at least the first half of January off!
Sunday, December 18, 2011
The gingerbread house!
This Christmas, we're doing much of the same (although we did buy a tree from a local tree farm). We made most of our gifts (as did my older brother and his wife apparently--can't wait to try the peach sauces!) and I did not send out cards again (I don't think there is a good picture of the three of us anyway from this past year).
Bud is now sitting on my lap dictating the following sentences...
We did however, attempt our first gingerbread house. The result below is all edible as gingerbread houses should be. The recipe (and templates) for the house came right out of Joy of Cooking. Bud and his dad tastefully decorated the house and the yard, complete with a version of the Phillies baseball park called Citizen's Bank Park. The outfield was made of strips of apple flavored licorice. The other side of the lawn contains a garden (made from nerds) and a dog made from left over gingerbread and Good n' Plentys with a gumdrop head. Notice the bowls of leftover candy in the back of the picture. We have continued to consume this sugar throughout the weekend giving us all sugar highs and subsequent sugar lows (and snarly attitudes). Tonight, at least, my darling husband will be making homemade chili, which should revive us in time for the last work and school week before the holiday.
It was always a sad day on January 1st, when the three of us kids would unceremoniously smash the house (or village, as may be the case). Then, to the horror of my parents, we would greedily eat the stale and not so tasty pieces of gingerbread, frosting and candy. I am surprised that none of us came down with salmonella poisoning (you have to watch out for that Royal Icing) or some other bacterial infection!
(and now Bud starts writing the post from my perspective, showing off his fabulous typing and spelling skills)
My son thought the gingerbread house turned out to be incredible. Even though his first thought for the ginger bread house was to make it the White house. He got a little carried away (like my father always did). My son got inspired for the white house when we went to the Eastman house to see the gingerbread collection. After we went to the Eastman house my son was just amazed by all the neat things we saw.
In addition to the gingerbread house we are making all sorts of cookies. In fact when I finish my blog post (which my son is proofreading) we are going to decorate the cookies with green, blue, white, red, yellow, and a few other colors of icing. Right now we are going to decorate the cookies!
Well, we just finished making cookies. I will tell you how it went! Well first my son and I went out to the kitchen where my husband was making Chili. We had peppers near us and my husband decided to eat one. He was coughing and his throat was burning and he had to eat bread and get water and he was doing that for 5-10 minutes. Meanwhile my son was laughing his head off and couldn't breath he was laughing so hard because my husband's mouth was burning. My son said "Dad you are quite weird" and that set me on the track of laughing. My son laughed for about 10 minutes and he was rolling on the floor and all that. Well after that it turned out pretty good. Me and my son made all the cookies and decorated them and my darling husband was OK. That was most of what happened when we were making cookies.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
The Floor
Floor pictures, finally! A little background: we wanted to tear out the carpet, because it was completely disgusting, but we weren't sure what to do with the floor (and we weren't even sure what was under the carpet). In the long term, we want to put down wide pine boards as that's what's in the rest of the house. But we don't have the money or the time right now. We ended up using milk paint followed by tung oil. The following briefly describes the process.
Sadly, I don't think I have any of when the utilitarian carpet was down, but just think school corridor or church basement and that's what was on our kitchen floor. The red part (to the right) was not covered by this carpet. Thankfully, said carpet was not glued down and the plywood underneath, while painted, was in relatively good condition. By the way, all the scrapes on the red area are due to the door opening and closing.
This is after we sanded the whole floor (we brought some furniture back in as we had the floor like this for about a month or so). We used a drum sander and an edger. It took us about three hours (6 person hours) to sand it down. We weren't too concerned with getting rid of all of the old paint, because we wanted the finished product to look old and distressed anyway.
I purchased two gallons of PURE Tung oil (NOT the tung oil solvent that you find in hardware stores) from the same place I bought the milk paint. I then mixed in a solvent in a 50:50 ratio. We didn't want to polyurethane the floor because it's toxic and it gets such heavy use, which would mean we'd have to sand and repoly the entire floor every so often. Once the solvent in the Tung oil evaporates out, the floor is kid and pet friendly. If we need to touch up, we can, without any prep work. The instructions said to keep applying coats until it doesn't evaporate off the floor within 20 minutes. For this particular floor, that meant four coats.
I immediately wiped down the floor with an old rag, and then we tried not to walk on it for two days. Ideally, one should not walk on the floor for a couple weeks, but really...come on...it's a kitchen floor! We were careful not to track in (much) dirt, but it's a farm, and we have dogs and a nine year old boy!
We brought down the braided rug that was in our bedroom and put it beneath the table. It works really well, since our (plywood) cabinets are blue too.
We also had a smaller blue braided rug that we put by the fridge. And I had a beige runner (which you can sort of see in the background of the picture to the right, which we have between the sink and our chestnut work table.
In a perfect world, I would have waxed the floor after putting the Tung oil on, but it's not a perfect world, and for a confluence of reasons, the floor is not waxed at this moment. At some point in the summer, I can imagine putting another application of Tung oil down and then waxing it. But it looks good and seems to be holding up well. It is going to get wear and tear, but after all, it is just a floor.
Friday, December 2, 2011
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!
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.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Paying tribute to Public Radio
What a busy couple of weeks! I really don't have time to write, but I feel guilty about keeping a blog and not updating it regularly. Who the heck knows where I got this guilt complex in all matters of life, but I do, so here's a quick run down of the past week (just think of all the future blog posts):
Cricket died. Mochacino was welcomed into the family.
Paper on prions just going dandily.
Pork is delivered and so is the lamb.
We hope you enjoy your bacon and ham.
The Dems swept the elections, at least around us.
Say "no" to hydrofracking, let's be sustainable and just!
"No" on prop 26 in Mississippi came through by a wide margin
In-vitro, and women's rights pulled through yet again (although it shouldn't have to be a fight).
A weekend well spent at a doula training course.
You can learn more about doulas at www.dona.org.
The weather has been surprisingly sunny and mild.
I hope this doesn't mean we're in for winter, wet and wild!
And I believe I have just used up all of my stores of poetic creativity! Sorry, I'm not an English major (or minor).
So, as I was driving in my new Mochacino (2009 Subaru Legacy, AWD, manual) to Boston for the aforementioned doula course, I was able to enjoy not one, not two, but three public radio stations. I had gotten out of the habit of listening to NPR because my local station (WSKG, 91.7FM) just doesn't carry a whole lot of variety. It has the news, Fresh Air with Terry Gross and All Things Considered with Michele Norris and Melissa Block, Cart Talk and Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me, all of which I love. I also enjoy listening to the BBC to get a more objective perspective of what it going on in the world. But mostly, during the day, and in the evening, the station plays classical music. I certainly have an appreciation for classical music (having played it for 10 years in my youth), but I need some variety when driving the very long stretch of I-90.
Sadly, central upstate NY just doesn't have the population to support 24 hours of quality programming from NPR. When they have membership drives, the station is asking for 600-1000 new or renewing members and maybe tens of thousands of dollars.
When I reached Albany, I was able to switch to WAMC, 90.3FM. When my darling husband was courting me way back when, I would drive home Sunday evenings listening to a Celtic music hour and then a World music hour, neither of which I think is on the air now. I also enjoy catching the Round Table, although sometimes I got so frustrated I have to turn the radio off.
Coming up past Worcester, MA I finally was able to get in WBUR, 90.9FM which I believe is the pinnacle of public radio. When WBUR does fundraising drives, it asks for millions of dollars. I was enjoyed approximately 6 hours of NPR radio over the weekend as I was commuting from Cambridge to Beverly for my doula course. I particularly enjoyed The Splendid Table, which is about all things culinary (including what to do with that winter squash glut), and Living on Earth, which I believe was discussing the vortex form that sphagnum moss spores take when they burst from the moss at 65mph (making them among the fastest moving plant particles). The programming made me appreciate what Public Radio can achieve if it is supported by listeners. I know I sound like I belong in a fundraising drive, but I do honestly believe we need to support this organization. If you do listen to NPR (and this includes you satellite listeners), please consider paying your dues so that the fabulous programming can continue.
Cricket died. Mochacino was welcomed into the family.
Paper on prions just going dandily.
Pork is delivered and so is the lamb.
We hope you enjoy your bacon and ham.
The Dems swept the elections, at least around us.
Say "no" to hydrofracking, let's be sustainable and just!
"No" on prop 26 in Mississippi came through by a wide margin
In-vitro, and women's rights pulled through yet again (although it shouldn't have to be a fight).
A weekend well spent at a doula training course.
You can learn more about doulas at www.dona.org.
The weather has been surprisingly sunny and mild.
I hope this doesn't mean we're in for winter, wet and wild!
And I believe I have just used up all of my stores of poetic creativity! Sorry, I'm not an English major (or minor).
So, as I was driving in my new Mochacino (2009 Subaru Legacy, AWD, manual) to Boston for the aforementioned doula course, I was able to enjoy not one, not two, but three public radio stations. I had gotten out of the habit of listening to NPR because my local station (WSKG, 91.7FM) just doesn't carry a whole lot of variety. It has the news, Fresh Air with Terry Gross and All Things Considered with Michele Norris and Melissa Block, Cart Talk and Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me, all of which I love. I also enjoy listening to the BBC to get a more objective perspective of what it going on in the world. But mostly, during the day, and in the evening, the station plays classical music. I certainly have an appreciation for classical music (having played it for 10 years in my youth), but I need some variety when driving the very long stretch of I-90.
Sadly, central upstate NY just doesn't have the population to support 24 hours of quality programming from NPR. When they have membership drives, the station is asking for 600-1000 new or renewing members and maybe tens of thousands of dollars.
When I reached Albany, I was able to switch to WAMC, 90.3FM. When my darling husband was courting me way back when, I would drive home Sunday evenings listening to a Celtic music hour and then a World music hour, neither of which I think is on the air now. I also enjoy catching the Round Table, although sometimes I got so frustrated I have to turn the radio off.
Coming up past Worcester, MA I finally was able to get in WBUR, 90.9FM which I believe is the pinnacle of public radio. When WBUR does fundraising drives, it asks for millions of dollars. I was enjoyed approximately 6 hours of NPR radio over the weekend as I was commuting from Cambridge to Beverly for my doula course. I particularly enjoyed The Splendid Table, which is about all things culinary (including what to do with that winter squash glut), and Living on Earth, which I believe was discussing the vortex form that sphagnum moss spores take when they burst from the moss at 65mph (making them among the fastest moving plant particles). The programming made me appreciate what Public Radio can achieve if it is supported by listeners. I know I sound like I belong in a fundraising drive, but I do honestly believe we need to support this organization. If you do listen to NPR (and this includes you satellite listeners), please consider paying your dues so that the fabulous programming can continue.
Friday, November 4, 2011
First Fridays: November
I was having a difficult time thinking about what crafty item to showcase this month. I will get to the fiber-art eventually, but this month I think I'm going to introduce you to an international program for students called TREPS. It teaches kids entrepreneurial and business skills; skills they can use for a lifetime. One of my largest grumblings over the state of our education system is that kids are just taught content and seemingly (to them) abstract skills. They aren't really taught why these skills are important nor how they can apply them. This is where TREPS can help. When the program was first introduced, I was initially skeptical, but the results (the products, the enthusiasm generated and the business acumen developed) have shown me how valuable this program (and others like it) can be.
Our local school's PTO introduced and ran the program. For six weeks, kids went through a series of workshops to develop a marketable item. At the end of the workshops there was a Marketplace where the kids sold their products. The young brain harnesses so much creativity and if they are given a positive framework in which to channel that creativity, great things happen.
At the Marketplace last year (which coincided with the Village's winter carnival weekend), middle schoolers were selling all sorts of amazing products that they had made themselves. Some were constructed from scratch, while others were value-added products. Here are a few of the more interesting ones to get your creative juices flowing in time for the holiday season (photos are from more professional websites, but the kids' products were just as good).
*Recycled and sculpted LPs in the form of clocks, napkin holders, coasters
*Lip balm made from local honey
*Wool felted animals
*Homemade dog biscuits
*Homemade fudge
*Beaded jewelry
So, if you think you are crafty, creative or industrious, think again! Unleash your creative powers!
Our local school's PTO introduced and ran the program. For six weeks, kids went through a series of workshops to develop a marketable item. At the end of the workshops there was a Marketplace where the kids sold their products. The young brain harnesses so much creativity and if they are given a positive framework in which to channel that creativity, great things happen.
At the Marketplace last year (which coincided with the Village's winter carnival weekend), middle schoolers were selling all sorts of amazing products that they had made themselves. Some were constructed from scratch, while others were value-added products. Here are a few of the more interesting ones to get your creative juices flowing in time for the holiday season (photos are from more professional websites, but the kids' products were just as good).
*Recycled and sculpted LPs in the form of clocks, napkin holders, coasters
 |
| www.retroclassics.etsy.com |
*Lip balm made from local honey
*Wool felted animals
 |
| www.needlefelting.brighterplanet.org |
*Homemade dog biscuits
*Homemade fudge
*Beaded jewelry
 |
| www.engravable-jewelry.com |
So, if you think you are crafty, creative or industrious, think again! Unleash your creative powers!
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