Thursday, October 29, 2009
Deere John.
Ever since I set foot on Sholan Farms I wanted to drive the tractor. After about a month of working there I asked Bob, "Will you teach me to drive the tractor?" I feared he'd want a sexual favor in return but luckily he just said, "What are you doing tomorrow?" I said, "Nothing."
Tomorrow came and went. We repeated this scenario many times.
Well. Today. Tomorrow finally arrived.
I was saying my "good-byes" to Courtney and Bob and I aked Bob, "Will you finally teach me how to drive this?" He replied, "What are you doing tomorrow?"
I said, "Bob. Today is my last day."
He smiled and said, "Get in."
I climbed into the cab.
Within 5 minutes he'd parked on a flat part of the orchard, the road between blocks 5 and 7. I hopped into the drivers seat. I asked a ton of questions. All the knobs and instrumentation were unfamiliar. "What's that I asked?" pointing to a knob. "The windshield wipers." (Duh.)
I put her in gear and soon we were crawling through the orchard. This tractor will hit a top speed of somewhere near 25 miles per hour. We cruised 5 MPH. When I stepped on the gas, just to get a feel for it, he said, "Slow down. There are people in the orchard." I don't think I'd even reached 8 MPH and had no idea I was pushing the speed envelope. There was something in Bob's tone when he cautioned me, he tends to joke around and has a great laugh, that made me think he might actually care about things.
Sometimes the people who seem the most casual are the folks who have the greatest concern.
We went through the orchard and I was surprised he let me drive for a long as he did. I marveled at how few apples were left on the trees. The leaves have started to turn yellow. Less than 8 weeks ago the foliage was deep green and enormous cortlands hung in Block 5. Today. No more.
Bob said, "I'm stripping the orchard clean."
Even though I want to go back to the orchard next week to work, stripping trees is just about the easiest way to earn a few bucks since you only have to make sure the apples aren't rotten otherwise it's anything goes. I've been pretty particular about picking and Bob once told me, "You've got good hands." I've never told him that I can gently pick 2 apples at a time. Not only do I have good hands, I've got big hands.
I'm not melancholy about leaving the country and the orchard. I know I'm supposed to head to the City. It's, "Adios," to tractors, and bushel baskets, and spending 8 hours a day outdoors. And it's, "Hello," to I-don't-know-what.
Tomorrow came and went. We repeated this scenario many times.
Well. Today. Tomorrow finally arrived.
I was saying my "good-byes" to Courtney and Bob and I aked Bob, "Will you finally teach me how to drive this?" He replied, "What are you doing tomorrow?"
I said, "Bob. Today is my last day."
He smiled and said, "Get in."
I climbed into the cab.
Within 5 minutes he'd parked on a flat part of the orchard, the road between blocks 5 and 7. I hopped into the drivers seat. I asked a ton of questions. All the knobs and instrumentation were unfamiliar. "What's that I asked?" pointing to a knob. "The windshield wipers." (Duh.)
I put her in gear and soon we were crawling through the orchard. This tractor will hit a top speed of somewhere near 25 miles per hour. We cruised 5 MPH. When I stepped on the gas, just to get a feel for it, he said, "Slow down. There are people in the orchard." I don't think I'd even reached 8 MPH and had no idea I was pushing the speed envelope. There was something in Bob's tone when he cautioned me, he tends to joke around and has a great laugh, that made me think he might actually care about things.
Sometimes the people who seem the most casual are the folks who have the greatest concern.
We went through the orchard and I was surprised he let me drive for a long as he did. I marveled at how few apples were left on the trees. The leaves have started to turn yellow. Less than 8 weeks ago the foliage was deep green and enormous cortlands hung in Block 5. Today. No more.
Bob said, "I'm stripping the orchard clean."
Even though I want to go back to the orchard next week to work, stripping trees is just about the easiest way to earn a few bucks since you only have to make sure the apples aren't rotten otherwise it's anything goes. I've been pretty particular about picking and Bob once told me, "You've got good hands." I've never told him that I can gently pick 2 apples at a time. Not only do I have good hands, I've got big hands.
I'm not melancholy about leaving the country and the orchard. I know I'm supposed to head to the City. It's, "Adios," to tractors, and bushel baskets, and spending 8 hours a day outdoors. And it's, "Hello," to I-don't-know-what.
Nonni
At any given time I've always got 5 or 6 dreams that I just can't figure out rolling around in my head. I ruminate over them all the time. In the middle of the night. "What does it mean?" In the middle of traffic. "What does it mean?" In the middle of lunch. "What does it mean?" In the middle of converstaions with other people. "What does that dream mean?" This subroutine: figure out these damn dreams, is almost always in gear.
This past weekend when I visited my Aunt T. I did something I rarely do, I described one of the dreams on the "hot list" in great detail and then asked her what she thought it meant.
I asked her because this dream concerned some of our family members. My Aunt also happens to be incredibly perspicacious. I've always wished I could be as keen and insightful as she is.
Keep in mind that the dreams I can't figure out are the best/worst puzzles in my head. It's usually the most simple and straight forward dreams that I cannot figure out. The reson: there is no such thing as a simple, straightforward dream. If you don' t believe me about that, ask Freud or Jung.
One of the people in this particular dream was Nonni, my great-grandmother, who's been dead since 1977.
My Aunt T. asked me about Nonni and I told her the very basic facts that I knew but that my impression of Nonni was that she was a victim. Where I got that impression I don't know. I think it's because I knew my great-grandmother when she was very old and all she did was sit around talking to my grandmother in Italian and I thought, There's the really old Italian lady who likes to eat vanilla ice cream melted, from a bowl.
It turns out Nonni was much cooler than that. She was the youngest of 5. Her mother died when she was very young. Her father was of high standing in the village. She was told by someone not to marry a farmer's son. Then when she was a teenager her father told her that she had to marry a rich farmer's son. She said no. (She refused an arranged marriage? Hot damn!) She moved to a city where she fell in love with an older man who was a painter. They got married. He got sick and died. She was 23 and a widow. Her brother and sister lived in the US and her brother sent her the money to come to the United States. She moved here and soon was working in a corset factory. She hated it and cried everyday. When my Aunt T. asked her why she didn't leave she said she had to come up with the money to pay her brother for passage to the U.S. and then she had to earn enough to go back to Italy. By the time she'd accomplished both, she was more or less a part of the fabric of the community in which she lived.
She met her second husband, Romeo. They got married. His father owned a produce delivery business and soon Nonni and Nonno opened a store. The had 2 children. They sold the store, moved to Italy for a bit, returned to the US and opened a second store. They sold that store and I believe Nonno died when they owned the third store.
They worked their asses off. They raised their children. They were very successful. As far as I know, when Nonno died in 1965, they had USD$250,000.00 in savings. And in 1965, $250,000.00 was a lot of money.
Even though I've always felt bad for my great-grandmother, because her second husband said and did unkind things to her, in the end she was someone who I might want to emulate. I've yet to determine if I'm the marrying kind, but owning and selling businesses and turning a nice profit -- that's worth copying.
This past weekend when I visited my Aunt T. I did something I rarely do, I described one of the dreams on the "hot list" in great detail and then asked her what she thought it meant.
I asked her because this dream concerned some of our family members. My Aunt also happens to be incredibly perspicacious. I've always wished I could be as keen and insightful as she is.
Keep in mind that the dreams I can't figure out are the best/worst puzzles in my head. It's usually the most simple and straight forward dreams that I cannot figure out. The reson: there is no such thing as a simple, straightforward dream. If you don' t believe me about that, ask Freud or Jung.
One of the people in this particular dream was Nonni, my great-grandmother, who's been dead since 1977.
My Aunt T. asked me about Nonni and I told her the very basic facts that I knew but that my impression of Nonni was that she was a victim. Where I got that impression I don't know. I think it's because I knew my great-grandmother when she was very old and all she did was sit around talking to my grandmother in Italian and I thought, There's the really old Italian lady who likes to eat vanilla ice cream melted, from a bowl.
It turns out Nonni was much cooler than that. She was the youngest of 5. Her mother died when she was very young. Her father was of high standing in the village. She was told by someone not to marry a farmer's son. Then when she was a teenager her father told her that she had to marry a rich farmer's son. She said no. (She refused an arranged marriage? Hot damn!) She moved to a city where she fell in love with an older man who was a painter. They got married. He got sick and died. She was 23 and a widow. Her brother and sister lived in the US and her brother sent her the money to come to the United States. She moved here and soon was working in a corset factory. She hated it and cried everyday. When my Aunt T. asked her why she didn't leave she said she had to come up with the money to pay her brother for passage to the U.S. and then she had to earn enough to go back to Italy. By the time she'd accomplished both, she was more or less a part of the fabric of the community in which she lived.
She met her second husband, Romeo. They got married. His father owned a produce delivery business and soon Nonni and Nonno opened a store. The had 2 children. They sold the store, moved to Italy for a bit, returned to the US and opened a second store. They sold that store and I believe Nonno died when they owned the third store.
They worked their asses off. They raised their children. They were very successful. As far as I know, when Nonno died in 1965, they had USD$250,000.00 in savings. And in 1965, $250,000.00 was a lot of money.
Even though I've always felt bad for my great-grandmother, because her second husband said and did unkind things to her, in the end she was someone who I might want to emulate. I've yet to determine if I'm the marrying kind, but owning and selling businesses and turning a nice profit -- that's worth copying.
Life continues to move at a fast clip. I'm hoping I can keep up.
I won't get into all the gorey details, but last night's power outage re-affirmed my belief that we have to shut down the house for the winter season. The short story goes like this... at 12:54 a.m. I woke up from a dream, noted the time (blazing red numerals on the electric clock), turned over and fell back asleep. Then as I was asleep I thought, "Something's not right." I woke up looked at the clock and well, there was no clock. I couldn't figure out how much time had past since I last checked the time. "Damn it, we've lost power." I stumbled around in the dark looking for my cell phone. When I located it, I noted the time, "1:00." I'd been asleep for 6 minutes. Then I went through a bit of an ordeal trying to figure out what the heck happened. Around 1:45 I got the recorded message at the phone company letting me know what I already knew, there was a power outage but the good news was: estimated time power would be restored -- 4 a.m.
Then I climbed into bed and started thinking (of course). My first thoughts were that if the power didn't come back on I had to be up at 5:30 to go pick apples and that I would not be having a shower or breakfast but since it was my last day picking apples I planned on showing up on-time, dirty and hungry.
Then I turned to other thoughts. I was glad it was 44 degrees outside so that the pipes wouldn't freeze. I thought about 9/11 and this small power outage reminded me that I'm not prepared and that folks in general are not prepared. (I almost feel like taking "prepared to another level -- Prepared to accept the Host? Prepared to receive Salvation? But let's save that for another day. Shall we?) I do not have my disaster kit in order. Which means that next season I will have it ready. Although if the temp gets too low, won't the water that I've set aside freeze? It's also time to get the wood stove and the outhouse in working order. Life in the country...
But more than anything -- and I think that this speaks volumes about who I am and where my head is at -- I was really frustrated by my current relationships. I feel that they're not where they should be and this ticks me off. Mind you I wasn't kicking myself so much as prodding myself to wonder about what I can do to improve things. As far as I'm concerned, paying the bills and having enough food and drinking water to get through 3 days of no-power is all well and good but do I really want to die (or live) without having my emotional life and my close personal relationships in good order?
The answer is, No.
Luckily Cara called at 2 am, just as the power was restored and as I was fully awake and wearing all my clothes and down jacket, lying on the comforter on my bed and we ended up having a very long chat about all my swirling thoughts.
As I return to NYC I've got enough money to get me through a couple of months. (Thank you Bob, Sholan Farms, and Johnny Applesed!) And as I return, top on my list is what can I do to strengthen my relationships? Of course, relationships tend to require that both parties want to engage in strengthening, so I'll be strengthening the relationships I can with those who want to join me in emotional fitness workouts.
There seems to be clutter in my head. (Actually this morning, as I was picking apples I decided, "You're full of shit.") I have some really bad habits but they roll at a very deep level. I'm going to grab my headlamp and descend into the caverns of my mind and I'll bring some trial mix and my stainless steel canteen (filled with water) and I'm going to find those annoy traits and I'm going to alter them. Actually, I think it's better to bargain with them and perhaps find a working compromise. I don't think that we're supposed to get rid of stuff. I've always noticed that when I go to get rid of bad habits they have a way of re-appearing in an even stronger, more destructive, form than when I just let them wreak havoc.
I've decided that life is a journey and an adventure. In one month's time I'll turn 43 and I think I've got another 50 years to go (I'm basing this on the fact that Nana (my father's mother) died this year at age 97). Even if I only have another 40 years to go, that's still a long time and I cannot and will not abide by having this junk f*cking up my relationships.
Of course, the monkey wrench in the works -- karma. Perhaps some people have come and gone because that was all they were supposed to do. No matter how deeply I loved, or hated them, they're gone and that's that. So I guess it's more the folks who have stuck around that I've got to consider.
I feel pretty good about returning to New York City. I'm still curious if I can maintain my hearfelt peace or if the smog, crowded subways, and alternate side street parking will jam me up and I'll revert to the cranky person I was in days of yore.
We shall see. Won't we?
I won't get into all the gorey details, but last night's power outage re-affirmed my belief that we have to shut down the house for the winter season. The short story goes like this... at 12:54 a.m. I woke up from a dream, noted the time (blazing red numerals on the electric clock), turned over and fell back asleep. Then as I was asleep I thought, "Something's not right." I woke up looked at the clock and well, there was no clock. I couldn't figure out how much time had past since I last checked the time. "Damn it, we've lost power." I stumbled around in the dark looking for my cell phone. When I located it, I noted the time, "1:00." I'd been asleep for 6 minutes. Then I went through a bit of an ordeal trying to figure out what the heck happened. Around 1:45 I got the recorded message at the phone company letting me know what I already knew, there was a power outage but the good news was: estimated time power would be restored -- 4 a.m.
Then I climbed into bed and started thinking (of course). My first thoughts were that if the power didn't come back on I had to be up at 5:30 to go pick apples and that I would not be having a shower or breakfast but since it was my last day picking apples I planned on showing up on-time, dirty and hungry.
Then I turned to other thoughts. I was glad it was 44 degrees outside so that the pipes wouldn't freeze. I thought about 9/11 and this small power outage reminded me that I'm not prepared and that folks in general are not prepared. (I almost feel like taking "prepared to another level -- Prepared to accept the Host? Prepared to receive Salvation? But let's save that for another day. Shall we?) I do not have my disaster kit in order. Which means that next season I will have it ready. Although if the temp gets too low, won't the water that I've set aside freeze? It's also time to get the wood stove and the outhouse in working order. Life in the country...
But more than anything -- and I think that this speaks volumes about who I am and where my head is at -- I was really frustrated by my current relationships. I feel that they're not where they should be and this ticks me off. Mind you I wasn't kicking myself so much as prodding myself to wonder about what I can do to improve things. As far as I'm concerned, paying the bills and having enough food and drinking water to get through 3 days of no-power is all well and good but do I really want to die (or live) without having my emotional life and my close personal relationships in good order?
The answer is, No.
Luckily Cara called at 2 am, just as the power was restored and as I was fully awake and wearing all my clothes and down jacket, lying on the comforter on my bed and we ended up having a very long chat about all my swirling thoughts.
As I return to NYC I've got enough money to get me through a couple of months. (Thank you Bob, Sholan Farms, and Johnny Applesed!) And as I return, top on my list is what can I do to strengthen my relationships? Of course, relationships tend to require that both parties want to engage in strengthening, so I'll be strengthening the relationships I can with those who want to join me in emotional fitness workouts.
There seems to be clutter in my head. (Actually this morning, as I was picking apples I decided, "You're full of shit.") I have some really bad habits but they roll at a very deep level. I'm going to grab my headlamp and descend into the caverns of my mind and I'll bring some trial mix and my stainless steel canteen (filled with water) and I'm going to find those annoy traits and I'm going to alter them. Actually, I think it's better to bargain with them and perhaps find a working compromise. I don't think that we're supposed to get rid of stuff. I've always noticed that when I go to get rid of bad habits they have a way of re-appearing in an even stronger, more destructive, form than when I just let them wreak havoc.
I've decided that life is a journey and an adventure. In one month's time I'll turn 43 and I think I've got another 50 years to go (I'm basing this on the fact that Nana (my father's mother) died this year at age 97). Even if I only have another 40 years to go, that's still a long time and I cannot and will not abide by having this junk f*cking up my relationships.
Of course, the monkey wrench in the works -- karma. Perhaps some people have come and gone because that was all they were supposed to do. No matter how deeply I loved, or hated them, they're gone and that's that. So I guess it's more the folks who have stuck around that I've got to consider.
I feel pretty good about returning to New York City. I'm still curious if I can maintain my hearfelt peace or if the smog, crowded subways, and alternate side street parking will jam me up and I'll revert to the cranky person I was in days of yore.
We shall see. Won't we?
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
N.
There's a woman who works at the orchard who told me her life story and since I haven't asked her permission to relay this story, I'll refer to her as N.
One of the things that strikes anyone on first meeting N. is her personality. She smiles a lot, she has a great laugh, and she's got a great sense of humor, really sarcastic. I'm always super-happy to pick alongside N. because the time flies when she's around.
A week ago N. and I were picking and I asked her what she was thinking of doing for her next job once apple picking ended. She replied, "I don't know." Mind you she bakes at a bakery 2 days per week, takes care of a young boy with cerebral palsy 5 nights per week, picks apples 2 days per week and then...who knows?
She reminds me of "Hey Mon" from Living Color.
I suggested she get a paper delivery route, and that ripped things wide open.
Before I knew it she launched into the story of her life. She was 14 when she met her future husband. He was 15 at the time and an alcoholic. They got married and ended up having 3 kids. He continued to drink and drug and cheated on N. all the time. People would come up to her to tell her about it and she'd say, "I don't want to know." She said it made her sick to her stomach. She also mentioned that when her husband was sober he was a complete ass because all he wanted to do was get high.
He eventually left her after they'd been married for 24 year and she had an 8-, 13-, and 15-year old to take care of. She'd never had a job and didn't know what she was going to do. She took a paper route and as it turns out she made good money and was able to be home to spend time with her kids and shuttle them around to all their after school activities. Basically she'd get up at 3 in the morning deliver the papers, come home, get the kids ready for school and then once they went to school she'd go back to bed for a nap.
The husband's girlfriend lived above a bar and when N. drove the family to church on Sunday morning they'd "see Daddy's truck parked outside the bar."
Eventually N. and her husband got divorced.
She says that the experience gave her breast cancer.
After a mastectomy and reconstructive surgery she said, "I didn't want to ever be stressed out agin."
I'm not telling this story nearly as well as N. tells it but once she was done talking -- I was atop a ladder filling my bucket with apples -- and even though I've been through quite a bit myself I went quiet and was at a loss for words. Maybe I haven't been through that much after all. (Nice bit of reality check on a gorgeous fall afternoon in an apple orchard.)
I've heard a lot of people who've been sick and had cancer and other troubles and N. didn't employ any of the much-used jargon. "It was a gift." "I live for the present." "Life is precious." She said, "I didn't want to be stressed ever again."
And this has become my new mantra.
If you could see N. smile, it would probably become your mantra.
One of the things that strikes anyone on first meeting N. is her personality. She smiles a lot, she has a great laugh, and she's got a great sense of humor, really sarcastic. I'm always super-happy to pick alongside N. because the time flies when she's around.
A week ago N. and I were picking and I asked her what she was thinking of doing for her next job once apple picking ended. She replied, "I don't know." Mind you she bakes at a bakery 2 days per week, takes care of a young boy with cerebral palsy 5 nights per week, picks apples 2 days per week and then...who knows?
She reminds me of "Hey Mon" from Living Color.
I suggested she get a paper delivery route, and that ripped things wide open.
Before I knew it she launched into the story of her life. She was 14 when she met her future husband. He was 15 at the time and an alcoholic. They got married and ended up having 3 kids. He continued to drink and drug and cheated on N. all the time. People would come up to her to tell her about it and she'd say, "I don't want to know." She said it made her sick to her stomach. She also mentioned that when her husband was sober he was a complete ass because all he wanted to do was get high.
He eventually left her after they'd been married for 24 year and she had an 8-, 13-, and 15-year old to take care of. She'd never had a job and didn't know what she was going to do. She took a paper route and as it turns out she made good money and was able to be home to spend time with her kids and shuttle them around to all their after school activities. Basically she'd get up at 3 in the morning deliver the papers, come home, get the kids ready for school and then once they went to school she'd go back to bed for a nap.
The husband's girlfriend lived above a bar and when N. drove the family to church on Sunday morning they'd "see Daddy's truck parked outside the bar."
Eventually N. and her husband got divorced.
She says that the experience gave her breast cancer.
After a mastectomy and reconstructive surgery she said, "I didn't want to ever be stressed out agin."
I'm not telling this story nearly as well as N. tells it but once she was done talking -- I was atop a ladder filling my bucket with apples -- and even though I've been through quite a bit myself I went quiet and was at a loss for words. Maybe I haven't been through that much after all. (Nice bit of reality check on a gorgeous fall afternoon in an apple orchard.)
I've heard a lot of people who've been sick and had cancer and other troubles and N. didn't employ any of the much-used jargon. "It was a gift." "I live for the present." "Life is precious." She said, "I didn't want to be stressed ever again."
And this has become my new mantra.
If you could see N. smile, it would probably become your mantra.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Give it up to G*d.
Life has been something of a blur lately. A nice, natural blur, but a blur nonetheless.
For a while I was contemplating the notion that life prepares you for the next step. They way things were going I feared I was being prepped for a polar expedition. I spent a week picking apples in the 30s and low-40s. Then I headed to Yestermorrow and slept in an unheated, uninsulated cabin that had only screens in the windows. When I woke up on Saturday morning the pond was frozen and there was a layer of ice on the grounds.
But I've finally learned how to pack to make life more comfortable. To Yestermorrow I brought: hiking boots, work boots, and snow boots. And I'm mighty glad I brought the snow boots otherwise Stump to Sticker (which was held outdoors) would have been an extremely uncomfortable experience.
Saturday night the outdoor temp was probably somewhere in the 20s and I realized that the farming made the apple picking possible and the apple picking made the sleeping outdoors possible.
And what is all of that making possible? I haven't got a clue.
The last recipe for sanity I used was one part 2666 and one part dessert. I had to stop reading 2666 when I got to, "The Part About the Killings." Roberto Bolano was creeping me out in the last 60 pages of the first part. I mean seriously creeping me out and I felt that to continue was to invite nightmares into my state of being. And even though I stopped reading the book I've had a couple of nightmares but I attribute them more to the fact that I'm in transition than to 2666.
I noticed that I was using apple picking as way to avoid dealing with life. I was pushing myself really hard in the orchard. Climbing ladders, filling bins, outpicking the other pickers by a mile. I was being really competitive. What's interesting is that about 5 weeks ago I wanted to do carpentry work because I could make good money per day. I'm now earning in half a day what a full day of carpentry paid. But it was starting to take its toll on my body. But I kind of liked that. I also knew that once I took my foot off the gas, I'd rest for a week and be in a better place.
Yesterday I was told there was no picking today. I was a bit miffed. But I knew it wasn't not-earning money that bugged me. It was Bob telling me I couldn't do something. It was someone else being in control of my life. I had been gathering leaves to make a ginormous compost pile in the backyard and literally sat down and went thorugh a little process. I think that what bugs me the most lately is loneliness. Last year I vowed to leave the lone-wolf lifestyle and then I find myself more deeper into that than I was before. At some point during the past summer I was stunned when I realized that I could feel so lonely living on a farm with someone else. But I wasn't connected to my farm partner in a way that worked. We weren't able to communicate about anything. He likes to procrastinate and I like to get things done. Just 2 weeks ago I said, "Let's include scallion in this weeks share." He said, "I'd rather wait." I said, "Suit yourslef."
Can I tell you? There was no reason to wait. The food was in the field ready to be harvested and distributed.
Anyway. Yesterday while I was in process, on the front lawn, rake to my left, piles of leaves to my right. My thoughts turned to the Dude (the Big Lebowski). Many times this past year I've thought about this one scene towards the end of the movie when the Dude realizes that his thinking is uptight. I have had to remind myself to not be uptight on at least a thousand occasions this past year. I'm naturally a high-strung person but that doesn't get me very far. And since I'm equally ambitious -- if greater gains are to be achieved by chilling out, then it's chilling out I mean to do.
After about ten minutes of process I stood up and resumed raking leaves. I left the uptight thinking to others. There's a lot to enjoy out here. And while it would be nice to share it with someone, if I've got to go it solo a bit longer, than so be it.
This morning I cleaned up a small dump that was unearthed during the improvement cutting. Nothing like starting up the day pulling up old tools and broken tv sets, and assorted other junk left by someone else on your property. (Dumping is rude, country-laziness.)
But I want to get back to my recipe for sanity: 2666 and dessert. I made a kick-ass pumpkin flan. When I decided to cure my ills with dessert I decided that I had to make desserts that I'd never made before. I also made something called a "cottage pudding." It was very English, sort of a cakey-thing with a lemon sauce. THe lemon sauce rocked but the cake was a bit heavy. The cottage pudding had nothing on the flan.
And this brings me to Yestermorrow and diet. This time when I took a class at Yestermorrow I wanted to sleep in a cabin and signed up for the meal plan. (There was no way I was going to be able to cook for myself as well as take a class.) The meal plan allowed me the opportunity to say good-bye to the wheat-fast but quick. I ate my face off. Breakfast Saturday morning featured eggs and bacon. Yum.
Lunches featured sandwiches and pizza and I knew that a couple of days of eating crap (wheat) wouldn't kill me but I also observed myself to see what I craved. Coca cola. I've eaten so many different types of foods and a conventional diet begets conventional eating. Slow-cooked whole foods tend to let me feel more balanced and I never crave sugar. I want sweet things but I don't want refined sugar. (Unless you are in the beginning of transitioning from conventional eating to whole food eating, one you make the switch you will almost never crave the garbage that's out there.) And what's more interesting once you eat slow-cooked, whole foods, when you go back to eating a candy bar or drinking soda, you can really sense how empty and lacking those foods are. I always feel that factory foods are spiritually bankrupt.
I don't want to knock the meal plan at Yestermorrow. There were a lot of great veggies (oddly -- prepared by the women; the dude who cooks there doesn't seem too keen on veggies). I could have eaten a slightly modified diet while I was on the meal plan but I need a lot of protein and it was only coming to me in the form of ham, beef, eggs, chicken. I made sure to eat a ton of veggies (some of which came from the garden at Yestermorrow).
I also noticed that I felt a feeling that's hard to describe. I just knew that the entire time I was eating the food at Yestermorrow I was thinking, "I'm going to need to do a cleanse next week."
My cleanse consisted of lots of water and steel-cut oatmeal, fruits, and vegetables.
Today is going to be day when I start to put my head back on my shoulders. I'm going to chill the f*ck out and let the Universe guide me. I'm going to give in to the Wisdom of a Force that is greater than I am. I'm also goign to take a nap.
For a while I was contemplating the notion that life prepares you for the next step. They way things were going I feared I was being prepped for a polar expedition. I spent a week picking apples in the 30s and low-40s. Then I headed to Yestermorrow and slept in an unheated, uninsulated cabin that had only screens in the windows. When I woke up on Saturday morning the pond was frozen and there was a layer of ice on the grounds.
But I've finally learned how to pack to make life more comfortable. To Yestermorrow I brought: hiking boots, work boots, and snow boots. And I'm mighty glad I brought the snow boots otherwise Stump to Sticker (which was held outdoors) would have been an extremely uncomfortable experience.
Saturday night the outdoor temp was probably somewhere in the 20s and I realized that the farming made the apple picking possible and the apple picking made the sleeping outdoors possible.
And what is all of that making possible? I haven't got a clue.
The last recipe for sanity I used was one part 2666 and one part dessert. I had to stop reading 2666 when I got to, "The Part About the Killings." Roberto Bolano was creeping me out in the last 60 pages of the first part. I mean seriously creeping me out and I felt that to continue was to invite nightmares into my state of being. And even though I stopped reading the book I've had a couple of nightmares but I attribute them more to the fact that I'm in transition than to 2666.
I noticed that I was using apple picking as way to avoid dealing with life. I was pushing myself really hard in the orchard. Climbing ladders, filling bins, outpicking the other pickers by a mile. I was being really competitive. What's interesting is that about 5 weeks ago I wanted to do carpentry work because I could make good money per day. I'm now earning in half a day what a full day of carpentry paid. But it was starting to take its toll on my body. But I kind of liked that. I also knew that once I took my foot off the gas, I'd rest for a week and be in a better place.
Yesterday I was told there was no picking today. I was a bit miffed. But I knew it wasn't not-earning money that bugged me. It was Bob telling me I couldn't do something. It was someone else being in control of my life. I had been gathering leaves to make a ginormous compost pile in the backyard and literally sat down and went thorugh a little process. I think that what bugs me the most lately is loneliness. Last year I vowed to leave the lone-wolf lifestyle and then I find myself more deeper into that than I was before. At some point during the past summer I was stunned when I realized that I could feel so lonely living on a farm with someone else. But I wasn't connected to my farm partner in a way that worked. We weren't able to communicate about anything. He likes to procrastinate and I like to get things done. Just 2 weeks ago I said, "Let's include scallion in this weeks share." He said, "I'd rather wait." I said, "Suit yourslef."
Can I tell you? There was no reason to wait. The food was in the field ready to be harvested and distributed.
Anyway. Yesterday while I was in process, on the front lawn, rake to my left, piles of leaves to my right. My thoughts turned to the Dude (the Big Lebowski). Many times this past year I've thought about this one scene towards the end of the movie when the Dude realizes that his thinking is uptight. I have had to remind myself to not be uptight on at least a thousand occasions this past year. I'm naturally a high-strung person but that doesn't get me very far. And since I'm equally ambitious -- if greater gains are to be achieved by chilling out, then it's chilling out I mean to do.
After about ten minutes of process I stood up and resumed raking leaves. I left the uptight thinking to others. There's a lot to enjoy out here. And while it would be nice to share it with someone, if I've got to go it solo a bit longer, than so be it.
This morning I cleaned up a small dump that was unearthed during the improvement cutting. Nothing like starting up the day pulling up old tools and broken tv sets, and assorted other junk left by someone else on your property. (Dumping is rude, country-laziness.)
But I want to get back to my recipe for sanity: 2666 and dessert. I made a kick-ass pumpkin flan. When I decided to cure my ills with dessert I decided that I had to make desserts that I'd never made before. I also made something called a "cottage pudding." It was very English, sort of a cakey-thing with a lemon sauce. THe lemon sauce rocked but the cake was a bit heavy. The cottage pudding had nothing on the flan.
And this brings me to Yestermorrow and diet. This time when I took a class at Yestermorrow I wanted to sleep in a cabin and signed up for the meal plan. (There was no way I was going to be able to cook for myself as well as take a class.) The meal plan allowed me the opportunity to say good-bye to the wheat-fast but quick. I ate my face off. Breakfast Saturday morning featured eggs and bacon. Yum.
Lunches featured sandwiches and pizza and I knew that a couple of days of eating crap (wheat) wouldn't kill me but I also observed myself to see what I craved. Coca cola. I've eaten so many different types of foods and a conventional diet begets conventional eating. Slow-cooked whole foods tend to let me feel more balanced and I never crave sugar. I want sweet things but I don't want refined sugar. (Unless you are in the beginning of transitioning from conventional eating to whole food eating, one you make the switch you will almost never crave the garbage that's out there.) And what's more interesting once you eat slow-cooked, whole foods, when you go back to eating a candy bar or drinking soda, you can really sense how empty and lacking those foods are. I always feel that factory foods are spiritually bankrupt.
I don't want to knock the meal plan at Yestermorrow. There were a lot of great veggies (oddly -- prepared by the women; the dude who cooks there doesn't seem too keen on veggies). I could have eaten a slightly modified diet while I was on the meal plan but I need a lot of protein and it was only coming to me in the form of ham, beef, eggs, chicken. I made sure to eat a ton of veggies (some of which came from the garden at Yestermorrow).
I also noticed that I felt a feeling that's hard to describe. I just knew that the entire time I was eating the food at Yestermorrow I was thinking, "I'm going to need to do a cleanse next week."
My cleanse consisted of lots of water and steel-cut oatmeal, fruits, and vegetables.
Today is going to be day when I start to put my head back on my shoulders. I'm going to chill the f*ck out and let the Universe guide me. I'm going to give in to the Wisdom of a Force that is greater than I am. I'm also goign to take a nap.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Go deeper into your faith.
Before I get to the good news, let me contextualize life these days.
Yesterday morning at 6:15 a.m. I was harvesting, with a flashlight, for CSA shares. I pulled shares of the winterbor kale which was spritely. When I turned the light onto the bok choi, I was surprised to find it frozen, solid. Yup, we had our first killing frost. I'd agreed to pull kale and bok choi but felt that harvesting frozen bok choi wasn't a good idea so I left a note for Ben and headed to the orchard.
On my way to the orchard I watched the temperature guage on the dash board. 29. 30. 34.
What were these numbers? Oh right. The outside temperature.
By the time I got to the orchard it was 40 degrees. And the sun was coming up so I knew that I'd be warmed up by 8:30.
This morning I woke up and it was a balmy 44 degrees out. But it was raining.
People pick apples with a much different attitude when it's raining and gray and cold outside. This morning there was a deep quiet. Only the sound of rain falling on the hood of my rain coat. The sound of my breath. The sight of my breath.
Kyle rushed through his bin. He left with an, "I'm done."
Laura, who approached me, looking all kinds of dejected and miserable, departed by saying, "I'm not dressed for this weather."
Wil and I remained. I finished Laura's bin and then sat in the Dodge waiting for Wil to complete his bin.
The Dodge has no traction whatsoever in the slightest amount of precipitation. It was an adventure as I zig-zagged the Dodge across many rows, sometimes driving in reverse, and just as we were almost in the clear -- ropes blocked our path. Wil held the rope up and I drove the truck under.
Wil asked me how my hands were. I told him that I'd alternated using them. Letting one thaw while the other froze. He said, "My thumb got numb and cramped and I couldn't hold onto an apple."
I remarked, "For a little bit there you weren't even a primate."
This year I lived "the Summer that never appeared," and now I fear that Fall is over and Winter is here. But what is Winter? Most of the leaves have fallen from the trees. The nighttime temp has hovered in the low-40s, dipping into the 30s. I don't think that Winter is snowfall. I think Winter is when it's so effing cold outside that neither man nor beast should be out of doors.
And yet... I finally had an insight. Yesterday morning as the lines from the Beatles song -- "Sun. Sun. Sun. Here it comes," were in my head and I thanked Goddess for the warmth, I discovered another piece of the puzzle.
I've realized that no matter what -- I'm delving deeper into my faith. As an athiest I often wonder what it means to have faith. I'm not sitting around imploring Jesus or God for Guidance. I'm usually puzzling things out in my head.
Several years ago my friend Eri and I were talking. We only came to be friends after September 11, 2001. Somthing about that event threw us into a friendship. (She was the person who got me the reference for my Jungian Dream analyst.) So. Eri and I were talking and she said, "I want someone to tell me that everything will be ok."
I paused and dearly wished that I could tell her that. For the next couple of years Eri and I continued to be freinds and then the friednship waned. During that time I worked on being able to say to her, "Eri. Everything will be ok." I could only say that to her if I meant it. She and I both knew that to say those words with a hollow ring was a waste of breath. I never spoke those words to her.
About 2 years ago I was able to own that sentence. And I've been living with that sentiment at my core for a while. Now I find that I want to go further. Beyond my gratitude. Beyond being able to rely on myself. Beyond my belief that things will be ok.
There is something else. There is more.
I'm starting to think this is tied up in love. A new kind of love. (A new kind of love for me.)
So this is where I'm at. Another piece of the puzzle found in the orchard.
"Go deeper into your faith."
Yesterday morning at 6:15 a.m. I was harvesting, with a flashlight, for CSA shares. I pulled shares of the winterbor kale which was spritely. When I turned the light onto the bok choi, I was surprised to find it frozen, solid. Yup, we had our first killing frost. I'd agreed to pull kale and bok choi but felt that harvesting frozen bok choi wasn't a good idea so I left a note for Ben and headed to the orchard.
On my way to the orchard I watched the temperature guage on the dash board. 29. 30. 34.
What were these numbers? Oh right. The outside temperature.
By the time I got to the orchard it was 40 degrees. And the sun was coming up so I knew that I'd be warmed up by 8:30.
This morning I woke up and it was a balmy 44 degrees out. But it was raining.
People pick apples with a much different attitude when it's raining and gray and cold outside. This morning there was a deep quiet. Only the sound of rain falling on the hood of my rain coat. The sound of my breath. The sight of my breath.
Kyle rushed through his bin. He left with an, "I'm done."
Laura, who approached me, looking all kinds of dejected and miserable, departed by saying, "I'm not dressed for this weather."
Wil and I remained. I finished Laura's bin and then sat in the Dodge waiting for Wil to complete his bin.
The Dodge has no traction whatsoever in the slightest amount of precipitation. It was an adventure as I zig-zagged the Dodge across many rows, sometimes driving in reverse, and just as we were almost in the clear -- ropes blocked our path. Wil held the rope up and I drove the truck under.
Wil asked me how my hands were. I told him that I'd alternated using them. Letting one thaw while the other froze. He said, "My thumb got numb and cramped and I couldn't hold onto an apple."
I remarked, "For a little bit there you weren't even a primate."
This year I lived "the Summer that never appeared," and now I fear that Fall is over and Winter is here. But what is Winter? Most of the leaves have fallen from the trees. The nighttime temp has hovered in the low-40s, dipping into the 30s. I don't think that Winter is snowfall. I think Winter is when it's so effing cold outside that neither man nor beast should be out of doors.
And yet... I finally had an insight. Yesterday morning as the lines from the Beatles song -- "Sun. Sun. Sun. Here it comes," were in my head and I thanked Goddess for the warmth, I discovered another piece of the puzzle.
I've realized that no matter what -- I'm delving deeper into my faith. As an athiest I often wonder what it means to have faith. I'm not sitting around imploring Jesus or God for Guidance. I'm usually puzzling things out in my head.
Several years ago my friend Eri and I were talking. We only came to be friends after September 11, 2001. Somthing about that event threw us into a friendship. (She was the person who got me the reference for my Jungian Dream analyst.) So. Eri and I were talking and she said, "I want someone to tell me that everything will be ok."
I paused and dearly wished that I could tell her that. For the next couple of years Eri and I continued to be freinds and then the friednship waned. During that time I worked on being able to say to her, "Eri. Everything will be ok." I could only say that to her if I meant it. She and I both knew that to say those words with a hollow ring was a waste of breath. I never spoke those words to her.
About 2 years ago I was able to own that sentence. And I've been living with that sentiment at my core for a while. Now I find that I want to go further. Beyond my gratitude. Beyond being able to rely on myself. Beyond my belief that things will be ok.
There is something else. There is more.
I'm starting to think this is tied up in love. A new kind of love. (A new kind of love for me.)
So this is where I'm at. Another piece of the puzzle found in the orchard.
"Go deeper into your faith."
Friday, October 9, 2009
What to do with the next 40 years?
My internal clock is all messed up. I’m writing this at 7:08 pm. In days gone by 7:08 pm was considered early. A few months ago 7:08 pm was considered early. In my drug, addled, days as a homeless youth 7:08 pm was the crack of dawn. Now that I’m up at 5:45 am to go pick apples, 7:08 feels more like 11:30 pm. It’s time to go to bed. My eyelids are starting to become heavy with sleep. I’d rather be curled up with a pamphlet on how to “Feed the Soil” and drift off to dream but instead I’m going to stare into this blue screen for a bit, share a few thoughts on the “post-season,” then pass out fully clothed
I’ve transitioned from organic farmer to seasonal laborer. That’s right. Now I pick apples for a living. And it’s about time I earned a living.
But it sucks that picking fungicide-drenched apples pays way better than growing/selling organic vegetables did. This is not to say that apple picking pays all that great, but shit it pays.
To be fair, the orchard I work at has been in business for a very long time (there are trees that have been in this orchard for more than 250 years) and I’ve got one season as an organic farmer behind me.
Which reminds me… didn’t people used to grow fruits and vegetables WITHOUT applying poison – insecticide, fungicide?
Why? Why? Why? Must the petrochemical-paradigm persist?
I’ve been reading “One Straw Revolution” by Manobu Fukuoka. And what I’ve concluded (actually I’d already concluded this….I’ve confirmed what I’d concluded) is that people are willing to live in a state of willful ignorance. For real.
I wonder if modern life in America just makes it easy for people to live in a more unconscious way. If our ancestors had been as unconscious as we are, would we even be here? My ancestors boarded boats in Europe, sailed to the United States and once they got here, most of them worked. Hard. They persisted.
Where has persistence gone? Is it sitting in a Laz-Boy chair, with a cup of conventionally produced 1% milk and a few low-fat cookies, channel surfing after a day of: 8 hours at the office, an hour at the gym, an hour commute home, then an overly processed dinner, followed with a Zantac. Will persistence pop an anti-anxiety (or anti-depressant) pill and before going to bed pop a Tylenol PM?
Look, I am not in favor of suffering. I don’t advocate hard work for the sake of hard work. I don’t advocate that we go back in time. (Lord knows I like having the right to vote. I like living in a “free” society where I can be openly gay.) I’m perplexed at how out of balance things are. Can’t we keep our civil rights and eat correctly?
I don’t understand what will inspire people to head back to the kitchen? Is there a correlation between obesity and the number of food shows on the food network? Weren’t people thinner before there was food-television? Do people cook more after watching Emeril Live?
I wish Gordon Ramsay would go to people’s houses and berate the hell out of them until they could cook a great soufflé or the perfect steak. That would be productive. I’ve always kind of wanted him to yell at me for a while. I figure if I got good enough, he’d stop shouting then I’d be a great cook and I could enjoy my cooking/eating in relative quiet.
What would be really cool is if Gordon Ramsay did a cooking show where he got kids to cook. Imagine Gordon Ramsay as a Home Ec teacher? He’d have his patience tested, the kids would act like a bunch of twits and in the end, he’d create the next generation of people who could actually cook, one class at a time.
The fact that he creates thriving businesses is great – he makes consumers. But what about showing that he really cares about the way people eat by turning regular people into really great cooks? That would be cool.
Lately I keep having cartoon-like images pop into my head.
Scenario1. Patient complains of chest pains. The heart surgeon cuts open patient’s chest and where there should be a heart, there’s a change purse.
Scenario 2. Patient complains of blinding headaches. The brain surgeon opens patient’s the skull and where there should be a brain, there’s wallet.
I’m so over people doing things just to make money.
How phenomenally boring.
But I want to talk about apple picking for a moment. For the time being I like picking apples because it’s just about the most honest work I’ve ever done. I’m paid by the bushel. This means that if I don’t pick, I don’t get paid. That means that if I’m getting up at 5:45 in the morning so I can make it to the orchard by 7:30, then you’re going to find me picking apples.
I’ve noticed that not a lot of women pick apples. And thus far I haven’t encountered any other trans-folks picking either.
I don’t think I’d be able to pick at the rate I do if I hadn’t farmed for seven months. And there’s something about desire in all of this. I want to stay in an agricultural or food-related business. As corny as it might sound, I like knowing where the apples are headed. Cider apples pay the least per bushel but someone’s going to be drinking cider from the apples I picked. Peeling apples pay a little better and then I know someone might make an apple pie using these apples I picked. On days when the weather’s nice, the stand at the orchard is alive with activity and I’ve picked plenty of bushels of fresh-eating apples that go directly to the stand.
At first glance picking apples would appear to be hard work. It is and it isn’t. I tune out the fact that I’ve got a bag of apples that weighs about 20 pounds hanging from my neck. Once I get past that I’m free to ruminate and meditate. There are things to think about. Like: what the fuck am I gonna do for the next forty years?
As the season for apple-picking winds down I’ll be spending my mornings in picking/walking meditation.
I’m open to insight. Please pray for me that she shows up. Soon.
I’ve transitioned from organic farmer to seasonal laborer. That’s right. Now I pick apples for a living. And it’s about time I earned a living.
But it sucks that picking fungicide-drenched apples pays way better than growing/selling organic vegetables did. This is not to say that apple picking pays all that great, but shit it pays.
To be fair, the orchard I work at has been in business for a very long time (there are trees that have been in this orchard for more than 250 years) and I’ve got one season as an organic farmer behind me.
Which reminds me… didn’t people used to grow fruits and vegetables WITHOUT applying poison – insecticide, fungicide?
Why? Why? Why? Must the petrochemical-paradigm persist?
I’ve been reading “One Straw Revolution” by Manobu Fukuoka. And what I’ve concluded (actually I’d already concluded this….I’ve confirmed what I’d concluded) is that people are willing to live in a state of willful ignorance. For real.
I wonder if modern life in America just makes it easy for people to live in a more unconscious way. If our ancestors had been as unconscious as we are, would we even be here? My ancestors boarded boats in Europe, sailed to the United States and once they got here, most of them worked. Hard. They persisted.
Where has persistence gone? Is it sitting in a Laz-Boy chair, with a cup of conventionally produced 1% milk and a few low-fat cookies, channel surfing after a day of: 8 hours at the office, an hour at the gym, an hour commute home, then an overly processed dinner, followed with a Zantac. Will persistence pop an anti-anxiety (or anti-depressant) pill and before going to bed pop a Tylenol PM?
Look, I am not in favor of suffering. I don’t advocate hard work for the sake of hard work. I don’t advocate that we go back in time. (Lord knows I like having the right to vote. I like living in a “free” society where I can be openly gay.) I’m perplexed at how out of balance things are. Can’t we keep our civil rights and eat correctly?
I don’t understand what will inspire people to head back to the kitchen? Is there a correlation between obesity and the number of food shows on the food network? Weren’t people thinner before there was food-television? Do people cook more after watching Emeril Live?
I wish Gordon Ramsay would go to people’s houses and berate the hell out of them until they could cook a great soufflé or the perfect steak. That would be productive. I’ve always kind of wanted him to yell at me for a while. I figure if I got good enough, he’d stop shouting then I’d be a great cook and I could enjoy my cooking/eating in relative quiet.
What would be really cool is if Gordon Ramsay did a cooking show where he got kids to cook. Imagine Gordon Ramsay as a Home Ec teacher? He’d have his patience tested, the kids would act like a bunch of twits and in the end, he’d create the next generation of people who could actually cook, one class at a time.
The fact that he creates thriving businesses is great – he makes consumers. But what about showing that he really cares about the way people eat by turning regular people into really great cooks? That would be cool.
Lately I keep having cartoon-like images pop into my head.
Scenario1. Patient complains of chest pains. The heart surgeon cuts open patient’s chest and where there should be a heart, there’s a change purse.
Scenario 2. Patient complains of blinding headaches. The brain surgeon opens patient’s the skull and where there should be a brain, there’s wallet.
I’m so over people doing things just to make money.
How phenomenally boring.
But I want to talk about apple picking for a moment. For the time being I like picking apples because it’s just about the most honest work I’ve ever done. I’m paid by the bushel. This means that if I don’t pick, I don’t get paid. That means that if I’m getting up at 5:45 in the morning so I can make it to the orchard by 7:30, then you’re going to find me picking apples.
I’ve noticed that not a lot of women pick apples. And thus far I haven’t encountered any other trans-folks picking either.
I don’t think I’d be able to pick at the rate I do if I hadn’t farmed for seven months. And there’s something about desire in all of this. I want to stay in an agricultural or food-related business. As corny as it might sound, I like knowing where the apples are headed. Cider apples pay the least per bushel but someone’s going to be drinking cider from the apples I picked. Peeling apples pay a little better and then I know someone might make an apple pie using these apples I picked. On days when the weather’s nice, the stand at the orchard is alive with activity and I’ve picked plenty of bushels of fresh-eating apples that go directly to the stand.
At first glance picking apples would appear to be hard work. It is and it isn’t. I tune out the fact that I’ve got a bag of apples that weighs about 20 pounds hanging from my neck. Once I get past that I’m free to ruminate and meditate. There are things to think about. Like: what the fuck am I gonna do for the next forty years?
As the season for apple-picking winds down I’ll be spending my mornings in picking/walking meditation.
I’m open to insight. Please pray for me that she shows up. Soon.
New Day. New Blog.
Greetings and welcome to my new blog. I may have set the bar a bit high on this one but what I'd like to do with this blog is write even closer to the bone. It's true. I'd like more truth in my blogging.
I've spent the past seven months growing vegetables in Massashusetts. That might not seem like much but when you consider that I spent the nineteen years prior to that living in New York City, you can begin to see how living an agricultural life after living a hyper-urban life, might have "done something to me."
In this blog I am going to explore what was done to me. I'm not all that keen on dwelling on the past but in the interest of putting things in perspective I figure one has to look back on occasion.
I'm in search of the words that will describe who I was and who it is I've become.
May the Good Lord help me in my quest.
I've spent the past seven months growing vegetables in Massashusetts. That might not seem like much but when you consider that I spent the nineteen years prior to that living in New York City, you can begin to see how living an agricultural life after living a hyper-urban life, might have "done something to me."
In this blog I am going to explore what was done to me. I'm not all that keen on dwelling on the past but in the interest of putting things in perspective I figure one has to look back on occasion.
I'm in search of the words that will describe who I was and who it is I've become.
May the Good Lord help me in my quest.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
