evolve.

“We must learn to reawaken, and keep awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn, which does not forsake us even in our soundest sleep. I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of a man to elevate his life by a conscious endeavor. It is something to be able to paint a particular picture, or to carve a statue, or so to make a few objects beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look, which morally we can do. To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts.”  – Henry David Thoreau

Do you think about this? How you can affect the day? How you affect days, one each at a time, that they accumulate to be this wonderful lifetime of influence, of interest, of modification, of evolution. And, because we know that we have this life, that we get to take it and mold it with all of the unknown circumstances, with all the jubilant elation, with all the piercingly humbling moments, with all of the ambiguity, and still, we have every power to make it exactly as we imagine. If we hold tight to the presence of gratitude and its overwhelming ability to find a reason to appreciate and grow from all that comes to each one of us, we are truly allowed to evolve. Truly empowered to affect each day. To welcoming each day to affect us.

It is cold. It has been icy. It continues to snow. But each day, the next season comes one day closer to being within our reach, our grasp, out sight, our breath. The sun is gaining more color. The long shadows twist and bend, caressing the long, smooth curves of the landscape, themselves subtly exaggerated in the snow’s memory of the wind. It has been so gratifying to be paying so much attention that even a few minutes added to the sun’s presence is noticed. And I find that I have gravitated to so many who are so present and observant of the incremental changes as seasons acquiesce. What a big and full breath to fill my enchanted journey, all of these people who have come to me in my 31 years and six months; what a grand parade that has been presented as my interests and expeditions have me venturing the realm of spectrum. So grateful, so grateful for all of my evolutions, for all these influential and guiding people, places and moment.

A winter solstice hike at Lime Creek Nature Center just north of Mason City. Mary, Paul, Tom, Lisa and myself. A group of folks who believe in sustainability, speaking up about things that matter, living very presently with an awareness of others. It’s a good group. I’m glad to have had the opportunity to find so many who like the seasonality of this latitude, that share a desire to soak it up, that show me there are many ways to do so. So, amongst us some make sure we don’t walk on the cross country skiers’ trail, some who hypnotically throw sticks for the dog, some who make guest appearances on the CBS evening news, some who allow change to flow through gently, all of us taking turns inspiring one another to wake up and affect the day. This is what we all need. The love and support of others that keeps us thinking in new ways, acting on our intuitions, seeing with unspoiled eyes. We all have a lot to share. Don’t forget to just stop and listen. Hear the stories.  Soak it in.

And, so, too, will Ame de la Terre. Take time. Continue to evolve, like the rest of us. Today is Dad’s birthday. It leads to a lot of forward thought and backwards reflection, and there is a way that they intermingle in a nebulous sort of way seemingly right in front of me. It’s hard to see through such a space without much for clear definition or guidance. So where do we go from here? Well, of course I continue to grow a garden for my own sustenance. That’s a given. And I promise not to try to reinvent the wheel again this year. I will keep it fairly simple, manageable, bite sized. The new challenges and nuances of farm planning on a piece of land known for its eccentricities; there’s a seemingly pretty high bar. So, 13 acres of native tall grass prairie – five acres of that will need to tolerate wet feet. Eight acres of teff, something we have never tried growing before. Eight acres going into semi-permanent mixed hay – grasses, legumes unknown. Eight acres of whatever my brother deems the most productive bird habitat once we can actually get down into the soft, swamp bottom peat ground… at this rate maybe the middle of July.

Record number of snow cover days this winter… a couple of months yet to go. It also means, then, a record number of days that the ground has been insulated, protected from the brazen east wind, from the striking cold, the sharp geometry of winter shadows. I’m curious to see how she emerges. Each day one day closer. Not to miss appreciating any one of these days I am reminded more today than most; cold and white and long as it may be, each will be here just once, each will give us but a fleeting moment to indulge, to embrace, to revel in all that comes to us, to all that encourages us and pushes us. We each move forward, one step at a time, one brilliant and beautiful moment falling wavelike into the next. To this year, to this decade, to this life.

“… Human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but…life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.”  – Gabriel García Márquez

a long pause

“You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.” — Mary Oliver

It’s been two months; that seems like a long pause to me. Even though those two months seem to have come and gone through me like a deep breath. Each day has been long and patient and full in the living of my moments, and in looking back they have so sweetly melded into such a beautiful medley, like how lasagna gets better with time. All full of emotion, exuberance on the spread of the spectrum. Three nice days in October. One of them was the 17th and we pressed apple cider.

Charles McLaughlin, my lifetime neighbor just a quarter mile north of my Dad’s place was an absolutely wonderful host. He is 91. An agrarian his entire life, an avid conservationist and visionary – helped author the CRP program, was a founding board member of the Iowa Natural Heritage Foundation, has walls full of plaques and awards and a life full of admirers and love - and a great many more who have never met the man, but yet hold him in the highest of regards and respect. And me, I have the dumb luck to have been raised as his neighbor. As a child we were allowed in the milking parlor on our best behavior, and we drank fresh Jersey milk out of red plastic mugs, and twenty years ago we pressed cider and it was a special event to feed the apple mush to the younger cows and Daisy and Folly, the horses.

So many wonderful people shared in that day – even some not physically present, but we carried them in spirit. Seth, Tim, Mom, Mary, Lisa, Lydia, Gabe, Sammy, Jana, Rachel, Tom, Andy, their dog Nelly, Paul, Daryl, Claude and Shelly. My close friend, Sarah, we held there – we used the paring knife she sent me for my birthday. I used a beautiful bowl that Tiffany had made to hold cinnamon and sugar for dipping apples. I wore the earings that Christen gave me for my birthday. We used the rooster plates from Dad’s. Chuck didn’t come out to press cider, but studied for his upcoming INHF board meeting, so we all took turns to visit and share our gratitude with him.

Tim and Sam recharge with hot chocolate – they were ace hopper tenders. Gabe presses. Seth took the charge of making sure all life, limbs and extremities were preserved and in tact. Andy filled jugs. Chuck, legally blind, but fervently in tune, watched Nelly fetch. Claude and Gabe climbed apple trees. Mom and Shelly caught apples. Tom and Paul brought apples with them to share. The trees we pulled apples from on Chuck’s farm have been there longer than my memory allows – they were only numbers at the time they were planted – experimental varieties from the University of Minnesota. I was again reminded of how good it is to be the “kid” even at 31, but always in Chuck’s eyes, as no one else has ever been allowed to PICK apples off the tree – it has always been off the ground, because that’s how you know their ripe… and I had forgotten this, and somehow in small towns word gets round, and counterparts to your parents pass this word on that they might be a bit (good naturedly) envious to your parents, and you get that word and fill up. With good. With pride. With love. There was so much wonderful on that day. I got to Dad’s to dump my truckload of apple mush on the compost pile and to share some of the very freshest cider with Dad, and he immediately asks me, as was his tendency for the statistics, how much? I have no real idea, as I’m not much of a numbers gal for a finance major, and I said enough for everyone, which was all I needed to know.

October was full. November started out that way. Dad’s health was failing. The garden was neglected. Potatoes. There are still potatoes frozen hard into the ground – in-garden-compost – I should find the Latin for that and coin it, use it in speeches of managed practice. I troubled to bring in sugar pumpkins and some spaghetti squash and a Garden Way cart full of potatoes – Blues, Yellow Finns, La Ratte fingerlings. Tom came to visit and brought bulbs. We planted them along the south side of the house. They will be beautiful in the coming year.

Dad passed away on the 7th of November. I couldn’t have chosen more fittingly a father who I will carry with me always. I know Seth feels the same. We are so blessed to have had so many wonderful years with a man who knew about filling his. We carry on his projects and his love of the land, his sense of good stewardship, his connection and bond with his community. His presence missed by us, but by the whole – so many kind words of condolence from friends of his, of ours, from family, but we all know we will all miss. We are all the better for having shared in this journey with him.

Yet another project inspired a bit by Dad. He planted a pumpkin patch this year – six hills – it yielded 70 pumpkins – good fertile soil in that composted cattle lot. We went out last Sunday and hacked open half of those frozen pumpkins and with equally frozen hands dug out the innards to take into the house to sort and thaw. Tuesday, before the big blizzard came to fruition I was out there with my ax and hand trowel cleaning up the rest of what was salvageable. I roasted pumpkin seeds for two straight days! Vinegar and sea salt. Cinnamon and cayenne pepper. Soy sauce and ginger. Coconut and curry. Dark chocolate and chili. Bloody mary seeds with fresh horseradish. Plus, some seeds are being saved and dried for next year’s pumpkin patch. I love this idea of saving Dad’s seeds and planting a patch in his memory and each year harvesting and saving seeds to repeat the process.

I want to say thank you to everyone. To everyone who has supported or doubted or participated or rolled their eyes, because really, the only reason you do any of these is because you care. I am constantly surround by, bathed in and overflowing from all of the love you give. My patience, my strength, my humbled moments come from this wealth of companionship, care, community. I am, for lack of a word that more fully encompasses the enormity, blessed. Endlessly. Ame de la Terre will continue postings as the garden venture evolves. I am moving to the Twin Cities in January to pursue my certification in massage therapy. I will be living with a friend who has a back yard, a small garden and a need for plants… hmmm… I’m ordering my sweet potatoes now.

“The father wants the girl to be a weather girl on television, or to marry and have babies. She doesn’t want to be a TV weather girl. Nor does she want to marry and have babies. Not yet. Maybe later, but there are so many other things she must do in her lifetime first. Travel. Learn how to dance the tango. Publish a book. Live in other cities. Win a National Endowment for the Arts award. See the Northern Lights. Jump out of a cake.” — Sandra Cisneros (The House on Mango Street) (my regards to Aurora, CO, to living off Colfax, to Mr. Hofsess on this one).

the balancing act

“One final paragraph of advice: do not burn yourselves out. Be as I am – a reluctant enthusiast….a part-time crusader, a half-hearted fanatic. Save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure. It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it’s still here. So get out there and hunt and fish and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, climb the mountains, bag the peaks, run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, the lovely, mysterious, and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves, keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to the body, the body active and alive, and I promise you this much; I promise you this one sweet victory over our enemies, over those desk-bound men and women with their hearts in a safe deposit box, and their eyes hypnotized by desk calculators. I promise you this; You will outlive the bastards.” — Edward Abbey

Autumn. She’s here in full force – the cold rain a stark reminder of progress according to seasons at this latitude. It has been a long time since I have posted. So many things have manifested since my last opportunity. A lot of kayaking. That was my saving grace, the integration of balance – a little after the fact as “burnout” left its lingering mark – but, nonetheless a learning experience – after all, I remember a quote along the lines of “we only learn our limits by going beyond them”.

This is my best friend, Stephanie. On a still and beautiful morning at Crystal Lake when we were in “training”. She spent a number of years as a naturalist professionally, also, so we compliment each other well in our curious  and curiousity of nature, and can usually identify for one another the flora and fauna of the little ecosystem. I say in training because since the last time I wrote I turned 31 and I participated in my first triathlon/adventure race. Really, during the race I was realizing I had been terribly negligent in actually training – more for the running and bicycling portion – the kayaking was the relaxing and enjoyable part, as usual. About 27 miles in total. Stephanie, her sister Laura, and myself. We stayed together and finished together – it was a great way to spend a morning – completely outside… even if 15 miles of bike riding on Iowa blacktops surrounded by corn and beans gets a little monotonous.We had our last Saturday market together the week before my birthday-  there is our good friend, Carol, perusing the offering: winter squash, Red Russian kale, lemon cucumbers, Ukranian Beauty eggplant, heirloom tomatoes. There is a lot of good energy around this Saturday market, and a lot of people working very hard at helping it evolve into an event – with more traffic, more vendors, more entertainment and engagement. We are moving in the right direction. We just really need to get a buzz about it – keep spreading the word – write to the editor, attend community events – such as the Taste of Iowa that was held at the fairgrounds last week. Stay in the loop. Stay active. Bring your friends. There is ALWAYS delicious food (of course there aren’t any of us that are involved that are not below stooping to using the stomach, tastebuds and conscience to lure interest!). I was graciously invited to attend the fall meeting of the Regional Food Systems Working Group help at the Iowa Arboretum this past week (if you have not visited the arboretum south of Ames, it’s a must-do for the priority list!). It was so fantastic for me to be there listening and absorbing all that is happening in the state of Iowa for the local food movement. There is a lot of excitement and enthusiasm for the Food to School Program. In our area we are arriving to the necessity of a dedicated local foods coordinator. There is so much to be done. The momentum is here.

Speaking of local foods – the tomatoes are here in full force. I have been a slave to the kitchen many mornings – creating sauces (sometimes with roasted vegetables like Thelma Sanders Sweet Potato Squash, eggplant, carrots, onions and zucchini) and salsa, like the one pictured above, affectionately referred to as rainbow salsa. Red, yellow, orange and green tomatoes make a lovely combination in flavor and aspect. This batch I tried to make particularly spicy with jalapeno and Habanero peppers.And today I finally potted my ginger. I read an article stating at how easy it was to get ginger to root from a store bought rhizome, and I have to contend it is easy… if one has good, fresh stock. This was my third attempt. I bought this ginger at the co-op in Ames. It has been sitting in a jar in the bathtub upstairs for a good 4-6 weeks patiently waiting for me to come across an appropriate container, and the to actually alot time to tend it. Finally. I did. Maybe in a year I will be harvesting my very own fresh ginger! A key ingredient in that ever popular strawberry jalapeno jam.

“How to Overthrow the System: brew your own beer; kick in your Tee Vee; kill your own beef; build your own cabin and piss off the front porch whenever you bloody well feel like it.” — Edward Abbey

farm to market

“Afoot and lighthearted I take to the open road, healthy, free, the world before me.” — Walt Whitman

 

“Farm to Market” reminds me of a road in Skagit County – people would come and dine on fresh kumomoto oysters from down the hill at the Taylor Shellfish Farm, and on the wonderful halibut beautifully presented and mingling with the flavors of plum chutney and honey balsamic to a lovely tree crowded view of the creek below the restaurant on their way to a beautiful day of touring the tulip fields near LaConner, and since they had likely stumbled upon us via the scenic route (Chuckanut Drive being the proverbial representation as car commercials are filmed there) would want to know how to get to where they were going – Chuckanut Drive through the foothills of the Cascades that reach to the salty water, and down to Edison (where they have the best pie) and then you hang a left on Farm to Market Road, which tours you through the prolific agrarian landscape of the Skagit Valley.

 

It is also what came to mind last Saturday morning as I was traveling eastbound into the sunrise on my wat to market, admiring the big blue stem (which, incidentally is high in protein and makes a good forage for horses and livestock) as the heavy air was gradually easing back.

 

It really is such a fine way to start the day. The truck was laboring forth with preserves, Shane’s little wooden barn, freshly baked crackers, lemon cucumbers (yes! I actually took a little produce!), and enthusiasm for the day… with the addition of the randomly acquired roadside bouquet that has taken to adorning the table, and seems to make the coffee taste better and the day more light.

 

The wheels have been turning in my mind – the markets on Saturday are easily the most enjoyable for me, as people get to casually peruse and enjoy the social environment fostered by the venue.  The frustration lies in the flow – or the lack there of. I have a vision for creating a buzz, for generating interest, for instilling my excitement. Since it’s just a vision it’s best left to the brainstorming, but, if learning more about the local markets of North Iowa is in your spectrum of interest, please continue to check back – good things are to come, with the efforts and endeavors of a group of very committed people!

 

To the farm and garden! So, I have been harvesting a multitude of tomatoes daily now – it’s wonderfully exciting as I finally have enough so as some make it out of the garden – before it was of no use to think they could make it further than my hand, which directed them to my mouth. All in the name of quality control! I have also been harvesting my shell beans, and then got to thinking, I wonder what the proper technique is for harvesting and drying shell beans? Well, I did my after-the-fact research (although there are a few left on the vines), and discovered that one should wait until after the first frost to harvest the pods, as the beans will then be dry. Hmm. Good to know. The beans are beautiful, though – Calypso, Tigers Eye, Jacob’s Cattle, and Rattlesnake. Black, white, gold and crimson, purple and maroon – stunning!

 

Progress continues to be the status quo on the farm, also, which elates me to no end. We picked up seed for rye, winter peas and vetch for winter cover over ten acres at the seed house about 3 weeks ago now… and it’s all planted! Really, it’s true, and I know there might be a few doubters out there given the pace at which things often progress, but we really did it!

 

 

We have been really fortunate to have my brother’s help lately – here he and Dad are loading the drill for the September planting. He has also been hauling loads of bales away from the canary grass hay field that will eventually be transforming into a quintet of prairie potholes. I look longingly across the dredge ditch when I can take my eyes of monitoring the cantankerous nature of the 4-bottom plow at that field with notions of turning it next. I will have to hope for a mild fall, or bundle up, however… but it’s all a matter of perspective since, after all, at one point I plowed ten acres on that side of the farm with the Massey-Ferguson and a 2-bottom plow in November.

 

Only two weeks remain to visit Tiffany, myself and the other fabulous vendors at the Downtown Mason City Market (8-11am) - hope to see you there!

 

“he saw that all the struggles of life were incessant, laborious, painful, that nothing was done quickly, without labor, that it had to undergo a thousand fondlings, revisings, moldings, addings, removings, graftings, tearings, correctings, smoothings, rebuildings, reconsiderings, nailings, tackings, chippings, hammerings, hoistings, connectings — all the poor fumbling uncertain incompletions of human endeavor. They went on forever and were forever incomplete, far from perfect, refined, or smooth, full of terrible memories of failure and fears of failure, yet, in the way of things, somehow noble, complete, and shining in the end.” — Jack Kerouac

for a time

“Nothing was ever in tune. People just blindly grabbed at whatever there was: communism, health foods, zen, surfing, ballet, hypnotism, group encounters, orgies, biking, herbs, Catholicism, weight-lifting, travel, withdrawal, vegetarianism, India, painting, writing, sculpting, composing, conducting, backpacking, yoga, copulating, gambling, drinking, hanging around, frozen yogurt, Beethoven, Back, Buddha, Christ, TM, H, carrot juice, suicide, handmade suits, jet travel, New York City, and then it all evaporated and fell apart. People had to find things to do while waiting to die. I guess it was nice to have a choice.”
— Charles Bukowski (Women)

I can hardly believe how much I had forgotten that I am most thoroughly riveted with the wit, wisdom and sarcasm embraced by Mr. Bukowski. How true it is that we find distraction, and if so fortunate, an embedded passion that drives us, and carries on in spite of us. My friend, Lisa, recently reiterated a statement and philosophy fulfilled and thriving in the life of a good friend of hers: “if your life’s work can be completed in your lifetime, you’re not thinking big enough.”  Beautiful. True. Impellent.

This past week was not full of marketing ambition, but of sharing the bounty of garden and local foraging with a diverse crowd – which to me is far more rewarding – if I could give everything in my garden away to those who know the effort and toil required, the wealth of heart and soul that is poured into the land and the raising of plants from seed, who understand the full empowerment of knowing how cared for the land is and in turn how wonderful and reciprocating the plants are in appreciation with the explosive flavor of the fruit – that is satisfaction, that is remuneration.

Out the kitchen window it appeared that sweet corn shucking was a bonding experience for the circle of folks involved. Activity was abound in the house for the duration of both Thursday and Friday. Thursday was filled with flour flinging and apples – Phyllis, Tiffany and I in team effort created a dozen beautiful apple pies that had the rustic beauty of giant galettes – I will never waste time trying to make a magazine worthy pie crust again, as these had so much more character, so much flare. I also learned the importance of chilling the pie crust before trying to roll it out, and that if you add a little vodka to the crust mix, say a tablespoon, it will encourage it to brown beautifully. We also boiled pots upon pots of potatoes – blue, red, yellow – on a questionable-at-best new gas stove… Phyllis was not a happy camper – so much so that she allowed them to come at 3:45p on Friday to replace it! In the midst of the cooking extravaganza with guests filtering in… unbelievable in phenomenal transitional cheffing  and hilarity.

Thursday evening was epic in scope, and soul gratifying in affirmation. That evening I ventured out to the prairie with Paul, Sofia, Dick, Craig and Graham. Paul was giving a descriptive tour to Craig and Graham (both currently of NYC) who are filming for a documentary they are producing about meat in America – Sofia, Paul and Phyllis’ grand-daughter, stole the show with her broadknowledge of monarchs and how to identify their gender. I learned, also, that the monarchs have a favorite forbe on the prairie and that is the Meadow Blazing Star – of no relation whatsoever, I also learned that Patagonia, AZ is the hummingbird capital of the world, with 41 species embarking upon the locale. The evening was appropriately interrupted twice with intermissions in the meal and clean up for proper sunset appreciation – indeed it was spectacular, and as antiquated became more entrancing - we should all be so lucky!

Friday morning arrived, and the harvest was on – squash blossoms, sweet corn, heirloom tomatoes, pattipan squash, lemon cucumbers and edible flowers were among the measure. Phyllis eased us into the morning with a proper cup of coffee and fashion sense to be adorned by all – including Paul and Sarah. The day was full of cutting, chopping, baking and frying; camera crews, random conversation, laughter and winks. I mixed a large pot of colorful and addicting potato salad by getting into it bare handed up to my elbows – I convinced that’s why it tasted so good! Jobs were delegated throughout the day – Daryl chopped cucumbers, the guys (Craig and Graham) got in on tomato chopping, as did Annie (in the squash blossom cooking photo) who kept us rolling with laughter – Annie and Tiffany were also responsible for the incredibly popular creations of fried squash blossoms – complimented as appetizers by the grilled Santa Fe peppers (fresh from Tiffany’s garden five miles as the crow flies) stuffed with cream cheese, sweet onions, olive oil, salt and pepper – grilled by me… who had no idea of what I was doing other than to just make them look good – lucky for me I have an eye for good looking food! Presentation plus as a former customer reiterated. So much fun for us all, and the weather could not have been more cooperative.

Not to be glossed over was the fact that we had wonderful company for the evening’s celebration of  Niman Ranch pig custodians/farmers, folks who value painstakingly the sustainability and humane causes and chefs who inspire and humble through the taste buds. Steve from Chipotle, Theo (raiser of pigeons) from Whole Foods, a star studded line-up for culinary folk including Rick Moonen, Andrew Hunter, Kent Rathbun, Harold Moore, Brian Wubbena – and so many others who I have grown to have such an affinity for over the course of this season. Thank you to the wonderful hosts, the Willis’, and the companionship and camaraderie of those I was fortunate enough to share space and energy with. A truly magnificent experience, and all rooted in the garden.

“the free soul is rare, but you know it when you see it – basically because you feel good, very good, when you are near or with them.”
— Charles Bukowski (Tales of Ordinary Madness)

persist

“You can best serve civilization by being against what usually passes for it.”  — Wendell Berry

Hmmm, yes, I do believe it is that time of the year most could easily be convinced that it’s just as easy to throw up ones arms in disgust, just walk on, simply toss in the towel and be content in the effort that has been put forth… alas, myself and those I feel closest akin to do not function this way – perhaps at times feeling a bit beleaguered and abused, sleep deprived and short of patience, but never without the passion to carry on in spite of what pressures may weigh. I am sure this is where that helpful notion of balance will eventually prevail… although I am quite convinced in the achievement of such an ideal being a lifelong quest and process.

With this in mind, I have been trying to live each day simply and in the profound acceptance that these moments are what catapult us from life to living, from functioning to thriving – with all the ups and downs and chaotic and unexpected twists, turns and dives that make this beautiful ride so engaging. Easing into the day with a peaceful and energetic paddle around Crystal Lake with my best friend by my side seems to be the perfect way in which to invite a sustainable tranquility to my pace of the day. We enjoyed the company of many green herons and kingfishers, as well as the disturbing thrashing of breaching minnows, many we found belly up in the melange of pond scum and lake weeds. There was also a large snapping turtle, dead, floating about that we had to investigate (as good scientists do!) and prod with our paddles. This disturbs me, as I think we both felt that these were indications of an ecosystem not in full health, and the concern about a lack of oxygenation of the water prevailed.

Following the indulgence of water was the indulgence of prairie. I decided to harvest prairie sage and red clover blossoms. I think I did a good job of pissing off the pollinators, as I chose only the prettiest and sweetest pink blooms of this waning summer season. Ethnobotany lesson for the blog entry today :

The flowering heads of red clover improve urine production, circulation of the blood and secretion of bile. They also act as detergent, sedative and tonic. Red clover has the ability to loosen phlegm and calm bronchial spasms. The fluid extract of red clover is used as an antispasmodic and alterative. Red clover is used in the treatment of skin complaints (especially eczema and psoriasis), cancers of the breast, ovaries and lymphatic system, chronic degenerative diseases, gout, whooping cough and dry coughs. Red clover is one of the richest sources of isoflavones. Isoflavones are effective in treating several conditions such as hot flashes, cardiovascular health and osteoporosis. Red clover also contains minerals such as calcium, magnesium, chromium, potassium, and vitamins such as niacin, thiamine and vitamin C. Red clover ointments are used to treat skin problems such as psoriasis and eczema.

Even though I could easily waste hours upon days in my favorite place, I decided it would be in my best interest to make my way to the farm early afternoon. Lawn mowing and hay cutting were the afternoon’s agenda. Then, with dusk quickly approaching, it was time to play in the garden! These are the fabulous Chinese Red Noodle Beans that grow up to 24″ long and are absolutely phenomenal to both look at and eat in a little stir fry. They are liking the trellis, although I think in retrospect it could be taller, and they are especially happy that I pulled away the grasses and pigweed that were hogging up all the sunlight.

The pollinators continue to deafen the wandering ear as they flit between the sunflowers and bean blossoms. They are fascinating to behold from the cover of crouching in the tall grasses and “weeds” – their delicate looking bodies taking up such feverish motion. The birds are on the move as well. Snowy egrets and Canadian geese have been filling the sky and the silence. Dad says to be on the lookout for Blue Wing Teal, as they usually start making their way through the last week in August.

The harvest is getting more gratifying and delectable. I’m luck to have any tomatoes on my flat, as an equal amount, or perhaps more realistic ratio of 2 for me, 1 for the box, find their way over my tastebuds and into my belly. Complementing the reds and browns and yellows of my nightshades are the shell beans, noodle beans, lemon cucumbers and Thelma Sanders Sweet Potato Squash that I am entirely excited to delight in… one of these nights that I’m not working until 10 or 11, however, seem more akin to savoring the sweet summer flavor.

“If the world were merely seductive, that would be easy. If it were merely challenging, that would be no problem. But I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.” — E.B. White

This love of place.

“Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.” – Rainer Maria Rilke

How all encompassing this quote embraces the multitudinous fashion of life – the growth in the graden, the growth of the soul, the endless sea of innocent facination with the world.  Reckless, these days, would be a wonderful and à propos description of the chaotic and wild nature of my garden. Biodiversity reigns, chaos ensues, and in the midst a beautiful and basic synergy intertwines. Regal and breath taking sunsets have in simple measure inspired something to look forward to and to be hoped for each day anew, reminding me with diligence the importance of taking time to appreciate the moment, to absorb the beauty. They are especially wonderful after long, cool, bug-free afternoons and evenings in the garden. I have learned a great deal in this vast experiment – some of the variables by choice, some by deferring to higher priorities… a few of which kept me from tending to my flock for three weeks. This past week I have gained valuable insight about who thrives on weed pressure, and who withers in recalcitrance at the competition. The tomatoes are beautiful… branches heavy and sprawling with fruits – I have had the wonderful fortune of plucking Nyagous (brown) and Royal Hillbilies (pink) – also a handful of cherry romas, snowberries almost ripe and pear tomatoes (my all time, melt me in my tracks, favorite… my neighbor, Chuck McLaughlin, would leave handfuls of these tomatoes on my tricycle seat when the family would take airplane excursions – a most delightful recollection!), but these small tomato varieties don’t stand a chance at making it out of the garden, as they go directly into my mouth for my tastebuds to enthrall in.  The huckleberries paid no mind to the weesd either, but I thought they were awful (they weren’t those delectable mountain types), so I ripped out all the plants I had pampered and turned them into green manure.

The onions, they had no time for this nonsense of competition – to hell with that, we are calling it a season… and in the process of my partial-green-manuring project (to some people this would seem like weeding, but in my opinion, it’s all just semantics) I mananged to locate most of them that my brother had not already absconded with, and they are waiting to be put into storage or to be transformed by an experimental recipe – much like the sweet Walla Wallas that complimented the green tomato chutney experiment of this evening. The potatoes seem to have their own interpretation of the weeds, as well, with the All Blues being the most sensitive, to the La Rattes in complete ignorance of the fact that most gardeners would keep these companions clear, thriving heartily in spite of the wild neighborhood.

These horseradish roots belong to plants that are in a patch nearly as old (ah-hem, young I mean!) as I. And, as long as I set up my operation outside with the breeze from the right direction, I can refrain from adorning my goggles from my chemistry lab class when I process it into spreadable goodness. It’s powerful stuff! Have also been doing a great deal of seed harvesting – cross pollinated Asian cabbages, hemp, dill, rat tailed radish, golden alexander, golden sweet peas just to name a few. There is an entire drying operation in full swing in my parents’ basement that also entails a variety of herbs and yarrow from the prairie. I think my mother and Shane might be a bit excited to have their space back soon, without the obstacle course of projects that seems to be inherent in my presence!

The markets have continued to challenge and entertain me. I am completely enjoying the opportunity to network with folks I never would have met otherwise, but I still find an undercurrent of frustration tugging at me from time to time. Today, however, I indulged in not stressing, not doing much other than enjoying my day and showing up at market – I sang and played my guitar, I worked on some jewelry, I slept in, I made a wonderful breakfast and a blueberry sage sauce. I smiled constantly and really enjoyed this magnificently September-like day.

I also entertained notions of just driving. It’s like that little gypsy bug just sidled up next to me with wanderlust in the pocket, whispering in my ear “just drive. preferable west. ” Ah, I think this is a rascal that I may perhaps never fully find my thumb on, and while even though I am absolutely enamored and fascinated with my intense love for this place – this place in which my sense of community, my roots, and my passions mingle tirelessly – I expect my hunger for change and travel and adventure will always tease me away from time to time. I have learned at this point, however, that the coming home part of the journey is at times the most gratifying and rewarding – poignantly captured in the words of Nelson Mandela, “There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered, ‘A Long Walk to Freedom’”

confessions of a compulsive composter

So, I was out of town all week the previous with my father to Zion, IL (between Milwaukee and Chicago) researching treatment options, and I couldn’t stop thinking about composting. I turned the ice bucket in my hotel room into a compost bucket because I couldn’t bring myself to throw away the banana peels from my free-with-room continental breakfast… and, yes, I dug my father’s out of his garbage to add. We ate at the dining facility and the thoughts continued to whir through my mind… just think about how little garbage actually has to be generated… if only they would compost the food scraps and napkins… I wonder how I could manage to carry mine around with me without grossing everyone out by the smell… and how could I avoid it squishing around and getting all over my things. And, of course this led to Dad and I having a brain storming session about the “composting purse” – I think we are on to something! Even if I’m the only one who ever uses it… the compulsion may be just too great… however, this could lead to habits such as going table to table asking for their food scraps… yikes! Hey, networking anyone?

Needless to say, it was an energy intensive week for both Dad and I, and filled with great information. I was in dire need of a little plant fix, though, and since the garden was a good 8 hours away for me I finagled my way into getting Dad to join me at the botanical garden. It was a bit of an overcast and sprinkly afternoon when we got there, so we strolled a bit near one of the ponds watching a child harass the ducks – trying to pet them while this child’s parents joyfully chided him on – and through the English wall garden and Japanese bonsai display before a bit of a deluge chased us inside to the greenhouses – there we wandered about the tropical jungle plants (took me right back to Belize!) and also through the arid dessert experience (ah, Baja!) – there was a succulent plant from Madagascar that had medallion shaped leaves and I was mentioning how easy I thought it would be to take one to propagate, even though I know that’s not kosher – and low and behold I looked down and there was one of those very leaves on the ground… I snatched it up and stuck it in my bag, and now it’s in some potting soil amongst my bedroom jungle! Thank you Chicago Botanical Garden!

This is an example of what the market display looks like – Tiffany’s candles on the left – beeswax, and they smell divine like honey – mulberries next to them, my jewelry on display and some baked delicious goodies – produce is on another table.

The garden is the epitome of chaos at this moment, which is why I’m not posting any photos of it’s current state… that would really be admitting my negligent lack of care! It has been nearly two weeks that I have let it all run wild… and you can tell! The mosquitoes have also contributed to my absence, as every time I attempt an appearance, they attempt to carry me off… I’m just going to break down and wear repellant tonight when I go out to harvest for tomorrow morning’s market. I believe this coming week I will tackle some of those weeds and liberate the tomatoes and beans – the 8 foot tall sunflowers seem to be holding their own – my friend, Megan, who’s contribution can be found on the celebrity farmer’s page, is the one responsible for planting those beautiful and thriving ardornments.

I can tell my energy is a bit chaotic and scattered as well, as I feel is depicted in the photos I’m sharing with this entry – while I like them, they are not typical of my style. Alas, carry on we do! This is a shot of one of my weekend roadside bouquets – I just can’t help myself but to stop, oh, about five times along the way to Mason City to hop out of my truck (which itself is a bit ordeal like since my parking brake is nonexistant and it’s a manual… turn of ipod, turn off truck, take keys out to avoid that awful buzzing, don’t forget scissors, traipse into the ditch and snip away… ignore gawking passers by…) It’s quickly becoming one of my favorite rituals, and they are delight on the table at market!

This week I managed to process a gallon and a pint of horseradish. Contrary to what some folks have tried to tell me, I have learned that if your horseradish patch is old/mature, you can harvest at all times of the year… mine/Dad’s qualifies… I believe 29 years it has been in existence. Also prepared another batch of strawberry jalapeno jam and harvested rhubarb for another marmalade later this weekend… I mean, is there ever enough time?! This morning’s baking experiments include vegan gluten free cookies made with sorghum, fresh ginger and ground pepper and of course, homemade crackers – this week’s version: hemp seed, flax seed, wheat. Hope to see some of you in Mason City this afternoon or tomorrow morning!

“As time went by, I realized that the particular place I’d chose was less important than the fact that I’d chosen a place and focused my life around it. Although the island has taken on great significance for me, it’s no more inherently beautiful or meaningful than any other place on earth. What makes a place special is the way it buries itself inside the heart, not whether it’s flat or rugged, rich or austere. wet or arid, gentle or harsh, warm or cold, wild or tame. Every place, like every person, is elevated by the love and respect shown toward it, and by the way in which its bounty is received.”
— Richard Nelson (The Island Within)

my summer love

“For in the end, we will conserve only what we love. We will love only what we understand. We will understand only what we are taught.”
— Baba Dioun

It is certainly the season for the admiration of aesthetic beauty – the prairies are in beautiful bloom, and reasserting my new found infatuation with spending time amongst their pleasant diversity.

On Iowa Public Radio this week there was a great program with Jim Peas devoted to the tall grass prairies of the midwest – did you know that Iowa is the only state in the nation that was once completely engulfed by the tall grasses of that ecosystem. And also, our great state was once flourishing with over 80% of our space delighting in the dancing colors – now we are reduced to less than one tenth of one percent of our natural landscape with all the little prairie segments patchworked about the land – we are indeed the most industrialized state in the nation when you think in terms of land developed for economic gain… interesting perspective even though everything is green – I always think of concrete being synonymous with industrialization. My summer love could easily become that of a lifetime, and I try to indulge multiple times a week in just resting in the tranquility of the grassland filled with bobolinks and blackbirds.

The elderflowers are beautifully fragrant, and as I wrestle my way through the overgrowth of the treeline in pursuit of ripe mulberries, the smell drifts to me and delights me to no end. I know that wine and jellies can be made from all flowers, so I added to my bounty yesterday afternoon with a handful of florets and an idea. The internet is such a plethora of information – there are beautiful concoctions including an elderflower-summer fruit-prosecco jelly that looks divine! So many great inspirations… and only seven days in a week!

I can never harvest mulberries inconspicuously. There is still some residual purple lingering on my digits and elbows today. The berries are explosive in sweetness and flavor, and I have such a hard time fathoming the fact that I have never indulged in this exquisite fruit – the deliciousness has inspired notions of a rhubarb-mulberry jam that will be concocted as some point this week yet. Divine!

The garden itself is looking green and happy. This photo is of the Oaxacan Green Dent corn that will make a beautiful green corn flour for my tamale making experiment. The colors and striations and varigations of the foliage continue to evolve and steal my breath and moments when I relax long enough to soak them in.

The flowers of the white onions playing gracious host to the pollinators the flit about the blooms. The colors in the garden are really coming on – we have white and yellow, purple and red, the pink of the smart weed, the multiple colors of the potato blossoms – ah, progress, even when slow, is so gratifying!

“At the end of the day, to sit in my garden is to finally awaken”
— Nature Conservancy

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Ruminative Insight

“Let go of what has passed.
Let go of what may come.
Let go of what is happening now.
Don’t try to figure anything out.
Don’t try to make anything happen.
Relax, right now, and rest.” – the long version of the translation of Tilopa’s “Six Words of Advice”

Lots of sporadic rain has led to me spending only minimal time in the garden. I must first point out that I have strayed in permanence from my no-till operation – the expanse of weeds was enough to bring me to the verge of emotions – pulling the starter on the roto-tiller was the most immediate way to mitigate the consumption of being overwhelmed… so I tilled for a couple hours, diligently making multiple passes over weeds reaching for my waist, and it was empowering and gratifying – I haven’t regretted it for a second!

Black raspberries are coming on nicely in this area – I went to Pilot Knob both horseback riding and the for a purposeful berry hunt with Tiffany, made a lucrative haul – now what to do with them? I’m thinking something along the lines of a black raspberry and ginger glaze… let the creativity run wild!

I had, last week, the good fortune of helping at my dear friend, Tiffany’s farm. We pulled giant ragweed and thistles and wild grape vines that were entangled in the apple trees. She has beautiful gardens, as is exemplified in my capturing of her giving the grand tour to Paul Willis on one of my trips to be artsy. We share a canopy at the Farmer’s Markets in Mason City on both Friday and Saturday, and have become completely enthusiastic and supportive of one another in our multiple endeavors and thought processes – it is just a blessing to have such beautiful people come into our lives, and I am so fortunate for having the opportunity to cultivate such a friendship.

Sunrise in my most treasured place in the world – the marsh directly north of my father’s farm. It inspires quiet contemplation and a tranquility that will just settle into your bones. Over the past couple of weeks I have been doing a lot of meditative introspection and have come to a couple of solid conclusions. First of all, that to fall back in love with the place you are from is a unique experience, and that there is freedom in the acceptance. And there is grounding in taking action to reitterate the notion… like finally getting my Iowa driver’s license – it was the last article I had been clinging to of my transient segment, and to finally allow that chapter to close and embrace the beginning of the next has been liberating. My other major acquisition in contemplation has been the absorbtion of understanding with the heart – that thinking too much is dangerous, analysis and worry are paralyzing and debilitating, that trying to understand the whys of how others work is only another illusion of control – that true balance comes from an open and trusting acceptance that we all have our reasons for doing and for being and in embracing others completely, one must have a blind faith in each other. I strive constantly for enlightenment, for the ability to love purely and honestly without contention, without control, and it seems that this is an ongoing cycle of progressions and regressions – with the elation of progress urging us on to a humble acceptance of the world around us and the regressions there to remind us of how far we have come.

And as the internal transitions ameliorate, so, too, do the tangible and physical. Another truck load of plants, most with character and stories to be treasured, have found a settling in the yard of my father’s place. One day, the lawn mower will be obsolete! More fabulous and thriving lillies dug from behind the restaurant of a good friend, and a “weed” with a gorgeous purple flower pulled from the tree pot of another friend’s employer… then there are the miscellaneous plants and flowers that come with clearance sales and my addiction to perennials of all kinds. It’s almost a challenge to be patient for the coming years in the anticipation of the jungle running wild.

So, today is another market day – it is off to Mason City for the afternoon. Did some baking – homemade crackers, this time with the omega 3 and 6 boost of hemp seeds, and then some gluten free sweet potato muffins with nutmeg icing for an experiment in the kitchen. Somehow managed in the maelstrom of the activity of the week to put up a batch of each strawberry jalepeno jam and sweet potato butter, AND to get my special order jewelry fabricated – still working on mastering the 25 hour day however. Thanks to all for the continued interest, inquisition and support of my purposeful undertakings – regaling in all my endeavors is enjoyed exponentially more when shared with those of curious intrigue – I am blessed to have such company on this journey.

“Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square hole. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules. And they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do.” — Apple Computer Inc.