Food For Love

Our table is set with the infinite efforts of a universe alive. Can we ever fully appreciate the food that sustains us? Dishes, plates and four sleepy people encircle sauteed apples with vanilla honey yoghurt and cornbread. It is a moment of transformation, every element awake in its reckoning.

May we reflect the wisdom of our food.

Precious honey has been taken from the hive, our bees work tireless in life and death humming to the flower's center. Veiled in white, I pledged my efforts to their keeping while the harvest thick and golden sweet poured from the comb between my gloved fingers. I promise not take an ounce more than they will eat, and their hive is in my care.

The yoghurt has cultured on my counter, slowly stiffening to a tart and creamy white. This milk has traveled in the hands of a farmer that I know, across our broad county, from a goat who offered herself in trade for her keeping. Whether this exchange is fair is a question I hope we all ponder for as long as we enjoy her efforts.

Corn has been harvested from the plot across the street. The earth there had baked with spotty lawn for a decade until I mulched and planted it with broken heart and wildly open mind. I taste the moment now and then, transformed to gritty sweetness. This corn came willingly in the stewardship of my family and community. I have lifted it from the stalk, dried and ground it for our bread. This meal is an offering from the earth in our care. Will our efforts to sustain her be equal to the gifts she has bestowed?

Apples grew willynilly wild upon the neighbor's tree. Trinidad and I brought crates early on a Saturday morning in August, dew still on the grass. I stretched tall on a ladder with the picker balanced precariously in hand filling box after box. Trinidad got bored, sat in the gutter eating downed fruit and wished to go home. An autumn afternoon saw every apple cut and frozen to stillness, poised for transformation.

With reverence do we complete the circle, only as we see it. With reverence do I share the stories hidden in the flesh, the skin, the germ and bran of all we eat.

This food is for love.

Am I Bored?

So. Tonight I decided to teach the dog to clean up. She was already running around with Lincoln Logs between her teeth anyway, and I thought in that miserlyteacherly way: I can shape that.

Thank goodness for dogs. Who else could I feed processed food to, command, and occassionally lay a guilt trip on (after, for example, she consumed an entire plate of pancakes)? I have to crack the halo on something.

I told her to "take it." She picked up the Lincoln Log and spit it out. "Good dog!" I said and gave her a kibble. We did this over and over so she learned to hold it in her mouth until I said "okay!" -- up to 3 seconds. Then I tried to chain the next step and get her to drop it in the bucket. I always like to think she's some kind of dog genius and I rush the steps. Why do I do that?

She learned to drop it whenever and wherever she wanted. But, like a child, she was very generous and gave me another try.

I retaught what I'd untaught, and now the dog is very full of kibble. I told her how smart she is. (Though what am I?) Even though she did mistake my finger for the 2 notched log once. Have you seen the size of a terrier's teeth? I'd remove the bandaid to show you, but my finger might fall off.

She pointed out that she would like more kibble by gnawing rather fiercely on the leftover logs. What kind of hobby is this, for a stay-at-home mom? What have I come to?

I think there's progress. She can hold it and chew it up and spit it out. Wait, what was the original behavior I was trying to shape?

Yeah, well. I'm not done. I'm much faster at cleaning up the Lincoln Logs now before she gets to them. Call me crazy, but still I aim to have a clean house ... and a fat dog.

Mothers Day and a Remodel

Happy Mothers Day to each of you who daily shepherds souls upon this plane!

Seda and I celebrated the day together as my sweetheart dove into a mysterious plot with the boys about Mother's day breakfast. They put up a feast: cinnamon bagels with peanut butter, salsa, chocolate sauce and apples. This delicacy is designed to be piled one upon the other and eaten. Seda ate two. I enjoyed one and found them to taste just as interestingly as they sound. The boys made us cards, too, and Sam continued wishing us a Happy Mother's Day until he fell into bed.

I took Seda up to the tree house and we did a 30 minute meditation together about mothering which was very sweet for us both. In the middle of it, one of our beehives decided to swarm. I guess it heard the importance of birthing and abundance in the air. We decided to forego our walk in the park for the adventure of donning bee gear and attempting a capture.

Just as we got the bees in a box, a neighbor came to tell us that another swarm had showed up three doors down. At that point, the boys forgot to stay inside as we'd told them to and Sam got stung. He was shocked and scared because he'd forgotten the bees would be feeling irritated. We treated it, then walked to the neighbors to see a lovely swarm balling on a tree limb, completely accessible.

We tried to locate another bee person who would like it, and just at that time, the bees we'd put into our box vacated, so we caught the new swarm ourselves. This whole procedure took a couple of hours, but we ended up with 10-15,00 gorgeous bees and a queen that we were able to gift to a friend who is just getting started.

It is a gift to us to give. This friend, David, is backing us in a very big plan we are now embarking on: a remodel! We have decided that the living room (futon) is no longer a decent bedroom for Seda, and she has designed a bedroom/office/laundry (w/composting toilet and sink) wing that will sit where the strawberry beds are now. David has tipped the scales in making this possible by offering many scavenged materials and his time and expertise in foundation work.

I can hardly believe we're going to do it. I'm terrified -- what if I don't have what it takes? The energy, the patience, the strength? If I don't, I guess it takes a lot longer to complete. Maybe they fire me as mother, lover, and project support. Not likely, now that I ponder it.

My hopes? I envision that this experience brings us all closer as a family. I see us learning how to better support each other physically, emotionally, and in our learning as we all push our comfort zone in every way. I see us sharing a meaningful adventure, and being aware and awake to it's value and repercussions. I see us all learning new skills (especially me and the boys) and becoming more physically fit. I see us giving and receiving in our community on new levels as we seek help in all phases. (Let me know if you'd like to be on the list!) I envision a beautiful new home that meets our growing needs as a family.

Wow. Celebrations and new challenges to embark upon. I am grateful for the rich tapestry of my life before me.

I am a lucky mom.

Musings On A People Struggling To Survive

I have a new theory to try out.

I decided last week that if 80% of my life was lived in the root rhythms our species has held for thousands of years then I would be living rather than surviving. Up to 20% is often variable due to the particularities of cultures, natural "disasters" or other unexpected upheaval. In these variables, our needs for predictability (among others) are not met. When our needs for predictability are not met, our needs for trust are not met. Ultimately, I define the need for trust loosely as the belief that I will maintain the ability to stay fully present regardless of my circumstances. When I lose my footing in this foundational need, I am likely to move into the realm of scarcity and fear.

A certain proportion of our lives cycling through the predictable feeds us sustainably even as the occasional disturbance of the earth at our roots brings needed bursts of fertility and growth. I liken this directly to my garden. When I dig, the oxygen and loosening of the soil for new roots offers a fresh supply of energy to seedlings. When I employ this strategy over and over, the herds of microorganisms which hold the soil together nutritionally become exhausted as they replenish and reorganize themselves over and over. Soil constantly worked loses fertility over the long haul.

In this way, I have watched the nouveau strike our culture at alarming rates. We travel faster and farther from our places of origin and our current homes. Our apparent ease in this is taken at great cost to our planet. If you would like a realpolitik example, try pushing your automobile around the block. How much energy does it take? Imagine a hundred horses (or more!) stomping and sweating to lug you in your finery to the store. As I drive my car once every week or so, I ponder it. Ouch.

We absorb change in other ways, too. Our food is processed beyond recognition. Our time is spent behind screens, keeping up in various ways with the sensibilities of our culture. We feel overwhelmed with how much there is to learn, to know. Most of us do not live in community or extended families anymore.

Some rhythmic variables (up to 20%, I think) would not be shared across all peoples. Nomads move their place (in human scale travel) but stay with their people. Others with a sense of place sometimes shift in people. Each of these challenges can be absorbed without living in a state of constant crisus (surviving) if there are not so many that the barrel overturns.

So here's the fun part: what is in the 80 list and what in the 20 as I make my way in the world?

I'm just beginning to figure it out, so I expect the lists on this post to grow over the weeks. Here are my initial musings:

Human Scale Sustainable Rhythms, 80% (goal):
*bike or walk to my destination (contact with earth in travel, human scale)
*live in a small house (clutter collecting deterrent) and smaller footprint
*awareness of energy usage in heating (I now am wood heated and in connection with that intimately as I prepare fuel for winter)
*eating food that I prepare or harvest
*doing my own laundry, dishes, housekeeping (natural daily rhythms)
*building long term relationships with people, plants, and animals, thus
*remaining in place or cycling through the same places over time
*working with the earth to grow my food
*sharing food, tools, children, space


Out of Sync (ultimately) 20%:
*typing this to me and you on the computer
*using electricity
*traveling by car, airplane
*living apart from my family of origin
*being in debt (still, ergh)
*eating out
*using the phone ("Poison!" calls Trinidad.)
*eating food that does not originate from my locale
*not being in touch with the make of my clothing



Please keep in mind that the "out of sync" is not necessarily "bad" or even something I want to change. Obviously the choice to engage in this list nourishes me in some way or I would not do it. Nevertheless, spending more than 20% of my life energy here is exhausting and mentally/spiritually debilitating in a chronic sense. My efforts to name it here are intended to meet my needs for awareness and understanding.

I would love to hear your thoughts.

I Didn't Mean To Say It

"Mom was saying 'sh#*!" a lot when we checked the bees yesterday," Trinidad told Sam as we ate lunch together. Sam giggled and looked at me disbelieving. He and I have been discussing the potential consequences of swearing.

"Yeah," said Trinidad, who had been suited up and manning the smoker beside me the day before. "We took apart the boxes and she said 'Sh$*! Baby bees!' [these, white and undeveloped, exposed to the sun above the frame] then we looked some more and she said, 'Sh&$! There's the queen. Sh%^! Sh@#! We can't squish the queen!'"

Sam rolled his eyes at me and giggled again.

"I guess," I said (humbly, mind you) "that there is a secret place in your Mama where the sh%* is stored, and in certain extreme situations, the door just flies open and it all comes out."

Trinidad's broad grin showed his half-chewed lunch. Sam fell off the picnic table bench laughing.

"Now, Mom," Trinidad reasoned,"the time you almost skidded our car off the icy road and you were saying 'Da^%!' and 'Sh*^!' I could understand, because it was a life-or-death situation."

"I did say the Lords Prayer afterward and forgave my father [the earthly one] for all that I held against him. I did do that."

"Well, yes," said Trinidad, "But the beehive wasn't that bad, was it?"

"30,000 bees lost and 25 pounds of surplus honey, all gone with us responsible. I'd call that bad."

He thought a moment. "Sh&#," he said.

What's It Worth?

"Sam, would you like to help me with the weeding?"

"Well...would you pay me?"

"Mmmm -- yes. Even though I don't get paid."

"That's alright, Mama. You can pay me, and I'll give you half."

Offloading Surplus

Here's a follow-up to the "Don't Like My Peaches" post.

I'm thinking about surplus. In particular, I'm thinking about trees dropping apples by the pound onto hard concrete, seniors who have time and no money, kale plants lushly bolting into seed while their gardeners show up nine-to-five at their paid workplaces. All this care, these resources, the synergistic kindness of Gaia in our stewardship, dissipating into the environment without meeting needs.

A request, in NVC, is the point at which an action is begged. It is where the rubber meets the road and food hard won is placed in the hands of the hungry. Expression without it is a chorus of feelings and needs, authentic and courageous, but spoken without the effect of meeting needs.

We all have our peaches. On my tree, there is time to spend. Time for laundry, dishes, cooking, reading to children, weeding and planting. Those who are nourished by my efforts land here. And I have needs unmet as well. Wouldn't I like more time to really focus and play with my children, time to nurture myself? How will I find it?

Surplus. I have enough peaches to share, but I need some beans. When my peaches are ripe and easy to collect, I pick and I eat, I can and I freeze, I jam and I bake. After this effort has been made, a hole in the fabric can become apparent.

Too many peaches. The way our culture is currently set up, we operate in isolation. Each of us goes to the grocery store to support our little islands of family with the food we need. Sometimes we don't even look out the back door at what Gaia has to offer. At a potluck last week, I noticed we were low on greens and offered to go pick some wild cress and dandelion. Spring is bountiful in so many ways.

What do we do with our excess peaches? If we habitually stumble into our cars, go to work and shop with eyes to our own needs alone, the peaches will go to the bugs. It ain't a bad thing to feed the worms, but given the amount of damage we do to our natural world in order to feed ourselves out of grocery bags, I'll say we could be more efficient.

Here is a request, a call to action. You consider your surplus, and I'll consider mine. Those resources we stockpile without using are a liability to ourselves as energetic clutter and to the world as we pay cash to consume new materials. I propose that we learn to see our lettuces before they bolt and share them, care for the children that show up and work themselves into the fray, feed the neighboring elderly when we cook too much for ourselves. I propose that we even assert ourselves in helping each other to recognize our talents, abilities, and resources to share. I invite you to educate me!

This shift requires awareness first and then a willingness to share. If it is truly surplus that we witness on our shelves, then it can be parted with painlessly, particularly if cumulative losses are greater if it is not used. Consider: if I pull the flowering kale from my garden and feed you effortlessly, then you may do the same, catching me by surprise to meet my needs later. At times, we are asked to give what is not surplus, and we want to be generous (integrity) and to see others' needs met. A graceful decline is all the easier (and often better received) in view of what we routinely give with ease! My offering is a bank deposit with no strings attached.

I do not give in this way with the expectation of a gift in return. I do give in this way as a strategy to meet my needs for sustainability. To give and to give and to give... the natural cycle of life cannot be broken. I will receive.

But I am in choice about what I will give. I give my best to those who want it, and it will be my surplus. Will you join me?