The Language of Grass

TOMATO!

2007-07-15T19:25:00.001-06:00

My life has been a little crazy lately---a rollercoaster of ups and downs, really. But, this little guy has made me ridiculously happy.

Now, I don't like tomatos, actually. I like tomato sauce and a lot of tomato based items, but a regular tomato I could do without. So, R. will be the recipient of this little guy, but just the fact that I grew him and have more growing I feel is a real accomplishment.

Patio Garden July 10th

2007-07-10T11:57:00.000-06:00

Wow, there's been some changes in the garden in just a week! My Chinese Five-Color Pepper began it's bloom. It's really quite a pretty flower! Unfortunately I couldn't seem to get a decent shot of it, so what's below is a bit blurry. But, my Tumbling Tom is starting to get some color, so hopefully soon it will be ready to be plucked and eaten as my first grown edible!

The Chinese Five-Color Pepper and it's pretty, purple bloom

The ever-ripening Tumbling Tom... Can't wait to eat him up

Patio Garden: July 3rd

2007-07-03T10:13:00.000-06:00

I haven't done a very good job of keeping track of my growing vegetables. I water them, check their progress, but haven't kept tabs on what's doing well, what's struggling, what's blooming and when, etc.

So, here's my first attempt to at least keep some visual records of what's going on in my "mini-farm" as it's been dubbed.

My "Strawberry Temptation" never did grow. Not sure what happened, but it just never came up. Of course, this was the plant I was looking most forward to. Oh well, everything else came up so I can't complain!

This is a poor picture of my "Tumbling Tom Red" tomatoes. I planted about five plants and they are all either showing off smalll green toms, or are blooming and will offer tomatoes soon.

Another poor picture, this time of my "Strawberry Popcorn" plant. Tassles are beginning to show and it's great fun to watch this large plant shoot up on my deck

The whole she-bang. The other plants are two kinds of peppers (one hot--Chinese 5-color; and one sweet---Golden Marconi), not yet flowering or fruiting, but growing taller and sturdier each day.

If I Had A Million Dollars

2007-07-01T15:03:00.000-06:00

This weekend, most of my immediate family went up to Iowa to visit my Grandparents. One set of grandparents lives in a small town-- a very typical, rural, Iowa town. It is populated mostly by the (now) elderly who left their farms in the '50s and '60s because it was no longer economically feasible to live on the farm.

About 100 years after my ancestors built the house and began to farm the land, my Grandparents and their children moved into this small town and off of the farm that both my Grandpa and Great-Grandfather had grown up in. From what I can gather, the farm house stayed in the family until the 70s--with different tennants, before it was bought from my Grandfather by a friend.

In the 1990s, both men well into their seventies, struck a deal where the farmhouse would go back to my Grandpa. The house is about 30 years past being livable, and probably a few more years past that of being "nice." Over the years, my Grandpa has done all he could to repair the home of his youth and his children's youth, but unfortunately the house needed much more than the paint and the patch-work a 70 and 80 year old man could provide.

Usually, my parents and whichever grandchildren want to participate, head out with my Grandpa to the farmhouse about once a year. Generally, we walk around the outside while Grandpa or Dad tells stories. On much fewer occassions we're allowed inside to roam what once was your typical Iowa farmhouse. I suppose, in a way, it remains the typical Iowa farmhouse--abandoned and falling apart.

Over the years, my Grandpa has brought odds and ends out to the old farmhouse. The living room is practically furnished with a chair and a sofa and an incredibly old piano with keys and pieces missing. Grandpa likes to go out here and tinker around, play the piano, and I suppose remember what it once was. At 84, with numerous physical ailments, there's very little he can do to avoid the continual decay of his beloved home.

Saturday morning we drove out, and after walking around the home that I could so easily see as once being beautiful, we assembled in the living room as if it were a functional room. Grandpa and Dad told stories and, for me, it was so easy to see what once had been. While they were remembering, I could imagine. As my Grandfather turned to the piano and played a hymn on sticking keys, I felt tears in my own eyes. The sadness in the room was overwhelming. It was as if the air was full of all the people who had once lived in this home---who had once so lovingly cared for it--were all there mourning the decay and loss. For every time I could see it's potential in my minds eye, reality was right there waiting with rotting walls and caved in ceilings.

There are places in this world where I feel connected--but it's more of a belonging--as if I was always meant to be there. But this was new, different--it was more a connection to the people of my past. I'm not much of one to believe in ghosts or spirits, but in that room there was a presence from people long gone. A sad, mourning presence that sunk over me in a way that was both comforting for it's connection yet... devestating from its sadness.

There's always talk in my family, if we ever have some disposable income we'd fix up that house. I think as much for Grandpa as for ourselves. But, disposable income isn't easy to come by in this world. The time and money and effort to fix a house so far gone is well beyond our abilities. But I know, when the old question comes around, exactly what I'd do if I had a million dollars.

My Grandpa and Dad discussing property lines

Let's Go! Let's Go! Let's zzzzzzzzzzzz

2007-06-12T11:57:00.000-06:00

Last week as I voracioulsy attacked the new Kingsolver book I had ideas! and inspiration! and motivation! and excitement! popping up everywhere. Then, around Thursday I began to feel under the weather which lead to a weekend of feeling not quite right. I didn't feel sick totally, instead had the off and on symptoms of a sore throat, a temperamental stomach, and extreme fatigue.

Needless to say, though today I'm finally feeling normal, all those exciting ideas and motivations kind of went down the toilet. And though physically I'm feeling fine, mentally I'm feeling sluggish and lazy. There's a million things I NEED to do...and probably as many things I WANT to do, but I can't get mind, body and motivation on the same page.

In somewhat exciting news, my tomato plant is flowering like crazy and I have a few mini tomatoes starting to grow! I'm not sure if any other of my plants are going to produce, so it is exciting to see something actually bearing some fruit. Also it make me happy that my tomato plant is the one bearing because when I started my container garden venture, someone told me that there would be no way I could grow tomatoes in a pot. So :P I showed them. =)

Making a Difference

2007-06-06T12:49:00.000-06:00

There are many reasons why I buy every book Barbara Kingsolver comes out with. I enjoy her writing style, she writes, most often, about things I enjoy/care about, and I feel so often as I read her words that "aha" or "yes" moment. A moment where either I agree so completely it's amazing or a moment where her words so perfectly describe my feelings and therefore makes them that more tangible and expressable.

There's another part of that equation--whether it's her fiction, nonfiction, or creative nonfiction, she has the ability to make problems seem surmountable. I'd say this goes double for her writing on environmental and food issues.

Changing the world is no easy task, and I think we live in a culture where (despite David and Goliath parable) chnage is viewed as negative and nearly impossible. If we put a conservative Republican and a liberal Democrat in a room together--do we really expect peace or a calm resolution of some political problem? Perish the thought.

I have often felt that I will never change a person's opinion, I could never have the kind of influence to save something of importantce, and no manner of talking, writing, expressing will change the government, the policies, the ideas, the beliefs of the world in which I leave. And because of all that it's so easy to say, WHY BOTHER? My voice doesn't matter and it won't ever matter. The end. This is a philosophy that goes beyond my own personal crusades. Something won't turn out like I want it to, why bother? It's a habit ingrained in my own personality and ingrained in some portion in the culture in which I grew up.

However, reading Barbara Kingsolver often makes me realize that it's not so much the results as it is the try. I may not make a world of difference, but a person of difference works can be just as important.

"Small, stepwise changes in personal habits aren't trivial. Ultimately they will, or won't, add up to having been the thing that mattered." "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle."

I especially would recommend this book because of one simple fact: it isn't all about giving up. It's not about sacrifice or deprevation. It's about what you can do if you try. It wasn't about totally changing to local food and cutting everything else off. It was about trying to change and making more responsible choices. If you feel you must have something you can't obtain locally--try to find organic, free trade options.

I have to remind myself that change is not a over-the-night thing. There's so many things I'd like to change about myself--that I've tried to change for years--and still haven't succeeded. I can't expect to go local and be done with it. But, making smarter choices and integrating a different food ethic will help start taking steps toward change...and right now, that's the best I can do.

And there's nothing wrong with that.

One Meal a Week Challenge

2007-06-05T08:19:00.000-06:00

Now that Farmer's Market season is starting around here, I have been trying to find farmer's markets in my areas. I have found a few that claim to be farmer's markets in my direct area, but sell mainly California or other imported food stuffs. Because of the summer followed by winter weather we had in March/April, a lot of fruit growers in the area suffered--and according to a local article, fruit is where the moneys at. So, call in California. This isn't to say they won't carry ANY local food, just not very much.

There are some fairly decent farmer's markets in my extended area. And by extended I mean upwards 30+ miles away from me and nasty construction and traffic on the way. As I'm not much of a driver, especially a city driver, I like to avoid those areas if possible. I know that radius still means it's local food, and likely food from closer to my apartment than it is to the city, but nevertheless I'm not to the point where I'm willing to make that drive at least once a week. (Yet, anyway).

I found a possible Farmer's Market a little bit closer, so R. and I are going to go check it out on Saturday morning. And, I'm like a little kid ready for a trip to Florida. I keep reminding R. we're going, lest he forget. And, currently, it looks to be the highlight of my week.

I have been reading Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, as I mentioned earlier. There are a lot of statistics included, and typically I distrust statistics because it's so easy to manipulate a number, or to conduct research in a way that makes whatever you have to say seem authoritative or to find statistics to back up ANY opinion under the sun. But, I found this statistic particular interesting, even if it's only partially true. "If every U.S citizen ate just one meal a week (any meal) composed of locally and organically raised meats and produce, we could reduce our country's oil consumption by over 1.1 million barrels of oil every week."

That's a lot of people doing one small thing and making a big difference, no matter how you look at it. I'm not at a point in my life where I think I can make a drastic change like living a month on local goods or even a week. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to go totally local--partially because I am a very picky eater and partially because I am notoriously lazy. But, I feel one meal a week is COMPLETELY doable. And it could lead to two meals a week--a meal a day--and on and on until maybe my diet is mainly composed of local.

Now is the perfect time to start this challenge. Farmer's Markets are opening up everywhere and the summer bounty will soon be upon us (I had my first tomato flower pop up on Sunday!). If we're not really eating locally at all, why not try just one meal a week. It could be something as easy as 2 locally laid eggs and perhaps a piece of locally grown fruit for breakfast.

My success will depend on what we find at the Farmer's Market on Saturday and my ability to convince R. to try this little experiment with me (and continue to return to the Farmer's Market). (I promised to do a few things for him if he promised to read the book when I am finished with it).

If there's anyone out there still not integrating local foods into their diet, I think this would be an excellent first step.

The History Dork Within

2007-06-03T19:27:00.001-06:00

In order to get to many places (my job, my parents house, etc), I have to cross part of the Missouri River. I've mentioned before my fear of bridges, which is especially heightened on this particular bridge for some reason. I guess the narrow lanes or some such. Nevertheless, I feel a little less nervous when someone else is driving and I can look out onto the river.

The other night, R. and I were heading to my sister's softball game. The night was very humid and foggy. As I looked out onto the darkening Missouri River, I got this flash of what it must have felt like before these bridges and buildings. The dark fog of an early summer night. The uncomfortable humidity and irritating bugs. In my mind I could visualize the Lewis and Clark Expedition camping, sailing, doing the things they did back in this time when very little of our world existed.

This happens to me in certain places--my history studies + imagination on overload I suppose. Not many in my family/friend circle enjoy history the way I do, so it's an odd, inner way of enjoying what I know of history...and wondering what it must have been like to live so long ago.

In other news, I bought Barbara Kingsolver's new book "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle." I am so excited! And, as a warning, it's bound to inspire many political, food growing and philosophical type posts. Be prepared.

=)

Pink Lady Slipper

2007-06-01T10:01:00.001-06:00

I'm sure I've mentioned (oh, about eleventy-million times) that as a young girl I spent many a spring and summer week at my Grandma's house in the Iowa woodlands. Regardless of the season, we would often walk the woods and creek, but in the spring wildflowers were our first priority.

There were certain flowers that were the old standby (Spring Beauties, Sweet William, Dutchman's Brithces). Certain flowers that only grew in one area (Virginia Bluebells, Buttercups) and some that we rarely or never found.

My Grandma often talked about Lady Slippers--both yellow and pink. We'd search for either, and never found either while we together. I believe she once found a yellow Lady Slipper when I wasn't there, but the Pink Lady Slipper was somewhat our Holy Grail so to speak--something we searched for and never found.

I'd never seen one before last weekend. On our fated Bear-Poop hike I saw what had elluded me for so many years. Something I'd very nearly forgotten about--until I saw a clump of these pink beauties at the edge of a trail deep in the Smoky Mountains.

Just as normal as could be, their pink little heads stood there at the side of the trail as my breath caught in my throat. I couldn't help but look up at the sky through the trees and feel my Grandma hiking along with me. Surely she saw it too.

Poop

2007-05-30T08:39:00.001-06:00

Probably the most related tale of our Smoky Mountain trip revolves around these 2 pictures:

The first is a tree limb that had fallen over the trail and looked suspiciously as if it had been scratched up by a bear. The trail was off a gravel, one-way, mountain road that only had one other car on it that we saw the entire 14 miles. R. was a little concerned by this, but it didn't bother me overmuch. We continued to walk along this trail a ways and then saw the second picture. Luckily, we had been at the visitor's center not too long before and had seen a replica of Bear scat. This had exactly the same look. R. was ready to throw in the towel, but I waved it off. It was just some poop after all.

We went another 1/4 of a mile or so and discovered another lump of scat--also right on the trail. This time I agreed with R.--time to head back. We didn't see any bears, but neither of us wanted to chance it. We'd rather see a bear from the confines of our own car.

And, that we did, the next day. Cade's Cove is a driving loop in the Smokies that is fairly popular. We were trying to get out, stuck in some nasty traffic, before we saw two park rangers by the road, directing traffic. We thought maybe some kind of fender bender, but as we passed we saw 3 black bears in the clearing right off the road. I tried to take a picture, but as the park rangers were waving us on (and we didn't think to stop for a second to disobey them) I never did get a shot of them.

Still, it was neat to see them (from afar)! I couldn't help but wonder if they felt a bit like a circus sideshow with all the people gawking from their cars.

Still Expecting Mountains

2007-05-28T18:24:00.001-06:00

I really love the mountains. This is a problem being a lifelong midwesterner who will probably stay a lifelong midwesterner, but I love the midwest too, so I suppose it all works out. It's just, I keep thinking I'm going to look at the horizon and see mountains, but I just see flat-flat-flat.

We got back yesterday, tired and sore. We hiked only about 11 or 12 miles worth of trails, but were on our feet or in the car the whole time. The only time we were in our hotel was to shower and sleep. So, all in all, a successful trip.

We've decided that a return trip to Gatlinburg isn't very likely. We'd already done most of the museums (which, most, are very neat) on our first trip, so we were disappointed with the less than steller options on this trip. We love the Smokies, but Gatlinburg is too busy, cigarette smoky, and has a certain element of unpleasant people (which we found on this trip, not the one before). So hopefully we'll make it back to the park and bypass Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge altogether.

I'll have a more detailed post of our drive and hikes throughout the week. Right now I am stuffed full of BBQ and still a bit exhausted from the trip. But, I'll leave you with some pictures. =)

Impromptu Vacation

2007-05-23T08:24:00.000-06:00

Well, kind of at the last minute, R. decided to take Thursday off and we are heading down to Gatlinburg, Tennessee tomorrow through Sunday. We have been there once before back in October of 2005. We're staying in the same place (a great little place outside of Gatlinburg in the midst of the mountains with rooms that are basically condos), but have different things on our itinerary from last visit.

We loved it there, because there's so much to do. Basically, our plan last time was to hike by day, walk around Gatlinburg by night. It worked out well, though by the end of each day my legs were killing me.

Our plan is virtually the same this time, but we are going to try for some lesser visited areas within the park. And, since we only have a few days, we'll be spending most of our time enjoying the Smokies rather than the museums and entertainment of Gatlinburg (though last time we were surprised at the entertainment value of some of those). I am determined to see sunset and sunrise in the park, so there are definitely some long days ahead of us.

I'm hoping my legs hold out this time.

Anywhoo, I'll be back Sunday/Monday with lots of pictures, hopefully, and lots of fun to relate.

Two Worlds

2007-05-21T20:03:00.000-06:00

I have always been fascinated by sunsets--the blaze of color, cloud, sky. The intricate flames of day slowly fading into night.

One of my favorite parts of the sunset is towards the end, when half of the world is accepting night--dark, with stars and moon, and the other half still holds onto the day. The sun gone, but light still shining, the colors of the sunset beautifully pale and subtle--colors I would never be able to catch on film... just bare tints of orange and pink. I love that groves of trees look dark, but the sky behind them is glowing.

I feel magic as this dusk approaches--traveling through two worlds: night and day.

Sometimes it is the simplest pleasures that procure the deepest reaction.

Strawberries!

2007-05-19T09:21:00.000-06:00

Thursday R. and I both had the day off and R. heard that a farm about 45 miles away was having a pick your own strawberry deal. The same farm had apples back in the fall that we went and picked a gajillion of, so we decided to head out to pick strawberries.

It was an absolutely beautiful and perfect day weather wise. Low 70's, blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds. It could not have been more perfect. We ended up picking 12 pounds of strawberries!! I kept telling R. to stop, but he was obsessed. So we gave 1/2 to R.'s family and some to mine as well.

It was a fun outing and the strawberries are absolutely delicious. I've been eating strawberries as snacks, deserts, drizzled in melted chocolate. There's no white middle--it's all deliciously red. I learned that nothing tastes as good as a strawberry warmed by the sun. DELICIOUS.

I'm Back, For Good

2007-05-16T08:05:00.000-06:00

I didn't expect the last few weeks to be so crazy, but maybe I should have. With the end of school, my sister graduating college, visitors and project upon project, I've been running around like crazy trying to get everything accomplished and in order. Thus, no brain or time for posting.

Well, school is over until the fall (when I'll be student teaching). And I have a few weeks before my job goes to full time. So, I'm hoping I can get a lot accomplished and organized for the upcoming summer rather than wasting my time away... like I usually do with a break in schedule.

All of my grand plans for a more eco-friendly life have, admitedly, gone by the wayside in the time being. I've been thinking more about making enough money this summer to support myself while I student teach in the fall than about how I can stop using ziploc bags or eat organic and locally produced food. I want to get back into the mindset where I'm trying to be a more responsible consumer--both in the sense of buying and eating.

Luckily, some REAL farmer's markets should be opening up around the area soon. In fact, tomorrow R. and I are going to go to a pick your own farm and pick some strawberries. Some storms rolled in last night leaving the next few days in the low seventies--rather than the mid-high eighties we were having. So, it will hopefully be a lovely day.

My vegetables are doing fairly well. I'm at the point where I am getting impatient...which is why I'm not the best gardener in the world. I don't need results immediately, but waiting a handful of months drives me a little crazy. Especially since this is my first attempt, they are in containers, and they don't get quite as much sun as they probably should. I just want to know that some are going to produce.

So, anyway, enough of my ramblings. I should be back to posting fairly regularly and hopefully more interestingly!

Farmer's Market Travesty

2007-05-03T10:50:00.000-06:00

So, I've mentioned a few times that there was a farmer's market getting ready to open fairly close to my apartment. I've been excited, eagerly looking for new signs as I drove by.

It opened May 1st, so R. and I headed over yesterday to see what they had. Obviously, it's still really early for most fresh produce, but I was still... optimistic.

We walk in and there's a stand of bags of chips. At first, I think they must be organic chips or something... but nope, regular old Tostidos and Lays. Huh. Then there's a display of soda. Okay.

I quickly move to the produce with a sinking feeling. There's displays of mangoes, plums, pears... all things that I know can't be Fresh or Local. I begin to read tags: Product of California, Georgia, MEXICO. The signs say "Fresh" and "Delisious" (spelled with an s, yes). But, THESE ARE NOT FRESH--THEY HAVE BEEN SHIPPED FROM MEXICO.

Needless to say I was angry. Angry because I got my hopes up, but also because the place claims to be a "FARMER'S market" and... I guess maybe the produce came from a farm SOMEWHERE, but I don't think the farmer is reaping the rewards of a sale. And the signs say FRESH--something from Mexico CAN'T BE FRESH.

But, the saddest part is, I don't think the owners are trying to trick people. They just don't think about it. Food is food is food. It's fresh if it looks ripe, but they're not really thinking about the trip it took that Mango to get here from Mexico. They're thinking, hey let's put a cute little market right here. Let's sell produce. Cool.

So, I'm disappointed and irritated that they're calling themselves a farmer's market. R. thinks it's a mob front, but being a police officer shifts his paranoia into overdrive =)

Looks like I'll be searching out somewhere else to get my local produce this summer. I just hope I can find somewhere not too far out of my way.

Cameras

2007-04-26T07:17:00.000-06:00

It's been a busy few weeks since Easter, between work and school and other obligations, I haven't felt like I've had a whole lot of "sit" time. But, about a week after Easter I realized my camera was missing. I couldn't find it anywhere. We had gone to Iowa for Easter, so after a week+ of searching, I was convinced I'd somehow lost it in the travel there or back.

Monday, my mother returned to Iowa to put flowers on my Grandmother's grave for her birthday. She also helped my Grandpa by going through some of my Grandmother's things. Tuesday was my birthday, and my Mom brought me back a little something of my Grandma's: her Polaroid camera. She brought this for me not because I'd lost my camera, but because I'd loved that little (or rather, big!) Polaroid and that's about the only camera I can remember my Grandma using.

My Grandma bought my a Polaroid camera for Christmas one year, and though I used it as much as possible, it's long since been gone or shoved in a box somewhere after multiple moves and the advance of technology.

After lunch with R. and my parents and having Mom give me the camera, I had to go to class. As I was driving I was thinking about how this old, clunky Polaroid came into my life when my camera was missing--and wasn't that just a bit of a coincidence? Hadn't my Grandma always had a way with filling whatever particular void I was feeling. The thought made me happy.

I got to class a bit early, so sat in the hall and pulled out a book to read. I realized I couldn't find my cell phone, so I was pawing through my purse, when I felt something in the zippered pouch I so rarely use.

My camera.

The moment I felt okay about losing the camera, I found it. The moment I'd felt as if my Grandma's presense was a tangible thing, the camera reappeared. It was as good a birthday present as any.

Spring is REALLY here

2007-04-20T17:32:00.000-06:00

Wow, real spring weather finally arrived and I'm practically giddy with it. It's not too hot like it was in March, but not too cold like the winter we had in April. It's sunny, sixties with a cool enough breeze to necessitate a jacket. My favorite kind of weather.

I've been getting my seedlings transplanted in pots, hoping the meager sun and meager space will do well enough for some of them to give something. I'm not looking for enough to live off of by any means, but a tomato or pepper or two would be nice. My strawberry seedlings never popped up, so that was a bit disappointing. I might see if I can find a strawberry plant somewhere instead of trying to grow them from seed.

I'm eagerly awaiting the opening of a farmer's market down the street. It's not quite close enough to walk to, but it is close enough that it makes sense to make regular trips for fruits and vegetables, instead of getting them from the grocery store. And, it's on the way to the grocery store, so it makes sense to stop by there first, then continue on to the store for other necessities. I am very excited about supporting some local farmers and getting some delicious, healthy food out of the deal!

I want to start making my own bread, though admitedly I am a bit intimidated by the whole process. It seems like bread takes a lot of patience, and I do not have a wealth of that! But, I think that will be my project for this weekend/week.

I've fallen off my projects lately. Funks and fogs are not really conduscive to making changes. So, I've been indulging in things like kiwis from Greece and fast food and sitting around, ignoring all the little things I should do. I'm trying to break out of that and get myself together. I need to get back on track with all aspects of my life, being more conscientious in my environmental decisions is just a small part of that.

Hopefully this weather will help get my butt in gear =)

My Soapbox on Violence

2007-04-17T11:40:00.000-06:00

I have tried not to think much about the Virginia Tech tragedy. As someone who attends a University as a Masters student, someone who will be teaching in a high school come fall, someone with large amounts of friends and family doing both those things, it's hard to think about without becoming afraid as much as sad. So, it's easier to cope with the things I have to do by putting it away.

But, it's easier said than done, and what keeps coming back to my mind when I hear about this horrible tragedy, is an essay I often use for a lesson plan I teach for creative nonfiction. I use this essay because it addresses the Columbine High School shooting, it adresses violence--and all these things are pertinent not just to everyone--but especially to young people who should be able to go to school without fear, but many cannot.

The essay is from the book of essays Small Wonder by Barbara Kingsolver. It is called, "Life is Precious, Or Its Not." I don't know that I agree with everything Kingsolver discusses in her essay, it's still an issue I'm working out on where I stand--but regardless of that stand I think we all need to think about violence and how we approach it in our homes and as a society. And, I think this paragraph that ends her essay is something that should be taken into consideration.

"For all of us who are clamoring for meaning, aching for the loss of these precious young lives in Littleton to mean something, my strongest instinct is to use the event to nail a permanent benchmark into our hearts: Life is that precious, period. It is possible to establish zero tolerance for murder as a solution to anything. Those of us who agree to this contract can start by removing from our households and lives every television program, video game, film, book, toy and CD that presents the killing of humans (however symbolic) as an entertainment option, rather than the apalling loss it really is..... Sound extreme? Let's be honest. DEATH is extreme, and the children are paying attention."

Really, I could quote the whole essay, because it raises some tough, tough questions that I myself can't even answer. When I have children, I don't know that I'll have the mindset to rid every movie and video game and CD that depicts killing. But, I think in this Kingsolver makes an excellent point, so much out there depicts killing, murder, violence--think of how hard it would be to rid your lives of it.

We are bombarded with images--on TV, news, movies, papers, and so on and so on of death. It's not all used as "entertainment" per se. And it's not all "bad" in my mind, but when we see nothing but death, I can't help but feel we come desensitized to it.

For example, I was watching a show on the history channel about the JFK assasination and it showed a clip of the Oliver Stone film JFK, where the moment the bullet hits JFK's head is repeated over and over. My stomach turned, I looked away, but I also found myself looking back--a little squeamish, but overall intranced. Consequently, watching the Discovery Earth show, I can't bear to watch another animal kill another animal. Shouldn't it be the other way around?

Again, I come to no real, concrete answers. Only the question that I think Kingsolver puts so eloquently in her essay: "Why would any student, however frustrated with mean-spirited tormentors, believe that bombs and guns were the answer?" Why does ANYONE feel that guns and bombs are the answer? What does death, violence, strife solve?

And I think, in the wake of continuing tragedy, not just here in the US, not just in our schools, but across the world, we need to start attempting to answer these questions--face these difficult questions with truth and fact and honesty, and then work toward answers.

I don't believe we can eradicate violence from this Earth. I don't think bad things will ever cease to happen, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't try. That doesn't mean we shouldn't attempt to change things--and I don't mean just attempting to make our schools safer--I mean trying to change this mindset that murder is an answer. We can install metal detectors, give kids ID badges, guard the school with police with guns--but I think if anything history proves it's that there's always a way to get around the precautions we throw up.

Change is not about fixing what we do--it's about fixing how we think.

With It, I'm Not

2007-04-12T08:18:00.000-06:00

I guess I'm going through some sort of delayed winter funk (since it's very nearly winter temperatures here). I'm feeling foggy, down, and just not with it. I imagine that's how the poor huddling tulips feel in this dreary, cold, windy weather. Where's the sun to come cheer us up?

April has long been my favorite month. It usually had Easter, sometimes Spring Break--which meant a trip to my Grandma T's, always my Birthday, and my Grandma's birthday a day before mine.

My Grandma passed away last July. She had been sick for a long time, but it was and is still very hard. I had a very special relationship with my Grandma and I'm not sure there's a day that goes by now that I don't think about her in one way or another.

April brings those memories to the forefront even moreso than perhaps any other time in the past months since she's been gone. Even when I couldn't visit, April was always our month. We'd talk about what wildflowers were blooming in her woods, what the sunsets were looking like. When I'd visit we'd hunt for Dutchman's Britches, violets, Spring Beauties, Anemones, and any other early bloomer. In the evening, we'd sit on her couch in front of her large window and watch the sun set over the wooded hill. I was her only Grandchild that really got into the wildflowers and the sunsets and the hikes through wet woods. And, now that she's gone I don't have anyone to share that with.

Maybe that's as much the funk I'm in than anything else, I'm missing that time with her and feeling a bit empty because of it.

Violets at My Grandma's house a few years ago:

Easter At My House

2007-04-07T18:26:00.000-06:00

Generally, this is how we spend Easter at my parent's house. Girls--in kitchen making tons of sugar cookies. Dad--in basement watching sports (Although I do join him when it's time to clean up hehe).

The sugar cookie making is a bit of a tradition. I still remember making sugar cookies with my Grandma, and my Mom uses her Grandma's recipe that she remembers making with her. Though we make them all times of year, I think I enjoy the Easter cookies the most. Something about the images of spring is nice and uplifting. Not to mention, there aren't a million other deserts to be eaten (like with Christmas).

And, it was nice right now to be doing something that felt springy. Looking out at the poor, huddled, wind-blown tulips this morning was not very uplifting. The wind still blew, and they looked like little bunches of people shivering and huddled together. A sad sight.

Tomorrow I'll be heading up to Iowa where it will be even colder--bundled up in sweaters and coats for Easter church service at my Grandparents.

I'm ready for Spring to come--not Summer--not Winter... SPRING!

Oh, hello, little blog

2007-04-03T11:50:00.000-06:00

I haven't felt very blogger-y lately. I just don't know what to say. And, this is not restricted to simply the blog. I kind of feel like my brain is only loosely connected to the rest of me. So, I walk along going through the motions of my normal life, while the brain sloshes around in my head.

We're getting some spring thunderstorms here and it looks like we're in for a nice cold snap that will likely bite all that has bloomed in these weeks of abnormally warm temperatures (So warm that the Daffodills and Magnolia trees only bloomed for a few days before they petered out).

I'm finding it hard to believe it's April, that this year is just about 1/4 over.

Sprouts!

2007-03-30T09:24:00.000-06:00

My babies (well, all but the strawberries) are popping up like crazy. The miniature strawberry corn has quickly outgrown its seed starter, but so far I've only transplanted three plants.

It's actually been warm enough that they've been outdoors for the past week. I may have to move them in at night next week as it's supposed to start getting down into the 50s in the evenings per normal spring weather. But, for now they are quite happily growing. Now we'll just have to wait and see if they get enough sun to grow and produce.

Spring Collage

2007-03-28T11:29:00.000-06:00

My Mom and I went to the Missouri Botanical Gardens yesterday. Everything was in full swing, including the workers--probably not expecting such an early boom in visitors. It was rather crowded, but it was a nice 2 hour walk among the pretties.

Spring Has Sprung... Way Too Quickly

2007-03-26T12:17:00.001-06:00

The trees are blooming like crazy and it's been just about overnight. One night, it was bare branches and brown grass--the next flowering Bradford Pear trees, Redbuds, and Forsythia. All in massive, full-blown bloom in the blink of an eye. It's beautiful--for the short week it will last. Either the heat (83 yesterday) will get to these early bloomers or the inevitable cold snap that follows will.

Yesterday, R. and I went hiking. Along the forest floor, the anemones and spring beauties were out in force, along with some Dutchman's britches and the occassional violet.

Everything is blooming and spreading in this 20-25 degree above normal weather.

I find this irritating for a long list of reasons. First of all, Spring is my favorite season and the week of really too hot temperatures just speeds everything up so that the pretty blooms and early smells are lost in the heat and will just as soon be lost in, likely, a below normal cold snap. I don't get to enjoy the blooms for more than a few days and the gradual warming of the world is lost in the up and down of way too hot and way too cold. It's really a shame.

I used to spend Spring Break's bundled up searching for signs of wildflowers at my Grandma's house in southern Iowa. We rarely found something so early in the season, but the search was fun nevertheless.

When winter pops to summer and back in forth, I feel like my Spring is lost somewhere in the middle and I don't get to enjoy that search for the first signs of green, the first blooms of the year. Instead, they all come out to once and don't stick around long enough.

On a happier note, my seedlings are popping up like crazy. The strawberry popcorn I planted has quickly outgrown the seed starter and needs to be transplanted, and the tomatoes aren't far behind. The peppers are finally peeking out, but the strawberries are still being stubborn. Exciting to see the little shoots of green, though!

The Allergy Fight

2007-03-23T15:38:00.000-06:00

I don't *knock on wood* suffer from a lot of allergies. I get a bit sniffly in the spring time, but nothing that really sends me into fits of sneezing or itchy eyes *knocks on some more wood*.

R. on the other hand is allergic to just about anything (though he claims not to be) and has mild asthma. Pet fur/dander is probably his worst allergy, so we don't have pets. Springtime allergies like pollen typically don't bother him. However, something in this new apartment does--because he's spent more nights than not with itching eyes and sneezing fits and generally being unable to sleep--something he does not deal with well as he usually sleeps fine. Pretty much the second he stepped into the apartment--the allergies started. So, we ruled out pollen or outside factors as the major perpetrator because he would feel better if we got out of the apartment--even if that meant being outside.

So, I spent much of yesterday trying to eradicate whatever might be the problem. I washed everything in case it was dust mites. I searched for mold in the windows and bathroom and found none. I went out and bought an air purifyer and some anti-allergen Febreeze and sprayed the place down. I also bought him some nose-spray and eye-drops on top of the over-the-counter allergy pill he'd been taking for the past week.

Last night, he slept through the night without much problem. He's stills stuffy and a little itchy, but enough that it's bearable for him.

Do you guys have any ways/home remedies to deal with allergies and all they entail? I'm guessing spraying Febreeze all over the apartment wasn't one of the most eco-friendly solutions.

:)

Fighting With The Words

2007-03-21T10:30:00.000-06:00

Every day since my last post, I've opened up a new post... and then stared blankly at it. I have much to say, much going on, but the words... they aren't cooperating. My brain seems to be... I don't know what.

For about the past week I've been having nightmares or just really vivid, disconcerting dreams. They have been leaving me tired, muddled, and foggy throughout the day. I've had plenty of time to be productive this week, but the time just seems to disappear--and quite honestly I'm not sure what I'm doing with it.

Warm weahter is here... why do I feel so sluggish and out of it? It's frustrating, but I'm not sure how to break out of it.

In better news, I have my first sprouts from seed starting over the weekend. Also, I found out that my neighborhood has a community garden! So, I can get a plot for $40 starting in April. R. thinks if I plant the veggies at the CG they'll get messed with (the CG is right on the main drag, and there's a bar not far away, so it's a definite possibility), so I think--if I get enough seedlings, I'll put some in the CG and keep some for my patio containers and see which work out the best (or if at all).

We'll see how it all goes, right now I'd just love to have some dreamless sleep.

Snow!

2007-03-18T07:47:00.000-06:00

A few days ago, the title of my post was "80 Degrees." And then yesterday, for three hours, big flakes fell consistently. A pretty picture, but very out of place!

For Missouri, this time of year means a lot of ups and downs just like that one: 80 one day, 30 the next. That's the hardest part of early spring for me, my body doesn't like the wild mood swings of Mother Nature. Nor does my closet, because it means having out both winter and summer clothes, rather than being able to put one set away.

I'm off to buy my container vegetable gardening supplies today and get a bit of a late start on seeds. R. keeps bringing up the fact that we probably don't have enough sunlight. He's right, but I want to try anyway. Maybe it will be a bust, but at least I'll know I'll have tried--and maybe next year we'll be in a house where I can have a nice ground plot right in the sun! :) Wishful thinking.

Dinasours weren't driving SUVs.

2007-03-15T12:10:00.000-06:00

"I mean, my Dad said there was climate change when the dinasaurs were around, and they weren't driving cars. So, I don't think it's us causing global warming."

Ack! This is what I had to hear last night at work. I tutor reading/writing and a student brought in his research paper on Global Warming. His thesis is that global warming needs to be stopped. "Oh, great topic!" I say. Then, he tells me about half way through he doesn't really believe in global warming, it just seemed like the easiest side to take. Huh? And then he tells me the above quote. WHAT?

I would love to pass this off as a one-student, one-time event. Surely, surely this isn't a prevalent feeling with young people. Sure, old, stodgy conservative Republicans, but not the youth of America.

But, a few weeks ago I was at my other job, online tutoring, when a student wanted help with a paper. A paper about how pesticides are good and without pesticides we wouldn't have all the food we wanted whenever we wanted... because having that is a NECESSITY! No! Please tell me students aren't learning this--whether from teachers or parents or even the media, tell me this isn't the prevelant thought.

I'd love to pass it off on political parties as well, but let me tell you about my sister. As liberal as they come, bordering genius, Pre-med, going to take two years off med school to do Teach for America. This girl is INVOLVED, in her college town led a group focused on banning smoking in restaurants. And, then, she tells me the other day... "I think pesticides are good." WHAT????

This is so disconcerting. These people are going to be leading the world in some 20 years. But, if they want something-- an SUV, an orange in December, they should have it--regardless of the implications on our Earth.

Despite being such a hot-button topic, climate change and global warming and especially eating locally and organically still gets pushed to the side. We can't see the "now" effects of all that is happening with our food supply and our environment... and who cares? As long as there's McDonald's, gas for my car, and highways to drive on... what's the point of all that... dirt!

Our egocentric, selfish, now, now, now-mentality astounds me continually. They say that one person can make a difference, and I want so badly to believe that, but sometimes I really do wonder if we can change our mindset.

Eighty Degrees

2007-03-13T12:24:00.000-06:00

Since it was a simply BEAUTIFUL morning, I tried to take a bit of a walk. Unfortunately, my back was still aching from the hike on Sunday. I knew I was out of shape, but this is ridiculous!

I meant to get out today and buy some seed starter and what not, but I accidentally turned off my alarm rather than hit snooze. So, when I woke up I had just enough time to shower and attempt a walk before our washer and dryer were delivered! (Very exciting, now I can clear the closet of piles of dirty laundry).

Anyway, I’m still not sure what I’m going to do about the lighting situation. With daylight savings, the balcony only gets about 2-4 hours of sun, basically from 2-4 in the afternoon. So, I’m worried about all my possible plants. But, I’ll have to do the best I can and make do with what I’ve got. The key is to get it started this week!

Today it’s supposed to hit eighty degrees. I think it’s a little early in March …or April or May to be hitting 80. I’ve lived in Missouri for almost 12 years now, but somehow I’m always surprised by how early the warm weather comes. I don’t know if it’s something to do with spending the first 13 years of my life further north, or what, but I’m always expecting cool springs and getting the crazy up-and-downs of Missouri’s spring. But, since I can’t change the weather patterns of this crazy state, I’m just going to try and sit back and enjoy with shades up and windows open.

Spring, Hiking, & New Love

2007-03-11T16:45:00.000-06:00

We've had some absolutely perfect weather around these parts. Sunny, low-mid sixties, beautiful. I was a little unsure about this early day-lights savings time, but on a pretty day like today it will be nice to have an extra hour of daylight. I'm ready for longer days, lighter evenings, and the buzz of activity that comes along with the warmer months.

R., R's sister and I took their family's dogs on a hike this morning. It made me realize I am WAY out of shape, but also allowed me some good sun time and some social activity. Sometimes, I become a bit of a hermit, and forget how nice it is to talk to people. And how nice it is to feel the sun. Today was a nice reminder.

When we take R's family's dogs for a hike we usually go to the state park R. and I met at almost 3 years ago. We tell our stories of the crazy people we met and reminisce about that fun, youthful summer. I like this as well, because it reminds me of how R. and I started. Sometimes, in the day to day of things, I think we forget what it was like those first few months... both before we started dating and then after, once he had gotten on at the police department. It's sweet to remember that newness. And makes me appreciate the "oldness" even more :) It's so nice to have a physical place we can go and feel that way again, a place we can go and practically visualize those memories.

A Jumble of Things

2007-03-10T10:58:00.000-06:00

Whew, back in my own apartment! I have to admit I enjoyed curling up with a kitty at night and the broad cable selection of my parent's house, but it is good to be back in my home. My parent's home doesn't feel like my home anymore, much to their disappointment, but I only lived their 5 years--and now I am almost seven years removed from it, so it's just not mine. All right, onto my jumble of things:

Jumble 1:
I have quite a mess on my hands, because R. was sick all week and couldn't finish my unpacking efforts while I was away. This is his excuse anyway, but I don't think the place would have been any different on my return had he been feeling any better. He'd just have some other excuse in the wings. :) So, that is my project for this afternoon since I finally got my taxes done this morning. I think if I can get things put away and organized, I'll feel a lot less... jumpy.

Jumble 2:
One of the things that being home did was give me time to respark my creative juices in the fiction writing department. I have been writing short stories and novels since I was in elementary school, and the past few years have been an up and down dedication to my series of novels based on one family.

Over 2 years ago I began self-publishing these novels through Lulu Press. Somehow I have the heart to sell them to friends and family, but not the heart or fortitude to submit them to publishers.

As I am getting ready to finish up my fifth book in the series, I realize I didn't have anything on this blog about my novels. So, I'm going to be adding a little button to the sidebar. My novels are family-oriented romance novels. I don't think they would fit into the mainstream romance novel market today, because they are not very racy... if you could call them racy at all, and they're character focused and driven. No spies, vampires, murders, etc. It's the story of a family, and the people they fall in love with. Anyway, there's free previews of the first chapters of each if anyone likes romance novels :)

Jumble 3:

I need to get my seeds started! I finally got some containers lined up last week, but I need to get some soil mix to get stuff started. I'm hoping I can get this project accomplished by the end of next week. Then we'll be on our way to an odd assortment of vegetables.

I am, however, worried about sun. Our porch only gets sun in the afternoon, and even that it has to filter through the deck slats. I'm not sure what I can do about this except watch the porch to find the best sun spots and place the containers there once they are ready to be outside.

In the end, the project of growing at least one thing I can eat will probably fail, but it will be a learning process. And, hopefully next year I will have a house and a yard with sun to plant my veggies in.

In other news, I was driving not too far from our apartment last week and noticed a big sign for a farmer's market coming soon in a strip mall only a few miles down the road. I could not be more excited to see where this food will be coming from, but hopefully it will be an excellent resource for local food this summer!

~~

I hope to get my posts more... cohesive now that there's no big (planned) changes, vacations, etc looming on my horizon. Back to the old grindstone of routine. Thank God!

Wow

2007-03-04T18:25:00.000-06:00

So, I was so not back in the groove on Monday. This week was a tough one. Between cleaning up the old apartment and trying to put the new one in shape, I was really a bit of a mess.

It's funny, each time I move I figure it won't be emotional, especially since we had grown to dislike a lot about our old place. Besides, I've moved so many times it should be old hat by now. But, no matter the move, it is hard. And a little sad. I haven't spent more than a year in any place since I was in high school, but each place has been special, and in it's own way hard to leave.

We really do love the new place. It's smaller, but we really didn't need all the room we had, just the two of us. So, even though it was a bit sad to leave, it really was the best thing for us. I'm happy, but it was an emotional, crazy week.

Now, I am at my parents for the week "babysitting" my younger sister. Basically, that just means playing chauffeur to a 15-year-old and making sure she doesn't burn the house down. Despite getting to cuddle with a kitty, I'd much rather be in my own apartment getting my seeds started.. or at least getting all the things I need to start my seeds.

Despite the better cable, more space, and an animal to play with, I'm already bored. I've done all my school work for the week, which is amazing for me. I've noticed that I am a lot better at getting work done in grad school than I was in undergrad. Something to do with maturity and actually caring this time around, I suppose.

Maybe by my 25th birthday (in April) I'll begin to feel a bit more settled and on track? But, more than likely I'll still feel scattered and frazzled and trying to untie all the new kinks that have sprouted up.

One thing I am looking forward to: Warm Weather! I am tired of cold! Bring on the sun and the sixties, if only so I can spend some time outdoors!

Back in the Groove, Sorta

2007-02-26T10:37:00.000-06:00

Well, it’s been quite a crazy few days. Between attempting to move in the rain, trying to get everything moved (still not accomplished), and attempting to unpack and get organized (not accomplished either), I really just feel like lying down and taking a nap.
But, there’s still much to do.

Saturday night after moving the big stuff, we went to the grocery store. I had planned out our meals for the week and made a list accordingly. And then we spent almost $200 on food—for two people. We were starting from just about scratch, so it makes some sense, but it still was outrageous. But, we bought a lot of produce (mainly organic) and a lot of meat (R. is still not convinced a meal can be a meal without meat, so I only have one meatless meal and will be slowly weaning him down to smaller portions of meat). I’m hoping that as we go along with this I can come up with more cost effective choices for meals and bring that grocery bill down.

Well, it’s back to school and work with intermittent unpacking, organizing, and cleaning of the old apartment. Still, I should be back to posting a bit more regularly.

And lastly, thanks to Katie for answering my last question. Informative and helpful! Thanks, Katie.

It Feels Like Spring, But It's Still Winter: What Should I Be Eating?

2007-02-22T10:45:00.000-06:00

Oh, my, but it’s been a busy few days. We’ve actually gotten some cleaning and packing done (not quite as much as I’d like though). Not to mention the weather has been delicious. I sat outside yesterday morning eating my breakfast realizing this was the first February in a while that seems to have flown by… and now it seems like the last week will last forever.

I am ready for warmth and sun. More ready than I thought I was. Sitting there, soaking it all in, even with the cool slightly chilling breezes, I was desperate for those gorgeous spring days of low 60s, sun, still a little cool but in a nice, refreshing way.

Still, despite the warmer temperatures it’s still winter and still a long way off from fresh produce. So, I have a bit of a question for all you lovely people out there: what are you eating this time of year?

Since this is my first year entering the whole eating local/eating organic lifestyle, I don’t have anything frozen or stored from last year. Also, I’m really picky and don’t like a wide variety of vegetables that most people would consider staples (potatoes, peas, spinach, basically any vegetable that is cooked and green… or cooked at all).

I was planning our meals for next week, trying to come up with a few meatless dishes—or something where meat wasn’t the main part of the meal, and I was having a hard time thinking what I should be eating right now… what would be local or in season? Add to that, what would I like? I’m open to trying new things (which is why I have some squash recipe in my meal plan), but I’m also woefully ignorant.

So, what are you guys eating this time of year (whether it's from your freezer or from the store)? What kind of good winter/early spring recipes do you use that utilize more seasonal/local/organic ingredients?

More On Food

2007-02-19T11:28:00.001-06:00

This goes a bit with my previous post, but I thought I’d keep it separate anyhow.

On our last grocery trip, I made a bit of an effort to pop some organic items into our cart. I know, these organic items are probably from a large organic company not totally working in an ecological way, but I figure its one step closer—and that’s the process I’m going for.

One of the things I bought was tomato sauce for this recipe we, in my family, call goulash (I don’t think it’s anything like real goulash—it’s just macaroni noodles, hamburger, and tomato sauce—so it’s really more like a spin on spaghetti).

I made the goulash with the tomato sauce. I actually didn’t like this organic tomato sauce as well… because it was too sweet—in other words, it tasted more like a tomato probably should taste and I’m not a big tomato fan. I’ve grown up with such tasteless, manufactured food that I actually don’t like the fresh as much. (This happened to me as well when I bought fresh green beans and didn’t like them at all, when I can eat whole cans of green beans by themselves. I didn’t like the real flavor; I liked the fake one). Still, I think that I will begin to accustom myself to fresh food or organic food and begin to like it more, it will just be a process on weaning myself off the salt, bland and preservative.

I must preface this next part with the fact that R. and me are not the cleanest people on the Earth and have the terrible habit of not doing dishes right away. Usually, this isn’t much of a problem.

This time, it was. We didn’t wash out our goulash bowls or the pan it was made in. And the next morning there was this smell. I couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. We hadn’t made anything that I thought would smell after only a night. At first I thought it was the dishtowel, then I thought the garbage disposal. I tried numerous things and still the smell persisted.

And then, that night, it clicked—it was the tomato sauce. Without the preservatives in the tomato sauce I usually bought, it had decomposed and gone to smelling overnight. Convenient? Not so much, but it made me feel a lot better about eating something that seemed real. Tomato sauce that never smells… there’s something wrong with that. Why would I want to put that in my body?

In other news, we’re supposed to get a lovely warm spell this week. I can’t wait! Also, you should check out this post http://simplereduce.blogspot.com/2007/02/sense-of-entitlement.html over at Simple Living. I couldn’t agree more.

A Post About Food

2007-02-17T14:53:00.000-06:00

On Losing Weight

I have been thinking a lot about food lately—in a variety of capacities. First of all, I want to lose some weight. I am not overweight, but I know if I ate a little better and exercised a few times a week, I could be at a much more satisfactory weight—not to be “skinny” but to be healthy and feel more energetic.

I happened across this amazing website that helps you track your meals, gives you ideas for what to eat and how to exercise. For someone like me, this site has been a revelation. (And it’s free!)

Get a Free Online Diet

First, it allows you to really easily track your food intake and the calories/fat/nutrients you’re getting in the process. I used to think I ate pretty well since I don’t like a lot of fatty things, I had no idea the amount of empty calories I was taking in on a day. And how much I lack in eating good things like fruits and vegetables. And how little water I drank in a day, and how much fat and nasty stuff comes from just one meal eating out.

Which is where all this weight loss talk ties into this blog—it’s all about the fruits and veggies—fresh ones, preferably. I haven’t really been eating much fruit or many vegetables because nothing is really local right now. Now that I know I want to buy local, I am hoping this will help me plan for the next winter season—so I have local on hand to eat.

It’s also about planning so it isn’t easier to say, hey, let’s get Taco Bell. It’s going to take a lot of planning and work and dedication to wean myself off the desire to eat a meal out so often—not in an effort to lose weight or save money, but really in an effort to be good to my body.

With all of these outbreaks of salmonella and e.coli it’s a wonder more people aren’t realizing the problem is in our food system as much as it’s a companies mistake. Society puts such importance on quality goods—clothes, technology, houses, perfect lawns—why aren’t we putting any importance on the quality of food—one of those basic needs?

I suppose because it’s easier to just buy a frozen pizza or get a hamburger at McDonald’s. It’s easier not to think about food and what it is—and if we’ve grown up knowing no different, why should we be expected to change?

I’m not one for super activism. I believe what I believe and don’t try to push my beliefs on others. I often keep my convictions to myself because it’s not my job to change someone’s mind. But, I’m beginning to feel a little bit differently on activism and this issue. I think this is one issue (quality of food) that most people don’t think about because they’re ignorant—they grew up as I did with trips to the grocery store, meals out every week, and no emphasis or thought put on to what we’re putting in our bodies. If we don’t know or see that something’s wrong why should we change it?

So, from here on out I’m going to start telling people why I’m doing what I’m doing and why. Why local and organic are better choices. They don’t have to agree, or listen, they can even laugh—but if knowledge is power, then I feel it should be part of my responsibility to spread my knowledge—I am going to be a teacher after all ;)

Crazy Week

2007-02-16T11:43:00.000-06:00

So, it's been a crazy week between snowstorms, terrible roads, signing leases and trying to get ready to move. And, now, I'm catching a cold and feeling quite puny. I am totally overwhelmed by the disgusting, messy, disorganized slop of our soon-to-be-former apartment and I'm a bit worried that it's physically impossible to clean and pack everything before next Friday. We shall see.

Due to the craziness and the messiness and the total lack of planning shown on our part, we have been eating out way too much (McDonald's, Arby's, Olive Garden, Pizza Hut in the past week). And then there's all the Valentine's Day candy I've inhaled. It's amazing how much food can effect your health--and oh what a difference a homecooked meal or fresh fruit/vegetable can make on energy levels.

I've got a lot of plans for the new apartment--plans that likely will fall apart, but one can dream. In an effort to be more organized, I want to start meal planning and grocery shopping accordingly. This is difficult because neither R. nor I have normal schedules in work/school so it's hard to know who's eating what and when. Still, I'm going to give it the old college try.

The next week + may be a bit disjointed and crazy, but I'll be doing my best to post as much as possible. :)

Happy Valentine's Day!

2007-02-14T09:52:00.000-06:00

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone! Fill up your Wednesday with love whether it be from a S.O, a friend, or a family member, celebrate your warm, gushy feelings today!

I, for one, have to work this afternoon/night while my boyfriend is on a midnight shift and sleeping during the day. And due to the snowstorm yesterday we didn't get any presents for each other (we're procrastinators, what can I say?) So, we don't have anything special planned, but I still love this holiday for some reason. The hearts, the smiles, the CANDY!

So, no matter what you're doing or who you're doing it with, enjoy!

Scoffing at the Weathermen

2007-02-13T11:48:00.000-06:00

Well, I admittedly scoffed at the prediction of snow last night. I mean, I went to bed at 3am and it was still merely rain. I figured that this cold air they were talking about was a no-show. I felt my assumptions were valid when I woke up around 7 and still no snow. Then the boyfriend said there was ice around 8, and then I woke up to this at 10:

Of course today we are supposed to sign our lease and get our keys for the new place, as well as do some Valentine’s Day shopping, and I have class—at a school than never cancels classes. I’m a little worried about the weather adversely affecting all of these plans, but I suppose that’s life with Mother Nature.

If it ever stops blowing, I may try to take a walk around and get some wintry pictures that aren’t taken behind a window.

Birds and Grandma

2007-02-12T12:24:00.001-06:00

We had a lovely break in the weather yesterday (sunny and in the 40s!), so we decided to go for a hike. I brought my camera, but forgot to take pictures since we took R.’s family’s dogs with us.

It was nice to get out and move… I haven’t done that in a long while. I’m a bit sore today, but that’s good, right?

I’m not much of a bird person. When I was very young, my Grandma had a birdfeeder out in her yard. She lived in a very rural area amidst woods, creeks, and farms, so the birdfeeder was almost always full. We would sit at the window and watch the birds eat, and she would tell me what each bird was, or I would get out her bird books like A Field Guide to the Birds: Of Eastern and Central North America and figure out which birds were feeding.

I have since forgotten most of the birds. I can still identify the easy ones, Blue Jay, Bluebird, Robin, Cardinal, Woodpecker and I still remember names like nuthatch, sparrow, and finch. I could recognize the call of a bobwhite or a whippoorwill. But, most of my bird knowledge has gone by the wayside.

Yesterday, though, I remembered those winter afternoons sitting on the window seat next to my Grandma watching the birds at their nest. We saw plenty of birds. On our drive out to pick up the dogs, we saw 4 large bald eagles in an open field. It seemed odd and out of place, but I suppose we were only 4 or 5 miles from the Missouri River (by road). I heard two woodpeckers, though never got a look to see what kind. And, all the sudden my mind has gone blank on the two other kinds we saw on our hike.

I’d kind of like to get a birdfeeder someday, and sit with my children and learn the names of the birds from a worn, old bird guidebook. I suppose that has more to do with my Grandmother than the birds, but I think that’s one of the best ways we can instill a love for nature on our children or grandchildren—spend time with them in nature, teach them about nature, show our own love for nature and the beauty of what we have. By making those connections about people as much as about animals and plants, I think it makes a much more powerful mark.

A Miscellany

2007-02-10T16:24:00.001-06:00

I want to thank Liz and Katie for their answers to my question about local vs. organic, when given the choice. I think both their answers reinforced what I had been leaning towards, which is always good!

In terms of the container veggie garden, things are on hold while we move. I was hoping to start the arugula and a few other plants indoors by the end of February, but it looks like the move won’t be a done deal till the last weekend in February, then I have to spend a week at my parents house watching my little sister while the parents go on a Caribbean cruise. Some people have all the luck. So, now we’re looking at mid-March and I’m not totally pleased about it. Still, I think it’s important that we get settled before I tackle a project this big. I want to succeed at least with something so I know I can do it.

Food wise, I have yet to begin making major changes. Since R. does most of the grocery shopping/buying, I am having trouble convincing him of making conscious choices over cost/convenience choices. He’s beginning to see my point, but he’s still in the camp where convenience and price are the number one priority. Therefore, organic only wins if it’s around the same price. And, he has the notion that organic doesn’t taste as good. He’s having trouble distinguishing organic and healthy/low fat. So, we’re working on that. Luckily, he’s very on-board with farmer’s markets and buying food fresh, so once we get to summer he’ll be at least going in that direction.

I’d also like to start being better about our waste. We throw away a lot, and recycle very little since it is not offered in our apartment complex. It’s hard to change from being convenience oriented to being more mindful of what goes into your trashcan. But, I know I need to start making these changes now while I have the time and effort. That way, once I start student teaching and ideally getting a teaching job, the routine will already be in place and I won’t say—Oh, we just don’t have time to reduce our impact on the environment.

The minimizing/simplifying is going well. I filled up a large garbage bag full of clothes to send to Goodwill. R. doesn’t seem as excited about getting rid of all his unused stuff. He’s determined to keep all 8 million t-shirts. I’m determined to cut back significantly.

It’s hard to believe that we’re almost halfway done with February. March doesn’t feel too far off. And April will be just around the corner. Sometimes, I wish I had the patience to savor each season, each week, each day instead of waiting and planning and thinking about the next one, but I suppose it’s partly this time in my life—filled with so much change, it’s hard to focus on the here-at-hand.

Question for the Eco-Blogosphere

2007-02-09T16:26:00.001-06:00

As a person new to the whole eating local/organic/green lifestyle, I thought I would propose a question to the blogosphere out there.

Eating locally has become quite en vogue lately, and for good reason. Besides the fact that the transportation of most of the food in the grocery store impacts the Earth negatively, eating locally is oftentimes tastier and even more nutritious.

The organic movement has also gained speed. It’s good for the environment as well, but it’s also focused on not putting all these man-made chemicals in our bodies and in the Earth.

Okay, so say you are lucky enough to have the option of both—which is better to choose in terms of the environment. A non-organic but local farmer, or an organic but not local product? Which one has the least amount of impact?

I’ve thought a lot about this, but I really don’t know enough about either to determine which is more… Earth and body-minded. On the one hand, a local farmer means very little transportation costs. However, the practices used to produce this food might not be all that great for the environment, for the product, or even for the farmer. Would organic, grown or made with the Earth and our health in mind, be better despite the amount and cost of travel?

Like I said, I don’t have an answer and sometimes you really don’t get the choice between the two. And sometimes you’re really really lucky and have something organic and local. But, I was just curious on some others thoughts on the matter.

What do you all think?

Getting Rid of Stuff

2007-02-08T13:04:00.000-06:00

Sometimes, throwing away things can be cathartic. Sometimes, it can be a bit emotional. I’ve never really had that emotional feeling until the past few days. Maybe it was the sheer volume of stuff I threw out:

And this was just from going through my school papers, my writing and my financial files.

There’s something comforting about having a lot of stuff. I keep a wide variety of clothes I don’t wear because I keep thinking someday I will find a use for it. I don’t spend a whole lot of money on clothes, shopping mainly at Target and Marshalls, but there’s something about having so many options that makes me feel less… bare. If I throw out all the clothes I don’t wear, my closet would be practically empty.

I was brought up in a society and a household that pushes material things. Not to say my family believes material possessions are the key to happiness, but they went from having very little to being fairly affluent. This made money seem…easy to come by and even easier to spend. I’ve always been somewhat of a cheapskate—never spending too much on one item. But, there was never much I felt I needed to have, and I think that’s the only reason I’m not more of a free spender.

If I want something (within reason), I generally get it whether by buying it myself or getting it for a birthday or Christmas. There’s not a lot I do without.

Currently, I don’t make enough to afford anything. While I go to school, the boyfriend pays most of the bills and rent. All I am responsible for is the things I solely use—including very expensive health insurance. These were things I never gave much thought to before the past few months—everything had been so easy (in the money department) up till then.

It’s hard making the adjustment from the lifestyle of my parents, to my lifestyle now. It’s hard parting with all this stuff and being left with very little. I’m almost afraid to let it go. I used to say it was because I was afraid I might need it someday, but I think it goes beyond that. I think it goes into more sociological factors. In this day and age the message is you are your stuff. Without stuff, what am I?

I’m tackling my clothes next. Maybe, it would be good to be stripped of all this unnecessary stuff—to go bare, to go simplistic. It’s a scary prospect, but I think in a really weird way it could be freeing as well.

Disconnected Thoughts

2007-02-06T19:44:00.001-06:00

Admittedly, I just don’t know what to write today. My mind is scattered. Every time I get an idea, it feels unfinished and disconnected.

It was bitterly cold the past few days, today was the first up in temps over 30. It’s amazing how warm 35 degrees can feel. And, it felt really good. Spring Fever has already begun and it’s only February 6th.

I’ve started the lengthy process of going through my things to see what I can get rid of before we move. I am a packrat and going from 2 beds/3 baths to 1 bed/1 bath means I need to consolidate.

I want the new place to be neat and organized and homey, despite being a small middle story apartment. I’m not good at cleanliness or organization, so I need to make some concrete goals and one of those is simplifying my belongings. There are plenty of things I don’t need.

Maybe tomorrow my thoughts will be more jointed and I can get something worthwhile posted.

Eco-Composition Sunday (On Monday): Haleakala National Park

2007-02-05T11:28:00.000-06:00

Eco-Composition Sunday, a day late. With the freezing cold temperatures, I thought I might want to think about my lovely warm Thanksgiving Vacation to Hawaii. This is just one small portion of that visit.

Connection in Haleakala

I have had the great fortune to visit a wide variety of National and State Parks across the United States. I’ve always had a great affinity for plots of land set aside for wild places. Working at a local state park for the six months after I graduated college greatly deepened this affinity as well as respect for those who work hard at keeping these wild places a reality.

I first read about Haleakala National Park back in 2003 in Barbara Kingsolver’s collection of essays High Tide In Tucson. At this point in my life, Hawaii was as foreign as the other side of the world, and I never imagined I’d get any closer to Hawaii than California.

Flash forward to November 2006 and I’m stepping off a plane into Honolulu International Airport. We arrived as a disheveled family, tired, wired and more than little disappointed we had arrived in the dark.

My first glimpses of Hawaii were neon signs, construction blocks, and run of the mill busyness. In our evening drive from Honolulu to Waikiki, we could have been in any major U.S city. I had expected Hawaii to be this lush, tropical wonderland. That evening, I was struck by how familiar it all seemed. Where was the Hawaii seen in movies and pictures?

We arrived at our hotel—its lobby had few walls, only a ceiling as protection from the environment. However, the weather was so absolutely perfect, that the whole trip we never gave much thought to it until the trip was over and we were asked how the weather was.
We had all been up since five o’clock central time, so we found our rooms, ordered room service and collapsed into bed once it hit about nine o’clock Hawaii time.

The next morning, the Hawaii I had imagined was firmly in place outside our hotel balcony. To the north, past the high-rise buildings and hotels of Waikiki, Diamond Head loomed beautiful and dark. To the east, the ocean gently lapped against the white sands of Waikiki. Finally, we were in Hawaii.

On our second or third day, we were docked in Maui. The one thing I was hoping to see was the Haleakala National Park that Kingsolver had so beautifully written about. My family was less enthused about the prospect, especially after one already windy upward drive on the Road to Hana. Still, my persistence paid off and we were on our way to Haleakala.

We started at the Visitor’s Center, and I tried to imagine what it would be like to be a park naturalist in Hawaii. A little different than Missouri I would imagine. After discussing the silversword plant and nene bird that Kingsolver writes about, we were on our way up Haleakala.
My family did not want to go all the way up, so I had to be satisfied with stopping at the Leleiwi Overlook. Our drive up was cloudy, with patches of blue sky and sun. As we got higher, the clouds moved about like quiet ghosts.

Eager to see what I had read about, I bounded ahead of my family on the trail and reached the overlook first. Pictures don’t do it justice due to the clouds, but the beautiful canyon below took my breath away. For whatever reason, this was one of the few places on our visit that I had a connection with. Don’t get me wrong, Hawaii was beautiful, amazing and I would love to go back—but I didn’t feel much of a gut connection that I feel when I am driving through farmland or hiking through woods. Leleiwi Overlook was one of the two or three places I felt that wow. That physical and spiritual response.

Another Move = Procrastination and Convenience

2007-02-04T21:21:00.000-06:00

Well, it’s official—another move will be underway by the end of the month. This is my third move in 11 months. I’m really really hoping this one can stick at least until we finish up our lease.

In the midst of a move, my boyfriend starting a new job, school and all the other things that accompany life, I have to admit my dreams of organic gardening, reducing, simplifying and enjoying more of nature have been put on the back burner. The focus has quickly changed from changing the world, to getting through the changes about to come at my world.

It’s a bit hard to change your habits—the way you do things and organize your world—when those habits are about to change anyway. The new apartment will be smaller, so it will be necessary to reduce and simplify the amount of stuff we have. We will have a patio, so I will still be attempting a container organic vegetable garden, but the amount of sun we get I am not totally sure about yet.

But, despite these things, I am not a good cleaner or a good mover, so the things I do in this area will boil down to convenience rather than responsibility. We’ve already started eating out way more than we should again, consuming sweets at alarming rates, we’re in pre-move mode where we just mope around listing everything we need to do without actually doing it.

But, in my many years of many moves, I can’t help but feel a bit excited—a blank slate. I can say, this apartment I will keep clean. This apartment, I will be organized. This apartment we’ll make regular meals in and grow things in and so on and so on. But, my track record is about 0 and fifteen when it comes to keeping these resolutions.
But, I have to try. I have to hope that this new apartment will help us focus on reducing our footprint… reducing our need and reliance on unnecessary things… begin a habit of eating better, eating locally and paying attention to how we’re living. I can dream, anyway. =)

(Eco-Composition Sunday is post-poned until tomorrow)

What if A River Could Go Uncrossed?

2007-02-03T12:40:00.000-06:00

One of my biggest “phobias” is something I have to use every day: bridges. I don’t know how this phobia started, but ever since I can remember going over a bridge freaks me out a bit.

It could stem from this rickety old bridge my Mom used to drive over on the way to my Grandma’s. This bridge was wood and rattled and basically felt as if it could collapse at any moment. It was finally redone a few years ago and is now a smooth ride over concrete. Unfortunately, the materials of a bridge really have no bearing on my fear of them.

As I go over a bridge, I can’t help but think, what if the bridge collapses? What if I lose control of the car and go over the side? What if I get in a wreck and fall over? The list is really quite endless in the few seconds it takes to get across any bridge.

Last night, as I faced an empty bridge over the Missouri River in the middle of the night, the usual accelerated heartbeat and worse case scenarios beating through my brain, I tried to think about what made me so nervous about a bridge? What did I find so alarming?

I’m not sure it’s really the root of it all, but the idea that this man made structure was crossing something not meant to be crossed. Why couldn’t we stay in our own little places, content with what we had? Don’t bridges just increase the desire to have more, do more things, be more places than is really necessary? I suppose this is going a little overboard, but I think in a way it’s true. Sometimes, it’s okay to be content to stay in one spot and do what you can to make that one spot and what you’re doing in it the best you can be and do.
All of these thoughts reminded me of one of my favorite lines from Barbara Kingsolver’s Poisonwood Bible: “If only a river could go uncrossed, and whatever lay on the other side could live as it pleased.”

Welcome to the Longest Month of the Year

2007-02-01T12:41:00.000-06:00

Well, today is only half way over and already most of my plans have been thwarted. Luckily, I don’t feel energetic enough to get all angry about it… yet. I hope this is not a bad omen for the rest of February.

February always feels like the longest month of the year. It amazes me, year after year, that this short month never seems to end. But, I start to get tired of the cold and coats and gray days. I start to make plans for the spring and summer. And somehow, the month just drags.

This month, a lot is going on. My Dad’s having back surgery, my boyfriend and I are moving for the third time in the past year, and said boyfriend is starting a new job. None of these things are overly fun, and most involve a lot of work and a lot of stress and worry.

So, I can’t help but look forward to March. Even though March will have its own stresses and busyness, the days will be longer and warmer, I’ll (God willing) be settled into another apartment, the semester will be half over and spring will be the light at the end of the tunnel.

The Small Things

2007-01-31T12:48:00.000-06:00

I am still kind of on the sick side and it is starting to irritate me! Last night I felt better until I tried to go to bed. Lying down was possibly the worst thing in the world because all at once I had difficulties breathing out of nose or mouth. I didn’t sleep much at all. So, today I am back to feeling downright lousy, and still have to go to work and talk for about five straight hours.

But enough complaining =)

On my computer I had two quotes taped to the monitor. One is about love, the other about “small things.” I put these on my computer over a year ago, long before I’d begun to think of eating locally or climate change or anything in regards to sustainability and organics.

The one about small things reads, “The small things of life were often so much bigger than the great things… the trivial pleasures like cooking, one’s home, little poems especially sad ones, solitary walks, funny things seen and overheard.” Barbara Pym.

I don’t know who Barbara Pym is; the quote was in a magazine I like to read. I cut it out and taped it to my computer, because I felt it rang completely true. It’s more often than not the small things in life that render me awe inspired, joyful, or even sorrowful. A sad poem can indeed cut me to the knees. A solitary walk can sometimes have the amazing power of motivation. Cooking often brings me satisfaction. A sunset, a field, a tree, a creek—any of these things has the potential to make me feel alive and well and happy. Things I buy rarely do this for me.

I talk a lot about the environment and eating locally, but this blog goes beyond those sentiments for me. It’s about looking at the small things, about bringing the important things back into my life, and ridding myself of the unimportant. It’s about making the best life I can—which I think involves simplicity, community and local eating a lot more than it involves a big screen TV, trendy clothes, or pesticide-covered fruit whenever I want it.

Eating seems like such a simple thing, but it is one of the ways we survive. It’s become so easy, so thoughtless, but as one of the key parts of our survival, a lot of thought and effort should go into eating—a lot more than the thought that goes into having the latest technology or having the most stuff.

A lot is changing for me currently—my boyfriend has a new job, which means we’ll be moving (likely) by the end of February. This puts a hold on some of the earlier gardening plans I had, and worries me a bit as I don’t know what kind of apartment we’ll be moving into. Even though there is a lot I don’t like about our current place, it has a lot of positives when it comes to walking, outside space, etc. I doubt we’ll be that lucky to find something affordable with that. So, I’m a bit worried about the future of my organic container vegetable garden. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see how it all goes and hope for the best.

This is Why I Don't Watch the News

2007-01-30T15:28:00.001-06:00

I’m still feeling puny. My Grandma used to say this when she wasn’t really sick, but just wasn’t feeling 100%. That’s me right now.

I don’t (and won’t) generally blog about the news because I am not a newsy person. Call it a personal flaw, but I don’t need to know what’s going on in the government concerning global warming, building over the wilderness, basically treating the planet like a doormat—because it makes me angry and frustrated and not feeling too good about what on person can do to change all that. I know, I know, knowledge is power, but in this case knowledge is also a downer. I just keep doing what I’m doing, and look for either positive news stories—or get my information from somewhere a lot less gloom and doom than the news.

My boyfriend, on the other hand, likes to watch the news. Therefore, I do get bits and pieces of it here and there. Today, there was some story or an other (I was only half listening) about a hearing/meeting about the possibility that the Bush administration pushed scientists into making global warming sound a lot less dangerous than it is. Does this surprise anyone? Certainly not me.

Of course, the familiar feelings of frustration and anger bubble up to the surface. It maddens me, irritates me and continually shocks me that we elect leaders and allow our political system to carry on the way it does. The Bush Administration is a whole new level of this, but politicians on both side of the spectrum do this—take advantage of the weak, reward the rich, and spin, spin, spin till there’s no hint of an issue left.

Bush was quoted as saying something about putting caps on greenhouse gasses would be too “expensive.” Expensive for whom? For companies that rake in billions and trillions of profits? For the government? For who? Because, last time I checked, global warming is going to end up being pretty expensive in the number of natural disasters, species lost, climate change affects on crops, businesses, and so on and so on. Let’s spend billions of dollars on a war, and do nothing to begin to solve some huge problems we’re costing the Earth and ourselves. The average person can’t always afford to make the “green” choice, it’s sad that those who can, won’t.

And this is why I don’t watch the news—I basically end up wanting to punch something or someone. I don’t feel inspired to make a change, I feel the need for screaming and shouting—and I don’t think that’s going to get anyone to change their mind.

Weather Vulnerability

2007-01-29T11:49:00.000-06:00

Aside from this past Friday where temperatures reached 60 degrees, winter is spreading its long cold windy fingers out across the area. And, with it, I have contracted a lovely little cold. One of those colds that you fight all week and then one day of poor eating, poor sleep, or too much outdoor time sends your throat swelling, your nose dripping, and your head aching.

I’ve been fairly lucky this year. Last year I was sick practically all winter (which had some to do with the fact I was working with 4 and 5 year olds 8 hours a day). But, I think it also had something to do with the up and down temperatures we had all last winter. Warm-cold-warm-cold-snow-70 degrees and on and on. This winter has been fairly consistent… or the change was gradual. Enter last week when we had 20 degree highs mixed with 60 degree highs and then the very next day a wind-chill of –2. My body doesn’t agree with these abrupt changes.

My body and my mind are very affected by the weather. After all, despite being humans, we are just animals. Cloudy days on end leave me feeling moody, restless, unhappy and unsettled, while nice sunny rays can bring me out of a funk. The cold weather has sent me cooking up a storm and pining for spring by buying seeds and visiting gardening supply stores.

Spring is my favorite season, and it’s always this time a year when I feel like it’s just beyond reach… only to have to get through February and a portion of March before spring begins to emerge. Something about that wait makes February the longest feeling month of the whole year—despite being a few days short of its counterparts.

This post is a bit disjointed, but so am I and so are my thoughts. A lot of changes are happening in my life and some things I thought were a little further off are inching up on me a little quicker than planned. I’m not very adept at change despite my lifelong relationship with it. I will still be dedicated to posting here every day even if it’s just a picture, snippet, poem or thought, so please keep checking back.

Eco Composition Sunday: How it Once Was

2007-01-28T08:39:00.000-06:00

(It’s a stretch to call this one eco-composition, but work with me)

As a child, my family moved quite a bit. And so, place and the idea of home became somewhat of an obsession in my college days. I was in a whirlwind of trying to find myself and where I fit—home was never the answer, because I didn’t have just one.

I was born in Iowa and spent the majority of my first nine years in various Iowan cities. A majority of my family still lives in Iowa (having never moved), so the visits were very frequent. Because of this, Iowa holds a special place in my heart. When I go to visit, little changes. It’s my stability. And, even beyond that, full of wild, untouched places that I can’t get enough of.
Last week, my eco composition was about my maternal grandparent’s house and land. This week, we take a bit of a turn over to my paternal grandparents. Whereas my maternal grandparents were raised in town and didn’t move out of town until their youngest was in college, my paternal grandparents are more farm people.

Both my paternal grandparents grew up on farms, as far as I know. My dad was born in the same farm my Grandpa and his father had been born on. And, the family lived on that farm until the mid to late sixties when they moved to a small town nearby.

Over the years, the farm and the house were sold to a friend of my Grandfathers. Back in the early nineties (or maybe even late eighties) it somehow came about that my Grandfather and my Dad wanted to buy the farmhouse back. Since the owner was a friend of my Grandpa’s, it wasn’t a problem. The farmhouse was back in my family’s possession.

If memory serves me, the house was built in 1890, so it is over 100 years old. Quite unfortunately, the house looks its age.

Despite its lack of use, the farm holds a lot of fantastic memories for me. I first drove on the gravel road outside the house, nearly backing my Dad’s minivan into a ditch. One winter, snow had blanketed the area with inches upon inches and the wind had made large drifts. My Grandpa took my sister, my cousin and myself out to the farm and we stomped along in snow up to our knees. I remember being disappointed when it was time to go, and standing knee-deep in snow and looking at the sparkling blue winter sky. How hard I wished that this would be mine.

One visit, we actually got to go on an inside tour of the house. I remember what almost every room looks like. I loved this house. In my mind, I could see it the way it once must have been—the alcove looking over the side yard and the apple tree, the large parlor type room, an old bedroom that looked over the fields. In that moment I was wondering what it would have been like to live there, and wishing that someday I could make it a reality.

My Grandpa kept an old piano in there, and he told us he liked to go out and play it when he visited the farmhouse. Such a sad picture, my Grandpa playing the piano in a falling apart room—the ghosts of his past in every crevice of decaying room.

The last time I made a visit out to the farm was two summers ago. It was July and I had brought my camera. I wanted tangible evidence of this dream place—this place that every time I set foot on its land I seemed transported to a different time or deep within the recesses of my own imagination.

The sun set quickly, and I didn’t get as many pictures as I would like.

It’s hard to say what will become of this old place. If I had a load of money, I would spend as much as I could on restoring the house. My Dad would probably say the same. My Grandpa as well. But that fact is, no one has that kind of money so the house continues to decay, to fall apart.
And when I think about the farm, far away in my apartment, I imagine my Grandpa at the piano in the front room, playing songs to those long gone. I imagine he sees what I see when he looks around: how it once was.

Seeds and Eco-Footprints

2007-01-27T09:13:00.000-06:00

Veggie Garden Update: I received my first batch of seeds yesterday. These were from Baker Creek Heirloom Seed Company (http://www.rareseeds.com/). I was impressed with how quickly I got them (though I do live in Missouri and the company is in Missouri as well, though further south). They also threw in a free packet of seeds of Golden Marconi Peppers which are a sweet pepper, so that will be nice in comparison with my hot Chinese Five-Color Peppers.

So, now I’ve got to work on finding some containers and deciding what kind of mix to use in the pots. I’ve read varying suggestions, though I think I’ll probably go by the growing guide from Baker Creek.

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Since I started this blog a little over a week ago, I have been searching the Internet for like-minded people who post regularly. There are quite a few blogs that I’ve been enjoying. The most regular posters, I’ve put in my link list—a list that will likely grow and change as I have become mildly obsessed with reading blogs.

One of the themes I see over and over again in posts, about pages and so forth is the idea that people are trying to erase the footprint they leave on the Earth. I find this a fascinating topic. I too would like to put out as little as I can in terms of hurting the environment, but I think this idea of erasing (or lessening) our footprint is a hard one. It’s not the “American Way.”

I think the majority of Americans are brought up being taught to put their mark on the world. Not necessarily there environmental mark in that they should pollute and damage the delicate balance of ecosystems, but to make our mark so that when we are gone there is proof that we have lived.

We are taught we should want to make a difference, make tons of money, have as much stuff as we possibly can—and sadly those last two outweigh the first. When our national motto is MORE MORE MORE, then the environment isn’t much involved in the thought process.

I, for whatever melding of genes and parenting, have never really wanted more. I’ve never been called materialistic… in fact; my Mom often finds my lack of buying things to my detriment. This was more so before I entered the “real world.” I’ve become a bit more of a shopper and spender and less of a wait for others to give me what I want. But still, my goal is not to make tons of money, have tons of things. In fact, I want to live a more simple life and I don’t want my (future) children to grow up with video games or zombies in front of the TV.

But, there is this presence around me that has that allure of “stuff” still right there in my mind. I used to watch an ungodly amount of TV. Since I have moved in with my boyfriend that isn’t as much the case. (I spend too much time on the computer). This week, I wasn’t feeling well a couple days so happened to watch more TV than I had been watching in weeks. And I began to see these ads bombarding me with what I should want, how I should be, and all the quick fixes to get there. I watch TV and I feel fat, poor and sloppy. Maybe I am the sloppy part, but my weight is fine and I don’t have a lot of money, but I have a roof over my head and food and plenty of stuff and plenty of people who would help me out if I were in financial crisis.

There are a lot of forces out there that try to make us feel unhappy with what we have. I’m not one of those people who says we shouldn’t watch TV. I enjoy The Office and Jon Stewart and Steven Colbert and Top Chef a little too much to do that. I think TV is fine form of entertainment, as long as I’m remaining conscious of the advertising affect on me.

I don’t need more, and I don’t always want more. I want less, and I want to create the smallest possible footprint in terms of the Earth’s health.

Cheater, cheater, Clementine eater

2007-01-26T09:26:00.000-06:00

I have a confession to make… a deep, dark secret I keep from my “green” side. I love Clementines. These “e-z” peel cuties that travel to my Missouri supermarket from California… or even worse, Spain. The Boyfriend and I have become obsessed, eating about 3 a day and gobbling up nearly 5 boxes in the past month.

I feel guilt. I do, but at the same time, I can’t stop. An addiction? I don’t think so. It’s actually something mildly nobler (I said mildly).

I am a sugar freak. There’s not a day that goes by I don’t drink pop, and barely a day goes by that I don’t eat some horrifically sugary candy like Nerds or Starburst or Skittles. I have been obsessed with candy as long as I can remember—so much so that friends joke about this very fact and my boyfriend buys me bags and bags of candy for most occasions. Sugar is a drug, and I’m a very happy addict.

But, something amazing happened with our first box of Clementines. I had finished lunch, and instead of reaching for a sugary handful of candy, I wanted fruit. I had to do a bit of a double take. Body, you want what? But my body was adamant, it didn’t want candy—it wanted a Clementine.

Since we’ve been buying the well-traveled Clementine, I’ve barely touched my candy stash (I’m still a pop addict). Instead, for snacks and even desserts I reach for a Clementine. I like fruit a lot, but Clementines are the only one’s I’ve ever reached for over candy.
So the dilemma becomes, be good to my body or be good to the environment? I suppose it doesn’t have to be a choice… I could cut back on my sugar with sheer willpower, but that doesn’t work for me for very long. I could find a more local fruit to bow to my sweet tooth, but where’s that going to happen in January?
And so, we buy the Clementines and I feel guilty, but rationalize that it’s good for me! I believe the Clementine season is coming to an end; the last batch wasn’t so good, so until next winter I can be free of guilt. But, hopefully I can come up with a suitable replacement for the Clementine for the end of ’07.

The Little House Cookbook

2007-01-25T12:47:00.000-06:00

I was looking through all the junk I keep crammed under the guest bed when I came across something I had forgotten completely.

At some point my Mom or Grandma had bought this orange cookbook full of odd, old-fashioned recipes. When my Mom wanted to get rid of it at a garage sale, I took it for myself. I didn’t know how she could get rid of something so infinitely interesting… and then it got packed away and I’ve barely looked at it since.

The book is The Little House Cookbook by Barbara M. Walker. It’s a book full of recipes mentioned in any of the fantastic Little House books or recipes that pioneers would have been making around the time Laura Ingalls Wilder’s family was traversing the Midwest. I’m a big history buff—especially the social aspect of history. Not necessarily wars or political disasters, but what were the everyday people thinking, feeling doing?

So, when I came across this book again I opened it up and looked through it. I was amazed to find just as many (if not more) words and explanations as recipes. I began to read the forward and was struck by how perfect Ms. Walker’s words seemed to fit with the ideas of simplicity, eating locally and even sustainability.

“They [the recipes] turn out to be a wonderful way to rediscover basic connections, links that are often obscured in the complex modern world. By this I mean connections among the food on the table, the grain in the field, and the cow in the pasture. Between the food on the table and the sweat of someone’s brow. Between the winter and dried apples, the summer and tomatoes, the autumn and fresh sausage. Between the labors of the pioneers and the abundance we enjoy today. Between children and their elders. Between the preparation of a meal and the experience of love.”

Walker’s words are undeniably perfect for this generation. She points to a point Joan Dye Gussow also brings up in her book This Organic Life. Many people don’t make the connection between what they eat and the farmers that produce the food. Many children haven’t any idea how onions or celery or peaches grow. There’s no connection. We simply, as a nation, do not seem to care where our food comes from as long as its cheap and convenient.

I think a lot of the local movements and homesteading movements stem from a wish to have all
those connections back. My Dad often makes fun of my love for old things, pointing out that I wouldn’t want to live without plumbing or running water. I try to explain I don’t want to transport myself back to that time, but I would like some of the values of community and food to be transported to our time. Pioneers and all those that came before the industrial age did what they did out of necessity. If they didn’t plant vegetables or have some kind of food source,
they died. Many of us are so lucky not to have that kind of threat hanging over our heads, but it doesn’t mean we should allow our ignorance to threaten our planet and our own health.

I’m getting a bit soapbox-y and a bit rambly again, so I’ll just say this. What I want from my life is to understand those connections between the food on the table and sweat of someone’s brow. I want to pass this to my children should I be lucky enough to have them. These new choices I’m making are to increase my connection to the land, to what I eat and an attempt to rememember my good fortune to have all that I have and not always be wanting more, faster, easier, and cheaper.

Pet Causes

2007-01-24T21:39:00.000-06:00

A few days ago I was talking to one of my closest friends on the phone. Somehow, we got on the topic of eating fresh and locally. It’s not a topic I often bring up with people, because it’s still such a new concept for me, I don’t think I can do it justice until I actually start living it.

However, we got on the topic anyhow, and I was surprised that my friend agreed. Yes, fresh food tastes better. Yes, I would like to eat locally. Yes, yes, yes. Until we got to the part where we discuss actually doing it.

My friend had the normal arguments against it, it’s not economically sound and it requires some time and effort that a lot of people don’t have. I agreed that it takes time and some effort, and perhaps it’s not frugal in an economic sense, but I pointed out that it will never be economical or easy unless people start wanting to make the effort. The market generally bends to the majority of consumer wishes or consumer trends. Let’s make eating locally the coolest trend there is.

She pointed out that I specifically couldn’t afford it, and she has a point. I barely make enough money to scrape by, let alone by fresh produce from a farmer’s market. But, I couldn’t help but feel that I would rather make some financial sacrifices along the way and feel like I was at least taking away some of my personal additions to the levels of energy wasted by our food system.

And, I suppose, what it comes down to is this: what are you willing to sacrifice for? Everyone has his or her own pet “causes.” A disease, a human rights issue, our environment. We all determine what kind of sacrifices we want to make based on how we feel about them. I don’t often discuss my pet “causes” because everyone has a right to decide what cause they hold dear to their hearts.

I grew up around farms and people who had tried their hand at farming at some point. I grew up with the wilderness of my Grandparents and the small farm town of my other Grandparents. I grew up with a fascination for barns and cornfields and the people that made those things possible. I grew up occasionally getting a taste of fresh fruit in comparison with store bought. If someone never saw these things, I can imagine how hard it would be to make the connection and hold this cause to your heart.

Unfortunately, there are other issues involved other than just better tasting food. Greenhouse emissions, wasted energy, small farms being bulldozed and wild places being torn apart for million dollar homes. These issues, though not on the hearts of all, have a direct impact into our world and our future. I can’t help but feel we all need to take some responsibility for that. But, I am not one for banging my head against the cement heads of some. So, my activism is doing what I can, showing those interested what we can do, and teaching my children and my future students to care for the world and the wild.

Soapbox-y? Yes, but we can all take a turn on the soapbox every now and again, as long as we remember deep down we’re all trying to do something good—we just don’t all define good in the same way.

Revive the Victory Garden

2007-01-24T08:16:00.000-06:00

I was trolling through the blogs I am beginning to visit each day and I came across this magnificent post:

http://simplereduce.blogspot.com/2007/01/revive-victory-garden.html

Take a look, be inspired! Let's fight global warming one vegetable at a time.

Seeds Ordered!

2007-01-23T09:23:00.000-06:00

Well, I went a little hog wild yesterday and ordered some seeds, partially at random. I’ve been reading up on what to plant, what works in containers and all that. I’ve read people’s blogs where they pour over seed catalogue after seed catalogue insuring they’re making the right choices. But, me, I just picked willy nilly.

I may regret some of my choices; I ended up ordering more seeds than I had anticipated (of course). Since we are moving some time before June, I should have minimized rather than gone overboard. But, here was the final result:

1 Packet Temptation Strawberries (I read these do surprisingly well in containers)
1 packet Tumbling Tom Red Tomato
1 packet Strawberry Corn (something with strawberry in the name—but basically popping corn)
1 packet Chinese Five Color peppers
1 packet arugula

I ordered these all from Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds and Pinetree Garden Seeds

(Side note: MS Word didn’t have arugula in its dictionary—hmm)

I have two wood containers for the arugula. I’ve heard mixed things about using wood for containers, but I think I’ll give it a shot and if it doesn’t work out I’ll know for next time.

Now the challenge is to find big containers for the rest of the guys. I’ve tried to find stuff around the house I could use, but I’m not coming up with anything that is really as big as most of the articles I read said vegetable containers should be (5 gallons).

Another challenge is finding somewhere to put the containers once they’re ready to get moved outside. Right now, actually, there are some spaces because our apartment is on the corner. The corner faces south, so some items on the balcony might work as being close to south facing. My concern is when we move to another apartment, we’ll be unlikely to have the same setup. I guess that will just have to be one of my criteria—south facing porch/balcony/something.
I’m excited to start, but I also know my limitations—I have issues with long term projects, as in losing interest or motivation to continue. I’m hoping the idea of food coming from these plants will keep me going!

My "Farm" Drive

2007-01-22T10:37:00.000-06:00

One of the places I work is about a 40-minute drive away from my current apartment. There are two ways to get to work, both about the same time. One is all highway, one some highway and some back roads through farm and field. Admittedly, the more scenic route takes about five minutes longer—more if I get stuck behind some slow moving traffic.

Guess which route I usually take. The scenic one! When I first started this job, I usually took the highway because it was a little quicker. I only took the “farm” route if I knew traffic was going to be bad on the highway. But, I noticed an interesting phenomenon. When I drove the highway route, I often got to work feeling grouchy and irritated. Often insane drivers punctuated my drive—the end result me fuming and cursing as I drove. This didn’t happen on my farm route. If anything, I’d often find myself smiling and feeling inexplicably better. The cute barns, fields of corn at certain points in the year, the horizon of trees stretching Heavenward. This was soothing and calming and I arrived at work with a smile on my face.

It merely took a week or two after this initial discovery to switch to the longer but more scenic route. I suppose I am lucky enough to have some luxury of time so I can make the choice to let my eyes feast on some pretties along the way. And, I am lucky that there is a route that circumvents most of the highway driving. I really hope that I will always be so lucky to have somewhere in my life, if not my home, that I am surrounded by barns, open fields, clusters of trees, or just somewhere free of pavement, construction, and crowding.

Eco Composition Sunday

2007-01-21T16:08:00.000-06:00

I don't know if I will make this a habit, but I would like to--try to write at least a couple paragraphs of an ecocomposition each Sunday. It is a form of writing I was introduced to in 2002 in my creative nonfiction class. I find the form fascinating. Here is my first attempt, written in 2002. Many things have changed since I wrote this, including the death of my Grandmother and myself growing in more ways than I could have imagined.

***

I Belong

Driving down the Bluegrass, a two-lane, East-West highway that darts out of Ottumwa Iowa, I always feel my heartbeat change its rhythm. No matter what I’m doing, whether it’s reading in the backseat, arguing with my sister, or driving, at the point where we hit the Bluegrass, the pulse slows. I look out my window and watch as the small hills and farms of Southern Iowa roll by until we reach a bright orange gate which is always open, inviting the car into a world of complex communities and relationships.

This gate leads to a plot of land owned by my grandparents. Inside the gate lies an airport, an office, a house, and thick woods. My ideas of ecology define this place. Ecology being “concerned mainly with interactions or interrelations between organisms and the animate and inanimate environments in which they live” (Krech 22). And this plot of land has become a system of relationships. It is here where I have learned what home is. Not a place, not even people, but layers of connections and relationships that start at a place’s foundation and work its way up through the people, connecting them all in one overlapping balance where I can feel a sense of belonging.

Traveling the curving path of the gravel road, slowly inching away from the modernity of highway, we bypass the office and the airport. Visits there come later, family is the first stop. As we approach the house, it hides behind trees and hills, flitting behind these things, ghost-like until the last curve is rounded. The roof comes into view, slashing to a firm point at the top, as one side slopes lower than the other. As the last stretch of road is driven the square block of the rest of the house comes into view. I am always in awe as we approach. The small house holds so many memories. Wood-planked porches decorated with flowerpots, porch furniture, and usually a dog or two buttress the front and the back of the house. The porches are centers of activity, for congregating, for reflecting. They hold the house together, bringing its occupants to engage and live in small clusters as they observe the world around them. A system all their own entwined into every aspect of the place around them. It is one of the few places I can mingle without trepidation. I am not an outsider on this porch.

Trickling inside after communing on the porch I am greeted by a world of uniqueness, untouched by the technological advances of the past few decades. It is a place of slow, deliberate change. Just a few years ago my grandparents got a new TV and a new antenna (they can’t get cable way out here), and a VCR, which has yet to be used with any regularity. My Grandparents first microwave is only a few years old, and it sits with the outdated toaster oven on the white kitchen counters. Modernity has yet to encroach too much in this house. I enter this world and fancy myself stepping back in time, into a place I’ve always wanted to go.

Despite a few superficial changes here and there, one thing in the house that has not even remotely changed, and I have a feeling never will. The bright orange carpet that blankets everything except the kitchen and the basement stands out against the homey, understated décor of the rest of the house. The carpet has faded somewhat over the years of wear and tear, but it is still the same sixties orange it was at its installation. In any other place I would probably find it hideous, but here it fits. It has always been there. I never even questioned its aesthetic appeal until recently. Trying to explain the house to a friend, I mentioned orange carpet and noticed the look of horror on her face. Seeing it through her eyes, I could see how awful it might seem. But to me it means familiarity, it means safeness. It isn’t necessarily beautiful, but considering that my childhood was littered with over twelve different carpets and houses, the orange carpet here has always offered me something recognizable, something comfortable, a sign of home. I am comfortable here because it is still the same at its core. I connect with it in a way I cannot with my own homes, which have never been stable, never been the same. I relate to its stability forcefully.

The house itself is not a center for activity. Most of the excitement here takes place outside. In the warm months we congregate as a family on the porches, tour Grandma’s gardens, or hike in the woods. When a plane flies by the men, all pilots, rush to the doors, windows, or the porch to identify the type and its pilot. I do not run to the door. I was never taught which plane was which or belonged to whom. Grandma had me pour over Wildflowers of Iowa Woodlands, memorizing the bright glossy pictures and their bold titles. And as we hiked she would test me on my identification. If there is question over the identity of a wildflower, I am there. The men have their planes, the women their flowers, and I have learned my place well. I trail after my Grandma and Mother, listening to the identifications and diagnosis of plant diseases in Grandma’s garden. I beam proudly when I can identify a wildflower that my Mother cannot.

I am, after all, my Mother’s daughter. I am like her more than I ever wanted to be and that, perhaps, is where the desire to one-up her comes from. We are alike forces clashing, both stubborn, opinionated, emotional and irrational. Here, at Grandma’s, I see our relationship in a new light. I see our relationship mirrored in the one was she has with my Grandmother. My Mother, who attempted to cut all ties to the traditional, to her own Mother’s way of life, has become the housewife, the educated gardener (though she still disdains the wildflowers my Grandmother and I cling to). It is then I see how, in my own way, I attempt to cut ties with my mother by clinging to what she cut. Iowa, her mother, wildflowers, building a strong relationship with everything she attempted to leave behind.

As I slowly mature, leaving teenage angst behind, I come to realize all this and seeing it helps ease some of the resentment, some of the clashing. My Mother had me at a relatively young age and that has allowed us to grow up together, in a way. As she began to embrace the things she swore to leave behind, I began to embrace her, embrace our similarities and flaws as best I could. As Grandma passes eighty, and becomes less and less healthy every year, my Mother and I have begun to bond over our grief, over having to watch it happen. As she comes to accept that her Mother did the best she could, I begin to accept that mine did too. And in that acceptance I find peace in a place I have always known with two women I have always known. Three generations finding a way to accept and love each other is as much of this place to me as the gardens.

Unlike the clashing I’ve had with my mother, my Grandma has always been my lifeline. I am the oldest of three girls. My Grandmother is the oldest of five children (three boys and two girls). My birthday is April 24; my Grandmother’s is April 23, sixty years earlier. When I was a baby, before I can remember, my Grandma babysat me while my mother finished up her degree and my father worked full-time at a jewelry store. As eldest to eldest, April birthday to April birthday, Grandmother to eldest grandchild, we have bonded. My Grandma is stability where my life has been a series of uprootings and transplantations. She and her home have been the permanence I have always longed for in my day-to-day life. Grandma has always been there, and so has her home.

Sunsets belong to my Grandma and me. We walk up the gravel road that winds over a hill and to the highway. We usually only make it to where the “road” splits, one way going to the highway and the other heading to the office. We walk, very slowly, as the dogs trot and play around us. The sunset glows in the West, to our right, slowly sinking behind the trees, and if it’s the right time of year the Cottonwoods shower us with their fluffy white seeds. Grandma and I talk sometimes, we’re quiet others. It is ritual, it is connection.

In the summer we sit on the front porch and watch the colors blaze and shift as the heat hangs around us. I listen to the birds, identifying the bobwhite and the whippoorwill. We rock in our porch chairs, idly pet the dogs that lay at our feet, as the faint smell of clovers drifts by.
In the winter we sit on the couch and watch through the window as the sun blazes orange, pink, lavender, and then fades to darkness. I don’t know quite how the ritual itself started or why, but I can’t look at a sunset and not think of my Grandma, or dogs, or the image of the sun falling behind the hill of trees. Sunsets have become a bond, a circle between me, the sun, and Grandma.

My favorite time of year there is mid-spring. It brings out the connection I feel with the land, when the air has finally grown warmer and all of winter has melted, leaving the world muddy and dripping, the bright green of the new grass contrasting with the moist, black soil. It’s slick and the wetness seeps through any layer of protection. Hiking is difficult, falling a given.

Everywhere flowers bloom, their light green stalks giving way to colors. Iowan wildflowers are not gaudy, not bright, look-at-me flowers. They hide in grasses, in woods, peeking shyly out from their protection. The small, delicate, white Spring Beauties gather in patches and bloom to show slim lines of dark pink stretching from their centers. Sweet Williams bloom all along the woods, showing off their five lavenderish-blue petals as they peer out from behind the foliage of the woods and give off a charming, spring-like scent. Buttercups, small, hidden, bright yellow petals that always look slick, grow by the creek bed, only blooming on the wettest days of spring. Violets: yellow, purple, and white dot the green hills. Blue bells, hiding in their special patches that only Grandma, and now I, know about, droop, purple and blue. There are butter-and-eggs dotting the gravel road, small yellow flowers that look nothing like butter or eggs. Grandma says it’s a weed, but then guiltily admits that most wildflowers are considered weeds as well. My favorite spring wildflowers are the Dutchman’s Britches, a strange white early-spring flower that look like puffy pants hanging upside down on a laundry line.

Every spring Grandma has a small vase (usually an old jar) of these flowers on the kitchen windowsill, and when we grandkids are around she digs out all her vases and we fill them to the brim with an array of whites, pinks, blues, and yellows as we put the vases on the tables and across the mantle. Of course, there are certain flowers we know not to pick. The white Dog Tooth violet is a rarity, along with the green Jack-In-The-Pulpit, which I’ve only caught glimpse of once. We excitedly announce their presence and gather round to inspect these scarce plants, but we know to leave them alone in hopes that they will repopulate and once again grow as frequently as the violets.

Spring to me is wildflowers at Grandma’s. It is about sharing knowledge and knowing a place down to the name of its plants. It comes down to relating, listening. As Terry Tempest Williams suggests in her book Red, “our capacity to face the harsh measures of life, comes from the deep quiet listening to the land” (17). So I listen to the birds calling, the winds rustling the grasses and flowers, and by listening I feel connected to the cyclical world that begins with the wildflowers.

The search for wildflowers often ends with a hike up to Grandpa’s office. No visit to my grandparent’s is complete without a trip to this land of gray metal buildings and old-fashioned planes. Grandma has tried to detach her home from it, but both leak over the circles of relationship. Planes soar overhead back at the house as much as at the airport itself while Grandma makes sure her flowers are planted along the buildings of the office. Grandpa’s aviation magazines line the walls of the basement, while my Grandmother’s decorative touch is firmly ingrained in the cultivated landscape.

The office is set down in the middle of a small plot of land known as the Antique Airfield, abyproduct of the Antique Airplane Association, all of which are my Grandfather’s creations. My Grandfather is now seventy-eight years old, and except for a few recent health problems that have kept him homebound, he walks or drives up to the office every day but Sunday. He is still the president, the owner, the head honcho, and I’m not sure retirement will every really be in his future. His dedication to this place is clear in its proximity to his home, in his obsession with planes, in his refusal to retire.

The Antique Airfield is unique, a place of living history, engine grease, dogs, cement, grass, and trees. And despite its connection, it is a world unto itself. The office, the hangers, the museum, the library, the runway, all make up this small community solely dedicated to aviation. The airport is directly off the highway, a mile up from the house. It is a world of cement and gray contrasting with stretching fields of green and the deep cluster of trees that create a faux physical separation between the airport and the house. The airport is the mechanical blending with the natural and the old with the new as brand new 2003 Sedans sit in a gravel driveway while planes from the twenties and thirties taxi down the grass runway. In the middle of green, fertile, Iowan farmland no one really expects a cluster of gray buildings. Few people anticipate, on a nice day, brightly colored antique planes whizzing overhead and resting on the fields of grass that act as runways, the only division of field and landing strip coming from brightly colored orange cones, visible from the sky.

The main office is my favorite place. The smallest of the buildings it sits center in the airport, facing the highway and acting as nucleus, holding the rest of the office together, much like my Grandfather does. On entering the building one is greeted with cement floors and a series of glass cases that offer magazines, patches, and other various airplane memorabilia for sale. Its shelves are littered with ploys for membership and enticements to return. Of course, the real enticement is my Grandfather, his knowledge, his ease with people and dedication to the preservation of his past. This is what draws people, and myself, back. He seeks to connect visitors through flight.

Behind the glass cases, up a narrow, cement staircase is my Grandfather’s office. It smells of cigar smoke and old magazines just as the basement back at the house does. One wall is a window seat and a large window that looks out across both runways. In the winter when the trees are bare the point of the roof of the house can be seen. Grandpa is the king ruling high over his kingdom, though I have never seen him sit there and look out the window. He is usually at his desk that faces the right wall, hunched over papers or leaning back in his chair as he talks on the old fashioned rotary phone, hard at work. The dogs lay in various positions at his feet and Colby, the Queen, stretches out on the window seat.

What I love most about this place is how the buildings are cool in the summer. How plane enthusiasts gather around my Grandpa. How everyone seems to know one another like a community, no matter how long or short the duration of their stay. How, as granddaughter to the Bob Taylor, I hold a spot of honor somewhere. How the dog claws clack against the cement floor as they trail behind my Grandpa like a harem.

My Grandfather has an intense relationship with his dogs. It has turned into a long-running joke in my family. My mother calls him the dog whisperer. These dogs eat people food more than dog food, and on certain days my Grandfather even packs them their own lunch along with his.

One Christmas after his favorite dog had been put to sleep, he sought free puppy ads in the paper; he found one and I soon remember being bundled up in the back seat of his old Monte Carlo the day after Christmas. I remember that as Grandpa navigated icy roads and nasty weather, Grandma complained about his insane attachment to dogs and how it would end up being the death of us. He never says no to a dog. He has always taken in strays. Whenever a dog shows up he starts feeding them with the rest, and they usually stick around. Over the years dogs have come and gone, showed up, died, run away, etc. There have been at least twenty I can remember, the most at one time being six. However, now, there are only two. Colby, the dog picked up on the icy December night, and a stray named Brownie. Daisy, a Labrador, is my cousin’s dog, but more often than not spends her time with my Grandpa’s dogs, eating my Grandpa’s dog food or leftovers.

Grandpa loves each and every one of his dogs as if they were his children. When he is away for more than a day, he often insists on calling my Uncle and having him put Colby on the phone. Whether it is a joke or done out of seriousness is not quite obvious. On my Grandparent’s fiftieth wedding anniversary, my Grandpa walked down the stairs in the morning and offered a “Morning, Colby,” before he even acknowledged my Grandmother sitting on the couch. As my Grandmother wryly noted, the dogs come first in his world.

There is a dog “graveyard” on the low hill in the back, behind the lilac bush and the water tank, before the line of trees start. A gravestone, rectangular, flat and gray with the name Rose engraved on it, sits in the middle of the hill. Beside her is a pile of logs that marks the grave of her son, Tipper, and on the other side is one of Colby’s sons, Goggles, who was hit by a car. It is a morbid little spot, a testament to how much my Grandfather cares about his dogs. I myself have put flowers and other decorations on the graves, or cleaned and weeded around them. I’ll sit, remembering times when I was younger and would talk to the group of dogs as if they were people or remembering the time my sister, cousin, and I got lost in the woods and the dogs stayed with us the whole time, though they undoubtedly knew their way back.

Though the dogs change every year, they are a constant. There is always a dog to greet me as I pull up the gravel road. In the winter, there is always a dog scratching to get in, and always my Grandpa obliges, no matter how much my Grandma complains. And because of my Grandfather’s intense love of dogs, I share that love. It has become a relationship I can carry with me wherever I go. Grandpa to dog, me to dog, and in turn me to Grandpa.

At the end of the day, this section of land is where my dreams most often take place. I wander around my Grandmother’s while strange, dream-like things happen. Subconsciously I am there. When I write fiction, my stories are usually set in the house without realizing it. I just automatically imagine my characters there because each character is a part of me, and so we both belong. The place (all of it: house, office, land) has become a place of understanding and growth. It is a stronghold in my life, stability, a place to enjoy my family, a place to live, and the one spot I feel truly at peace. I am at peace because I belong. I belong to a series of complex, overlapping circles I can crawl into, become a part of. I shed the role of outsider with no history, and with each visit I fit into a niche where each of our histories combined. From the wildflower to my Grandma, I belong.

Eagle Watching on the Mississippi

2007-01-18T20:28:00.000-06:00

This morning, my mother and I set out to see eagles. The day was supposed to be sunny and almost 40 degrees; of course, it was a dreary, cloudy day that barely broke thirty degrees.

We drove out of Saint Charles and took crowded highways to cross the river in Alton. Alton is your typical midwestern river town, old and dirty—run down by time, industry, and the river itself. I can’t say much more about any of the other towns on the “River Highway,” run down and old, these towns have not well withstood the test of time. I suppose most drive by without much of a thought to them, but these types of towns always make me feel a little sad. In the pretty old brick buildings, or unique constructions to fight periodic flooding, it doesn’t take too much imagination to see what these towns once were—quaint, pretty little hamlets with charm and character. It’s sad to see that this couldn’t last.

Our first stop was Grafton, in an empty parking lot near the ferry dock. It was cold and windy, so my Mom and I sat in the car and used the binoculars to look at the clusters of trees across the fast moving Mississippi.

It took a while, but I finally spotted an eagle in a tree across the way. It was small to the image I had in my mind, but after a few scrutinizing glances it was plain to see it was an eagle. A few yards to the right were two more eagles, all just resting calmly on a seemingly inadequate branch. They seemed unperturbed by our staring and ogling. They continued to sit placidly, contemplating the muddy river below them.

We made a few more stops, including a lunch break in a cute little café in Elsah called “My Just Deserts.” Elsah, as my Mom said, is like the town time forgot. It’s a crowded small little village of old but pretty well kept buildings—an amazing array of antiquity. We caught more glimpses of eagles, usually quite far away, all sitting placidly on their scraggly tree branches.

This was the best picture I could get from our little excursion:

I have to say, I enjoyed the drive almost more than spotting the eagles. For some reason, I really love the way trees look in the winter. I like a nice horizon of trees all stretching their bare arms heavenward, or the treeless branches—curling, twisting in an almost sinister manner. The beauty of nature is stripped; the color killed until spring, and yet there is still a beauty in these trees. Hitting a surprising strip of rolling, Illinois farmland somewhere between the Illinois and Mississippi Rivers was a nice contrast to the flatness of the other side of the river. My guess is that, despite attractions like eagle watching and Pere Marquette State Park, most people wouldn’t consider this land all that pretty or scenic—especially on a gray, cold day in the middle of January, but today it was pretty in a subtle way—in a bare, naked way—the Earth stripped to her basics is still beautiful. And even better, she will bloom again in just a few months.

Picky Eaters: Fresh Produce Tastes Better!

2007-01-17T13:26:00.000-06:00

Another reason I have become increasingly interested in eating locally and growing my own food is something that I have known without knowing since I was about 8 years old: fresh food tastes better!

I say knowing without knowing because I never really gave it much thought. However, as I was reading This Organic Life recently, Gussow mentioning how fruits and vegetables from the grocery store are often tasteless, though perhaps uniform while the foods from her garden had strong, vibrant tastes that surprised many of her visitors and neighbors throughout the years. As I read all of this, it suddenly dawned on me that I had known this all along, but I’d chalked it up to different things.

From the time I was born until college when my Grandmother began to lose her good health, weeks of my summers, spring vacations and winter vacations were spent at my Grandparent’s home in rural Iowa. My Grandfather had a vegetable/fruit garden in the expansive yard. He grew pumpkins and watermelon, rhubarb and strawberries; he even had a grape vine and a couple fruit trees. I don’t remember what the other fruit trees were, but one was a plum tree. This particular summer, I happened to be visiting when the plums were ripe. Being a very picky eater, I was often reluctant to try new things. I never thought I liked plums, but the idea of picking something and eating it was too novel to pass up. Turns out I loved these plums. I ate plum after plum and raved about them to my parents. When I returned home, my Mom bought some plums at the store for me. Guess what? I didn’t like them. I don’t remember what they tasted like exactly, but I can distinctly remember being disappointed. My Mom bought some more, thinking perhaps we’d gotten a bad batch. No luck, I no longer liked plums. My Mom chalked it up to me being difficult and I suppose I was used to getting tired of certain foods after eating too much. Looking back, I would say the difference is the fact that the plums I ate at Grandma’s were deliciously fresh. The ones from the store were from states and miles away, bred specifically for travel and color, rather than taste.

The next two examples are a little more recent. The first involves a trip to a local apple orchard. I saw a commercial and thought it would be a fun day outing for me and The Boyfriend. We picked two big bags of apples. Now, I love a good apple, but I had always thought they were hard to find. A lot of the times I would buy an apple at the store only one out of the couple would be sweet and tangy enough for my picky tastes. I thought it was me being picky. I ate apple after apple of this batch from the orchard, and none had that grainy, tasteless experience that I had grown used to with apples. These were delicious. Because they were in season and fresh.

Then, this November, I was lucky enough to travel to Hawaii for my parents 25th anniversary. I had grown up eating pineapple out of a can. I’d changed from the syrup to the in its own juices, but there was something odd about how I liked pineapple—only from a can. I thought the “fresh” pineapple from the store was too… something. Low and behold we get to Hawaii and I decide I better try some fresh pineapple in Hawaii, just to know I ate pineapple in Hawaii. Imagine my surprise when I loved it. Every day I had some fresh pineapple. I exclaimed to my Mom how I had made this miraculous change, and she just shrugged and said, “of course it tastes better, it’s grown right here.”
Then, reading Gussow’s book I finally put all the dots together. I’d often been afraid of “fresh” because I wasn’t sure I would like it. I don’t like tomatoes or almost any green vegetable (cucumbers and green beans are about all I can stand), I don’t like beans, peaches or even potatoes, but I’m willing to try the fresh versions now to see if maybe what I don’t like is the “jet-lagged” produce from superstores. I have a feeling I still won’t like peaches or spinach, but being willing to try is exciting enough for a picky eater like me.

The Urge To Cultivate

2007-01-16T20:31:00.000-06:00

For such a mild winter, it’s a bit of a shock to all of the sudden be in the twenties outside. Now, in the past twenty-four years I am living the furthest south of all my many homes, so I am no stranger to a true winter. However, the apartment we live in, though only over a year old, has terrible heating downstairs. Being inside is and staying warm is an effort, so then going outside no longer holds an appeal. I am someone who gets cold very easily, and I need the right conditions to want to brave some cold weather. Shivering under sweatshirts and blankets isn’t really the right conditions.

However, despite the cold, the clouds finally broke today and there were periods of sunshine. It’s been a little too cloudy for my particular tastes, so the sun was a welcome excuse to pull down the shades (my shades actually do come down, rather than up, in order to see out the window).

Despite the ice and cold weather and lack of sun, I have noticed a lot of gardeners gearing up for spring on their blogs. Much talk of seed ordering and compost and whatnot. One of my goals this year is to start on organic garden. I made this goal when it looked like we would be moving into a house or condo this spring. This has since changed and it looks like, instead, we’ll be moving to another apartment (oh the joy). So, my organic garden has undergone some reevaluation.

I still want to give it a try. One of my other goals is to eat something I grow, so even if I just have one measly tomato plant I will be immensely happy (for this year). I’ve been doing some research on container vegetable gardening (more research to be done when I get to the library at some point this week). Right now, I think I might try to grow some tomatoes, one or twp varieties of peppers, and probably some lettuce. I suppose the time is now to start these endeavors, though it seems so early to me (the novice gardener talking).

Though I am but a novice, gardening of all forms is something that seems to seep its way through the generations of my family. I have long been brought up to appreciate and memorize flower names—both wild and domestic. When I would visit my maternal Grandmother in rural Iowa, we would pour over Wildflower books and hike about her wooded land identifying and picking and enjoying the little gems that the wilderness had to offer.

Both of my Grandmothers also had more domestic gardens, filled with perennials and annuals of all shapes and sizes. My mother is a gardener/floral designer by trade and so I have been brought up with the love of growing things. I have not had much luck, or much interest, in growing my own until now, but I think I have the basics down.

I decided I wanted to start my own vegetable garden, because I seem to have cultivated the very American way of needing tangible results. I suppose flowers themselves are the result, and a tangible one, but you can’t really do anything with them. I love wildflowers, but growing them would take away a bit of the wild I think, so domesticated gardening, for whatever reason, leaves me desiring more. I think the vegetable is the answer to that. It produces something I am going to eat (if I can somehow manage to do it all right).

Beyond that, I find myself growing increasingly political. Sadly, by growing increasingly political that still leaves me behind many. Though I have keen interest in politics, my frustration often outweighs my patience with the way things work. So, instead, I find myself holding on to certain issues rather than parties, events, or other such means. With the inspiration of the words of Barbara Kingsolver, Joan Gussow, and Nell Newman, I have become increasingly aware and passionate about the state of our nations food consumption and the costs on the environment and even on many less fortunate people who I’d never even considered before. My garden thus becomes also the beginnings of a political statement—not to others, but to myself. Slowly, I am choosing to make the conscious effort to do something that may increase our chances of changing the way things are. Ideally, as I gain the resources, the space, and the dedication, I hope to expand the garden to at least a small bit of sustainability (like say, vegetables) and increase my appreciation for the farmers that bring us food, and knowledge of the seasons and what I have a right to be eating.

And even beyond that, as winter melts into spring, I always have the urge to sink my hands into some dirt, to cultivate my own green, and hopefully this year, reap some rewards of that urge.

Mom's Garden 4/16/06

Introduction

2007-01-16T12:43:00.001-06:00

The idea of place, of home, of belonging has long been controlling my brain. Ever since I felt that first tug of indescribable feeling at the sight of an empty field, or brilliant sunset, or wet, spring creek, land—place—wilderness has absorbed my thoughts and my happiness.

When I am unhappy, a winter skyline of bare trees against faint blue can lift my spirits. When I am unsettled, the budding of trees and the slow greening of the earth around me can settle and soothe. When I seek solace, I seek wilderness, emptiness, somewhere beautiful—even if only to me.

Absorption with what is wild has haunted me for as long as I can remember. When I learned the term “eco-composition” in a creative nonfiction class I took in undergrad, my heart leapt with understanding and longing to write such a piece. Of all the writing forms I had ever experienced, the eco-composition and the journeys of most creative nonfiction have fit better than any other.

Much to my chagrin, I am a suburban dweller and perhaps may always stay this way. So, my only connections are drives and vacations to wild places or a journey with the written word. And so, this blog will hopefully be that endeavor—my passionate participation, to quote Terry Tempest Williams in her book Red.

Beyond my connection with wilderness, with rural areas and open space comes an appreciation for the land and the cultivation from that land for food. This interest is a much newer exploration—though I have always had a romantic sense of place within a farm and farmers, I have never given much thought to the ecological or environmental concepts of farming or food. Thanks to the essays of Barbara Kingsolver and Ms. Gussow’s book This Organic Life, the concepts of eating locally, growing one’s own food, and our responsibility to know where our food comes from has become a burgeoning love of mine. Along with the passionate participation with the wilderness, I will also describe the struggles of a young, suburban woman attempting to eat locally, and raise some of what she puts on the table for herself and her boyfriend. All on a very limiting budget while I attend grad school and attempt to pay for outrageously expensive health insurance.

In short, this blog is about the land, the wilderness, farms, the challenge of eating locally on a budget, the challenge of knowing where the food I consume comes from and what it cost the environment to get it to my plate, the challenge of growing edibles in an apartment in a suburban area. It’s also about the love of land, of place, of beauty, of the written word and my attempt to come to a strong grip on all of the above.

“What we lose in our great human exodus from the land is a rooted sense, as deep and intangible as religious faith, of why we need to hold on to the wild and beautiful places that once surrounded us.” -Barbara Kingsolver, Small Wonder

I suppose this teensy inconsequential blip of blog on the wide expanse of cyber space is my own impotent assault on the loss of wilderness, on the loss of connection with our roots, our homes, and down to the very food we eat. We’ll see where the journey takes me.