Urban Organica

'round here

Fall things be goin' on.  It only just started for us, you know.  It's been high Summer right up to the first of November.  But just look at all the seasonal stuff you can do when it's hot & dusty!  Harvest season is officially closed & outside the world has turned crimson, damp & fresh.  The sky is still a brilliant blue & our fireplace is an overjoyed cave of glowing, shimmering, simmering embers.  Dinner means good friends, a potluck of soup, bread & sausage.  And the leaves have only begun to sail across our paths.  Like I said, things be goin' on round here...

walnut loaf

Last night I filled a large tub full of walnuts that have been hiding in the corners of our home for years & years.  Some of them are tiny:  almond-sized, & I smiled thinking of the no-longer tiny hands that found them.  There's always a rush when we find a "baby," because other baby walnuts are surely nearby.  

October finds us in the walnut orchards of Full Belly Farm, walking with our eyes to the ground, sharing our treasures & cracking two walnuts against each other in our bare hands.  It also has us pulling over along random walnut farms, filling our baskets with the overflow along the roadside.  It's just that we love them so, these wrinkled-wooden spinning tops. Each one holds something no one has ever seen before, & if we pop it into our mouths, no one will ever see again!  

D likes to tell the boys how his mom would set him up with a bowl of walnuts & a spoon so she could prepare dinner in the evenings.  Likewise, these nuts are right up with pine cones as the most-used play item in our home.  If we aren't stopping on our bikes to collect them, we are pounding them out with rubber mallets, "cooking" up a little sumthin'-sumthin,' or selling them to our brothers.  They are fun to play catch with, lovely to display, interesting to smoosh when soft & they are undeniably seasonal, coming only when the pomegranates are beginning to crack.

This is our very favorite nut loaf, from one of my most-used cookbooks.  Bonnie Mandoe ran Maui's first veg catering company, so her dishes run with just the flavors we love.  We sometimes add a wedge of jack cheese & an additional egg.  Once you know the recipe, it's very easy to throw everything into the food processor, then into an oiled casserole.  Usually we make a double batch, for "sausage links" & patties that we pop into the freezer between sheets of parchment.  Or we put them into smaller Pyrex dishes to freeze.  These we defrost & slice before frying.   When my vegetarian children stopped eating veggies & refused to eat meat, we just processed these ingredients very finely & they got everything they needed in their favorite meal.

Nut-Meat Loaf from Vegetarian Nights

"This is the dish to serve friends or relatives who believe they can't make it through the day without their ration of meat.  It's also the dish for anyone who loves a hearty, old-fashioned meal.  When I serve Nut-Meat Loaf with mashed potatoes, a green salad, & an ear or corn, it takes me right back to the 50's."

1 cup cooked brown rice

2 cups grated cheddar cheese

1 cup fresh bread crumbs (optional)

1 cup chopped walnuts

1 cup chopped mushrooms

1 cup chopped onions

1 cup grated carrot

1/2 cup minced green pepper

5 beaten eggs

2 T soy sauce or gf tamari

2 T Dijon mustard

1/2 t each black pepper, thyme, marjoram & sage

Mix all ingredients thoroughly in a large mixing bowl.  Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Butter a 9-inch square baking pan & press mixture in evenly.  Bake 50-60 minutes, until firm.  Serve hot from the pan.  (We top with mushroom gravy! m)

 

on re-entry :: ice harvest, honey, swoonfest

 make your own name tags (sharpie pens on canvas + baby scrabbles)

ice candles light the way to the craft fair.  there's no shortage of magic, here

the ice house...harvested from the lake in winter.  delivered daily to your cottage.

"oh, what's that?" they exclaimed! a refrigerator cabinet.  yes!  with no electricity.  just ice! "ooh.  really?"

In 2005 my darling, funny & very wise friend John Chen gave me some sage advice on re-entry.  He's someone I consider a visionary & business mentor, so I listened closely as he explained that the main reason most "transformational experiences" do not sustain themselves back in the real world is a failed "re-entry."  People need to plan for what happens when we return to our communities as new beings, & realize that they weren't there to see what happened.

At the time I was feeling grounded, supported & clear from nine days with my Jamily at the Institute of Noetic Sciences in California.  And, about to return to D & our then 3 year-old in New Hampshire, whom I had left feeling anxious & more than a little heart-sick.  Now I was bursting at the seams with ideas about giving circles, inspired philanthropy & new models of social entrepreneurism.  I easily could have blow them out of the water, but instead I took John's advice & planned for a smooth re-entry.

As female, it's hard for me to be interrupted by males that I love.  So instead I filled my notebook with photos from the week & said nothing.  Yes, nothing.  When they picked me up from the airport I listened to their adventures, how they had bonded & the tiny challenges they dealt with alone on the island for so long.  When they asked questions, I just said, "It's all here in my notes."  And it was.  

By putting my own transformation aside I was able to take in theirs, receiving gifts I might have missed otherwise.  My son was taller, able to stand up to his neck in the lake & leaned into his father with a whole new confidence.  My husband was taller, having proved to himself that he was entirely self-sufficient as a parent, able to deliver tenderness, discipline & security without my wifely peanut gallery.  

By holding my experience sacred & not trying to have anyone else get it, I got to keep it.  

***

So this year, D & the 3 boys were in CA & I was in NH for the Squam Art Workshops.  3 weeks on, & my family still hasn't seen my photos of Squam Lake.  They have a couple of paintings up & some goodies I brought home from Reform School, owned by my roommates Billie & Tootie.  What they did see is my name tag up there, & 3 short videos over the course of the week.  

 

#1 :: What, to my mind, is what kids most want to know about Squam Lake but never ever heard of.  The Uber-Crazy team effort that is ice-harvesting.

Honey Harvest from Smarts & Crafts on Vimeo.

 #2  A short on how Derek (+ Laura, though you never see her) harvests their honey.  This is relevant because they have a shop in the City which is just our kind of shop, so the kids will actually meet them someday.  And in our family we maintain that honey is always, at all times totally relevant.  

 #3 The swoonfest SAW slideshow by my honorary roommate, Merrilee.  There's a goofy picture of me from a little antique stop & a shot of the paintings they now know.  But I didn't point it out.

I arrived at SAW at 2:30 am before it all began & was assured that no one else was there.  It was pitch black, the driver was lost & nervous, & I had a sudden intense bear phobia.  I was being as loud as possible, yelling to the driver & slamming doors before I realized Merr, Eileen & Yvette were in my cabin. They were sleeping before I got there & needless to say, I was mortified that I had woken them, but they insist they were waiting for me.  Well, I'll never know, but I do love those gracious ladies.  I loved all of it. 

 

farm math :: the best part

Before the lil' heads can conduct business behind the table...

they gotta learn their product line,

learn standards & distinguish which of their commodities...

are sold by the bunch

the basket

& the pound.

They have to practice greeting, adding fractions & bits.  Give totals.

Pick their favorite produce.  Be patient.

Compost is both a loss & a treasure.  A chance to re-invest.

There is marketing to do, products to display.  It must be beautiful & true, easy-to-see.

 

Then they tell their mamas what to make for dinner.  

At our house?  I was told very clearly to make a "sweet pepper-basil torta with feta & one dozen eggs.  A side of green beans.  With lots of butter.  Lots."  And so it was.

***

Every day at 3 my downstairs turns into a small emporium with chalkboard menus, baskets of walnuts, play produce & football helmets for sale.  The local kids charge siblings between $1-1000 for any given item, but they've learned in their play that giving change is easier when dealing with whole, small bills.  Yesterday they were all wearing Fez hats from Egypt & running a cafe that sold fish tacos.  There are still no limits apparently.  I so treasure this age, the final glimpse at the dreamscapes of their toddler-selves before they begin asking for allowances & creating websites of their own.   

good humus farm :: 1/2

set up by farmer annie, jammaker jen + the kids

 

 molly

culling apples for juice + cider

organic farming = layered ecosystems, building habitats for pest predators

snack time :: dried apricots, cherry tomatoes, hard-boiled eggs, melon

field workers getting to know heirloom berries by taste, size

apples, once-pressed by the children

zach, firefighter, farm-boy picking his lunch

midwives for our entire country's produce (muchas gracias, sweet madre!!)

 a chair, a shingled porch after an honest day.  what more do we really need?

I have a 3-inch binder packed with eloquent, heart-melting letters & delicious recipes from Jeff & Annie Main, purveyors of Good Humus Produce.  We just met on their property for the first time: those letters are 2-page bits they deliver to all of their farm members, & came in our weekly CSA-treasure boxes for several years.  I adore the farmer's market & co-op, so we stopped getting the boxes, but I have missed the perspective on those sheets.  Yellowed & broth-stained, they have been a constant source of grounding & consciousness for our family for about 9 years.  

Annie is the original authentic blogger in my mind.  I have memorized quotes from her inquiries regarding true community/individual sustainability & been jaw-dropped at an organic farmer's actual wages.  (Yes, we need to pay our teachers more.  But farmers.  They are the invisible heroes in this world.)  She taught me how to gratin kohlrabi, how to prep dark greens & passed me a favorite soup of thin onions, coconut milk, peas & cilantro.  She doesn't know any of this.  But I can actually feel my heart swelling with gratitude.   Once Jeff gave a nail-biting account of the morning's delivery when the area had been flooded.  As he recounted the condition of their van & his calculations of what was needing to be delivered & the impact of if he didn't make it, or even make it home at all (!) brought to mind the mailman's creed.  Not Wind Nor Rain Nor Sleet or Snow...

We had a chance to spend a couple of days with them, their jam maker Jen & their son Zachary.  It was nothing less than epic.  The kids ran scavenger hunts looking for treasures - like water, compost/soil, habitat & insects before doing skits right there in the orchards.  They made connections about the systems of the farm while weeding,trimming, making ice cream, compost piles, pressed apple juice, garden stones & dinner from produce they picked themselves.   My son, who hates peppers came out of the field chewing a long, neon-red chili pepper that turned out to be bright & sweet.  Before leaving, they found their new "class pet:" Tiger Eye, the biggest, prettiest caterpillar I have ever seen.  Big, like, oh, 3/4" thick & 7 inches long with a red horn on it's acid-green bum.  Apparently they eat tomato crops, so they must go.  And so must I go to sleep.  But the best part of trip was just...Oh, the best...

winemaking with children

Back home in California...we were invited out to the foothills for the kids to make some dizzy juice.  This is probably our equivalent of being towed on the ice behind someone's car; a distinct regional opportunity that not everyone partakes in, but it's thrilling & special & feels grown-up.  When I was a kid we'd go to a small farm owned by one of my Pop's fellow firefighters, Bob, his lovely wife & son.  We were inner-city kids.  His place was a totally handmade fantasy-land, filled with awesome & unlikely things like  goats, sunflowers, hammocks & a jacuzzi tower.  The grown-ups would spend the day picking grapes & fussing over the potluck spread, while us kids ran all-over the barn, climbed the loft & ogled at the treehouse where someone was actually living. (!!)  At night there'd be a band & we would get to siphon wine from the barrels into bottles through a tube that required one big nasty/naughty suck to get started.   It was sweet. 

One thing I love about intergenerational communities is the opportunities for diverse experiences like this.  The bittersweet part it how it's always a unique experience, never to be recreated.  Bob now has Alzheimer's, his son is of course, grown, & his now ex-wife is caring for him from her property across the way.  In my mind, the band still plays, & a part of me is still running through the fields, hands full of grapes & crackers.

This family has been making wine for several years & was committed to having the kids experience every part of the process.  The learning in this kind of setting is so mind-boggling to me: Quite separate from the science of measuring the grape sugars, learning the fermenting & disinfecting processes, exploring the gears & machinery & the art of taking turns, is the chance to play with learning mentors.  To engage with elders playing full-out at something they're really into, & have been into for a while is a rare opportunity in our country.  We were watching the couple who invited us & their dear friend dialogue over whether or not to press the last bit of "cake," if there would be too many tannins at that point to make good wine.  

I asked the husband, "Was she a hot homesteader when you met her?"  He replied with the biggest smile ever, "Yes."

And there you have it.  Another lesson of what it looks like to be in love.  Sheesh.  I could just go on & on about that.  To be in love with a hobby & in love with the land & in love with your family & in love with your partner.  It doesn't look like an easy life.  It looks like a good life.  I'm paying lots of attention.

women of 1620

   rigging: exquisite, black & tarred, massive

one way to get to shore...   

 crow's nest

  

a calendar? a compass? a game?  if you know, please share! 

  these woolen layers would put any waldorf teacher to shame. lined wool knickers over salmon jersey thigh-highs.  knit salmon knee highs with grey tie + poppy socks and handmade leather mary-janes to boot.  on a colonial man, to boot (again).  

     

   

 
 

I never knew the women of the Mayflower stayed on board, to care for the ill & dying while the men built their shelters.  That they had lost half of their loved ones on the way over.  I didn't realize how small the ship was - way too small for over 100 people, let alone men, women & children all buzzed or drunk because they had to drink beer for hydration.  I didn't know the ship & crew had planned to return home, but it was too cold for the colonists to survive, so they remained as home base.  I'm seeing for the first time that the Pilgrims were people suffering from shock.

I'm reminded of the triumph it is that we continue to build our lives when we each have felt the texture of trauma. That we continue to accept, long for & melt into our loved ones when we have all experienced great loss.  Or if we haven't yet, we've heard the crack in our mother's voice or seen the vacuous glance of our grandfather as he got up from his chair.  They've been there.  And yet we continue to be hopeful & hope-filled.  And life comes through.

I'm also reminded of the reality of sequencing.  History has been handed to me in a linear, masculine sequence.  Men built things, & the landmarks of their lives continued to be built upon by the decades of those that followed them.  We don't know what we build here, ultimately.  We just build, take in the contributions of others & hopefully give everything we possibly can.  

As women, our lives move in a spiral sequence.  Each phase of our lives is a rounded movement, touching on what's happened, what's coming & what's always been there.  Or maybe it looks like sequencing work or children or marriage while spinning the plates of everything else we are accountable for, everything we are up to & everything life throws in.  And here now I am spinning memories for my children & I find signs of these women - baskets, bedding, clothing, food - & I feel like I can hear crying, see them smiling.  Feel their bravery.  Some kind of weird hug across time & space.  (Or maybe I'm just picturing Laura Linney in John Adams?)

I wonder how the women of the Mayflower felt about the Indigenous women they found here, with their established home lives, surrounded by their children, men & sisters, capable & clear on their roles in their communities.  Did they wish to learn from them, join them, know them & love them as women innately do?  Did they feel thwarted in those longings by their community culture, their own beliefs, their grief or the locals themselves?  Or were some meaningful relationships established - if only meaningful to themselves?  What futures might have been possible if those heart strings had been able to become the foundational threads of this country?  If only I had been handed that history.  The dance of women. 

going forward...

tool, Patuxet Village, Plimouth Plantation

It's time to head forward to school.  Yes, school.  Sure we could go back, since we were there,  March-through-June.  Going "back to school" is exciting, an adventure into the daily faces of friends & beloved teachers, a chance to tackle new & interesting material.  That happens, & would be the case for us.  

As life-learners, we are looking at this Fall as a totally new experience, & it is.  We've never done something like this, walked into a class of kids a bit older, but still all about the same age with the same general developmental needs.  It's interesting!  And I think each Fall will be new, with new faces on the same people, new interests, new capacities.  Let us always go forward, why don't we.

Are we still homeschoolers?  Yeah, we are.  We call it the "long class" each morning.  We still belong to our local homeschooling bookclub, though it takes place during "school hours."  We will faithfully continue our "family curriculum" of cooking, marketing, growing, making, finding, drawing, tasting, discovering, dancing, assembling, dismantling, field-tripping, music-making & whatever else falls our way. 

And the Waldorf curriculum is one of those things.  I had always intended on homeschooling the boys when they were older.  When our oldest was one,  I found our local Waldorf school during a year-long Early Childhood Training at Rudolf Steiner College.  We fell in love with it & with the Early Childhood teacher.  Not so much with the kindergarten & now we have found a great 3rd-grade community.  The teacher also has three boys, is a farmer & a nurse, & she homebirthed & homeschooled, as well.  So we have much in common, & she's an elder I can learn from.  And learning is the commitment for us.  That, & surrounding our children with people who have diverse values - but values that support life.

 leather "lacrosse" for catching on sticks

There's been issues, nothing to go back about.  Like hyper-competitive parents.  Bullying.  Kids thinking they can only play with one age, or only one gender.  But these are not issues in the grand scheme of things.  I'm so grateful that every moment is a chance to move forward towards more connections.

 
 beautiful 

 "score!"

 

*****

Speaking of making connections...

This village, Patuxet, is one of the first Native villages where no one made it, due to diseases introduced by colonists.  I have so many questions I want to ask some of the folks I saw there, but they are  personal ones, & we are advised not to ask those.  But coming from a colonized culture myself, & a community of community servants, I'm so curious: "Do you consider yourself an activist?" "Does being here during the day shift how you live at home?"  "How do you feel about the colonists given that you work in partnership with the recreated colonial village?"

But we aren't to ask questions like, "What percentage Native are you?"  I understand that.  Although people ask me that kind of question at least once a month.

We can't go backwards, & a part of me wants to.  Everything there is a great reminder of the possibility- the past, present & future great possibility of letting our product - what we make - be the wellbeing of our communities.  Imagine.  More chances to forward connections.

(The Last Hours of Ancient Sunlight has wonderful ideas on how to integrate the past & the present in a way that supports our global home & community.)

Moving on...

 

 longhouse

 dolls, canoe, games

 burned-out canoe, paddles, fish-drying station

 grinding maize

 an elder messing with the kids & showing off her bear

 inside a longhouse

women-made mats as walls

Barnstable Gardens

Well, that was fun.  I've discovered where Plenty lives.  In community.  The home of Enough.  It's in the Land of Gratitude.  And Joy?  She camps in the Garden.  And that's where I've been.

(I've gotten a few funny questions about what exactly I was doing that wasn't so appropriate anymore.  There's several answers to that, but I think it comes down to doing so much on my own.  This is the default status of most females, I think.  We are prone to gathering friends & ducklings, attracting helpers & heros - then exhausting ourselves by taking care of them all to the very best of our abilities, at breakneck speed.  Putting off pee breaks & our most coveted bites of food until the very last possible moment.  And the friends, ducklings, heros & helpers step aside, not wanting to get run over.  Then they take that last bite of food off our plates, thinking we didn't want it.  SO... enough of all that.)

Here's a bit of Joy in the so-called sandpit of Barnstable, Cape Cod.  (Yes, that's what I think, too.  Not a grain of sand from my lens view, either.  But that is what they say here.)  No, this is a place of verdant soil, giant-seeking beanstalks & countless studio-worthy back buildings crowded by snapdragons, daisies, lillies-of-the-valley.  Everywhere is a hand-carved wooden welcome sign, a bird-beloved feeder, a whimsical weather vane to let you know or guide you home. 

Oh, the East.  A strange  & magical land to me.  Where hugs are rare, but meaningful.  The locals are quick to smile & quick to brush you off.  They are both generous & brusk, their kitchens smell of creamed soups, baked goods & fried fresh catch.  Their ancient homes are full of handmade love & welcome.  Signs of nothing less than real work done with real hands.  And not just long ago, by some far-away sock darner, but last Winter.  Through the Spring.  This morning.  Easterners work their a**e* off.  There I said it.

(More than Californians, they might wonder?  Uh, yeah.  We have sun all year round.  'Nuff said.)

This is the first year in 13 that it hasn't hurt sweetly to look at every shed.  That I haven't felt pangs of gratitude & longing to know every moment that went into shingling every grey cottage.  This is the first year that I haven't been so totally & completely bowled over by the beauty of it all that I can actually discern the differences between one property & the next.  I can actually hear the logic in not buying a 300 year-old barn before I've really lived here in the Winter.   It's good to feel in love & then to laugh at oneself, I think.  It's that laughter that Joy offers.  A bell in the garden.

 

measuring the last harvest

Children & Gardens :: A Curriculum in:

Joy.  Miracles. Weather.  Life Cycles.  Seasons.  Anatomony.  Botanical Illustration.  Beneficial Relationships.  Pests.  Earth Magic.  Stewardship.  Measuring.  Counting.  Multiplying.  Dividing.  Cooking. Joy.  Subtraction.  Probability.  Physical Education.  Basic Needs Generation.  Color Theory.  Applied Labor.  Inquiry.  Scientific Hypothesis.  Beauty.  Goodness.  Truth.  Right Livelihood.  Sustainability.  Crisis.  Neglect.  New Beginnings.  Patience.  Power.  Humility.

 

 

 
 
 
 Did I say Joy?  

I only wish for a green thumb.  My Winter greens grow all year long, regardless of my input.  Thank goodness for Lolas & second homes.  A place where they can plant from seed & seedling, a place to visit & observe, care & remember, & finally, to harvest & measure.  

 It may not be my garden, but I have a few favorite gardening books...

Autumn Nature Activities for Children (And Winter, Spring & Fall)

Hollyhocks & Honeybees

Roots Shoot Buckets & Boots

Sun Flower Houses

You Grow Girl