30.12.09

house project: excerpt from a longer work


VIII.
Nothing has ever quite fit us - not
the spaces
the angles
the doorknobs
the windowpanes.
The shape
of a house
is important.
The next house was narrow
and it pushed us together.
So close we heard
each other saying things
we had never meant
to say,
things we maybe didn’t mean
at all.
Clarity became important
because it became impossible.
We talked a lot more
but silence had the power.
You cannot see the smoke stacks
from that house, you can see
the old man next door
sunning himself in black bikini bottoms.

IX.
Every garage sale was a sacred altar
to our changing conception
of need.
What we wanted was freedom
of movement, less
on our shoulders.
It doesn’t matter how many times
you place objects in boxes,
what means something is
how many times you
try to lift and drag
the heaviest parts of you
through doorway after doorway.
We had been a body
but then we became a house,
as soon as we no longer shared one,
haunted, inhabited, echoing lost sounds.

28.12.09

Alone in the Wilderness



At the age of fifty-one, Dick Proenneke hiked into the Alaskan wilderness, built his own log cabin, and lived off the land until, at the age of eighty-two, he decided the fifty-below winters were just a bit too brutal and moved back to the continental US. Not only was he a profoundly gifted carpenter, he was also a filmmaker and writer. He shot a documentary, entitled Alone in the Wilderness, all by his lonesome during the first year or so of his endeavor. He wrote a book by the same name. The documentary is beautiful, concise, and thoughtfully executed.

26.12.09


i have dark dreams that end in bursts of light.

23.12.09

short shorts


watch:
brent green, nervous films


listen to:
sibylle baier
&
woods

read:
the battlefield where the moon says i love you by frank stanford

21.12.09

enchantment

From the Lives of My Friends

A Poem by Michael Dickman (a Poet from Portland)

What are the birds called
in that neighborhood
The dogs

There were dogs flying
from branch to
branch

My friends and I climbed up the telephone poles to sit on the power lines
dressed like crows

Their voices sounded like lemons

They were a smooth sheet
They grew


black feathers

Not frightening at all
but beautiful, shiny, and
full of promise

What kind of light


is that?


________


The lives of my friends spend all of their time dying and coming back and
dying and coming back


They take a break in the summer
to mow the piss
yellow lawns, blazing
front and
back

There is no break in winter

I am in love with the sisters of my friends
All that yellow hair!
Their arms
blazing

They lick their fingers
to wipe my face
clean

of everything

And I am glad
I am glad
I am

so glad


_________


We will all be shipped away
in an icebox
with the one word OYSTERS
painted on the outside


Left alone, for once

None of my friends wrote novels or plays, from the lives of my friends came
their lives

Here's what we did
we played in the yard outside
after dinner

and then
we were shipped away


That was fast -

stuffed with


lemons.








12.12.09

Carl Jung's Soul





Liber Novus

The Proust Questionnaire, An Exercise in Vanity


Proust's second set of answers to the Questionnaire, as given at age 20.

Q. Your most marked characteristic?
A. A craving to be loved, or, to be more precise, to be caressed and spoiled rather than to be admired


Q. The quality you most like in a man?
A. Feminine charm


Q. The quality you most like in a woman?
A. A man's virtues, and frankness in friendship


Q. What do you most value in your friends?
A. Tenderness - provided they possess a physical charm which makes their tenderness worth having


Q. What is your principle defect?
A. Lack of understanding; weakness of will


Q. What is your favorite occupation?
A. Loving


Q. What is your dream of happiness?
A. Not, I fear, a very elevated one. I really haven't the courage to say what it is, and if I did I should probably destroy it by the mere fact of putting it

into words.


Q. What to your mind would be the greatest of misfortunes?
A. Never to have known my mother or my grandmother


Q. What would you like to be?
A. Myself - as those whom I admire would like me to be


Q. In what country would you like to live?
A. One where certain things that I want would be realized - and where feelings of tenderness would always be reciprocated. [Proust's underlining]


Q. What is your favorite color?
A. Beauty lies not in colors but in thier harmony


Q. What is your favorite flower?
A. Hers - but apart from that, all


Q. What is your favorite bird?
A. The swallow


Q. Who are your favorite prose writers?
A. At the moment, Anatole France and Pierre Loti


Q. Who are your favoite poets?
A. Baudelaire and Alfred de Vigny


Q. Who is your favorite hero of fiction?
A. Hamlet


Q. Who are your favorite heroines of fiction?
A. Phedre (crossed out) Berenice


Q. Who are your favorite composers?
A. Beethoven, Wagner, Shuhmann


Q. Who are your favorite painters?
A. Leonardo da Vinci, Rembrandt


Q. Who are your heroes in real life?
A. Monsieur Darlu, Monsieur Boutroux (professors)


Q. Who are your favorite heroines of history?
A. Cleopatra


Q. What are your favorite names?
A. I only have one at a time


Q. What is it you most dislike?
A. My own worst qualities


Q. What historical figures do you most despise?
A. I am not sufficiently educated to say


Q. What event in military history do you most admire?
A. My own enlistment as a volunteer!


Q. What reform do you most admire?
A. (no response)


Q. What natural gift would you most like to possess?
A. Will power and irresistible charm


Q. How would you like to die?
A. A better man than I am, and much beloved


Q. What is your present state of mind?
A. Annoyance at having to think about myself in order to answer these questions


Q. To what faults do you feel most indulgent?
A. Those that I understand


Q. What is your motto?
A. I prefer not to say, for fear it might bring me bad luck.

4.12.09

practice




i've moved, and my new room was once a little home yoga studio.


all is well.

15.11.09

The Proust Questionnaire


The Proust Questionnaire, as answered by Marcel Proust himself at age 13.



What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
To be separated from Mama

Where would you like to live?
In the country of the Ideal, or, rather, of my ideal

What is your idea of earthly happiness?
To live in contact with those I love, with the beauties of nature, with a quantity of books and music, and to have, within easy distance, a French theater

To what faults do you feel most indulgent?
To a life deprived of the works of genius

Who are your favorite heroes of fiction?
Those of romance and poetry, those who are the expression of an ideal rather than an imitation of the real

Who are your favorite characters in history?
A mixture of Socrates, Pericles, Mahomet, Pliny the Younger and Augustin Thierry

Who are your favorite heroines in real life?
A woman of genius leading an ordinary life

Who are your favorite heroines of fiction?
Those who are more than women without ceasing to be womanly;
everything that is tender, poetic, pure and in every way beautiful

Your favorite painter?
Meissonier

Your favorite musician?
Mozart
The quality you most admire in a man?
Intelligence, moral sense

The quality you most admire in a woman?
Gentleness, naturalness, intelligence

Your favorite virtue?
All virtues that are not limited to a sect: the universal virtues

Your favorite occupation?
Reading, dreaming, and writing verse

Who would you have liked to be?
Since the question does not arise, I prefer not to answer it. All the same, I should very much have liked to be Pliny the Younger.




7.11.09

re-wilding








lucas foglia photography.

3.11.09



I yearn to keep. All the pieces of my life that tell me I have lived. Burrowed away. Safe. He said I have a heart like a vice but it’s more a heart like a magpie. A mortal creature, endangered.

27.10.09

The Brainsex Paintings

"But the poet's task, Kafka says, is to lead the isolated human being into the infinite life, the contingent into the lawful. What streams out of Mimnermos's suns are the laws that attach us to all luminous things. Of which the first is time.

Although he scarcely uses the word, everything in his verse bristles with it. Time goes whorling through landscapes and human lives bent on its agenda, endlessly making an end of things. You have seen this vibration of time in van Gogh, moving inside color energy. It moves in circles (not lines) that expand with a kind of biological inevitability, like Mimnermos's recurrent metaphor of the youth of humans as a flowering plant or fruit. These plants grow as the light does, for their life is one long day 'knowing neither good nor evil (fr.10) until the sun slips over the rim and everything goes dark. He does not use the words for dark, but substitutes events: death, old age, poverty, blind eyes, empty rooms, vacated mind. It is as if the darkness invents these evils, which arrive for no reason except the light has gone. When you pass from sun to shadow in his poems, you can feel the difference run down the back of your skull like cold water. 'And immediately then to die is better than life.' (fr.2)."

Anne Carson, Plainwater

23.10.09

for the future of american agriculture



while driving across the united states, i felt something happening to my feeling of disunity and disconnect as an american. with every person we encountered, whether right, left or in between, in the south, the center, the wild west, and the northwest, i felt my cynicism dissipate. which is, needless to say, confounding, in the sense that i spent most of my late teens deeply passionate about change, and then allowed myself to become increasingly apathetic about the future of the nation. but as we traveled down south, through pennsylvania and the virginias, north carolina, west into tennessee and arkansas and up into missouri, through nebraska, iowa, south dakota, wyoming, montana, idaho, washington, and oregon, i was given a panoramic glance at the glorious and diverse landscape of this country; furthermore, i was given a renewed sense of responsibility and hope. the united states is worth saving, and it is worth transforming.

corruption & greed run the united states, no doubt about it. the government is a hulking mass of conniving megalomaniacs. the people in charge have been pitting citizens against each other for decades in an attempt to increase their already enormous power: women against men, men against women, the middle-class against the working class, the working class against communities of color, communities of color against newly immigrated workers, the straight against the queer, the homemaker against the homeless. we are taught to believe that we deserve what we have (refusing to acknowledge circumstances of privilege and inequality) and that we must protect it, guns up, knives out.
but there are still ways to stand up to all of that ugliness, and one way we can do it is by realizing our shared struggles. we all have the right to clean, safe food. we all need to eat. this becomes all the more relevant in the midst of the maddening health care debate: if everyone, regardless of socioeconomic situation, had access to non-genetically modified, pesticide-free, sustainably grown fruits, vegetables, legumes, and grains, perhaps we could be more proactive about preventing health problems. the sicker we are, the less energy we have to stand up for ourselves, to point out a problem, to make a ruckus. the more dependent we are on an unstable, endangered food source, the more likely we are to bow our heads and follow the herd to slaughter.
parts of this country are underfed; other parts over overfed and malnourished. it costs more money to purchase whole foods for a family meal than it does to buy a few microwaveable tv dinners, and when millions of people are facing down the barrel of impending bills, mortgages, college loans, job losses, and foreclosures, who could blame the folks who are forced to be thrifty at the grocery store?

the food economy represents everything that is wrong with our nation. and the organics movement is often accused of being exclusive, elitist, and unsustainable. well, there certainly is something wrong with a (otherwise progressive, positive) food movement that is inaccessible to the majority of the population. it doesn't make sense. it is an injustice, and an injustice to one is an injustice to all.
the point being: the big guys at the top are hellbent on dividing in order to conquer, and they do this through the subtle, drawn out dismantling of communities. they shamelessly stoke the fire of distrust, aggression, envy, and capitalist arrogance.
one way to revolt is to take food into the peoples' hands. no more lawns. there are 30 million acres of lawn in the continental united states alone. these lawns require a ridiculous amount of water and an even more ridiculous expenditure of human labor - for nothing but aesthetic value. don't grow anything you can't eat, except maybe flowers, and there are plenty of edible varieties.
instead: urban gardens. community gardens. fruit trees in vacant lots, tomatoes, squash, and cucumbers on parking medians, rooftop farms, backyard permaculture sanctuaries. chard, kale, and lettuce in the pots on your patio. imagine melons, beans, and corn flourishing on hospital rooftops, apple trees and blackberry bushes on elementary school playgrounds.
organic, sustainably grown food from holland might taste good (though it isn't likely after thousands of miles of travel), but it loses its sustainability value in transit. closer is usually better, for you, for the grower, and for the earth.
support local farmers. become one! give your food away. share. bake your own bread, make your own cheese, can, jam, preserve, raise chickens. these are my aspirations, anyway.
support farmworkers' rights. respect the soil. respect the complex ecosystems our eyes cannot detect and our minds cannot fathom. land stewardship, whether 'land' translates into forty acres or four square feet, is one of the most viable, beautiful ways we can break out of the american mold of consumerism, wastefulness, oppression, and inequality.


food politics/economics/history reading list:

the world is not for sale - jose bove

food's frontier - richard manning

the essential agrarian reader

an organizer's tale - cesar chavez

permaculture: principles & pathways beyond sustainability - david holmgren

the urban homestead - coyne & knutzen

the one straw revolution - masanobu fukuoka

farm city - novella carpenter


also: visit thegreenhorns.net (the website for a Hudson River Valley-based organization that recruits, supports and assists young farmers) & watch the trailer for The Greenhorns documentary.







17.10.09

there is more power in creating than in spending



we propose that our tended gardens be woven into the fabric of our lives. the artificial separation between city life and nature will disappear. 

5.10.09

'orchard' is a lovely sound


a big pot of butternut squash and parsnip soup simmering on the stove.

tomorrow morning i leave portland for a three day farm stay at tamiyasu orchards in hood river, which is located about an hour and a half northeast of the city, up in the mountains. the farm produces pears, apples and grapes for farmers' markets. it is a small family operation. i am really looking forward to being in the dirt again, early in the crisp close morning.

it is so cold all of a sudden



lucky me, i have three new pendleton wools courtesy of my generous aunt

3.10.09

divisadero is devastating

267: lucien had said all he knew and remembered about marie-neige in these stories, the sound of her wheelbarrow, how she lit a fire, the moment of a yawn, the way she had talked about a thistle in a ditch. she was within him now.

30.9.09

divisadero



everything is biographical, lucian freud says. what we make, why it is made, how we draw a dog, who it is we are drawn to, why we cannot forget. everything is collage, even genetics. there is the hidden presence of others in us, even those we have known briefly. we contain them for the rest of our lives, at every border that we cross.

page 16

26.9.09

cleaning up my own heart

i feel as though i am experiencing the full spectrum of post-collegiate mania: far from everything i know, jobless, self-conscious about my outsider status, trying not to be a burden, making sincere yet seemingly insufficient efforts to maintain a steady writing practice, figuring out where to take things from here.

every day is a process of restoration. i wake up and feel the weight of the question, what can i do today to improve my situation, and where is that empowerment i sensed within myself while traveling across country, with no certainty of where i would sleep or when i would eat or what obstacles might arise?

every day is a process of navigation, both literally and figuratively. accounting. budgeting. networking.

and so every time i do something 'right', i suddenly recall my own ability, and i am energized like never before.

it's the little things that remind me how good it feels to be here, doing my own thing, on this strangely solitary journey: having a good conversation with stranger, friend or family; getting a volunteer position at the downtown central library; feeling really driven to secure a job that i would care about; finding solace in books and yoga; assembling manuscripts for submission to contests and publications; applying for an internship at a publishing house; having dinner with my very benevolent and generous friends/hosts; spending time with my thoroughly portland-ized aunt and uncle; attending poetry readings and concerts; discovering awesome little eateries, shops, coffeehouses; successfully getting around by myself.

as long as my eyes stay wide, i know i am in a good place.

the shape and color of an experience cannot be perceived while you are deep down in it - it's the difference between an aerial view of the ocean and diving.

25.9.09

fresh ethos





i'm eating sweet potatoes for dinner so it feels like thanksgiving.

here is who and what i am grateful for:

my mama and my papa
portland in the fall
my aunt cindy and uncle paul
my north atlantic house of bros
the wwoof network
david cross's visit to powell's city of books
the farmers' market
farmers
fertile land
$6 yoga classes with rad teachers
the friends i miss so much
the hemp connection
$3 movies at the dinner theater
the downtown waterfront at night
random encounters
transmissions of positive energy
being unemployed long enough to write a new cycle of prose poems
the wherewithal to still have hope for employment
new adventures
new knowledge
my body's range of motion and center of gravity

19.9.09

oh baby curry



ingredients:

garbanzo beans, 3 cups
coconut milk, 20 oz
tofu, 1 extra firm block
red bell peppers, 2
onion, 1 large
whole roasted unsalted cashews, 1 cup

garlic, 2 cloves
ginger root

pinch of cinnamon

pinch of garam masala
pinch of cardamom
pinch of coriander
pinch of curry powder

red curry paste

basmati rice, 2 cups


directions:

heat oil in large saucepan. add spices.
chop up ginger into thin slivers.
slice the pepper and onion into narrow sections.

simmer garlic, onions and ginger in pan until the onion is translucent.
add red pepper.
add garbanzo beans.
let it all simmer while you take care of other business, i.e., tofu:

tofu:

pour 1/2 cup vegetable oil in small pot.
cut tofu into neat little rectangles.
once the oil is at boiling point, drop the tofu into the pot and cover.
shake pot occasionally to keep tofu from sticking.


don't forget the rice. take care of this towards the end of the curry process.
1 cup rice to 2 cups water. cook until fluffy.


back to the curry.

everything is simmering nicely and it smells divine.

pour in the coconut milk. stir the beans, peppers, and onions into the milk.
add a pinch more of each spice.
add 2 tbsp. red curry paste. stir thoroughly.

once the tofu is firm, drain it of oil in a colander.
add tofu to curry.

allow the curry to sit on the stove on low for however long you can stand it. stir occasionally.
the longer it simmers, the more distinct the spices and flavors. curry is also amazing the day after its been cooked.


this recipe has no authority whatsoever.
it's just what i did last night. and it was damn good. this recipe should feed four to five people, if everyone has one to one and a half servings. if you are feeding ravenous young men, however, it will only barely satisfy two of them.





it was curry and movie night. we watched wendy and lucy, which was shot in portland, right near the house. i think it's an extremely important, relevant film. watch it!




16.9.09



nearly autumn.

the sky is a heavy gray belly.

good coffee: albina press.
mellow disorientation: powell's books.
alberta cooperative grocery. local organic chard: $1.89
tour of st. john's community garden, given by my very own aunt cindy.
sangria at por que no?
arboretum.

i want the coast, i want the water, i want a storm.


film to watch: the garden (documentary about the country's largest urban farm in south central los angeles).
books to read:
plainwater by anne carson

the delicate prey & other stories by paul bowles
practice: the woman's essential sequence from: the woman's book of yoga & health.








the delicate prey and other stories

she was afraid of the night because she could not sleep; she was not afraid of life and death because she did not feel implicated to any extent in either one. only other people lived and died, had their lives and deaths. she, being inside herself, existed merely as herself and not as part of anything else. people, animals, flowers and stones were objects, and they all belonged to the world outside.

12.9.09

twenty-two

september 12.

yoga, muddy boot organic festival, farmers' market, bookstore, rock show.



birthday card from grandma & poppop!


9.9.09

excerpt from plainwater by anne carson

Town of Uneven Love
(But All Love Is Uneven)





If he had loved me he would have seen me.
At an upstairs window brow beating against the glass.

happy birthday

happy birthday! to:

julia schwartz
emily pober-higgins
alan macintyre
chris martino

8.9.09

this is a message for the one they call 'c'



we have your clothing. this is a ransom.
come to portland and we'll see what we can do.


signed,

subcomandante panda

5.9.09

hello to my mama and papa



hello mama and papa,

you've probably forgotten what i look like. here i am! i do not like to smile in pictures.
did you know that?



in other news,
joe (the boys' housemate and fellow band member) has been talking about the impending 'mad max' revolution, about how the entire american economic system is going to crumble irreparably sometime around february of 2010. he says it will be every man for himself, pure and total anarchy, people looting and killing each other, absolute civil unrest.
once it all comes down, he says, the first thing he'll do is tattoo his face. as a representation of his tribe.

there is definitely a very intriguing survivalist, wild west vibe out here. wyoming was one thing - what with the homesteads and the common knowledge that everyone has guns, in their cars and in their homes - but out here, there is the progressive spirit paired with libertarian preparedness and paranoia. and there are already plenty of people, young and old, flaunting face tattoos.


here is an image of the mad max fantasy:



i do think, however, that if such a thing were to happen and everything fell apart, and the world had to resemble some piece of cultural currency, it would be cormac mccarthy's the road, which looks more like this:



i'm not sure what i believe, but i'm maintaining a healthy skepticism. joe expresses sincere optimism about the uprising, but i can't quite sort out how i would feel about such a thing.
furthermore, i'm not even certain if this is something i have to think about, but i will nevertheless, since my mind tends to feed on slightly removed and abstract subjects that simultaneously stimulate and terrify me.


my address to my parents and this segue into the mad max discussion might seem wholly disconnected, but they aren't.
i had an end-of-the-world dream the other night and my parents were in it.
so to consider the fall of america and the deterioration of life as we know it just makes me miss my parents and think of how much i love them, and reminds me that all i really want is for them is to be healthy and safe, and this feeling of course extends to everyone i love, which brings me to the tentative conclusion that if a revolution could occur and not endanger them, then i'd be just fine with it.

and on the other hand, i'm a lucky white girl from the suburbs of long island, so who am i to speak of revolution? what the hell do i know about real revolution? not a thing.

3.9.09

to do today

8:30: wake up

9:00: breakfast (golean crunch cereal with blackberries & soy milk)

10:30-11:30: yoga

12:00-3:00: work at slow hand farm on sauvie island.

3:30: lunch (sauteed chard & spinach & vegan sausage in a toasted tortilla)

5:00-6:00: print many copies of resume at library

6:30-8:00: gallery opening for disappearing landscapes at powell's books

(dinner at some point here)

8:00-10:30: free opening exhibition of the tba festival at washington high school.


i went to sauvie island and spent a couple hours in the midday sun weeding. the island is a lush, blossoming haven just ten minutes outside the city.
slow hand farm is a very small, tidy, lovely operation. i really enjoyed meeting the three people who work there. they seem laid back but hardworking, sharp but humble. it felt amazing to have that time, space and quiet to myself again, squatting down between the rows of chard and kale, lettuce and herbs, gingerly plucking up defiant weeds. their parting gift to me was a slice of melon and some sweet cherry tomatoes. superb.

http://www.slowhandfarm.com

2.9.09

6 - 2 = 4

the numbers keep changing.

osit left a few weeks ago, then louis went home for a week. upon his return, chipp flew back east for his own visit, and now courtney's hit the road. mike and i drove her to the train station (she is seattle-bound) and were very sad to see her go, but she seemed excited to get moving again.

it feels strange to have all of the road trip momentum suddenly come to a halt. little jaunts will have to suffice for a while. courtney and i had an amazing journey together and i will always appreciate that companionship. i think we understand each other in a rather rare and intense way, and i hope too much time doesn't go by before we see one another again.

i am staying on in portland. i have all of this inexplicable energy and optimism in me, and i decided, with the help of parental counsel, why not use that energy to begin a new phase of my life in an unfamiliar place? i am psyched for small city adventures and learning how things are done on the west coast, and i'm looking forward to getting to know myself better through all the challenges and joys that come along with big transitions like this one.

it feels good to know that everything i need can fit easily in the back seat of the little subaru forester.

fingers crossed i'll find a job.

in the meantime, i am applying for jobs, writing, cooking and cleaning, making to-do lists, budgeting, and getting in touch with local gardens and farms to see if they need extra hands. i'll be weeding on sauvie island tomorrow afternoon.

it isn't necessarily forever, but it is for now. a few years ago i would have been terrified of doing something like this, so it's a surprise even to myself that i am diving into the experience.

1.9.09

he tried to explain that he wasn't 'beat' but a 'strange solitary crazy catholic mystic'






now that i am not on the road, i am re-reading on the road. because i like it.

30.8.09

displacements of the heart



that's what they mean by the love that passeth understanding: that pride, that furious desire to hide that abject nakedness which we bring here with us, carry with us into operating rooms, carry stubbornly and furiously with us into the earth again.

faulkner

29.8.09

happy saturday!



farmers' market bounty: a big loaf of bread, peaches, plums, tomatillos, berries, kale, and chard. the little pints of berries were full when i bought them and half gone by the time we returned to the house. it's really heaven to me to have a tray of assorted berries on my lap while driving through sunny, bustling portland.

not pictured: a big bag of multicolored potatoes, a shiny and robust purple onion, beets, spinach, and local eggs.

28.8.09

wild times

washington's olympic national park is spectacular.
mike, courtney and i just arrived back in portland after two days of hiking and camping. we left the city late thursday night, arrived at a campsite around 2 am, and hastily pitched the tent before falling asleep fast and hard.

the next morning we packed up the car and drove several hours to the sol duc hot springs. we found an amazing campsite surrounded by majestic trees dripping moss.
we were excited by the prospect of relaxing in the hot springs, but we soon learned that what qualified as 'hot springs' were actually man-made pools filled with water piped to the resort from the source, and we weren't interested in buying in to that racket.

most of the evening was spent making dinner, eating, drinking beer, and talking, talking, talking. courtney explained the whole plot of twilight and i read flannery o'connor's 'a good man is hard to find' aloud while mike and courtney reclined on the picnic benches. we couldn't stay awake past 10 pm.

this morning we woke up late, around 9:30, and readied ourselves for the drive to the hoh rain forest, located on the west side of the national forest.
the rain forest, which runs alongside the hoh river, was even more beautiful than the sol duc region. enormous firs, dramatically curving branches, lush moss, pale blue glacier water running along rocky gray beaches. the air was pure and delicate. we hiked along the spruce trail and made plans to return to the forest for an 18 mile hiking and camping trip sometime in the near future. besides the hoards of tourists and shrieking kids, it was one of the most peaceful places i have ever been.

on our way back south to portland we stopped at ruby beach on the pacific coast. it was both mike's and courtney's first time seeing the pacific.
it was cold and windy; the water was white and foaming and infinite. we climbed over massive fallen trees to reach the shoreline and once there, made our way over large, round and flat black rocks to separate chosen perches: courtney climbed up to a large rock surface fifteen feet in the air, i sat underneath a simple, lovely log ceiling some other beach wanderer had constructed, and mike rambled on down the beach until we called him back.

a deeply satisfying, calming experience, through and through.


(my camera was out of commission, as was courtney's, but i pulled this photograph from the internet so you'll have some idea of how stunning this beach was.)



and here is a photograph ( another i cannot take credit for) of the hoh rain forest:

25.8.09

awesome blog reading list

cricketbread.com/blog

veganicverses.blogspot.com

goodfarmmovement.com

thepeoplewhofeedus.com

24.8.09

separation anxiety

though it is lovely to be in a house in a neighborhood in a city, courtney and i long for a garden.
i began digging up a section of the boys' backyard and intend to plant there before we leave, but it isn't the same.

this contrast in lifestyles (waking up at 5 am and working yourself towards delicious exhaustion or waking up at 8:30 am and frolicking all day, hardly knowing what time you'll fall asleep) has revealed a great deal to me about the balance i aim to maintain in my life once the pieces come back together in something resembling orderly fashion.

what we daydream about is having a thriving organic vegetable farm with fruit trees, bread-baking facilities, chickens, and goats. we want all our friends to live there with us. we want to build things with our own hands and cultivate a creative space.
when i am in the dirt, weeding or planting or harvesting, there is a sense of infinite possibility grounded in something real and tangible.
even now, just writing about this inspiration for a very concentric, interconnected community-based homestead, i feel the urge to put on my boots and gardening gloves and finish digging up that patch of grass.

when i began working on the farm in wyoming, i had written small snippets of nothing-much. my literary energy felt sapped. i was constantly required to be in the moment, so there wasn't enough distance between myself and my experience to process it as a story.
but the conversations i had in wyoming, and conversations since then, have summoned up a desire to document. somehow that distance was there, though it would certainly not be described as detachment - rather, it was something like the buddhist concept of nonattachment.

it might have had something to do with this aforementioned feeling of expansion and concentration i have while gardening. i would find myself this state where i could see a thought arise and watch it pass by, without scrambling to dissect it.
one day i told courtney, i had the most amazing thing happen to me while i was gardening. i suddenly thought, i am nothing. all that there is is this small piece of earth that i am digging up and i am so small and nothing.
she had this look on her face, the lopsided grin, and she said, i'm sorry, i'm just in the kind of mood where i have to laugh at you.

i laughed with her. after being in school for four years and overthinking the most basic decisions and events of everyday life, after learning to believe that my every action has tremendous ripple effects and political implications, it's difficult to detach myself from that method of operation, if only for a moment. but something about the experience felt more stark and solid than previous pseudo-intellectual ones.

i suppose this brings me back to how i felt in that split second. and speaking of political implications, the practice of sustainable organic farming is chock full of them.

but my point being, what i miss about gardening everyday (and the reason why i want to build a life that centers around it) is that openness of mind, the way i can think about books and writing and music and friends and family and yoga and love and anger and the body and food and death and language, and then all of that din will become a dull murmur and then silence sets in, and once again it is just my hands (still weak) and the seeds or the roots or the flower, and it is nothing and it is everything at once.





22.8.09

pizza & poetry

chipp and i whipped up homemade vegetable pizzas for the house.

pizza one:

organic whole wheat dough
delicious sauce
vegan sausage
spinach
red pepper
onion
1/2 cheese

pizza two:

organic whole wheat dough
delicious sauce
vegan sausage
eggplant
onion
zucchini
1/2 cheese



we sat around the table in nice clothing, like a family. we drank wine and beer and ate lots of pizza.
then we read poetry to each other, both original and admired. louis is getting ready to fly to new york. he'll be there for a week and we'll sure miss him.
he is currently wearing a purple polo shirt and freaking out about gathering all the right traveling music.

i love love love portland and i want to live here.
i suspect my temperament is better suited for this coast.



21.8.09

6006 north atlantic


boys&osit

the cutest little osit that ever was

american girl

livingroom/sleeproom/charades stage

kitchenette

louis&mike

makeshift nest

c&louis

music station

round table