Well there was bound to be a let down, how could there not be? It was the best summer of your life, after all.
Oh Austin... wretched whore. Once you were so young, so pretty, so thrilling to behold. I remember being beckoned into your dim chamber, drunk with possibilities. I recall being tied and bound, at your mercy, made so much sweeter by its rarity. It took discipline, but eventually you let me delight. I appreciated you like few did. You made me think I was the only one.
But I went away, and now I'm back, and though it feels like I've aged innumerable years, it's you who looks older. Used up. Predictable. Lifeless.
Okay, okay, I'm being hyperbolic. I guess what I'm trying to say is: being back in Austin ain't easy! It felt like I was making so much progress this summer, and now here I am and it feels like I've gone backwards. Like I've completed a difficult level in Mario Brothers, only to be deposited two levels prior! Like I'm forced to wear the clothes I dropped off at Goodwill six months ago! Like I'm a freshly aged bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon poured into an old wineskin (for you alcoholics and purveyors of religious metaphors)!
I dunno, it just seems like resuming my prior job, living in the same old house, walking these familiar streets... it's already happened! I want something more. I chose to live on a farm this summer in part because I wanted to see if I meshed with a rural lifestyle. Turns out I do! I love it! Especially when it's in a beautiful, unique, counterculture community like Takilma, Oregon! Oh Takilma, I miss you!
It could just be the tyrannical heat talking (it was 103 degrees today, 85% humidity), but I don't think that's it. Austin has taught me so much, but it feels like it's almost time to move on. Even after my widespread travels, she remains the city closest to my tastes and to my heart - but I'm afraid the country has woo'ed me away. Someday.
So this is my last post on this blog. I hope y'all have enjoyed reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. One thing this blog has made me realize is: I really enjoy creative writing! So much so that I intend on starting another blog solely for the purpose of exploring it further. If you'd like to continue on this journey with me, please check back at my website, dallion.com, for the latest in written and drawn stimuli. Until then!
- Farmer Dal
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Straight from the Sketchbook
Drawings, freshly harvested from the farm...
(yes, I misspelled mountain)
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
The Long Drive
Sometimes you marvel at your fortune, and muse at how perhaps all the time alone has somehow paid for these few glorious moments of togetherness. You wonder how much love you've earned, when it will expire, and when it will be time to pay again. These are the type of thoughts you have as you drive the midnight highways, the dark roads, the well traveled tracks of your thoughts. You want her to wake up, to distract you from yourself, to maybe take a turn at driving. You are almost home.
With effort, you return your thoughts to sunny meadows, to sideways smiles, to effortless conversations of understandings. Yes, she understands you, and you her, and it seems like a miracle on the order of loaves and fishes.
With no shame, you consider how you stole the "loaves and fishes" line from Kurt Vonnegut, plucked from the same collection of short stories she found for you at a used bookstore in Montana. Vonnegut is your favorite author, and hers.
You begin building your case, ready and willing to prove to anyone that you're perfect together, eager to demonstrate how even your flaws are exactly in tune. Your demons of fear, insecurity, loneliness, and anxiety are mirrored in her eyes - yet instead of procreating, they find sympathetic ears and keep busy talking. Yes, it's all perfect, the stars have aligned, and the signs are as numerous as the billboards which litter the Texas highways. Just look at the uncanny amount of consonants and vowels your names share, and it all becomes clear: you were made for each other.
But something about perfection bothers you, and often you desire the world go up in flames, even if it engulfs yourself and your loved ones.
You glance at your peacefully sleeping passenger, scanning her for flaws, any kind of behavioral abscess.
Eureka! Sometimes she'll play the music she loves repeatedly, draining it of it's mystery, it's spontaneity, it's charm, and getting it hopelessly lodged in your brain. You consider this a moment, and decide you would use this against her if it wasn't so damn cute.
You scan her again, scalpel in hand, but a glowing green sign interrupts: Rest Area - 2 Miles.
She wakes and smiles at you, and you can't help feeling guilty. Together, you search the dark car for blankets and crawl into the short grass, trying to balance the distance between smelly restrooms and noisy semi-trucks. You curl up indecently beneath an oak and sleep.
The morning light brings new clarity and as you pack the truck she glances over at you, unbathed, having never worn make-up a day in her life, glorious in her natural beauty. You see love in her eyes, and don't know what you've done to deserve it. Perhaps you've paid for it somewhere down the line. Perhaps you'll pay again. But right now, perfection don't seem all that bad, and all she wants is a cup of coffee, and you are eager to oblige.
With effort, you return your thoughts to sunny meadows, to sideways smiles, to effortless conversations of understandings. Yes, she understands you, and you her, and it seems like a miracle on the order of loaves and fishes.
With no shame, you consider how you stole the "loaves and fishes" line from Kurt Vonnegut, plucked from the same collection of short stories she found for you at a used bookstore in Montana. Vonnegut is your favorite author, and hers.
You begin building your case, ready and willing to prove to anyone that you're perfect together, eager to demonstrate how even your flaws are exactly in tune. Your demons of fear, insecurity, loneliness, and anxiety are mirrored in her eyes - yet instead of procreating, they find sympathetic ears and keep busy talking. Yes, it's all perfect, the stars have aligned, and the signs are as numerous as the billboards which litter the Texas highways. Just look at the uncanny amount of consonants and vowels your names share, and it all becomes clear: you were made for each other.
But something about perfection bothers you, and often you desire the world go up in flames, even if it engulfs yourself and your loved ones.
You glance at your peacefully sleeping passenger, scanning her for flaws, any kind of behavioral abscess.
Eureka! Sometimes she'll play the music she loves repeatedly, draining it of it's mystery, it's spontaneity, it's charm, and getting it hopelessly lodged in your brain. You consider this a moment, and decide you would use this against her if it wasn't so damn cute.
You scan her again, scalpel in hand, but a glowing green sign interrupts: Rest Area - 2 Miles.
She wakes and smiles at you, and you can't help feeling guilty. Together, you search the dark car for blankets and crawl into the short grass, trying to balance the distance between smelly restrooms and noisy semi-trucks. You curl up indecently beneath an oak and sleep.
The morning light brings new clarity and as you pack the truck she glances over at you, unbathed, having never worn make-up a day in her life, glorious in her natural beauty. You see love in her eyes, and don't know what you've done to deserve it. Perhaps you've paid for it somewhere down the line. Perhaps you'll pay again. But right now, perfection don't seem all that bad, and all she wants is a cup of coffee, and you are eager to oblige.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Au revoir!
I'm leaving today and heading up to Portland where Allison will be arriving on a late night flight. As hard as it is leaving Frog Farm, being with Allison again is a pretty darn good trade. Life is great when you're jumping from one great experience to the next.
We'll be exploring Portland and staying at a bed & breakfast for a couple days before heading to Montana, where a fellow WWOOF'er and good friend, Mateo, has invited us to stay with his family for a few days at their cabin on Flathead lake. We'll also be doing some hiking in Glacier National Park. Needless to say, much adventure still lies ahead!
Mateo in hammock.
Farewell!
We'll be exploring Portland and staying at a bed & breakfast for a couple days before heading to Montana, where a fellow WWOOF'er and good friend, Mateo, has invited us to stay with his family for a few days at their cabin on Flathead lake. We'll also be doing some hiking in Glacier National Park. Needless to say, much adventure still lies ahead!
Mateo in hammock.
Farewell!
Sunday, July 26, 2009
And just like that, it's over.
It's about time to bid farewell to Frog Farm. It's been an amazing experience and I'm sad to see it go. I've learned so much, met so many great people, worked so hard and enjoyed myself so thoroughly - yet still feel like I haven't accomplished enough; like I simply haven't had enough time.
Some things I haven't paid enough attention. This blog for instance! There are so many more experiences I would have liked to share! I wanted to describe permaculture techniques I've learned like sheet mulching, and creating guilds. I wanted to describe in poetic detail what it is like to be circled around a campfire, feverishly beating on drums, reconnecting with some kind of ancient spirit. Or how it is dropping all modesty, revealing a white ass, and skinny dipping with a group of hippies. Not only do I feel like I've neglected this blog, but I've also neglected friends; in my inbox lie too many unanswered emails, and there are letters in my head still waiting to be written (I won't even mention the unmade phone calls).
I even feel like I've let myself down, like I haven't accomplished things I had intended to. With my busy schedule, yoga was one of the first things to go, and surprise, surprise: I'm still not a master meditator. I've been reading a lot, but like all good things, it's not enough! I'm happy with where my drawing skill is, but I'd sure be happier if I'd been drawing another 30-60 minutes per day. I've hiked around The Mountain a few times, quieting my restless mind, writing poetry, daydreaming, and drifting in life's flow - but I still don't have the story for my book and most tellingly: I haven't yet made it to the top of The Mountain.
I have whittled away at some important tasks, but it never feels like enough. It never feels like there's an abundance of time. A rural life is supposed to have a slower pace, right? You're supposed to be able to stop and smell the flowers, no?
It makes me wonder why, but I think I have it figured out. This may sound like a load of new-age, spiritual mumbo-jumbo, but it all has to do with my own perception of the world... where my consciousness is at. Here I am, a trained city-boy, accustomed to running around from one task to the next, measuring my success in terms of accomplishments. Rural life isn't like that, but me bringing that mentality here makes it that. The mind is an amazingly powerful device, and I'm convinced that it literally creates the reality it wants - or perhaps more accurately, creates the reality it's accustomed to. Have you ever met an absolute pessimist, someone who just complains all the time? You could stick them in the mythical Garden of Eden, where they have everything they could ever possibly want or need, and they'd STILL complain! That's the power which each of us have, the power to perceive reality however we wish. It requires constant attention to be content, to be happy with what is.
You just witnessed a blog post of me lecturing myself.
Some things I haven't paid enough attention. This blog for instance! There are so many more experiences I would have liked to share! I wanted to describe permaculture techniques I've learned like sheet mulching, and creating guilds. I wanted to describe in poetic detail what it is like to be circled around a campfire, feverishly beating on drums, reconnecting with some kind of ancient spirit. Or how it is dropping all modesty, revealing a white ass, and skinny dipping with a group of hippies. Not only do I feel like I've neglected this blog, but I've also neglected friends; in my inbox lie too many unanswered emails, and there are letters in my head still waiting to be written (I won't even mention the unmade phone calls).
I even feel like I've let myself down, like I haven't accomplished things I had intended to. With my busy schedule, yoga was one of the first things to go, and surprise, surprise: I'm still not a master meditator. I've been reading a lot, but like all good things, it's not enough! I'm happy with where my drawing skill is, but I'd sure be happier if I'd been drawing another 30-60 minutes per day. I've hiked around The Mountain a few times, quieting my restless mind, writing poetry, daydreaming, and drifting in life's flow - but I still don't have the story for my book and most tellingly: I haven't yet made it to the top of The Mountain.
I have whittled away at some important tasks, but it never feels like enough. It never feels like there's an abundance of time. A rural life is supposed to have a slower pace, right? You're supposed to be able to stop and smell the flowers, no?
It makes me wonder why, but I think I have it figured out. This may sound like a load of new-age, spiritual mumbo-jumbo, but it all has to do with my own perception of the world... where my consciousness is at. Here I am, a trained city-boy, accustomed to running around from one task to the next, measuring my success in terms of accomplishments. Rural life isn't like that, but me bringing that mentality here makes it that. The mind is an amazingly powerful device, and I'm convinced that it literally creates the reality it wants - or perhaps more accurately, creates the reality it's accustomed to. Have you ever met an absolute pessimist, someone who just complains all the time? You could stick them in the mythical Garden of Eden, where they have everything they could ever possibly want or need, and they'd STILL complain! That's the power which each of us have, the power to perceive reality however we wish. It requires constant attention to be content, to be happy with what is.
You just witnessed a blog post of me lecturing myself.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Just in case you were wondering what kind of community this is...
Farmer Steve's Truck
Ahh! I've been vandalized!
Saturday, July 18, 2009
I don't miss the moon.
In Austin, the moon is my most secret lover. Nightly I walk under her, gazing and tracking her cycles. We talk, and I love it when she glows as brightly as possible.
Out here in middle-of-nowhere, Oregon, city lights don't compete for the night sky. The hidden stars, visible to our ancestors, reappear. They hang, showing the depth and age of our universe. They inspire wonder.
Out here, I prefer the stars. The moon, when she comes, is almost like a distraction. Superficial against the backdrop of eternity.
Out here in middle-of-nowhere, Oregon, city lights don't compete for the night sky. The hidden stars, visible to our ancestors, reappear. They hang, showing the depth and age of our universe. They inspire wonder.
Out here, I prefer the stars. The moon, when she comes, is almost like a distraction. Superficial against the backdrop of eternity.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Farms and vegetarians don't mix.
We had about 50 pounds of beef left after the wedding, and we've been slowly pulling it out of the freezer and using it in meals ever since. Today I noticed we were running low. Gasp! How will I get the protein needed for this physical farmwork? I asked Steve and Deb...
Deer meat of course! And where will we get this deer meat? We'll either shoot them as they're munching on our tomato plants, or get this... roadkill! I know eating roadkill is one big joke to you city folk, but I understand it now. Here's this big meaty animal who's just been killed, lying on the side of the road. Do you just let sit there and rot, or do you make it useful? Not only does it provide meat, but just about every part of it's body can be used for something. Debbie talks about how she uses the sinew as thread - it's especially good to use with leather products, like moccasins. And you think eating roadkill is hardcore? Once, Deb slit the throat of a deer who had injured itself on a fence.
It may sound as if, here on the farm, we're nonchalant about killing. Not at all. Whenever an animal is killed, it is done with great care and respect. In the city, often times we don't even consider where our meat is coming from, much less how the animals were treated. So in a way, city folk are more nonchalant about killing. And which is more distasteful? Eating the meat of a healthy, wild deer who's been hit by a car, or eating the meat of a cow who been pumped full of hormones and antibiotics, doesn't have enough room to turn around, and may have never even seen the light of day?
Living on a farm is changing my perspective of the world.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Oregon Country Fair
This weekend I attended the Oregon Country Fair, a three day festival outside Eugene. These pictures can describe it better than I ever could, but needless to say, hippies were abundant!
Isn't this kid adorable? May use him as a model for the main character in my book.
I spy with my little eye...
Scantily clad women were abundant...
...but don't feel left out ladies!
Something for everyone!
I think she was surprised to see a camera at the other end.
Isn't this kid adorable? May use him as a model for the main character in my book.
I spy with my little eye...
Scantily clad women were abundant...
...but don't feel left out ladies!
Something for everyone!
Amazing musician! (bought 3 of his CD's for $20)
Another incredible musician, Jason Webley, had everyone in a higher place.
Belly dancing: better than burlesque.
What a day!
Another incredible musician, Jason Webley, had everyone in a higher place.
Belly dancing: better than burlesque.
What a day!
Next time, I'd like to go the whole three days, instead of just one - but I can't complain! In addition to all the good food, weird people, and awesome performances, people came from all corners of Oregon to sell their hand-crafted wares! Clothing, moccasins, jewelery, baskets, soaps, herbs, metalwork, glasswork, instruments, and any other items you could possibly imagine. Incredible craftsmanship all around, much better than that mass manufactured crap you buy in the stores... you know, the stuff that you end up throwing away in 3 months?
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Introducing... The Mountain.
There are many reasons why I've decided to live on a farm this summer, one of them being: it provides a great opportunity to work on my career. As some may know, I'm interested in writing and illustrating children's books. I felt that getting away and being close to nature would give me the time, space, and inspiration to progress towards my goal (so far this has been true).
I have an idea for a picture book, and for the last year it's been changing, evolving, and growing with me - but the title has been certain from the beginning: I'm Going to the Mountain. This summer I had intended to work on the story and get it into a more solid form which I could then illustrate and send to publishers.
As Allison drove through the endless desert on our way to Los Angeles, I sat in the passenger seat doodling. It was then I came up with a rough cover for my book:
(Photograph from my sketchbook.)
And what is this beautiful mountain called? Hope Mountain.
Haha! I believe in omens, I do, I do!!
I have an idea for a picture book, and for the last year it's been changing, evolving, and growing with me - but the title has been certain from the beginning: I'm Going to the Mountain. This summer I had intended to work on the story and get it into a more solid form which I could then illustrate and send to publishers.
As Allison drove through the endless desert on our way to Los Angeles, I sat in the passenger seat doodling. It was then I came up with a rough cover for my book:
(Photograph from my sketchbook.)
Then wouldn't you know it, I arrive at Frog Farm in Oregon, and look what sits just across the street:
And what is this beautiful mountain called? Hope Mountain.
Haha! I believe in omens, I do, I do!!
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Random July 4th Highlights
July 4th fireworks,
a very primitive way
to remember the gods...
This was an independence day like no other, a festival amongst a treehouse city. Literally: a village of treehouses connected to one another by swaying rope bridges. Remember the Ewoks? Kinda like that. Amazing.
---
Meet a crazy old lady. Get to talkin'. She thinks I'm 10 years old. Really. When I tell her I'm 27, she doesn't believe me. Calls over her crazy old husband, a man dancing with his cane in the air.
"How old is this boy...?" she asks.
A toothless grin.
"Ohhh... I'd say about 29."
It's not often you witness strangers argue whether you're a child or a man. Here's a little secret: I'm 10 and 29. And 43.
---
I need a break from the throngs of celebrants and walk over to the meadow where the horses graze. I meet a solitary horse, also taking a break from the herd. He's magnificent. Solid tan color, muscular, walks with poise and grace. A single word comes to mind and repeats. Noble. Noble.
Most times, when a definition of a word is needed, you go to a dictionary where it describes words with more words. But as I gaze at this horse, I know nobility like I never have before. Of course, using words, I can't describe it better than any book. But in this instant I know that being noble has nothing to do with bloodlines, wealth, or manners. Nobility is simply knowing what you are. Understanding you are a vessel in which God lives. Seeing the miracle of life manifest in you. No ego. No pride. Just glory.
I try to woo the steed over by clicking my tongue on the top of my mouth. He shoots me a sideways glance and measures me up. He resumes grazing. I attempt to lure him with a handful of straw. He makes that sound which horses make and can only be interpreted as laughter. It becomes clear he won't be commandeered by any two-bit stable boy. "What are you?" he seems to ask. "Do you know like I know?"
These are intelligent creatures, no doubt. I begin to suspect the psychology between man and horse can run deep. I think of the stories I've heard about men "breaking" a horse; forcing it's will beneath his own.
I turn my back on the horse who ignores me, and gaze into the distance. I watch the color fade from the hills and retreat with the dying light. In wordless wonder I feel the beauty and complexity of life and am thankful, horse or no horse, to be standing right where I am. What a life. What a life.
I turn around and he is next to me. I smile and we share an understanding. My hand reaches out and touches his face. He enjoys my touch for a moment, then turns and walks away, as if glory can not be possessed.
a very primitive way
to remember the gods...
This was an independence day like no other, a festival amongst a treehouse city. Literally: a village of treehouses connected to one another by swaying rope bridges. Remember the Ewoks? Kinda like that. Amazing.
---
Meet a crazy old lady. Get to talkin'. She thinks I'm 10 years old. Really. When I tell her I'm 27, she doesn't believe me. Calls over her crazy old husband, a man dancing with his cane in the air.
"How old is this boy...?" she asks.
A toothless grin.
"Ohhh... I'd say about 29."
It's not often you witness strangers argue whether you're a child or a man. Here's a little secret: I'm 10 and 29. And 43.
---
I need a break from the throngs of celebrants and walk over to the meadow where the horses graze. I meet a solitary horse, also taking a break from the herd. He's magnificent. Solid tan color, muscular, walks with poise and grace. A single word comes to mind and repeats. Noble. Noble.
Most times, when a definition of a word is needed, you go to a dictionary where it describes words with more words. But as I gaze at this horse, I know nobility like I never have before. Of course, using words, I can't describe it better than any book. But in this instant I know that being noble has nothing to do with bloodlines, wealth, or manners. Nobility is simply knowing what you are. Understanding you are a vessel in which God lives. Seeing the miracle of life manifest in you. No ego. No pride. Just glory.
I try to woo the steed over by clicking my tongue on the top of my mouth. He shoots me a sideways glance and measures me up. He resumes grazing. I attempt to lure him with a handful of straw. He makes that sound which horses make and can only be interpreted as laughter. It becomes clear he won't be commandeered by any two-bit stable boy. "What are you?" he seems to ask. "Do you know like I know?"
These are intelligent creatures, no doubt. I begin to suspect the psychology between man and horse can run deep. I think of the stories I've heard about men "breaking" a horse; forcing it's will beneath his own.
I turn my back on the horse who ignores me, and gaze into the distance. I watch the color fade from the hills and retreat with the dying light. In wordless wonder I feel the beauty and complexity of life and am thankful, horse or no horse, to be standing right where I am. What a life. What a life.
I turn around and he is next to me. I smile and we share an understanding. My hand reaches out and touches his face. He enjoys my touch for a moment, then turns and walks away, as if glory can not be possessed.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Week in Review
Monday - Worked.
Tuesday - Worked.
Wednesday - Worked.
Thursday - Worked in herbal pharmacy.
Friday - Dug some stuff.
Saturday, 12:07 am - Too tired to think about what I did this week. Had beer. Smell like campfire. Life is good. Going to bed!
Tuesday - Worked.
Wednesday - Worked.
Thursday - Worked in herbal pharmacy.
Friday - Dug some stuff.
Saturday, 12:07 am - Too tired to think about what I did this week. Had beer. Smell like campfire. Life is good. Going to bed!
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Favorite Photos, Pt. 2
This last picture is from when I dropped Allison off at the Greyhound station in Grants Pass, Oregon - the first step on her long journey to Papantla, Mexico. The smiles on our faces are pure bullshit (at least I know mine is); it was really hard to see her go. For the previous two weeks we had been together nearly 24 hours a day - visiting family, seeing sights, exploring life and deepening our relationship together. For days after she left I felt a void and a silent undercurrent of unhappiness. These feelings are perfectly natural and a sign of the love and joy we bring in to each other's lives, but are they the healthiest?
It's okay acknowledging someone is a source of happiness in your life, but when does it become too much? Isn't it easy to mistake someone as your primary source of happiness, becoming dependent on them to feel good? I've had this tendency in the past and it's good I'm now aware of it. After all, nobody can provide you with deep and lasting happiness. If you ask that of someone, you're bound to be disappointed. The ONLY place you can find happiness is inside yourself. I've been reading a lot about Taoism lately and I like what it has to say about letting go. Trying to hold on to anything in life is like trying to catch a river's current in a jar. The moment you capture it, you lose it. A key to life is accepting all circumstance without holding on.
And it seems to me, if you can be happy when you're utterly alone, happiness in a partnership is easy. Still working on the first part... can't wait to resume the second!
It's okay acknowledging someone is a source of happiness in your life, but when does it become too much? Isn't it easy to mistake someone as your primary source of happiness, becoming dependent on them to feel good? I've had this tendency in the past and it's good I'm now aware of it. After all, nobody can provide you with deep and lasting happiness. If you ask that of someone, you're bound to be disappointed. The ONLY place you can find happiness is inside yourself. I've been reading a lot about Taoism lately and I like what it has to say about letting go. Trying to hold on to anything in life is like trying to catch a river's current in a jar. The moment you capture it, you lose it. A key to life is accepting all circumstance without holding on.
And it seems to me, if you can be happy when you're utterly alone, happiness in a partnership is easy. Still working on the first part... can't wait to resume the second!
Monday, June 29, 2009
Pleasure on the farm...
How does one derive pleasure on a farm? No, it has nothing to do with moonshine and sheep, you sicko. From food of course!
Last week I lost the "paper, rock, scissors" competition which determined who had the unenviable job of weed-whacking the orchard. But like every seemingly bad situation, there was a silver lining. Whenever I'd need a break from wreaking judgment on the knee high weeds and grass, I'd stop and enjoy some of the delicious cherries from the cherry tree! (shh! don't tell farmer steve!)
Of course I shared, like a good boy should.
Today it was my turn to fix lunch for everybody, and like a magician I distracted their attention away from my amateur cooking skills by exhibiting my masterful baking prowess! Voila! delicious cake, raspberries freshly picked from the garden.
Last week I lost the "paper, rock, scissors" competition which determined who had the unenviable job of weed-whacking the orchard. But like every seemingly bad situation, there was a silver lining. Whenever I'd need a break from wreaking judgment on the knee high weeds and grass, I'd stop and enjoy some of the delicious cherries from the cherry tree! (shh! don't tell farmer steve!)
Of course I shared, like a good boy should.
Today it was my turn to fix lunch for everybody, and like a magician I distracted their attention away from my amateur cooking skills by exhibiting my masterful baking prowess! Voila! delicious cake, raspberries freshly picked from the garden.
And of course there's hefenwiesen and orange. Is there any more delightful beverage to enjoy on a lazy Saturday afternoon? Methinks not!
It seems that small things are so much more rewarding when they're obtained via the sweat of one's brow. Cheers!
Saturday, June 27, 2009
What is Permaculture?
Frog Farm practices permaculture, a concept not many people understand. The wikipedia definition of permaculture is:
The interconnectedness of the system can be very complex and is virtually unlimited, but here is a quick everyday example: we harvest food from the gardens --> the stems, peels, leftovers, and scraps are fed to the chickens, ducks, and geese --> these birds lay many eggs which are eaten --> we save the eggshells, crush them, and use them in the garden soil --> the shells add nutrients like calcium and lime which help our plants grow --> we harvest food from the garden... and around and around we go.
What makes permaculture systems special is that they're sustainable and ultimately more healthy for the planet and for us. Industrial agriculture use systems too, but they are linear systems. For example, if an industrial farm wanted to add calcium and lime to their soil (and that's a big "IF" considering most large scale farms are not concerned with the nutritional value of their product), they would probably purchase it from a mining company, who of course extracted it from a finite source at a large cost to the environment.
"...an approach to designing human settlements and perennial agricultural systems that mimic the relationships found in the natural world."Another definition:
"The conscious design and maintenance of agriculturally productive ecosystems to create the diversity, stability and resilience of natural ecosystems."I like to think of permaculture as an intelligently designed system of agriculture which feeds itself; a diverse system in which everything serves a purpose and nourishes the whole; a system in which nothing goes to waste. The key word here is system. Much like the organs of your body, each aspect of a permaculture farm serves a distinct function, yet each is dependant on the others.
The interconnectedness of the system can be very complex and is virtually unlimited, but here is a quick everyday example: we harvest food from the gardens --> the stems, peels, leftovers, and scraps are fed to the chickens, ducks, and geese --> these birds lay many eggs which are eaten --> we save the eggshells, crush them, and use them in the garden soil --> the shells add nutrients like calcium and lime which help our plants grow --> we harvest food from the garden... and around and around we go.
What makes permaculture systems special is that they're sustainable and ultimately more healthy for the planet and for us. Industrial agriculture use systems too, but they are linear systems. For example, if an industrial farm wanted to add calcium and lime to their soil (and that's a big "IF" considering most large scale farms are not concerned with the nutritional value of their product), they would probably purchase it from a mining company, who of course extracted it from a finite source at a large cost to the environment.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
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