soledade's Xanga

DO i love this because Its deep in me, or because its so hip?

Mon, 26 Oct 2009 03:13:21 GMT

Many of us never meant to become farmers. We had our ambitions to enter the world as accountants or lawyers or teachers or some other clean, respectable professional. We never really thought about the origins of our food; we always knew that the supermarket shelves would fill themselves, food came in boxes or cans ready to serve and farmers were simply one dimensional photographs in the mix of a hot new marketing campaign.

Farming was at best some idyllic retirement scheme, never a seriously considered career possibility.

But then something happened. In the previously steady route of our lives, a shift occurred. The soil moved under us somehow, got stuck in the creases of our pants, in the ridges of our shoes, in the lines of our palms. Suddenly white picket fences, situation comedies and mutual fund returns didn’t seem so interesting anymore. The big ball game and the driving range became distractions from the reality of a new love affair. We got hooked on the possibilities of growing our own food and also providing that food to others.

The epiphany was likely different for many of us. Maybe a friend took us to a farmers market. Maybe someone had a plate of local hamburgers or collards at a picnic. Maybe the news of some global food disaster made us question the monocultures piled high on our plates. Maybe a real life farmer entered our life.

For a few of us, those with farming in our past – a childhood spent in the fields of the big farms or the family plots, throwing rocks into the hedgerows for little or no pay or watching over milking machines in the stench of industrial sized barns – there was no love, no kind of encouragement, no appreciation for our part in the dynamics of food production. We were simply limbs and calluses then, small gears in a giant cranking clock. We left the farm to pursue something else only to be pulled back hard when it became apparent that we could abandon everything that farming once meant to us. We could make it ours.

Still others came to farming from DIY and anti-authoritarian backgrounds, building urban community gardens or putting up food in anarchist collectives. Gardening always had a community aspect to it, but we wanted something more. We knew that we could do the work, that we had the right vision and skills. We just needed the access and the resources to get started.

Regardless of how we arrived at this point, here we are; we will call ourselves farmers from now on.

Our new loves – with their sharp hooves and unfamiliar odors, bright green leaves and bee covered flowers – give all the confidence to continue and pursue every goal we can imagine. Our new hates – hail, crop failures and rain on market days – fully test our tolerance and keep those same goals in the territory of attainability. Throughout all the highs and lows we can look at ourselves over and over again knowing that, if we stick to our ideals, we can do noble and appropriate work no matter what happens.

Local and sustainable farmers are our peers and our heroes, the most supportive, loving and steadfast community we could ever hope for.

We young and new farmers have the opportunity to change the features of the agricultural systems we have come to inherit. Through the way we speak, act and work we can change the old infrastructure, market by market and county by county. We have the time and ability to influence extension agents, educational systems and other institutions to make them function the way we need them to function in order to attain a sane and purposeful community based food system.

We are the new blood in the old body.

a haunting little poem that sits by my bed

Sun, 25 Oct 2009 20:59:53 GMT

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

-Langston Hughes

If You have followed my blog it may come as no surprise that this poem sits by my bed

My father drilled the quote

Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them. --Henry David Thoreau

thematic. haunting.

Infinite Creative Dialog.

Sun, 25 Oct 2009 20:21:26 GMT

The Infinite Creative Dialog
Is the Conversation of life. It seems easiest to grasp when considering God, and the conversations that come up about life with him. If intimacy with God was perfected, that the result would be an Infinite Creative Dialog. It is the most fulfilling conversation. Like afternoons the fade into the late night, and the dialog never breaks. brilliant ideas and deep emotions surge forth, Creation and Healing are the by-products.

I feel like this conversation, can occur on a much broader spectrum. I feel it when I am exploring a new place, getting to know someone, learning something new, or experiencing something everyday for the fourth year. a deep moving current, that initiates and responds. shaping our life, while letting us take part in the shaping.

It is a divine conversations. something that I have valued and held sacred for a long time. I like my conversation,
Between Myself and Life

To be married, is to invite someone into your conversation for the rest of your life. We all know that dynamics change based on who participates in a dialog. Add one person, and the whole conversation shifts.

So as we choose our Life partners, ( for those of us who haven't yet) We must consider how this individual will contribute, shape, or take from the sacred conversation.

I guess I'm writing about this, because I am being called out on my commitment issues.
I am asking myself,
                     " Why do you hesitate?"

I have also been one to travel light, move quickly, with the illusion( or reality) that I am free.
I've always said, " It takes twice as long to take someone with you"
Having a significant other makes it a little harder to sneak in, escape, go unnoticed.

Its more weight for one being hospitable.

Additionally-Ideally, two would share an agenda, Ive had one love where I thought we completely shared an agenda/ life goals, He was the only person I'd ever said I marry,
     my reasoning, "If you dropped us off in the some strange city, foreign land or Island, we'd find the same friends, want to do the same things... we would drink from the same well and eat from the same trees.

                           I foresaw no major compromises.

Is that why you marry someone?

           of course there will be compromises. foreseen and unforeseen. I guess I wanted to begin with as little of those as possible.
          so my hesitation with Casey lies here. I don't feel like I would have to do any compromising with casey, I feel like I am the only one with an agenda. While I know that can't be true
---- Community
---- Loving the Broken
---- Sustainability
---- Family, Play

We share these. Maybe that's all that matters.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It seems life everyone is getting married these days. It difficult not to sit around analyzing it.
some of you read what I had to say after I got back from my road trip, and if not, refer to a few posts back, " to make us more holy"

As I began to consider the simplicity of that, that marriage is simply a divine relationship and through it God makes us more holy, if we remain pliable, humble and god-fearing.
It made choosing a mate less dramatic.

Discussing it with bob over the counter at viento this morning , he said " Its a lot more complicated now, there's a lot more distraction." hes right.
And maybe this is the part where I was born a 100 years too late. He reference that a little more the 70 years ago, the extent of life was bearing children, putting food on the table, and if you were lucky having some pleasure in the process.

This is why I feel it is some important to become "narrow-minded". to become focused and intentional, so that marriage can be simple, so that it can be the pursuit of one or two primary goals.

my truth

Tue, 22 Sep 2009 03:56:14 GMT

I fell close to the tree, a chip off the old granite pile. I fell close to the tree, but everything I want is downhill from it.

I’m not a fan of the metaphorical old orchard. I have been rolling away from it for a long time now, even rolling through some more recent orchards at the expense of all the good times under the canopies. At some point I will end up in an entirely different orchard under entirely different species of trees – maybe under hickories and I am an apple or maybe under pears and I am a paw paw. Or maybe there are no trees at all, anywhere, and I am rolling around among thyme blossoms in full sight of the various stars of a southeastern summer.

All orchards have a lot of contrast, like grass growing between the yellow lines of a rural road. Similarly, our agrarian places at night have no comparison to our agrarian places during the day. At night, moist tree frogs attach themselves to any available surface, calling into the dark and into the ear membranes of potential mates, barely puncturing the drone of the various crickets scattered through the grasses. It isn’t quiet, but it is still. This is a contrast to the blur of a peaking sun, the quick clanking movements of hand tools among unloved rocks. Sweat seeps off what looks and feels like a crying body; full and uninterrupted shade is a distant wish.

We move through it all, knowing that any craving for a cold-front is counterproductive to the goals of growing plants for consumption. So we sweat and we grit teeth and we get headaches and we keep moving. If we stop we realize how hot we are, how soaked our clothes have become, how miserable we must look. Compare this to how we look in the blackness and dampness of rural summer; the clay stained knees and greasy hair hide among the sleeping cardinals in the privet clumps.

But what do we really care anyway? If you are self conscious about being dirty and looking dirty, don’t work with the soil. Just remember: Dirt Don’t Hurt.

What would we do otherwise? We can’t go back to any previous life. To what? To old cities or hometowns, old beer haunts and pool tables, grave markers and faded Christmas trees? Nah, there is nothing romantic among the ruins and elders.

I have to think about my elders, how I can’t offer them the respect they think they deserve just because they are “elder”. I used to have a bookcase full of political books with a “Respect Certain Elders” sticker on it. In this young agrarian movement we are all elders, and we should fully appreciate when others begin to roll away from us and into their own orchards.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Tue, 22 Sep 2009 03:49:20 GMT

exploring the contours of love, like the winding trails through wilderness.

day 15, new york

Sat, 15 Aug 2009 18:57:38 GMT

Children, Broadripple is burning,
And the girls are getting sick
Off huffing glue up in the bathroom
While your boyfriends pick up chicks.
And darling I'm lost.
I heard you whisper
That night in fountain square.
The trash filled streets
Made me wish we were headed home.
There was love inside the basement,
Where that woman used to lie
In a sleeping bag we shared
Upon the floor almost every night.
And darling I'm drunk.
Everything that I have loved is turned to stone.
So pack your bag and come back home.

And I'm wasted.
You can taste it.
Don't look at me that way.
'cause I've been hanging from a rope.
I will haunt you like a ghost.

If my woman was a fire,
She'd burn out before I wake.
And be replaced by pints of whiskey,
Cigarettes, and outer space.
If somebody moves,
Everything you thought you had
Will go to shit.
We've got a lot. Don't ever forget that.
And I wrote this on an airplane,
Where the people looked like eggs.
And when a woman that you love is gone,
She was bombing east Japan.
And don't f**king move.
Because everything you thought
You have will go to shit.
We've got a lot. Don't you dare forget that.

And I'm wasted.
You can taste it.
Don't look at me that way.
'cause I'll be hanging from a rope.
I will haunt you like a ghost.

at 36, she described my life in 13 years

Fri, 14 Aug 2009 15:36:00 GMT

I have become close with a beautiful 36 year old woman, here in the loft. we celebrated her birthday last week, she quietly noted, "so this is what 36 is like."

a new yorker, unwed, barren. not really knowing if she wants it any other way, not really knowing she may not have much of a choice. beautiful, petite, fun and reasonable, there is no apparent reason that she needs to be alone.

I've watched her closely, a case study, in the alternative to, getting married and having kids. is she fulfilled? truely happy? what have been the benefits for her life? what has she lost?

she began to tell the story of a love shes had for almost 12 year. introduced through friends, they immediatly became two peas in a pod. a few beautiful years together she in nantucket, he in maine, and then parted their ways, for no other reason then the distance.

they've stayed in contact, visit each other often, but neither is willing to move towards the other- he was stubborn, and so she responded with equal or greater counter force. but they still long for each other...

after hearing the story I crawled up the loft ladder to the roof, slightly disturbed.

"it seems foolish, so rarely do we find someone that we can love and long for year after year. to stand in the dulldrums in a sea of love.

the road trip blogs

Mon, 10 Aug 2009 18:15:43 GMT

in the spirit of adventure

Saturday, June 27, 2009 at 9:55pm

people have asked," oh are you going to be writing a blog?" typically I have responded with a simple, "no, i dont really think that anyone would want to follow it"

I have also been asking myself. When does the adventure begin? is it when we strapped our bicycles to the roof of joeline with a 3 dollar "bike rack" brought at a thrift store, manufactured in the early 80's?

or did the adventure begin, when we drove through the night to sunrise because I had promised myself to sleep in san fransico on the night of the 18th?

what defines an adventure? as opposed to a vacations, or just travelling?

of course the required element of 'surprise", unexpected events and occurences, which I feel happen everyday amidst my daily doings. - so am I always adventuring?

Is adventure self-contained in " the spirit of " (adventure)? simply an attitude that leads to meeting new people and being open to the movement of a day.

I often have felt on this trip as though I am "being moved:" compelled, led directed... sometimes more forcefully and concretely, and at other times subtley, in my heart and head.

some things have been too serendipitous. It constantly leaves me asking, " what am I supposed to see here? to learn? Am I to meet someone specific? will I know right away or only miles down highway, or years later in life?

Or am I only making the most of this moment? because there is no other choice? and there is no force holding me in portland simply mechanic deterioration.

as the day went on the question kept coming up,- Is this the adventure? or just an awkward situation? or a lovely moment. the word "creation" is coming to mind... as though we are Creating the adventure. in each moment. the art of experience.

On the first morning of waking up in a house of strangers because we had now where else to stay, I thought surely the adventure is now. then we bicycled to an artist's ware house which had a large garden and creative artistic means of composting.

Gustav, the handsome artist wore a "utili kilt" and shoes he had fashioned from recycled leather. his facial hair shaped into a lightening bolt and and golden spiral, with hand made earrings to match. as we sat beneath the abundant grape vine that fully enclosed our seating area, He shared with us stories of the wild spirit of oregon. freedom fighters.
they've maintained their right to be nude in public, camp on public land, and recreate and congregate almost anywhere they please.

" the police don't rule us, we pay their paychecks"

He told a story of the annual naked group ride in portland, where 1000's of every kind come out naked and they ride bikes together. apparently this is not uncommon? my shock overcame me, I told him that in long beach we can hardly have a group ride with out hassle.

I also explained that I had never seen another person in the nude with out knowing them and loving them. he then lifted his kilt....

The adventure had begun.

Its strange being on the other side. 7/31 washington d.c. 2:31 am

Not to have simply arrived here neatly intact with my small carry-on bag. But to be on the other side after a grueling and beautiful 6 weeks. to have watched each mile pass, to have sweated through the deserts and humid thick-wooded forests of the mid west and east.
to have shivered as we drove through the idaho mountains along the lewis and clark trail.
to have been humbled beneath the skies vast and unending.

to comprehend space and distance with tactile experience. to break and validate stereo-types.

this in trip to the east coast was as a wood-burning stove is to a microwave.

slow, full of effort, but rich.

I have know that many people have been praying for us, that many have held us in their thoughts and send good energy towards us.

when casey met me here, he said It was the most at peace he had felt with me in some time.

I feel grounded, restored to that which I know I value most.

I was talking with a girl in Portland, I asked her about a festival she has recently gone to, she said " camp. it was like camp"
excuse me, "camp?"

"yeah, you know. when you go to camp and you do all these amazing things, in a beautiful place and meet new friends, and you leave feeling like lifes going to be great from here on out?.."
"yeah, yeah, a camp high"

" then you get home, and your mom or best friend asks you, how was camp, you begin to describe it ' well we all layed on the floor, and passed this mattress across our knees and hands like a magic carpet- then there was a big room where we ate food, and this one counsoler with crazy hair, he was so funny'....... it just doesnt work and you realize there are no words for some thing, and decribing to make you sound like an idiot"

I sent a man to the hospital today.

Monday, June 29, 2009 at 12:18am |

Portland loves to ride their bikes. more then any other city. and one of the great things about it, is that it is so common place no one is pretentious about it, their is no, car/ bicycle feud. cyclist dont believe they are superior beings simply because they are cycling.

biking down alberta street to random order coffee shop, i look over my shoulder and begin to move left to pull up, right then a high velocity push hit me from behind, I was able to identify that it was the was muscluar shoulder of a man. my handle bars clipped against his and threw me to the ground.

it was a sensation I had only felt in nightmares lifting my head off the asphalt to see cars slamming on their breaks to spare my life.

the man, mike, a bartender at a bbq house, was extremely concerned for me. apologetic. just as hes appoaching to ensure my health was intact we both realized his pinky finger was profusely bleeding, and no longer fully attached.... pictures will be posted later.

Wednesday, July 29, 2009 at 9:26pm |

Its strange being on the other side.

Not to have simply arrived here neatly intact with my small carry-on bag. But to be on the other side after a grueling and beautiful 6 weeks. to have watched each mile pass, to have sweated through the deserts and humid thick-wooded forests of the mid west and east.
to have shivered as we drove through the idaho mountains along the lewis and clark trail.
to have been humbled beneath the skies vast and unending.

to comprehend space and distance with tactile experience. to break and validate stereo-types.

this in trip to the east coast was as a wood-burning stove is to a microwave.

slow, full of effort, but rich.

I have know that many people have been praying for us, that many have held us in their thoughts and send good energy towards us.

when casey met me here, he said It was the most at peace he had felt with me in some time.

I feel grounded, restored to that which I know I value most.

I was talking with a girl in Portland, I asked her about a festival she has recently gone to, she said " camp. it was like camp"
excuse me, "camp?"

"yeah, you know. when you go to camp and you do all these amazing things, in a beautiful place and meet new friends, and you leave feeling like lifes going to be great from here on out?.."
"yeah, yeah, a camp high"

" then you get home, and your mom or best friend asks you, how was camp, you begin to describe it ' well we all layed on the floor, and passed this mattress across our knees and hands like a magic carpet- then there was a big room where we ate food, and this one counsoler with crazy hair, he was so funny'....... it just doesnt work and you realize there are no words for some thing, and decribing to make you sound like an idiot"

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Sat, 16 May 2009 20:49:42 GMT

NEWS REPORT:

this just in, After extensive consideration, for ethical reason coke has ceased distribution of diet products and has focused there efforts on producing affordable healthy energizing beverages bottled in biodegradable packaging.

there new line will include organic natural ingredients. enhanced with vitimins, minerals, and nutirents that the general populous is lacking in their diets.

Cokes product line will be bottle in corn and soy " plastics" or 100% post consumer recycled paper boxes.

NEWS REPORT:

This morning major ciggarette companies have decided to eliminate additives in their products.

NEWS REPORT:
After Gap promised to regulate sweat labor in the production of their clothing, the prices of thier clothes were "too expensive" according to american consumers. Gap and its affiliate companies have gone under.

Today I day dreamed that all products produced in china instantly dissipated. My imaginiation ran wild.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Wed, 18 Mar 2009 19:59:43 GMT

Knitting. like math. and any other learned procedure that has a given end result, have an interesting commonality.

my brother, one of the smarter men I know, said to me, "I don't understand math, I can do math, but I don't understand it. I may even get it, with out understanding it"

so is my current relationship with knitting. so long as I follow the specific procedure I will end at the given result.

There is nothing wrong with this. nor is there anything wrong with kelton not understanding math.

I beileve many doctors, now have learned how to be doctors. they get the body, without understanding it.

There is a group of knitters who have take a picture of a garden and have knitted a large scale version by simply looking and the shapes and colors. they need no pattern, to instructional, they understand knitting.

some mathematicians can not put into words how they solved the our worlds largest equations, they simply do it, they understand it.

i wonder how many other things we have been doing with out understanding them.