To be or not to be

Riding through the Red River Valley is rather monotonous. Granted, every place has its intrinsic natural beauty and spirit but being still for a moment, grounding and centering, I can feel the scar that modern agricultural has inflicted on this land. Prairie and forest, leveled and ditched has created a flattened landscape unlike one I’ve ever seen. I’ve climbed mountains and seen valleys rise and fall for miles, I’ve been surrounded by waters so expansive and deep they call my very soul to retreat with my core lest it fall over board, but this is different. It pulls at thoughts of sustenance through destruction and an unsustainable cycle.

The sky encapsulates us like dome. Green, blue and white surround my visual perspective and I shift into a druidic mysticism. The sky, such light blue it tips on white, pulls my consciousness to the realms suited for spirits of air, totems of birds and my beloved Frigg, Goddess of Prophecy and Spinner of Clouds. Shifting my gaze lower I encounter a world of green; Deep greens of forest and alien electrics from grasses. I’m now among the land, sustainable life force, sun light made manifest though Mother Earth. A red-wing-black bird perched atop a dry cat tail. His silky black body reminds me of the ever present blackness, the collective wave length of the rainbow. He takes of into the field just sprouting some form of grain. I wonder where this seed came from, be it ConAgra or Monsanto, or is has the farmer been lucky enough to save the year from last years harvest. Probably not but ‘hope is a renewable resource”.

Going to an organic market should renew this hope? Huddled in the back corner of Fargo is Tocky. It is small, low lit and low ceilings, smelling mildly of patchouli. Store owners with black sunglasses give off an air of pretentiousness, almost unnoticeable and unwanted. Even now, heady from scents of sweet orange, eucalyptus, and lemon balm, I can’t help but feel like a quaff this as I walk though Cash Wise food, my basket filled to the brim with organic milk, a whole chicken (free-range on family farms), raw almonds, and extra virgin olive oil. I feel almost guilty for buying whole milk from KEMPS. Or that my onions and canned tomatoes aren’t organic or local. Looking at my reusable back next to the plastic bag dispenser I can’t help feel a sense of holier-than-thou.

Shouldn’t being organic, local, all natural, and all the other adjectives we place on good food make one feel whole? I feel these words are tied to things such as yoga studious, art galleries, and fancy wines. I long for drums, and soil, and the smell of bon fires. I want the rich, red hummus of the earth underneath my finger nails and wear it as badge of honor... and to be humble. Of all of Aunt Kathy’s advice, it was to remain humble. Being low to the ground should be humble. Forget the fancy china and black tie events. Give me a meal in wooden bowls, good local beer and friends. Yes the flavors of foods are exciting and intense but should there be such a chauvinistic attitude surrounding the words ‘organic’ or even ‘European import’.

But here is the saving grace. Do your best. If one can’t get local, organic, vegan, free-range, then pick one. Starhawk and Barbara Kingsolver and so many more never said ‘strive for purity’, for who can achieve purity. Purity is a goal for Evangicals and the like. I know nothing is pure and shouldn’t be. It wasn’t meant to be pure. Since the beginning it a been a mingling and evolution of elements. So end with the principle of evolution in mind, do the best to survive and as a human, be creative.

New Begingins in the Flattest Place on Earth, the Red River Valley

Hey everyone. I’m going to use my blog as a way for you to know what I’m up to. No this isn’t a way to you to know my every waking moment but because we can’t spend the summer together and it will probably be at least till the fall before I see you, I’d like you to know how my adventures at Red Goose Gardens are going.
Firstly, I shout out to my Aunt and Uncle for giving me a gift certificate for a yarn shop. YEAHHH!!!! I now have several wonderful shades of green, 100% wool, yarn. I’m going to attempt to make a delicious poncho out of them. It’ll be a bit warm to wear now that it is like 80 degrees out everyday but come fall and winter; it will make a lovely addition to my wardrobe. Other things I wish to accomplish this summer, besides learning how a farm and a CSA works, is to finish The Mists of Avalon, The Shack (THANK YOU AMY), and The Lacuna. I know that sounds like a lot but when you get done with 8 hours of farm work, damn all I want to do is have a beer and read a good book. 
Moving in went well. There was a bit of a concern when it came to squeezing a queen pillow top mattress into a full size bed frame but it worked out… I think. The full size fitted sheet ripped a bit as we were attempting to make the bed. Oh well we’ll see how it all works out. I’m staying in the top level of the house and it gets quite warm up there I might be picking up some ice packs and a fan at the store tomorrow.
My fellow interns are really cool. The couple is from Oregon an have worked at a goat farm CSA. Totally legit. One of them has dreads and she said if I wanted to do it too, she would be willing to help! Sweet! The other guy is from North Carolina. He seams like an interesting guy. Not exactly sure what he wants to do but hey, who at 20 does. He’s turning 21 on a Saturday in June. Hopefully it’s not on Annie’s graduation weekend, cause I would like to go to the bar with all them.
Today we transplanted 3 flats, that’s over 600 tomato plants into six packs, harvested a whole bag of asparagus, removed the seed heads from rhubarb plants, and fixed up part of the fence that got knocked over because of the flood. And that was all between 1:00 and 7:30. We then ran down to this gas station/ice cream store and got some delicious soft serve. A great ending to a very exciting day. Well not really the end cause I’m checking e-mails, surfing the web and writing this. Hopefully ya’ll check in and of course I’ll be on facebook and my e-mail all summer long. Totally have the Wi-Fi connection. Look UMD housing, they have Wi-Fi all the way out here in the flattest place on earth.
Sending all my Love and Blessings,
Charles

In the begining...

This was transcribed by me from a podcast, I believe that it was an episode of speaking of faith with Krista Tippet speaking to a Jewish woman. I wish remembered which one it was but this story of the creation struck me deep enough to open a word document and write her words down verbatim. I thought of this the other day and found that doc. file. Here is an amazing story of creation that doesn't deal with any classical elements, no gardens of good or evil, no ever expanding or contracting universes, or anthropomorphic deities.

"In the beginning. There was only the holy darkness. The Ine Sofe. The source of life. Then in the course of history, at a moment in time, this world, this world of a thousand thousand things, emerged from the heart of the holy darkness as a great ray of light. Then there was an accident. The vesicles containing the light of the world, the wholeness of the world, broke. And the wholeness of the world , the light of the world , was scattered into a thousand thousand fragments of light. And they fell into all events and all people, where they remain deeply hidden, until this very day.
Now according to my grandfather, this whole of the human race is a response to this accident. We are here because we are born with the capacity to find the hidden light with in all events and all people. To lift it up and make it visible once again. And there by restore the innate wholeness of the world. And this task is called Te Cuno Lume in Hebrew. It’s the restoration of the world. And this is not done by making a huge difference. It’s by healing the world that touches you."

unnamed

How did I come to be here, out in the middle of the sea? I always kept the land just to my left by day. The question is as much rhetorical as it is important. Of course I drifted out during the night. I was rocked into a genital sleep by my watery lovers night times motion. I last remember Inanna in the sky, one before the new moon. Her silver sliver winked at me as if to say “oh the things I have planned for you”. I was always told never to question the will of the gods but damned I’ll be if I shant rail to the heaven and earth out of pure human existence.

Hammer and A Nail

The indigo girls told me to get a hammer and a nail. So i did just that. With both hammer and nail in my hand i stared at my text books and list of assignments and nothing happened. I tried beating the books with the hammer but that just dented the cover. I tried scratching the nail in my list but that just tore the paper into little pieces. I then tried nailing the paper to the table but now i need to get a new notebook and table. So i put the hammer down and grabbed a new piece of paper and a pencil and started studding. This was much more effecitve at getting stuff done. Good try girls. I'll attempt your method again when i need to build a house or something. I think that will be a better use of both tools.

Anticipation

March is a bastard. He will trick you with sunshine and breezes that sing of summer sunshine. When in reality the night brings in frosts and a reminder that you still live in a Midwestern state. The brown-gray grass, that smells of mud and moving water, changes at a snails pace to gray green to small patches of brilliant emerald. But trees and shrubs still hold on to their winter apparel. I can’t help but feel the heavy anticipation for the appearance of buds on the maple trees or the maroon beginnings of lilac blossoms. Last years perennials lay in winter-worn dried out clumps. The salvia whose rich green and purple flowers are now a mass of gray twigs and dusty leaves. If I was to be having a garden this year there would be plenty of broccoli, tomato, pepper and egg plant seedlings under the light table now. But my parents passion for vegetable gardening is much less than mine, as is many peoples; so the full spectrum lights will not make there debut to my room this year. In stead of the pallets of dirt and seed, all I will have this March is a small container with aconite, just taken out of the simulated winter within the refrigerator. Hope fully by May or June a seedling or two will sprout.

Signs of hope are everywhere. Even though the skies may be clouded over in a steely gray sheet, the powerful sun breaks through in the late afternoons and in the evenings casting a violent band of hot pinks, vibrant yellows, and intense reds across the western horizons. This light brings the end of snow banks and stimulates the growth of the new year to begin. Strawberries poke their three lobbed leaves though the hay layer of last fall. The yarrow and yucca are already bright green. The gray stems of last years flowers towering over head the new growth call me to grab the garden clippers and start the annual perennial trimming. Covering the kitchen scraps in this years’ compost pile goes old growth and a few handfuls of water logged leaves from the ground. The apples that weren’t collected and left to rot on the floor over winter now have rings of mold holding them to the ground. These get chucked down the hill where all undesirable compost goes to decay.

Irises all ready have six inches of green blade like leaves above the ground. Not sure the delphinium and columbine made it though the winter. It’ll be a couple weeks before I will know for sure. I planted both last year. One was bough off a discount table in the back corner of a Home Depot Garden Center. It was 5 dollars and only had a few leaves, reminiscent of grape vine foliage. Of course my ‘Charlie Brown’ complex wouldn’t let me leave the store without some overwhelming sense of guilt, if not passive murder, if I did not give this plant a fighting chance. But now with the return of spring, Jack Frost might have done the job that my neglect could have done 6 months earlier. The words of Barbara Kingslover come to mind with “Hope is a renewable resource”. Of course the frosted mornings and wind swept nights diminish the hope I have for warmer weather. But the days getting brighter and greener everyday, it is a constant refilling of hope for morning glory blooms, sweet corn, savory tomatoes, and drinks around a bon fire with friends and family.

February

*Work in progress*

It’s mid February here and though the days are bright and the sun melts the edges of snow banks 8 feet tall, the wind is bitter cold as ever. The Full Snow Moon lights my way as I walk back to my on campus apartment. I know that here in Duluth it is suppose to be cold now, but as a botanist and a one who doesn’t care for foot wear, I’m getting a bit sick of the cold and wish for more photosynthesis in my place of dwelling

I long for the late days of April when the trees are budding and the grass give off the cold musty smell right after a few days of clouds and rain. The bold colors of tulips, daffodils and crocus play on a backdrop of sage green prairie grass in my reoccurring dreams. The first tender leaves of salad and fresh mozzarella, home made of course, with sprigs of borage with its cucumber like taste makes a light, fresh, and sweetly orgasmic meal. The creeks run full and fast with the melting snow and I sit besides them as tiny insects dance in the waters. The spiral grass homes the wasps whom will soon take to the skies and make their papery nests among the trees. Birds sing love songs with the returning sun and by Beltane will have made nests with their companions. I sit among my brothers and sisters and revel in the turning of the earth. Crow sits among the high branches and draws my attention to the world above. The great blue sky, so open, so vast, sprawls from horizon to horizon; encompassing all half of the cosmosphere. Feathery clouds dissipate into the azure.