I woke at 5:30, changed into my dirty-ish work clothes (no sense in dirtying my clean clothes yet) and climbed on Amy Rose’s bike. I rode past sweet, tree-lined ponds, a front yard full of brown and white llamas, and dark green forests which would appear ominous except for the joyous songbirds twittering amongst each other competing to be the earliest bird that got the worm. Mist rose from green cow pastures while a white-faced red bull wandered through the pools of sunlight streaming hopefully through the gentle morning clouds, giving me the (false) idea that it would be sunny and beautiful all day. Well, it was certainly beautiful—but it wasn’t exactly sunny. I arrived at work by 6 and Sarah asked me how my first bike ride went. “Stunning. Also entirely downhill,” I replied.
Going home will be a little bit harder.
Auggie
Harvesting 40 lbs of spinach and lettuce, along with a box of garlic, buckets of cut flowers, and more, we were in a rush to prepare for the Queen Ann Market in a wealthier district in Seattle. Sarah and Willie left by 11 to drive to Bainbridge Island and catch the 12:20 ferry to Seattle. Cleaning the processing area, I hosed the bathtub, Tupperware harvesting containers, and wash machine of the dirt and straggling greens. We use the wash machine on its spin cycle to dry our greens—brilliant, no? (Though now that I think about it, I believe I forgot to clean the wash machine…ah, well, better memory next time). Snagging a ride to collect groceries so I could stop eating Sarah’s food (which she kindly gave me without any second questions), I prepared my own meal, took a quick nap, using my cuddly orange Monkey fleece as a pillow (still has sharp weed seed pods stuck in it from picnicking next to the river near Bolinas), and headed to the fields for my afternoon chores.
Bob the Bulldog
My hands were so dirty I couldn’t even see the blisters forming across the crest of each palm. Thus is life when you spend 5 hours weeding an artichoke row intercropped with delicate, elegantly purple lettuce heads. The path on either side was waist high with weeds—mostly lambs quarter—while the interior of the row was clogged with clover, various strongly rooted grasses, and other weeds I cannot identify (yet). Using a hoe, I cleared the pathway on both sides of the endless row. It was an excellent workout and made my biceps grow almost as fast as the city of weeds at Sunfield. I had to crouch and weed the interior of the row by hand lest I carelessly shred the precious crops with a hand tool. The artichokes were spiny and I had to be wary of which weeds I grabbed with my bare hands—it was difficult and slow to work with gloves since I couldn’t feel the smaller weeds ensconced just under the broad lettuce leaves. Despite it being a fairly gnarly process, I felt wonderful as I absorbed myself alone in the field, my thoughts moving entirely without direction but my body physically dedicated to the task at hand.
Danielle and Leslie
BLAAAA….well….It’s dark in the covered porch and the only light I’m using is my laptop screen. I was sitting here innocently writing in my journal and listening to my music when a 2 ½ inch spider just descended from the ceiling about 4 inches from the tip of my nose. My first reaction was to blow it away from my face—but physics dictates that the spider will swing directly back into my face after swinging away. Flinging my head backwards (into the wall), the spider grazed the bridge of my nose. I make lots of stupid mistakes, but I don’t usually make the same mistake twice—the next time it swung away, I ducked and moved to a safer location (it’s probably under another web, but whatever). The place is clean—spider webs are just an integral part of living in the woods.
Danielle
Danielle and Leslie process
June 26, 2009
Today was fairly uneventful. I pressed soil blocks and seeded flats for a few hours before weeding the pumpkin patch—an unpleasant task since the vines are quite spiny. My arms are itchy and rashy, so I’ll probably not be doing that again! That’s the nice thing about a farm. If you don’t want to do something, it’s okay. There are a million other things to do. I don’t know how heartening that is in the long run, but at least I won’t be weeding any more pumpkins!
HA. I am rereading my journal to make sure nothing ‘too honest’ has been stated before I post this on the internet and find the section about the pumpkins quite funny because I was wrong. I’ve returned to that patch a time or two. That said, I think you get the idea. Sometimes things just have to be done anyway!
Curran and Celeste help me braid garlic.
Friday night...Frances cooks real meals!
Sarah and I started talking about China and its laws limiting the number of children per household. I argued that I don’t like the idea of limiting parents on how many kids they can have, but since population is the number one contributor to poverty then it’s absolutely necessary to impose such restrictions. I think it’s terrible that this has lead to the death and abandonment of female babies, but this is a result of the Chinese culture—not the law itself. Thus, I disagree with that aspect of the culture. Sarah mentioned reading about a mother who had the audacity to birth 18 children to our crowded world. Each child’s name began with the letter “J” so I spent several hours thinking of names that begin with J, most of which are biblical.
Braided carrots I found while harvesting for CSA
In writing about thinking of names that begin with the letter J as an “event” I am fairly amused with myself. It’s amazing how the mind begins to wander when in the field for so many hours, hands moving methodically, back consistently sore. Some thoughts are completely random and lack direction or feeling. Sometimes I start thinking about how I wasn’t thinking about anything at all, realizing that I was unintentionally meditating just allowing the dry topsoil to slide through my hands or relishing the satisfaction of tearing a tough root from the dark soil. The majority of my thoughts, however, are memories replaying themselves in my head—not haunting or nagging me, simply making themselves present, available for reflection. I don’t hit recall buttons, searching for specific moments or scenarios but allow the thoughts to come and go as they please. Though I’ve come across various understandings of myself and what is likely to become of me and the relationships I’m forming with people, I haven’t had any spectacular epiphanies. More than anything, I’m gaining an appreciation for the freedom I’m allowing my mind to have. I’ve always enjoyed a nice hike or some time alone just sitting in the quad or a field or the mindless brutality of a hard run, but this lack of restrictions is quite different from anything I’ve come across. This independence lasts all day, every day. Though I don’t feel useless with it either, as if I’m floating without a direction in mind. This will allow me to stew and ponder as I please—hopefully not to the extent that I beat dead horses (I’m more likely to beat the wicked rooster that attacked me yesterday anyway)—but will at least let me consider the events of the past few months in peace.
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