I found this quote today – “Worry is like a rocking chair–it gives you something to do but it doesn’t get you anywhere.” It wasn’t credited to anyone. But, I liked it. Yet, I still worry sometimes. I am all too aware that it is an inherently worthless activity, but it creeps up on me sometimes. I worry about all kinds of things, mostly things I cannot fix. So how inane is that?! It is, I suppose, only human to worry about people you love, about a business you have invested time and energy into, about a planet whose stress you feel. And I cannot remedy all that is ailing for any of these things. So, I sigh. I sigh lots. I imagine scenarios full of sweet and savvy fixes, some of which I might implement, some of which remain out of my reach. I try to rein in my ruminating and fretting. And this ramble tonight is an attempt to remind myself to do so. Do you need a reminder also? Well, here it is. Care deeply and do what you can. The rest is out of our meager mortal hands.
Tomorrow morning finds me leaving my farm and family for a real two week vacation. Off to Seattle for two days of city fun. Then the opposite of that and a far cry from my life here–two weeks in the wilderness of SE Alaska. There friends have bought an abandoned salmon cannery and renovated it. There they live for six months of the year. Only way in or out is by boat or float plane. I’ll be flying in on the latter–the mail plane, in fact. Their home has all the comforts one could imagine — with the bonus of bald eagles fishing, humpback whales frolicking and brown bears hunting–all right in front of their bayfront home. We’ll talk, walk. We’ll fish and eat crab, shrimp, clams, salmon, halibut, and trout, all freshly caught. We’ll marvel at wildflowers and tend their garden. We’ll play scrabble and read by the fire. We’ll watch sunsets that rival any I’ve ever seen and these will be at 11:30PM. There is no internet and limited telephone. Like I said–a real vacation.
As the cursor blinks insistently at me, I find myself somewhat groggy from the heat up here in my loft office and at a loss for words. I want to be excited about the news of yesterday, but instead find myself fragmented and sad that we are still killing and warring. I want to trust that the president I so desperately wanted in office knows just what he is doing. I want to believe that this will not stir up more and more repercussions from more and more angry people. I want to know that these decisions made in the name of me and my country are solid and sane. And, yet, I know none of the above. And so I’ll continue to have some faith in the innate goodness of most. And I’ll carry on doing the best that I personally possibly can—each and every day, in each and every little way. Really, what more can I do??? For the simple fact is that we will never know what really happened in that compound across the world or what happened in the previous years to lead us to that point. The players are so much bigger and the issues so much more complicated than my bursting brain can comprehend. So, what shall I do?—grow clean, delicious food for my community to enjoy while each of us, in whatever way we can, spreads peace around a bit.
This post is a rerun–but sometimes a rerun is still engaging. Someone came to my house yesterday and asked how I was feeling about the devastation in Japan–the earth’s shifts and the nuclear disaster. I found myself still for a moment before responding. I was aware, firstly, that this person was wondering if I was fearful. Now, I can go to fear as readily as some, as reticently as others — but rarely find it constructive. So, my truest response was a variation of this post–one of my first and one also posted on my website – http://www.northcountryfarms.com. So – here it is — redundant perhaps, relevant hopefully.
At a dinner party this past week, there were a group of us talking politics—an often fiery and frustrating discussion, at best. One of the guests, a person I’ve known and loved for years, admitted with a heavy heart that she has basically given up hope. She views the insanity on a global level as a sign that we have simply gone too far and there is no way out.
I carried her words into my dreams that night. And awoke that next morning still contemplating them. And I continued to ponder them for another day or so. It was uplifting to realize that my own reflection is really quite the antithesis of hers.
While I find that there is little I can do to impact the world on a large scale, I know that my daily actions are vitally important. The way we conduct ourselves—in our interpersonal relationships, in our business, in our buying power, in our political actions and more—is what carries out into the world. That ‘ripple effect’, in essence.
Activism by lifestyle, I call it. The eightfold Buddhist path asks its followers to cultivate: Right View, Right Intention, Right Speech, Right Action, Right Livelihood, Right Effort, Right Mindfulness and Right Concentration. The right livelihood aspect resonates especially with me. Being able to grow good food in a conscious way and know that people are eating and enjoying it is one way I can impact the world, at least the northshore of Kauai! Having intrepid travelers come and stay in our cottages and experience a lifestyle consistent with sustainable living and take that concept back to their world is another way I can reach out to try and influence thinking outside of the box. Choosing to buy and consume primarily organic products and environmentally friendly cleaning products can make a huge difference. And, always the most challenging—parenting in a way that encourages mutual cooperation and respect, relinquishing control in favor of influence and making each moment an exercise in love and clear thought—that really could change things in years to come.
My dear friend from Alaska tells me there is a concept in Judaism that is called tikkun olem. As I understand it, it means healing the world. Now, in my own small, humble way, that is what I’m aspiring to do. . . one day at a time, one conscious moment at a time. I truly haven’t given up hope. I have worlds of hope, a great deal of faith and even some patience.
Blessings on our global brothers and sisters in Japan. And blessings on our process of enlightening our own little part of the world.
All three of my grown children are currently off-island. That leaves me in our home, alone. While I miss them like crazy, I find this situation to be enriching for me. I am in a reconnecting mode – with myself. Each day slips by quietly and quickly, finding me pausing often to imagine Nell and Sky in India discovering something new and outrageous or to picture Bay in our VW camper cruising along a highway as another stunning vista opens up before him. But, I am content with their phone calls and emails for now. I am relishing the silence, the sink with one coffee mug, one plate and one fork in it, the clean bathroom, and the notion of hours spread before me with my steady work to accomplish, another great book to read and simple food at my leisure. I will open my arms to their return to this farm, their home still, and eagerly hear their stories and see their photos. But, for now, this is delectable.
And, while speaking of delectable – how about trying some of these recipes for Asian greens, growing so abundantly in our garden now or available at your farmer’s market in season –
Asian Greens with Spicy Sesame Sauce
1-2 lbs Asian greens
3 tbsp soy sauce
2 tbsp rice wine vinegar
1 tbsp honey or agave
1 tsp sesame oil
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 thai chili pepper, finely chopped
1-2 tsp sesame seeds
Steam greens until tender. Mix together other ingredients in another bowl. Combine the cooked greens and dressing and toss well. Garnish with sesame seeds.
Potato Salad with Asian Greens, Cilantro & Scallions
4 medium sized potatoes (red or yellow)
6 stalks of pac choi with leaves
3 tbsp finely minced cilantro
2-4 scallions, finely chopped
2 tbsp cider vinegar
1 clove garlic, minced
½ tsp salt
½ tsp sugar
3 tbsp olive oil
Cook unpeeled potatoes in water until done. Should be slightly al dente so they don’t fall apart in the salad. Dice pac choi and toss with scallions. Combine vinegar, salt, sugar, garlic, olive oil and cilantro and whisk together. Cut cooked and drained potatoes into cubes and toss with pac choi, scallions, olive and feta. Rewhisk the dressing and pour over warm potatoes and veggies. (The dressing absorbs better when the potatoes and veggies are warm.) Stir well and serve warm or refrigerate and serve cool.
I’m not much for New Years resolutions. I find it more satisfying to have resolve year-round. To reassess my goals and realign my intentions more often than once a year. Sometimes I use the moon cycles to remind me of that practice. Sometimes I am just forced by circumstances to find a balance that I have misplaced somehow. To access my inner resilience in the face of something that has upset my inner compass.
And so this week I was reminded, with a strong swipe, of the necessity and need for resilience. I see resilience as the ability to regain original form and to thrive and fulfill potential in spite of adversity or difficult circumstances. That is what I am seeing now in our gardens. A week ago we were in the throes of a nasty strong kona storm which had us reeling. For those of you who aren’t familiar with what that means here is the scoop. . . Usually on beautiful Kauai we are blessed by a trade wind pattern of weather. The wind comes from an east-northeast direction, bringing mostly a light steady wind to keep us refreshed and passing showers to keep everything green. When the winds switch around to the south-southeast there is usually hell to pay. And so it was. Day after day. No wind. And rain as if someone were holding a bucket over Kauai and dumping water heavily and consistently. There were flash floods and thunder and lightening. And our gardens took a beating.
Now we have returned to trade winds and the blessed sunshine. In the wake of that chaos we are tending the gardens with gentle hoeing, a light foliar spray of fish emulsion and seaweed extract, and some intention. In just a few days time, we can see the results. Already the baby starts are rebounding and the adolescent ones showing sure signs of resilience. The plants are thriving in spite of their adversities. With a little help from us.
And, so I see that in our own setbacks are remedied not only by our own tenacity of spirit, but from the support we receive from our family and friends. Resilience is a quality of character that allows us to rebound from misfortune, hardships or trauma. But, the simple presence or kind encouragement of a loved one can provide so much more grace in the course of that process.
So I shall continue to trust in the resilience of our land and of my own spirit. To know that we are capable of facing whatever might come our way and emerging unharmed or even better for the experience.
May your New Year be full of all you wish for. Hold steadfast to your intentions. Smile often and laugh heartily. And don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s rarely worth it.
For the past couple of weeks I’ve been hearing from so many loved ones on the mainland about the snow. The enchantment of the first soft snowfall. It called to my memory the quiet hush that descends during and after a snow. I remembered the magic of awakening the morning after a fall that came silently in the night. I could see in my mind’s eye the blue sky with the colorful and grateful songs birds flocking to my feeder outside the kitchen window. I recalled the sense of a spacious day when school was cancelled or I could be late for work because of the snow. I could almost feel in my body the freedom and joy I experienced skiing down a mountain in fresh fluffy powder. I could smell the evergreens and taste the creamy hot chocolate. And I became wildly nostalgic and, yes, even jealous.
Then we got some of our unspeakably charmed Kauai December weather. The brilliantly clear night skies that go on forever. Stars too numerous to even fathom. Nights crisp enough to pull up my down comforter. Days so warm that a dip at mid-day was precious, even though the water had that winter chill in it. And, then I remembered . . .the snow is always whiter on the other side of the ocean.
I hope to have many more days of savoring the fresh snow with loved ones. But, today I treasure Kauai and the super sunset turning the western sky pink behind my coconut palms.
And tomorrow I shall be up at pre-dawn in that chilly air, ready to harvest for our loyal farm customers. I surely am not taking for granted the garden packed full of vegetables and the orchards brimming with citrus. I know fresh local food becomes scarce in those colder climates I have just waxed poetic about. Two things we are growing now are kohlrabi and fennel. Both might easily be found in late fall markets on the mainland.
Kohlrabi ~These little sputnik-shaped vegetables come in green or purple, can be eaten raw or cooked, and taste a lot like broccoli stems. The word kohlrabi is German for cabbage turnip (kohl as in cole-slaw, and rübe for turnip) though kohlrabi is more related to cabbage and cauliflower than to root vegetables. We usually eat them raw, just peeled, sliced and added to a salad, but they are also delicious cooked and are often used in Indian cuisine. I also like them peeled and roasted with olive oil, salt and pepper.
Fennel ~ Forever I steered clear of fennel, as licorice is not my favorite flavor. Then I discovered roasted fennel and my old bias was blasted out of the water. Just slice the fennel bulb in quarters and put in a baking dish. Coat it with olive oil and sprinkle with some balsamic vinegar. Roast at 400 for 20 minutes until the fennel begins to caramelize.
I am a mama. I am a gardener. And I see the connections and correlations.
When the notion of a baby came into my consciousness, I prepared myself emotionally and physically for that possibility. Just how I prepare the soil before I plant the seeds that are to become our food. Pregnant I nurtured my body, fed it amazing healthy food to best cherish and support the baby growing inside. Not unlike I feed and nurture our gardens. When my precious babes were born I kept them close, monitored the energy that surrounded us and nursed them endlessly. And so it is with how I watch over my little starts in their trays as they are preparing to be planted out in the garden. As my babies grew older, it was with immense gentleness that I let them slowly out into the world, always aware of their environment being a tender one that supported their spirits in an appropriate way. My young seedlings get that same assiduous attention to their care, especially upon early planting. As the plants grow, they receive hoeing and feeding with a watchful eye, but the joy is then in just witnessing their process, perhaps pulling the aggressive weed, giving an extra boost of nutrients should a storm leave them weakened. As did I deeply delight in observing my children mature, always aware of the storm that might come their way, leaving them particularly vulnerable in its wake and in need of that deeper dose of loving care from me. And then the harvest, also carried out with sensitivity and smiles.
So it is that I now reap the harvest of my mothering, now that my children are all young adults. I receive back a million-fold the warmth and love I infused into their upbringing. I marvel at their deep compassionate spirits and their soulful thoughts and deeds.
I will always be a gardener. I will always be the mama to my three amazing children. I have, with the utmost care, given them roots. Now, they are spreading their wings.
Having just returned to Kauai after a month roaming the mainland in an newly purchased, but far-from-new, VW camper van with my son, Bay, from Santa Fe to Santa Cruz, my thoughts turn to that time away. . .
- Best hand-me-downs from loved ones for the trip: cashmere long sweater from Michelle, down comforter from Vicki, large ceramic travel mug from Natasya.
- Best purchase on the road: assorted pack of bungee cords
- Best nostalgia: drinking our fresh camper water filled from Natasya and Gary’s well
- Best pre-planning: sending ahead a box of rags and dish towels from home
Thoughts on an early morning in Nevada:
I’ve done sun salutations for years, but nothing like this morning as the sun hit the peaks with aspens aglow across the valley from the campsite. And then it slowly crept through the pines and into our campsite, taking the 35 degree cold and shooing it away and seeping into my body. I closed my eyes, let it flow over me and breathed it in, along with thanks, as I shed layers and embraced 50 degrees like a balm.
Trips like this provide fodder for memories unfettered to your daily life and, as such, are held differently. I look forward to more road rambling in this camper that already holds such great energy from our adventures.
Sometimes just getting out of my own island orbit makes me remember why Kauai is so wonderful. Yet, the sights and sounds of San Francisco this morning down on the Bay are stunning and I am off to explore them as the sun just now rises on my farm and family on Kauai.
The autumn equinox has arrived. Summer’s long days are noticeably shorter now. And the ocean already has a bit of a nip at the end of the day, as well as its first swell of the season. The light is lower and with that slant it feels distinctive to this time of year. The sweet subtleties of the seasons on glorious Kauai.
We have begun again to seed some vegetables that do better in the cooler weather—kohlrabi, leeks, cabbages, broccoli, carrots. You will see the upper garden, on the left as you come into our driveway, is all freshly dug and ready to receive both seeds and seedlings. It feels like the turning of the page into this new season.
The Autumn Equinox is the date when night and day are nearly of the same length and the Sun crosses the celestial equator moving southward (in the northern hemisphere). This represents the first day of autumn. When I was reading about the Equinox this week from several sources, there was a reoccurring theme in the various essays and articles which really touched me. This theme was balance.
As there are equal hours of day and night, light and dark, so we strive to balance our own worlds. Attempting to stabilize the energies, of outward, physical, yang manifestation and inward, psychic, yin creativity. Working to have breathing-in time, in response to all that breathing out. Summer is such an outer time—going at full tilt, traveling, later hours, more visiting. Now, our energies naturally start that inward pull, as the daylight hours shorten. The balance. How can we balance all the elements of ourselves and our lives? Our personal needs with the commitments to the outside world. Our receiving with our giving. Our quiet amidst the din. Our doing with our being. I know when I achieve that state of balance I feel my finest. I suspect this is true of all of us. In my yoga practice, the balance poses remind me of that ever-present need for being poised, stable and steady in my daily life.
This is potentially a powerful time to examine balance in our lives—how best to come to that place as a perpetual practice. May this fabulous full moon and autumn equinox serve to help us in this process.
May we make wise choices in how and what we harvest,
may earth’s weather turn kinder,
may there be enough food for all creatures,
may the diminishing light in our daytime skies
be met by an increasing compassion and tolerance
in our hearts.
I am always the first perhaps-annoying person to remind parents when they are totally tapped out and running on empty with their children that each time is magical and not to be rushed. Not to wish for the next stage to arrive too expeditiously. I’m the one quick to tell parents when they are wanting their child to talk, to potty train, to read, to get their license, to head off to college–whatever the next stage they see as somehow a relief or a change–that the moment will surely arrive, and, most likely, way too soon. It took my until my third child to really ground in that elusive notion. Now, that third child is 20. And, as I look back at photos of all three of my children as little ones, I simply cannot fathom the speed of the thousands of days that have brought us to this point.
I reveled in the newborn phase, celebrated the crawling, laughed out loud at the toddler antics, smiled through my tears at the first days at school,cautiously celebrated the teens, offered advice and dried their tears during their new found independence while holding them close at the same time. Every stage is the best. Now, I shall readily admit that perhaps, at this point in my life, I have some selective memory operating in my middle-age brain. But, even digging deep and pulling up the feelings of those sleepless nights with a teething baby or those sleepless nights awaiting the phone call to hear that a teenager had safely arrived on the other side of the world, I hold those moments as sacred. As sacred as the ones I recall of a relaxed afternoon on the beach playing with my toddlers or an enchanted evening deep in conversation with a teenager full of thought.
The days are sometimes long and hard, but the years whiz by at overwhelming warp speed. Each moment is a gift. Each stage in our children’s lives and our lives as parents is to be relished for just what it is — part of the immensely complex and intricate path we have chosen. That path is full of twists and turns, hills and valleys, long days and often longer nights, but it is blessed. I have no desire to hurry it, even though I can taste the joy of being a grandmother! Every stage is the best. I can bask in this one of having three amazing twenty-somethings for a while with joy!