It's called "Bilbode."
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Monday, December 29, 2008
Whisk Whisk Whisk Whisk
...a taste of Ian's Christmas laughter, as he is enchanted by culinary tools and their associated names
Doggedly exploring
Elaine, Doug, and Ian left on Friday for Long Island, and are gone through New Years Eve, so I am here in charge of the dogs. I have been trying to provide them with long and enjoyable walks; 45 minutes of feeling wild again. Of course, this has the potential to be tedious because there are two of them, and I find it best to take them separately.
To make it enjoyable for both man and beast, I have been selecting our routes to cover as much new ground as possible. Because the area is so diverse, it's been really interesting to explore the neighborhoods. Within a mile radius of our abode, there are huge houses, tiny houses, projects, signs in english, signs in spanish, signs in graffiti, public schools, montessori magnet schools, black people, white people, litter from fast food, and litter from organic food. It provides residential areas with an interesting skyline to have such a mixture. I almost feel as though I could buy an empty lot and build a cob cottage without it being too out of place.
In any case, one of my favorite finds was the gem below, tucked cozily behind a street of mundane brick projects. I love the shapes and colors: the cut-out profile of the porch with chamfered corners; the orange frames of the first-floor windows balancing the orange door - so often you see a bright door all alone and it's with good intention, but poor result because it's got no other elements to vibe with; the stained wood sheathing; the shape of the second story windows; the gently chopped-off ridgeline.
The Prius is just icing on the cake.
To make it enjoyable for both man and beast, I have been selecting our routes to cover as much new ground as possible. Because the area is so diverse, it's been really interesting to explore the neighborhoods. Within a mile radius of our abode, there are huge houses, tiny houses, projects, signs in english, signs in spanish, signs in graffiti, public schools, montessori magnet schools, black people, white people, litter from fast food, and litter from organic food. It provides residential areas with an interesting skyline to have such a mixture. I almost feel as though I could buy an empty lot and build a cob cottage without it being too out of place.
In any case, one of my favorite finds was the gem below, tucked cozily behind a street of mundane brick projects. I love the shapes and colors: the cut-out profile of the porch with chamfered corners; the orange frames of the first-floor windows balancing the orange door - so often you see a bright door all alone and it's with good intention, but poor result because it's got no other elements to vibe with; the stained wood sheathing; the shape of the second story windows; the gently chopped-off ridgeline.
The Prius is just icing on the cake.
ECG
On my Tobacco Trail stroll (previous post), I stopped at a trail-side kiosk and, to my disbelief, read something interesting.
It appears as though the Tobacco Trail and other "greenways" (traffic-free paths for pedestrians and cyclists) that I've found sprinkled across North Carolina do not stand alone as separate entities. They are all part of a plan. A mighty plan designed to link the whole of the East Coast through shared green-ness. A traffic-free trail from Calais, Maine to Key West, Florida. An Appalachian Trail for rollerbladers, as it may be.
The project is right now only 20% complete. The remaining 4/5ths is mapped out, but on interim roads, rather than designated paths.
It's a really great idea. The route is mapped out state-by-state using GoogleMaps, with a link from the ECG website. Below is the New York section (if you visit the link you'll find a key to decode the color-coding).
Of course, the completion of the project depends on how quickly the group can raise money.
It appears as though the Tobacco Trail and other "greenways" (traffic-free paths for pedestrians and cyclists) that I've found sprinkled across North Carolina do not stand alone as separate entities. They are all part of a plan. A mighty plan designed to link the whole of the East Coast through shared green-ness. A traffic-free trail from Calais, Maine to Key West, Florida. An Appalachian Trail for rollerbladers, as it may be.
The project is right now only 20% complete. The remaining 4/5ths is mapped out, but on interim roads, rather than designated paths.
It's a really great idea. The route is mapped out state-by-state using GoogleMaps, with a link from the ECG website. Below is the New York section (if you visit the link you'll find a key to decode the color-coding).
Of course, the completion of the project depends on how quickly the group can raise money.
Tobacco Trail
One of the selling points for the Trinity Lofts (our new home) was the number of interesting places within walking distance. One of the advertised places to go was the Tobacco Trail, which begins right across the street and under the railway bridge. So today, for little Lilo's daily walk, we explored a mile or so of the trail.
What exactly is it about a draped matrix of electrical wires that has a strong draw for amateur photographers?
Below is the intersection through which Durham's driving instructors delight most in taking 14-year-old kids on their nerve-racking driving test.
There is a particular kind of tree lining the streets here that is just incredible. so big and thick-limbed and bowl-shaped. I'm not yet sure what species it is, but they look like pretty old friends.
It seems like each and every one of these trees is just begging to hold a treehouse. Granted, this is partially because the middles are chopped out to allow for telephone wire to run through, but think of this as a utility feature. If we pretend that there aren't already enough blue sky solutions to the homeless problem, I propose that the city builds treehouses in the sidewalk trees, and then hooks them up conveniently and directly to the electrical lines. Each residency could have one light, and one burner for cooking. It reminds me a bit of the Madison Square Park art installation by Tadashi Kawamata:
What exactly is it about a draped matrix of electrical wires that has a strong draw for amateur photographers?Below is the intersection through which Durham's driving instructors delight most in taking 14-year-old kids on their nerve-racking driving test.
There is a particular kind of tree lining the streets here that is just incredible. so big and thick-limbed and bowl-shaped. I'm not yet sure what species it is, but they look like pretty old friends.
It seems like each and every one of these trees is just begging to hold a treehouse. Granted, this is partially because the middles are chopped out to allow for telephone wire to run through, but think of this as a utility feature. If we pretend that there aren't already enough blue sky solutions to the homeless problem, I propose that the city builds treehouses in the sidewalk trees, and then hooks them up conveniently and directly to the electrical lines. Each residency could have one light, and one burner for cooking. It reminds me a bit of the Madison Square Park art installation by Tadashi Kawamata:
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Peasants and Farmers
In anticipation of starting a cob building project next week, and eventually running a cob workshop in which innocent people will come help build and pay money for me to teach them the basics, I decided it would be smart to read up on the bible of cob building: The Hand-Sculpted House: A Practical and Philosophical Guide to Building a Cob Cottage (by Ianto Evans, Michael Smith, and Linda Smiley).
I'm not sure whether I forgot how good of a read it is, or whether perhaps I never understood its genius because the time when I originally read it (May) was before the point when I first touched cob and came to understand it. Either way, I highly recommend it to anyone interested in questioning why things are the way they are.
In Ianto's philosophical introduction, I am particularly drawn to these 3 paragraphs, inspired by a talk given by Chilean Ana Stern.
"Peasants, [Ana Stern] said, satisfy their own basic needs: they grow their food, build the houses they live in, often make their own clothes. Most peasants collect medicinal herbs, treat medical emergencies, supply their family entertainment. They experience fully what they do every day; they have time - they feel joy. Their culture is integral and makes sense. Farmers, by contrast, grow things to sell. With what they earn from their products, they buy their groceries, building materials, clothes, entertainment, and medical insurance. They must also buy into a system which demands that they drive to market, pay taxes, perhaps send their kids to agricultural college. Increasingly they must buy machinery, seeds, farm chemicals. Farmers have no time to directly enjoy satisfying their own needs, so they purchase their satisfactions; they buy ready-made clothing and 'convenience' foods.
I've thought a lot about Ana's presentation. Her definition shook my worldview. In her terms we are all farmers - there are few peasants in the USA. I'd always felt comfortable in the traditional villages of Africa and Latin America, and now I understood why. The parts of my own life that I truly enjoy are the peasant parts, the parts I don't pay for, the parts that I create myself. A life of working for someone else and paying for basic needs is essentially unsatisfying. Why? Because our links to Nature are severed when we live that way...
To be complete we need to have a constant awareness of our cosmic bearings, where and when we fit into nature's patterns. If you compost your excrement as the Chinese do, use your own urine for fertilized, and grow your own vegetable seeds on the plants you raise, the cycle is complete. You have inserted yourself into a completely visible ring of cause and effect. You experience the whole natural process, and the better you observe how that process works, the easier you slide into it."
___
A lot of text, I realize. And I don't think much importance need be placed on the labels of "peasant" and "farmer." What's important to me is thinking about how tied into different systems we are, and how dependent many people are on actions that do not contribute directly to their happiness and/or survival.
Anyhow, there's a lot more where that came from (including a lot of practical building ideas). Pick it up for a good read.
I'm not sure whether I forgot how good of a read it is, or whether perhaps I never understood its genius because the time when I originally read it (May) was before the point when I first touched cob and came to understand it. Either way, I highly recommend it to anyone interested in questioning why things are the way they are.
In Ianto's philosophical introduction, I am particularly drawn to these 3 paragraphs, inspired by a talk given by Chilean Ana Stern.
"Peasants, [Ana Stern] said, satisfy their own basic needs: they grow their food, build the houses they live in, often make their own clothes. Most peasants collect medicinal herbs, treat medical emergencies, supply their family entertainment. They experience fully what they do every day; they have time - they feel joy. Their culture is integral and makes sense. Farmers, by contrast, grow things to sell. With what they earn from their products, they buy their groceries, building materials, clothes, entertainment, and medical insurance. They must also buy into a system which demands that they drive to market, pay taxes, perhaps send their kids to agricultural college. Increasingly they must buy machinery, seeds, farm chemicals. Farmers have no time to directly enjoy satisfying their own needs, so they purchase their satisfactions; they buy ready-made clothing and 'convenience' foods.
I've thought a lot about Ana's presentation. Her definition shook my worldview. In her terms we are all farmers - there are few peasants in the USA. I'd always felt comfortable in the traditional villages of Africa and Latin America, and now I understood why. The parts of my own life that I truly enjoy are the peasant parts, the parts I don't pay for, the parts that I create myself. A life of working for someone else and paying for basic needs is essentially unsatisfying. Why? Because our links to Nature are severed when we live that way...
To be complete we need to have a constant awareness of our cosmic bearings, where and when we fit into nature's patterns. If you compost your excrement as the Chinese do, use your own urine for fertilized, and grow your own vegetable seeds on the plants you raise, the cycle is complete. You have inserted yourself into a completely visible ring of cause and effect. You experience the whole natural process, and the better you observe how that process works, the easier you slide into it."
___
A lot of text, I realize. And I don't think much importance need be placed on the labels of "peasant" and "farmer." What's important to me is thinking about how tied into different systems we are, and how dependent many people are on actions that do not contribute directly to their happiness and/or survival.
Anyhow, there's a lot more where that came from (including a lot of practical building ideas). Pick it up for a good read.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
my calling
My dad sent me this 1995 first-day-of-school photo, giving special mention to the inspiring phrase on my t-shirt. I'm the tall guy in the middle with the earthy-toned backpack straps; to my right is Stumpy, and to my left Mr. Jamie Teska, a die-hard dolphins aficionado.born to build
Here's another old family photo, taken in Jamestown, VA. I really like that building.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
barcelona girls
My good friend Greg Buda just flew into Barcelona yesterday morning to start off his Spain/Morocco Christmas Break grad-school-getaway of sorts. Knowing that I'm on a quest for love, he e-mailed me to share his instant observation that "the girls here are so beautiful that they make the girls in Syracuse, NY look like short, fat, bald men." I'd imagine, then, that those girls are probably eating organic and local.
I can't believe I grew up in the suburbs.
Below is my humble assembly of things, shown in my shell of a former bedroom.
Why in a little heap? We're moving! (sister Elaine, brother-in-law Doug, little nephew Ian, and me)
From the dull and soul-less suburbs to the urban setting of Durham. Today, we packed all of the big stuff into the U-HAUL, and tomorrow at 7:00 AM we shall drive it to the new and trendy Trinity Loft Apartments (shown below), Elaine and Doug's chosen living spot for the next year or two. Upon arrival, we could be as trendy as this:
But probably will be less so, as we don't (yet) have a large urn to stand beside our couch. Nonetheless, I am very sure that each one of us is very excited for this event. So excited that we just decided two days ago to make the move this weekend.
In general, this gated community (Harrington Grove) has been a bore. But it has become exponentially more boring once Elaine and Doug actually signed a lease on an urban pad, and we're just waiting waiting waiting for the moving day to arrive. Each day I have pondered over how difficult it is to entertain myself and Ian with nowhere to go but upstairs, downstairs, or the backyard (southern homes don't even have basements) - I often found my mind setting aside reality and clinging to dreams of being in Durham with the ability to walk to the park, the store, a museum, the Tobacco Trail, the ballpark, a cafe, an art show, or a strip joint.
Tomorrow, the dream is no longer just that. What a Christmas gift, and what a great time for me to pick living with my sister.
It's important to note the real goal of Elaine and Doug's sudden urge for movement. Simplicity. This is a large-scale exercise in purging, simplifying, and improving quality of life. Less stuff; keeping only things that have proven to be highly functional and often-used, or are considered beautiful by the inhabitants (ideally both). The waffle iron is on the chopping block.
The sad part of the process is that everything we don't take won't just disappear. Sure, it will go through a filter of pack-rat parents, craiglist/ebay, and giving away to friends and acquaintances, but how much of it will really improve the lives of the people who collect it? My experience tells me that most of these things will continue to be seldom-used space-fillers for these people as much as they were for Elaine and Doug.
In terms of my own life, and how much of a stuff-magnet it might be, I really want to become disciplined about not collecting things I don't need or love. At one point this past summer, I got really excited about the prospect of experimentally living for a year without money at all. This, although still appealing, is certainly unpractical. I've decided to set some less-extreme goals in preparation for simplicity. Following is a first shred of thought (and it is very much based on the teachings of my summer instructor in Oregon, Ianto Evans, and almost completely unoriginal). This is what Ianto Evans would look like if he were explaining it to you.
5-point checklist of questions to go through before deciding to buy anything:
*1. Do I really need it? (or know it will be used/adored frequently enough to justify ownership?)
*2. Do I already have one?
*3. Is there someone close (friend/neighbor) who has one that I could borrow?
*4. Do I have something else that can perform the same function?
*5. Can I make something with things I have that will perform the same function?
The green light to buy something is then a "yes, no, no, no, no" answer series.
I can't do anything about the stuff I've already acquired other than purge my way through it. What is most important is to not allow myself to pile up more as my life continues. Not hoarding crap needs to become a habit, much like brushing teeth. So I intend to make these questions a habit for my head, whenever I put thoughts of buying something into it.
If I can stick with it, it will undoubtedly save money and a tiny portion of our Earth's finite resources. Ideally, it would also improve my creativity through habitual practice, and maybe create a fragile web of community through occasional sharing of property. The really good thing is that the questions are yes/no, and are in a specific order. If you answer 'no' to the first, you don't even have to remember the next four.
Why in a little heap? We're moving! (sister Elaine, brother-in-law Doug, little nephew Ian, and me)
From the dull and soul-less suburbs to the urban setting of Durham. Today, we packed all of the big stuff into the U-HAUL, and tomorrow at 7:00 AM we shall drive it to the new and trendy Trinity Loft Apartments (shown below), Elaine and Doug's chosen living spot for the next year or two. Upon arrival, we could be as trendy as this:
But probably will be less so, as we don't (yet) have a large urn to stand beside our couch. Nonetheless, I am very sure that each one of us is very excited for this event. So excited that we just decided two days ago to make the move this weekend.
In general, this gated community (Harrington Grove) has been a bore. But it has become exponentially more boring once Elaine and Doug actually signed a lease on an urban pad, and we're just waiting waiting waiting for the moving day to arrive. Each day I have pondered over how difficult it is to entertain myself and Ian with nowhere to go but upstairs, downstairs, or the backyard (southern homes don't even have basements) - I often found my mind setting aside reality and clinging to dreams of being in Durham with the ability to walk to the park, the store, a museum, the Tobacco Trail, the ballpark, a cafe, an art show, or a strip joint.
Tomorrow, the dream is no longer just that. What a Christmas gift, and what a great time for me to pick living with my sister.
It's important to note the real goal of Elaine and Doug's sudden urge for movement. Simplicity. This is a large-scale exercise in purging, simplifying, and improving quality of life. Less stuff; keeping only things that have proven to be highly functional and often-used, or are considered beautiful by the inhabitants (ideally both). The waffle iron is on the chopping block.
The sad part of the process is that everything we don't take won't just disappear. Sure, it will go through a filter of pack-rat parents, craiglist/ebay, and giving away to friends and acquaintances, but how much of it will really improve the lives of the people who collect it? My experience tells me that most of these things will continue to be seldom-used space-fillers for these people as much as they were for Elaine and Doug.
In terms of my own life, and how much of a stuff-magnet it might be, I really want to become disciplined about not collecting things I don't need or love. At one point this past summer, I got really excited about the prospect of experimentally living for a year without money at all. This, although still appealing, is certainly unpractical. I've decided to set some less-extreme goals in preparation for simplicity. Following is a first shred of thought (and it is very much based on the teachings of my summer instructor in Oregon, Ianto Evans, and almost completely unoriginal). This is what Ianto Evans would look like if he were explaining it to you.
5-point checklist of questions to go through before deciding to buy anything:
*1. Do I really need it? (or know it will be used/adored frequently enough to justify ownership?)
*2. Do I already have one?
*3. Is there someone close (friend/neighbor) who has one that I could borrow?
*4. Do I have something else that can perform the same function?
*5. Can I make something with things I have that will perform the same function?
The green light to buy something is then a "yes, no, no, no, no" answer series.
I can't do anything about the stuff I've already acquired other than purge my way through it. What is most important is to not allow myself to pile up more as my life continues. Not hoarding crap needs to become a habit, much like brushing teeth. So I intend to make these questions a habit for my head, whenever I put thoughts of buying something into it.
If I can stick with it, it will undoubtedly save money and a tiny portion of our Earth's finite resources. Ideally, it would also improve my creativity through habitual practice, and maybe create a fragile web of community through occasional sharing of property. The really good thing is that the questions are yes/no, and are in a specific order. If you answer 'no' to the first, you don't even have to remember the next four.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
natural tensility
Tents are so very good. Big, chunky mud buildings have their advantages, too. A hybrid must be born. Any ideas?
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Bicycle humor
Looking for a new bike on Craigslist, I came across this post:
Perhaps the reason that Mike wants to rid himself of his bicycle is that he's been trying to ride it as pictured. "It's just really awkward to ride," he commented with a sullen expression on his face, "I'm probably better off with an extra 75 dollars and walking." Of course, I haven't considered how short Mike's arms might be.
Perhaps the reason that Mike wants to rid himself of his bicycle is that he's been trying to ride it as pictured. "It's just really awkward to ride," he commented with a sullen expression on his face, "I'm probably better off with an extra 75 dollars and walking." Of course, I haven't considered how short Mike's arms might be.
Saturday, December 6, 2008
Pickard's Hill
I spent a good portion of this past week camped out at Pickard's Mountain Eco-Institute, near Carrboro, NC. To my dismay, I was only on top of a geographical misnomer. Pickard's Mountain is not a mountain, but rather the highest hill in its county.
My reason for going (as stated in an earlier post) was to feel out the place and people, and consider whether it would be an appropriate place for me to propose a natural building project. This is what happened:
I arrived on tuesday afternoon, a day-and-a-half later than planned (due to baby Ian's unplanned sickness, and my duty to be his buddy). I traveled by bike, thinking that because of my cycling stint earlier in the summer, I would still be in solid shape. A sore back, a numb ass, and tired legs was instead what I entered the premises with. The first two people I saw were girls, so I played it cool.
Margaret, the garden manager, I had met on my original tour of the place. Samantha is from Ohio, and a participant in the WWOOFing program. They informed me that they had spent most of the day rolling around, and I was instantly unsure of how to feel. I set up tent in the forest, and then came back up to the garden to help pull out dead stuff, and spread leaf mulch.
You can see that the garden is a matrix of raised beds, many of which are covered by white frost cloth to keep the strawberries and greens alive through the cold nights. The soil was trucked in, because the site soil is unfit for gardening. Why? Because there is so much damn clay. The properties of clay that make it horrible for gardening - minimal organic matter content, and mostly impermeable to water - make it an excellent building material. And the clay in this area is especially beautiful in color:
but unfortunately guarded by fierce dogs.
I didn't realize that people staying at the institute are expected to bring their own food. Luckily, Sam(antha) lent my belly some "happy pork." We shaped it into patties and cooked it alongside some of Margaret's pasta, which was later doused in pesto. Only a couple hours in, and I already charmed my way into a satisfying dinner shared with (and paid for by) women. Afterwards, we strolled to Margaret's candlelit yome and relaxed and sketched to music. I went back to my tent around 8:30, read a bit of John Steinbeck's "To a God Unknown" (which I most highly recommend both because of the way that Steinbeck explores the quality of being human, and how intricate his descriptions of the natural world are), and fell asleep around 9:30.
The next day, I went back down to the kitchen (below the green awning) for breakfast.
I had heard that there were three guys also staying at the site, and as I walked up, I saw that they were sitting to breakfast. To my surprise, as I got up close to the table, I realized that Sam Cooper was sitting there. I met Sam Cooper at the strawbale design/build workshop that I took in Vermont a year and a half ago. Not only did I meet Sam, but I in fact nakedly joined him and 4 other men in a wood-fired hot tub under a starry Vermont sky one night. And I remember noting the humor in the situation: "we just met, and we're all naked, and I wouldn't do this with my friends from home," and Sam replied "well, yea, but we'll never see each other again after this course." How wrong he was.
As it turns out, I didn't see much of the guys, because I had agreed to stay at the institute and work, while they spent most of the week in town and visiting neighbors nearby. So I spent most of Wednesday pulling out more dead stuff from the garden, and getting to know Samantha and Margaret. We also harvested greens, and separated good potatoes from bad potatoes. The dinner that I made for Samantha and I celebrated this harvest. I made stuffed broccoli greens (stuffed with creamy smashed potatoes) and sauteed in a pool of meat fat, with sides of mashed potatoes and greens. A redundant, but filling meal. Red wine was a winning addition.
That night I agreed to go with Samantha to "Barb's Place," which was a farm down the road with a semi-transient community of young folk looking to learn about self-sufficiency. We got picked up by Melissa, who drives a car with no passenger seat (which I liked). When I walked into Barb's, I realized immediately I would not have a boring night. Barb fits the description of a crazed genius lady. She's a gray-haired stockpile of information about all sorts of things. She was undoubtedly a flower child in the 60s. Her types of standards might be quite strange to the general population. Her kitchen table is a display of "dumpstered" floral arrangements picked up by Melissa, but the canned pears from the same dumpster were a definite no-no because of their high-fructose corn syrup content. Interestingly, she makes documentary films, and even won an academy award in the early 90s. Before the night was over, I had been invited to friday's "chainsaw party" at Barb's, where the point is both to replenish a good supply of firewood as well as teach newbies how to tame the saws. Melissa was also a very interesting character, who does her own screen-printing with mostly found materials, hops trains, and has been living all over the country on almost no money.
Thursday began with more work garden work, and then at 1:30 I went to Carrboro with Margaret and Samantha to visit Margaret's sister, Anna, who is couched for 6 months after ACL surgery. I treated myself to a new t-shirt at the thrift store, and was blown away by the trendiness and eco-ness of the Weaver Street Market, where we bought food to cook dinner. We then went back to Anna's place and put together a feast for her and a bunch of friends who seemed to filter in and slowly fill up the apartment as time passed. There were baked sweet potatoes, pasta with homemade red sauce, toss salad with dressing options, garlic bread, and cookies. One of Anna's roommates was an art history major, and there were some great coffee tables books, including a healthy collection of Keith Haring work, which I really liked.
Friday I didn't make the chainsaw party because it was an all-day event, and I wanted to get on the road by 3:00, so that I wouldn't be biking in the dark. So another day in the garden.
My conclusion from the whole experience is that I'm glad I'm going back again next week, because I'm very unsure of how I feel as of now. The people were really nice and welcoming, and the land would be ideal for a natural building, but I'm not sure about the hierarchy of power. I really want to be in a leadership position on this building project. This is what I would look like as a serious leader:
My reason for going (as stated in an earlier post) was to feel out the place and people, and consider whether it would be an appropriate place for me to propose a natural building project. This is what happened:
I arrived on tuesday afternoon, a day-and-a-half later than planned (due to baby Ian's unplanned sickness, and my duty to be his buddy). I traveled by bike, thinking that because of my cycling stint earlier in the summer, I would still be in solid shape. A sore back, a numb ass, and tired legs was instead what I entered the premises with. The first two people I saw were girls, so I played it cool.
Margaret, the garden manager, I had met on my original tour of the place. Samantha is from Ohio, and a participant in the WWOOFing program. They informed me that they had spent most of the day rolling around, and I was instantly unsure of how to feel. I set up tent in the forest, and then came back up to the garden to help pull out dead stuff, and spread leaf mulch.
You can see that the garden is a matrix of raised beds, many of which are covered by white frost cloth to keep the strawberries and greens alive through the cold nights. The soil was trucked in, because the site soil is unfit for gardening. Why? Because there is so much damn clay. The properties of clay that make it horrible for gardening - minimal organic matter content, and mostly impermeable to water - make it an excellent building material. And the clay in this area is especially beautiful in color:
but unfortunately guarded by fierce dogs.
I didn't realize that people staying at the institute are expected to bring their own food. Luckily, Sam(antha) lent my belly some "happy pork." We shaped it into patties and cooked it alongside some of Margaret's pasta, which was later doused in pesto. Only a couple hours in, and I already charmed my way into a satisfying dinner shared with (and paid for by) women. Afterwards, we strolled to Margaret's candlelit yome and relaxed and sketched to music. I went back to my tent around 8:30, read a bit of John Steinbeck's "To a God Unknown" (which I most highly recommend both because of the way that Steinbeck explores the quality of being human, and how intricate his descriptions of the natural world are), and fell asleep around 9:30.
The next day, I went back down to the kitchen (below the green awning) for breakfast.
I had heard that there were three guys also staying at the site, and as I walked up, I saw that they were sitting to breakfast. To my surprise, as I got up close to the table, I realized that Sam Cooper was sitting there. I met Sam Cooper at the strawbale design/build workshop that I took in Vermont a year and a half ago. Not only did I meet Sam, but I in fact nakedly joined him and 4 other men in a wood-fired hot tub under a starry Vermont sky one night. And I remember noting the humor in the situation: "we just met, and we're all naked, and I wouldn't do this with my friends from home," and Sam replied "well, yea, but we'll never see each other again after this course." How wrong he was.
As it turns out, I didn't see much of the guys, because I had agreed to stay at the institute and work, while they spent most of the week in town and visiting neighbors nearby. So I spent most of Wednesday pulling out more dead stuff from the garden, and getting to know Samantha and Margaret. We also harvested greens, and separated good potatoes from bad potatoes. The dinner that I made for Samantha and I celebrated this harvest. I made stuffed broccoli greens (stuffed with creamy smashed potatoes) and sauteed in a pool of meat fat, with sides of mashed potatoes and greens. A redundant, but filling meal. Red wine was a winning addition.
That night I agreed to go with Samantha to "Barb's Place," which was a farm down the road with a semi-transient community of young folk looking to learn about self-sufficiency. We got picked up by Melissa, who drives a car with no passenger seat (which I liked). When I walked into Barb's, I realized immediately I would not have a boring night. Barb fits the description of a crazed genius lady. She's a gray-haired stockpile of information about all sorts of things. She was undoubtedly a flower child in the 60s. Her types of standards might be quite strange to the general population. Her kitchen table is a display of "dumpstered" floral arrangements picked up by Melissa, but the canned pears from the same dumpster were a definite no-no because of their high-fructose corn syrup content. Interestingly, she makes documentary films, and even won an academy award in the early 90s. Before the night was over, I had been invited to friday's "chainsaw party" at Barb's, where the point is both to replenish a good supply of firewood as well as teach newbies how to tame the saws. Melissa was also a very interesting character, who does her own screen-printing with mostly found materials, hops trains, and has been living all over the country on almost no money.
Thursday began with more work garden work, and then at 1:30 I went to Carrboro with Margaret and Samantha to visit Margaret's sister, Anna, who is couched for 6 months after ACL surgery. I treated myself to a new t-shirt at the thrift store, and was blown away by the trendiness and eco-ness of the Weaver Street Market, where we bought food to cook dinner. We then went back to Anna's place and put together a feast for her and a bunch of friends who seemed to filter in and slowly fill up the apartment as time passed. There were baked sweet potatoes, pasta with homemade red sauce, toss salad with dressing options, garlic bread, and cookies. One of Anna's roommates was an art history major, and there were some great coffee tables books, including a healthy collection of Keith Haring work, which I really liked.
Friday I didn't make the chainsaw party because it was an all-day event, and I wanted to get on the road by 3:00, so that I wouldn't be biking in the dark. So another day in the garden.
My conclusion from the whole experience is that I'm glad I'm going back again next week, because I'm very unsure of how I feel as of now. The people were really nice and welcoming, and the land would be ideal for a natural building, but I'm not sure about the hierarchy of power. I really want to be in a leadership position on this building project. This is what I would look like as a serious leader:
Ian
I enjoy observing change over time: a plant growing from seed; a building being constructed; a ceramic pot being pulled out of a mass of clay atop a spinning wheel. But what I have found to be even more engaging than these examples is my recent chunk of time spent as an uncle to the little boy below:
For an overview of Ian's four months of life, browse his blog.
I'm going to push him to go through the same phases as me:
In all seriousness, I have had a most intriguing and fulfilling time being an uncle. I dearly wish to write eloquently and intelligently about it. However, I find myself filling up paragraph after paragraph - with observations, thoughts, and anecdotes - that I soon after re-read and find completely uninteresting. Someday I will try again.
Ian was the original reason I chose North Carolina as my next place of residence, and he has not let me down, but rather on many occasions lifted me up. If days were lengthened to 32 hours, I might very well consider adopting a child now, but as it stands I will wait for a wife and at least a decade more of passed time.
For an overview of Ian's four months of life, browse his blog.I'm going to push him to go through the same phases as me:
In all seriousness, I have had a most intriguing and fulfilling time being an uncle. I dearly wish to write eloquently and intelligently about it. However, I find myself filling up paragraph after paragraph - with observations, thoughts, and anecdotes - that I soon after re-read and find completely uninteresting. Someday I will try again.
Ian was the original reason I chose North Carolina as my next place of residence, and he has not let me down, but rather on many occasions lifted me up. If days were lengthened to 32 hours, I might very well consider adopting a child now, but as it stands I will wait for a wife and at least a decade more of passed time.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
My, Cabbage, you clean up well.
If you can draw a red cabbage cross-section and feel confident that you've done the plant justice, then I want you on my team.
my feelers are out.
Today is Wednesday, but yesterday was Tuesday. Tuesday was in my books as a really good day even before 10:00 AM. I visited Pickards Mountain Eco-Institute in nearby Carrboro, NC. My sister's boss casually mentioned the place over dinner a couple weeks ago, as a place where I might find connections to people who could help me realize my short-term dreams.
I met Megan and Margaret on my visit. Megan made me hot apple cider, and entertained my short biography, while we sat in her breathtaking house. She and her husband, Tim, own the whole place and live there permanently. Margaret, on the other hand, lives in one of these:
It is called a "yome," a clever hybridization of a yurt and a Buckminster Fuller dome. On her table were dozens of origami swans. Margaret is the main gardener, and she gave me a tour of all the animals.
A lot more happened as well, and it was all very interesting to me, which is why I am:
1. going back to tent there for two half-weeks, starting this coming monday
and
2. considering the institute as a potential building site (if I can knock their Crocs off with a kickass idea, and a practical plan to back it up)
That's a photo right off their website. It makes me think that I might feel romantic at a place like this.
I am off-the-wall excited about this opportunity. This could be the break I've been putting off getting a part-time job for. Anyone reading this who might be interested in helping me build a natural building, let me know. The clay in this area is phenomenal, in both its abundance and color (bright red).
I was asking Margaret about cool places to check out in Carrboro on my drive back, and she told me about the Recyclery. From what I understand, it's a place that looks like this:
Where they fix bikes using parts and tools stored in drawers like this:
And one can go there with the intention of learning how to fix bikes, and they will assist you in doing so, and will then allow you to become part of the team, and in the end you can leave with a rock solid bicycle made by you!
The answers always seem to be to the West of me.
I met Megan and Margaret on my visit. Megan made me hot apple cider, and entertained my short biography, while we sat in her breathtaking house. She and her husband, Tim, own the whole place and live there permanently. Margaret, on the other hand, lives in one of these:
It is called a "yome," a clever hybridization of a yurt and a Buckminster Fuller dome. On her table were dozens of origami swans. Margaret is the main gardener, and she gave me a tour of all the animals.
A lot more happened as well, and it was all very interesting to me, which is why I am:
1. going back to tent there for two half-weeks, starting this coming monday
and
2. considering the institute as a potential building site (if I can knock their Crocs off with a kickass idea, and a practical plan to back it up)
That's a photo right off their website. It makes me think that I might feel romantic at a place like this.I am off-the-wall excited about this opportunity. This could be the break I've been putting off getting a part-time job for. Anyone reading this who might be interested in helping me build a natural building, let me know. The clay in this area is phenomenal, in both its abundance and color (bright red).
I was asking Margaret about cool places to check out in Carrboro on my drive back, and she told me about the Recyclery. From what I understand, it's a place that looks like this:
Where they fix bikes using parts and tools stored in drawers like this:
And one can go there with the intention of learning how to fix bikes, and they will assist you in doing so, and will then allow you to become part of the team, and in the end you can leave with a rock solid bicycle made by you!
The answers always seem to be to the West of me.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Jan's Vans
The photo behind the blog title is the back of a conversion van, owned by a lady in Arlington, Oregon. I want to refer to her as a "crazy lady," but this is solely an opinion, and it is also just an inference based on how crazy I found her sister to be. Additionally, I really do respect her hospitality, as it would have been a particularly dodgy night to set up tent, in terms of wind speed and legality. I forget the lady's name. Pam? Jan? Something of the sort.
After my windiest day of biking on my cross-half-country bike journey, I wound up in Arlington. Not because I wanted to be there, but because I stopped there for lunch and a nap, and then attempted to go further but was completely vanquished by the wind within a mile of leaving on interstate 84. I stopped at a outlook point, pissed off the edge of the cliff (because it wasn't just peeing), and laid my bike down, and then my body, on the concrete. I called my sister, because it seemed right, but she didn't pick up. I could have cried, but instead just whimpered. I even dipped so low as to saunter up to the 18-wheeler, and ask about how far the next town was, hoping that the driver might light up and say "hey kiddo, just pop your bike in the back, and climb in - I'll take you there!" But it was a dude and lady both, filling the cabin, and looking too gaunt and dismal to lay out an offer like that. So I crossed over the highway, and rode the 1 mile back to Arlington. As a disclaimer, finally having a chance to go with the wind made this one of the easiest miles of the whole trip, physically speaking.
After my windiest day of biking on my cross-half-country bike journey, I wound up in Arlington. Not because I wanted to be there, but because I stopped there for lunch and a nap, and then attempted to go further but was completely vanquished by the wind within a mile of leaving on interstate 84. I stopped at a outlook point, pissed off the edge of the cliff (because it wasn't just peeing), and laid my bike down, and then my body, on the concrete. I called my sister, because it seemed right, but she didn't pick up. I could have cried, but instead just whimpered. I even dipped so low as to saunter up to the 18-wheeler, and ask about how far the next town was, hoping that the driver might light up and say "hey kiddo, just pop your bike in the back, and climb in - I'll take you there!" But it was a dude and lady both, filling the cabin, and looking too gaunt and dismal to lay out an offer like that. So I crossed over the highway, and rode the 1 mile back to Arlington. As a disclaimer, finally having a chance to go with the wind made this one of the easiest miles of the whole trip, physically speaking.
Going East to West, in the wind you will end,
But West to East, and the wind is your friend!
Emotionally, it was a rough mile, because it was admitting defeat. And that day was the closest I came to giving up. My journal entry in the back of that van was in fact a list of all the ways I could give up without too much shame. All because of wind. That night the van was shaking. Can you guess why? ...Try again. 60 mph gusts.
So first I started riding up the huge hill, following the RV park signs, hoping to pay whatever was necessary to get a plot of grass at least as big as my tent footprint. All the spots were full, but the owner was very nice, and pointed me to a trailer owned by someone who she thought might let me set up for free in their front yard - right between the reflective spinning pinwheel and the plastic picket fence, I imagined. I said thank you, but knowing in my head that it wasn't a comfortable situation for me. And I demand comfort. So I headed to the motel. The one motel in town. Really fancy-looking. I think even had my hand on my credit card in my pocket as I walked in, ready for pampering. I'm trying to remember what the lady at the desk said to me. It was stupid. It wasn't "sorry, we're full." It was like "oops" or "try again" or "not me, not now." And so I lied. "Oh, that's okay." I turned around back towards the door, next to which is a window, and for the first time noticed the neon sign glowing "try again." I'm glad not to have patronized such a foolish establishment.
At one point I had tried the methodist church; can't remember whether it was pre or post-motel. The door was locked, so I knocked. No one answered, even though there was a car in the parking lot. I peed between the edge of the parking lot and the beginning of the paved entranceway. I had to, and I did. And the only thing that would've made me feel bad about the act would have been if I drowned or burned an ant doing it.
A followed another set of "RV PARK AHEAD" signs to a second site down by the marina. I headed there, and it was full, just like the first one, and the motel, and my bladder again. I found a real bathroom, then ate an orange, and a granola bar. And I thought about what I might do. Next to where I ate my citrus was a bulletin board. On this board were postings about local events and restaurants. Several churches had put up a notice about when services were, and the pastor's number, and groups that met. First I called the Methodist number, and got an answering machine. Technically, I was raised Methodist. And I'm on this bike trip alone, most of the way across the country, emotionally drained, and the Methodist church was closed and now won't pick up the phone. And in all honesty, I would just like to know: in most cases, is the church just good for Sunday stuff?
The next poster was for the Church of the Nazarene. There were actually only two church posters. So this was my second and last chance. The pastor answered and was very nice. He explained that he lived 15 miles away on a ranch, and so he wasn't of much use, but that he would call around town to try and find someone to put me up for the night. After much work, and many back and forth calls that I genuinely am thankful for, he came through with this three-letter-named woman (Pam or Jan). I called her, and she explained that usually she would give me a bed in the house, but that her 87-year-old father was dying in her house, and so her whole family was over, and it was a small house to start with, and now packed with people, and she didn't want to make anyone in there feel uncomfortable, and would it be okay if I just slept in her van, and she's slept in it once before and it was good for her. Yea, that's awesome.
So I went back up the hill that I had ascended to get to the first RV park - essentially I traversed the entire town of Arlington, from the marina (low point), to Jan's mountain home (the high point) - and followed her directions to her corner house with the car-dealership-looking driveway, packed full of her relatives' automobiles. In the middle was the aforementioned van. And in the van were two woman madly trying to convert the back seats into a level sleepspot. Together, we prevailed. Then they went inside, and Jan's sister, whose name I also cannot remember, put together a hamburger and chips and some sunny D, and brought me dinner-in-van. Which was all very nice. However, she didn't then again go back inside. She chose instead to stay and ask me the dreaded question "So... are you a believer?" I believe in a lot of things, and a lot of good things for that matter; I'm not clear about my religious beliefs, and I'm not sure I ever want to be clear, but one thing I am clear about not believing in is her whackass version of religion. She started in with her father's story. How he went his whole life without the light, and he just recently found God a couple months ago, and now he's set free and everything makes sense, and he's not afraid of death. You might think that I'm wrong in putting this potentially nice and happy topic in a negative light. But I'm confident now in how scared I was then. At the beginning we were chatting through the open sliding door, but it wasn't long before the wind made this less than ideal, and she invited herself into the front seat (fair enough, not my van). She kept up the talk about her father, and tears were streaming down her face, as she looked upward into the proverbial sky of fluffy clouds and muted sun rays. She went on to talk about all the prophecies in the Bible. At this point I was thinking "I should have just confidently said 'yes, I'm a believer' in the beginning." The prophecies are woven so intricately into a book so beautiful that it could have been imagined by none other than a God-like figure. They are all coming true. Soon the western, civilized nations will join forces one last time and march on the middle east. At this point, God will send down a bolt of something to destroy the middle eastern nations (because the civilized westerners need a little help?). And then the world as we know it will transcend into... what the hell lady? Are you crazy? Do you really think I want to sit in your sister's van and discuss this with you? Would you even listen to me if I brought up any counter-points, or wanted to discuss any of these prophecies critically? The answer is no, you wouldn't listen. Because you stated earlier something bogus like "God doesn't want us to be intellectuals. God likes us the way we were. We are supposed to just be ourselves and take the Bible for what it says. He doesn't expect more of us." These are not her exact quotes, but I'd bet a pretty penny that she voted for Bush.
Finally I told her that I was thinking about packing in for the night and doing some reading before bed.
"Oh, what are you going to read?"
"This book I brought about the building technique I'll be learning about this summer. I have to finish it before my course starts."
"Do you have a Bible with you?"
"No. I just have one book. I packed as light as I could."
"Do you want me to go inside and get a Bible?"
"No, thanks."
"Do you own a Bible?"
"Yes, it's at home."
"What version do you have?"
"...the St. James version."
"You mean the KING James translation?"
I know it's still light out lady, but let me go to bed, let me go to bed, let me go to bed. But she had one more thing.
"Sorry, but we've been talking all this time, and I didn't get your name."
"Hehe, your right. It's Greg."
"Well, Greg. I will pray for you."
"Okay... thank you."
I took some pictures after she left of how I would have chatted with her in a world with no repercussions or chivalry.
I set my alarm for 5:00 AM to ensure that I was up and gone before seeing them again. I wrote a very nice thank you note, and left in on the floor next to my paper plate. And like the wind, I was gone.
lamaze breathing
I cannot recall an exact time or place, but I am very sure that at some point in time I have uttered the opinion: "blogs are stupid." I suppose I must take this back.
This blog is a journal that is always open to read. I can state with certainty that it is less satisfying to look at a screen and type, rather than enjoying all the gestures associated with writing with pen on paper. However, this is more efficient, more connected to the people who I would want to read it, and I'm much more likely to keep up with it.
This is my North Carolina journal. I am living at my sister's house, but not because I'm a loser. Rather, I'm an uncle. And I'm trading uncle duties and various cooking/cleaning duties for this roof over my head and pink walls around my head. I'm here on a mission to build a cob cottage, very appropriate considering that I recently completed an apprenticeship at the Cob Cottage Company, in Oregon.
I'm in a new place, with solid skills, an easy living situation, no snow, a lot of clay, a dashing nephew, and the mindset to do/build/make something beautiful. And craigslist. I have no idea how long I will be here, except it will at least be as long as it takes me to accomplish what I wish to accomplish.
Hence the title: an indefinite stay of limitless potential. I write it here lower case, because this is how I prefer it. It's about this moment, which is the beginning, new, little, and ready to grow. Really this particular chain of words could describe any moment. Opening your eyes in the morning. Starting college. Going on a hike. Opening a cabinet. Getting married. Sitting on the toilet.
And so it begins.
This blog is a journal that is always open to read. I can state with certainty that it is less satisfying to look at a screen and type, rather than enjoying all the gestures associated with writing with pen on paper. However, this is more efficient, more connected to the people who I would want to read it, and I'm much more likely to keep up with it.
This is my North Carolina journal. I am living at my sister's house, but not because I'm a loser. Rather, I'm an uncle. And I'm trading uncle duties and various cooking/cleaning duties for this roof over my head and pink walls around my head. I'm here on a mission to build a cob cottage, very appropriate considering that I recently completed an apprenticeship at the Cob Cottage Company, in Oregon.
I'm in a new place, with solid skills, an easy living situation, no snow, a lot of clay, a dashing nephew, and the mindset to do/build/make something beautiful. And craigslist. I have no idea how long I will be here, except it will at least be as long as it takes me to accomplish what I wish to accomplish.
Hence the title: an indefinite stay of limitless potential. I write it here lower case, because this is how I prefer it. It's about this moment, which is the beginning, new, little, and ready to grow. Really this particular chain of words could describe any moment. Opening your eyes in the morning. Starting college. Going on a hike. Opening a cabinet. Getting married. Sitting on the toilet.
And so it begins.
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