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.
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