It's been 6 weeks since we moved to Mechanicsburg. So much work, so many transitions. Just quickly, here are some things I'm grateful for.
1. Neighbors! I've met three of them so far.
2. Fireflies. The light show out here is amazing.
3. Kids playing outside. Not as much as I would like, but some. Watching Havah ride her tricycle around is especially satisfying.
4. Birds. Robins, bluebirds, mourning doves, sparrows, mockingbirds, bluejays, cardinals, goldfinches, and a bunch of others I haven't learned the names for yet.
5. Electricity. Already we've had two power outages, one lasting 4 hours and one lasting 18. Some generous friend let us borrow their generator in case these events continue.
6. Hospitality. I really should start keeping a guest book. I love that we've had so many people out to visit, love that our table can stay permanently extended
7. Sand. A huge sandbox, and enough to share.
8. Berries. Mulberries and black raspberries. How wonderful to harvest what I have not planted!
9. Plumbing. Specifically, toilets that flush, showers that work, and a kitchen sink.
10. Soil. I've been digging in it, knees to earth, planting, hoping that these little seeds do their thing. It is a beautiful world!
Monday, July 14, 2014
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Adventure of the week
This is one of those experiences I want to remember, the kind that is so vivid now that I think I couldn't possibly forget, but I've learned to trust my memory less as the memories accumulate, layer, and ultimately blur over time. So I'll try to write this down, with a minimum of analyzation.
We've been looking for a house for a long time. As in, last year Darrel gave up looking for houses for lent. I have lists and lists of houses that we've explored from our desk, using zillow and google maps and dauphin/cumberland county gis mapping to determine if a particular property was worth of a drive by, or for the select few, an interior examination. Our list of requirements was daunting:
And then there was our wish list
Last May, we got very excited about a potential property on N. 36th Street that was being auctioned the traditional way. We got our ducks in a row and showed up at the auction with a certified check in case we had the opportunity to make a deposit. Alas, we had set our cap at $180,000, and bidding went to $220,000, resulting in significant disappointment and all kinds of internal questions. There was a property on Fairmont Drive that initially appealed to Darrel but not to me, but after I spontaneously visited it during an open house, it started to grow on me, and quite honestly, we were thinking that we might settle for it in the spring/summer. The housing market has been pretty sluggish during the winter, and we didn't want a move to necessitate a change of schools in the middle of the school year, so we were just laying low and keeping abreast of the options via an email blast from a realtor whenever something went on the market that had at least 1.5 acres.
On February 11, a property went on the market that piqued my interest. 1330 Williams Grove Road: 5 acres, 4 bedrooms, 3 baths, 2300 square feet, near Mechanicsburg, needs TLC--that was the extent of the listing information. Three pictures were added the next day, all of the exterior. Further internet searching revealed that it was a bank owned property, last sold in 2002 for $150,000. It had been on the market in 2012 for $275,000 before it was foreclosed, and was going to be auctioned AS IS on a website called Hudzu. The biding opened at $100,000 with an unknown reserve; auction ended on February 18. We had been peripherally interested in other bank owned, internet auctioned properties and had noticed that they often went through multiple bidding cycles, so we anticipated that this property would do the same, which would give us time to check it out after the 12 inches of snow from storms number 4 and 5 had melted. I called the listing agent, who didn't have any additional information to share about the house, never having seen it himself. We made tentative plans to visit it on February 20, two days after the auction ended (remember, we thought that no one would buy it and it would remain available).
On February 17, I checked its status online. Pictures of the interior had been added, but most surprising was that a party had placed a bid. Rats. That meant that if we were really interested in it, we had to act. On February 18, the kids had a two hour delay, and I decided it wasn't worth going in to work for 2 hours, so I drove to Mechanicsburg, hoping to peek in the windows and get the lay of the land. I parked on the road and trudged down the snowy driveway. When I got closer to the house and saw a truck parked there, my brain went into high alert mode. Was it the realtor? Was it someone who had come to strip copper pipes and wires? I took a picture of the license plate, hoping that whoever found my body would look at my cell phone for clues to my demise. After hiding under the arbor with two cats for a while, I got bold and walked toward the door just as two men were leaving. They said that they were also interested in the property and had found it unlocked. So I went inside, safe and unscathed, no thanks to my overactive imagination.
We already knew from the pictures that it had a great room (no walls between kitchen, living, and dining areas). The photos hadn't done justice to the size of the kitchen, particularly of the counter space and storage in it. A fireplace! A first floor bathroom! A large mudroom with laundry area on the first floor! In-law quarters, complete with kitchen/living/dining area, bathroom, and a separate entrance! Evidence that a whole house generator had once been installed! Three large bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, with large closets and an amazing built in desk! No basement, so hopefully that meant no mold. The house was built in 1978, after the age of plaster, lead paint, and asbestos. The outbuilding was huge--a pole barn in good condition with its own electric panel. And trees! Of special attention, four trees that had been planted in an 8' square approximately 20 years ago, just begging for a tree house to be built in them.
Of course, the house was filthy and the aforementioned cats had taken up residence in it. Clearly it needed to be cleaned and painted, and much of the carpet would have to be ripped out. I had no idea if the furnace worked, or if the roof leaked, or if the well water was safe, or if the septic system was clogged, or whether the foundation had settled. Still, if we got it for a good price, we could deal with some repairs.
That night after the kids were in bed, Darrel and I met in the mudroom to plan our strategy. Bidding ended at 10 p.m., but Hubzu had a 15 minute rule: if anyone placed a bid in the last fifteen minutes, the deadline would be extended 15 minutes from that bid, until the point at which there was no activity for 15 minutes. We decided that we would go up to $140,000. There was a bit of a bidding battle from 9:30-10:30 p.m., as four parties placed multiple bids on the property (including one party who we presumed was a neighbor we had met). Finally, at 10:45, our bid of $135,000 had been uncontested for 15 minutes, the reserve had been met, and we thought briefly about breaking out our sole bottle of wine for a celebration.
The deal was far from over, though, as we had 48 hours to sign the contract and return it with a 5% deposit. The next two days were filled with phone calls, faxes, and a flurry of signatures, and a significant amount of aggravation as the seller and its agents in India responded slowly to requests to modify the contract.
So now we're in a waiting phase--we've done all that we need to do, but until we get a ratified contract from the seller and ultimately, until we get to closing, we just have to hang loose. Hopefully Darrel will get to look around inside the house sometime soon (he visited with our realtor on Saturday, but it didn't work out for him to go inside). The mortgage company will do an appraisal which may be complicated by the need to turn on the electric. After closing, we'll roll up our sleeves and figure out how much of a mess we've gotten ourselves into!
Of course my mind is spinning, as we think about moving and all that entails. I had kind of forgotten about the packing part of relocating! And we'll need to look for renters for our current house, and possibly renters for the apartment at the new house, and help the kids work through their sadness at leaving schools and friends here (though they will finish the school year here even if we move in April). And while I had resigned myself to putting plans for farming on hold until 2015, the timing of this makes farming in 2014 a possibility, so I'm weighing options. All in all, it's been a very eventful week, and the adventure has only just begun!
We've been looking for a house for a long time. As in, last year Darrel gave up looking for houses for lent. I have lists and lists of houses that we've explored from our desk, using zillow and google maps and dauphin/cumberland county gis mapping to determine if a particular property was worth of a drive by, or for the select few, an interior examination. Our list of requirements was daunting:
- 1.5 acres cleared land suitable for growing vegetables
- Adequate water source (well preferred)
- Potential for other income (4 bedroom or in-law suite/apartment)
- 15 miles maximum from our current home
- Maximum of 1 hour to one in-law
- First floor bathroom
- Handicap accessible
And then there was our wish list
- 3 acres tillable land
- Shade trees near the house and/or a wooded area
- Less than 1 hour to both in-laws
- 10 miles from our current home
- Fireplace, wood stove, or the option to install one
- Open kitchen and dining room
- Bedroom on first floor
- Existing outbuildings
- Proximity to bike trails, train tracks, and library
Last May, we got very excited about a potential property on N. 36th Street that was being auctioned the traditional way. We got our ducks in a row and showed up at the auction with a certified check in case we had the opportunity to make a deposit. Alas, we had set our cap at $180,000, and bidding went to $220,000, resulting in significant disappointment and all kinds of internal questions. There was a property on Fairmont Drive that initially appealed to Darrel but not to me, but after I spontaneously visited it during an open house, it started to grow on me, and quite honestly, we were thinking that we might settle for it in the spring/summer. The housing market has been pretty sluggish during the winter, and we didn't want a move to necessitate a change of schools in the middle of the school year, so we were just laying low and keeping abreast of the options via an email blast from a realtor whenever something went on the market that had at least 1.5 acres.
On February 11, a property went on the market that piqued my interest. 1330 Williams Grove Road: 5 acres, 4 bedrooms, 3 baths, 2300 square feet, near Mechanicsburg, needs TLC--that was the extent of the listing information. Three pictures were added the next day, all of the exterior. Further internet searching revealed that it was a bank owned property, last sold in 2002 for $150,000. It had been on the market in 2012 for $275,000 before it was foreclosed, and was going to be auctioned AS IS on a website called Hudzu. The biding opened at $100,000 with an unknown reserve; auction ended on February 18. We had been peripherally interested in other bank owned, internet auctioned properties and had noticed that they often went through multiple bidding cycles, so we anticipated that this property would do the same, which would give us time to check it out after the 12 inches of snow from storms number 4 and 5 had melted. I called the listing agent, who didn't have any additional information to share about the house, never having seen it himself. We made tentative plans to visit it on February 20, two days after the auction ended (remember, we thought that no one would buy it and it would remain available).
On February 17, I checked its status online. Pictures of the interior had been added, but most surprising was that a party had placed a bid. Rats. That meant that if we were really interested in it, we had to act. On February 18, the kids had a two hour delay, and I decided it wasn't worth going in to work for 2 hours, so I drove to Mechanicsburg, hoping to peek in the windows and get the lay of the land. I parked on the road and trudged down the snowy driveway. When I got closer to the house and saw a truck parked there, my brain went into high alert mode. Was it the realtor? Was it someone who had come to strip copper pipes and wires? I took a picture of the license plate, hoping that whoever found my body would look at my cell phone for clues to my demise. After hiding under the arbor with two cats for a while, I got bold and walked toward the door just as two men were leaving. They said that they were also interested in the property and had found it unlocked. So I went inside, safe and unscathed, no thanks to my overactive imagination.
We already knew from the pictures that it had a great room (no walls between kitchen, living, and dining areas). The photos hadn't done justice to the size of the kitchen, particularly of the counter space and storage in it. A fireplace! A first floor bathroom! A large mudroom with laundry area on the first floor! In-law quarters, complete with kitchen/living/dining area, bathroom, and a separate entrance! Evidence that a whole house generator had once been installed! Three large bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, with large closets and an amazing built in desk! No basement, so hopefully that meant no mold. The house was built in 1978, after the age of plaster, lead paint, and asbestos. The outbuilding was huge--a pole barn in good condition with its own electric panel. And trees! Of special attention, four trees that had been planted in an 8' square approximately 20 years ago, just begging for a tree house to be built in them.
Of course, the house was filthy and the aforementioned cats had taken up residence in it. Clearly it needed to be cleaned and painted, and much of the carpet would have to be ripped out. I had no idea if the furnace worked, or if the roof leaked, or if the well water was safe, or if the septic system was clogged, or whether the foundation had settled. Still, if we got it for a good price, we could deal with some repairs.
That night after the kids were in bed, Darrel and I met in the mudroom to plan our strategy. Bidding ended at 10 p.m., but Hubzu had a 15 minute rule: if anyone placed a bid in the last fifteen minutes, the deadline would be extended 15 minutes from that bid, until the point at which there was no activity for 15 minutes. We decided that we would go up to $140,000. There was a bit of a bidding battle from 9:30-10:30 p.m., as four parties placed multiple bids on the property (including one party who we presumed was a neighbor we had met). Finally, at 10:45, our bid of $135,000 had been uncontested for 15 minutes, the reserve had been met, and we thought briefly about breaking out our sole bottle of wine for a celebration.
The deal was far from over, though, as we had 48 hours to sign the contract and return it with a 5% deposit. The next two days were filled with phone calls, faxes, and a flurry of signatures, and a significant amount of aggravation as the seller and its agents in India responded slowly to requests to modify the contract.
So now we're in a waiting phase--we've done all that we need to do, but until we get a ratified contract from the seller and ultimately, until we get to closing, we just have to hang loose. Hopefully Darrel will get to look around inside the house sometime soon (he visited with our realtor on Saturday, but it didn't work out for him to go inside). The mortgage company will do an appraisal which may be complicated by the need to turn on the electric. After closing, we'll roll up our sleeves and figure out how much of a mess we've gotten ourselves into!
Of course my mind is spinning, as we think about moving and all that entails. I had kind of forgotten about the packing part of relocating! And we'll need to look for renters for our current house, and possibly renters for the apartment at the new house, and help the kids work through their sadness at leaving schools and friends here (though they will finish the school year here even if we move in April). And while I had resigned myself to putting plans for farming on hold until 2015, the timing of this makes farming in 2014 a possibility, so I'm weighing options. All in all, it's been a very eventful week, and the adventure has only just begun!
Friday, January 17, 2014
Eddie Eagle
Our youngest came home from school on Monday proud of her new coloring book. "We watched a video about Eddie Eagle, and I got this special coloring book," she said in that cute breathy way that 3 year-old females in our family talk. "Eddie Eagle says 'Stop! Don't touch! Leave the room! Tell an adult!'" she said in the authoritative voice usually reserved for bossing siblings around. I laughed, proud that she had absorbed the message so well, proud that this gun-safety lesson was information she would not need in our firearm-free house. And then today, I see this headline: 4 year old shot, killed by 4 year old cousin in Detroit. And I'm not laughing about Eddie Eagle anymore.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
A lifetime later
At 18, I stayed up all night all summer. Of course, I slept by day, but every evening
at 11 p.m., I went on duty as a personal care assistant. I was working at a home for people with
severe developmental challenges, folks on feeding tubes, with muscles atrophied
from disuse, for whom a grunt might be a milestone in communication. After checking each resident, changing
diapers, rotating limp bodies to new positions to prevent bedsores, mopping
floors, and gathering laundry, I’d make my way to the nurses’ station. There the other women pulled out their craft
projects, knitting, crocheting, and gabbing their way through the long
night. Ears wide open and fingers
fumbling with my half-finished dishcloth, I listened to stories of shopping
adventures and struggles with spouses. What shocked me most was Mary’s
admission that every night, after her kids were in bed and before she went to
work, she got down on her hands and knees to mop the kitchen floor. What unholy hooligans she must have, I
thought, who track mud so ungratefully onto her gleaming tiles. Or what high standards of cleanliness she
ascribed to, that she would be offended by specks of dust not yet gathered into
lagomorphan lumps.
At 36, a lifetime later, I crouch on bended knee. Wet rag in
hand, I scrub away the remnants of supper, the scribbles of marker that didn’t
stay in the lines, the splatters of milk and juice now dried into circles of
grime. My standards are not particularly high, nor are my children, now
sleeping, particularly messy, so this ritual is repeated not daily but at
random intervals through the month. I
always start in the same corner and work my way around the table, moving the
chairs just barely, imagining them still heavy with their occupants (or, quite
honestly, too lazy to do the job right and relocate them to the other
room). I kneel in the silence, putting
to right, focusing not on the likelihood that more milk will spill tomorrow,
but on this smudge, this crumb, this drop of wine smeared across these
floorboards, now sanctified.
Monday, April 2, 2012
block by block
In my dream, I visited a city, where each block had a tree decorated with flowers and balloons. When's the party? Or maybe there's going to be a parade? Or perhaps, as in Nigeria, the president is coming to town and people have prettied the place up. Then a neighbor told me of the tradition that when a person dies, the family sets up a memorial at the spot where they were killed.
The dream dissolves and I drive around in a daze. Here, armed men broke into a house and killed the resident after robbing him. Here, a car crashed into a tree while police were in pursuit. Here, a man on a stolen motorcycle lost control. Here, a taxi driver was shot on a Sunday morning while the church across the street was singing Alleluia. Here, a jealous boyfriend dispatched his competition. Here, a nine year old girl crossing the street after buying candy was hit by a truck. Here, a barfight ended with a knife. Here, a car collided with an 8 year old boy in a crosswalk, his parents just out of reach of his hands to pull him to safety. Here, the foul odor tipped off neighbors to the body stuffed in the trunk. Here, an evening stroll was cut short by gun shot. Here, a basketball game was lost, as was a life.
My neighborhood is a rosary of sorrows and at each station of the cross I pause to remember the suffering.
The dream dissolves and I drive around in a daze. Here, armed men broke into a house and killed the resident after robbing him. Here, a car crashed into a tree while police were in pursuit. Here, a man on a stolen motorcycle lost control. Here, a taxi driver was shot on a Sunday morning while the church across the street was singing Alleluia. Here, a jealous boyfriend dispatched his competition. Here, a nine year old girl crossing the street after buying candy was hit by a truck. Here, a barfight ended with a knife. Here, a car collided with an 8 year old boy in a crosswalk, his parents just out of reach of his hands to pull him to safety. Here, the foul odor tipped off neighbors to the body stuffed in the trunk. Here, an evening stroll was cut short by gun shot. Here, a basketball game was lost, as was a life.
My neighborhood is a rosary of sorrows and at each station of the cross I pause to remember the suffering.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
The car of my dreams
I've been fantasizing recently about buying a diesel VW Beetle. It's a moderately irrational fantasy, given that A) we don't have a couple grand burning a hole in our pockets, and if we did, we should probably save it for a rainy day because we've had so much sunshine in our lives it seems that clouds should be gathering soon, and B) a two-door vehicle is completely impractical with small children. Still, every week or so I jump on craigslist to see what's out there. What's fueling this fantasy? Ha. no pun intended, but it's fuel (well, that, and the attractiveness of driving a vehicle that's described by some as "perky," a word that seems the antithesis of "minivan.") I watched a movie by that title last year and became convinced that biodiesel is the answer, at least to one of life's persistent questions--how to support a mobile society without being complicit in the global-warming, pollution-producing, war- justifying system of oil? Of course, I'm easily swayed by compelling arguments, and was ready to buy an electric car after seeing the movie Who Killed The Electric Car (except at that time there weren't any electric cars available because they were all dead, and now that they've been resurrected, they're way out of our price range). I hope no one makes a movie about natural gas cars, because then I'd have to rethink my position on the Marcellus Shale mess.
My fantasy has some merit. We prided ourselves on being a one car family for years, and only bought a second vehicle when we started the farm project. Darrel only uses the 1997 GMC Safari on rainy days and in super cold weather; other than that he bikes to work and the red van is dedicated to the farm. Three kids pushed us beyond the capacity of a sedan into a minivan, but I groan at the mileage we get with our kid carrier, a 2002 Honda Odyssey. A little, fuel efficient car for running errands while the kids are at school, going on solitary trips, driving individual kids to appointments, etc. would be perfect. What would be even better is if we could find someone to share it with. Any takers?
My fantasy has some merit. We prided ourselves on being a one car family for years, and only bought a second vehicle when we started the farm project. Darrel only uses the 1997 GMC Safari on rainy days and in super cold weather; other than that he bikes to work and the red van is dedicated to the farm. Three kids pushed us beyond the capacity of a sedan into a minivan, but I groan at the mileage we get with our kid carrier, a 2002 Honda Odyssey. A little, fuel efficient car for running errands while the kids are at school, going on solitary trips, driving individual kids to appointments, etc. would be perfect. What would be even better is if we could find someone to share it with. Any takers?
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Gy;m reflections
I've been going to the gym for about two months now. Some random reflections:
I think that perhaps one of the essential life questions is not, "Who am I and what have I done?" but "Who am I and what have I done with what I've been given?"
I still think there should be some way to harness the energy of all those treadmills, ellipticals, and stair climbers.
I've been happy with the amount of ethnic diversity (though still moderate) I've seen at the gym. One of my concerns when joining was that I was supporting a white middle class establishment.
I've also been surprised by the number of senior citizens working out, though as Darrel points out, "if anyone has a right/reason to be at a gym, it's senior citizens."
I think that perhaps one of the essential life questions is not, "Who am I and what have I done?" but "Who am I and what have I done with what I've been given?"
I still think there should be some way to harness the energy of all those treadmills, ellipticals, and stair climbers.
I've been happy with the amount of ethnic diversity (though still moderate) I've seen at the gym. One of my concerns when joining was that I was supporting a white middle class establishment.
I've also been surprised by the number of senior citizens working out, though as Darrel points out, "if anyone has a right/reason to be at a gym, it's senior citizens."
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Family harmony
New parents, learn from my mistake. Those nice CDs of lullabies, and later, the catchy children's songs? Don't let them into your house. Once your children hear them, they will settle for little else, and you will be stuck listening to the musical equivalent of "Fun with Dick and Jane" for the next 8 years of your life. The problem with catchy children's songs is that they're catchy, and you'll find yourself singing them at inopportune times.
But if my warning's come too late, then at least let me make some recommendations for your family's listening pleasure. In no particular order, the most bearable of the children's music genre that fills our soundwaves:
Let it Shine and Share This World by Jim Rule
God's Love is for Everybody and Can't Keep Quiet by Brian Moyer Suderman
Here Come the 123's by They Might Be Giants
Song of Wisdom from Old Turtle
If You're Not Going Far by Kentucky T Dutchersmith and the Rubber Band
Cada Nino/Every Child by Tish Hinojosa
To Such as These by Kim Thiessen for MCC
Water from Another Time by John McCutcheon
I dare say that if I were on a deserted island, or stuck in solitary confinement, it would be songs from these albums that would surface in my mind, not the hymns of old or the current trendy tunes. And perhaps it's not such a bad thing after all, to hear your kids belting out, "Love is better than the rest, it's better than success, and all that you possess!" (The Music Machine) or, "Alleluia, the great storm is over. Lift up your voice and sing!" (Water from Another Time). Just be warned that they may also remind you to "have patience, have patience, don't be in such a hurry."
But if my warning's come too late, then at least let me make some recommendations for your family's listening pleasure. In no particular order, the most bearable of the children's music genre that fills our soundwaves:
Let it Shine and Share This World by Jim Rule
God's Love is for Everybody and Can't Keep Quiet by Brian Moyer Suderman
Here Come the 123's by They Might Be Giants
Song of Wisdom from Old Turtle
If You're Not Going Far by Kentucky T Dutchersmith and the Rubber Band
Cada Nino/Every Child by Tish Hinojosa
To Such as These by Kim Thiessen for MCC
Water from Another Time by John McCutcheon
I dare say that if I were on a deserted island, or stuck in solitary confinement, it would be songs from these albums that would surface in my mind, not the hymns of old or the current trendy tunes. And perhaps it's not such a bad thing after all, to hear your kids belting out, "Love is better than the rest, it's better than success, and all that you possess!" (The Music Machine) or, "Alleluia, the great storm is over. Lift up your voice and sing!" (Water from Another Time). Just be warned that they may also remind you to "have patience, have patience, don't be in such a hurry."
Well, I didn't get what I wanted for my birthday*, but it was still a day full of blessings. DJ brought me breakfast in bed (after admonishing me to go back to sleep), Darrel baked up a storm in the kitchen, making French breakfast muffins, whole-wheat bread, AND pineapple upside down cake, Marina invented a new hand sign for "I love you," and Havah, though not her usual cheerful self, still laughed uproariously at the antics of her young friends. My life is full of life.
And yet, every year on my birthday, I think about planning a funeral service. I'm not fixated on my death, though I try to live moderately aware of the inevitability of it. A funeral is much like a wedding, except that you generally have 3-5 days to pull all the details together, instead of the more standard 6+ months of matrimonial planning. It seems to me that, in the event of my sudden demise, the knowledge that I have made some preparations would be comforting to those I have left behind, as well as helpful in a practical sort of way. On the other hand, I don't want to plan things out in too much detail, as there may be something theraputic for my family in the process of collaborating on the order of worship.
If I really wanted to be prepared, I would write something for my children to read. You can disagree, but I think the saddest death is one that leaves dependents. There is something terribly tragic about the death of a child, to be sure--a hole that can never be filled, the forever unanswered question of what fruit this life could have yielded, what shape it could have taken. I hold as my ideal those anabaptist martyrs who went to their deaths singing, and wonder what my children would hold on to if I were gone--what memories, what promises, what confidence, what lessons, what clarity of purpose?
Alas, like so many other things, thinking about something will have to suffice for actually doing it, as I have neither the time nor the strength to engage in that level of planning and reflection. I will, however, leave you with a song, which many days is the closest I come to a statement of faith. Like most songs, reading just the words is like trying to fly with one wing, but it will do for now.
Text and music by Colin Gibson, 1996
*What I really wanted was to sleep! Until noon, preferably, but a good 12 hours (or even 8!) would have been great. Hopefully Pastor Woody didn't notice me dozing off during the sermon--no reflection on him, just severe sleep deprivation. Maybe next year I'll get my wish. :)
And yet, every year on my birthday, I think about planning a funeral service. I'm not fixated on my death, though I try to live moderately aware of the inevitability of it. A funeral is much like a wedding, except that you generally have 3-5 days to pull all the details together, instead of the more standard 6+ months of matrimonial planning. It seems to me that, in the event of my sudden demise, the knowledge that I have made some preparations would be comforting to those I have left behind, as well as helpful in a practical sort of way. On the other hand, I don't want to plan things out in too much detail, as there may be something theraputic for my family in the process of collaborating on the order of worship.
If I really wanted to be prepared, I would write something for my children to read. You can disagree, but I think the saddest death is one that leaves dependents. There is something terribly tragic about the death of a child, to be sure--a hole that can never be filled, the forever unanswered question of what fruit this life could have yielded, what shape it could have taken. I hold as my ideal those anabaptist martyrs who went to their deaths singing, and wonder what my children would hold on to if I were gone--what memories, what promises, what confidence, what lessons, what clarity of purpose?
Alas, like so many other things, thinking about something will have to suffice for actually doing it, as I have neither the time nor the strength to engage in that level of planning and reflection. I will, however, leave you with a song, which many days is the closest I come to a statement of faith. Like most songs, reading just the words is like trying to fly with one wing, but it will do for now.
Nothing is lost on the breath of God, nothing is lost forever;
God's breath is love, and that love will remain, holding the world forever.
No feather too light, no hair too fine, no flower too brief in its glory,
No drop in the ocean, no dust in the air, but is counted and told in God's story.
Nothing is lost to the eyes of God, nothing is lost forever.
God sees with love, and that love will remain, holding the world forever.
No journey too far, no distance too great, no valley of darkness too blinding;
No creature too humble, no child too small for God to be seeking and finding.
Nothing is lost to the heart of God, nothing is lost forever.
God's heart is love, and that love will remain, holding the world forever.
No impulse of love, no office of care, no moment of life in its fullness;
No beginning too late, no ending too soon, but is gathered and known in its goodness.
Text and music by Colin Gibson, 1996
*What I really wanted was to sleep! Until noon, preferably, but a good 12 hours (or even 8!) would have been great. Hopefully Pastor Woody didn't notice me dozing off during the sermon--no reflection on him, just severe sleep deprivation. Maybe next year I'll get my wish. :)
Sunday, February 20, 2011
If the shoe fits
I currently own 16 pairs of shoes. I know this, because I just counted them. Among the more unique ones--tap shoes from my short-lived tap dancing experiement, snakeskin-trimmed sandals given to me in Nigeria 19 years ago, vegan Earth shoes, slippers given to me by my dear husband, one pair of waterproof wellingtons, and two pairs of shoes with cracked soles. And for the record, nothing even slightly resembling high heels.
I've been spending altogether too much time thinking about getting new shoes. On one hand, it's a perfectly reasonable desire. My main work shoes are wearing out and my feet are fatigued after a long day in the field. My sneakers are well past the 3-6 month lifespan recommended by fitness and podiatric professionals. My black shoes (the step up from sneakers, but appropriate with slacks) can only be worn in the absence of puddles, mud, or rain, since the cracked soles allow water to soak my socks from the bottom up.
From another perspective, 16 shoes is already a travesty. You can only wear one pair at a time, after all! Fashion rules notwithstanding, do I really need to own both black and brown casual shoes? Is comfort while working a nicety or a necessity?
And if I were going to purchase shoes, I'm faced with more quandries. My hard-to-fit feet make finding second hand shoes almost impossible, and even Gabes rarely has footwear in my size. If I buy new, should I go with USA made quality (at $179.99), durable but imported LL Bean ($49.99), local business clogs ($95.00), or cheap Chinese from Payless ($29.99)? Don't even get me started on children's shoes--Salvation Army is great if you can find the right pair, but if not, $16.99 for cheap Chinese is hard to pass up when you know the shoes will only last 6 months.
This desire to be a concientious consumer is a recurring theme in my life. I want to be mindful of how my choices affect the larger world, and I am inspired by those who are able to integrate their values more seamlessly and with less inconsistencies than I. I'm also aware that spending so much time thinking about the implications of living simply may be a form of idolatry, or at the least, a waste of mental energy. So for now, enough. But tomorrow I might go shopping.
I've been spending altogether too much time thinking about getting new shoes. On one hand, it's a perfectly reasonable desire. My main work shoes are wearing out and my feet are fatigued after a long day in the field. My sneakers are well past the 3-6 month lifespan recommended by fitness and podiatric professionals. My black shoes (the step up from sneakers, but appropriate with slacks) can only be worn in the absence of puddles, mud, or rain, since the cracked soles allow water to soak my socks from the bottom up.
From another perspective, 16 shoes is already a travesty. You can only wear one pair at a time, after all! Fashion rules notwithstanding, do I really need to own both black and brown casual shoes? Is comfort while working a nicety or a necessity?
And if I were going to purchase shoes, I'm faced with more quandries. My hard-to-fit feet make finding second hand shoes almost impossible, and even Gabes rarely has footwear in my size. If I buy new, should I go with USA made quality (at $179.99), durable but imported LL Bean ($49.99), local business clogs ($95.00), or cheap Chinese from Payless ($29.99)? Don't even get me started on children's shoes--Salvation Army is great if you can find the right pair, but if not, $16.99 for cheap Chinese is hard to pass up when you know the shoes will only last 6 months.
This desire to be a concientious consumer is a recurring theme in my life. I want to be mindful of how my choices affect the larger world, and I am inspired by those who are able to integrate their values more seamlessly and with less inconsistencies than I. I'm also aware that spending so much time thinking about the implications of living simply may be a form of idolatry, or at the least, a waste of mental energy. So for now, enough. But tomorrow I might go shopping.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
things that made me smile
Conversation with DJ:
DJ: Mom, I think I want to take piano lessons.
Me: um...well, that might be a possibility.
DJ: I'm going to ask Ms. Kerry if she can be my piano teacher. She has a piano in her house.
Me: I don't know if she gives piano lessons, but you can ask her.
DJ: But I'll do homework and violin before computer, and piano after, because it's too much to do three things before computer.
Me: Or maybe we could just save computer for the weekends. Maybe you could just play computer on Saturday. We only go to church one day a week; you could just play computer one day a week.
DJ: Yeah, that would save energy, too!
Marina's drawings of the family, complete with labels. I'm "Mam" and I have a ponytail.
Havah's babbling.
Saturday, 10:15 a.m. DJ returns from basketball. "Mom, we have to turn the radio on at 11:00 so we can listen to Wait Wait Don't Tell Me!"
DJ: Mom, I think I want to take piano lessons.
Me: um...well, that might be a possibility.
DJ: I'm going to ask Ms. Kerry if she can be my piano teacher. She has a piano in her house.
Me: I don't know if she gives piano lessons, but you can ask her.
DJ: But I'll do homework and violin before computer, and piano after, because it's too much to do three things before computer.
Me: Or maybe we could just save computer for the weekends. Maybe you could just play computer on Saturday. We only go to church one day a week; you could just play computer one day a week.
DJ: Yeah, that would save energy, too!
Marina's drawings of the family, complete with labels. I'm "Mam" and I have a ponytail.
Havah's babbling.
Saturday, 10:15 a.m. DJ returns from basketball. "Mom, we have to turn the radio on at 11:00 so we can listen to Wait Wait Don't Tell Me!"
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Resistance Training or Resisting Training?
I mentioned in a recent post that I have joined a gym, something I didn't see myself doing. Why should I pay money to sweat? It would be much better to exercise outside, even better to live a life so full of physical activity that I don't need to set aside additional time for exercise. I know you would think that farmers are plenty active, except that a) it's the middle of winter, b) I have a 7 month old, and c) because of said 7 month old, my role in the farm is often limited to what I can do while carrying Havah.
I wasn't planning to join a gym because people who go to gyms either hate their bodies or love them too much, and I don't think either extreme is healthy. I've long prided myself on having a good attitude about my body, which is more countercultural than I think it should be. Have you ever seen a women's magazine that doesn't have at least one article about losing weight or making your stomach flatter? We don't own a scale, and my main measure of health is whether my clothes fit and whether I can play tag with my kids. I acknowledge the fact that I've been blessed with good genes and grew up with moderately healthy eating habits has made it easier for me than for many.
Except that at a recent medical checkup, my doctor asked out of the blue, "How much more weight are you planning to lose?" I replied, jokingly, "Well, it would be nice to lose 15 pounds, but for now my appetite is my master." Later, the truth of this became more apparent. I eat, a lot. And I spend a lot of time thinking about food (but not enough about what to cook for dinner). I'll even go somewhere because they have free food, a practice that should have ended in college. Working from home means that I pass through the kitchen dozens of time each day, and often, some version of this internal conversation happens: kirsten, you don't need anything to eat right now. You just had breakfast. But I need to keep my blood sugar levels steady. How about some peanuts and chocolate chips? You don't need all those calories. Are you saying that I can't love myself if I gain weight? Don't be so legalistic. What about showing grace to myself? munch munch. Whoever said that there is a fine line between boredom and hunger was very wise. Food is a distraction, a comfort, a reward. So I shouldn't be surprised that I've put on 25 lbs since college. I waver in whether this is a problem or not. How much attention should I pay to the scale? What's the balance between "your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit" and "learn from the lilies of the field"?
I can have only one master, and I don't want it to be my appetite. The fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control. Against these things there is no law. (And I wish you could hear the soundtrack that plays in my head with those verses!)
So, I've joined a gym, with a goal of working out 4 days a week (for the next two months, at least--until things get busy at the farm) and trying to practice self control when it comes to food. I'm still uneasy with the whole thing, and the irony of paying $30 a month to lose weight while others in the world are starving is not lost on me. I haven't decided whether losing weight really is my goal. If I don't say that it is, then I can't fail, right? :) I know that health should be my goal, but what is that, for me?
The daily challenge at the gym is what to do while I'm exercising. Maybe it's the staying in one place thing, but I can't get away from the feeling that I'm wasting my time. I try to pray, but I can hardly sustain prayer alone in my room, much less in a public place with lots of distractions. The exercise bike is the only thing I can do while reading. I bought an mp3 player (such a slippery slope, this gym thing!) so I could listen to music or news or something informative, but I haven't figured out how to put anything on the mp3 player, and even if I did, I wouldn't know what to download. I keep thinking that all these treadmills and bikes and stairclimbers could actually generate electricity--don't you think there's a niche out there for a green gym like that?
I wasn't planning to join a gym because people who go to gyms either hate their bodies or love them too much, and I don't think either extreme is healthy. I've long prided myself on having a good attitude about my body, which is more countercultural than I think it should be. Have you ever seen a women's magazine that doesn't have at least one article about losing weight or making your stomach flatter? We don't own a scale, and my main measure of health is whether my clothes fit and whether I can play tag with my kids. I acknowledge the fact that I've been blessed with good genes and grew up with moderately healthy eating habits has made it easier for me than for many.
Except that at a recent medical checkup, my doctor asked out of the blue, "How much more weight are you planning to lose?" I replied, jokingly, "Well, it would be nice to lose 15 pounds, but for now my appetite is my master." Later, the truth of this became more apparent. I eat, a lot. And I spend a lot of time thinking about food (but not enough about what to cook for dinner). I'll even go somewhere because they have free food, a practice that should have ended in college. Working from home means that I pass through the kitchen dozens of time each day, and often, some version of this internal conversation happens: kirsten, you don't need anything to eat right now. You just had breakfast. But I need to keep my blood sugar levels steady. How about some peanuts and chocolate chips? You don't need all those calories. Are you saying that I can't love myself if I gain weight? Don't be so legalistic. What about showing grace to myself? munch munch. Whoever said that there is a fine line between boredom and hunger was very wise. Food is a distraction, a comfort, a reward. So I shouldn't be surprised that I've put on 25 lbs since college. I waver in whether this is a problem or not. How much attention should I pay to the scale? What's the balance between "your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit" and "learn from the lilies of the field"?
I can have only one master, and I don't want it to be my appetite. The fruit of the spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control. Against these things there is no law. (And I wish you could hear the soundtrack that plays in my head with those verses!)
So, I've joined a gym, with a goal of working out 4 days a week (for the next two months, at least--until things get busy at the farm) and trying to practice self control when it comes to food. I'm still uneasy with the whole thing, and the irony of paying $30 a month to lose weight while others in the world are starving is not lost on me. I haven't decided whether losing weight really is my goal. If I don't say that it is, then I can't fail, right? :) I know that health should be my goal, but what is that, for me?
The daily challenge at the gym is what to do while I'm exercising. Maybe it's the staying in one place thing, but I can't get away from the feeling that I'm wasting my time. I try to pray, but I can hardly sustain prayer alone in my room, much less in a public place with lots of distractions. The exercise bike is the only thing I can do while reading. I bought an mp3 player (such a slippery slope, this gym thing!) so I could listen to music or news or something informative, but I haven't figured out how to put anything on the mp3 player, and even if I did, I wouldn't know what to download. I keep thinking that all these treadmills and bikes and stairclimbers could actually generate electricity--don't you think there's a niche out there for a green gym like that?
Friday, February 4, 2011
The downward spiral
Tough morning. I believed DJ when he said he wouldn't be sad when I left if I came on only part of his field trip, so I stopped in at the Whitaker Center, anticipating that I could tag along with the group, sit with them while they ate lunch, etc. (We have a membership, so I get in free). Unfortunately, by the time I got there, they had already finished lunch, were moving on from the exhibits to the IMAX, which I wasn't prepared to stay for, having brought neither my free IMAX pass nor put enough money in the parking meter. (It was also immediately apparent when I arrived that additional, uninvited chaperones were not within the museum coordinator's plans). DJ got sad, I tried to leave, he followed me, I got angry and embarrassed, he begged to come home with me, I wavered briefly, then straightened and left. Completely disgruntled, I held it together until I passed the Commonwealth Connections cyberschool bus parked outside the Whitaker Center. The spiral quickened, going somethign like this. [Be warned, what follows is neither rational nor coherent, but that's the way the spiral works.]
He's clearly not having a good time at school. He feels like a social outcast, and told me just the other day that he only has one friend--all the other kids "hate" him and are mean to him. (He later amended that statement to say that 3 kids hate him and are mean to him, the others just don't want to be his friend.) He's not advancing as quickly/far as I think I could, not enthusiasitc about learning. And he wants to be at home (at least at this minute). What's so wrong with that? He often asks if I could sleep in his bed (or he in mine)--attachment parenting would say he needs more time with his mom, that if I don't provide that now, he'll look for love in the wrong ways/places in the future. He would love to be homeschooled or cyberschooled (I don't think he knows the latter exists--we've tried to keep him in the dark about it, because of course he would be thrilled to find out that he could do school on the computer--what could be better?!). But I can't homeschool--I'm not a teacher, I have two other kids, and I have a farm to run. And what's the point of living in the city if you pull back from all the places where you could interact with people different from you? Of course, I'm not doing very much of that now, anyway. We could do cyberschool him (I'm more comfortable with computer learning in grades 3-8 for some reason), but then Marina would lose her automatic placement to Sylvan Heights, and I certainly can't teach her how to read and she's too young for cyberschool. It could give me more flexibility--we could do violin lessons during the day, and not rush around in the evenings so much. The kids could be at home in the morning and go to afterschool programs while I work on the farm, and do summer camps. But how in the world would I juggle all that and the farm and still put dinner on the table every night?? But if I were a really good mother, I'd put my desires aside and focus on my kids. Someone else can do the farm; I'm the only mother for my kids. And this is the wall I keep running into, the pit I keep falling into, the place I get stuck: that I don't know what's best for my family or how to balance my ideals with the constraints of reality. I can't figure out why this triggers such intense feelings of sadness and hopelessness in me.
But I can't spend any more time thinking about it--Marina's been playing pokemon for more than an hour. On the bright side, Havah started saying "ma ma" yesterday, and though I know it's a sound not a title, I still smile to hear it.
He's clearly not having a good time at school. He feels like a social outcast, and told me just the other day that he only has one friend--all the other kids "hate" him and are mean to him. (He later amended that statement to say that 3 kids hate him and are mean to him, the others just don't want to be his friend.) He's not advancing as quickly/far as I think I could, not enthusiasitc about learning. And he wants to be at home (at least at this minute). What's so wrong with that? He often asks if I could sleep in his bed (or he in mine)--attachment parenting would say he needs more time with his mom, that if I don't provide that now, he'll look for love in the wrong ways/places in the future. He would love to be homeschooled or cyberschooled (I don't think he knows the latter exists--we've tried to keep him in the dark about it, because of course he would be thrilled to find out that he could do school on the computer--what could be better?!). But I can't homeschool--I'm not a teacher, I have two other kids, and I have a farm to run. And what's the point of living in the city if you pull back from all the places where you could interact with people different from you? Of course, I'm not doing very much of that now, anyway. We could do cyberschool him (I'm more comfortable with computer learning in grades 3-8 for some reason), but then Marina would lose her automatic placement to Sylvan Heights, and I certainly can't teach her how to read and she's too young for cyberschool. It could give me more flexibility--we could do violin lessons during the day, and not rush around in the evenings so much. The kids could be at home in the morning and go to afterschool programs while I work on the farm, and do summer camps. But how in the world would I juggle all that and the farm and still put dinner on the table every night?? But if I were a really good mother, I'd put my desires aside and focus on my kids. Someone else can do the farm; I'm the only mother for my kids. And this is the wall I keep running into, the pit I keep falling into, the place I get stuck: that I don't know what's best for my family or how to balance my ideals with the constraints of reality. I can't figure out why this triggers such intense feelings of sadness and hopelessness in me.
But I can't spend any more time thinking about it--Marina's been playing pokemon for more than an hour. On the bright side, Havah started saying "ma ma" yesterday, and though I know it's a sound not a title, I still smile to hear it.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Detritus
Havah spends part of every day (usually while I'm making supper) in this walker. She seems to like the view from there. Every time she uses it, I think of my neighbor, the one whose children helped themselves to toys and tools from our backyard, whose dog had neither collar nor license, who woke us at 2 a.m. with arguing and drama, whose trash littered the sidewalk. This neighbor was the one other neighbors complained about, and when she and her brood moved, the neighborhood seemed calmer and more dignified.
When she moved, however, she left a lot of stuff behind--dressers, beds, clothes, toys, entertainment center, yes, even a baby walker. The pile in the backyard grew as the landlord cleaned out the house, ebbed as folks helped themselves, and ultimately disappeared when the trash truck with the claw hauled it all away to the incinerator. It seems to happen frequently around here, this leaving behind of the accoutrements of home life. People move for various reasons--rent's too high, landlord's a jerk, can't make the payment on the utility bill, boyfriend got pushy. Maybe they have to move in with family, or can't fit stuff into their car, or maybe they have to live out of their car, or maybe the particleboard furniture wouldn't survive a move. Piles by the sidewalk are a common sight.
My middle class sensibilities cry out in protest against the waste. Plan ahead! Rent a storage unit--you'll need to buy all this stuff again anyway! At least donate it to Goodwill. But as I sit here, surrounded by shelves full of books I probably won't read again, momentos of places and people of the past, toys gathering dust, I am humbled by my nameless neighbor. Stuff can stabilize our lives into stagnation, and there is a certain freedom, however wasteful it may seem to those with the goods, in moving on and cutting loose. After all, it's just stuff, and ultimately, you can't take it with you.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
The List Thus Far
I mentioned on facebook recently that I need to find a name for the list of things I never thought I'd do, but which I now find myself doing. In no particular order, here it is, thus far:
1. Driving a minivan (the direct result of having a third child--there just aren't many options for vehicles in which three car seats fit in the rear seat)
2. Feeding formula to my 6 month old (though it's just a tablespoon of the powdered stuff mixed in with rice cereal). Since Havah doesn't (or at least, hasn't yet) taken a bottle, I'm not in the habit of pumping, and couldn't really get motivated to start just so I could have 1 oz. of milk to add to her cereal, most of which goes down the drain every day.
3. Going to McDonald's for the express purpose of getting the current Happy Meal toy.
4. Driving 45 minutes round trip 3 nights a week for one child's extracurricular activities. (violin in Grantham, basketball at West Shore E. Free, violin group lesson in Grantham)
5. Going mall walking
6. Joining a gym (and using a treadmill and doing Zumba and buying clothes just so I can sweat in them)
More to come, I'm sure.
1. Driving a minivan (the direct result of having a third child--there just aren't many options for vehicles in which three car seats fit in the rear seat)
2. Feeding formula to my 6 month old (though it's just a tablespoon of the powdered stuff mixed in with rice cereal). Since Havah doesn't (or at least, hasn't yet) taken a bottle, I'm not in the habit of pumping, and couldn't really get motivated to start just so I could have 1 oz. of milk to add to her cereal, most of which goes down the drain every day.
3. Going to McDonald's for the express purpose of getting the current Happy Meal toy.
4. Driving 45 minutes round trip 3 nights a week for one child's extracurricular activities. (violin in Grantham, basketball at West Shore E. Free, violin group lesson in Grantham)
5. Going mall walking
6. Joining a gym (and using a treadmill and doing Zumba and buying clothes just so I can sweat in them)
More to come, I'm sure.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Too long
You know it's been too long since you last blogged when. . .
You can't remember the password to your blog
You've had to change the calendar not once but twice
You've added another child to the family, and she's already 6 months old!
Well, to all of my faithful readers out there (Helena and Amanda, that is), be not dismayed. I'm going to try again. Of course, it's easy to get excited about blogging when it's January and there's snow on the ground and Havah's not mobile yet--as soon as any of those factors change, the blog may be abandoned again.
I think I initially envisioned this blog as a place where I could ponder some of life's mysteries and use writing to take a step back and sort things out. That would still be a lofty goal, but pondering takes time, and meanwhile, there are lots of random, unrelated events and thoughts that I want to make a note of, just to document that they existed. Such as--last night, DJ asked for seconds of curried lentils. !! And yesterday Marina got her first significant haircut (at her request). And why am I fantasizing about buying a red VW Beetle? This might turn into more of a family journal, with occasional op-ed pieces, but I'm finally ok with that. It's better to commemorate, however simply, the moment I'm in than to wax eloquent about something peripheral.
You can't remember the password to your blog
You've had to change the calendar not once but twice
You've added another child to the family, and she's already 6 months old!
Well, to all of my faithful readers out there (Helena and Amanda, that is), be not dismayed. I'm going to try again. Of course, it's easy to get excited about blogging when it's January and there's snow on the ground and Havah's not mobile yet--as soon as any of those factors change, the blog may be abandoned again.
I think I initially envisioned this blog as a place where I could ponder some of life's mysteries and use writing to take a step back and sort things out. That would still be a lofty goal, but pondering takes time, and meanwhile, there are lots of random, unrelated events and thoughts that I want to make a note of, just to document that they existed. Such as--last night, DJ asked for seconds of curried lentils. !! And yesterday Marina got her first significant haircut (at her request). And why am I fantasizing about buying a red VW Beetle? This might turn into more of a family journal, with occasional op-ed pieces, but I'm finally ok with that. It's better to commemorate, however simply, the moment I'm in than to wax eloquent about something peripheral.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Discerning
So, I'm seriously thinking about making a decision that (in the eyes of some) ranks right up there with getting married and having children.
Here's the scoop. There's this farm in Marysville called Creekside Farm. I had visited it once back in 2006, and found the operation quite impressive--nine greenhouses growing specialty greens, culinary herbs, and edible flowers, plus a wide assortment of heirloom tomatoes, eggplant, peppers, etc. in the field. Pat (half of the couple that owns/operates this place) called me in 2007, saying that they had decided to retire. They had a potential buyer for the farm, and were trying to find a couple to manage it for the buyer (who was simply looking at the farm as a business to add to his portfolio). I didn't have anyone to recommend at the time. I knew that Creekside was still in operation, so I assumed that everything worked out.
A few weeks ago, Pat called again. "We've closed, as you probably heard," she said. "We're liquidating all the equipment, and wondered if you wanted some perennial herbs. I hate to compost them." I was stunned. The deal with the potential buyer had fallen through after a year of negotiations, and they were unable to find anyone else. They were planning to subdivide the farm so that they could have an infusion of cash to pay off some old debt and retire comfortably. I went out with a friend to dig up some herbs, and was heartbroken to think about the extensive infrastructure being dismantled. I made a comment to Pat that I wish I had known that they hadn't found a buyer; I had plenty of friends interested in agriculture, and perhaps we could pull something together. "It's not too late," she said.
I contacted some friends; we talked. No one had a bunch of money to invest, but a couple of people had some time and/or were looking for jobs. I met with Pat again to get the scoop on some of the financial angles. The business had not been lucrative (it's farming!), but it had been profitable, and it would pay the bills. Many of her customers (particularly chefs at local restaurants) were sad that Creekside had closed, and were not expecting to find similar quality, value, or flexibility at another Pennsylvania farm.
So, here's the list of pros and cons, in no particular order.
PROS
1. It's conveniently located for sales to Harrisburg and beyond.
2. Despite the downturn in the economy, interest in local food continues to rise. A new grocery store is opening in Lancaster called Expressly Local; various restaurants are being organized around local/organic themes (think Harvest, at Hershey).
3. The infrastructure is still intact. 4 of the greenhouses need new poly; Pat and Woody would pay for that prior to closing. The 1 million BTU furnace is relatively new; propane heat is available for backup in some of the greenhouses. Included in the sale would be various tractors and implements, a walk in cooler, a delivery vehicle (I think), irrigation equipment, scales, remaining inventory of seed, containers, etc.
4. The house is well-maintained.
5. I know at least 2 people who are ready to commit to 30 hours/week of work. I know 2 other people who are looking for jobs, and while I have not had the opportunity to speak to them about Creekside, I think they would be excited.
6. Microgreens and salad mix grow quickly, so income could be generated sooner than with traditional farming.
7. There is a bamboo patch (DJ loves bamboo). His comment on arrival? "This is the coolest place ever!"
8. The greenhouse work is all on benches, which is less stressful on the back and body. There are some aspects of the greenhouse work that would involve heavy lifting, but by and large it's not too hard on the body.
9. Pat and Woody will mentor the new growers.
10. It's year round work, which means a steady stream of income.
11. To be financially sustainable, the farm would have to have a high rate of production, which means at least 2 other full time people, maybe three, with additional help during the summers. I'd be part of a team. I'd get to work with grownups!
12. In theory, additional income for our family would take the burden of breadwinning off Darrel, and give him freedom to explore new directions.
13. It's got at least 4 acres of tillable land, plus a creek and some woodlands. So many possibilities!! Chickens! Raspberries! Treehouses!
14. Microgreens grow quickly. If I don't get something right, I can try again the next week. With so many of the crops I'm used to growing, if I don't get something right, I have to wait until the next year to try again.
15. The Harrisburg area is getting ripe for a center for sustainable education. Creekside could be turned into a non-profit resource center, partnering with other organizations to assist new farmers, demonstrate sustainable practices, be a fun connecting point for all kinds of people.
16. We know other friends who have thought about relocating to rural Perry County.
17. To some degree, projects like this get my creative juices flowing.
18. In theory, work at Creekside could be more in tune with my kids' school schedules--none of this 2 evening a week pattern that has come with the Joshua Farm CSA.
THE CONS
1. I wasn't looking for a new adventure. Life has finally gotten to a place of margin. Why push myself to a new extreme challenge? I've been saying for the last 10 years that I don't ever want to work full time.
2. Darrel's job at Paxton remains stressful and unpredictable.
3. Debt. Lots of it. For a long time.
4. Joshua Farm. I still had dreams for it, still believe in urban farming, still care about being something positive in Harrisburg.
5. It's year round work, which means no seasons to regroup, read books, babysit other people's children, wash windows, cook good meals--all the things I don't have time for during the height of harvest.
6. The house at Creekside. It's lovely, but small. Two bedrooms, an unusable basement. I just can't see us living there with children. (We weren't planning to move there yet, but it certainly was an option for the future, particularly if the business struggled and we needed to sell our Holly Street house for an additional source of income.)
7. Needing to depend on other people is hard for me. Plus, what happens in times of staff transition?
8. Microgreens can be very boring. Planting and harvesting are time-consuming and repetitious.
9. I don't even like lettuce! My taste buds are not very discriminatory. What if I can't tell the difference between an adequate product and a great one?
10. The house next door to us will be going on the market soon. Buying it (or at least finding good neighbors) has long been a dream of mine. There's also a lot about a block away that I've dreamt of buying. I can't do it all.
11. It's further away from York and Lancaster.
12. Childcare. I couldn't do a patchwork, piecemeal child care pattern like I've done. I'd need a nanny, or day care, or something. And what about summers? Sure, when my kids are 9 and 12 they may be able to entertain themselves pretty well, but right now they're 3 and 6.
13. Can I in good conscience grow and sell a product that only the elite will use?
It's getting late, and I need my sleep. If you have any pros or cons to add to the list, words of advice, questions, etc., please let me know.
Here's the scoop. There's this farm in Marysville called Creekside Farm. I had visited it once back in 2006, and found the operation quite impressive--nine greenhouses growing specialty greens, culinary herbs, and edible flowers, plus a wide assortment of heirloom tomatoes, eggplant, peppers, etc. in the field. Pat (half of the couple that owns/operates this place) called me in 2007, saying that they had decided to retire. They had a potential buyer for the farm, and were trying to find a couple to manage it for the buyer (who was simply looking at the farm as a business to add to his portfolio). I didn't have anyone to recommend at the time. I knew that Creekside was still in operation, so I assumed that everything worked out.
A few weeks ago, Pat called again. "We've closed, as you probably heard," she said. "We're liquidating all the equipment, and wondered if you wanted some perennial herbs. I hate to compost them." I was stunned. The deal with the potential buyer had fallen through after a year of negotiations, and they were unable to find anyone else. They were planning to subdivide the farm so that they could have an infusion of cash to pay off some old debt and retire comfortably. I went out with a friend to dig up some herbs, and was heartbroken to think about the extensive infrastructure being dismantled. I made a comment to Pat that I wish I had known that they hadn't found a buyer; I had plenty of friends interested in agriculture, and perhaps we could pull something together. "It's not too late," she said.
I contacted some friends; we talked. No one had a bunch of money to invest, but a couple of people had some time and/or were looking for jobs. I met with Pat again to get the scoop on some of the financial angles. The business had not been lucrative (it's farming!), but it had been profitable, and it would pay the bills. Many of her customers (particularly chefs at local restaurants) were sad that Creekside had closed, and were not expecting to find similar quality, value, or flexibility at another Pennsylvania farm.
So, here's the list of pros and cons, in no particular order.
PROS
1. It's conveniently located for sales to Harrisburg and beyond.
2. Despite the downturn in the economy, interest in local food continues to rise. A new grocery store is opening in Lancaster called Expressly Local; various restaurants are being organized around local/organic themes (think Harvest, at Hershey).
3. The infrastructure is still intact. 4 of the greenhouses need new poly; Pat and Woody would pay for that prior to closing. The 1 million BTU furnace is relatively new; propane heat is available for backup in some of the greenhouses. Included in the sale would be various tractors and implements, a walk in cooler, a delivery vehicle (I think), irrigation equipment, scales, remaining inventory of seed, containers, etc.
4. The house is well-maintained.
5. I know at least 2 people who are ready to commit to 30 hours/week of work. I know 2 other people who are looking for jobs, and while I have not had the opportunity to speak to them about Creekside, I think they would be excited.
6. Microgreens and salad mix grow quickly, so income could be generated sooner than with traditional farming.
7. There is a bamboo patch (DJ loves bamboo). His comment on arrival? "This is the coolest place ever!"
8. The greenhouse work is all on benches, which is less stressful on the back and body. There are some aspects of the greenhouse work that would involve heavy lifting, but by and large it's not too hard on the body.
9. Pat and Woody will mentor the new growers.
10. It's year round work, which means a steady stream of income.
11. To be financially sustainable, the farm would have to have a high rate of production, which means at least 2 other full time people, maybe three, with additional help during the summers. I'd be part of a team. I'd get to work with grownups!
12. In theory, additional income for our family would take the burden of breadwinning off Darrel, and give him freedom to explore new directions.
13. It's got at least 4 acres of tillable land, plus a creek and some woodlands. So many possibilities!! Chickens! Raspberries! Treehouses!
14. Microgreens grow quickly. If I don't get something right, I can try again the next week. With so many of the crops I'm used to growing, if I don't get something right, I have to wait until the next year to try again.
15. The Harrisburg area is getting ripe for a center for sustainable education. Creekside could be turned into a non-profit resource center, partnering with other organizations to assist new farmers, demonstrate sustainable practices, be a fun connecting point for all kinds of people.
16. We know other friends who have thought about relocating to rural Perry County.
17. To some degree, projects like this get my creative juices flowing.
18. In theory, work at Creekside could be more in tune with my kids' school schedules--none of this 2 evening a week pattern that has come with the Joshua Farm CSA.
THE CONS
1. I wasn't looking for a new adventure. Life has finally gotten to a place of margin. Why push myself to a new extreme challenge? I've been saying for the last 10 years that I don't ever want to work full time.
2. Darrel's job at Paxton remains stressful and unpredictable.
3. Debt. Lots of it. For a long time.
4. Joshua Farm. I still had dreams for it, still believe in urban farming, still care about being something positive in Harrisburg.
5. It's year round work, which means no seasons to regroup, read books, babysit other people's children, wash windows, cook good meals--all the things I don't have time for during the height of harvest.
6. The house at Creekside. It's lovely, but small. Two bedrooms, an unusable basement. I just can't see us living there with children. (We weren't planning to move there yet, but it certainly was an option for the future, particularly if the business struggled and we needed to sell our Holly Street house for an additional source of income.)
7. Needing to depend on other people is hard for me. Plus, what happens in times of staff transition?
8. Microgreens can be very boring. Planting and harvesting are time-consuming and repetitious.
9. I don't even like lettuce! My taste buds are not very discriminatory. What if I can't tell the difference between an adequate product and a great one?
10. The house next door to us will be going on the market soon. Buying it (or at least finding good neighbors) has long been a dream of mine. There's also a lot about a block away that I've dreamt of buying. I can't do it all.
11. It's further away from York and Lancaster.
12. Childcare. I couldn't do a patchwork, piecemeal child care pattern like I've done. I'd need a nanny, or day care, or something. And what about summers? Sure, when my kids are 9 and 12 they may be able to entertain themselves pretty well, but right now they're 3 and 6.
13. Can I in good conscience grow and sell a product that only the elite will use?
It's getting late, and I need my sleep. If you have any pros or cons to add to the list, words of advice, questions, etc., please let me know.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Treasures
1/2 bushel of peaches: $30
3 hours canning peaches in hot kitchen (@ $15/hour): $45
The sound of pinging lids as 7 quarts of peaches cool: PRICELESS
OK, OK, I know that at more than $10 a quart (not including the inordinate amount of energy it takes to keep water hot for hours on end), these peaches aren't cheap. It would be more cost effective to buy them at the store, particularly at Sharp Shopper where I could probably get them for $.99 a can. But the satisfaction of "putting up" is huge. I'm keeping a list on my fridge of what I've preserved thus far: 13 pints of corn, 3 containers of shredded zucchini, 2 quarts of lima beans, 8 pints of salsa, 9 half-pints of raspberry jam, 3 bags of chopped peppers, and 2 pints of raspberry syrup . It's supposed to prevent us from forgetting the contents of our freezer and the recesses of our cupboards (such forgetfulness leading to the recent occasion of pulling out a frozen mass of cherries labeled "2001"). But honestly, the list is my statement to myself--I am productive! I am capable! I am not domestically challenged! My need for such affirmation still surprises me. I might as well make a sign that says "Please clap for me." Someday (maybe?) I will achieve that supreme balance of confidence and humility, but for now I swing all over the spectrum--anxious, proud, doubtful, cocky. Someday, too, I may return to my practice of posting Bible verses in relevant places, to help me set my mind on things above and take my eyes off my navel. For now, my preservation list will suffice as positive self-talk. I know I'm supposed to store up treasures in heaven, but the jewels in jars are pretty special, too.
3 hours canning peaches in hot kitchen (@ $15/hour): $45
The sound of pinging lids as 7 quarts of peaches cool: PRICELESS
OK, OK, I know that at more than $10 a quart (not including the inordinate amount of energy it takes to keep water hot for hours on end), these peaches aren't cheap. It would be more cost effective to buy them at the store, particularly at Sharp Shopper where I could probably get them for $.99 a can. But the satisfaction of "putting up" is huge. I'm keeping a list on my fridge of what I've preserved thus far: 13 pints of corn, 3 containers of shredded zucchini, 2 quarts of lima beans, 8 pints of salsa, 9 half-pints of raspberry jam, 3 bags of chopped peppers, and 2 pints of raspberry syrup . It's supposed to prevent us from forgetting the contents of our freezer and the recesses of our cupboards (such forgetfulness leading to the recent occasion of pulling out a frozen mass of cherries labeled "2001"). But honestly, the list is my statement to myself--I am productive! I am capable! I am not domestically challenged! My need for such affirmation still surprises me. I might as well make a sign that says "Please clap for me." Someday (maybe?) I will achieve that supreme balance of confidence and humility, but for now I swing all over the spectrum--anxious, proud, doubtful, cocky. Someday, too, I may return to my practice of posting Bible verses in relevant places, to help me set my mind on things above and take my eyes off my navel. For now, my preservation list will suffice as positive self-talk. I know I'm supposed to store up treasures in heaven, but the jewels in jars are pretty special, too.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Wax on, wax off
Free time, for me, is defined by the lack of "oughts" and "shoulds." That is to say, if I really want to feel relaxed, I won't do something on my To Do list; instead, I'll do something that doesn't need to be done, that no one is expecting, that I don't feel obligated to do. So it was that last night, when the kids were in bed and Darrel was still at work, I began waxing the car. I'm not even a big believer in wax. To be honest, the idea to wax the car was planted by my neighbor Mr. Eddie, whose cars always look like they just drove off the dealership's lot. He claims that the protective elements of wax help the paint job to last longer. I tend to think that anything will shine if you rub it hard enough. And I don't really understand the purpose on putting something on only to take it off right away. In my mind, it fits into the same category as scented shampoos/soaps and making beds, but the car was due for inspection, so it seemed a nice gesture (as if the car cared).
The exterior of the car was washed earlier in the day as a diversionary tactic to get the kids out of the house and cooled off without spending any money. The pasty polish went on quickly, and I thought to myself, this is fun! After waiting for it to dry, I started the process of rubbing off the wax. Five minutes into that, I had visions of the Karate Kid being instructed in the art of meditation. Ten minutes into the wax removal, I no longer questioned why people spend money on buffers. Fifteen minutes into it, I thought that the cost of getting a car detailed, no matter how high, would definitely be money well spent. By the time I finished, my arms were numbing, and I had the look for the glare of the streetlights on the black car so I knew what parts were done.
I tried to find some meaning in the process. I may have made this up, but it seems to me that things are shiny when they have multiple small scratches that reflect light at different angles. Large scratches are obstrusive, but a series of minute nicks create facets for light to bounce off of. Is there some parallel to the stresses of life? Does the barrage of minor annoyances, distractions, and disturbances somehow polish our character, grating the surface, making their subtle mark on us more than significant stressors?
Some may enjoy gardening as a respite from the demands of the workplace, a time for solitude and communion with the growing world, space in which the repetitive, mindless motions of weeding, harvesting, watering allow the brain to relax on a deeper level, bringing clarity to life. That may be true for Wendell Berry, but my experience in the field is vastly different. Particularly during these 10 weeks of youth employment, my job is managing people while minimizing damage to plants. Partly because the field is small, partly because the youth aren't very focused on details or proficient at thinking through cause and effect, partly because I'm the only one with the mental map of where things are or the paper map of where seeds should be planted--for all these reasons and more, I am the go-to person for 4 hours every day, with a near constant barrage of questions about what, when, how, and where. I would love to spend an hour harvesting garlic or finding my rhythm with the broadfork, and a day weeding would make my heart glad. But doing anything for 10 minutes straight is a luxury in the field, because here comes someone else ready for a new task, looking for seeds or explanation or a tool that only I can find. It's a necessary part of the job, but I also find it exhausting.
Unfortunately, the interruptions continue at home. While washing dishes. . ."Mom!" Yes? "Can I tell you something?" Yes. "um. . I can't find that book we got at the library with dad." Let me finish these plates then I'll help you look for it. While looking for book. . ."Mom!" Yes? "I'm thirsty." So what are you saying? (Training my kids to consolidate their communication will be a great accomplishment.) "Can I have some juice?" No, you've already had juice today. You can have milk or water, if you make a proper request. "Juice!" No, you've already had juice today. You can have milk or water, if you make a proper request. (this is not a typo.) "Ok, then, milk." Could you ask nicely? "Could you get me milk please?" At which point I have to decide whether I want to spend the energy and time to help the child get his own milk, or if I should just get it myself so I can get back to dishes. And so it goes.
Which perhaps is why waxing the car was so fullfilling. (Doing it in the dark helped me forget that the interior of the car is a mess, but cleaning that is not a job that will be done in my free time). These things that grate us, can they make us shine?
The exterior of the car was washed earlier in the day as a diversionary tactic to get the kids out of the house and cooled off without spending any money. The pasty polish went on quickly, and I thought to myself, this is fun! After waiting for it to dry, I started the process of rubbing off the wax. Five minutes into that, I had visions of the Karate Kid being instructed in the art of meditation. Ten minutes into the wax removal, I no longer questioned why people spend money on buffers. Fifteen minutes into it, I thought that the cost of getting a car detailed, no matter how high, would definitely be money well spent. By the time I finished, my arms were numbing, and I had the look for the glare of the streetlights on the black car so I knew what parts were done.
I tried to find some meaning in the process. I may have made this up, but it seems to me that things are shiny when they have multiple small scratches that reflect light at different angles. Large scratches are obstrusive, but a series of minute nicks create facets for light to bounce off of. Is there some parallel to the stresses of life? Does the barrage of minor annoyances, distractions, and disturbances somehow polish our character, grating the surface, making their subtle mark on us more than significant stressors?
Some may enjoy gardening as a respite from the demands of the workplace, a time for solitude and communion with the growing world, space in which the repetitive, mindless motions of weeding, harvesting, watering allow the brain to relax on a deeper level, bringing clarity to life. That may be true for Wendell Berry, but my experience in the field is vastly different. Particularly during these 10 weeks of youth employment, my job is managing people while minimizing damage to plants. Partly because the field is small, partly because the youth aren't very focused on details or proficient at thinking through cause and effect, partly because I'm the only one with the mental map of where things are or the paper map of where seeds should be planted--for all these reasons and more, I am the go-to person for 4 hours every day, with a near constant barrage of questions about what, when, how, and where. I would love to spend an hour harvesting garlic or finding my rhythm with the broadfork, and a day weeding would make my heart glad. But doing anything for 10 minutes straight is a luxury in the field, because here comes someone else ready for a new task, looking for seeds or explanation or a tool that only I can find. It's a necessary part of the job, but I also find it exhausting.
Unfortunately, the interruptions continue at home. While washing dishes. . ."Mom!" Yes? "Can I tell you something?" Yes. "um. . I can't find that book we got at the library with dad." Let me finish these plates then I'll help you look for it. While looking for book. . ."Mom!" Yes? "I'm thirsty." So what are you saying? (Training my kids to consolidate their communication will be a great accomplishment.) "Can I have some juice?" No, you've already had juice today. You can have milk or water, if you make a proper request. "Juice!" No, you've already had juice today. You can have milk or water, if you make a proper request. (this is not a typo.) "Ok, then, milk." Could you ask nicely? "Could you get me milk please?" At which point I have to decide whether I want to spend the energy and time to help the child get his own milk, or if I should just get it myself so I can get back to dishes. And so it goes.
Which perhaps is why waxing the car was so fullfilling. (Doing it in the dark helped me forget that the interior of the car is a mess, but cleaning that is not a job that will be done in my free time). These things that grate us, can they make us shine?
Thursday, June 25, 2009
In search of hope
It's no coincidence that two of the books I'm currently reading (in all my free time) address the issue of hope. My method of choosing books from the library consists of standing in line while waiting to be checked out and perusing the endcap of new selections. Finding Beauty in a Broken World by Terry Tempest Williams caught my eye a few weeks ago. Williams' name was vaguely familiar, though I don't think I've read her work before, and I had high hopes for the book. Alas, I've had a hard time following her narrative, and I was disappointed to find out there was no plot. I like plots.
On the next trip to the library, Hope and Despair in the American City by Gerald Grant appeared on the same endcap. I haven't gotten very far, but I've already been wowed anew by the pervasiveness and depth of racism in America--Grant's explanation of "redlining" gives new insight into the concept of white privilege, and I've appreciated his reflections on the process of deciding where to live. The book examines the schools of Raleigh, NC, where a county-wide school district formed in 1976 has eliminated (or at least reduced) most of the common inequities between urban schools and suburban schools. In contrast, the schools in the area around Syracuse, NY, which are divided into city and suburban districts, consistently have difficulties helping urban students reach the same levels of achievement as suburban students. It's a typical story in many cities, including Harrisburg, and if the book lives up to my expectations, I may have to buy a copy for the superintendents of Susquehanna Township and Central Dauphin Schools.
Tonight there was a widely publicized community meeting to address the recent wave of violence in Harrisburg--11 shootings in 7 days, or something dreadful like that. This is a small city--just over 47,000 people--and people are nervous. Everyone has a solution: the NAACP suggested martial law, the school district wants year-round school, others want more police on the streets, others want increased funding for youth programs, others think neighborhood watches would be effective deterrents, etc. I don't have any answers, just a sense that this is a big, multifaceted problem, that society has somehow failed our neighbors who live in poverty, particularly black men, that building a safer future means creating opportunity for all of the residents of Harrisburg.
I'd like to talk to the mothers (and fathers, though my stereotypes push me to believe them absent) of the perpetrators of the violence. While at some level I'm sure they would defend their children, can they see the craziness of it all? What resources would have been helpful for them earlier to raise their children to be law-abiding, "productive" (how I dislike that term!) citizens? Who do they blame? And what gives them hope?
On the next trip to the library, Hope and Despair in the American City by Gerald Grant appeared on the same endcap. I haven't gotten very far, but I've already been wowed anew by the pervasiveness and depth of racism in America--Grant's explanation of "redlining" gives new insight into the concept of white privilege, and I've appreciated his reflections on the process of deciding where to live. The book examines the schools of Raleigh, NC, where a county-wide school district formed in 1976 has eliminated (or at least reduced) most of the common inequities between urban schools and suburban schools. In contrast, the schools in the area around Syracuse, NY, which are divided into city and suburban districts, consistently have difficulties helping urban students reach the same levels of achievement as suburban students. It's a typical story in many cities, including Harrisburg, and if the book lives up to my expectations, I may have to buy a copy for the superintendents of Susquehanna Township and Central Dauphin Schools.
Tonight there was a widely publicized community meeting to address the recent wave of violence in Harrisburg--11 shootings in 7 days, or something dreadful like that. This is a small city--just over 47,000 people--and people are nervous. Everyone has a solution: the NAACP suggested martial law, the school district wants year-round school, others want more police on the streets, others want increased funding for youth programs, others think neighborhood watches would be effective deterrents, etc. I don't have any answers, just a sense that this is a big, multifaceted problem, that society has somehow failed our neighbors who live in poverty, particularly black men, that building a safer future means creating opportunity for all of the residents of Harrisburg.
I'd like to talk to the mothers (and fathers, though my stereotypes push me to believe them absent) of the perpetrators of the violence. While at some level I'm sure they would defend their children, can they see the craziness of it all? What resources would have been helpful for them earlier to raise their children to be law-abiding, "productive" (how I dislike that term!) citizens? Who do they blame? And what gives them hope?
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