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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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?