Readings: The Knitting Sutra

I went to the Sweet Branch Library tonight (Salt Lake City) and got a bunch of things. This gave me a renewed fervor for finishing the book(s) I already started. One of which was this one...

In college, I took a class focused on Indian culture. During the course of this class, I read a number of books by Indian women authors, including and especially A River Sutra, which particularly stuck with me. For this reason, when I was perusing the knitting section of the library and saw this book, I plucked it from the shelf immediately with that certain feeling of synchronicity I often experience in libraries. I have been reading this small book very casually for the last couple weeks in between actual knitting, working and doing other things. Therefore, I offer thee:

A short review of The Knitting Sutra: Craft as a Spiritual Practice by Susan Gordon Lydon

As with most books, I was very skeptical in the beginning. My first impression was that this book was going to regurgitate a litany of hackneyed new-agey quotations of recent spiritual leaders and somehow offer them from the slant of a middle-aged woman who enjoys knitting. What I found instead (after giving the book a chance beyond my initial poo-pooing) was biographical encouragement for any person laboring away at something they are open-mindedly passionate about. The book does indeed offer up a collection of quotations and references to people (the fodder for a lot of internet searches and library hold-making), but also a simple and inspiring recollection of a person undergoing a realization of the self through various hardships knitted into challenging projects. Of course, there is a lot in here that those familiar with modern knitting will especially connect with, but I think writers, painters, cloud watchers, basket weavers, blacksmiths and anyone else toiling away late into the night would get at least a little something out of picking up this book for a few moments.

I finished reading this book tonight, leaving that portion of my mental cue free for other endeavors...

Salt Lake Considerations

0. Sky boundary.

1. A collection of pollutants, mixed with fog - tastes a lot like how I imagine Mercury would.

2. Beautiful Mountains.

3. A big truck in a parking lot.

4. Another big truck.

5. Oops.

6. Two Priusi! The irony!

7. A rather large mine and some pollution emitting operations.

Last of the Peaches: Part 3 slash 4, with constructive self analysis

I looked in the fridge the other day and saw a little slice of something I was supposed to do...

... a half eaten jar of peaches from earlier this year.

Actually, I have reminded myself just about every day over the last couple months that I assigned myself the writing of four tenusously-related blog entries. Procrastination is perhaps the most subtle and sinister form of masochism and self-loathing. Every time I think of something I should do, something I WANT to do, and don't do it - that little piece of myself withers and I am left feeling anxious, uninspired and low. And yet, the cycle continues, endlessly. Thanks to a conversation over at friends' El and Allen, along with chatting with Adam, and finally, a kick in the ass from a blog that specializes in knocking people out of their ruts, my resolve is renewed.

So, after forcing myself to consider how I want to prepare the last two parts of my series, I have decided the following:

- I will try to keep my blog entries more concise, so as not to feel so overwhelmed by the writing of them. A little OCD voice in my head thinks they should be the unabridged version of things (a problem I often have in journaling), when really they are whatever they need to be, which is almost never that.

- I will write the last two posts I was planning on into one post, thus making mental room to move on to another idea I have and have had for like three months now, but am now going to pursue (I already started today! yay!).

-After this post, the format of this blog will change slightly. The format will be more concise, more frequent, and maybe prettier too.

-quit using a not-so-contrasty color in picture captions

OK! So, here it is, the final installment of this 'last of the peaches' saga:

Part 3/4: Big City Farming/Into those Distant Mountains

Occasionally, a broody country girl gets the itch for the big town. This happened to me soon after I got done with work at the park for the year. And, how, you ask, does said girl manage to do this affordably and without offending her stalwart anti-everything-mass-population-consumer-centers sensibilities? Well, she goes and stays with an urban farmer. Then they, together, immediately begin a plan to escape the city into the hinterlands.

Such was the case in late September when I ventured forth from the little homestead and landed in Salt Lake City, City of the Saints, for about a week. I was there to visit my great friend, Sharon, and assist her with some harvesting from the plots on her urban farm. I won't go too much into Sharon's awesome way of making a living and how she's doing her part to end our dependency on corporate industry agriculture, but I will give her a plug right now and say: go see her website.

Sharon and I spent a few days working on her farm during harvest time. She plants lots of yummy things and sells them around SLC. I must say, it is hard work. After carrying tools all over the place, carrying fully loaded beet boxes all over the place and delivering CSAs (Community Supported Agriculutre - a way for people to buy veggie shares and get them delivered similar to how folks used to get milk), we decided that 'farming' is actually mostly 'schlepping.' This is why farmers are usually attractively glistening in the sun.

As usual when we get together, the first thing Sharon and I did was cook a delicious meal out of delicious local ingredients that she either grew or bartered for.

Once we tabled these beauties, I couldn't hardly control myself.


The farmer herself, among all her glorious crops; harvesting and glistening.


A very small portion of the harvest for the week - Chard bunches ready to be schlepped.


One person's full turnip allotment for the week.


Veggies picked, CSAs delivered, restaurant deliveries complete... now time for the farmer's market where some produce is sold and others bartered away for other things.

Harvest in September is the final burst of reaping benefits from the life of summer. Chard, carrots, honey or sweet, sweet summer peaches picked ripe from a tree are tastier than gold will ever be.

Throughout our week of schlepping, Sharon and I discussed an upcoming foray away from the city. Her business of farming (often 15hr/day work) kept her so busy all summer, she was not able to walk many dusty tracks, as is her custom. We were both eager for a trip to commemorate the long shadows of fall approaching. We considered numerous locations and finally settled on one: the Deep Creek Mountains. When Sharon first suggested this over the phone, I had no idea where these were. I had a mental image they were somewhere just west of SLC. I was correct, except for the 'just' - they were quite a ways from the city. Imagine a remote and dusty, seldom traveled highway. You are looking out the window across naked flats towards some jagged rise on the horizon - distant mountains only visible in shadow form for all the haze. These are the mountains we went to. The result: a spontaneous trip to the brink of two states, Utah and Nevada - Summer and Fall - Urban and Wild.

I am not generally in the habit of revealing super secret gems, however sometimes a place is such magic resting on the edge of tragedy that something has to be said. Due to water projects, supposedly to feed the thirst of places such as Las Vegas (boo!) now being deliberated, beautiful places like this Basin and Range range are threatened by a future drop in the water table as water development projects unsustainably suck dry prehistoric aquifers. Already dry and extreme, deserts and mountains all around (hundreds of miles around) these huge cities are in danger of losing their noble extremophile ecosystems. The entire trip was tinted with feelings of hope and helplessness as us two horizon women shot down 100 miles of washboard.

no black top = sign of a good day


Our first stop was an almost defunct gold mining community from the 1800s.


We could see the Bonneville Salt Flats back towards the east, from whence we came.


We saw a lush oasis where a creek comes out of the mountains and crosses the road (via culvert). There we found some rosehips and had a snack.


Warm springs.


Humans draw funny lines all over the place.


We enter the Blue Mass Scenic Area, where we plan to spend a while.


Home.


The following morning, we took a nice steep walk up to this ridge.


All the while, we guessed and hoped we would find one of these at the top: Bristlecone! There were a bunch of these ancient trees up there.


Even in solitude, you're never alone. This elk seemed particularly casual as he sauntered along a ridge below us.


Fall colors flare on mountainsides as we exit summer.


Long shadows bring in the next season.

I'll keep working on the conciseness.

Interlude: Peaches

Peaches.

At the very base part of my brain is a craving
for sweetness.
Not just any old sugar will do it, but something special. Rare. Orange blushed red.
I dream of you during the long winter nights.
Peaches. Your skin speckled and bright,
Clinging to the tips of branches like your flesh clings to the stone.
Peaches. I put you in cans
that wait down in the basement. In the dark, to be revealed. The feel of your firm sweetness in my
hands
is something I hold in mind.
And yet no dreams of peaches.
Only the anxiety of being out in the storm
of missing the day of the test
of snow in the eyes
of losing a lens and everything is blurred as the flakes
accumulate
and challenge my ability
to survive on this planet. In this universe.
Where a large,
sweet,
creamy
peach is rare.
But deep in the cold season
the memory of you persists
and the sweet taste of summer
every day
every year
gets me through
to the next time
I bite into you.

Last of the Peaches - Part 2

Thus far, I've lived a life of contrasts. There is the bombardment of city contrasted with the fluid freedom of nature. There are cats and there are dogs. East and West. Vegetarian and carnivore. Time of obligations versus open time. I won't be able to say the causal relationship (do I have the life I have because of the way my mind is organized, or vice versa?), but I also tend to think in dualities. I tend to think in terms of things always balancing out, eventually. For every cat, there IS a dog. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. There are nodes of joy and nodes of sorrow. We are all just riding a huge swinging ball at the end of a string. Though sometimes I find myself aware of being at the extreme end of the pendulum's swing.

Anyway, of late, I experienced the boundary zone of a real contrast to life as a Park Ranger. The season's end. There is season, then there is off-season. What does one do with the off-season? That is a question I am often asked by curious visitors to the park, and also by many friends whose lives are the yin to my yang. It is a question without a consistent answer, so when pressed, I usually fabricate something.

Firstly, the evening after the last day of work is kind of like the Friday night going into a long weekend. I just want to eat, drink and be merry. But the drive to do those things is somewhat tempered by the obligation, the time limit of a weekend. Ending the season is like stepping off the regular rhythm and a new one must be established. Things are generally the same, but they feel different. Here is one such day.

Part 2: Nothing Everything Day

Wake up.
Mild bouts of insomnia, for me, rear themselves in the form of extremely early rising rather than not being able to fall asleep. I roll over and the clock says 5:30am. I went to bed at 1am. What? Oh, well, I guess I'm awake and I could get up. So I do.

I know Ed Abbey, the Pope and probably my mom would be somewhat disappointed by what I normally do with the first energies of my day. I have to say my computer useage is a bit out of hand these days, but damn it, I like it! And I just really discovered this whole world of blogs and so I like to look at them. This blog, of course is a method of turning that compulsion into a creative outlet and practice. And you know what? There is a lot one can get done by just staring at screens these days. So, HA! Take that, Pope.

Early morning light reaches the windows a couple hours after I wake up. I am DOING stuff! I am applying to jobs, writing emails, and generally feeling accomplished. All while sitting comfortably in the living room. Fancy that.

In addition to accomplishing important business, I also read my cousin's blog. She is an artist and makes a weekly web comic HERE, in addition to doing some self-motivation type stuff. I am way inspired by her work. I also use it as a tool to explain to Hau about how my sense of humor works. Yay!

I also put effort towards staying hydrated. My goal is to drink an average of 2 quarts of water a day. I keep a variety of water vessels at hand to work towards this goal. This is a desert, after all.

Eventually, Hau awakes and joins me (~10am). Now we have a computer lab.

If I am still on the computer when Hau wakes up, I generally take it as a sign of it being time to do something else. So I close the laptop. I stand up. I walk over to the window and look out. I follow the cats around a while.

Jackson, sometimes referred to as "the long kitty," pauses to stretch by the litter box as I follow him around the house. We have conversations in his language. Although I don't know what the words mean, it is riveting.

After a while, Hau and I decide this beautiful clear morning should be, at least, partially spent outside. So, we decide to go on a walk. There are some lovely destinations pretty close by. We've been talking about this whole marriage thing, so we decide we'll take a walk over to the spot we hope to have the ceremony, a place called "The Lion's Head." I've spent a lot of time over the years at The Lion's Head, watching clouds form and taking naps in pockets of sandstone. It is a great morning for a walk.

Hau left, me right.

We make our way home. Then I walk around the yard for a while. There are lots of things going on in the yard. I looked at many of them.

There's the big pit our neighbor's son dug in our yard with his backhoe. Then we pit roasted three goats in there and had a big party. That was fun.

This a baby gourd of the variety, "Autumn Wings." I have them growing over by one of our yearling trees. Hau and I had a lot of discussions about the relative merits of growing non-edibles. I just have a thing for decorative squashes. Whenever I see a decorative squash, I just think it is the cutest thing I've ever seen.

Then I took a look at the garden and thought to myself, "this garden really needs some harvest action." So, I took it upon myself, after raising them from seeds, to reap some of these beauties out of the ground. I harvested some kale, sunflower heads, kohlrabi, peas and a few other odds and ends.

I marveled at the largeness of the sunflower heads. Then I chopped them down and cut off their heads with a green river knife.


Peas in a pod turn into peas in a bowl.

There are some nice horsies in the field across the street, so I feed them some yard apples.

I take a break to watch an episode of Star Trek (the original series is available for free on the internet!). Spock is and always will be my favorite.

But Sulu is a close second.

After that entertaining respite, I decide I'd best work on the garden a bit more. Cooler temperatures will be here soon. I stumble outside, sandals half on. I feel a slight sensation in the arch of my right foot. Thinking it must just be a pricker from some invasive weed (see blog entry about massive thistles), I jiggle the sandal on my foot thinking the pricker will just roll out. But then it wasn't just a pricker. It was a bee! And so, I received the third bee sting ever in my life. Man, those things are extremely painful. I spent a few minutes wondering if perhaps I acquired an allergy to bee stings as an adult, like I did to avocados. But, no allergy. Just a really freaking itchy and slightly painful thing on the bottom of my foot. I sat on the bathroom floor for a few minutes, icing the sting. Jackson came to visit while I sat there.

Jackson Jefferson Djebooboola: Kitty First Responder. He responds to all medical emergencies the same way. He comes over, aggressively demands attention, and purrs. And it always works!

So, after a little while, I decide I'm fine enough to go tackle extricating some kohlrabi from the garden. "Kohlrabi" is German for cabbage turnip. I can't think of a better way to describe this vegetable, except for maybe "many tendrilled weird looking space alien above the ground bulge in the stem." But that would not fit printed nicely onto seed packets. So, there you have it.

The largest kohlrabi extracted from the garden. Twas rather large.

Things kind of went on this way for a while. I went inside and drank some water every now and then. I put vegetables into bags. I pet some cats. Then, at about 5:50pm, Hau and I left for Boulder Town, where we planned to meet some friends from Bryce at the Hell's Backbone Grill for dinner.

It was great to see these folks again. Some are rangers I worked with at Bryce Canyon National Park a few years ago, others are people I just met, but good fun, good food.

So, there you have it. A day without direction actually turns into quite an eventful day. There were ups and downs and all-arounds. The transition period continues, however. Fall is on it's way. My next step is to visit a friend in Salt Lake City. Funny how one goes to the city to visit a farm.

Next Up:
Last of the Peaches - Part 3: Eating and Farming in the great Salt Lake City

Last of the Peaches: Part 1

Life has been busy. I did many things during this busy time. The following is the first in a four part series explicating on these goings-ons.

Part 1: Last Day at the Park

This past summer, I was re-ordained in the glorious order of the Park Ranger. Ever since I first set foot in Capitol Reef National Park, I knew THIS was the PLACE. The place of many things, including the place of my heart and mind. It also helps that I met Hau in this very place. We eventually bought a house nearby and now we continuously struggle to make ends meet while also continuing to find solace, satisfaction and love in this landscape. After a one year hiatus from the National Park Service, during which I traipsed the area as a wilderness field guide for this company, I returned to my coveted position as Park Ranger, this time for my first season at Capitol Reef. This position is seasonal. I started in March. My last day at work was September 11th. Yes, I realize that Park Ranger is not a proper noun, and no, I will not stop capitalizing it. Anyway, so there, the stage is set. The following is one day spent in this country...

Wake up time. Sunrise is happening later and later these days. There is a special feeling to waking on a warm late summer's morn to dim light. The odd seeming amount of darkness is a foreshadowing of things to come. Hau set a rule that I would not hit the snooze button on alarms more than once. I work hard towards that goal. We are going to ride into work together, so we wake up together - a rare occasion.

I get dressed. Hau clips nails. Jackson turns on his demon eyes.

The daily braiding of the dreadlocks. Notice the orange glow of the sunrise coming through the shower curtain on the far right.

Mornings are rushed. I've recently given up on the idea of breakfast being the most important meal of the day. Breakfast can easily soak up half the day at our house. We will continue to have breakfasts on days off, but nowadays, a glass of water, or perhaps a quick substitute will suffice.

Cliff bar. Breakfast of lazy hippies. Eaten in the car.

And then, we're off! The cats meow a few times (if you've ever been here, you realize this is a euphemism for a ridiculous amount of meowing). We close the door to the porch. We get in the vehicle and start on our way.

A beautiful clear morning on Center Street. The early sun casts deep shadows.

A few minutes later, we descend the hill down into the park. There are rocks that are red.

After being dropped off at the visitor center, I walk into the back and take a look at my desk. It is still stacked with papers and books from the season. I have as yet made no effort to actually clear it off. And I won't until quitting time. I go about my day, answering visitor questions, directing phone calls, talking about hikes and geology. I talk way more at work than I ever would otherwise. Sometimes I feel like being at work is having my mouth open and a constant stream of words are coming out. September is the busiest month at the park, which means a lot of words exchanged in any given day. That includes a person's last day.

A couple coworkers standing at one of my centers of the universe: the information desk at the Capitol Reef visitor center. This is where a vast majority of the words I speak are emitted.

Later on, I gathered materials for my program of the day, which happened to be an atlatl demonstration. The atlatl is an ancient hunting tool that predates the bow and arrow. It appeared in many forms across the world and was likely called many different things by the peoples that used (and some still use) it. I am amused by the fact that leads to us referring to it as the atlatl and not by some other name. Atlatl is what the Aztecs called the tool. When the Spanish came to the New World, they encountered the Aztecs and many other peoples who did not have the metal technologies they possessed. So, for the most part, when the Spanish, and later other Anglo-Europeans, decided they'd best work on exterminating these natives there wasn't much contest. The atlatl, however, was such a powerful tool, a skilled person could throw a dart (a long arrow) with force enough to pierce the Spanish armor and relieve the person beneath of a need to continue fighting. Thus, the Spanish became quite familiar with this tool and brought story of it back to Europe. Thus, the word in modern useage used to refer to this throwing stick is "atlatl." Aside from defense, native peoples all around also used atlatls to hunt. The Fremont people of this area were almost certainly not an exception to this, and so atlatls are a relevant part of the prehistory of the park, as we understand it. So, here it is, 2010, and an enthusiastic Park Ranger targets a cardboard Bighorn Sheep with an atlatl to educate visitors.

I show a group how to hold the dart and the atlatl to hit a target 150 feet away. Sometimes my throws actually get close to the target.

During my two hour demonstration, there is a lull in the crowd. I am left alone with the picnic area and the cottonwood trees and red cliffs that surround. I sat at the picnic table for a while, looking around and taking it all in. Then, I spot it, one of many inevitable signs of the end of summer.

Do you see them? A patch of yellow leaves in the foliage of a cottonwood tree. Red cliffs, unchanged.

I return to the office and spend the last part of the day furiously trying to finish projects and leave notes as to their status. I had many goals for this season, some of which I accomplished, some of which will have to wait until next year. I love this place and part of me is sad to leave. However, being relieved of work for the time being leads to many extraordinary opportunities (see parts 2-4, coming soon). I will return next summer.

And, as recompense for my blogging laxity, here is a video of a cute kitty (TC) being petted.

TC loves his sunny porch box of recyclable paper.

Next up: Last of the Peaches: Part 2 - Nothing Everything Day