... 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.
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.
You're awesome, Kate! Good stuff. I, too, am attempting to return to blogging and keeping the entires more sustainable, concise, and fun. I know exactly what you're talking about trying to put everything down at once. Love the pictures, you brooding country gal. :-)
ReplyDeleteHope you're well up in the big city. We miss you down here. But glad to read your blog and soak up a little of your quirkiness through the written word! Hope to see you soon!