Author: kyce

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Deep Thoughts: Engaged Citizenship

Despite my brave, opinionated words on the importance of personal change and symbolic action (see On Symbolic Action on my sidebar) I am very well aware that nothing is quite as simple as saving the world by quitting plastic. While I feel strongly about the necessity of personal action–especially serious, life-changing action–that doesn’t mean I can always articulate to myself, let alone you, dear reader, exactly why this is so necessary and powerful, why it might change the world after all. But I’m always on the lookout for people who can. My quest for meaning hit the jackpot this week. I’m reading A Handmade Life: In Search of Simplicity by William Coperthwaite. This guy has been reflecting on these questions, and living his answer to them, for decades longer than I’ve been around. Furthermore, he is a link to earlier generations of people who also asked these questions in their own time, and whose lives also became the answer.

This quote is from the introduction, which was written about Bill by somebody else. I love it because it gave me chills. Deep stuff, I tell you. And it brings in Wendell Berry, to boot. It’s long but really good.

In a false democracy, individuals become only spectators to their own experience and to the wider intellectual, civic and social life around them. “The work of creating a new society” can only be accomplished, according to Bill, through citizen action; not “by specialists, but the people themselves to fit their needs.”

Bill sees democratic action as that in which private behavior is recognized to have civic consequences. Here is a way of life that continuously asks the question, “How can I live according to what I believe?” Wendell Berry has described this kind of politics as “more complex and permanent, public in effect but private in its implementation.” According to Berry:

To make public protests against an evil, and yet live dependent on and in support of a way of life that is the source of the evil, is an obvious contradiction and a dangerous one. If one disagrees with the nomadism and violence of our society, then one is under an obligation to take up some permanent dwelling place and cultivate the possibility of peace and harmlessness in it. If one deplores the destructiveness and wastefulness of the economy, then one is under an obligation to live as far out on the margin of the economy as one is able: to be as economically independent of exploitative industries, to learn to need less, to give up meaningless luxuries, to understand and resist the language of salesmen and public relations experts, to see through attractive packages, to refuse to purchase fashion or glamour or prestige. If one feels endangered by meaningless, then one is under an obligation to refuse meaningless pleasures and to resist meaningless work, and to give up the moral comfort and the excuses of the mentality of specialization.

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Road Trip

We fired  up the old VW over the weekend and took a little road trip to Truth or Consequences. Nope, that’s not a metaphor, just New Mexico. It’s warm down there, with hot springs, the big Rio Grande, and old friends, both human and plant, to reconnect with. And of course, we did our best to not let a little road time not devolve into one big potato chip indulgence. In other words, to keep our no new plastic ways alive in a slightly more challenging setting.

What I learned is, the same rules apply to the road as at home: Keep it simple.  Make do. Substitute. And, you know, relax.

I made a batch of cookies and crackers, and goat cheese (cuajada, my favorite fresh, raw cheese) the morning we left. (Yes, we were about three hours behind schedule.) I thought of making everything in advance, but E. had the novel idea that we just wing it. Which was good, because in a way this was practice run for our plans of extended road tripping this summer. When, no doubt, some compromises will be made, but perhaps not as many as it first seems. After all, folks did a fair amount of moving around in the millennia before plastic came on the scene.

We ate things a lot like what we eat at home: eggs and potatoes, cooked with garlic and spinach. Pasta with local asparagus and chard. Sandwiches. Oatmeal. We brought along plastic jugs for water, and a few of our old plastic bags to keep the bread and greens in. We brought a supply of cloth diapers, but Cora is a natural at peeing in the woods. For snacks we brought along things from the bulk aisle of our home store: cheese sticks, nuts, granola. It was fine.

We did end up acquiring one plastic bag. When we stopped at a gas station in T or C for a six pack of beer, and they said it was illegal to bring it outside without a bag. The bag came in handy though, because trash happens. And sipping a brew by the dying coals of a cedar fire, the crescent moon setting over the mountains, well, some things in life are just meant to be.

Happy travels!

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Germination

The seeds are sprouting.

I know it happens billions and billions of times each year.

But, gee, these are the seeds I planted.

And speaking of seeds I planted, I first put word out about my garden blog party, a half moon ago or so.  Funny enough, in my fertile imagination that seed just germinated, oh, yesterday. In other words, I figured out what to write about. So I’m postponing things a tad. Shall we  aim for a May 1st extravaganza? Just in time for getting serious about our gardens. (What you’ve seen from me so far was just a little cold season prelude.)

Here’s the meat of the invitation:

What has your land taught you? (Or the potted aloe plant on the kitchen window sill?) Tell us about your method or philosophy, your tools, your bounty and losses. Tell of your favorite plants, what you say to weeds, the smell of rain on your soil. Tell us of the wild land you roam and how it strengthens the plot you cultivate and your own growing body. Tell us what your garden would say if it could speak, what it has whispered to you when you weren’t listening, but heard anyways. Speak practically or poetically. Whether you cultivate it or not, whether you have “success” with those efforts or not, whether you consider yourself obsessed with green growing things or utterly indifferent, I’d like to know what you’ve learned from your home-ground.

Or, at least why you garden.

(I know that sounds rhetorical, but really, what comes up when you dig a little deeper?)

Cast your net as close or far as you please to answer that one.

To join in, send me a link or leave a comment before May 1st. Just one last moment for calm reflection before the glorious madness of summer.

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Women’s Work

While I do enjoy  figuring out how my great grandma got by without plastic, there are moments, fleeting but real, where I stop and marvel at where I’ve found myself.

The truth is, this is my second go at learning these lost kitchen arts. Long ago, before I succumbed to the mainstream, I was a righteous country girl. I made my share of bread, and had chickens. I learned to can “open-kettle” style (which, if that sounds quaint, is the kind of preserving that causes botulism), and wildcrafted herbs up and down the Rio Grande. My greatest ambition in life was to, well, do what I’m doing now – be a mama who writes occasional poems and whips out two loaves of fresh bread while singing “The Bramble and the Rose.”

Between those tender years and now, I did a little exploring, a little branching out. I’ve never stopped wildcrafting, and making simple medicines, but I also became a registered nurse, and worked long shifts at the local hospital. I kept writing poems, but also studied deconstruction and semiotics. I became hooked on Trader Joe’s. And now here I am, making tortillas, singing nursery rhymes, and nursing my two year old all day long.

Sometimes the strangeness of it all strikes me. And I stop and marvel for a moment.

I try to honor all my teachers, all my passions, every road I’ve gone down, even the ones I’ve backtracked from. And then returned to, when the time was right. Who knew becoming a domestic feminist diva bad ass bread baker could be so empowering? And so baffling?

Where’s all this going? Just here. Where I am is where I am. And the bread tastes better than ever.

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One-Sheet Book Tutorial

This is a one-sheet book. It has four pages.

If you love words, or pictures, or making words or pictures, or know someone who does, then read on.

I made this book for Cora.

It’s kind of about colors. But also shoes, children, animals, and other things that delight her.

Paper of any thickness or size can be used.

For this book I used the inside of a brown paper bag.

See, a one sheet book.

Okay, here we go:

A picture speaks a thousand words, right? So I’ll just add to this one that you begin by creating a grid of folds on your paper.

Make one fold across the length, one across the width, and then fold two edges to the middle.

Then fold in half vertically, and cut to the next fold, creating a hole in the middle.

Open the sheet up and refold horizontally. Bring the two edges of the cut together, pushing out the middle pages.

Like this. I promise it will make sense with the paper in your hand, if it doesn’t now.

Press the book into place, creasing all the pages to where they belong. It doesn’t matter which is the cover.

Ta da! A one sheet book.

Now you get to fill it!

And that’s when the fun really begins.

Though I do think a blank book is the bee’s knees and exactly what I’d want on a desert island.

That and some extra sheets to make more books.

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When living, just live: Moving towards inner simplicity

I was lying in bed nursing my little one, a book propped up in front of me as usual. This time it happened to be Everyday Blessings: The Inner Work of Mindful Parenting by Myla and Jon Kabat-Zinn. And I came to these words:

When sitting, just sit.

When eating, just eat.

When walking, just walk.

When talking, just talk.

When listening, just listen.

When looking, just look.

When touching, just touch.

When thinking, just think.

When playing, just play.

And enjoy the feeling of each moment and each day.

What can I say? I put the book down. The sun coming through the window felt warm on my back. My daughter fell asleep in my arms. The moment lasted a long, long time.

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Thanks, Arundhati

I heard the incomparable activist and writer Arundhati Roy speak last week, and I’m still on fire. The night’s immersion into such heady territory–empire, democracy, globalization, commerce, and naturally, the environment, left me reflecting on the nature of information. There have been times in my life where I just have to turn off the noise. I turn away from the news, and even from the intelligent criticism of it. I’m afraid of getting overwhelmed, of despair, of hopelessness. And yes, I can report back that there is a stillness that can be found in turning off the noise. But if it is not a powerful, life changing stillness, one able to counter and upend our culture’s unyielding and destructive growth, then it is finding a false refuge.

We are among the privileged few in the world able to choose the safety of hopelessness. We can say, there’s nothing I can do, so I’ll just not worry about it. It is from that place of dis-empowerment that we can opt out, convinced of our inability to make a difference. From there we comfortably continue on in our lives, content to do the best we can.

Across the planet, in places wrecked by climate change and war (often the two are hand in hand), people have been forced past the point of reasonableness to the precipice of hope. It is a hope born of necessity, and made real with action. These are our kin, our counterparts who can no longer afford hopelessness.

I’m generally always looking for an answer to my questions about how to live. What kind of action is the right kind? What is enough? Where does living well for myself and living well for the planet intersect? I don’t always know what to do, and when I have a fleeting certainty, it is quickly countered by the endless contradictions of our reality. But by staying engaged and educated, I find that I am better able to fertilize my own inner capacity for action, involvement, and change. Which are all fingers on the hand of hope.

Without reminders of the shocking injustices taking place in my name–or in the name of capitalism and growth, a system based on inequality and from which I undoubtedly benefit at the expense of others–I could easilt slip back into my old, I’m Doing the Best I Can ways.

We need the kind of gloablization that keeps us in check. That breaks down barriers of ignorance and apathy. We need to be reminded of our place in the Great Turning, so that even when we are truly doing the best we can, we want to do still more. And do it.

::

If you’re at all curious about what hope, action, and battling for system change looks like in India, please check out Arundhati’s recent article in the recent edition of Outlook India magazine.

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A Special Thank You to Old Man Winter

Lot’s of gratitude in our house these days for the super abundant snow pack blanketing our mountains.

Seeping into the earth, down the mountainside, spilling through our taps and, blessedly, into our most beloved and dry river.

Our walks have meandered down from the ridge tops we frequent in the winter back into this once-again running, much neglected riverbed.

We hope for a long season of flow, the health of the willows and native plants, the birds and beavers, all the creatures that share this waterway.

And give a special thanks for the watering of our own thirsty souls.

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March Plastic Tally

For all my fretting over falling of the wagon, looking over this month’s new plastic trash was rather reassuring. (By new plastic I mean things we acquired and disposed of since January.) An exercise in the pleasures of archeology. Sort of.

~ Last month E. and I attended our first party alone together in a long, long time. He drank beer from the keg in that green cup, and I took my wine in the little clear one. The fork was for our friend’s birthday cake, and we shared it.

~ Wine wrapper and plastic cork.

~Two out of a total of four Lamb’s Pride yarn labels. They actually say they are recyclable, but don’t give a number. Perhaps I should send them back to the company with a note asking--why? why must you use plastic? Anyways, my almost-done-sweater is lovely. And I’ll get yarn locally next time.

~The usual milk bottle caps. Any ideas on something crafty I can do with my collection?

~A toothbrush wrapper. I got the kind of brush that you replace the head on. The replacement parts also come in a plastic package, but with four in a pack it seems like less waste overall. Maybe.

~Mac and cheese cheese pouch, and a ring from a jar of almond butter.

~Orange plastic strings from a few haybales. We need lot’s more of that.

~Styrofoam cup that we neither wanted nor asked for, but didn’t say no to quickly enough at a low blood sugar stop at the burrito shack drive through.

~A label from one of the several bouquets of daffodils we got for Cora’s birthday. And some veggie labels.

~A bottle of kid’s probiotics.

~Tub of sour cream left behind by our house-sitter after spring break. It was 3/4 full, and we were all in heaven. Cora ate it by the spoonful.

~A new printer cartridge, at last. We actually excavated an old printer from our shed in hopes that it would use less ink, and found a few cartridges in the box. So far we haven’t really had to deal with the ink question, but this is symbolic of an ongoing quest to get off the un-refillable cartridge habit.

~Plastic wrapping from a puzzle and CD Cora received for her birthday.

~Potato bag from our CSA.

Also this month I bought the following items, with full awareness of their plastic content but convinced that their usefulness justified it:

~A bottle of lye for soap making.

~Two strawberry starts–my present for Cora.

~A mesh plastic bag of onion sets. I had to have them, but felt so guilty I gave half to a friend, along with the offending bag.

~Also, we’ve been searching for plastic-free lamp oil, and were resigned to just using candles for our unplugged evenings. Then a friend gifted us with a quarter bottle of oil that he’d gotten just in case before Y2K, and we accepted it, gratefully. Or maybe I’m mis-representing that, because we actually begged him for it.

I think that the sheds of friends and neighbors should be fair game, though. The more we share and spread around tools and materials, the more we get to visit, and that makes the world a happier place to live in. And cuts down on new purchases of plastic. So if you need any lye, come on by. I’ll share, so long as you take the bottle with you. 😉

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System Cleanse

I once heard a prominent holistic MD give a talk on the importance of making dietary changes in order to facilitate healing. He said he asked all his patients to make some kind of change. Often, it was to simply return to whole foods. Sometimes it would be more prescriptive, a cleanse say, or a certain regimen such as for heart disease or cancer. But even if an individual ailment had little to do with food, he’d still ask them to alter their diet in some way, even if it was only a symbolic way. The reason was because while broccoli and green tea are good for our health, deeper healing is partially facilitated by intention. Our bodies need that symbolic act, that change in diet, as a show of our commitment to transforming a pattern that is not serving the system.

I’ve reflected a lot on that idea lately. You might even say that the larger intent of this otherwise eccentric and unusually rigid (for me) experiment is something along those lines. The idea of cleansing our system while making a commitment to further growth and personal transformation has fueled this project from its humble origins back in the days when it felt impossible.

I’m looking forward to the healthy reintegration of plastic into our lives. It will be nice to be able to buy tortillas every now and then, and to have sour cream with our beans. Despite my occasional griping, though, I am feeling very grateful for this commitment. This is not the kind of thing I’ve done much of, and it has been a powerful act. It has taken me on that long dreamed of journey to the olden days, and given me an education in made-from-scratch like you would not believe. It has wakened me from the cultural sleep, and opened doors to a world in which there are countless ways to praise this good life while living as simply as possible.

So onward we go, into the last month of this simple fast. It will carry on, surely, as we have so much left to discover the alternatives to. I’m not thinking of that so much right now, though. It’s just the external details of what is really about inner change. The kind of change that can’t always be spoken, but is there, singing loudly, nevertheless.