The girl at my side, the bread rising on the table.
The day bright and fresh and calling me to explore it.
See you out there.
::
“Don’t ask what the world need. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it.
Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”
–Howard Thurman
(Feeling pretty capable back in September. Oh, to be young and innocent again.)
A while back a friend asked me how the plastic-free homesteading was going and I said, “Great, between the dismal failures.” Yup, sometimes the pressure cooker stew burns or the bread comes out dense (or mutant, see picture) or the goat milk yogurt does whatever it does that doesn’t involve thickening. Maybe you are already thinking that none of these are failures – they are the signs of a fearless housewife embarking into an unknown country (the Olden Days, remember) and learning much along the way.
That’s right, I am. After a few months of figuring things out as I go, of occasionally melting down and wailing “this is supposed to make me happy,” of serving dal all week for dinner because I just couldn’t think what else to make (I know some of you do that on purpose, but gee whiz, enough’s enough), and of somehow persevering anyways because I made a vow but also because I had a hunch that less waste really could equal more joy, things are looking up.
These days, my bread is coming out positively artisanal thanks to the fabulous and foolproof no-knead method. My dinners are a triumph of creative simplicity (right, honey?). I’m saving the goat milk for cheese making, and using cow milk for the yogurt  because it’s tear proof (and cheap and comes in returnable glass bottles). All of this makes it a lot easier to have warm fuzzy feelings about “doing the right thing.” Which every day becomes less and less novel, and more and more just the way we live.
I know, I know, it looks like I’ve got things under control. But not to worry. I’m sure I’ll burn the soup again soon.
I’ve been making tortillas/chapatis pretty regularly these days. More than anything else I cook, this recipe seems to fill my kitchen with helpful, if opinionated, spirits.
Here is what they say:
Mix flour, salt. Plenty of water makes for easy rolling.
A palmful of dough between the hands. Move it in slow circles.
I don’t know why, only that this is the way.
Reminds you of what a circle feels like
between two flour-dusted hands, maybe.
Activates gluten, maybe.
Ah, see. And you thought you knew what a circle was.
No matter. Good enough.
Lay them like chickadees in a neat row, covered with a cloth.
Or make your balls quick one at a time, rolling it out just seconds before laying it on the hot pan.
Careful of fingers on the skillet!
No. No spatulas. Are you a woman or a mouse?
Better to cook them too little than too much.
Keeps them soft, that’s why. I know they’re a bit raw. What do you want, a cracker?
When you flip it, take that dishcloth and push down on the tortillas.
Push! I thought you’d given birth, but this is how you push?
Makes the tortilla light, and airy. Airier, at least.
Simple. Salt, flour, water. Round ball, rolled ball. Hot skillet. Flip. Push! Done.
The aftershocks of death and collapse in Port-au-Prince have filled our hearts with the heaviness of what Haitian writer Edwidge Danticat calls the “layers of tragedy” – political and natural – that blanket the country. By now we have taken in the images of a grief stricken and devastated nation. We have heard about Haiti’s poverty and, hopefully, its history of exploitation by colonial powers (the root of that poverty).
I want to add to this outpouring some offerings of the life and vibrance of Haiti. Let our prayers be filled with the beauty Haiti has given the world from its “empty” coffers.
This song is ever so lovely, and this one conveys a bit of the Haitian experyans.
This poem is by the Haitian writer, Felix Morisseau-Leroy. Women’s Voices for Change writes, “read now, the poem stands as a caution to those who might try to generalize about those whose lives have been upended by the earthquake.”
Boat People
We are all in a drowning boat
Happened before at St. Domingue
We are the ones called boat people
We all died long ago
What else can frighten us
?
Let them call us boat people
We fight a long time with poverty
On our islands, the sea, everywhere
We never say we are not boat people
In Africa they chased us with dogs
Chained our feet, piled us on
Who then called us boat people?
Half the cargo perished
The rest sold at Bossal Market
It’s them who call us boat people
We stamp our feet down, the earth shakes
Up to Louisiana, down to Venezuela
Who would come and call us boat people?
A bad season in our country
The hungry dog eats thorns
They didn’t call us boat people yet
We looked for jobs and freedom
And they piled us on again: Cargo—Direct to Miami
They start to call us boat people
We run from the rain at Fort Dimanche
But land in the river at the Krome
Detention Center
It’s them who call us boat people
Miami heat eats away our hearts
Chicago cold explodes our stomach
Boat people boat people boat people
Except for the Indians—
What American didn’t get here somehow
But they only want to call us boat people
We don’t bring drugs in our bags
But courage and strength to work
Boat people—Yes, that’s all right, boat people
We don’t come to make trouble
We come with all respect
It’s them who call us boat people
We have no need to yell or scream
But all boat people are equal, the same
All boat people are boat people
One day we’ll stand up, put down our feet
As we did at St. Domingue
They’ll know who these boat people really are
That day, be it Christopher Columbus
Or Henry Kissinger—
They will know
us
We who simply call ourselves
People
::
Still with me? Feeling political? Check out this list of
ten things the U.S. can and should do for Haiti.
And Thank You Dr. Martin Luther King! May we ever and always strive to fulfill your vision.
We take the slow route up the ridge
through the sparse clumps of dried grass, over rocks rouged by twilight.
At the top, instead of continuing on, looping down and around
in constant motion as if this were the only way
to ensure the next moment’s arrival,
we pause.
Stillness so seldom left to ripen on its branch
and fall of its own free will.
We sit on the bare spine of earth,
coyotes singing yip yi yi yi yiiii
as the horizon rises towards night.
Mix what you have, what warms your spirit,
what feels true to the season.
I had:
Rosehips
Elderberries
Orange peel
Cinnamon
Calendula flowers
Pine needles
Mmmm.
A Proper Tea is much nicer than a Very Nearly Tea, which is one you forget about afterwards. ~A.A. Milne
Our experiment in living without new plastic has been going swimmingly,
but what would it be without a few lessons along the way?
Such as, don’t assume ones favorite restaurant has eco friendly to-go-ware.
I felt sick bringing home all this styrofoam with leftovers from a rare dinner out. Ever practical and searching for meaning, I looked for the lesson in the disaster. Apparently this week’s take home message is something along the lines of Always Be Prepared. Or maybe it’s to get out of the house more often.
I’ve trained myself to always have canvas bags filled with an assortment of small muslin sacks, a couple jars, and a plastic squeeze bottle at the ready in the back of the Suby when I’m out and about. To that stash I’ve added a tiffin for situations like the one above. For good measure my purse now houses a set of silverware wrapped in a napkin. Some folks even carry a glass drinking straw, but I can’t imagine what would happen if my Favorite Pickpocket got ahold of that. Oh, and if you’re in the market for a new one, a mason jar with a sock cozy makes a splendid travel mug.
Our ways are changing, slowly but surely, and it’s encouraging to see the new ways taking hold. The experience of accepting food in styrofoam felt like a threshold moment, right on the brink between who we’ve been and who we are becoming. My hope is that it never happens again, but in the meantime it offered a reminder that lest we get too smug about our good deeds, there are many more habits from a lifetime of careless complacency waiting to be cracked open and remade.
So here’s what I’ve been wondering:
If I’ve always taken for granted
that disposable plastic is necessary for life
and am now discovering that this isn’t the case at all,
what else have I believed
that isn’t true?
There are days when I wonder why we even bother trying to live in a way that produces less waste. Does it really matter, I sometimes ask myself, if I don’t buy the bag of chips or the new hair clip or whatever else it is I want so badly? Almost everything in our culture – from the aisles lined with spiffily packaged food to the promise of the American Dream – tells me that the answer is no. In fact, there are days when not buying my kid crackers seems downright ridiculous.
But more and more, what’s absurd isn’t my cart of rye flour and raisins in muslin bags. What’s absurd are those bursting aisles of boxes and bags and cans and jars that seem less like a source of sustenance and more like a clean and well lit landfill. I don’t see the food anymore, just the waste.
The rushing river of consumerism moves so quickly, with so much force, that when we are caught in it, it is almost impossible to tell how carried away we’ve become. Without making this commitment to living without plastic for even a few months, it would have been close to impossible for me to sit on the banks, watching all the cool stuff get swept by.
I feel, sometimes, like one of the addicts I used to nurse at the hospital. Just as I start drying out from that rushing river you might call Modern Consumer Culture, I start asking what’s one small hit/bag of chips going to do? I’m ready to jump back into the current, to get swept away again.
Because of that vow, I am discovering ways to drown out the all-pervasive voice of culture and advertising and a whole lifetime of pretty much getting what I want. And I look at that bag of chips and ask two new questions: How was the earth harmed to make this? How will the earth be harmed when I throw it away?
I can’t always articulate an answer, but the gist of it steers me back to the bulk food aisle, or home to do some knitting, or for a walk on the land. Like any addict, I sometimes ask the higher power for help. The moment passes. And I feel relieved to be sitting out the deluge, drying out little by little.
The first official week of our plastic free experiment
was made possible by
Wood
beautiful wood.
Kyce Bello 