Old Recipe for a New World

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Gathering Medicine

In the midst of harvest season, I remember to gather the last of the medicines we’ll need this winter.

Many of the herbs we gather, mostly tea plants, come from the mountains. It is one of the most important things we do each year, a pilgrimage of sorts.

And there is also much medicine to gather here in the garden. Some were planted intentionally for that reason, like the mint, oatstraw, and nettle patch (yes, that’s the kind of thing we actually cultivate in New Mexico). Some things were planted for beauty, like the roses and lavender and Echinacea.

Some things are volunteers, so humble and common I have to remind myself of the power in their small, dark green leaves. That’s the mallows, and the alfalfa. Potent plants that will nourish us all through the winter.

Wild, cultivated, and vagabonds from between the cracks: We gather them all.

Having a relationship with our medicine, even if it’s just some alfalfa tea from the front yard, is a powerful way of re-localizing our habits and connecting with seasonal rhythms of our home.

It empowers us as healers, deepens our sense of place, and reduces the harm we cause to the planet in our quest for natural remedies.

We become healers of the landscape as we tend the stands of herbs that surround us in spaces both wild and domestic. And the herbs, of course, take care of us in return.

It is an ancient partnership. One each of us can claim and celebrate in these last days before winter.

~Be well!~

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Autumn on the land, Autumn in the home

On the land~

We’ve been wandering through the light,

treasure of treasures.

All seekers are rewarded.

::

Meanwhile, snug at home~

Our gnome family has adventures in the woods remarkably like ours.

Light comes pouring through the Southern windows,

and I can’t get close enough to these last, lovely blooms of the season.

::

Happy wandering.

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Getting to Work

This fall is so glorious, so endlessly beautiful and warm, that I sometimes get a tinge of sadness. It’s not my usual fall melancholy, which is as delightful as the season itself, but something with a twinge of fear in it. Is this just a warm, dry La Niña year, or a taste of what the future holds? Who can say, really, but either way it makes me want to get to work to change our world a little. Not necessarily to alter the course of the future, but to prepare to live in it in a sustainable way.

 

Fortunately, lot’s of people are feeling this way these days. When I see what the 350 folks are up to this weekend, it fills me with a much needed blast of love for my fellow humans, and carried me away with the zeitgeist of collective action. Take a look for yourself to get a taste of what these amazing communities are doing this weekend during 10/10/10 work parties happening all across the planet. Find out what’s happening in your own town, too. Maybe even join in. (Santa Feans can head down to Frenchy’s Field from 1-6 on Sunday for the Fe version of it all.)

Did you hear that there’s going to be solar panels at the White House? Well, over here in the barrio we’re going to finish installing our crazy huge water tanks (yes, that’s enough plastic on there to warrant a few more years of a plastic fast, or enough to hold 3,000 gallons between four cisterns). Setting up a rain catchment system has been this summer’s very slow, but hugely satisfying project. I suppose the bright side of a dry winter is not much pressure to finish.

Other things to do around your own home might be hanging up a clothesline if you don’t already have one. Winterize. Make those muslin bags you know you want for the bulk aisles. Build a compost pile. Spread sheet mulch on your garden or wannabe garden with an eye towards spring. Begin, and the land will take over. If you’ve already got a micro farm happening out back, find a friend to help get started.

What are some other simple tasks we can do in our homes and communities to get to work changing our lives to put an end to the madness that has led to climate change? Think on the small things that will make a big difference to not only the way we live, but also the way we think. Whatever ideas you come up with, and end up doing, take pictures and send them to your representatives at all levels of government.

Let’s show them the world getting to work, and let our example lead them to do the same.

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Renewal

I’m not much of an eco-warrior these days. When I started thinking about blogging again, it was with kind, easy going posts in mind. My mantra lately has been being gentle to the earth begins with being gentle to ourselves. I know how much we’ve all got going on– how hard it can be to find the time or the money or the inspiration to do the things we feel we should do or simply want to do. It makes me want to say hey, we’re all doing our best, we do what we can, fudge here and there, but it’s enough. Right?

Well, yes. Of course. But also, as you know, of course not.

Especially not on Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement that came and went not long ago. Not yesterday, Michaelmas, when the time turned ripe to look inward at the dragons we need to slay and to feed our resolve and inner strength in order to more fully live a life of integrity. The fiery spirit of these holy days and the season and the flaming  trees has caught hold of me, and I mean to let it burn away any excess of apathy or carelessness I’ve over-indulged in that way humans have a tendency of doing.

I believe in cycles. I believe that we have fallow times and productive times, time to be warriors and time to take naps. Time to grow mung bean sprouts and time to eat frito pie. It is an essential part of life, the give and take. We don’t need to feel guilty about that. The seasons guide us through these cycles. To me, autumn is about awakening. It’s about bringing the fading light inside to brighten the soul during the darkness of winter and remembering the connection between all things.

It reminds me that when I’m not being gentle to the earth, I’m really not being gentle with myself. That whatever my excellent reasons might be, it is is my own soul that is harmed the most when I don’t live with the integrity I aspire to.

According to my very progressive Jewish friends, Yom Kippur is a reminder to look at where we’ve not been living up to our deepest values, to ritually proclaim the ways in which we’ve missed the mark in order to cleanse ourselves in preparation for the new year. It’s not about guilt, but acknowledging the ways in which we can do better. Of helping us to return to who we are–or want to be–in relationship with the earth. At Yom Kippur transgressions against the earth are collectively recited, while the right hand knocks on the gate of the heart, opening it to change. Afterward, the list can be burned, fed to the dragon and symbolically slayed.

This is taken from the ALEPH Alliance for Jewish Renewal. They have a very progressive approach that involves the idea of eco-kashrut, or guidelines for living in a good way on the earth:

Please forgive us for the ways we’ve missed the mark in relating with the sacred earth. Forgive us for our many misdeeds:

For accumulating more than we need.

For the times we’ve listened to our head and ignored our heart.

For the times we believed the voice that said “One person can’t make a difference, so I won’t even start.”

For feeling so overwhelmed or insignificant we forget that change begins with one person, and one step.

For ignoring the potential in our own backyards.

For not minimizing what we discard by composting, reusing, and recycling all that we could.

For disregarding the health of our children’s sons and daughters.

For how much we don’t know about our own watershed.

For the many beings and species our ignorance and inaction has left for dead.

For putting comfort, cost, and convenience first.

For being unwilling to change our lifestyle in order to protect the earth.

For each way we’ve neglected the health of animals, plants, air, trees, soil, and rivers.

For this and so much more, Compassionate Creator, we plead for your forgiveness.

::

And so we start anew.

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Musings on Equinox Eve

It’s equinox eve and just for tonight I’m remembering summer.

Those long, blessed days of rest and fruitfulness, growth and change.

We’ve been back in our home and garden for ages, and now I’m finding my way back here.


The light fades fast, these days. Tonight we are doubly blessed with our first rain in ages.

A long, slow soaking rain.

A song on the roof.

It brings to mind the many ways we have to honor the things in our lives that follow

the threefold path of beauty, truth, and goodness.

And something about that made me want to say hello.

These days, life is a simple affair of mothering, living ever so gently in the home,

finding balance and gratitude. Too vague?  Too pretty? Hmmm.

Let’s see.

The almost-last bouquet of the season sits on the table. A string of apples hangs to dry.

Dishes to wash.

A family to love, and this and that to tend to.

All is well. More to come. Probably.

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Midsummer Days

Some things I’m loving these days:

:: Readying the old bus for a road trip with no destination save North.

:: Savoring the trickle of river that is pulling its annual disappearing act as I write. Time to head to the mountains, indeed.

::Taking naps like nobody’s business. Of course I feel shamefully unproductive, but it’s hot. And don’t we all know deep down what good things are born from fallow times?

::Watching this little one discover the joys of green food. Thank you snow peas!

:: Rescuing my garden harvest from the snails. Lot’s of salad (the French consider bitter summer greens positively healthful, I hear), a bunch of baby turnips, abundant kale, herbs, green onions. And lot’s more that will be ready for us in a fortnight.

:: The Man of the Place who spent a day hauling 250 ancient adobe bricks because it was the right thing to do. Even though half of them broke in transit. And now he says he’ll build a house with them. Or at least part of a wall.

::Sorry to lose my radical homemaker cred, but I’ve got to confess that we are positively loving storebought tortillas these days. That’s right, we are still looking for the balance between living with as little impact as possible and, well, sanity. I look forward to reporting back on our discoveries along these lines as we continue to discover what it means to live lightly and well.

Be well friends! Enjoy these days and all they bring. See you when the wind blows us home.

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Water Place

Imagine a forest dry as can be. Pine needles carpet the floor. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. The path follows a stream so small that when crossing it, the tops of your shoes don’t get wet.

Imagine the path ends at a rock wall. That the ground is suddenly green and spongy. That a thin stream of water pours singing from a sheer and narrow canyon. That a pool of water reflects sun.

Oh, these wandering ways and what they reveal. This land that I will never fully know despite a life spent cradled in its arms.

~::~

I’ll be away from this space a bit more in the long summer days ahead. Time swinging in the hammock, writing poems for my own pleasure, nursing a mint tea and apple juice popsicle. I’ve still got plenty to say, sure. But somehow, it doesn’t seem to need saying quite so badly.

I hope you’ll come by and visit once a week or once a month–whenever your own hammock swinging and popsicle slurping can spare you. No doubt something profound will happen here soon. Though topping our discovery of this waterfall will be hard to do.

In the meantime, enjoy your days and the things they offer.

See you soon, friends. See you soon.

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Homemade Sun Cream

Disclaimer: I wouldn’t trust this cream at the beach, above tree-line in the mountains, or even on a hatless hike at midday. But as my summer cream, put on under a hat to spend a morning puttering in the garden or for a walk in the late afternoon, I think it’s splendid.

Apparently, the oils used in this cream have a bit of an SPF value–some say as much as 15. I don’t think they offer any UVA/UVB protection, and how that reconciles with the claim to an SPF I cannot say. I’m not a huge user/abuser of sunscreen, though I do use it when it seems necessary. This cream is for the rest of the time. When I’d probably not have anything on at all.

I also wear a hat. And believe in light tans. I confess to having an inordinate amount of faith in the power of chaparral oil to protect the skin from sun damage on nothing more than ethnobotanical evidence. Beyond that, common sense in the sun must prevail.

I made this recipe with a friend, and it yielded a lavish summer supply for both of us.

Melt in a double boiler:

3 1/2 T Shea butter

3 1/2 T Coconut oil

(And 1T beeswax if a creamier thickness is desired.)

Add:

1/3 C Sesame oil (raw, un-toasted)

1/3 C unrefined Jojoba oil

1/3 C unrefined Avocado oil (we used chaparral oil instead).

Let this mixture of oils set until room temperature, and partially solidified.

Into blender pour:

1 C Aloe vera gel

1/2 C green tea

Set blender whirring on high-ish. Pour partially solidified oil mixture sloooowly into center of vortex. Blend away.

Watch and listen–the cream will do its alchemy of marrying oil and water and that moment is amazing and miraculous everytime. It will thicken and turn creamy colored. Give it another couple seconds, then stop. If there is any loose oil or water, blend it in by hand–over beating will not improve things.

This cream is nourishing, soothing, and possibly slightly protective. For me, that’s all I was after. When I run out of store bought sunscreen, I might add some zinc oxide to this lotion and call it a day.

Be safe in the sun, friends.


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River Blessing

The River Blessing is my favorite community ritual.

It’s been happening for a couple hundred years in this same spot–San Isidro, the patron saint of farmers, is brought to the river in a procession. There’s lot’s of singing, and flowers.

Some years, there’s no water in the river. Some years, there is.

I can’t help but wonder if maybe it’s us who are blessed by the river, and not the other way around.

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In Praise of Teachers…or, El’s Big Idea

Have I told the story of how it was we came to take a plastic free semester? Today seems like a fitting day to tell it, as it has a lot to do with a particular class of high school seniors I just had the pleasure of watching graduate.

They were my husband’s students. Last year he taught them American history, this year government/economics. At the end of each year the seniors do some kind of personal action project related to the issues they’ve been studying. It was with that in mind that E. announced last fall that he wouldn’t be buying any plastic for the entire spring semester.

I was a bit baffled at first. “But what are we going to eat?!” I shouted, waving my hands at the cupboards and fridge filled with…plastic packaging. “It’s not like quitting plastic will solve global warming or clean out the ocean!”

“No,” he answered calmly, as if what he had suggested was we eat more fiber. “But at least we won’t be contributing so wholeheartedly to them. Besides, you know as well as I do it’s the right thing to do.”

Hmph.

As you know, I came around. Quickly. I was intrigued by the challenge on a practical level and eager to learn the old-timey skills I’d have to learn if we wanted to, you know, eat. But more than that I wanted to experience what it felt like to live as if my actions actually made a difference. Just the idea of taking the fast changed my life almost immediately. Because for whatever reason, I was locked into my habits, my belief that buying organic and occasionally local was all I could do and therefore all I needed to do. Simple changes, small things like using cloth bulk bags and opting for glass bottles were fast in coming, and before long I felt like a revolution had taken place in my kitchen, my home, my life.

Thank goodness for good teachers, wherever you might encounter them.

I want to honor my husband’s conviction that the best way to teach is by example. For his belief in action as a cornerstone of a participatory democracy, and his dedication to encouraging young people to become creators and repairers rather than users. Somehow, I have a feeling that it is these lessons the kids will recall in ten years as opposed to his no doubt equally brilliant and inspired lectures on Supply and Demand or the Spanish American War.

Hopefully, they will remember these words from E’s commencement address at graduation tonight (as well as the virtues of a hot thermos of tea always at hand):

“…If you should despair about the hopelessness of the world, remember: the smallest steps you take may not solve the problem, but they will solve your hopelessness.”

I like that.

Congratulations Class of 2010. May your journey be one of discovery and constant revolutions of thought and action.