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  May 23, 1998Nelson(Disclaimer: All of you know I don't believe in this kind of stuff, I'm just reporting what happened...) You all know that "la Xena", our St.Bernard of surpassing beauty and loving temperament, was a Chicago "pound puppy" we adopted on February 14th last year, just before closing on the farm March 9th. We knew we would need a dog "as soon as we got the farm". We were looking for "absolutely no long-haired dog" (Ramon), and "absolutely no big dog" (Gayle). With these vows in firmly in mind, we saw every dog in the huge pound. I rejected a boxer/bulldogish puppy of truly breathtaking ugliness - though commenting how funny he was, and how much Dad would have liked him. BUT - we all bonded with Xena and only Xena, brought her home, and have marvelled ever since on how eerily perfect she is for our family, and how oddly perfect our timing in finding each other. We told the boys recently we'd get another dog, "as soon as we move" to the farm; Moving Day is June 15th. They have begged for a boxer "like the one we saw in the pound when we found Xena". Ramon was loading the pickup to head for the farm last weekend, on May 23rd, and came downstairs to find a man with two dogs admiring Xena at her station "guarding" the load. They started chatting, the younger dog played with Xena. The man turned out to be one Gary Rosenberg, an investment banker reborn as "Handyman: Nice Jewish Boy With Truck and Tools", from California, visiting Chicago for a wedding. His hobby, it seems, was rescuing dogs about to be put down in the pound in California . He had adopted Nelson, a very rambunctious American Bulldog puppy, four months before, and had brought him on the long cross-country trip because a friend assured him if he did, he'd surely "find the right home for him". This was a puppy whose last accomplishment was devouring a cell phone. This was a puppy who needed a farm. So the man gave Nelson to Ramon. At this point I arrived, rather taken aback at all that had transpired. Nelson jumped up ("didn't-I-used-to-hate-dogs-especially the jumping-up ones?"), put his paws on my chest, looked intently into my eyes with his little, squinty, slightly reddish ones, furrowed the brows of his exceptionally-ugly but endearing face, and (preconditioned by Romulus and Xena), this former "cat-person" dog-bonded again. Nelson and his rescuer said goodbye, a little sadly. Then Nelson hopped into the front passenger seat of the pickup, put his chin on his paws, and waited, oddly calm, for Ramon. Just for a laugh, check the dates.  March, April, May 1998DecisionsThis was the view from the kitchen window one April morning, when Aaron decided to ride the bus on his second day visiting his prospective new highschool. I don't know whose heart was more full of hope and apprehension. To me as a parent, there was something archaic and comforting about the big, bright yellow school bus coming right to the end of our lane, and the potential daily routine of walking down to meet it along the alfalfa field, hoping to see a deer before school in the morning, but as a "former 14-year-old" I remember well the social horrors the school bus ride could entail. He was so game and open-minded, wanting to try every aspect of "what it would be like", before making his decision about where to go to school. In the end, he found attitudes much more open-minded than he expected, pronounced the school "pretty cool", and judged that challenges and opportunities could be found there if you looked for them. It can be whatever he makes of it - we'll be there to support him. And then there's the little guy... Noah didn't get to ride the bus this time, but he will in the fall. It's so different starting earlier. Noah has thrived since the beginning on every aspect of this new life. From the first time he ran down the lane, chortling, to open the big gate, I have felt a resonance with the happiness and rituals of my own childhood summers, bumping down the lane at "the Bunk" the aroma of hot pine needles, laughter, all peering intently ahead - who would be the first child to spot the cabin, the morning glories, the magnolia tree. I see all this developing in Noah, the attachment to "our" land, "our farm", the memories building, the "connectedness". He can have this year-round, every season precious. We see in Noah the sensory appreciation, even hedonism that we saw in Aaron at two in the mango orchard in Mexico (and it must still be in there somewhere). Aaron was no less delighted with the roses we tried to grow in the dust, or wriggling naked on the hot sand-pile than Noah with the daffodils at Sabbath Farm (Mommy, come look! It's so beautiful!), presenting himself at the "mudroom" door, grinning delightedly, soaked and completely covered with rich, silty mud. In my mind's eye, I already see them walking down this lane together. Out to the world, and home again to haven. I hope they'll both always want to come walking down this lane, together or alone, to share with us the tales of their days and journeys, or just to be quiet, rest and heal, when those times come. I hope they will go out along this lane. strengthened and secure, knowing the door will always be open. If anyone wants to know where I will be around 3:45 in the hot afternoons of late August this year, I will be in this window, waiting ... or maybe walking down the lane to meet them. 1/26/98Elysian Chicken House and Saffron Challah (Who remembers this picture? Aaron at age 2 or so, wreaking havoc on my chickens in Mexico.). 1/26/98Ditch PoliticsSeriously. After a long political hiberation (25 years or so), my totem may be a she bear, emergent.Stiff from inaction, a bit grumpy, hungry, and I hope a bit wiser-in-method than the wannabe activist of the early 70's, I am ready. What scent of a long-delayed spring has nudged me out of my inertia? The mud-slinging fight for two seats on the board of the Bailey-Cox-Newson Conservancy. Bailey Ditch forms the northern boundary of our property, and the Conservancy, determined by the watershed sloping towards us across the county, controls the drainage ditches. (We are located in what used to be the Grand Kankakee Swamp, which is itself located between a rock and a hard place for a conservation-minded landowner). The heated battles are between the larger landholders and farmers and "newcomers", mostly on half-acres lots (read - " 'those folks coming out from Chicago' - not you, mind"), on how the conservancy fee is calculated, (flat per acre or on assessed property value). This will be a good and useful arena to begin a proactivist rebirth, because this scenario is going to be repeated. As urban refugees migrate further and further outwards, revitalizing rural communities with city money, the arrogance that money and numbers sometimes bring may jeopardize the very sense of community that is part of the rural appeal. Start small. Our two votes, (out of a total of 300 voting landholders in the Conservancy), really count. We are in a position to vote and produce visible change. I was pleased to suggest that a risk-factor based on FEMA maps of flood-plains could be addded to the calculations so that dependency on the Conservancy (to avoid flooding) could be taken into consideration - but my naivetee became apparent when I discussed this with Brad on the Soil Conservancy board. Yes, some people are at substantially higher risk of flooding, and should perhaps pay more - but everyone's water is going into the watershed itself, waste-water, pollution. It is a shared resource and responsibility; hard to quantify that. If we flood, ultimately we are flooded partly by water contributed to the watershed by uphill neighbors who are themselves at low risk for flooding. For someone who hates issues that aren't black-and-white I see shades of grey on the event horizon. I care deeply about our family making a place in this little community - perhaps it will motivate me enough to face the personal challenges of compromise and negotiation in the service of a more important goal. I'm not running for a seat this time, since neighbor-friend Cecil is running in our district, and friend and mud-"slingee" Brad needs our vote in his, but I would and maybe will in the future. 1/1/98Cabin FeverRamon and Aaron arrived last night, and we had a wonderful New Year's dinner and evening by the fire. The snow was reflecting so much light from the windows the outer scene was lit as if by a full moon.. But by this morning, Ramon was was developing cabin fever. Out first to the cold garage to calculate irrigation pipe diameters, and now, where I've retreated to the sunny living room with a cup of tea and the seed catalogs, I see him marching into the -15 degree windchill with his wheelbarrow to salvage scrap wood from a distant pile.I guess this man can only do so many DaVinci-esque diagrams before going stir-crazy. |
12/31/97Noah's WishNoah, Xena and I came out yesterday and awoke this morning to eight inches of powder snow on the ground and more coming down. Opportunities such as this must not be missed. I squeezed into Aaron's most-newly-outgrown snowsuit, Noah donned a very outgrown one, and we four-wheeled it to Smith's Farm Store to implement plans to give Xena a chance to live up to her heritage. Emerged with a "size large" horse halter, rope, clips, lightweight sled and many giggles. Xena, ever-obliging, stood patiently as we lifted her huge paws in and out of tangled loops, figuring out how to turn a halter into a harness. First attempt was to sit in the sled, holding the reins - this resulted in Noah getting a ride face-first halfway to the barn. On the second attempt, with ropes attached directly to the sled, that femininely enthusiatic St.Bernard took off as if an entire team of huskies were packed into her. Noah was running ahead to encourage her and I was the test-rider. Xena ran so fast she bowled Noah over, and tumbled him into the sled on top of me - she kept on going ears flying, Noah and I shrieking in delight as she galloped down the drive. We stayed out until we were so hot from laughing and running we needed to come inside to cool down. And it really didn't take that much longer to make the hot chocolate, even when I had been outside. Noah asked, a little shyly, "Did you have fun playing with me, Mommy?". It was a peak moment, Noah. If that jewel ever slips from my mental grasp, please catch and hold it for both of us. |
12/17/97Culinary Hubris (Late)Thanksgiving Report Lust I lust. I covet. I have a problem here. |
For those of you who have wondered about the progress of the "curley-Q project", no, I have not forgotten, I have been humiliated. I got four cookie tins, one each for Sally, Ernie, Dyanne and Gene; I got padded mailing envelopes. I got four pounds of butter and two pounds of brown sugar - I was ready to go - eight batches planned which would give two full batches per recipient. I began - and suddenly everything went with what should have been a suspiciously "well-oiled" ease. The dough, which has to be rolled, chilled, filled, then re-rolled chilled and sliced was suddenly much easier to work. I hypothesized that I had previously cooled it down far too much - hadn't thought "steaming hot July kitchen in Greenwood" - and that the ease was due to working at a warmer temperature this time. I was exuberant - if I'd had a laptop in the kitchen, I'd have uploaded a journal entry entitled "culinary anthropology" on the spot. I was so clever to figure out that "hot summer kitchen" thing. It went SO well that I went ahead and made all eight batches of dough before the first had even chilled enough to slice. When the first batch went into the oven, and began to ooze bubbling butter as it cooked .. I knew something was wrong. 
Went back and checked my "higher math" (quadrupling the quantities I had worked out) and lo, I had doubled the butter in all eight batches. Though I love butter, the result was so inedible that no one (even Xena) was interested in more than a suspicious nibble. I'm down but not out - I will have to take a break and lick my wounds. I know the thought counts - but I bet y'all would rather have had the cookies.
We did spend a wonderful Thanksgiving out here, saved from the ignominy of an unshared country feast by Brazilian friend Edgar, who let us rescue him from the physicists' ghetto at FermiLabs. We thank Edgar also for the great 11/17/97First SnowSaturday dawn Ramon and I took an early-morning walk around the boundaries, before the boys or even the deer were up. I knew it would be beautiful, but this is too much! Even I, the winterphobe felt mysterious urges to go out and roll in the perfect snow. Noah and Xena lay side-by-side, face-down in more than a foot of snow, like summer lovers studying ant trails in the grass. Noah wistfully said that he "wished he could make me like winter" so I'd come out and play; I opined that it was awfully important for someone to stay indoors and have hot chocolate and warm cookies ready when frozen-blue boys came in to warm up. He's thinking about it. The fireplace crackled all weekend, and we played a board game with the boys in front of it. I harvested the last of the brussels sprouts in the snow. It was a weekend for reading, reading, reading ... Ramon left off his vineyard-diagramming long enough to begin a book on Toscanini, Aaron finished Raptor Red and started on a legend anthology in Spanish, and Noah asked me to read him some favorites from "Earth Prayers". I forgot to mention in early November that Noah rode the combine harvester (not ours!) for the whole soybean harvest, pushing all the buttons and everything. Ramon missed that weekend, but would have loved it. 11/10/97Mulch and Lottery
I've been collecting seeds, epasote, cosmos, petunias, the giant marigolds that helped the tomato plants, and Siam basil, and the studio is fragrant. Noah drew and drew all weekend - A "mountain-climbing spider", each leg holding a crampon or other equipment and a mountain landscape for Ivan, and a picture of "Jorge and Libby" and an abstract for Atu. I had another go at curly-Q's - Noah and Ramon voted I should "keep trying" - they like passing judgement on the trial versions :-) (see above). Aaron is away at Spanish camp in Minnesota (it wasn't cold enough here?). Big news - we were winners in the Indiana State nursery tree lottery (this is a lottery with meaning). We won, at 14 - 18 cents/seedling, 100 Virginia pines, 100 black walnuts, 50 sweetgum, 50 pecans, 50 hazelnut, and a wildlife conservation package with 110 seedlings, mixed black cherry, flowering crabapple, persimmon, bayberry, redbud, dogwood and black oak. 10/6/97The Jimson Weed Crusade contd.(So-named by Aaron). "It" took advantage of unseasonably warm weather to advance alarmingly. The boys went unfed and unattended while Ramon and I disked under the worst of it then spent several hours pulling isolated rogues up by hand. We now have a very intimate, inch by inch relationship with "the front five". No 'Curly-Q's" this weekend! Discovered I harvested the rose hips about a month too early. Those I didn't get have now become plump and are developing some flavor along with more Vitamin C, I imagine. Atu, we dug up the Frank Lloyd Wright Memorial corn patch, and it is scheduled to receive tulips and maybe garlic. We are now in touch with the (very few) organic-certified farmers in Indiana, exploring the possibilities ....  9/30/97BeginningThis is an experiment. I'm not sure how virtuous I'll be, but it seems right to keep a record of our evolution here, and to share it with family and friends. So here goes! And Happy Birthday, Mom!
I dug and planted an iris bed in back (read - "Mom is in a planting frenzy") and took cuttings from all my perennial herbs to try to grow indoors this winter.
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A wonderful weekend. It's getting cold, but we celebrated Shabbat in front of the fireplace popping with resinous pinecones. Now is the time to begin to enjoy the "Sabbath Farm Wild Blackberry Cordial" I made at the end of the summer. We've had the first killing frost, and mulched everything with straw yesterday. The brussels sprouts are still loaded, as happy in the cold weather as Xena. Xena is quite a sight in her fluorescent orange safety jacket - it being hunting season, we don't want her mistaken for a deer. The bulbs all got planted in the last month - spring is going to be incredibly beautiful here. 
Last weekend we sure thought of Donna's "bats and plants" tour of the farm - she assured us that once we saw Jimson Weed we'd always recognize it - hence when Noah came running up the driveway shouting "Mommie, Mommie, that toxic plant is growing in our alfalfa" we fully expected him to be right. We indeed are growing more Jimson than alfalfa, and to forestall the need to spray or plow the works under and reseed next year, we'll have to pray for an early killing frost to knock it out before the seeds set. And I was going to grow it as an ornamental, a la Donna ...
For those of us who remember "Curly-Q's" from our summers at "the Bunk", one of my on-going farm cooking projects to try to reproduce the recipe. I may not be the only one of the grandchildren who cooks - but I bet I'm the only one who cooks with sugar and butter! None of us have tasted them for probably 30 years, but I don't doubt each of us will still be able to say after one bite, if it's "right". No success yet, but the boys are happily devouring the successive approximations. Stay tuned :-). (And so you shouldn't worry, I'm also feeding them hot amaranth and quinoa for breakfast).