It has been weeks since my last entry. In that time I have ventured to an entirely new place and way of being, though strangely, I feel a sense of returning home that I haven't felt before. The coast of Maine speaks to me of home, though instead of the feel of newness & novelty, openness and comfort, the home of Maine is steeped in memory of angst-filled growing pains and time spent quietly in nature. The town I'm living in is called Twisp.
It's a blend of farmers, artists, & tourists with unique individuals who are a blend of many things. Lots of ski tourism here with the long winter season. Rumor speaks of a longer and colder winter than the valley has seen in a while. Lots of snow however, means short growing seasons which leaves farmers scrambling to finish harvest and winter preparations before snow and freeze. We, my partner and I, are of this latter category. Let me rephrase, I'm learning to be of this latter category. I cannot yet call myself a farmer having not yet experienced a full growing season. I arrived in time to help harvest onions, potatoes, cabbage, apples, late tomatoes, and more...oh! Squash. Yum. We're also fattening the pigs & chickens for winter food and collecting firewood in our spare time. Have you heard the joke about the disciple who asked his guru, “How does one find enlightenment?” The guru replied, “Chop wood, carry water.” The student returns and asks, “Guru, what does one do after he becomes enlightened?” The reply: “Chop wood, carry water.” Sounds simple and is absolutely one of the things that brought me here to this rural locale however, that guru might have had someone supplying the wood. Here we drive into the National Forest (which we live right next door to, truly only a block away in city scale), use a chainsaw to cut up standing or fallen dead trees, load them onto “The Boss” the beast of a farm truck, dump them really close to where you want it then proceed to stack into a proper woodpile and chop into smaller pieces of wood either right away or as needed. There's a joke around here about this wood being a 'triple burner.' It creates heat when you gather it, again when you chop it, and a third time when you burn it.
I've been here three weeks and it's been full. Feels like much longer and yet no time at all, certainly diving into that space of timelessness that I have so longed for. I have been reminding myself to go easy, to not beat myself up for not being able to run the farm single-handedly by myself already. Such is the nature of my swollen ego to think i'm quick enough, smart enough and strong enough for such a monster task. It's either my ego or my self-destruct button (are they the same?). Anyway, after 3 weeks here, I felt I was slipping into a rhythm and then yesterday my back goes into spasm. Apparently my rhythm needs to be a little slower. Which is why I have this time to sit and write this morning. Yesterday at this time I was helping to plant garlic in long rows...which, for you garlic lovers out there, it's not that difficult to grow, just have to look out for mites, so I encourage you to plant it at home. Homegrown garlic is way better than store bought varieties. (Try Persian Star or Chesnian Red) Yesterday the raking and kneeling to plant each clove in the ground was too much and I was forced to sit the afternoon out...gratitude to my partner who pushed the issue. I wouldn't have stopped and would have suffered longer than necessary. I'm grateful for the slow down, the time to re-focus and reconnect with all of you. May you all take time to slow down and be grateful.
Love Love Love
Maureen
