tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25261017280985228912024-03-19T05:41:13.956-07:00When the Almond Tree BloomsI began this blog in 2008 while living in Oakland, CA. I've blogged about travel, working on a rice farm, and politics.
After a long break, I've started blogging again. I am trying to improve as a writer, so I welcome any constructive feedback. Thanks for visiting!
Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.comBlogger62125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-48464424922705000162017-12-20T21:14:00.004-08:002017-12-21T06:08:27.948-08:00Happy Holidays and an Update<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Happy Holidays!<br />
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I wanted to give a little update to all of you who’ve been reading my blog posts this fall. I’m going to drink some tea, write a little and listen to Drake’s <i>Take Care</i>. The album brings me back to the beginning of 2012, when I’d drive on I-5 into Sacramento, away from the loneliness of the rice farm where I worked to my unlikely haven, a financial accounting class at Sac City College.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Winter Wheat at Sills Farms, January 2012 (I disced this field)</td></tr>
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I first started blogging in 2008, the heyday of blogs. I didn’t use social media much at the time, I had a facebook account I hardly ever checked and I didn’t get a smart phone until four years later. Blogging was a hobby, I’d post a few photos, write a paragraph about pupusas one week, or a blurb about <i>The Wire</i> or hiking in the Bay Area. I had fun with it, interacting with random people who stumbled across my blog and checking out their blogs.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Uncle Marc's Christmas dessert, 2009</td></tr>
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My blog morphed into a travel blog in December 2008, when I went to Nicaragua to study Spanish. Then in fall 2011, it became a farm blog. While I was working at Sills farms, writing was my way of coping with the loneliness and drudgery of farm work, but also an exploration of the beauty of the agricultural landscape and the farming life. Farming got really boring that winter: I spent most of my time downloading weather data and throwing sticks into muddy ponds for Roco. Outside of work, I abandoned Occupy Sacramento and I got busy with dating, listening to hip hop and school.I turned 30 that March. I really liked accounting and eventually applied to and was accepted into grad school at UC Davis. That process involved a lot of writing.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Roco, March 2012</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Combines at rest, January 2012</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sills Farms, January 2012</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sutter County in the winter</td></tr>
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So that brings me up to the present. I started blogging recently because I needed to express what I was going through with the move from Sacramento to Olympia and writing is a good medium for that. I wanted to craft some pieces to share with the public, and my blog was the easiest venue for that. I posted weekly for the month of November, but then gradually lost steam. Most of the pieces were retrospective rather than about my current life. That post I wrote about dancing, I didn’t just sit down with a beer and finish after dinner: I spent hours and hours writing that. I love to write, but writing means more time sitting in front of a computer and competes with other activities like exercising, reading, socializing, cooking and throwing the ball for Roco.<br />
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Blogging is different now. The way the internet works, random people don’t stumble across my blog anymore. The kind of blog that I’ve always kept, where I write about the experiences important to me at the time, has mostly faded away. I follow only a couple blogs: two weather blogs, a blog about water issues and a Mexican cooking blog. The blogs that work these days keep to a specific theme, or belong to publications or famous people. And that’s all fine by me. I don’t want to write a hiking blog cause I don’t hike enough. Even though I like to eat and don’t want to write about food every week. And I don’t have much interest in keeping a blog about my professional life. I want to write about the differences between using ACL and SQL for data analysis less than you wanna read about this.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spiders, January 2012</td></tr>
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Whether I blog or not, I keep writing in my journal, which I’ve done since I was 15. This recent process of making my writing public has sparked my interest in improving as a writer. When I first started posting again on the blog, I had fantasies of being “discovered”, thrust from the sometimes mundane office job life into the life of a self-supporting, independent freelance writer. But after thinking about it, that’s not really what I want right now. I enjoy writing for myself. It’s easy to become absorbed in writing to impress some imagined audience. A lot of what I write I never consider making public: it is too personal or fragmented. I think about a lot of heavy stuff and have a lot of big questions about the world and life. Writing helps me process the ups and downs of life, and this complex, fucked up, beautiful world we live in.<br />
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So where do I go from here? I’ve thought about writing a piece and publishing it on medium.com. I’m considering taking a writing class or joining a writing group. And I would love to find a way to incorporate more writing into my job. My writing ability helped me get both the professional jobs I had, and will continue to be one of my important skills. In the meantime, I’m gonna keep checking my WeCroak app, I'm gonna keep reading, and I’m gonna keep writing in my journal. I’m gonna dust off the hip hop moves I learned at Step 1 and dance a little while I wash some dishes. And I'm gonna try a restaurant I found recently called Casa Mixteca on Pacific Hwy South in Lakewood that serves dishes from Southern Mexico. Sounds delicious to me.<br />
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So Happy Holidays everyone. Thanks for reading. Keep doing what keeps you sane and brings you joy in the New Year.<br />
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Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-45470364071565885002017-11-28T21:08:00.003-08:002017-11-30T19:46:06.340-08:00El Lupo and other tales<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
In this post, I will review two Italian crime shows on Netflix, <i>Suburra: Blood on Rome</i> and <i>Gomorrah</i>. Then I tell the story of <i>El Lupo</i>.<br />
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<u>Crime Show Reviews</u><br />
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I finished watched <i>Suburra: Blood on Rome</i> a few weeks ago. It’s a crime show about three young men in Rome who are trying to make their way in an organized crime world dominated by a cunning and cold blooded puppetmaster: the aging godfather Samurai. <i>Suburra</i> succeeds in developing characters that despite their shortcomings, I found myself sympathetic towards. The series aptly conveys how organized crime preys on people’s faults, their petty ambitions, greed and desire to be someone important, and draws them into its sinister web. I loved the setting: most of the scenes took place in the darkened streets of the Italian capital and in dingy cafes and gas stations in run down suburbs, but also included shots of the beach at Ostia as well as a gypsy crime family’s ostentatious palace. What I also liked about <i>Suburra</i> was that the way the show concluded was completely unexpected. Watch it, but beware, it is dark, intense and sometimes violent and if you’re a devout Catholic, you may not appreciate the opening scene. Also, it includes some really awful men’s hairstyles.<br />
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<i>Gomorrah</i> is another Italian crime series, set in Napoli, and its subject is the crime family and organization of one of the city’s infamous <i>camorra</i> kingpins. The show takes its name from a movie that came out a few years ago, but the show focuses on one main storyline. The film <i>Gomorrah</i> is incredibly bleak and depressing, delving the darkest of subjects: illegal toxic waste dumping, the exploitation of child and immigrant labor and Europe’s largest open-air drug market, Napoli’s infamous, decaying Scampia housing projects. Much of <i>Gomorrah</i> takes place in this dystopian wasteland, which is Europe’s answer to the now "revitalized" Cabrini Green Projects in Chicago. Some episodes of <i>Gomorrah</i> can be very violent, but the series portrays its characters in a very human way. I haven’t finished the show but so far, I would recommend it. It is, like Suburra and nearly every crime drama I’ve watched, dark and intense, so if you’ve had a rough day and need something light, you might want to check out season two of Aziz Ansari’s <i>Master of None</i>, which also takes place in Italy.<br />
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<u>Here I try to be clever and transition into talking about my cool travel story</u><br />
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I have always been fascinated with mafia crime movies and TV series, but especially so after having spent some time in Sicily, the birthplace of the <i>la cosa nostra</i>, one of the world’s most infamous crime organizations. I went to Sicily in the summer of 2001, after my first year of college at Stanford. As a freshman, I was required to take IHUM – Introduction to the Humanities –and I ended up in an excellent two quarter series called Ancient Empires. The first quarter we studied Greece and the second, Rome. The professor who taught the Greece portion ran an archaeological excavation in Sicily and was recruiting students to come work for a few weeks in the summer. I jumped at the chance, and not long after spring quarter finals, I was on a plane to Palermo.<br />
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Palermo’s airport is one of the more dangerous and spectacular in the world, its runway sandwiched between steep limestone cliffs and the sparkling waters of the Mediterranean Sea. However, despite the dramatic scenery, the first thing that caught my attention after one of the project staff picked me up was a drum full of burning trash on the side of the highway. Thus, began my experience in Sicily.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sicilian Coast</td></tr>
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Most of my time on that intriguing island I spent laboring away at an archaeological site called Monte Polizzo, located on the shadeless summit of a mountain in Western Sicily. Most of the archaeological work involved chipping away hardened earth with a pickaxe (in Sicily, like California, summers are very dry), and finding pieces of rough, broken pottery, then switching to a smaller pickaxe to dig up the pottery. I found no coins, no swords, no tunnel that led to an undiscovered crypt full of jewels and mummies. Just dust and pottery and more dust, and the scorching Sicilian sun.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greek Ruins at Selinunte</td></tr>
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When we weren’t working, we eagerly consumed the endless supply of local wine at the excavation house, or ate delicious gelato at one of the many <i>gelaterias</i> along the main street of Salemi, the sleepy hill town nearby. We explored the local beaches, and swam in the azure waters of the Mediterranean, which were so warm and salty you could float around in them forever. One afternoon, we visited the labyrinthine <i>casbah</i> of Mazara del Vallo, a nearby port city, and found a hookah bar where we relaxed for a couple hours (Sicily was ruled by Arabs for over 200 years, ending around 1100 AD). And we ate: Sicilian food is an incredible mélange of all of the empires that have ruled the island: Greek, Roman, Arab, Norman, Spanish, Italian. One of the most unique Sicilian dishes is <i>pasta alla sarde</i>, made with fennel, pine nuts, currants, sardines and anchovies.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Castellamare del Golfo</td></tr>
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We also played soccer and basketball games against the local teams in Salemi. Our American style hoops were too rough for the oversensitive European refs, and we lost to the Salemi team, much to the joy of their coach. The Salemi team’s coach was a man named Baldo, an enthusiastic, balding man barely 5 ft. tall, a pharmaceutical salesman who often visited the excavation house, especially when we hosted parties. He was a sort of liaison between the town and the project, though no one ever really understood what his role exactly was.<br />
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Baldo appeared at one Friday night party, and we became friends. Despite the language barrier—I was learning Italian but it was sparse at that point—he thought I was quite funny. I remember being drunk at that party, as I often was during my free time at that point in my life. After observing me scoping out and trying to flirt with the female party guests, Baldo coined a nickname for me: <i>El Lupo</i>, the wolf. For the weeks to come, he would come by the excavation house, find me, laugh and repeat my nickname, <i>El Lupo</i>. It brought him endless amusement.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_P0wtMyKv9ZE-58p_SdwgGl6exnP0mqtKVPfeyuem463kxGr__t7akUEQ8MJEJAqwX6Jq7SxIUQnn5BUBqz65rb9oLwefNt6ZgeMyK7BCFFVEgYChcnfZrsOynJD49meNet7I0QHONE0/s1600/fullsizeoutput_7b6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_P0wtMyKv9ZE-58p_SdwgGl6exnP0mqtKVPfeyuem463kxGr__t7akUEQ8MJEJAqwX6Jq7SxIUQnn5BUBqz65rb9oLwefNt6ZgeMyK7BCFFVEgYChcnfZrsOynJD49meNet7I0QHONE0/s320/fullsizeoutput_7b6.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old City, Salemi</td></tr>
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A few weeks later, at another party, Baldo pulled me aside and told me in his heavily accented English: “tomorrow, we go Corleone.” Corleone is a provincial hill town located about an hour east of Salemi; here in the United States, Corleone is famous of course because of the Godfather films (if you didn’t know this, please call in sick tomorrow and watch <i>Godfather I and II</i>). However, the real kingpin to emerge from that impoverished locale in Western Sicily was Toto Riina, a mobster who died just a few days ago at age 87. Despite suffering from various incurable diseases, he was kept in prison until his last days due to the unthinkably brutal nature of the crimes he’d committed. He was <i>capo de tutti capi</i>: the boss of the bosses, and if you were out of line, he’d have you dissolving in a barrel of hydrochloric acid before you could finish your <i>café corretto</i>. Riina was responsible for hundreds of killings in Italy, including the 1992 deaths of two anti-mafia magistrates, Falcone and Borsellino.<br />
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The next morning, I waited for Baldo to take us to Corleone along with two other members of the excavation who were brave enough to join the adventure. Given his propensity to constantly joke, and my intoxicated state the previous night, I wasn’t completely sure if Baldo was actually going to come. But he showed up in his tiny car and I sat in the front with my pocket Italian dictionary, trying to figure out what was going on. It didn’t take long to reach Corleone, a nondescript town with beige colored three and four-story apartment buildings, narrow streets with traffic and honking cars, various people yelling and cafés with old men eating pastries and sipping espresso. In Corleone, we visited some museums and churches, then Baldo drove through a more run-down section of town he referred to as “Bronx of Corleone” before taking us back to Salemi.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi38tHBrYUH37pQG1_8Opng3fBZlrxZNxRLDB4ky_DVV3BgnmgiuvHyvYCbC7vdBBkdhdNKGGDuMKIE7dIxzaMpt7n0V_SljClFM3bEl0V3v33il4UTilc2ZJJhFTcom8z6BRGFk9YWlI/s1600/fullsizeoutput_c5f.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1154" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi38tHBrYUH37pQG1_8Opng3fBZlrxZNxRLDB4ky_DVV3BgnmgiuvHyvYCbC7vdBBkdhdNKGGDuMKIE7dIxzaMpt7n0V_SljClFM3bEl0V3v33il4UTilc2ZJJhFTcom8z6BRGFk9YWlI/s320/fullsizeoutput_c5f.jpeg" width="230" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greek Ruins, Selinunte</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBYoKiBOzipFjGe1j_mplPoElY88NzNcRvV3dd5K-hl2CHv_7-DNet_zwWixJrLBkmngNPjt-MeYDyW1Ng8j6ZRvpYrFYU8pv0bC52YSj4ihAww0_fM7Tk75lX5-9TUsA4JrkLViI8r8s/s1600/fullsizeoutput_7b5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBYoKiBOzipFjGe1j_mplPoElY88NzNcRvV3dd5K-hl2CHv_7-DNet_zwWixJrLBkmngNPjt-MeYDyW1Ng8j6ZRvpYrFYU8pv0bC52YSj4ihAww0_fM7Tk75lX5-9TUsA4JrkLViI8r8s/s320/fullsizeoutput_7b5.jpeg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monreale Cathedral</td></tr>
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Despite its fame as the birthplace of ruthless criminals, Corleone wasn’t all that exciting, but with Baldo as our guide, our visit there was one of the most memorable day trips that summer on the island. Sicily has an incalculably rich treasure trove of historic sites, and I was lucky enough to visit the magnificent Greek temples of Agrigento and Selinunte and the Greek Amphitheatre at Segesta. Equally breathtaking was the Arab-Norman Cathedral at Monreale and the ornate, yet neglected Baroque facades in the old city of Palermo. I loved Sicily’s chaotic capital, especially Palermo’s street markets. The markets were smelly, loud, and crowded; stands with tables piled high with seafood, meats and fruits that filled the tiny, winding streets of the decrepit old city.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiar6fSsNpJo7x9Y7J3j_OS_OkdoCS377SC0H4Br2e-4FcJe9ef6ZYn23QXa8tlSkWcn_FCNQ8kRueYwyYkpWYT8ljHOnhnj2W6oDA6vra2m0uewUKDT30UWIMgx2ZjiOfLxKleHTvMj8E/s1600/fullsizeoutput_7b2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1201" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiar6fSsNpJo7x9Y7J3j_OS_OkdoCS377SC0H4Br2e-4FcJe9ef6ZYn23QXa8tlSkWcn_FCNQ8kRueYwyYkpWYT8ljHOnhnj2W6oDA6vra2m0uewUKDT30UWIMgx2ZjiOfLxKleHTvMj8E/s320/fullsizeoutput_7b2.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Palermo's Vucciria Market</td></tr>
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When I returned to California, the sights, smells and sounds of Sicily remained vivid in my memory and I immediately began plotting my return to that island in the Mediterranean. I imagined meeting a beautiful woman and spending my summer nights strolling down the streets of one of the island’s seaside towns, which were so full of life in the evenings. This fantasy, of traveling to a faraway land and becoming a different person, had a strong appeal to me at that time in my life. At age 19, I found myself having to make enormous decisions that would determine the course of my life and the expectations that everyone had of me as this perfect, model student. Like many 19 year olds, I was certainly not a model of responsibility: I chose to escape, whether it was through shots of gin before a party or by seeking adventures in distant lands. I returned to Sicily the following summer to work on the archaeological excavation at Monte Polizzo again. After that I studied abroad in Turkey for a year, and then worked on another dig. Eventually and reluctantly, I returned to the US to finish my degree.<br />
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<u>Afterword</u><br />
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It’s easy to tell stories about travel and to write about it too. Travel is exciting, and fun, and full of new sensory experiences to describe to all who will listen. But just as I found out when I returned from Sicily and then from Turkey, most people don’t want to hear about how awesome it was to eat pizza on the <i>piazza</i> in Napoli; or swim through a sea cave in the Mediterranean, or about how this funny, short Sicilian guy named Baldo started calling me <i>El Lupo</i> and then took us on a trip to Corleone. Being able to travel is an enormous privilege. Even though returning home can be painfully isolating and dislocating, if I had enough vacation days saved up at work, I would travel in a second. Maybe not to Corleone though.<br />
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Going forward, I want to put together a longer piece out of shorter posts I did a few years ago while I was working at a rice farm. I did some of my best writing during that time and it was a challenging and illuminating experience that I still think about a lot. I also want to continue to improve as a writer, and am looking into taking some classes. Writing has always been very important to me and I want to see where I can go with it during this time of transition in my life. Thanks to everyone who has been reading, please leave a comment and keep in touch.<br />
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Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-32026710207035588012017-11-19T20:40:00.000-08:002017-11-20T17:55:13.902-08:00November Life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Did the food photo lure you to click on the link and find your way here? Those food pics we see on social media have a way of capturing our attention, and can spark a variety of feelings from disgust, curiosity and mild jealousy to “damn I need to eat that now”. This happened to me the other night, when I saw a photo of <i>mole poblano</i> and decided I had to get some. So, I found a highly reviewed taqueria on yelp in the Southwest Washington town of Chehalis that has mole on its menu. On Friday, after taking Roco out for his walk and fetch, I drove half an hour down I-5 to get some <i>enchiladas en mole</i>, which are my favorite food.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqFfRGRpaO8vpuTLjKTukTgUs_fyXIPN27oDNfRvrihyCNb58ap62k0NpJcUQV9xS8xNCHsVRIoP42KjmH_QWQvE6RobHIkREXwlPsAL-0AJqjbDKqRrTW2w8NRjV1KH22RjhV4HBLhyphenhyphenA/s1600/IMG_3456.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqFfRGRpaO8vpuTLjKTukTgUs_fyXIPN27oDNfRvrihyCNb58ap62k0NpJcUQV9xS8xNCHsVRIoP42KjmH_QWQvE6RobHIkREXwlPsAL-0AJqjbDKqRrTW2w8NRjV1KH22RjhV4HBLhyphenhyphenA/s320/IMG_3456.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Enchiladas en Mole, </i>Taqueria Juquilita, Centralia WA </td></tr>
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I first had mole many years ago when I was working as a garden and nutrition education teacher at Park School in Hayward, California. The school year was almost over, and I had been invited to the after-school program staff end of the year party. Mrs. Marquez, who worked for program, had cooked a bunch of homemade <i>pollo en mole</i>, served with rice. Mrs. Marquez had run a restaurant in Leon Guanajuato for a few years before she and her husband moved to Hayward. I had a great time eating delicious <i>mole</i> and hanging out with some of the great people I worked with at Park.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKsYs-NOtiotmpI5Ovk70rBfv3d2H7dD2wYZL_DHTbwwn6U0vOyZa0131xa9m-43G8RYk2ReMzF4B5BjLSxiJU5aAyKE6hw7XBJc-NTQo48jVmfyGLVvEYx_B27NzcXSd9Y24qN5LubSE/s1600/IMG_2247.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKsYs-NOtiotmpI5Ovk70rBfv3d2H7dD2wYZL_DHTbwwn6U0vOyZa0131xa9m-43G8RYk2ReMzF4B5BjLSxiJU5aAyKE6hw7XBJc-NTQo48jVmfyGLVvEYx_B27NzcXSd9Y24qN5LubSE/s320/IMG_2247.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Park School Garden, Summer 2009</td></tr>
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I worked at Park School for almost four years and when I finally left in February 2010 it was a very difficult farewell. The job had its ups and downs, but what kept me there so long were the relationships I’d built with the school community. By the time I left, the recession had hit hard: the number of students in poverty jumped, teachers got laid off and classroom sizes grew. It was a rough time for everyone.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Park School Garden, Summer 2009</td></tr>
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Since that end of the year party at Park, I’ve eaten some damn good <i>moles</i>. One cold day in December, my Mom and I were trying to find a Mexican restaurant in the neighborhood of White Center, which is just south of Seattle. We couldn't find the one we were looking for and ended up eating at a place on16th Avenue called La Dona: Autentica Comida Poblana (which is closed, sadly). I remember having delicious <i>enchiladas en mole</i> filled with scrambled eggs and thinking about visiting Puebla, because why not go somewhere with food that good. Two years ago, I had the opportunity to travel to Puebla and Oaxaca and while I was there, I tried some excellent <i>moles</i>. The <i>tamal </i>filled with <i>pollo con mole</i> I ate was especially memorable. More recently, I had some excellent <i>enchiladas en mole</i> at Anita's food truck on Aurora Avenue in North Seattle (next to the abandoned Black Angus motel).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPns10ahhIMc9Ax6MSNXPJlHvWaTxdEBRTLSk9Wug56UAnen8oycu2vM6jR2scca3VY7AyZ76Dexv0Hnmki9BH5m7BGX2K2VFCfOCr1o8IhEZ89qWpfOVP_n_f13GkAjBWW11_5ebT3Ek/s1600/November+30+069.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPns10ahhIMc9Ax6MSNXPJlHvWaTxdEBRTLSk9Wug56UAnen8oycu2vM6jR2scca3VY7AyZ76Dexv0Hnmki9BH5m7BGX2K2VFCfOCr1o8IhEZ89qWpfOVP_n_f13GkAjBWW11_5ebT3Ek/s320/November+30+069.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;">Puebla, Mexico November 2015<br />
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I am by no means an expert of <i>mole, </i>but I do know that making a good <i>mole</i> is indeed an art and a process, and that recipes for <i>mole </i>are often unique to communities and families. I tried making a quick <i>mole</i> once and it turned out ok, but this is one of those dishes I will happily leave to the pros. <i>Mole</i> is one of the many beautiful things Mexico has given to the world and I am grateful to be able to enjoy it on occasion.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWeQL1rf84o64-1Lb2baEE3jWQkRO03LTkshAIrYgZk5UBY_bPtCUc4rZ4Xhh9L0lsTJDpJ4ck0gekkjeGUQuJDRQ5dxnhM65UK2LTBfAGMZzAEPF4Aqj3BrZv3dPCNIm-7UugcPBq_hE/s1600/November+30+068.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWeQL1rf84o64-1Lb2baEE3jWQkRO03LTkshAIrYgZk5UBY_bPtCUc4rZ4Xhh9L0lsTJDpJ4ck0gekkjeGUQuJDRQ5dxnhM65UK2LTBfAGMZzAEPF4Aqj3BrZv3dPCNIm-7UugcPBq_hE/s320/November+30+068.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Mole Poblano</i></td></tr>
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<i>Mole</i>, with its blend of flavors that include chocolate, chiles, bananas, peanuts, raisins and many other often secret ingredients, is an ideal antidote for the darkness and cold of November in the Pacific Northwest. The <i>enchiladas en mole</i> I had at Taqueria Juquilita in Chehalis were just that. The <i>mole</i> there is Oaxacan style, which is where the restaurant owners come from, and it was darker in color and less smooth in texture than the <i>mole poblano. </i>The <i>mole oaxaqueno</i> was chocolatey, but also fruity and spicy: I savored every bite. It was something unexpectedly delicious and wonderful to find on a quiet street in a small town halfway between Portland and Seattle.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeblivwya_orRa18nO7_0pj8uR4rQke9aBUGGXMUOQC-j5T66C-qNEU6P5VYosC4Nwg3CaXrA1Akx5dNcTncB3upOKFLc68YrZQQ878ThyphenhyphenR4Md0jaxKSbY37H2955gSblEciNXb85f_D8/s1600/November+30+077.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeblivwya_orRa18nO7_0pj8uR4rQke9aBUGGXMUOQC-j5T66C-qNEU6P5VYosC4Nwg3CaXrA1Akx5dNcTncB3upOKFLc68YrZQQ878ThyphenhyphenR4Md0jaxKSbY37H2955gSblEciNXb85f_D8/s320/November+30+077.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Torta de Tamal </i>Cholula Mexico November 2015</td></tr>
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Besides looking at photos of <i>mole</i>, thinking about <i>mole</i>, driving to Chehalis for <i>mole</i> and then eating <i>mole</i>, I’ve been doing the usual stuff: work, writing, reading, going on walks with Roco. Saturday was a rare sunny day so I went hiking with Roco at Millersylvania State Park, about twenty minutes away from Olympia. It was a pleasant walk through mossy forests that ended at a lake, where Roco swam in the freezing cold water while I soaked up the sun. As beautiful as it was, I found myself missing those hikes I did last December in California that wound across grassy meadows and through oak savannas, under a blue winter sky. I say this not so much to complain about Washington but to encourage any readers from California to get outside and hike: Cronan ranch near Coloma is a great spot near Sacramento; I also recommend Briones, Morgan Territory and Sunol regional parks in the East Bay. All these are very dog friendly.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHs5F37M1ASYQqn4_lYM_8QpvYlL0ubwVmFSXMyp4ss-xTdCwDC9Svn4YAvDpaGE55K-L-a9oL2nX-pecJfVbGEkG4Hfz4PqrRPp1nMZGhaPhTrsJchLYIc_i_NrThR_dHVCkqZMg560Q/s1600/IMG_3475.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHs5F37M1ASYQqn4_lYM_8QpvYlL0ubwVmFSXMyp4ss-xTdCwDC9Svn4YAvDpaGE55K-L-a9oL2nX-pecJfVbGEkG4Hfz4PqrRPp1nMZGhaPhTrsJchLYIc_i_NrThR_dHVCkqZMg560Q/s320/IMG_3475.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Millersylvania State Park</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEillLcg6Dv-02z44FxEZJIxb51BIBVAIZYWf-KMzsaJ3hqDaQDbRoUR9YP6rww1dc8cSUJjsy1krkPuB7qXAEa3b0ba8L1TN_7dRuH-xoURqicJIYdxRkvkg3vz8SSGWs5Ty4lr7eLn0us/s1600/IMG_3488.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEillLcg6Dv-02z44FxEZJIxb51BIBVAIZYWf-KMzsaJ3hqDaQDbRoUR9YP6rww1dc8cSUJjsy1krkPuB7qXAEa3b0ba8L1TN_7dRuH-xoURqicJIYdxRkvkg3vz8SSGWs5Ty4lr7eLn0us/s320/IMG_3488.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Millersylvania SP</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBXXhXwPz5Kh76uTcNFfoT785qXZpp97kTZEvZFX8RlvKZpA_5ejdpXtA1rsP3tE8P_3Luk_9gwkoz-uTczLbJcFQ3rcAycQ1R7xAJ2PRc1vMjxV8tcPiH50nropSEOaGQ9sJu08PU0Ik/s1600/IMG_3499.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBXXhXwPz5Kh76uTcNFfoT785qXZpp97kTZEvZFX8RlvKZpA_5ejdpXtA1rsP3tE8P_3Luk_9gwkoz-uTczLbJcFQ3rcAycQ1R7xAJ2PRc1vMjxV8tcPiH50nropSEOaGQ9sJu08PU0Ik/s320/IMG_3499.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deep Lake</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMn_YVVbUmckhDmO6hHU_BvkMoqw65LjFIziexNZx17JgHbV829F7_cpHhMpBwsmuCQnplzY4SjYia0zJiFbNwZJReVmHqQs_PLRiwoXtVa-iZzCuGrfm8XrqwaiooVcJefHlKZveD7_k/s1600/IMG_0443.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="754" data-original-width="645" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMn_YVVbUmckhDmO6hHU_BvkMoqw65LjFIziexNZx17JgHbV829F7_cpHhMpBwsmuCQnplzY4SjYia0zJiFbNwZJReVmHqQs_PLRiwoXtVa-iZzCuGrfm8XrqwaiooVcJefHlKZveD7_k/s320/IMG_0443.jpg" width="273" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiking near Sacramento, December 2016</td></tr>
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The November weather gives me plenty of time to do indoor stuff like writing and reading. I’ve been slowly working my way through Ta-Nehisi Coates’ <u>We Were Eight Years in Power</u>. I’ve become familiar with Coates' work in the past year after the election when I had my “what the fuck is wrong with this country” moment and realized I needed to find new perspectives on human nature, race, gender and America. Since then I’ve tried to learn a bit about various topics especially neuroscience, human behavior, technology and history. Coates meticulously researches his essays and his prose is powerful. His conclusions can very be unsettling especially for people looking for hope in the form of “justice will always prevail” or some kind of “10 things you can do to save the world” list, but mostly I think they are spot-on. I would highly recommend this book, but be warned: I had to stop reading <u>We Were Eight Years in Power</u> before bed because it kept me awake at night.<br />
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Oh yeah, and I finally went dancing. A friend invited me to a social here in Olympia, and I had a blast.<br />
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One more thing, if you've read this far and have any thoughts to share, please leave a comment. I could always use suggestions for new topics to write about as well.<br />
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Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-31989622158533960242017-11-12T15:26:00.000-08:002017-11-12T20:18:20.468-08:00Under the Oak Trees<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I fell in love with oak trees on a chilly day in January 2011. I was visiting friends in Davis and decided to explore. I decided to check out the arboretum and eventually happened upon the oak collection. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn2fDdFW2QLY6v2Puh1-6qa2npO-25xhH70SZCgeEaM_67pLjOObTYQ3V7RBOIePKxaJCkFYA9MGNlK0lUzvsV9XV6Vh-yWsFjQz6U-_eN2BiqyfzPqw7AEMUB2cBh4wyWnpIi3LIV4hQ/s1600/P1020651.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn2fDdFW2QLY6v2Puh1-6qa2npO-25xhH70SZCgeEaM_67pLjOObTYQ3V7RBOIePKxaJCkFYA9MGNlK0lUzvsV9XV6Vh-yWsFjQz6U-_eN2BiqyfzPqw7AEMUB2cBh4wyWnpIi3LIV4hQ/s320/P1020651.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">UC Davis Oak Collection</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLjm6Q40pIWrkWq3Vq1R91U2XfpQzFosc6bnjsH_JBzd2Fq8IJjebAIxS48JkDNn8BztHE9dcgXkE87W3oJOW3_RV_64Nr134-C4YMmXKP9D8JG-4gAzjZINLe446zRWzxGqnhAH3erEA/s1600/P1020676.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLjm6Q40pIWrkWq3Vq1R91U2XfpQzFosc6bnjsH_JBzd2Fq8IJjebAIxS48JkDNn8BztHE9dcgXkE87W3oJOW3_RV_64Nr134-C4YMmXKP9D8JG-4gAzjZINLe446zRWzxGqnhAH3erEA/s320/P1020676.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">UC Davis Oak Collection</td></tr>
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At that moment in my life, I had no home, no job, and no plan. I was bouncing around Northern California, from San Francisco down to Santa Cruz and then up to Davis. I was feeling a lot of stress from being transient, trying to find some direction in my life. When I began wandering the path through the oaks, admiring the stately trees, with their various forms and leaf shapes, I felt at peace. It was not long after that I decided to stay in Yolo County, with the dream of studying something related to agriculture at UC Davis. Although my plan didn’t work out quite as I imagined, I remained enchanted by those oak trees. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlQHmUAwvaORhO6aNiOhc9p1_R0K3dN2pxdUuVMMWLrAWJr5-NvmoSadreciuXCXbpPSLONcm9XkXzmTyWBTAsHvxVO0DIgigWFY2HSM0pCccMdPqPqj3E3VHoUXcGJHmkK05NroA4Kwc/s1600/P1020673.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlQHmUAwvaORhO6aNiOhc9p1_R0K3dN2pxdUuVMMWLrAWJr5-NvmoSadreciuXCXbpPSLONcm9XkXzmTyWBTAsHvxVO0DIgigWFY2HSM0pCccMdPqPqj3E3VHoUXcGJHmkK05NroA4Kwc/s320/P1020673.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">UC Davis Oak Collection</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQOJbAeN5LgBHRh1lQJ9_6RMMyqvWEvXCBDLbH4J39pE15KoZqh4QRfHBNlEyIxBWoVWJMA41vnbKtHsxdgQ7CXyaBS31o7_7k7GqS08Gfi6_3Gh1R6Pd6qKl2PwiBnKA2BykC8Q90JTk/s1600/P1020671.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQOJbAeN5LgBHRh1lQJ9_6RMMyqvWEvXCBDLbH4J39pE15KoZqh4QRfHBNlEyIxBWoVWJMA41vnbKtHsxdgQ7CXyaBS31o7_7k7GqS08Gfi6_3Gh1R6Pd6qKl2PwiBnKA2BykC8Q90JTk/s320/P1020671.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">UC Davis Oak Collection</td></tr>
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California has many endemic oak species, and during the last few years, I got to know a few of these unique trees. Perhaps the most visible is the valley oak, <i>Quercus lobata,</i> which grows in warmer areas like the Sacramento Valley or the East Bay Hills. Valley oaks can grow quite tall, and their limbs often hang down from the top of the tree towards the earth. In the winter, the trees' limbs are bare, which forms a beautiful contrast to the green fields around them. In summer time the dark green leaves stand out against the parched grasses. The leaves of the valley oaks have a beautiful lobed shape and the shade they provide is a real blessing for animals and people in the scorching valley summers.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPiLg5jLPjQ7Dqfi1pLiISHskv49NkFsC6y4TOO3fn8JERYzLImk0pcu_PEdnQXIWWtTG4LKjnx8Ysi17T2dy-XvXuQ-drQkhzeqtKRtwMdA3xCu2g9gRJ_hIycF8Mye8cFOPUQc5P5dQ/s1600/P1030034%25400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPiLg5jLPjQ7Dqfi1pLiISHskv49NkFsC6y4TOO3fn8JERYzLImk0pcu_PEdnQXIWWtTG4LKjnx8Ysi17T2dy-XvXuQ-drQkhzeqtKRtwMdA3xCu2g9gRJ_hIycF8Mye8cFOPUQc5P5dQ/s320/P1030034%25400.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Valley oaks near Esparto, CA</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-O1miPw_n99QFuCRINvxO9q5BlxID3SyzmD-BRWOISMMP1yhgoyH6X4VXP1ubcm17e1RCZWmPA_uQZP1f21HNg4nyJlAMRS97b20V3iRTjBaHZjgjtgWPv-LQd4udhH1c9Fd2pVQ12eg/s1600/P1030035%25400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-O1miPw_n99QFuCRINvxO9q5BlxID3SyzmD-BRWOISMMP1yhgoyH6X4VXP1ubcm17e1RCZWmPA_uQZP1f21HNg4nyJlAMRS97b20V3iRTjBaHZjgjtgWPv-LQd4udhH1c9Fd2pVQ12eg/s320/P1030035%25400.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Valley Oaks near Esparto, CA</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUL_BNcYhMzBVn1xssgYInnbaUxphynu-9ZKy3uyLs1GWUH4muACTigLa0zjbEB0HjQylVyZy55tx5YjgA3P_FwSENkVLK3nPP60cwpPMWvWuv9UG8tM9RqFmxPjXO6Hik6KDiKL-_OwU/s1600/P1030040%25400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUL_BNcYhMzBVn1xssgYInnbaUxphynu-9ZKy3uyLs1GWUH4muACTigLa0zjbEB0HjQylVyZy55tx5YjgA3P_FwSENkVLK3nPP60cwpPMWvWuv9UG8tM9RqFmxPjXO6Hik6KDiKL-_OwU/s320/P1030040%25400.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Valley Oak leaves</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji041-sUY2ynzIC39Hz7usKwEbirP7h71as6DXDhfINhKljoie1GM52knsrcbsql8BfjTjAU6eWS6-zPAn2RAPtE0nxMfsCY7bZgjIhAlPtEbZP8APevckCmILb7mLDS_D4yXUjLYmM8Q/s1600/IMG_0011%25400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1196" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji041-sUY2ynzIC39Hz7usKwEbirP7h71as6DXDhfINhKljoie1GM52knsrcbsql8BfjTjAU6eWS6-zPAn2RAPtE0nxMfsCY7bZgjIhAlPtEbZP8APevckCmILb7mLDS_D4yXUjLYmM8Q/s320/IMG_0011%25400.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Valley oaks in winter</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq2yrPfOkE-M4gK43q353GZ_Z6v_StbtDy9XVZpyn-bfJlV1qePbzgBnX1OQWzQOBFjJUkWifObnd3pdP72DrRhrO2Trcd13CGsrO7m0qxxbN-OA8OPG1pRHqiDcHYmGUJaCCnhM6rEnk/s1600/P1030266%25400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq2yrPfOkE-M4gK43q353GZ_Z6v_StbtDy9XVZpyn-bfJlV1qePbzgBnX1OQWzQOBFjJUkWifObnd3pdP72DrRhrO2Trcd13CGsrO7m0qxxbN-OA8OPG1pRHqiDcHYmGUJaCCnhM6rEnk/s320/P1030266%25400.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Valley Oaks in Spring</td></tr>
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Then there’s Tucker's oak, <i>Quercus john-tuckeri</i>, which I encountered growing along with junipers on the slopes of the rugged Caliente Mountains in Southern California. These diminutive oak trees can withstand dry conditions and have tiny spine-toothed leaves. The leaves have a brownish color and they seemed dead to me at first glance, but these unique oaks are very much alive. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjoEmlIb5f_HcFCXvHf2a5tZLtGOWwdJZPZqlc35ZQ4Sd8lSth0YyVYWpXC0acFClPdacv-tVJBfjHL-_C6Jk5OJsZP2p_6UrAFfJ9HakncytJ05hWr-zVSs7s5RQPd9ZF3t6o5SfBWi4/s1600/IMG_1239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjoEmlIb5f_HcFCXvHf2a5tZLtGOWwdJZPZqlc35ZQ4Sd8lSth0YyVYWpXC0acFClPdacv-tVJBfjHL-_C6Jk5OJsZP2p_6UrAFfJ9HakncytJ05hWr-zVSs7s5RQPd9ZF3t6o5SfBWi4/s320/IMG_1239.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caliente Mountains, March 2017</td></tr>
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I will always associate oak trees with my first time at the UC Davis arboretum oak collection. An encounter with oak trees represents peace, contemplation, the sense of awe and gratitude that comes from being in the presence of nature's beauty. Oak trees also symbolize a renewed sense of optimism and possibility that comes from change and new beginnings.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmqS1-LAmGvNM4FoQUo0GaI0m4FZN6_vZlaOp8EzQ-TjWqpl1_w8e8_aCi2gguaeKln6TtfXeXeKkZqQyj46aupjqnLecUWq0skmjVSda-cqKZq1-90KGyPGUhgfHpVhEbw_VbIu6B78E/s1600/IMG_0507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmqS1-LAmGvNM4FoQUo0GaI0m4FZN6_vZlaOp8EzQ-TjWqpl1_w8e8_aCi2gguaeKln6TtfXeXeKkZqQyj46aupjqnLecUWq0skmjVSda-cqKZq1-90KGyPGUhgfHpVhEbw_VbIu6B78E/s320/IMG_0507.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Magnolia Ranch, December 2016</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm56wjDp6YF1tOemgixGlISA0OZGQbnZNrsyoR1sL88hiXsn0zeOO8ovs4ME4E_eCTL1xNGDOEe9bCvQF44ZdNupLXgnlCm32sCCF7PzQWbp3KzlzF8iAeQvPYyTLau7m8Pjuf8rD3VZk/s1600/IMG_0921.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm56wjDp6YF1tOemgixGlISA0OZGQbnZNrsyoR1sL88hiXsn0zeOO8ovs4ME4E_eCTL1xNGDOEe9bCvQF44ZdNupLXgnlCm32sCCF7PzQWbp3KzlzF8iAeQvPYyTLau7m8Pjuf8rD3VZk/s320/IMG_0921.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue Oak woodland in the wintertime near Folsom, CA</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjERApf5ioGhyphenhyphenq7-L0czIQvdHgG04fy65RV11snJLV1FakCVZJ7Y_LNqPj85c5YNGPvOvgS3FuV8OuG-dn9jLGqozig-A0LWzWn8hDYdsSy9bbWpdes94cgzxOAXorTtqMS7fSuZTk4GN8/s1600/IMG_1145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjERApf5ioGhyphenhyphenq7-L0czIQvdHgG04fy65RV11snJLV1FakCVZJ7Y_LNqPj85c5YNGPvOvgS3FuV8OuG-dn9jLGqozig-A0LWzWn8hDYdsSy9bbWpdes94cgzxOAXorTtqMS7fSuZTk4GN8/s320/IMG_1145.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pinnacles NP, March 2017</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunol Regional Wilderness, April 2017</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhR2tUQNlg6m6W4lcWjAXUq4807nMtwAhx0zitngvjgPgzBV7skkYRXpJqM16aW4ud9C8BraL1u3Kk_2TBu_LSGUkU2IVclH1K4Mw_Xj1Pu5bPxmTHnpnLYxOHfnQzhWo20U7hO070Kqs/s1600/IMG_1623.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhR2tUQNlg6m6W4lcWjAXUq4807nMtwAhx0zitngvjgPgzBV7skkYRXpJqM16aW4ud9C8BraL1u3Kk_2TBu_LSGUkU2IVclH1K4Mw_Xj1Pu5bPxmTHnpnLYxOHfnQzhWo20U7hO070Kqs/s320/IMG_1623.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue Oak forest at Briones Regional Park, May 2017</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLIdynazHb1GxXMIpzNF8Fvwg2He17Xn2qlZIN_W1K6nFHgNsIlsztxX-AI_PLpBglaXXBOPXtyt_Sf8ygM8hyphenhyphenUDFm70wOWzTbc2jyHqZbNfK07qyiJqK4PeZtrf6Cv71ZL9Jn2-AFa6s/s1600/IMG_1859.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLIdynazHb1GxXMIpzNF8Fvwg2He17Xn2qlZIN_W1K6nFHgNsIlsztxX-AI_PLpBglaXXBOPXtyt_Sf8ygM8hyphenhyphenUDFm70wOWzTbc2jyHqZbNfK07qyiJqK4PeZtrf6Cv71ZL9Jn2-AFa6s/s320/IMG_1859.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Canyon Live Oak Forest, North Yuba River Canyon, May 2017</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Black Oak tree in the McCloud River Canyon, June 2017</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tanoak acorns at Myrtle Creek Botanical Area, September 2017</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Canyon Live Oaks in the South Yuba River Canyon, August 2017</td></tr>
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Only one oak tree is native to Washington State, <i>Quercus garryana</i>, known as the Garry Oak or Oregon White Oak. I’ve seen these stately trees, growing along Interstate 5 near the Joint Base Lewis McChord, and in Lakewood, where I’ve been going for work recently. Seeing the oak trees, whether it’s in Davis, Mendocino County or here in the Puget Sound Area, always brings a peaceful, optimistic feeling. </div>
Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-56290037129553182082017-11-05T15:29:00.001-08:002017-11-05T17:23:49.199-08:00Monday was Hip Hop Night: My Dance Story<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My long break from blogging began in March 2013. At the time, I thought I had figured it all out. Things were looking good in the world: Obama had just begun his second term, the U.S. was recovering from the Great Recession, and California had not yet entered the depths of multi-year drought. I was incredibly optimistic about my life. I was thriving in my Master of Accountancy program at UC Davis and had accepted my first real professional job at the California State Auditor. I began cultivating my community garden plot in Davis and was at the beginning stage of my dance addiction. What happened between now and March 2013? Among the usual things—work, life and failed romances—I danced, a lot. <br />
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I’ve always liked to dance, but for most of my life I thought I was bad at it. Back in high school, I’d look forward to dances in the cafeteria, where I enthusiastically but awkwardly shuffled around to all that great 90s music. Many years later, after I’d finished college and was living in the East Bay, some friends invited me out to a salsa night. I was intimidated by the sharply dressed crowd and their intricate, flashy moves. I couldn't imagine myself ever dancing like that.<br />
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In the Fall of 2012, I became a graduate student and I developed what seemed to be a finely tuned, disciplined routine: study, swim, eat, study, eat, sleep. I was in great shape and was doing well in school, but my life felt incomplete. Occasionally I went out with classmates and I would get drunk and obnoxious and I’d impersonate our financial accounting professor. The next day I’d wake up feeling groggy and guilty for having spent so much money on booze and the greasy food that such booze demands. I needed an activity that was creative and fun and social.<br />
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After fall quarter finals, I had some time in Davis to explore. The student apartment where I lived was across the street from a Grad, a bar and dance venue, and I began wandering over there in the evenings, curious about dancing. I went to country night, but the line dancing seemed too prescribed and rigid and I didn’t like the music. Then I went salsa night to meet some friends. I’d been listening all kinds of Latin genres for years, including reggaeton, cumbia and bachata, so the music was familiar to me. At the Grad, there were dancers of all skill levels, and I was really taken by the Cuban style salsa dancing I saw there for the first time. Not everyone was dressed up fancy, but everyone had a big grin. It looked like so much fun, and so I decided I wanted to learn how to dance after that night.<br />
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At that time in my life I was more confident than ever and so I wasn’t afraid of trying something new. During my previous year working on a farm, I drove unwieldly tractors and worked insane hours in triple digit heat irrigating rice fields(see <a href="https://persimo82.blogspot.com/2012/11/lessons-from-rice-farming.html">Lessons from Rice Farming</a>). If I could survive that, I could endure the embarrassing and awkward moments that were sure to come as a beginning dancer. Furthermore, one day at lunch, my farm coworkers and I were discussing the challenges of meeting women. “Vete a la Tropi”, one older guy advised, referring to a banda club in Sacramento. I couldn’t really imagine myself walking into the Tropicana with a cowboy hat and boots and dancing banda, but the idea of dance as a way to socialize stuck with me. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK-qXr34WY5QPtGioxuZJoQaAVUa8A6DoHtKy1lvMnD1oAMUUx7gl2-DPZUxzi8qDQxdPhn69027AyaIrwHUIBjBV5flNaFMa4zmav3zjgHA3MNdI-cCCc6e4NvsjQ2gvsTl29J3C1cLI/s1600/22794436_367004073751801_9172199009056456704_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK-qXr34WY5QPtGioxuZJoQaAVUa8A6DoHtKy1lvMnD1oAMUUx7gl2-DPZUxzi8qDQxdPhn69027AyaIrwHUIBjBV5flNaFMa4zmav3zjgHA3MNdI-cCCc6e4NvsjQ2gvsTl29J3C1cLI/s320/22794436_367004073751801_9172199009056456704_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Los Telez concert near Tracy, CA August 2014</td></tr>
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I jumped right into Latin dance once the new quarter began, taking all the lessons and workshops I could find. Being a beginner was challenging, but rewarding and fun. After a few weeks, once I learned the basic steps, I started going to Tuesday Salsa Night at the Grad regularly. I remember asking myself once while dancing merengue with a friend: am I allowed to be having this good of a time? The persistent guilt I’d long felt seemed to melt away on the packed, sweaty dance floor. <br />
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I would not have made it through graduate school without salsa night at the Grad. Dancing helped me release stress and feel energized and alive after spending all day puzzling over amortization schedules and consolidation worksheets. It fit smoothly into my graduate school life: I didn’t have morning classes so staying up late on a Tuesday night wasn’t a big deal. I would study to the music of Sonora Caruselles or Xtreme and when I needed to get pumped up for a tax exam, I would listen to “Yo Quiero”, that Pitbull merengue song that DJ Migz liked to play. Despite the increasing amount of time I spent dancing, I stayed focused, succeeded in my classes and secured a job.<br />
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After I graduated and started working at the state auditor’s office, I kept dancing. Dance had become a religion, and the Grad was my temple. I went there every Tuesday (though I didn’t stay until the end like I used to) and then to Salsa Loca on Wednesdays, Station on Thursdays and whatever classes, workshops and other events were going on Friday, Saturday and sometimes Sunday. Monday was off, until I started hip hop class that night a few months later. I danced so much because I relished the chance to escape my life as an accountant and enter a world that was nearly the opposite: sensual, spontaneous, rebellious. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Los de Akino cumbia show at Club TX Lathrop,CA October 2014</td></tr>
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Dancing has been a powerful experience that has transported me to different worlds. To dance well and connect with a partner requires vulnerability, which builds strong bonds between dancers. Often when I’m dancing I am no longer worrying and thinking, I lose track of time and begin to exist only in tune with my partner and the music. Dance allows me to leave behind the way I’d always seen myself—serious, intellectual, aloof—and be someone who is more lighthearted, spontaneous and free. <br />
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But this freedom has a price, and the friction between my dancing life and the rest of my life began to increase. I loved going to Salsa Tuesdays, but on Wednesdays work seemed to last an eternity and ever increasing amounts of coffee couldn’t compensate for the sleep I hadn’t gotten. I shuffled through the workday but wasn’t really present—I was thinking about the next time I could go dancing. When my job got really stressful and I began working a lot of overtime, dancing didn’t fit so seamlessly into my life anymore. One holiday weekend in 2014, the combination of lack of stress, too much alcohol and lack of sleep from staying out late dancing triggered some mental health issues I’ve had for years, and damaged some of my friendships. Dancing, which was so absolutely wonderful when I first started, had become—just like us dancers—something more complex. <br />
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Despite the conflicts and challenges, learning to dance was one of the best decisions I’ve made. I’ve had incredible experiences, from the Joan Soriano concert to dancing bachata at sunset on a dock by the Sacramento river, and I’ve met wonderful people. I’ve realized that rejections and mistakes are inevitable both on the dance floor and life, and learned to accept them and keep dancing. With that attitude, I’ve really enjoyed the process of learning how to dance, and my relationship with dancing is constantly evolving. <br />
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Last December, when work became intense, I started dancing less and hiking more with my dog Roco. When I did decide to go dancing, I did so out of careful choice, not habit, and I really savored it as something special. Since I moved to Washington I haven’t gone out dancing. I’ve been focusing on other parts of my life instead: family, hiking, reading, writing, and getting adjusted to my new home. These days I listen a lot to the Mexican rock band Zoe, but sometimes I put on some Raulin Rodriguez or Timbalive and I get that urge to dance. I’m not quite ready to venture out into this new dance world though. In the meantime, I am content to explore the trails of the park near my house and admire the fall colors and the moss growing on the bigleaf maple trees. </div>
Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-8527949072859775592017-11-01T20:55:00.000-07:002017-11-01T21:10:58.711-07:00Morelia International Film Festival<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Around this time last year I got sick. Ok, I admit, I wasn't really that sick. It was more that I hadn't taken enough time off from work during the past few months, my body was tired, and I was completely lost at my job.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgibvWoQYdCuc5X0OufVfoBo1tZb7-M7dZM_vjZnSaXXzfk_d8QSlf7PtxmvxjnvhPC1MG9BBO7LPQJve-qA8t5L2EI9xj23mzVcNTE5dorbzi3bapcAu2kpAGy_Li-T8FoORfJHlBs4Cs/s1600/IMG_20160105_173804085_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgibvWoQYdCuc5X0OufVfoBo1tZb7-M7dZM_vjZnSaXXzfk_d8QSlf7PtxmvxjnvhPC1MG9BBO7LPQJve-qA8t5L2EI9xj23mzVcNTE5dorbzi3bapcAu2kpAGy_Li-T8FoORfJHlBs4Cs/s320/IMG_20160105_173804085_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zocalo, Cuidad de Mexico, January 2016</td></tr>
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The timing for those days at home couldn't have been better. Not long after I became "ill", I saw a post from Remezcla on Facebook about streaming movies from the Morelia International Film festival for free. I followed the link and as soon as I began watching the first film, I knew I had found something really good. In the company of a distinguished film critic (Mr. Roco), I consumed many bowls
of Chicken soup and cups of tea, and I watched nearly all of the 2016
offerings. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caldo de Pollo, Estilo Peru</td></tr>
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Last year's films remain vivid in my memory. There was <i>El Charro del Toluquilla</i>, which was about a Mariachi singer in Jalisco living with AIDS; another film was set in a village in Chiapas whose residents must cope with the annual flooding of their community. One movie's main character was a night watchman, who worked in a dimly lit, half-built apartment tower in the exurbs of Mexico City, a setting made even creepier by the constant dripping of water from rainy season downpours. And finally, I watched a really intense movie called <i>Tempestad</i>, which depicts the journeys of two women along Mexico's Gulf Coast. One woman is returning home after having been locked up unjustly in a cartel-run prison and another is searching for her disappeared daughter. <br />
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Given the impression that last year's films had on me, I was really looking forward to this year's Morelia International Film Festival. I wish I'd been able to travel to Mexico for the event, but I am slowly working my way through this year's offerings in my cozy home in Olympia, with Roco of course. Here are my impressions of some of the films I've watched so far. I've never written movie reviews so here goes.<br />
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I started with <i>Siempre Andamos Caminando</i>, a documentary about the journey of a group of women from an indigenous community in the mountains of Oaxaca to the coastal town of Santa Rosa Lima. Each of the women narrate their experience while the camera shows clips from their daily routines: working in a lime orchard, tending a cooking fire, preparing food, and walking of course. This film succeeds by doing something simple yet profound: showing us the lives and allowing us to hear the voices of people who we might otherwise overlook because they are female, migrant, indigenous, Oaxacan, Mexican. <br />
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The second film I watched was <i>Artemio</i>. Like <i>Siempre Andamos Caminando</i>, this film proceeds at the pace of village life in Mexico, but the subject is much different. The main character, Artemio, is a child who grew up in the United States, but now lives in a village in Guerrero with his mother. This film captures Artemio's struggle trying to fit into a culture he is not entirely at home in. The movie poignantly conveys the bond between mother and son, as well as the love that exists across borders as Artemio calls his older sister who lives in California. Artemio and his family reminded me of some of the students I knew when I was teaching in Hayward, California, many of whom often spoke of loved ones living across the border. This film<i> </i>covers an extremely important subject matter and tackles it well, with great humanity. <br />
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Set in a lush mountain forest, <i>Regreso al Origen</i> is about Lalo, a recluse who seeks to remain isolated from society. The film examines the life of this modern day Mexican Thoreau as he attempts to create his own Walden Pond in the age of subwoofers and disposable water bottles. As someone who values unspoiled nature and the peace of mind it's tranquility offers, I could relate to Lalo's frustrations with other people and his desire to find truth beyond the reaches of a corrupt society, <br />
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If you'd like to watch, here's the link:<br />
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<a href="https://www.festivalscope.com/all/festival/morelia-international-film-festival/2017">https://www.festivalscope.com/all/festival/morelia-international-film-festival/2017</a><br />
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Come back and leave a comment about what you think of this year's films. <br />
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Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-88618463946839181462017-10-29T10:54:00.000-07:002017-10-30T18:45:14.067-07:00Fall Colors at Lake Quinault<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Note: I haven't published anything on this blog for years, but I decided to revive it, mostly to share the experience of relocating from California to Olympia, Washington. <br />
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This past Saturday, I decided to take advantage of beautiful fall weather and go on an adventure on the Olympic Peninsula. I headed west from Olympia, stopping for a delicious breakfast in Elma, then continued along country roads that wound through the emerald pastures and timberlands of rural Grays Harbor County. Eventually we arrived at our destination: the Quinault Rainforest. <br />
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I had wanted to explore the Quinault Rainforest, which receives 12 feet of rain a year, and thought it would be a good place to see fall colors. I decided to try the Fletcher Canyon trail, a four mile round trip hike that begins near the Quinault river. The trail climbs along the slope of the canyon through a sea of ferns, past giant mossy trees. The first mile or the trail is fairly manageable, but conditions deteriorated after that. Even though it wasn't the longest hike, the slippery rocks and roots and the many downed trees to crawl under or climb around made for slow going.<br />
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The trail "ends" at the creek, and there's a small waterfall about 100 ft upstream. Thinking there was still more to explore, I made the mistake of continuing across the creek on a huge, slippery cedar log, and in the process I fell. I got back onto my feet with no serious injuries, while my trusted hiking companion Roco stood in the creek, waiting for me to throw a stick for him. A reminder that when hiking alone, I have to be extra careful and that next time I choose a difficult trail, it might be wise to bring a human companion as well. Even though there is a campsite and a faint trail that continues on the the other side of the creek, I wouldn't recommend going any farther. <br />
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Overall, the Fletcher Canyon trail offers a chance to explore the lush Quinault Rainforest in solitude: I saw only two other groups on a warm, sunny Saturday in late October. If I were to do the hike again, I would only walk the first mile: it has the best scenery and the trail is good enough to be able to look up and enjoy the beautiful forest. <br />
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Roco admiring a large douglas fir tree</div>
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Fall color in Fletcher Canyon, Colonel Bob Wilderness</div>
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After the hike, we stopped at the Quinault River, where there was a group of spawning salmon</div>
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Visiting the world's largest Sitka spruce tree </div>
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Roco swiming in Lake Quinault </div>
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Rainforest Nature Trail. </div>
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After hiking most of the day, I was hungry and decided to drive to Aberdeen for dinner, about an hour away. I'd seen a Korean restaurant there on Yelp with rave reviews and so I decided to give it a try. A fog had rolled in as I navigated the quiet streets of this not so vibrant logging port. I finally found the restaurant, a small house located on a narrow street behind the Mazatlan restaurant parking lot in downtown Aberdeen. I had beef short ribs (kalbi) with some rice and kimchee. This came with side dishes: there was potato and lotus root in a curry sauce and a tomato stuffed with egg and broccoli. I washed it down with some tea made from roasted corn and barley. This was some of the best Korean food I've ever had; the owners were really friendly and gave me some free noodles to eat as well. This is the kind of place where I would eat a lot if it were closer, but I have a feeling I'll be passing through again on my way to the Olympic rainforests or the ocean beaches. I'm hoping someday soon that Aberdeen will be known more for it's Korean food rather than as the source of disaffected grunge musicians. </div>
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Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-13267814231847306192013-03-28T19:19:00.000-07:002013-03-28T19:37:08.100-07:00Jobs, School and Fun<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I want to share some news with those of you still
read this long-neglected blog: I got a job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After I finish my Master of Professional Accountancy at UC Davis this
June, I’ll be working full time for the California State Auditor in Sacramento.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I received the job offer and accepted it back
in February; I meant to share this sooner but was deeply involved in my classes
until I finished finals last week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiZCnBAbxItx4iekG0Oa3eTb3lY0fJ9u9BYSqCBJPkA4lNsxlkM__KvKRbpKXziIKHircULO4-neC9PLyGfk5Tpr3fdw9F9AbBcUsMNkNQHCYYnWXw-aHhWFwHsUZj-F5E2PTBlzYoh4M/s1600/IMG_0186.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiZCnBAbxItx4iekG0Oa3eTb3lY0fJ9u9BYSqCBJPkA4lNsxlkM__KvKRbpKXziIKHircULO4-neC9PLyGfk5Tpr3fdw9F9AbBcUsMNkNQHCYYnWXw-aHhWFwHsUZj-F5E2PTBlzYoh4M/s320/IMG_0186.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">UC Davis Sunset</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When I took my first accounting course over two years
ago, this isn’t where I imagined I’d end up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I became interested in accounting through agriculture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At first I knew little about what a CPA does
and whether or not that’s what I wanted to become.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figured I could take a couple more accounting
classes and find a job at some farm business in the area, where hopefully I’d
get a little hands-on accounting experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At the beginning of 2012 I realized I needed to
leave the farm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d had enough of leaky
rice irrigation waders and yield monitor maps so decided to commit to accounting
and become a CPA.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked around for
graduate programs to meet California’s new CPA requirements, found the new Masters
in Professional Accountancy at UC Davis and applied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One afternoon in early May, Professor Snyder called
me to share the good news that I had been accepted to the graduate program at
UC Davis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so excited that
afterwards while loading an ATV into the back of my work truck, I revved it up too
much and slammed it very hard against the toolbox in the front of the bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After that the toolbox would sometimes pop
open while driving those bumpy farm roads in South Sutter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In an attempt to bridge my interest in farming and
accounting, I wanted to specialize in agricultural accounting when I first
started graduate school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since the job
search began immediately, I sent out my resume to a few firms that served
clients in food and ag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One firm in Fresno
offered me an interview.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seemed like a great place to work, since their
clients included nearly every kind of agricultural operation from cotton gins
to cheese making plants to citrus packing and almond hulling. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX2ylYm3H-fWRQYHIB4XviWlwr214FN24-913mVEMK1gv6OK7I2tMe3Paj1V1jHN9OH9-l2xGyOU4pM3DY0ShmxRKI7mWYp4HbxmZqsu5ycRWQ97aBFYc23ERKqOez1Yl9sCB_taz_RKk/s1600/IMG_0239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX2ylYm3H-fWRQYHIB4XviWlwr214FN24-913mVEMK1gv6OK7I2tMe3Paj1V1jHN9OH9-l2xGyOU4pM3DY0ShmxRKI7mWYp4HbxmZqsu5ycRWQ97aBFYc23ERKqOez1Yl9sCB_taz_RKk/s320/IMG_0239.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almonds, Yolo County, March 2013</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After my interview in Fresno, I realized that despite
my interest in farming, the firm wasn’t the right fit for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will say that Fresno may get a bad rap but
they have excellent <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">carne asada </i>tacos,
Armenian bakeries and Mexican ice cream (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">chongos!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>After I returned to Sacramento after the three
hour drive up the San Joaquin Valley, I began to let go of this idea of agricultural
accounting (I held onto the food memories of Fresno a bit more).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t feel like repeating the Fresno experience
in other agribusiness hotspots like Bakersfield, Salinas, Visalia or elsewhere,
regardless of the cuisines those locals may offer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Other factors in my job search became more important
to consider as Fall Quarter progressed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
felt less and less inclined to relocate somewhere new and start from scratch at
the beginning of my new career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being
near classmates and not having to sever the ties I’ve made in the Sacramento-Davis-South
Sutter area mattered more than wheat cooperative taxation in rural Eastern
Washington.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew I had to cast a wider
net locally so I could stay closer to home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZj_8mRnMr3BOsfWYHg-AMnQgjSNbGoHBn5hZw5m_CQEr2heD7cPhTctCxghh4l0IBskHGKB8Qd-QC5MrNGA4YYqXNqCKOoxbomHwvDM7Wt5yc7l18iHM-HLznWQkJNSiC4eoByAGAhxc/s1600/IMG_0168.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZj_8mRnMr3BOsfWYHg-AMnQgjSNbGoHBn5hZw5m_CQEr2heD7cPhTctCxghh4l0IBskHGKB8Qd-QC5MrNGA4YYqXNqCKOoxbomHwvDM7Wt5yc7l18iHM-HLznWQkJNSiC4eoByAGAhxc/s320/IMG_0168.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">American River, Sacramento, Fall 2012</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When I first considered becoming a CPA I imagined
myself preparing taxes at a smaller accounting firm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, as time progressed I realized audit
is where it’s at in the accounting world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Auditors work in teams, they get to travel sometimes and they are like
detectives, unearthing the mysteries of an entity’s finances and controls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition, they don’t have to deal much
with that labyrinth of the tax code that is ruled over by our favorite
government agency, the IRS.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When a recruiter from the California State Auditor presented
to our audit class in November, I got excited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The public service element of the work connects with my experience teaching
in low-income schools in the Bay Area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
type and variety of assignments at the State Auditor promise endless learning
and the work-life balance seemed much more balanced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I interviewed at the State Auditor’s
office on Capitol Mall in Sacramento, I something about the place just felt <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">right</i> in a way that other accounting
offices I’d visited hadn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Though I am excited about my career and am glad I
decided to pursue a master’s in accounting at UC Davis, being a full time student
isn’t without its struggles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
quarter in Intermediate Accounting we read a 1500 page textbook: I nearly
drowned in the ‘Dollar Value LIFO Pool’ and got very lost in the ‘Corridor’ of
Pension Accounting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grad school is
rewarding, but it packs a punch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQG6qtKP7svRxJ1AZ7PC1iZf4vPSN5NS1xlGpTviJaBoqPxmCTTIR0KOEt6txR6GTuSKdUq5p9hbujNCtqHUvthdd0w2A8PewBSjISfQr4ZmBzYhWuWojdlbpK0fSKi8Srgkl5U2ZjHY/s1600/IMG_0283.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqQG6qtKP7svRxJ1AZ7PC1iZf4vPSN5NS1xlGpTviJaBoqPxmCTTIR0KOEt6txR6GTuSKdUq5p9hbujNCtqHUvthdd0w2A8PewBSjISfQr4ZmBzYhWuWojdlbpK0fSKi8Srgkl5U2ZjHY/s320/IMG_0283.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oak Collection, UC Davis Arboretum, March 2013</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I survived this odyssey into the depths of GAAP,
itemized deductions and variance analysis thanks to a few things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of these is that I started doing Latin dance
after the New Year: I immersed myself in it and took classes at the rec center
and at a small studio in town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also
joined the student salsa club, where we have been practicing a really fun choreographed
routine to the Bachata song “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No Vuelva</i>”
in a chemistry lecture hall. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
addition, I spend nearly every Tuesday night attempting to Salsa, Bachata,
Merengue and sometimes Cumbia and Kizomba on the dance floor at the Davis Grad,
which is conveniently located across the street from my apartment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBv74uoX0C0r1KPIIsMwWnn536BDoBObXwmKirc-73ddjK9pvjiazg9xh48Qe8ziBWLp7gBG8LvLA24-EF8v3q5-ivKqY9WwVfxQGxmRHIL1Ra01fMWeAEvjx_mkoRv1oPuw6_t_RyDl8/s1600/IMG_0255.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBv74uoX0C0r1KPIIsMwWnn536BDoBObXwmKirc-73ddjK9pvjiazg9xh48Qe8ziBWLp7gBG8LvLA24-EF8v3q5-ivKqY9WwVfxQGxmRHIL1Ra01fMWeAEvjx_mkoRv1oPuw6_t_RyDl8/s320/IMG_0255.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">EC Garden, UC Davis</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Also within a short walk of my apartment is the
Experimental College Community Garden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
used to take walks here, because it is such a beautiful spot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The possibility of having a garden there this
season became more real after I had accepted the position at the State Auditor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My employment last season kept me too busy
during April and May, and after I started summer school classes in June, it was
too late to plant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This year I have my
own plot and I’ve been spending much of my spring break in the garden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It feels great to have my digging fork in my
hands again, turning over the rich, loose soil and contemplating the summer
harvest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBGatdTAiXylfWdbkl7AcFpx7nT2umrnuAhbS-aufrgLI7D9DHANpxB9sUcDOU3wJh0gy7Uhp7m47wK1np2oYbt7U2oOwrxwOxe0MrlK7tglDY7aB8AvQ_aNbImUt42W42sl_3SHxEAzQ/s1600/IMG_0280.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBGatdTAiXylfWdbkl7AcFpx7nT2umrnuAhbS-aufrgLI7D9DHANpxB9sUcDOU3wJh0gy7Uhp7m47wK1np2oYbt7U2oOwrxwOxe0MrlK7tglDY7aB8AvQ_aNbImUt42W42sl_3SHxEAzQ/s320/IMG_0280.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My plot, EC Garden</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
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Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-15470547656944222682012-11-25T16:27:00.002-08:002017-11-01T21:17:43.134-07:00Lessons from Rice Farming<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Note—I have left the names of businesses and individuals out; privacy is
the priority at the expense of making this less personal.<br />
<br />
So it's been a long time since I've written anything on this blog, nearly a
year in fact. Last fall, I wrote prolifically about all sorts of things
related to farming, and even though I am no longer farming, I will stick with
the theme. I am still here in the Central Valley of California, but
hydraulic hoses, rice irrigation boards and white Ford Ranger trucks with
screwdrivers as radio antennae are no longer a part of my life. I am not
posting any photos of the current work I do as an accounting graduate student
at UC Davis: images of Bond Premium Amortization Schedules, Audit flowcharts
and Section 179 property deductions somehow don’t compare with giant rice
combines, grain bins full of popcorn and views across endless fields towards
the Sutter Buttes. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOtZdAckVUVeviUNETCsXycEVoQBykwL_2jJaYJk80LAntkhbOOyHdPRliJ5j0KUv_z53xMBQgj0jWZ5VDRkde85SQJzMDVlfckjNqlI2NcaIOp6ig-e3YPHIioEKinOJi6p0n9_d6MPg/s1600/IMG_0201%25400.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1196" data-original-width="1600" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOtZdAckVUVeviUNETCsXycEVoQBykwL_2jJaYJk80LAntkhbOOyHdPRliJ5j0KUv_z53xMBQgj0jWZ5VDRkde85SQJzMDVlfckjNqlI2NcaIOp6ig-e3YPHIioEKinOJi6p0n9_d6MPg/s320/IMG_0201%25400.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sills Farms, December 2012</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
So what is the connection between the two? How do I go from a life of
farming in the rice country of South Sutter County to being a Master of
Professional Accountancy student at UC Davis' Graduate School of
Management? I am not going to tell the story of how I got from one place
to another, of how I got interested in accounting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is the story I constantly repeat in one
form or another to fellow classmates, interviewers and many others, and there
is another I’d like to tell instead. In the past few weeks, I’ve realized how
profoundly farming has shaped who I am.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I would like to share my gratitude for
all that farming has done for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the
same time, I also cannot ignore that the negative aspects of rice farming are still very much a part of my life.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XQXwf-tufUU/TwFJhsrOw1I/AAAAAAAABv4/4enON_UUorQ/s1600/P1030108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XQXwf-tufUU/TwFJhsrOw1I/AAAAAAAABv4/4enON_UUorQ/s320/P1030108.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wheat, Dec 31, 2011 (your truly made all those perfectly straight beds, thanks to a GPS tractor)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This past September I started a Master in Professional Accountancy program
at UC Davis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the beginning, we were
thrown into the career development, aka, job search process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Recruitment for the big accounting firms
began as soon as we walked in the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Was I prepared?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not really.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ended up buying a suit—the first one I’d
purchased since high school graduation—the night before our big job fair, using the bonus
I’d received from the farm when I left in August.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These initial days of school, where I felt
like I was flying by the seat of my pants, reminded me of ‘water on’, that
intense month of work during May and early June when we flooded over 1,000
acres of rice fields in preparation for planting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During the first few weeks of graduate
school, I reminded myself that if I could survive ‘water on’ I could survive
this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though I didn’t get hired by one of the ‘Big
Four’ firms, I at least looked good in my new suit, had a couple initial
interviews that allowed me to get the jitters out and became more and more
efficient about getting my school work done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZEHTWwrp4kQ/T7sL_RmSn2I/AAAAAAAAByI/UoWbfxS4-3E/s1600/P1030305.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZEHTWwrp4kQ/T7sL_RmSn2I/AAAAAAAAByI/UoWbfxS4-3E/s320/P1030305.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Water's on, May 2012</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Initially, when I first started graduate school, I looked back on farming
with ambivalence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wondered
at times why I hadn’t had a more ‘normal’ job working at an accounting firm or
doing some kind of financial stuff (I actually tried unsuccessfully to get a job at an accounting firm last January and decided to stay on the farm).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has
been hard to explain to people what farming was really about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The majority of my time on the farm I spent
in the office, either making Excel spreadsheets for agronomy research or
inventories, entering in time card data or researching topics including labor
law, fuel storage regulations or corn cutworms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, during the harvest in the Fall I surveyed fields, had a stint
driving tractor preparing fields for wheat planting and also coordinated a few days of
the rice harvest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the planting season
in Spring I helped flood rice fields and manage water levels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is not a straightforward thing to
explain although people who know farming in the Valley understand the whole
process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I began school, farming became
something to flee from; if I lost motivation while studying, I imagined belted
tractors (with no bonus burritos or cigarettes in the cab) or angry wasps and
black widow spiders coming after me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This helped me finish my tax reading when my concentration lagged.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4kp6iinllhw/T7sL_9MWFRI/AAAAAAAAByQ/zHYFRq229TY/s1600/P1030307.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4kp6iinllhw/T7sL_9MWFRI/AAAAAAAAByQ/zHYFRq229TY/s320/P1030307.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flooding a rice field, May 2012</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But fear only works as a motivating factor for so long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the first few weeks of graduate school passed,
I found myself waking up at night thinking about the farm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realized that I was in the midst of a culture
shock and that instead of wanting to run away from South Sutter County and
never look back, I missed a lot about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No, I am perfectly happy wearing a nice clothes and not having to worry
about the things that could potentially ruin them, including, but not limited
to: muddy dog paws, hydraulic fluid, rice field slime, that red grease that
always leaks out of a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">chorizo</i>
burrito, sooty Johnsongrass pollen, motor oil, pump grease, pump oil, smoking
oil from a poorly maintained ATV and did I say dust?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t miss those things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I found myself missing is the people of
farming, and the people have become a major motivation in school and life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RtG2d8jQI8U/TwFIzzGN9CI/AAAAAAAABuw/ftj3rwCAIPE/s1600/P1030089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RtG2d8jQI8U/TwFIzzGN9CI/AAAAAAAABuw/ftj3rwCAIPE/s320/P1030089.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tractors, Dec 31, 2011</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>The farming landscape of South Sutter County is unforgiving: the machines
stop for no one (only for breakdowns, which are frequent); in the summer, the heat can be intense and brutal, and the
work doesn’t wait.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This place creates a particular class of people that are tough,
ingenious, resilient and incredibly hard working. The guys on the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">rancho</i> have myriad ways to survive the
heat and the long days, including bringing enough burritos to stave off hunger
during a 14 hour shift, as well as a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">remate</i>
stand’s worth of fruit for health and energy, and of course the frozen Gatorade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This last trick became my favorite: when you bring a frozen Gatorade to work at 7
AM, it’s still ice cold when you crack it open at 3 PM it tastes like heaven
and for a moment you forget that you still have five hours of work ahead of you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6iTtpLdRBWw/TwFJKB1y4oI/AAAAAAAABvU/HBzOsKsg6Jg/s1600/P1030100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6iTtpLdRBWw/TwFJKB1y4oI/AAAAAAAABvU/HBzOsKsg6Jg/s320/P1030100.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Combines, Dec 31, 2011</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>I think of the tough people in South Sutter County when school seems tough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think of the guys who spend 90 plus hour
workweeks irrigating the crops, or who operate combines—solo of course—for weeks
on end until the harvest is done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also
think of the youth and the women, who are equally tough and who hold things
down despite the fact that the men often indulge in vices to excess when they
get off work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think of all of them,
and whatever I’m doing doesn’t seem so hard anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stop complaining and I feel humble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is perhaps the most important thing that
farming taught me: how to be humble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When you're around people who spend their lives doing work that
you can barely handle for a day and people who even though they may have stopped
school after eighth grade are smarter, more ingenious and way, way better at
fixing things than you ever will be, that makes you humble, despite educational
pedigrees and grad school admission letters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am frustrated that our broken immigration system keeps many people
from getting an education and realizing their potential, but it would also be a
shame if I didn’t realize my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
that reason, I am very grateful for the opportunity to continue my education
and find a career beyond the rice fields.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Jz-dy_ymdTs/UF-UWH3UbuI/AAAAAAAAB6M/YMg5kvEkkic/s1600/IMG_0072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Jz-dy_ymdTs/UF-UWH3UbuI/AAAAAAAAB6M/YMg5kvEkkic/s320/IMG_0072.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spring in Sutter County, CA</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite all the positive things that farming did for me, the work took a
toll on me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One has to take the good
with the bad in life, the challenge for me is to hold onto the good I take from
farming—the humility, work ethic and the ability to persevere—while leaving
behind the bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the heart of it, rice
farming is a lonesome trade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Spending 12
hours a day in a tractor is lonely, same goes for doing solo irrigation or
field surveys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Profoundly lonesome in a
way that I could never have imagined at my previous job at an elementary school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At first, I found rice farming a peaceful
change from my old work, and it certainly had many moments of tranquility: the
beauty of looking across a field lush with flowering yellow mustards in March
towards the snow covered mountains or making an early Sunday morning round of
the rice fields listening to soothing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">trio
</i>music on the radio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I appreciated
very much the company of co-workers when I had it, for they were the best part
of the experience, but there was far too much alone time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though it’s been since June that I
stopped farming full time (August part-time) I have a hard time being alone for
much time, and I have no desire to do activities like hiking alone
like I used to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The isolation and the
intensity of rice farming made me feel bitter and detached at times from others
not familiar with the realities the lifestyle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The long hours during busy season exhausted me and left me with little
energy to socialize even though it was what I needed most.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t reach out to old friends enough and
I felt myself drifting away from some of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Being alone so much damaged my social skills, and I found myself
becoming more and more like those irrigation ditch tenders who, when they
corner you, will talk your ear off nonstop until you somehow manage to escape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I left farming and began the transition to school life, this is what I sought
desperately to leave behind. But now I have come to realize that I am proud to have farmed rice in Sutter County, CA.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am slowly figuring out how to move
beyond the negative parts of rice farming while not forgetting the people and the work and the powerful lessons I learned from both.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-61324352608270277362012-01-11T22:16:00.000-08:002012-01-12T22:02:21.003-08:00Wintertime SummerAny reader who lives in Northern California is well aware that we've had hardly a trace of rainfall in these parts since Thanksgiving. In all the time I've lived here in the Golden State, it's the longest 'rainy season' dry streak I can remember. Although I appreciate more sun during what is usually a gray time of year, this 'Wintertime Summer' is impacting the agricultural landscape in some not so positive ways. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhESy1TrUwTg3lbTYB_1RTWV4ZpJwOeXgp_dChVryfkR51X8ORFVd-T0BlLI32slPTX3PCm1nmkNJ5hyphenhyphenOfqRasZ4w4eJkUVJYahBDBoFaEsRGf0_JwzfruurCNKxcDui-Yy6gGglRF8sgs/s1600/P1030073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhESy1TrUwTg3lbTYB_1RTWV4ZpJwOeXgp_dChVryfkR51X8ORFVd-T0BlLI32slPTX3PCm1nmkNJ5hyphenhyphenOfqRasZ4w4eJkUVJYahBDBoFaEsRGf0_JwzfruurCNKxcDui-Yy6gGglRF8sgs/s320/P1030073.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No green in the fields, no clouds in the sky</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I work on an organic farm. One of the cornerstones of organic farming is that we do not use synthetic fertilizers to grow our crops. Instead, we apply poop from a chicken factory farm (mostly to the popcorn fields) and rely on green manures to provide fertility to the soil. A green manure--also known as a cover crop--is planted to fix nitrogen or add biomass and organic matter to the soil. In the fields at Pleasant Grove Farms, except where the wheat is growing, we sew a legume called vetch in the fall to do this job. In the rice fields, an airplane drops the seed into the paddy just before the fields are drained; it germinates in the water and begins to climb out of the rice plants before harvest. On the other fields, the vetch also arrives by plane or it is drilled into the ground with a Tye Drill (tractor-pulled grain seeding implement). Unlike the food crops, which grow in the hot, dry Central Valley summer thanks to irrigation, the vetch thrives in the cooler months and relies on the rainfall (as does the small amount of wheat we grow). This all works well, except when it doesn't rain.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3k8EBSc8XewxKxSeTCNX2Z1szAUTQQXDV1iTZrQqLjS04JpNoyl1iy9ImMtvqfcAce4PfDz_e6eGS-emAyI4O_DdANAzIvkWwswUKvzj6c77qUxuOEw_i2CyNV-J16xFhK44U0cRPxU/s1600/P1030107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3k8EBSc8XewxKxSeTCNX2Z1szAUTQQXDV1iTZrQqLjS04JpNoyl1iy9ImMtvqfcAce4PfDz_e6eGS-emAyI4O_DdANAzIvkWwswUKvzj6c77qUxuOEw_i2CyNV-J16xFhK44U0cRPxU/s320/P1030107.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The winter wheat hangs on</td></tr>
</tbody></table>When I came back to work in this new year, I expected things to proceed at a slower pace at the farm due to it being our off season. Instead in this long stretch of dry weather many of the cover crops need irrigation and that takes work, so we are busy, as if it were summer again. On some fields, the vetch is surviving, clinging onto the residual moisture from summer watering and the rains we had in October and early November. The high organic matter content in the farms' soils have helped, since they hold more water--both in times of drought and during excess precipitation; the wheat in our fields generally looks better than that elsewhere. After such a long stretch without rain, the management decided to roll out the backhoes and tractors, rehire some irrigators, and put some water on a few of the fields. Since Pleasant Grove doesn't have sprinklers, this means pulling ditches and strip checks, cranking up the wells and flooding the fields with a couple inches of water. The hope is that this will reinvigorate some of the more sorry looking spots to ensure a good cover crop to enrich the soil. The risk is that such an amount of water after such a time with so little will be the botanical equivalent of eating a 16 oz ribeye after a weeklong fast. We'll see--the irrigators finish their sets on Thursday and the plants may be greening before the rain comes, which looks like it might arrive next week.<br />
<br />
Last weekend I had the good fortune to take a much needed trip to Santa Cruz. Even though I only lived there for six months, my time at the UC Santa Cruz Farm and Garden was immensely positive, and a trip there is a sort of pilgrimage. The Farm and Garden is a beautiful example of the harmony between food production and nature and a testimony to the loving care and hard work of those who have double dug its' beds, pruned the limbs of its' apple trees, and furnished it with water during dry times. Like the rest of Northern California, it's been a long rainless stretch in Santa Cruz, and the CASFS farmers and gardeners also face the dilemma of how to keep alive winter <i>brassicas</i>, the ever important Ashmead's Colonel apple tree and of course, the winter cover crops. On a small farm this seems a little less daunting because of the scale: with the use of sprinklers, it takes only a day or two to water all the fields. Compare that to Pleasant Grove Farm, where a pair of irrigators spend a week watering only two fields. Perhaps small farms--with their diversity of crops and more manageable irrigation systems--are more resilient in the face of these sorts of weather 'events'.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge6w3PStfyfaxhxnVYfs6tQKCh3XzeJIAWciAbJJmZvc9E3l7byKIOa1n_9ErNpOIXCPUJ3DbYCB6OUKwfpipA3NJjTagJJn1KYXxnkj2wZdhWX1M4yOYcaIUTw666MlHPRaK95LToKhs/s1600/P1020730.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge6w3PStfyfaxhxnVYfs6tQKCh3XzeJIAWciAbJJmZvc9E3l7byKIOa1n_9ErNpOIXCPUJ3DbYCB6OUKwfpipA3NJjTagJJn1KYXxnkj2wZdhWX1M4yOYcaIUTw666MlHPRaK95LToKhs/s320/P1020730.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">UCSC Farm and Garden, Jan 2011</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Back in the Valley on Monday I got to take two trips north up Highway 99 to Larry Geweke Ford in Yuba City, part of the saga of replacing the console on the ranch foreman's F-350. Unfortunately, this being a business outing, there was no time to seek out the acclaimed Five Rivers Tandoori Restaurant in Yuba City. I did however, get a good look at the heart of Sutter County farm country. In the afternoon, a thick white haze hung in the stagnant air and the trails of smoke from dozens of small brush and trash fires slowly drifted among the leafless walnut and prune plum trees. The eerily still flooded rice fields appeared not as a part of a bucolic landscape, but instead as waterways leading to an underworld. In this lonely landscape, the only people I noticed not in vehicles were a South Asian couple in a walnut grove picking wild mustard greens, one of the few things still growing. There is much I appreciate and enjoy here in California's agricultural heartland, but at times like this I yearn for the swirling mists and thousand shades of green of Washington's Olympic Peninsula. It would be really nice to be inside a cozy little cabin somewhere on the coast, watching the waves pound the beach and the rain lash against the windows.<br />
<br />
During the workday, I sometimes glance at the National Weather Service's longer range forecasts, and hope we'll get a few inches this winter to fill up the reservoirs and cleanse our skies. I am trying to enjoy this 'Wintertime Summer', with it's frosty mornings, warm afternoons and evening bike rides. When I'm on my break at work I try to ignore the diesel and wood smoke infused air and the cracks in the parched earth and instead soak up the pleasantly mild sun while I throw sticks for a farm dog to fetch. But I will be happy to hear the sound of raindrops and watch the big gray clouds move across the valley towards the mountains, whenever they arrive.Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-21719172806557386032012-01-01T22:26:00.000-08:002012-01-01T22:34:41.296-08:00Bringing in a New Year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On the last day of 2011, three brave souls--Katy, Evan and Rawley--came with me for a farm tour at Pleasant Grove Farm. Here's a little of what we saw:</div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zcQw3o6OhCM/TwFHu9_xyOI/AAAAAAAABtA/WUhaBQ7OBbY/s1600/P1030056.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zcQw3o6OhCM/TwFHu9_xyOI/AAAAAAAABtA/WUhaBQ7OBbY/s320/P1030056.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grain Bins, Christmas Tree, Fuel Tanks</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4xcpB3WOXVY/TwFHyG5N-DI/AAAAAAAABtI/nO6tABE3CQI/s1600/P1030060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4xcpB3WOXVY/TwFHyG5N-DI/AAAAAAAABtI/nO6tABE3CQI/s320/P1030060.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Katy, Evan and Rawley do their thing on the catwalk</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HkXOK_c2Yak/TwFH1MDavFI/AAAAAAAABtQ/zA4_DnY4N9o/s1600/P1030062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HkXOK_c2Yak/TwFH1MDavFI/AAAAAAAABtQ/zA4_DnY4N9o/s320/P1030062.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seed Cleaner</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-N8xMhtqP0Zk/TwFIBy16g-I/AAAAAAAABtc/XKHYdVFalas/s1600/P1030065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-N8xMhtqP0Zk/TwFIBy16g-I/AAAAAAAABtc/XKHYdVFalas/s320/P1030065.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KWmHTC-jQUY/TwFIEdiedeI/AAAAAAAABtk/Ww5OZ0_WzNU/s1600/P1030070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KWmHTC-jQUY/TwFIEdiedeI/AAAAAAAABtk/Ww5OZ0_WzNU/s320/P1030070.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the seed cleaning mill</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lRxNPR1ocDg/TwFIHZIo0wI/AAAAAAAABts/lHh1Frlusfg/s1600/P1030072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lRxNPR1ocDg/TwFIHZIo0wI/AAAAAAAABts/lHh1Frlusfg/s320/P1030072.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rawley on an old land grader</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-u_UH89WoW-E/TwFIOlfTGMI/AAAAAAAABt4/qYgdzhzCjJ8/s1600/P1030074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-u_UH89WoW-E/TwFIOlfTGMI/AAAAAAAABt4/qYgdzhzCjJ8/s320/P1030074.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hKX0FkZd0Xw/TwFIRiT5tqI/AAAAAAAABuA/zDtSScpec3s/s1600/P1030075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hKX0FkZd0Xw/TwFIRiT5tqI/AAAAAAAABuA/zDtSScpec3s/s320/P1030075.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lfKgFrUJU5Y/TwFIVGbEHBI/AAAAAAAABuI/h9DWrw1TbEs/s1600/P1030080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lfKgFrUJU5Y/TwFIVGbEHBI/AAAAAAAABuI/h9DWrw1TbEs/s320/P1030080.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old electric well motors--may be where R2D2 is from </td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tepzOEXCKbA/TwFIfhbaUnI/AAAAAAAABuU/K95awJTp6hE/s1600/P1030083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tepzOEXCKbA/TwFIfhbaUnI/AAAAAAAABuU/K95awJTp6hE/s320/P1030083.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parts from cultivating implements</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WonK2k4g0SU/TwFIhXob1hI/AAAAAAAABuc/C2JgKqoqYxE/s1600/P1030084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="197" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WonK2k4g0SU/TwFIhXob1hI/AAAAAAAABuc/C2JgKqoqYxE/s320/P1030084.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The old parts (not junk!) yard</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4vDnA9y83Ec/TwFIkkqfQNI/AAAAAAAABuk/AGRjFMHJ5EY/s1600/P1030088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4vDnA9y83Ec/TwFIkkqfQNI/AAAAAAAABuk/AGRjFMHJ5EY/s320/P1030088.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John Deere CTS Rice Combine</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RtG2d8jQI8U/TwFIzzGN9CI/AAAAAAAABuw/ftj3rwCAIPE/s1600/P1030089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RtG2d8jQI8U/TwFIzzGN9CI/AAAAAAAABuw/ftj3rwCAIPE/s320/P1030089.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tractors enjoying their 2 week farm vacation</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qvaXRbr9SSI/TwFI3O_gJ5I/AAAAAAAABu4/LZhvCvIHJkc/s1600/P1030091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qvaXRbr9SSI/TwFI3O_gJ5I/AAAAAAAABu4/LZhvCvIHJkc/s320/P1030091.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rawley getting ready to harvest some rice...it's gonna be a long wait</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KESVQHRi4-Y/TwFI7PBw5JI/AAAAAAAABvA/fIKBtCpL9Hk/s1600/P1030092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KESVQHRi4-Y/TwFI7PBw5JI/AAAAAAAABvA/fIKBtCpL9Hk/s320/P1030092.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Corn Harvester</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZgF2xzrZ2No/TwFJHQmJZcI/AAAAAAAABvM/y1pQPgc0qNw/s1600/P1030095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZgF2xzrZ2No/TwFJHQmJZcI/AAAAAAAABvM/y1pQPgc0qNw/s320/P1030095.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This machine spends 3 months harvesting and 9 months as a very expensive cat perch</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6iTtpLdRBWw/TwFJKB1y4oI/AAAAAAAABvU/HBzOsKsg6Jg/s1600/P1030100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6iTtpLdRBWw/TwFJKB1y4oI/AAAAAAAABvU/HBzOsKsg6Jg/s320/P1030100.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tractors and combines</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qf0HIJYpmw0/TwFJNt0CslI/AAAAAAAABvc/_s6On29YH5w/s1600/P1030103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qf0HIJYpmw0/TwFJNt0CslI/AAAAAAAABvc/_s6On29YH5w/s320/P1030103.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Pleasant Grove Farm Machine Shop</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Na_aNjh0z6M/TwFJbV6FW4I/AAAAAAAABvo/CKNWwLbBqo0/s1600/P1030104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Na_aNjh0z6M/TwFJbV6FW4I/AAAAAAAABvo/CKNWwLbBqo0/s320/P1030104.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Sutter Buttes to the north</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y7MZa8tjBig/TwFJezuq66I/AAAAAAAABvw/WgNUyvmtfHM/s1600/P1030106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Y7MZa8tjBig/TwFJezuq66I/AAAAAAAABvw/WgNUyvmtfHM/s320/P1030106.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harvesting the last bits of rice</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XQXwf-tufUU/TwFJhsrOw1I/AAAAAAAABv4/4enON_UUorQ/s1600/P1030108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XQXwf-tufUU/TwFJhsrOw1I/AAAAAAAABv4/4enON_UUorQ/s320/P1030108.JPG" width="320" />'</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Winter' Wheat</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We celebrated the New Year together at Katy and Evan's farm in Esparto, eating tamales, black eyed peas and their delicious pomegranates. After a pancake breakfast I headed to the Capay Valley to spend first day of 2012 in one of my favorite places:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WY1zyh66yyM/TwFMSxHaWwI/AAAAAAAABwE/0p2cLXHf0wE/s1600/P1030114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WY1zyh66yyM/TwFMSxHaWwI/AAAAAAAABwE/0p2cLXHf0wE/s320/P1030114.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of Rumsey Canyon from the 'New' Trail</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QHg7j-CwhoQ/TwFMYu6u2aI/AAAAAAAABwM/0K0kwvc18po/s1600/P1030115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QHg7j-CwhoQ/TwFMYu6u2aI/AAAAAAAABwM/0K0kwvc18po/s320/P1030115.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another view of the Sutter Buttes</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8bBR7UFsFzM/TwFMciLLkeI/AAAAAAAABwU/fChOOYNANKs/s1600/P1030119.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8bBR7UFsFzM/TwFMciLLkeI/AAAAAAAABwU/fChOOYNANKs/s320/P1030119.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Capay Valley</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kHGQFmrF1eQ/TwFMtqXrb0I/AAAAAAAABwg/J2HXsl1EtHM/s1600/P1030125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kHGQFmrF1eQ/TwFMtqXrb0I/AAAAAAAABwg/J2HXsl1EtHM/s320/P1030125.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chickens at Full Belly Farm</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pear orchard in Winter Time</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bx0-XaxYmOA/TwFM9sZscRI/AAAAAAAABw8/ys3OUnYG_Tw/s1600/P1030131.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bx0-XaxYmOA/TwFM9sZscRI/AAAAAAAABw8/ys3OUnYG_Tw/s320/P1030131.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-56304904639571449392011-12-27T09:49:00.000-08:002012-12-03T13:01:11.302-08:00Farm-cation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
For the past week I've been on vacation, since the farm is closed for two weeks over the holidays. I've spent most of my break so far up in Seattle, with family and old friends. Amidst the busy holiday schedule I snuck away to my favorite Seattle food spot, Aladdin Falafel Corner, located on the 'Ave', the street I spent many hours wandering as a high school student. Aladdin is one of the few businesses left from those days in the late 90's, and anyone who has tried their falafel knows why. For those of you unfamiliar with falafel, it is a food of Middle Eastern origin made of ground chickpeas (garbanzo beans) and various spices that are formed into a ball and deep fried until the outside becomes deliciously crispy. The falafel then gets wrapped in a pita along with lettuce, tomato, cucumber, tahini sauce, red onion and at Aladdin, a dusting of red sumac powder. One can find Aladdin falafel at two outlets, the Aladdin Gyro-cery and the Aladdin Falafel Corner, both located on the 'the ave'. I am more partial to the Falafel Corner, though admittedly the Gyro-cery provides more ambiance for a falafel eating experience <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aladdin Falafel Corner, University Way, Seattle WA</td></tr>
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Being on vacation has been a good opportunity to sleep in and slow down. The fall was a busy time for me. Adjusting to a new job takes a lot of energy, and in addition to the hours I spent at Pleasant Grove Farms, I was also participating in the local offshoot of the Occupy Wall Street Movement in Sacramento. The #OWS movement struck a chord with me because I've seen wealth inequality and the influence of money in politics as major issues in our society for a long time. The Occupy movement first appeared as something different from the usual way of left-wing politics, and initially attracted friends of mine who were not full-time activists. For me it felt really good to spend a sunny October afternoon at the occupation, holding a sign on the corner or commiserating with other working people about the problems in our country. As time went on my commitment to the Occupy Movement began to wane and I began to question the tactics. I am not interested in writing political analysis here so instead I am including the link to this article by Marc Cooper: <a href="http://marccooper.com/occupy-what/">http://marccooper.com/occupy-what/</a>, which articulates many of my own views. I really support what the Occupy movement is trying to do, but the reality is that I find it very difficult to participate while I work in agriculture, attempt to have some semblance of a social life and pursue educational goals not related to occupy or work. The reality is that in 2012 <i>occupy </i>will not be at the top of my priorities list. <br />
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Before I left for Seattle, I received an assurance for continued employment at Pleasant Grove Farms in the new year. Despite the ups and downs of my first four months there, I realize that I have a very unique thing and a very good thing going for me there. It is rare to find a farm that grows staple crops like rice, beans, corn and wheat that is so close to a city, and I really appreciate being a part of both rural and urban life. For someone with a back injury, it is great to be able to farm without having to shovel, harvest or weed all day. As someone who always had an aversion to an office job, I don't really mind spending the off season inside, because I know that during the growing season I will be outside most of the time. Farming is more of a commitment than a regular 9-5 job, especially during rice irrigation season, but it is one I am willing to make at least for the coming year. In am also continuing my study of accounting, because if I decide that after a year or two working on 3,000 acres in South Sutter County is not the thing for me, I want something to fall back on besides working in retail or education.<br />
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In these times of economic stagnation, unpredictable weather and social upheaval, I am thankful to begin the new year with a comfortable place to call home and steady employment that pays the bills and is meaningful. Farming is challenging work, and is not well compensated, but it is something I am interested in doing for the long term, and so there is much learning to be done. I wish all of you readers a Happy New Year and may 2012 bring you good health and fulfillment.</div>
Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-18838884381620206192011-12-14T21:43:00.000-08:002011-12-14T21:43:42.299-08:00QuinceOn Monday of last week I finally got around to harvesting the quince tree growing along a country road in South Sutter County. I passed along this stretch of road many times on my way from one rice field to another and always found it pleasing because it is lined with walnut groves and homesteads whose yards abound with fruit trees. I noticed the quince tree but never stopped to collect the fruit until that chilly December afternoon. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifGAVuEKMC-PS905ZxMILLDpmSSa8jj4hpNBJW9wkNA8u8eFHnYht7cCw04ICqEfi0aj2UkThzkxo5mCxVwQ0h1Znosfc-9t-n_s66zljcftcrOw11QJYcHXuBZEMLlBa-ZeJt4ce9Glw/s1600/P1030018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifGAVuEKMC-PS905ZxMILLDpmSSa8jj4hpNBJW9wkNA8u8eFHnYht7cCw04ICqEfi0aj2UkThzkxo5mCxVwQ0h1Znosfc-9t-n_s66zljcftcrOw11QJYcHXuBZEMLlBa-ZeJt4ce9Glw/s320/P1030018.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quince Tree, Striplin Road Sutter County, CA</td></tr>
</tbody></table>For those of you unfamiliar with quince, it is a lumpy yellow-green fruit whose size ranges between apple and football. Unlike most contemporary fruit, whose growers and buyers prize uniformity and perfection in appearance, every quince has a unique shape and is covered with a thin fuzz. When eaten raw, quince has an astringent, mouth puckering taste, but when cooked it becomes very delicious. Quince's popularity throughout the world in countries like Turkey, England, Spain, Iran and Mexico attest to the wonderful taste and versatility of this unique fruit. I first ate quince at a family Christmas Day dinner, where my aunt pureed it with root vegetables. I enjoyed this puree, my father however, who can be quite picky about his food and very emphatic about things he doesn't like to eat, did not. In 2010 while studying at the UC Santa Cruz farm and garden, I picked quince because no one else seemed to want it, and cooked it into a tasty, rose colored jam. <br />
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On that beautiful Monday afternoon in the Sacramento Valley, I drove along Striplin Road looking for the quince tree. I parked my car on the narrow gravel shoulder next to a fall-planted alfalfa field and walked over to the bushy fruit laden tree that grew next to a drainage dish. Initially I had been concerned that the neighbors wouldn't take kindly to my picking of the quince, but seeing as it was December and a hard freeze was in the forecast, I figured no one would mind. With only the birds to keep me company, I spent a half an hour or so scouring and shaking the tree, then collecting the fruit. The setting sun bathed the countryside in a golden light and the air quickly grew cold. As I drove back to Highway 99 and then past the winter-flooded rice fields towards Sacramento I felt very glad to work in such a beautiful place. <br />
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A few days later I cooked the quince into jam, and then canned it. It took a while: <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Final product--the quince turns red after cooking for a while with sugar (honey in this case)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-83405461360035791772011-12-03T17:07:00.000-08:002012-12-03T13:14:03.927-08:00Staples/Slowing Down<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl0P9K0xBBJ6vu839NDzT63xJs1X9GblRvzBTEMaXuyIEKs_sOUOsLG8rdf_sPKKmZg5p5vRup0jBP4vshFTG5Weo7GP-mWshxuGAxZkIXwpM_Dkov_ATVu4r87pRpLYC5MfTxxLquA4k/s1600/P1020938.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>Towards the end of last week, strong gusts of wind began to pummel the Sacramento Valle, clearing out the dense fog and the most of the leaves clinging to the trees on the farm. The mulberries, willows, black walnuts, figs and the majestic valley oaks that dot the landscape of rice country are transforming into their skeletal winter forms. The wind blew the thin white chaff off the corn being moved around the mill and it drifted like snow throughout the farm. Like flakes that never melt it even settled on the dusty break table inside the machine shop. I spent most of the past few days in the unheated shop, where I counted weeds in the rice samples I took from each field before harvest. The work revealed striking differences in the weed populations of the fields, but grew tedious and made me realize that I wouldn't want to do this all the time, say, as a PhD student in an agriculture-related discipline. Luckily, as the light faded over the Great Valley on Thursday, I finished counting the last strand of ricefield bullrush and now look forward to spending the next two weeks before Christmas Break analyzing yield monitor maps inside the office. Working in the office has this major benefit: at least I won't see my breath for the first three hours of each day as I did in the shop.<br />
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I survived the gusty winds and my last day of rice weed counting thanks to the steaming bowl of <i>albondigas</i> soup I ate for lunch at the Pleasant Grove General Store Cafe. The oregano-infused broth, loaded with carrots, potatoes and of course, the delicious rice and meat <i>albondigas</i> soothed my soul on that blustery day. The family who runs the cafe are friendly, and I chatted with the woman who was running the grill and serving the all-male, over 50 crowd their burgers, tamales and burritos. Maybe the fact that I was the only patron not wearing a camouflage hat and not discussing rice combines or duck hunting elicited the willingness to engage in conversation. I appreciated the chance to interact with a member of the opposite sex during a workday, because it's a rare thing in the male dominated landscape of rice country. After spending nearly four years teaching at an elementary school, where the staff was between 70 and 90 percent female, it's an enormous change working at the farm whose only female employee enters bills for five hours a month. I have a lot of thoughts about how an all-male workforce impacts our farming practices, but I will save that for another time and leave the reader with this point regarding gender in agriculture. I am very grateful to have worked with and learned from some amazing female gardeners and farmers, including Wendy Johnson, Ana Juarez, Sally Fox and Liz Milazzo, and I could list off many more female friends and colleagues who are doing groundbreaking work in the world of agriculture and food systems. <br />
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When I first started working at Pleasant Grove Farms, I fell into a sort of macho mindset about large scale mechanized farming. The thinking that went through my head goes something like this: those market gardens and micro farms with their arugula and zinnia flowers are nice, but it's the big operations like ours that are really feeding the world. I embraced the idea of hundred acre fields, belted tractors and combines whose tires were wider than any bed I ever double-dug at the UC Santa Cruz Farm and Garden. Filled with the arrogance of inexperience, I decided that we're doing <i>real</i> farming here, because of the enormous quantities of belly-filling staple crops our fields produce. A few month later, this conceit has faded like the green in the leaves growing along the irrigation canals and I've returned to a broader, more inclusive perspective about farming and about what makes a staple crop.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Combines at rest, December 2011</td></tr>
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My first experience with farming staple crops happened during a month long trip I took to Nicaragua three years ago. I spent most of my time there studying Spanish at the Hijos del Maiz language school in the remote farming community of El Lagartillo. I had a wonderful time, in which food played a big part. The diet in Lagartillo consisted mostly of locally grown staple foods: beans, corn tortillas and a homemade farmer's cheese called <i>cuajada</i>. Although I didn't spend much time farming, I helped harvest beans a couple of times in the cool of the morning. This brief taste of the <i>campesino </i>life increased my respect for farmers and gave me a sense of how much labor it takes to grow the staple crops for that community.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grinding corn into <i>masa </i>for tortillas, Lagartillo Nicaragua</td></tr>
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Though the beans, tortillas and <i>cuajada</i> made up the bulk of the calories I consumed in Lagartillo, other staples had become an important part of the community's diet: wheat bread, potatoes and especially rice. When I think of Latin American cuisine, beans and rice are the first dish that comes to mind. Even though most people in Lagartillo ate a lot of <i>gallo pinto </i>(the Nicaraguan national dish, rice and beans), no one there grew rice. I asked around and was told that larger, more capital intensive farms in the lowlands produce most of Nicaragua's rice. Residents of corn and bean-growing highland communities like Lagartillo pay a much higher price per pound for rice than for locally grown staples. Despite the cost it's clear why rice entered the local diet: it tastes good, forms a complete protein when paired with beans, and is easy to cook. To make tortillas, corn must first be taken off the cob by hand, then boiled with <i>cal</i> (lime) for a few hours, then thoroughly rinsed and ground into <i>masa</i>, and then finally formed into tortillas and cooked on the <i>comal. </i>Beans need to be cleaned then cooked for many hours on a stove, which takes a lot of time and a lot of <i>leña </i>(firewood). Rice, on the contrary, arrives in the village, polished white in a plastic bag, fifteen minutes away from one's fork. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Gallo Pinto (</i>rice and beans) Nicaragua's national dish</td></tr>
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Rice, as many of you know, is not a food native to the New World. It has a long and venerable history of cultivation in Asia, where it provides the foundation of at least half of humanity's diet. In the New World, rice's connection to conquest is evident in the Cuban name for rice and beans: <i>moros y cristianos</i>. The <i>moros</i>--Moors--are the beans (black, brown or red) and the <i>cristianos</i> the white rice. This theme extends even to the Sacramento Valley, where rice has certainly conquered much of the landscape. Land graders, equipped with laser-leveling technology, ensure that the rice fields have a perfect gradient for water flow. A complex network of reservoirs, canals and wells ensures a steady irrigation supply during the bone-dry summer. During planting airplanes swoop down over the paddies to drop the seeds, and when mature, large combines with treads similar to those on tanks rumble through the rice fields. Though it depends on a drastic transformation of the landscape, rice production in California has a beautiful side. The presence of water in what would otherwise be a parched landscape is undeniably refreshing on blisteringly hot summer days. The paddies of an organic rice field teem with life: herons, cranes and a multitude of other waterfowl feast on the frogs, small fish and crawdads that proliferate in the shallow water. And the crop itself is a delicious, nutritious and highly versatile food. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">California ricefield in September</td></tr>
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These two stories of rice illustrate the connection between history, home consumption and scale of production both in Nicaragua and closer to home. Here in the Sacramento Valley of California, rice farming occurs at a large scale it is the only profitable way to grow a crop whose per-pound value is low when equipment is expensive and land values high. The same applies to other crops grown at Pleasant Grove Farms: popcorn, dry beans and wheat. The positive side of this highly mechanized agriculture is that it produces large volumes of important crops according to organic practices that are somewhat affordable, which cannot happen on smaller farms whose size and scale make the purchase of the needed equipment prohibitively expensive. The organic production at Pleasant Grove Farms has allowed a family-owned operation to survive and grow. At the farm, soil is viewed not as a medium in which to pump synthetic fertilizers and toxic agrochemicals, but as a vital living resource. This attitude diminishes the amount of contaminants that enter the ecosystem and provides a healthier environment for workers and neighbors. The farm owner also takes into account the needs of the semi-skilled labor force by planning crop plantings so that the employees can have steady work for most of the year. Many of the employees live rent-free on the farm and some of those who live off farm earn enough to attain that benchmark of American middle class life, home ownership.<br />
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Although many of the farm's labor and agricultural practices are radically different from those of the region it cannot escape the logic of industrial agriculture in the Central Valley. The large scale, the high level of mechanization and the use of GPS driven tractors create work that is isolating and repetitive: to create beds in a large field, I spent two twelve hour days sitting in a tractor mostly on autopilot. These tractors and other machines guzzle an enormous quantity of diesel to cover such large territories. For humans, it is simply impossible to walk over 3,000 acres of fields, so scientific techniques like analyzing crop samples and using yield monitors to document the harvest have replaced a more intimate approach common on smaller farms. The highly competitive nature of Central Valley agriculture with its' exhaustingly long growing season requires an incredibly rigorous schedule where 60 hour workweeks are the baseline minimum for most of the year. Like most farms in the Valley, Pleasant Grove farms depends on an immigrant workforce so dedicated to earning money for their families that they are willing to put in these hours. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bean harvester at Pleasant Grove Farms</td></tr>
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A few weeks ago, in the midst of the rice harvest, I spent a Saturday afternoon harvesting the small sweet potato patch in a backyard garden on 4th Street in Woodland (see previous posts: 'Harvest' and 'Sweet Potatoes'). This provided a much needed respite from dealing with truck tags, yield monitors and online statistics and reminded me of why I love to garden and why I became enchanted with agriculture in the first place (it was not because I love Excel Spreadsheets!). It was wonderful to be outside on a beautiful fall afternoon, in good company, with my hands in the soil. Although the harvest did not produce enough of those delicious orange and purple tubers to provide many meals, considering the scale that was not surprising. In my many years as a school garden coordinator, I frequently contemplated questions of scale, and that day spent unearthing sweet potatoes brought about much reflection on the same theme. Gardening offers much in terms of pleasurable work, community building and producing food, but it doesn't deliver the goods--the sheer volumes of rice, beans, corn, and wheat--in a way that large-scale mechanized farming does. But are there other staple foods that smaller scale agriculture can effectively produce? <br />
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Although rice, beans, corn and wheat are important crops they are not the only ones that can be considered staples. I would include sweet potatoes and regular potatoes--which can be very effectively produced on a small scale--in a list of staple foods, along with winter squash and root vegetables like turnips, parsnips and carrots. What about onions and garlic? I could live off beans and rice, but miserably so without the addition of these two<i> alliums</i> (hot pepper sauce falls into this category as well). During the intense summer heat, I consumed so much watermelon that it was most certainly a staple of my diet and I invite anyone who would argue otherwise to spend a few days in the Central Valley when the thermometer hits the triple digits. Things get even more complicated when dairy, eggs and meat are added to the list, though I would certainly argue that for environmental reasons, animal products shouldn't be as much of a staple in the American diet as they are today. The definition of what makes a staple food is subjective, and when that definition is expanded, one can begin to include a greater diversity of agricultural arrangements in the circle of farms that produce the staple foods we need to survive and thrive. <br />
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Both technologically advanced and subsistence farming have much to teach an aspiring farmer like myself, and I am not here to judge which one is better because they each have benefits and downsides. The ideal agriculture in my mind draws a little from both, and this is the agriculture I hope to one day practice. Though I'd like to stick around Pleasant Grove Farms for a while, I have no intention of becoming a career 'rice man' in the Sacramento Valley. I appreciate the effectiveness of machinery and of technological innovations in agriculture-especially things like soil tests-but I savor the experience of digging my hands into the soil more than staring at a computer screen. Though I understand the economies of scale that drive Pleasant Grove Farm's monoculture production, I yearn to work with a wider variety of crops and include animals in a rotation. Crop diversity, soil health, intimacy with plants, and a more socially inclusive agriculture make for a more resilient agriculture. Achieving this may mean starting a farm with friends, which is not possible in the present. For now I hold onto this vision while I work at Pleasant Grove farms and learn everything I can there. I can take advantage of the ambiguity of my current position--I am neither manager nor farm worker--to build relationships with fellow employees and find needed social interaction during break times (and maybe get some more of those boiled peanuts for snack). I also plan to take some accounting classes this spring, because regardless of scale, accounting is an important aspect of running a farm and a good skill to know in general. </div>
Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-14938841752531051172011-11-29T22:32:00.000-08:002012-12-03T13:11:30.673-08:00Fog and a Recipe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A thick fog has descended over the Valley this week. At night it swirls around the trees, houses and cars on the street, imparting an eerie stillness to the neighborhood. For the past few mornings, the fog hasn't lifted in South Sutter County, imparting a mental fuzziness which requires that I consume ever more coffee. </span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: 0px; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The weather makes it a good time of year to bake and make some soup. I've included a recipe below of a really tasty winter squash soup I cooked last night. </span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: 0px; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"></table>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First Apple Pie I've ever baked</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fall colors on 2nd Ave, Oak Park, Sacramento</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9f7pFW03YHsJ3qXDtT3VEOc4kBRhv2sbg1gEgsjjxQtNb9ALHyKTrz4bXEwzUVJxnmC2wf5EVM8Mp0T6OgOP6m5q5U6kYOZxD0qEKyKGgs6TlnutiQ8E1S46rv57-cBvE4g4CEDwgHO8/s1600/P1030011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9f7pFW03YHsJ3qXDtT3VEOc4kBRhv2sbg1gEgsjjxQtNb9ALHyKTrz4bXEwzUVJxnmC2wf5EVM8Mp0T6OgOP6m5q5U6kYOZxD0qEKyKGgs6TlnutiQ8E1S46rv57-cBvE4g4CEDwgHO8/s320/P1030011.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fall Gardening Projects</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The gardening never stops in the Central Valley</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My roommate brought masa from LA--it made delicious tortillas</td></tr>
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Here's the recipe for the soup I made. I adapted it from one I learned from Sandra Morales, who was the parent liason at Park Elementary School where I taught for almost four years. We cooked the soup on a family day around 3 years ago, and enjoyed it with homemade tortillas. Sandra is an excellent cook and a truly wonderful person. So here's the recipe<br />
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Ingredients needed:<br />
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one medium green kabocha squash (or similar winter squash)<br />
one medium yellow onion <br />
four medium carrots<br />
four small sweet red peppers (i used some from my pepper garden in Woodland)<br />
one or more poblano-type peppers (add more for more heat)<br />
1 tbs olive oil (or other cooking oil)<br />
1 tsp cumin<br />
2 tsp chile pasilla powder<br />
1 tsp ground black pepper<br />
1 pinch cinammon<br />
three cloves garlic<br />
four medium red potatoes<br />
one quart chicken or vegetable stock<br />
3 cups water<br />
fixin's: tortillas, queso fresco, avocado<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Winter Squash at Let Us Farm, Oakville, WA Nov 2010</td></tr>
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Directions <br />
<ol>
<li>Select, wash and bake in the oven at 375 degrees until soft, one medium green kabocha squash, or other similar Winter Squash. Make sure to poke a few holes in the squash with a knife or fork. </li>
<li>Finely chop onion, carrot, sweet pepper and poblano pepper</li>
<li>Heat 1tbs olive oil at medium-low temperature in a dutch-oven type soup pot, add onion, carrots and peppers, stir occasionally to prevent burning </li>
<li>Finely chop garlic </li>
<li>After 5 minutes, add garlic, cumin and pasilla chile powder to soup pot</li>
<li>Saute for 1 minute, then add stock, turn heat to high</li>
<li>Chop potatoes into 1/4 inch cubes, add to soup pot</li>
<li>Once boiling, reduce to a simmer, add ground pepper and pinch of cinnamon</li>
<li>Remove skin and seeds from baked green kabocha and add squash 'meat' to soup</li>
<li>Add two cups water, simmer until squash is soft</li>
<li> Remove chunks of squash, carrot, potato, onion and pepper from soup and puree in blender or cuisine-art. Return to soup pot and repeat until desired smoothness is reached. </li>
<li>Add water until desired thickness is reached, </li>
<li>Add salt to taste then simmer for 10 minutes</li>
<li>Serve hot, add <i>crema mexicana </i>to individual bowl if richer soup if desired</li>
</ol>
<u>Author's serving suggestions</u>: get some fresh corn <i>masa </i>for tortillas, and make fresh tortillas. Cut up some avocado and <i>queso fresco</i>, wrap in warm homemade tortilla, take a bite and dip it in the soup. You won't be disappointed!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Squash soup, with some tasty fixins: avocado, queso fresco, homeade tortilla</td></tr>
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Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-25084920271079898492011-11-25T22:23:00.000-08:002012-12-03T13:02:08.909-08:00Thanks-working<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Even though it comes a day late, I write this blog post in keeping with the theme of Thanksgiving, so I'll mention a few of the things that I am grateful for. I am thankful to Katy and Evan Vigil-McClanahan for hosting such a wonderful Thanksgiving gathering at their farm in Esparto. This was only the second Thanksgiving in my life I've spent away from my family in Washington State, and so I really appreciated the company, conversation and the delicious food. The oven-baked turkey rivaled the bird my dad usually BBQs, and the grits and gravy were a new addition to the Thanksgiving spread (I was excited about grits and gravy because a character from Dave Chapelle's 'World Series of Dice' sketch draws his name from that delicious dish). This morning however I awoke feeling none too ready to slap some leftovers in a tupperware and hit the road at 6:30 AM for the trip up to the farm. My overindulgence in the Thanksgiving feast led to my contraction of an obscure and somewhat serious ailment called <i>Suttercountyitis</i>, which though poorly researched is highly curable: the patient must not cross that county's boundary line until all the symptoms have passed. I am giving myself until Monday to fully heal and recover from that illness.<br />
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Having a day (or in my case, due to the onset of <i>Suttercountyitis</i>, days off) off for a major holiday is not something I take for granted working in the field of agriculture, and I am thankful to have some time for myself. It is safe to say that few of the conventions of what once were part of the typical American working life, such as 40 hour weeks, two day weekends, major holidays off and three weeks of vacation, actually exist for farmers or farmworkers. One of the many tasks I do at Pleasant Grove farm is enter in time cards in a database, which contains information about how and where the employees spend their work days in order to account for labor costs of various crops and fields. This work, while not the most glamorous, opens a valuable window into agricultural labor. During the harvest season, which began in October and ended on November 20th, the crew put in an astounding number of hours. Many worked seven days a week, for at least ten hours Monday through Saturday and eight on Sunday. Some even racked up close to 90 hours in one week. That's a lot of time, but crops need to be harvested while the weather is good and the overtime pay really adds up for them. For some, the idea is to earn as much money as possible during the growing season and then take three months off; others will spend the short winter working nine hour shifts five days a week in the farm's seed cleaning mill. The farm closes for two weeks in December.<br />
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The approach of the two week farm closure, the end of harvest season, and Thanksgiving have brought up uncertainties I have about my own job at Pleasant Grove and have prompted some reflection on my own identity and the social context in which I work. This began the previous Friday, when I spent the afternoon picking up pieces of roots in the old almond orchard with a few of farm's Mexican immigrant workers. My motivations for joining in this task were straightforward. I ate a really enormous <span style="font-style: italic;">chile colorado</span> burrito at the Pleasant Grove Store for lunch and knew that if I returned to work in the office I would enter a deep food coma and become completely unproductive. I also figured after eating such a gargantuan mass of pork, cheese, rice, beans and flour getting some exercise couldn't hurt. No one asked me to do this job, but I figured it would be fine since I have done other jobs that 'the guys' do, like driving a tractor and cutting up pieces of metal in the shop. At other farms, like Full Belly in the Capay Valley where my friend Rawley works, I've weeded flower fields and washed carrots alongside the mostly Mexican crew. I always appreciated the opportunity to converse in Spanish and learn about the lives of people who do the very important and very hard work of growing food. <br />
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A major downside of my farm job is that I spend too much of my day alone. When I was doing rice irrigation, once Mike, my supervisor and the farm's rice expert, finished training me he stayed in the office and sent me out to check the irrigation pumps and the water depths in the field. Once irrigation season ended I worked in the office and sometimes went to the fields to cut samples of rice before harvest, two tasks I performed alone. That's the nature of farming staple crops on a large scale: at Pleasant Grove farms there are less than 20 employees farming over 3,000 acres. Compare this to Full Belly, whose crew of fifty farm 300 acres of higher value crops like tomatoes, melons and flowers. I have always liked working outside and I often enjoy the solitude that farming offers. The expansive fields and vistas of the mountains offer refreshing moments to contemplate the world without having to attend to hundreds of elementary students and their boundless energy as I did at my old job. But on those days when I spend hours listening to my iPod while I count, sort and weigh rice samples, I yearn for company other than overplayed songs. During my short stint pulling almond roots out of the old orchard I really appreciated the increased level of human interaction. I got to know a few of the workers, contemplated the term of address <i>wey</i> and developed more of a sense of community on the farm.<br />
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As a student of anthropology, I am well aware that everything exists in a cultural context and the farm where I work is no exception. The world of a large-scale--albeit organic--farming operation in the Sacramento Valley of California is very different from the places I've worked and lived before. I grew up in Seattle's white upper middle class liberal culture; when I lived in the East Bay I experienced the area's activist community and worked for many years in a predominately Latino school in the working-class town of Hayward. As I imagined before I ever crossed the county line, the racial and political realities in Sutter County are very different. I am just beginning to uncover more about the community where I work and how its racial codes, gender norms and social values operate. Even though I like my co-workers on the farm, there are good reasons why I cross back to Sacramento County every day after work: I feel much more comfortable living in a city and all it has to offer: bikeable neighborhoods, amenities like food co-ops and yoga studios and a greater diversity of people. Because of the emptiness of rice county, it is wonderful living somewhere where my chances of encountering another human being are infinitely higher. <br />
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I'd like to return to the theme of gratitude which I began this blog post. I feel very fortunate have embarked on this journey into the world of agriculture which began nearly two years ago when I was accepted into the UCSC Farm and Garden Apprenticeship. I am thankful for the opportunity to work on a farm in the Sacramento Valley and gain some insights into its' agricultural and social realities. Regardless of how my position at Pleasant Grove Farms evolves I've come to appreciate much about this region. Finally, I want to thank those that are reading this blog. It is a sort of therapy for me to collect thoughts, experiences and emotions, to attempt to make sense and find a way to express them. I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving.</div>
Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-5372572775242793262011-11-19T16:46:00.000-08:002012-12-03T13:09:56.615-08:00Harvest<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I am pleased to report that both the sweet potato harvest from a backyard garden in Woodland, California and the rice harvest on Pleasant Grove Farms have both reached their successful conclusion. The latter involved over a month of four combines working into the night 7 days a week cutting over a thousand acres of rice. The former entailed three people digging through 12 ft garden beds for a hour in search of delicious sweet potato tubers. Both mark the end of two very different agricultural adventures (described in previous posts). I walk away from this harvest with the satisfaction of having been part of the production of food: a milk crate's worth of sweet potatoes and well over fifty 55,000 lb truck loads of rice.<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Sweet potato patch before harvest</span></div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;">The fruits of our labor</span></div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Peppers still going strong</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_qfvKiBXdgV8jrcsIy5CPPJTTW6C9UGD3C_9F3bMuEU1Wyxw7AbdVQAyofM7zpG9eRQnSh8L74y8MuPoosi682etIhaPGECtvT52bFcd35ExzB5Bk4KnC8tp8qnQILRFbgbct6sFK-Jc/s1600/P1020985.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677321675354268674" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_qfvKiBXdgV8jrcsIy5CPPJTTW6C9UGD3C_9F3bMuEU1Wyxw7AbdVQAyofM7zpG9eRQnSh8L74y8MuPoosi682etIhaPGECtvT52bFcd35ExzB5Bk4KnC8tp8qnQILRFbgbct6sFK-Jc/s320/P1020985.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; height: 240px; width: 320px;" /></a></div>
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With harvest completed, my farming job will begin to look more like a regular 8-hour office job. I have rice samples to sort, weigh and analyze, data to enter, yield monitor maps to manipulate. It will mean lots of time in front of the computer and less time driving around South Sutter County in a white Ford Ranger pickup listening to 97.9 <span style="font-style: italic;">lunes sin commerciales. </span>If the weather permits, I may spend a few more afternoons working with the crew removing roots from the almond orchard, as I did this past Friday afternoon. At Pleasant Grove there are few times when numbers of people work together and I really appreciated the camaraderie, the conversation and the delicious snack of boiled peanuts soaked in hot sauce. I am lucky to work with such great people on the farm, and to find beauty in the changing of seasons in the Valley.<br />
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Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-90579098321741030852011-11-11T22:22:00.000-08:002012-12-03T13:08:59.356-08:00Sweet Potatoes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Sacramento Valley Summer Garden</span></div>
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A major motivation behind my somewhat bizarre and masochistic decision to stick it out in the Central Valley is that I was really excited about the summertime abundance that flourishes in the intense heat. The previous summer I had spent at the UCSC Farm and Garden Apprenticeship Program in Santa Cruz, where an especially fog-cloaked, gloomy July stunted the warm weather crops, spread disease and kept us from harvesting much besides kale, carrots and lettuce. Those three vegetables are delicious in their own right, but in the summer, I want to eat summer stuff, like peppers, tomatoes, eggplant, watermelon and even some okra. Save the greens for the rest of the year, when I gladly will cook up kale, collards, broccoli raab or any other leafy vegetable and eat it with much gusto. In Santa Cruz, the problem we faced in enjoying the bounty of summer was a lack of heat and an overabundance of cool, damp weather. Out here in the Valley, what I lacked was land where I could tend the mouthwatering hot-weather crops. From an early point onward my need to find space to garden filled me with much anxiety, so I looked and asked around planted where I could.<br />
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Thanks to the generosity of friends, I found garden spaces: expert hair sheep ranchers and rare eggplant propagators Katy and Evan and I planted 200 tomatillo plants at their farm just outside Esparto (acclaimed seedsman and poison oak thrasher C. Bryan Stuart gave me over 1000 tomatillo plants). Closer to my residence-at-the-time in Woodland, my neighbor<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>and<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>renowned <span style="font-style: italic;">gordita de buche </span>connoisseur Ethan Grundberg offered his backyard for gardening experiments. We dug beds and amended them with compost from the UC Davis Student Farm one Saturday afternoon in early May; in the following weeks we installed drip irrigation using second-hand tubing with more leaks than the waders I used for rice irrigation (see earlier post). Then we planted: a diversity of hot and mild peppers from Ethan's experiments and UC Davis, cantaloupe, Eel river, Casaba and water melons and sweet potatoes. I was especially excited about sweet potatoes because I had no experience growing them and because they are truly an amazing food: highly nutritious and versatile. Sweet potatoes grow from slips, which are cultured from the tissues of the tubers during the winter months. I searched the internet and eventually called a woman named Debbie who runs a business called Mericlone Labs in Merced County, the heart of California's sweet potato growing region. She was running out of her slips, so I got nervous and ordered way too many of them. They arrived, and I frantically tried to find homes for them. I ended up planting two 15 foot beds of them in Ethan's backyard and the experiment began.<br />
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Sweet potato planting happened on a warm evening in early May. The hot weather had just began, a prelude for what I expected to be a scorching summer and hoped would be a good growing conditions for the sweet potatoes. In the good company of a 16 oz can of Mickey's, some chips and salsa, Ethan's cat Sig and the sounds from kids playing the alleyway behind Ethan's house, I planted the sweet potato slips into the soft, recently worked soil and hoped for the best. I also daydreamed of all the ways I planned to prepare the harvest: pies, baked in the oven, boiled and mashed, or added to pancakes, biscuits and even curry.<br />
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With the sweet potatoes came a flyer with instructions on how to grow them, which I read many times but only partially absorbed. Since I like to worry about things I cannot control, I constantly checked the weather to see if the night time temperature was supposed to drop below 45, which according to the information from Mericlone Labs might damage their tender tissues. Sweet potatoes are originally from the Caribbean, and are not cold-hardy in the least. To set the record straight, they are different from yams. True yams hail from Africa and the island parts of Southeast Asia. The cannot be not grown in the US except possibly in a greenhouse and can only be found in specialty stores from those parts of the world. I have never seen or eaten a true yam. The 'candied yams' served at holiday dinners are made with sweet potatoes, not yams. There is a lot of confusion because of color, but sweet potatoes come in orange, white and purple and probably other colors as well.<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Sweet potato vines in August, Woodland</span></div>
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The sweet potatoes had an inauspicious beginning. The weather that May was far from tropical: cool nights, more rain than average, and daytime temperatures not encouraging to the tomato, pepper and melon crops that local farmers had put in the ground.When Ethan announced that he was moving to Massachusetts in June I worried about what would happen to my nascent garden projects, whose fruits were still months away from enjoyment. I hoped that the new tenants would be amenable to continuing the garden and possibly allow me to harvest some of its' bounty. As is most often the case, it turned out that my worries were in vain: the new tenants were very excited about the garden and taking on its' care. When I returned to Woodland from a two week trip to visit my sister in Idaho (where there are no sweet potatoes growing) the garden had entered its bountiful stage, abundant with peppers and melons. But the sweet potato vines looked sad; I hadn't watered them nearly enough (partly due to leaks in the drip irrigation I didn't fix) and they succumbed to an aphid infestation because of their poor health. Luckily the garden's new stewards nursed them back to health.<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Peppers of 4th St, and bermuda grass</span> Aug 2011</div>
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Sweet potatoes have a long growing season, especially when the gardener (myself) neglects them at important early stages of their growth. By early November frosts have already arrived here in the Valley and most summer crops are dying out. At Pleasant Grove Farms where I work the rice harvest is nearly complete and out of the other crops, only one 100 acre field of white corn (for tortillas) remains to be cut. But the sweet potatoes are still there just across the river from where I now live in Sacramento, and it's time to head to Woodland and dig them out before the fall rains saturate the ground. Tomorrow at 1 PM myself, Maris and Sacha, the caretakers of the garden, along with a few friends will engage in a great unearthing of what I hope to be a hidden abundance. We've poked around in the soil a little bit but I must say that I have no idea how many tubers will be lurking in that good Yolo County earth. That's the excitement of growing a crop whose edible part hides underground.<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;">The highly acclaimed Churros stand</span>, Woodland Nov 2011</div>
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Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-75781617653347627462011-11-04T21:23:00.000-07:002012-12-03T13:01:44.044-08:00From the cab of a John Deere 8410<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Ready for another day of field work</span></div>
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Spending long days in the cab of a John Deere 8410 belted tractor gives me a lot of alone time. When I'm not staring at the sheaths of earth left tossed up by the powerful steel disks in tow behind the tractor, I watch the rice trucks on Highway 99, which runs next to the field, or I observe the chickens, cranes and the crows as they feast on insects unearthed by cultivation. And I wonder how of all things I ended up driving a tractor on a farm in South Sutter County. It is because I spent these recent days alone on the tractor--and because Fall is the season for remembering and for contemplation of life and death-- that I have resurrected up this blog yet again.<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Sutter County Mornings</span></div>
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I could go back years, trying to figure out how I ended up where I am, but a good starting point would be the Summer of 2009, when I began my fourth year as the Nutrition Education Site Coordinator, aka 'Garden Teacher' at Park Elementary School in Hayward, CA. Despite the relationships I had built with students and members of the school community, I was ready to move on from the job. When I first started at Park I approached the work in such an unsustainable way that I had set myself up for a burnout, and that fall, I was a smoldering remnant struggling to decide what to do next with my life. My interests have always ranged widely: I studied anthropology and archaeology in college, participated in various sorts of activism in my free time and worked for five years at the intersection of gardening and education. As the school year progressed, I had a serious back injury and felt myself worn increasingly thin. I needed to do something positive and replenishing. Some friends who had been apprentices at the Center for Agroecology and Sustainable Food Systems at UC Santa Cruz sung the praises of this program, so I looked into this, applied and was accepted. Despite my back still in recovery, I decided to enroll and spent a wonderful sixth months at the UCSC Farm and Garden. I gardened while gazing awestruck across the Monterey Bay, learned all about plants (I am a huge plant nerd), ate and cooked delicious farm fresh meals and played lots of soccer and basketball, all in the company of amazing people. Those six months flew by and when I left Santa Cruz, I felt renewed, replenished and inspired. I had no plans though, but plenty of ideas to try on: farm in my home state of Washington, start an edible landscaping company, run an educational garden program for older students...farming rice in the Sacramento Valley was not one of them, yet...<br />
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I headed to where I grew up--Pacific Northwest--where the incessant rains and growing darkness grew oppressive, then back to California. I ended up in Yolo County in January 2011, and no longer living at my parents' house in Seattle, needed a steady income so I got a part-time job tutoring kids after school in the agricultural town of Woodland. My friend Rawley connected me with a free place to live in a travel trailer on a sheep, wheat and cotton farm in the Capay Valley whose owner, Sally Fox, used to breed organic and colored cotton varieties. One rainy February day I accompanied Sally on a trip to pick up her wheat from a cleaning mill at a farm north of Sacramento. Despite the near-torrential rain that day something about the farm appealed to me, a no-nonsense kind of operation that produces staple foods like rice, beans, popcorn and wheat (some people might not think of popcorn as a staple crop, but my Uncle Marc would beg to differ--he often eats it plain for lunch). Crops like flowers, melons, hot peppers, and broccoli raab, are all wonderful and make us happy but they don't keep us full like <i>arroz y frijoles</i> do. And for someone with a bad back, I knew that growing staple crops involves much less stoop labor than picking strawberries or green beans, two farm tasks I hope to never perform again.<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Almonds in bloom in the Capay Valley, Northern California Feb. 2011</span></div>
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Eventually, after becoming frustrated with working three part-time jobs, none of which I especially liked, I jumped at the chance to take a full time position in Pleasant Grove. <br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;">View of the farm across a rice field, </span>Sept 2011</div>
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I was hired initially at Pleasant Grove to assist rice expert Mike, who grew up on a rice farm in Louisiana before getting a PhD in Weed Sciences and Ecology with rice irrigation and research. Rice as some of you may know most often grown partially submerged in water. In California rice production, a field is first laser-leveled to achieve a perfect gradient, then a number of smaller check levees are put in, which control water flow across the field. Each check is about three inches lower than the one above it, and usually has two boxes on either end where the water flows through. In organic rice production, water management becomes more complex, but in all rice production the water is used to suppress weed growth. Rice farmers flood their fields in May, then the rice is seeded by airplane, and the water usually remains until September, about a month prior to harvest. The job of a rice irrigator is to maintain good water depth in each check in each field--this is done by adding or removing boards of various sizes from the boxes between the checks, or by changing the amount of water entering the field from the well or irrigation ditch. Occasionally one of the levees surrounds the field springs a leak, usually the result of the mischievious crawfish; the solution is to shovel like crazy, then install a plastic tarp, then shovel more dirt and hope the crawfish each back on their voraciousness.<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Rice stubble in a flooded field on a neighboring farm</span>, Nov 2011<br />
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Work progressed as such with rice irrigation and some data entry for a month; I found the work interesting though often the intense Valley heat proved challenging. Because the of the mud and water in the fields, a rice irrigator usually wears waist high rubber waders, and on days when temperatures soared the high 90s or even triple digits, my legs felt as were enclosed in portable saunas. I struggled to stay hydrated during the day and frequently gorged myself on watermelon after returning home to Sacramento. The final day of rice irrigation work was the most arduous: it involved hauling truckloads of waterlogged, slimy boards out of the fields for over 10 hours.<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Field after disk-bedding</span></div>
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Stormy skies over the Sacramento Valley, Nov 2011</span></div>
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My week of tractor driving had its' challenges. On those 12 hour days spent mostly in the cab of the John Deere, breathing dusty air scented with diesel and cigarette buts, I thought about things I'd rather be doing. Hours after I turned off the engine and the GPS I still felt the rocking motion from so many hours in the tractor. On the upside, I was successful in my first ever operation of heavy equipment--I did not knock over any high voltage power lines, or destroy the tractor, the implement, myself or anyone else. I walked away from the green machine last Friday feeling much more confident about my ability to use machinery. I am certain as well that I won't be spending the next six months in that tractor, and the long workdays will end in a few weeks. For farm work especially, I've mostly had it easy, meaning few twelve hour days and only a couple weekend days spent working. In the winter months, should they want me to continue my employment, the work will resemble more of an 8 hour office job.<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;">September Rice</span></div>
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One of the best things about the job at Pleasant Grove Farms is that I don't really know how I'll spend each day when I show up in the morning. Sometimes, I am mostly in the office, downloading data about the rice harvest, entering in time cards, itemizing expenses for each field or making maps from GPS data. Other days I am outside cutting 2X2 quadrats of rice by hand for research, or taking samples of popcorn and beans and testing their moisture. A lot of the tasks I do would be boring if I had to do only one of them day in day out, but because in farming everything always is in flux, so is the work, and for the most part I find it satisfying and rarely stressful. On days when my work involves interacting with the other people on the farm, I find it especially rewarding: I really like the other folks at Pleasant Grove and as the days go on it feels more like a community. Farming is an important job even if small farmers and more so, farm workers are not well compensated or well respected for their labor. And it is an honest job, producing the most essential necessities of life.<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;">Rainbow over rice</span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNezEzSmx4uBftFqQwBng3gLR12WntfXBPWTCV4Q-z6LrwSebTSGvZbrdj2vtUa2357Qjcvx793yqjmY2mtCNyNdJ8W_COOGSDiTdpbsqN_VztzzBlloXWG2DDmnJJZhUJhHJof9_x6UQ/s1600/P1020957.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671384670522531762" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNezEzSmx4uBftFqQwBng3gLR12WntfXBPWTCV4Q-z6LrwSebTSGvZbrdj2vtUa2357Qjcvx793yqjmY2mtCNyNdJ8W_COOGSDiTdpbsqN_VztzzBlloXWG2DDmnJJZhUJhHJof9_x6UQ/s320/P1020957.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
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If you've gotten this far, please leave a comment, even if it's just a 'hi'--also if you are ever in this corner of the Valley on a cold day, I will treat you a churro and a champurrado from the cart in Woodland. And if you have a blog, send me the link and I'll read it...</div>
Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-33092766159739996462011-01-19T13:44:00.000-08:002011-12-04T11:27:59.131-08:00Photos from CaliforniaIt's been nearly three weeks here in California, with many adventures taking place. I have a lot on my mind as I try and figure out work, life and all the rest, but I'd rather just share some pictures I've taken so far. Check them out on my picasa site:<br />
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The first set (some repeats from previous post):<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/rfadam/CaliforniaEnRouteSantaCruz#">https://picasaweb.google.com/rfadam/CaliforniaEnRouteSantaCruz#</a><br />
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More recent ones from Davis, Capay Valley:<br />
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<a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/rfadam/BackInCalifornia#">https://picasaweb.google.com/rfadam/BackInCalifornia#</a><br />
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That's it for now.Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-25171054228337301332011-01-08T17:20:00.003-08:002011-12-04T11:28:28.566-08:00A New Year in CaliforniaHappy 2011 readers! I've been in California for the past week or so, I have a lot to write about but instead am just going to share some photos from my time so far.<br />
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On Wednesday, December 29, my Dad and I set off for California. We left on a dark evening after dinner, with clear skies over Seattle. Around Kent (15 miles south of Seattle) we ran into a snowstorm, complete with lightening. The snow turned to hail in Tacoma, after that it was clear sailing all the way to Longview.<br />
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The next day we continued our journey, enjoying a savory breakfast at a Denny's outside Portland, pie and coffee at Peggy's in Rice Hill, Oregon and this beautiful evening light on Mt. Shasta after crossing the Siskiyou Mountains:<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu6rWi6a-aP4gpvCg9KpGeb1R277MqwDqFDus4uc579ziV96ceEcw14SW7Ky3KAKVT03K_tA7Mvu0LhfN8iLD-elkwcy1fdFXPXdlHartevfqsgb2Lh7NDIjKIp1PjAUOmUlUT2EbF2A8/s1600/P1020634.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559990605685294706" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu6rWi6a-aP4gpvCg9KpGeb1R277MqwDqFDus4uc579ziV96ceEcw14SW7Ky3KAKVT03K_tA7Mvu0LhfN8iLD-elkwcy1fdFXPXdlHartevfqsgb2Lh7NDIjKIp1PjAUOmUlUT2EbF2A8/s320/P1020634.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">More Mt. Shasta</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdW3oRfTZgAP0-NQF3A10RQ8Qu6OiBCwvRsgu2Q6D1l-udK6-rLYkzszElsfYxA08iBSGVd2D98oLUBJ9_RffowaiHatLSxhtmY5fANyZLut25prBNBSopWL1kl3ZKRXM49HmENGFisBQ/s1600/P1020637.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559990604280317362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdW3oRfTZgAP0-NQF3A10RQ8Qu6OiBCwvRsgu2Q6D1l-udK6-rLYkzszElsfYxA08iBSGVd2D98oLUBJ9_RffowaiHatLSxhtmY5fANyZLut25prBNBSopWL1kl3ZKRXM49HmENGFisBQ/s320/P1020637.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
We stayed in a Travelodge in Red Bluff and continued south the next day.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">A chilly morning at the Sacramento National Wildlife Refuge, near Willows, CA</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzWlRFF8TltERJz1vOM80UhiG3jHB_2-05jL8VZZX3Dt5qQK44igTSaQCg388q5U9mpEu5sYqeOnN3YB4DLtsBYvnExsj9vUi4UPROPbvUrD7X39h-pwSi2GUAbhBQ4IAG_h3jETzy4I4/s1600/P1020639.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559991007981538706" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzWlRFF8TltERJz1vOM80UhiG3jHB_2-05jL8VZZX3Dt5qQK44igTSaQCg388q5U9mpEu5sYqeOnN3YB4DLtsBYvnExsj9vUi4UPROPbvUrD7X39h-pwSi2GUAbhBQ4IAG_h3jETzy4I4/s320/P1020639.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Snow geese at the Sacramento NWR</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkvBSzm5FaOR9EJHl-GM5JsIHDrPJJvMrp5JgXxkxHmekQDKvH29jEofQj-BAcAYfNqTHdU2p1XkdZ240wUzBD-9yOtNgNjYFWxGOKBw4L3FNgrwovY1OIvwu-BmSNEYFcCgofIrm3FYU/s1600/P1020640.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559991007341729090" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkvBSzm5FaOR9EJHl-GM5JsIHDrPJJvMrp5JgXxkxHmekQDKvH29jEofQj-BAcAYfNqTHdU2p1XkdZ240wUzBD-9yOtNgNjYFWxGOKBw4L3FNgrwovY1OIvwu-BmSNEYFcCgofIrm3FYU/s320/P1020640.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
I celebrated the new year in good company, in a karaoke booth in San Francisco with some friends. I spent a couple days in the city, then a night in Oakland, then down to Santa Cruz. Winter pruning in the Chadwick garden with Orin, the 2nd year apprentices and various other folks on a sunny, warm January afternoon was a real pleasure:<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrqCETPJY241OLuKMnUZ92AUWirWPXgVLq5q4pxHi8JNC-dO6vBkSu9rM5-kAUK7lngcu7g_nfXUIYRfqBpG372FMee2UeZpvwlyLmE9Zi1RHQQ6F0DjlnzRRDjAZ0R_r45VPskgSffDg/s1600/P1020647.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559991293017995554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrqCETPJY241OLuKMnUZ92AUWirWPXgVLq5q4pxHi8JNC-dO6vBkSu9rM5-kAUK7lngcu7g_nfXUIYRfqBpG372FMee2UeZpvwlyLmE9Zi1RHQQ6F0DjlnzRRDjAZ0R_r45VPskgSffDg/s320/P1020647.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">This is not how the 'up' garden looked when I began the apprenticeship last April.</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSRiWVSgYTmElk4FAzMhyA-jpWzjRgIKblaWSSxa5U7yHoble9CmbQRXZpKZdCV78DFuR8XDimq-Zd9NfuPRyVv4blkH_NP9dz273TiuNQD3Zqr2cFNmGDr_l7ZmtE5I3pR1sY7sM9yfI/s1600/P1020641.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559991288194092722" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSRiWVSgYTmElk4FAzMhyA-jpWzjRgIKblaWSSxa5U7yHoble9CmbQRXZpKZdCV78DFuR8XDimq-Zd9NfuPRyVv4blkH_NP9dz273TiuNQD3Zqr2cFNmGDr_l7ZmtE5I3pR1sY7sM9yfI/s320/P1020641.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
All in all, it's been good to be back in California, my absence making me appreciate places and people I had taken for granted, and prompting new reflections about my own course. I am glad I was able to spend the afternoon enjoying the oak tree collection at the UC Davis Arboretum amidst news of pesticide poisoned bees:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://animals.change.org/blog/view/wikileaks_uncovers_government_bee_killing_conspiracy">http://animals.change.org/blog/view/wikileaks_uncovers_government_bee_killing_conspiracy</a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">And some incredibly tragic new from Arizona:<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://andrewsullivan.theatlantic.com/the_daily_dish/2011/01/murder-in-arizona-live-blogging.html">http://andrewsullivan.theatlantic.com/the_daily_dish/2011/01/murder-in-arizona-live-blogging.html</a></div><br />
Hope the New Year is treating you well.</div></div>Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-87122464039719932602010-12-18T15:14:00.000-08:002012-12-03T13:02:33.401-08:00Dreams and Hot Soup<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's a typical December afternoon in Seattle--gray skies, rain falling in a steady drizzle, light already fading a little after four o'clock. I am at my parents' house, looking after the place while they are away for the weekend. The last time I recall doing this was during the summer before college, back in 2000. They went camping, I had to work, some mischief occurred, won't get into that story now...except that the results are never good when 18 year olds finish off a bottle of cheap 160 proof 'white lightning' liquor from China. All that matters is that we didn't destroy ourselves or the house, and that this time around--ten years later--the house will be quiet.<br />
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I awoke this morning and checked the news, and was disheartened to read that the DREAM act had failed in the senate. For the past few days, I had been calling elected officials, doing my part to try and get this important bill to pass. The DREAM act would've allowed undocumented minors who've serve in the military or pursue higher education a path to citizenship. Why do I care? For over three years I taught in a predominately-Latino school in Hayward, where undoubtedly some of the students did not have legal status here in the United States. I never asked about immigration status--it's not the business of school employees to do so--but many students told me their stories. I still care deeply about those students, and was really devastated to hear that the DREAM act had failed, effectively closing the door for undocumented students to pursue their dreams here in the United States. It's yet another of many examples lately on how our elected officials are making decisions that continue to take our country in the wrong direction, one that will ultimately be to the detriment of all of us, not just the undocumented.<br />
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The strong emotions I experienced during and after the debate over the DREAM act reminded me of how much I care about issues of immigration and racial and economic justice. More than anything related to organic farming or food, this is ultimately more important to me because it's about human rights--especially the rights of youth to pursue a life of dignity in their home country. As a white male 'citizen' (really, us white folks are the true illegal immigrants), it's possible to escape or ignore these sorts of racial injustices. Especially with my passion for farming and the natural world, I've been tempted to move somewhere where the I can feel farther removed from the wrongs in the world. Indeed, my life at the UCSC Farm and Garden was a little like this. Now that I am contemplating--and now, taking--my next steps, it's important for me to choose a place and occupation where I can still feel engaged with issues of racial and economic injustice.<br />
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As a postscript, 'don't ask, don't tell' was repealed, so not all news is bad news.<br />
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Lately, I've been feeling a bit down. My post Santa Cruz optimism and energy has waned, and the plans I concocted on the farm are coming up against tough realities. For the most part, it's been good staying here with my parents, getting to spend time with family, see some old friends, experience what mostly has been a beautiful fall in the Northwest. I had originally come up here with the intention of finding a farm in Washington to work on next season, and I embraced this task with great enthusiasm. I am rethinking that plan, realizing that my ties to this area aren't as strong as I'd imagined, and that there are other places I'd be just as happy working and living. Now the name of the game is finding work, meaningful work that is related to farming and education, work that I can earn a living doing. I have also decided to return to Northern California after Christmas. Absence has indeed made this heart grow fonder, and made me realize that while I don't necessarily intend to return to the Bay Area for good, I miss a lot of folks down that way.<br />
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It's easy to get caught up in all this--negativity in the world, feeling unsure about where I want to be and what the future holds. During moments like these, sometimes I make the wise decision and turn to meditation, the cultivation of mindfulness. In my attempt to pause, focus on my breathing, and quiet my mind, all those pressing concerns far and near don't seem quite as intense, and I can regain a sense of composure and presence. I've been meditating sporadically since I was sixteen, and it always amazes me after a long time of not sitting, how valuable the practice can be to my life. It also takes being disciplined, something I'm not always so good at.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
I want to feel the tranquility of this place (Japanese garden in Portland, Oregon)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLLziQMFVoIH9EnROERpEN5OjDY08pQIh1QOMJeeqs8rO175avr2FhoiS_-sLbOCHCzkCnzysAhyOgpsj0jnRrMcXK1QE9nRHAeXkbpKK8mXDqhQuAODVVfv1zq_I0oprgNEVgrnar93g/s1600/P1020622.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552170333854450354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLLziQMFVoIH9EnROERpEN5OjDY08pQIh1QOMJeeqs8rO175avr2FhoiS_-sLbOCHCzkCnzysAhyOgpsj0jnRrMcXK1QE9nRHAeXkbpKK8mXDqhQuAODVVfv1zq_I0oprgNEVgrnar93g/s320/P1020622.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Another thing that helps is to cook a delicious and healthy meal. I biked to the U-District Farmers' Market today, where I purchased a variety of veggies. I cooked a tasty soup for lunch: first, sauteed leeks, garlic and ginger in some peanut oil, then added chicken stock and a pinch of Chinese 5 spice and set to simmer. Meanwhile, I cut up carrots, daikon radish and bok choi. I added the roots first, then half a package of buckwheat soba noodles, then the bok choi, and finally, a couple of eggs. And here's the result...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4EcYthk1JlgD69hi2OqDUxqWXfl4n7k_Q6jci1ufjf7yvRE4l9uxchi1-bAahQdcQSm3sXQ2Vm4Yej7mJOUr95pxpTbDXqHTOFpi8hhjh9Cz6JEWvgDxaMYRv1iiNznCXo16R6RJAWCI/s1600/P1020628.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552170765119978242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4EcYthk1JlgD69hi2OqDUxqWXfl4n7k_Q6jci1ufjf7yvRE4l9uxchi1-bAahQdcQSm3sXQ2Vm4Yej7mJOUr95pxpTbDXqHTOFpi8hhjh9Cz6JEWvgDxaMYRv1iiNznCXo16R6RJAWCI/s320/P1020628.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
I served myself a steaming bowl, and added a splash of sesame oil, brown rice vinegar and tamari, along with some shredded raw daikon I'd set aside.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Some of my favorite ingredients in the kitchen:</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCfRqCOrW68McGmvKJa84ua_FTV8ZSccafc5UyKfx7-eJvOWd2jfZYwK6FlVAghRglGeRYI0V8fOOKl85xzlR0yIJHLy2qUuLtWmUsN4Qds9c3nwlIkCDZHJaaXUjQ7zEs8TZayMSR1NU/s1600/P1020629.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552170615130721634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCfRqCOrW68McGmvKJa84ua_FTV8ZSccafc5UyKfx7-eJvOWd2jfZYwK6FlVAghRglGeRYI0V8fOOKl85xzlR0yIJHLy2qUuLtWmUsN4Qds9c3nwlIkCDZHJaaXUjQ7zEs8TZayMSR1NU/s320/P1020629.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
I enjoyed the meal with a piping hot cup of reishi mushroom tea, a little honey added to take away the bitterness. I got the reishi came from my cousin Emmett, forager and man of the wilds extraordinaire, who found it in the woods of Vancouver Island, Canada last year. The whole fungus, currently residing in my aunt and uncles' kitchen on Bainbridge Island, is mostly still intact and quite impressive, more so than this little slice I brought back a few weeks ago:<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg94hhQtr9VhbLhEeuw35kAZ5RcsYxSZuvw3Wbh2AMDTdxfXz96pyXLKc7oFoHDxJuyViWULD-RU__g7rPkeCeU4QOdTVn1Xm4TbVX0FqOK0VrSBQVvcLP5bzKi-SOYWNQeCgFcR-dLWMw/s1600/P1020630.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552170458207376706" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg94hhQtr9VhbLhEeuw35kAZ5RcsYxSZuvw3Wbh2AMDTdxfXz96pyXLKc7oFoHDxJuyViWULD-RU__g7rPkeCeU4QOdTVn1Xm4TbVX0FqOK0VrSBQVvcLP5bzKi-SOYWNQeCgFcR-dLWMw/s320/P1020630.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 240px;" /></a><br />
I tried to practice mindfulness while eating the soup: really focusing on the taste, the bite of the brassicas (bok choi and daikon), the subtle presence of the five spice, the richness of the leeks and sesame oil, the tang of rice vinegar, the sweetness of the carrots, the pungent bites of ginger that all managed to sink to the bottom. I thought back to an important book I'd finished a few weeks ago, <span style="font-style: italic;">One Straw Revolution</span>. While I don't agree with the author on everything, I think the way I cooked and consumed the soup have much in common with the his sentiments towards eating.<br />
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Sure, the world is still rife with injustices, but at least there are things we can do in our own lives to keep healthy and sane.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLLziQMFVoIH9EnROERpEN5OjDY08pQIh1QOMJeeqs8rO175avr2FhoiS_-sLbOCHCzkCnzysAhyOgpsj0jnRrMcXK1QE9nRHAeXkbpKK8mXDqhQuAODVVfv1zq_I0oprgNEVgrnar93g/s1600/P1020622.JPG"><br />
</a>I am not sure if anyone reads this, given how irregularly I post. Please leave me a comment if you do.</div>
Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-85546384939376257842010-11-06T16:36:00.001-07:002011-12-04T11:29:30.338-08:00Life after Farm Camp: Carrots, Politics and wisdom of 'One Straw'<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtvvReth971x8mNkI3akZY9kAHrUHxqCIodYjK-ZIrvVNAD6-CMR4NM5zFS_jqO2dpdFXgMnYX0CQsITiBlADGzfV6uEGOmHsBO3U1xU_h1VX5-yLnUyU1oQUAt1rcD8ujjCnRuxgVpCw/s1600/P1020571.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536595400060418210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtvvReth971x8mNkI3akZY9kAHrUHxqCIodYjK-ZIrvVNAD6-CMR4NM5zFS_jqO2dpdFXgMnYX0CQsITiBlADGzfV6uEGOmHsBO3U1xU_h1VX5-yLnUyU1oQUAt1rcD8ujjCnRuxgVpCw/s320/P1020571.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Aunt Nancy and Uncle Marc's Garden, Bainbridge Island WA</span></span></div><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
</span></span></div>Carrots, my dad and I learned last Monday, have the most complex flavor of any vegetables, and the third most of any food, after chocolate and coffee. This was one of many nuggets of carrot knowledge we learned from John Navazio, a PhD and seed breeder who works for the Organic Seed Alliance. That organization sponsored the event, a chance for farmers, gardeners and anyone else to learn about carrot seed breeding and trials at Nash's Produce in the Dungeness Valley of Washington's Olympic Peninsula. The seed trials were sponsored by NOVIC, a collaborative that aims to develop seeds for organic farmers in the northern tier of the US, who need to produce a yield from fields that are often too wet or too cold. It wasn't too cold or rainy that day at Nash's, but the fields peered across were muddy from previous days' rain. We stood in our mud boots gazing across acres of carrot tops and pondering this contraption designed to harvest those delicious orange roots:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifF4eB27qYNkb37hZzkALizZs4AsNmJQhtMQSz5UJ4peL2OG5rrvwfSoAZ4tEJ9GQErDWEOXV-ngCYpQHEfK1ShLAD4sncWkpe0NAO7IQffVTaEufe0KjOdLYWDQpj1wEIU9bh7KBtyio/s1600/P1020574.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536595573389029570" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifF4eB27qYNkb37hZzkALizZs4AsNmJQhtMQSz5UJ4peL2OG5rrvwfSoAZ4tEJ9GQErDWEOXV-ngCYpQHEfK1ShLAD4sncWkpe0NAO7IQffVTaEufe0KjOdLYWDQpj1wEIU9bh7KBtyio/s320/P1020574.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 240px;" /></a><br />
John Navazio and Scott, a field manager at Nash's, explained to us the goals of carrot seed trials: to get a carrot that will hold in the sometimes frozen, nearly always waterlogged soil at the farm through the winter into the spring and will still taste good after harvest. After looking at the bolero carrots, checking for any white fungus growing in the tops and discussing varietal differences, we headed inside to taste some of the recently-harvested bounty from the fields. With 10 varieties present, it quickly became clear that not all carrots taste the same.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCZRXvhG8VU7BhkLpsyK8za9gK24eOL6IA0s4zcVqLA1r550qNeG5T5hUq74aBITQzwA6fXRJjOTafXZOnUOqvmY2Tjqmpr7L5XLdoGN1PoRoxlSwSFWzTxt0FgFbCZ_0Qc6WIh1RSc-g/s1600/P1020582.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536595588084651186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCZRXvhG8VU7BhkLpsyK8za9gK24eOL6IA0s4zcVqLA1r550qNeG5T5hUq74aBITQzwA6fXRJjOTafXZOnUOqvmY2Tjqmpr7L5XLdoGN1PoRoxlSwSFWzTxt0FgFbCZ_0Qc6WIh1RSc-g/s320/P1020582.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
After more than enough carrots to ensure our daily dose of Vitamin A and a delicious winter squash soup, we headed back to Bainbridge Island, where we'd spent the night before with my Uncle Marc and Aunt Nancy. We had just enough time to finish off the previous nights' dessert--chocolate mousse--and catch the ferry back to Seattle so we could watch what was the last game of the world series. Although I really enjoyed the games in the series, my introduction back to the world of advertisements after nearly six months of TV-free living at the Farm and Garden was not always a pleasant one. I am reminded of the consumer-driven reality that many people spend much of their lives immersed in.<br />
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I can't recount the events of the past week without mentioning the elections. Elections are a reality check, a reminder that lots of people out there in America have values much different from mine. Fortunately, many of the things I voted for (or against) in California were successful. Still, on the national level, the results of Tuesday don't give me much hope that the federal government will solve any of our pressing issues: economic stagnation, ongoing foreclosure crisis, a broken immigration system, global climate change. It's up to us, but I don't have many answers at the moment, except that I will continue to 'till the land' for whatever that is worth. I used to get all bent out of shape about politics, too emotionally involved. Back in 2008 the election in 2008 was all I could think about for weeks leading up to the contest. I even had to take the day of the election off (I ended up phone banking) because I was so distracted and couldn't get anything done at work. I vowed to not let this happened and swung into apathy while I was in Santa Cruz. I am trying to forge a new route: not feeling the weight of the world's problems on my shoulders all the time, but not trying to escape or avoid all the pressing issues of our country and the world. A kind of middle path.<br />
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Wednesday was a beautiful, sunny day in the Puget Sound, and I took a glorious walk through the Nisqually Delta on my way to Olympia. These sights were enough to revive any post-election blues:<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBJs8hTLtcQHSdVTpiaFiycCCJz5mfxu8x__MnAQl9TkJyiShunkBSvQRWopu1By6Lbrtld3frk6JNgvPmCwxX0YxxnkbUYbH5P6TCVkX38cFgkTChG54okfGM4Bd8rGxzsRopLaYiXOE/s1600/P1020599.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536596391816649746" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBJs8hTLtcQHSdVTpiaFiycCCJz5mfxu8x__MnAQl9TkJyiShunkBSvQRWopu1By6Lbrtld3frk6JNgvPmCwxX0YxxnkbUYbH5P6TCVkX38cFgkTChG54okfGM4Bd8rGxzsRopLaYiXOE/s320/P1020599.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqtyQfofqQDaFaBe6XJyugg1ZcKSGhM7uuzkgpUkx0TDeD54-Xun_OKtl1PFxO8-mfJAzn4dahNcRFhiKSmab_b9UTV5UtLwGq2r9v8OZ3hMtEuTecriSs0HBohCH19vMudjDa20bTFzc/s1600/P1020602.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536596396507289842" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqtyQfofqQDaFaBe6XJyugg1ZcKSGhM7uuzkgpUkx0TDeD54-Xun_OKtl1PFxO8-mfJAzn4dahNcRFhiKSmab_b9UTV5UtLwGq2r9v8OZ3hMtEuTecriSs0HBohCH19vMudjDa20bTFzc/s320/P1020602.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">View of the Olympic Mountains to the west, across the sound</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">I was reminded just how beautiful of a place the Pacific Northwest is. I had dinner and spent the evening with my aunt, uncle and cousins at their house in Olympia and left the next morning for Let Us Farm, a small family run place in the Chehalis Valley about 45 minutes south of town. Fog and dew clung to the meadows and forestlands as I headed south on 1-5, then exited and headed west through Rochester and Oakville, two small towns in the flood-prone Chehalis River plain. I finally reached the farm, which is just west of Oakville, and joined in helping Cecelia wash parsnips. Later, Steve drove me around past the vegetables and into the expansive acreage planted in various cover crops. The couple had bought the 88 acre property--a defunct dairy-- eight years ago or so and had converted it to a successful organic farm that produces all sorts of delicious veggies. It's a beautiful spot, a rural, green valley surrounded by the gently sloping forests (albeit a bit clearcut, but hey, it's Gray's Harbor County). </div><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">I spent two days working on the farm: harvesting beets and winter squash, washing greens and lettuce, pulling up rutabagas, sorting potatoes, packing the van for the trip to the U-District Farmers' Market on Saturday. It was a great opportunity to do some real hard farm work, meet some knowledgeable farmers and get out of the city for a couple days. Most of all, I was reminded of the humbling experience of farming, and that as a beginner, I have much work to do and much learning. Sure, I took the cucurbits class and the irrigation class (I fell asleep during the soil nutrition class) and made some bouquets at CASFS, but I was reminded of the shortcomings of that program and that the reality of work on a production farm is much different from how I've spent the past six months. I was reminded yet again of the lesson I learned at Black Mesa the previous winter: that for people making a living off the land, actions often speak louder than words and fast-talking isn't usually welcome. This is a refreshing change from how the rest of society operates, and is humbling for me, a graduate of elite schools who could flash credentials around but prefers to let the work I do speak for itself.<br />
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</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_8epDsQvwtq56DYkJQIFuarayxjmj2Bb87uTxCumcZjGki_thd4imhJ2dagxcAj9MnkghfDyDtzDYwgNDIOJlqdD9OqsczBBhyphenhyphen1s4yvylFrTYJshFsuitBXsbwQm220SIBPZSNSwVXQ/s1600/P1020608.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536596672377777938" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_8epDsQvwtq56DYkJQIFuarayxjmj2Bb87uTxCumcZjGki_thd4imhJ2dagxcAj9MnkghfDyDtzDYwgNDIOJlqdD9OqsczBBhyphenhyphen1s4yvylFrTYJshFsuitBXsbwQm220SIBPZSNSwVXQ/s320/P1020608.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">The 'silo' at Let Us Farm; the rest of the winter squash we pulled from the fields on a sunny November afternoon in the Chehalis Valley.<br />
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</span></div>Recently, I've dug into Masanobu Fukuoka's classic treatise on 'Natural Farming', the <span style="font-style: italic;">One Straw Revolution</span>. It's a great book, documenting Fukuyoka's transformation from plant pathology expert working for the government to farmer of grains and citrus. Fukuyoka's work is inspiring because it presents an ideal of farming that I strive for: one that uses no off-farm fertility inputs, tillage or chemical sprays and fertilizers and conserves water and energy. It also connects the simple life of farming and living and eating close to the land with Zen Buddhism, a philosophy that's long influenced my own life. I am reminded of Shunryu Suzuki's <span style="font-style: italic;">Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind</span>, and that as an aspiring farmer, I am most definitely a beginner. One thing that appeals to me about farming is that one can never know it all: organic agriculture is incredibly <span style="font-weight: bold;">complex</span> and presents a lifetime of learning.<br />
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So I turn away from the world of politics, with it's rhetoric and deciet, knowing full well that it shapes all our lives and it is not something we can escape from by fleeing to a bucolic setting and avoiding the people we disagree with. It is easy to begrudge those who do things that we view as stupid, ignorant or cruel and to want to change their attitudes. I am not sure how to do this, but instead of going down this path of frustration, futility and anger, I turn towards the self, and how I can continue to cultivate my own person, not in a self-absorbed, self-indulgent way, but so that I can continue to learn and grow and perhaps be a positive influence in the world. I choose to work with hands and body, focus my mind on observing and learning, realizing I don't know all that much in the grand scheme of things and that there is much beauty and mystery in this world around us, however terrible that place can appear at times. And maybe eat a few carrots and a kabocha squash or two while I'm at it.Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-88563724308186741422010-10-21T10:09:00.000-07:002011-12-11T00:05:25.654-08:00DeparturesAnother attempt to revive this blog yet again, complete with a new title and all. After a sometimes frenetic summer at the Farm and Garden, I find the fall lending itself to reflection and writing. As usual, the intent is to use this blog to stay in touch with folks I don't see everyday, and also to practice self-expression through writing and sometimes photos. So here I go again...<br />
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It's been two weeks since I graduated from the Apprenticeship in Ecological Horticulture at UC Santa Cruz, and my hands show the passing of time since I left the farm. While at CASFS, dirt clung to the undersides of my fingernails and any cracks it could work its way into. It was always there, a pleasant reassurance of the joy of laboring in the soil. Now, having spent most of my post-farm time in cities, it is gone. But not for long.<br />
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On the last day to move off the farm, Sunday October 17th, rain fell steadily from a gray sky, the first of its' kind we'd seen since June. It was a fitting end: when we arrived in mid-April, we experienced similar weather during the move-in. This dramatic shift of weather mirrored the shifts occuring in all our lives, and the inevitable changes that occur during the course of time spent on a farm. Everything always in flux, always in transition. Towards the end of the day, the rain subsided, and I took a last trip to the Chadwick Garden to glean some apples and wander that unique, sometimes mystical place. Mists swirled in the Redwood forests that tower over the garden like guardians, water droplets clung to the leaves of the apple trees. In some places, the yellows, reds and browns of fallen fruits covered the orchard floor. I selected those 'grounders' not too far gone with rot or mushiness and loaded as many as I could into a duffel bag. I was happy to have a lot of russeted ones in the mix. All those apples made for great snacks and gifts to share as I left the bountiful world of the farm, always abundant in delicious fruits and vegetables, for the urban world, where freshly harvested things can be a little harder to come by.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFVeM8y1Ez7FAAy7XiNxDi5_h9m944HJng-pTiH0qnCi6tXy6pTO4r8S0txCsfYDJ3Cp5aLQESzst9I2mIXe8J167fHc6DKMMhhnjenGa0Ag1TxUVA0u1Du_a8yfWADGJe2fnoZh0tw_s/s1600/P1020556.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533716523882016194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFVeM8y1Ez7FAAy7XiNxDi5_h9m944HJng-pTiH0qnCi6tXy6pTO4r8S0txCsfYDJ3Cp5aLQESzst9I2mIXe8J167fHc6DKMMhhnjenGa0Ag1TxUVA0u1Du_a8yfWADGJe2fnoZh0tw_s/s320/P1020556.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz6r-wcHXr5BB4I4asIMtXI8dVFKG-iUpkgbFh8k6hSw7pTpzw1fTnJP3ZINGox-UZC_ykmEudC3zX2KmV3TI5o77kr5vboVm1nPzTSsBwfxPCcd1oTGgitVOh6lbuDA4UpBtJ8ERSH6M/s1600/P1020557.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533708288231701042" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz6r-wcHXr5BB4I4asIMtXI8dVFKG-iUpkgbFh8k6hSw7pTpzw1fTnJP3ZINGox-UZC_ykmEudC3zX2KmV3TI5o77kr5vboVm1nPzTSsBwfxPCcd1oTGgitVOh6lbuDA4UpBtJ8ERSH6M/s320/P1020557.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 240px;" /></a><br />
Last week involved not one but two departures: the first, leaving my fellow apprentices. We had had become close over the past six months and it was hard to see our little community fragment; saying goodbye to those folks whose homes lay in other countries and coasts was especially tough. The second, a departure from the Bay Area: finally moving my stuff out of storage and taking it up to Washington. In reality, my farewell from the Bay began long before then, even before I left my job in Hayward last February, first for Black Mesa then Santa Cruz. Of all the places one could choose to live, the Bay Area has so many assets: rich diverse cultures, beautiful weather, fascinating landscapes urban and natural, dynamic, funky people, great restaurants and a cornucopia of year-round produce. But for some reason I never totally felt at home there. Often considering going elsewhere at times, I remained loyal to my job and the Park School Community, despite the ups and downs of evictions (I had to leave a place not of my own volition three times in five years!) and frequent illnesses acquired from those adorable germ-bombs I worked with in Hayward (There is much more to this than that, I just don't feel like opening that can of worms at the moment). The opportunity to participate in the apprenticeship proved a blessing in many ways: a great learning experience, a fresh new group of folks to hang with and finally, the kick in the pants that finally got me up and out of the rut I saw myself stuck in. During my time in Santa Cruz, I grew disconnected with the East Bay and no longer viewed it as my home to return to after finishing the program. When it came time to move out of my tent cabin, I had made up my mind about returning to Washington State. I moved quickly, needing to arrive in Seattle the following weekend. After leaving Santa Cruz, I spent a couple days in Berkeley seeing a few friends, taking a bike ride down around Lake Merritt and out to the old neighborhood, Fruitvale, where I felt as out of place as ever. By my departure time, I managed to squeeze my stuff into my car: kombucha jar, ceramics, tinctures, butternut squash and all.<br />
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Of course, I couldn't stay away from farms too long, and made a brief but pleasant stop on my northward journey at Full Belly Farm in the beautiful Capay Valley, where Rawley has been working since January. This was my fourth visit to that farm, the first being that previous March, when rains still fell and the hills remained green. By July, the temperatures had reached 100 F, but Cache Creek still ran full and cool and the farm abounded with summer produce that remained elusive to us in fog-cloaked Santa Cruz. This time around, the air was cool, the leaves on the plums browning and the fields devoid of melons and tomatoes. We did enjoy some delicious recently-dug sweet potatoes along with newly returned greens and some remaining okra. Being at Full Belly--a highly mechanized 300 acre operation--has always sparked questions about the issues of scale and sustainability. But in the end, the farm is a beautiful place, full of wonderful people and delicious produce. It was a good place to spend what will be my last night in California for a while.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimVdzdZ0WPDqB-hcJWC53SStF4KStb_bl8JnktYmFOUJP9cFED5cdaK0MH_A2J2lN1iplFmZU8RAuflazhOAQlXBjmBc9snEuv1Bkx_gWY-x-gbTzkgZrsaSyZFpMBSdnFwLXN0qF9hOc/s1600/P1020566.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533710747431961490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimVdzdZ0WPDqB-hcJWC53SStF4KStb_bl8JnktYmFOUJP9cFED5cdaK0MH_A2J2lN1iplFmZU8RAuflazhOAQlXBjmBc9snEuv1Bkx_gWY-x-gbTzkgZrsaSyZFpMBSdnFwLXN0qF9hOc/s320/P1020566.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVskirFANY54HCySIDpaKzKwB6nJPpyS7U1ykTHzINI-A9104L-K6-vkR4tk30VLTG3mA7tYHVN7HR5tHm1C4tD-S9-51l56Ujohok7UndFAeTXnAJ4-0yTLwQG2PQaqvhNFd1KVVFdYs/s1600/P1020565.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533710740730143522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVskirFANY54HCySIDpaKzKwB6nJPpyS7U1ykTHzINI-A9104L-K6-vkR4tk30VLTG3mA7tYHVN7HR5tHm1C4tD-S9-51l56Ujohok7UndFAeTXnAJ4-0yTLwQG2PQaqvhNFd1KVVFdYs/s320/P1020565.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
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I proceeded with haste in order to surprise my mom for her 60th birthday, which I did, catching her in the basement and causing her to fall back onto the dryer. She was a bit shocked, but of course glad I had made it. It may be the last surprise we do for my parents though. Now, a week later, here I am, sitting in the house where I grew up, a place that for many years I vowed never to live in again, full of half-baked notions about what it means to be a 'mature adult'. I am not planning to be here for months on end, rather, I am taking this time as a gift, to be able to think about what I want to do, read, write, go over what I learned at CASFS instead of having to throw myself into a wage job, commute and rental house again. The transition from farm life to home life isn't always easy, but by the end of the sixth month apprenticeship, I often yearned some more quiet time. Still, it's hard to leave behind such great people and memories, and I am eternally grateful for all those incredible farm center meals, the lively sunday b-ball games , evening jam sessions singing 'Harder they Come' on the porch and countless other things. I am moving on from farm life as that's what I need to do, though I still drink lemon balm tea in the evening (OK, it's the dried stuff, not as good as the fresh leaves picked straight out of the young apple orchard). My plan is to find a farm up here in Washington to work at for next season, and I've started making contacts and planning work-visits in the coming weeks. I feel that after my time at CASFS, the best thing for me to do is to find a farm to work on and put what I've learned into practice, while getting the experience of being on a commercial farm instead of at an educational institution. I've got some other fun things planned too: on Monday, my Dad, my Uncle Marc and I are heading to Nash's Farm in Sequim to learn about NOVIC (Northern Organic Vegetable Improvement Collaborative) and local trials on beet and carrot varieties. Then in mid November I am attending the Washington Tilth Conference, a gathering of many of the state's organic producers. In the process, I hope to learn about the sustainable agriculture scene up here--which seems to be flourishing, not surprisingly--and find the right farm to work on for next season.<br />
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Sure, part of my wonders what I am doing here, leaving behind sunny California with its' breathtaking landscapes, persimmons and olive groves, for the gray skies and shortening days of fall in the Pacific Northwest. I contemplate going elsewhere: the Southwest, with its' <span style="font-style: italic;">tunas</span>, dried chiles and blue corn, or the East Coast, where I have many close friends and which would be a place that truly offers a different farming experience from the West. But for now, I am here in the Northwest, happily so though I miss the beauty of the farm and the people there (as well as Bay Area friends and people from the Park School community), making a go of it as best I can. When I feel a little down about it, I brighten at the sight of the reds, oranges and yellows of the fall colors (no, it's not New England but we do have a real fall up here) and the rare glimpse of snow-capped Mt. Ranier or Mount Baker. I've long contemplated living here again; it's an experiment and an adventure like all of life...Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526101728098522891.post-51471117199490542612010-05-03T16:17:00.000-07:002011-12-04T11:31:40.583-08:00Spring TimeIt's a sunny afternoon here in Santa Cruz, and again I am here in the laundry room not far from the farm. I think I should rename my blog 'Notes from the Laundry Room' or something in that vein. Anyhow, though it is Monday, today is a day off at the farm because Saturday and Sunday we had our big plant sale and all of us were working during at least part of that time. The plant sale was a success, but that's not so much what I want to write about today. <br />
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I must admit, I wish I were a little more clear-headed as I sit to collect my thoughts. It's a hot afternoon, and I am feeling a bit dehydrated still from my bike ride up the long hill back to the UCSC campus a few hours ago. After running errands, which included a trip to a mall to get my glasses fixed, I appreciate being able to return to my wonderful, green, secluded home, full of verdant life and good people. <br />
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On the farm there is always work, always something to do. This is less of a burden and more of a pleasure. When I returned this afternoon, I checked the compost pile that fellow apprentices and I had built two weeks prior. It was a nice, hot 142 degrees F. On my way back from the pile, I noticed that one of the gopher traps that Christopher, a second year apprentice and I had placed in the garden had sprung, so I checked to see if we had caught one of those pesky critters. Gopher trapping has been an activity I've done daily recently. In the lower garden, where I've spent the most time working recently, gophers can be a plague, damaging crops, especially the tubers and some of the annual flowers. They can be a serious problem and cause severe crop loss if left unchecked. Part of working and being close to the land is coming to understand the role of humans on the landscape. Here on the farm, we are in competition over the land with the gophers: if they succeed, we will have reduced crops which means less to eat and sell and ultimately less revenue for our program. Food bills will rise, but more importantly, we will not have the satisfaction of harvesting and eating the food we worked so hard to grow. So despite reservations about killing animals, we trap the gophers. Although I don't relish the death of a small animals, I find trapping to be a satisfying activity. I head out into the garden, either alone or with another person, with a bucket of traps and a digging tool and search for signs of recent gopher activity. This means looking more closely at the soil, observing any recently created lumps or mounds that might conceal a gopher hole beneath. When I discover one, I dig out the plug that the gopher filled the end of the hole with, make sure the burrow is still active and not collapsed or buried, and set the trap. If all goes correctly, the gopher will notice light entering its' burrow, and will come investigate and then, bam, the trap will close, quickly snapping the small animals' neck. If this sounds brutal, I understand, but in nature that's how things can be. Whether we have a moral right to be on this land or not, I am not going to get into. But if you eat crops grown somewhere, there is a good chance that a gopher or two may have been killed in the process. <br />
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Not all is competition and death here at the farm. Yesterday morning after setting traps, I remembered the sapote tree. Sapotes are a type of fruit native to Mexico and Central America, and this particular variety we grow here at the CASFS farm is a while sapote. It seems to do well here, and produces small, unappealing-looking fruit that hang from the spreading branches of the nearly 40 ft tree in various stages of ripeness. A ripe sapote is delicious: when the skin is removed, a delicious creamy flesh is revealed, a consistency that is sort of like pear and avocado mixed, and a sweet, delicious taste with a hint of caramel. I enjoyed climbing the tree and knocking the fruit down to another apprentice waiting below to catch them nearly as much as I enjoyed eating our harvest. One thing I love about this place is the incongrous juxtaposition of vegetation: the sapote tree, with its' tropical origins, grows next to a stand of alder, a tree I associate with the Pacific Northwest. Wonderful. <br />
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On my return from the compost pile, I discovered a swarm of bees on the branch of one of the apple trees. Recently, we've discovered a number of honeybee swarms on the farm and nearby and have 'caught' them with varying degrees of success. The act of 'catching' the bees is much different from trapping the gophers, and the relationship between gophers and humans vs. bees and humans is much different: one of competition vs. one of cooperative dependence. I will hopefully learn for myself how to catch a swarm of bees and start a new hive in just a few hours...<br />
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After three weeks plus a day or two, this place feels like home. We are all in the routine of doing our chores (this is my last week of break baking), and have taken over cooking our meals. Another apprentice Jane and myself cooked breakfast on Wednesday (the second years cooked the rest of the days' meals because we were in class), we had limited ingredients--no eggs, flour and few veggies--because our ordering system is not running completely smooth at the moment--but put together a nice concoction of vegan 'sausage' patties (made of beans and rice), along with hot quinoa cereal and cooked greens gleaned from the field. It worked out well as served as a good warm-up for our full day of cooking coming up the week after this. The days spent working the land in the company of others pass quickly and the tasks impart a deep sense of satisfaction, which I think will only grow as newly planted crops take root and grow into maturity. Farm center life unfolds, with its' shared meals, cups of coffee (fair trade Nicaraguan) in the mornings and lemon balm tea in the evenings and the occasional party with beer, live music and even sometimes dancing. It is a good life here.<br />
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As I enter my fourth week on the farm, I realize that the time here will pass quickly. October is still a long way off, and I am still processing my departure from Park School, my time on Black Mesa and in the deserts and more so, my arrival and new life here at the CASFS farm. What I am finding here is that I have a sense of optimism and of possibilities that was often missing during the months leading up to my departure from Hayward Unified. Sometimes, visitors and others will ask me--what will I do in October? I have many ideas, but for now, I am trying to ground myself in this place, appreciate the community of those I live and work with and learn all I can from them and this land. That and an occasional sapote or an evening cup of tea made from fresh garden herbs fill me with a great sense of contentment, and I begin and end each day with a sense of gratitude for this experience.Reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17097813791522114574noreply@blogger.com0