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.
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.
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.
As a postscript, 'don't ask, don't tell' was repealed, so not all news is bad news.
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.
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.
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.
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:
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, One Straw Revolution. 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.
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.
I am not sure if anyone reads this, given how irregularly I post. Please leave me a comment if you do.
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.
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.
As a postscript, 'don't ask, don't tell' was repealed, so not all news is bad news.
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.
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.
I want to feel the tranquility of this place (Japanese garden in Portland, Oregon)
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...
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.
Some of my favorite ingredients in the kitchen:
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:
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, One Straw Revolution. 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.
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.
I am not sure if anyone reads this, given how irregularly I post. Please leave me a comment if you do.
Comments
i can totally relate to leaving the bay area and then realizing it's where i want to be. i'm here again. in oakland.. wouldlove to see you when you get here. i'm also a big fan of reishi tea. my dad introduced it to me to help me sleep more soundly. i don't know if it works, but i think it tastes great.
evan