back from the wild

As the temperatures begin to drop in the Northeast, we’re transitioning into the yin season, a time for quiet introspection. Next time you’re up all night frantically finishing a paper, think about what it could be doing to your inner cycle. I know this is a lot to ask - we’re not humans, we’re just college students, right? Wrong. College is not a special time of our life where we’re allowed to ignore our natural systems; in fact, we should be paying extra attention to our internal voices now more than ever. We’re at the prime of our lives, the future stretches out long and promising in front of us. How are we supposed to go forth and follow our dreams if we don’t take the time to listen to ourselves? We hold all the answers. (I can see the sarcastic smirks already…)

This weekend, I attended a conference at UMass called, “Beyond Prevention: How to Survive Climate Change.” We can be sure that we will be called upon to face a great many challenges in the near future. Is our generation ready? Or simply stupefied into unconsciousness.

Everything you thought you knew-

In other news, plants!

At home, the banyan trees look like this

In my room, the banyans looks more like this

This is the baby ginseng bonsai (or banyan fig) that I purchased in front of the Campus Center this weekend, along with a Pachira plant, known as a good luck tree in East Asia, and referred to as the “money tree” here in America. Figures.

I was chatting with a German friend of mine last night and he was going on and on about how the fate of the universe was going to be decided in 48 hours and he was going to be up all night watching the election returns along with the rest of Europe.

Come on, America. Let’s not let the whole world down (again).

(Canada’s got it right. hehe)

One of the most significant factors contributing to the carbon footprint of college students these days is transportation. We all know that travel the way we’re used to it usually involves the burning of fossil fuels and the emission of carbon dioxide. Like everything else, we’ve become addicted to fast and (not always) easy travel. We all know that air travel is bad for the environment, worse than other modes of transport, considering the height at which the plane is emitting the carbon dioxide directly into the atmosphere. For a large percentage of the Amherst student body who live outside of New England, air travel is the only mode of transportation considered to get to and from school. But, what if we decided to change that?

There are several ways to decrease our carbon footprint created by air travel. One way is to monetarily offset your emissions by purchasing carbon credits which are then used to fund emissions-reducing projects. The problem with this method is that it doesn’t decrease emissions directly. In my opinion, this creates more problems than it solves; it allows people to believe that these “actions” are making a difference when really we should be thinking about what conscious decisions we can make to minimize our carbon imprint. The aviation industry is looking into new ways to make flying more environmentally friendly, but the point is, can we wait for what they may or may not ever find? Rather than wait for technology to solve all of our problems for us, I propose another idea -

This year, make traveling home for Christmas an adventure. See a bit of the land that you pass over when you board a plane and fly 35,000 ft above the Earth’s surface. Traveling by train grounds you in your surroundings and allows you to understand the full extent of the distance you are covering. You can walk about as you please and order meals and get off for a stretch at passing train stations. You never know what interesting character may be sitting next to you for half of your trip, or what funky towns you’ll pass through.

What if Amherst College paid the difference between a plane ticket and a train ticket, to encourage riding vs flying? Would you do it?

I propose that Amherst College students lead the way in shifting our travel tendencies. We have the power to make an impact, or at least lessen our impact. In light of our current energy and economic situation, it makes sense for the government to invest in our railways, which they are doing, to some extent. Still, Americans could do more to show their support for alternative travel and, in doing so, make a conscious move towards sustainability.

A confession: I would rather be running around with the kids and getting dirty in the mud than sitting around shooting the shit with adults. Adults are boring, especially in this country. At least in most other cultures around the world, parents let their kids be kids- or more than here, at least.

The common thread running through all of my travels has been the kids I’ve met and the games we’ve played. Soccer is a global language; smiles speak a million words. Never in the rainforest village in Ecuador did I ever hear a parent chastise their child for doing something childlike. Even during the most serious of ceremonies, kids did what the pleased, poking around the podium with curiosity, walking on the “stage”, and screaming with delight as they played tag in the middle of everything. At first, I was completely taken aback by this laissez-faire approach to parenting and I mistook it for a serious lack of discipline. My strict European father would have never accepted this sort of chaos and “manque de respect” when my sister and I were growing up. He was an adult, and our father on top of that!, and we had better do exactly what he wanted without any questions, or else.

On the farm, I was delighted that the children were free to do as they please and be whomever they wanted at any given time. Guthrie liked to wear his sister’s dresses and Ember often preferred not to wear anything at all. Seeing as I spent so much time with them poking around the garden, it took me a while to figure out what was the appropriate way to deal with them. I found myself being stricter with them than their parents were, and who was I to tell them not to do anything? It was programmed in me, this need to say no, to assert my dominance as an “adult”. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that this feeling of having to “deal” with the children is the problem. Once I got over those preconceptions we have towards children, I spent the next month just being a kid alongside them, wide-eyed about the world’s wonders.

Now that I’ve gone there, I’m afraid I can’t go back. It’s just so exhausting to control a child nonstop all the time, and it’s against the very nature of childhood, so why even waste your energy trying? Unfortunately, I have recently starting working at a local daycare center in the neighborhood where I’m surrounded by wonderful, exuberant preschoolers, and enough uptight adults to make you go absolutely fucking crazy.

Now, I understand that this isn’t the pure Amazon rainforest, nor is this the utopia of an urban farm community, but really - is little Johnny going to die a violent death from using a plastic hammer on a lego? Seriously. No talking, no moving, no breathing, no jumping, no screaming, no scratching your nose - what’s the point of being a kid if you can’t do anything? Are these the kinds of kids we want to raise - a generation of citizens who are too scared to do any single thing that go beyond these rules set up for no real reason? They just make everyone involved generally unhappy and stressed. I know there are a few rebels in the bunch, but it’s sad to me that they think for a second that they’re misbehaving, when really, they’re just behaving.

Even worse than being a kid in this situation is being me in this classroom. Most of the time I feel absolutely helpless, distressed, and sad - not emotions I usually associate with hanging out with children. Often, I need more discipling than the kids, what with wanting to read to them, and play with them, and encourage independent thought in them. Yep, I must be stopped! And believe me, I get relentlessly reprimanded by the lead teacher - in a benign, repressed sort of way, of course.

I’m sorry for asking Jenny about her upcoming birthday. I didn’t realize birthdays were off-limits as a topic of discussion. (I guess some kids don’t have… birthdays?) I’m sorry that I let Stuart sit in my lap when I read him a book. I’m sorry I even dared to read him a book in the first place - I wasn’t thinking! I’m sorry I gave Isabelle a squeeze when she did something cute. I’m sorry I paid any individual attention to any kid ever. Really, I shouldn’t be allowed around kids. I can’t believe I passed the background check.

I’ll probably be quitting soon; it’s pretty torturous for me to be around these precious kids and not be allowed to interact with them as I please. All I want to do is join in their silly childish ways, but that isn’t something we want to reinforce in them (fun? bad.); we should be maintaining control of the troops and and setting a good “example”. Yuck.

One last rant and then I promise I’ll shut up (for now)-

We went on a field trip to Atkins today via the PVTA and you should have seen the looks of utter bewilderment in the passengers faces. Lots of young, normal people just riding a bus, but most of them looked like they’d just seen an elephant walk a tightrope when a group of preschoolers get on board. I guess it isn’t something you see everyday, but it freaks me out that children evoke such emotions of surprise and amazement in normal people, cooing in delight over them - they’re four year olds, they’re cute, but they’re also just normal kids. This isn’t a zoo. Would you gawk at a group of elderly folks getting on a bus? The intergenerational disconnect in our society is dangerous because it distances us from people who are not like us, even if they live in the same place and lead similar lives. Could this be why people are afraid of growing old, afraid of having kids (ask any college health center what their abortions statistics are, or talk to lots of successful young people about their views on having children), and afraid why? Weren’t we just like them once? Don’t we all share this common life experience?

Bah! I’m going back to the farm, where life made much more sense. (But I really don’t appreciate the condescending tone presented in these reports - oh how cute, people living in happily in harmony with the land… So adorable. Shut up.)

article here

David Suzuki’s 12 year old daughter Severn speaks at the 1992 UN Earth Summit in Rio de Janeiro.

16 years ago and what has changed?

Gas crisis? Noooo. Let’s all keep driving our SUVs to buy milk from the megastore two blocks away. What? I really need that milk- and I need it quick!

My friend Isabella rows crew at Vanderbilt in Nashville, Tennessee; she won’t be having practice tomorrow.

According to so-and-so excuses and blah blah bullshit, the city of Nashville is damn near out of gas, and people are f-reaking out (check Youtube for ridiculous footage of cars waiting in endless lines for the good stuff). Atlanta and Tallahassee are feeling it, too. Geez, who saw that coming?! It’s like the aftermath of a snow storm or a hurricane, minus the natural disaster!

But, I’m not so worried about all of this craziness. After all, I did walk 600 km across Spain once… Guess I’ll be riding my bike home for Thanksgiving (also known as Leyla; she’s lovely.)

Oh Portland, how I miss you in all of your “radical” glory.

after another trip to the farmer’s market… a garden update -

current plant count : 3 (maid of Orleans jasmine, pink lavender, & Irish ivy)

+ alpine strawberry plants, soon to be transplanted into zu garden : 7

number of strawberries on the vines : 1 nearly ripe one, and 3 tiny tiny ones !

That’s all for now, kids

I had put all of the finishing touches on my room, but something was still off. I didn’t know what it could be - no more ghastly white walls, my bed was finally in the perfect position, the couch felt homey in it’s little corner… So, what?

There was a man selling plants at the Amherst Farmer’s Market this weekend, and that’s where I found the missing piece of the puzzle: a Maid of Orleans jasmine plant, with delicate white flowers poking out of the green stems. I bought it immediately and continued running my errands, plant in tow. Like a new baby out on the town, people were delighted and curious, and I brought her up to many a nose so they could get a whiff of her fragrant blossoms.

It brings me endless joy to have a pretty plant with whom to share this space; it was exactly what was missing from my life. There’s even a sweet worm friend living in the flowerpot, too, poking around the moss all day. The memory of my lazy flower-filled afternoons with Myrtle still tugs at my heart now and again, but luckily, I’m finding love in swimming hole adventures and magical forest escapades.

At night, I move Ms. Jasmine from the windowsill to my bedside, so she can breathe me to sleep.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have an entire room full of delicious jasmine plants? I’ll work on it (and you should too).

flower power, carmella

I’m back in Florida. Mostly, I spend my days hanging out with my family, or scratching my head about things like why our local supermarket sells ORANGES from SOUTH AFRICA. Did I mention I’m back in FLORIDA. Yeah, who knows.

Other than that, I’m enjoying the sunshine, especially since I’m taking the big steps in getting my garden established - hoeing the soil, distributing the compost, and finally, getting the plants into the ground! It’s an exciting time. Although, it does get pretty frustrating when I have to explain to my family members and neighbors why they shouldn’t shovel all of their wet leaves and grass clippings into the giant green garbage cans provided by the city so they can get shuttled to the landfill every Monday and Thursday. It’s ORGANIC MATERIAL, I keep telling them. We could use the energy and nutrients embodied in all of that “trash”, right here in our neighborhood, in our backyard, in our garden! It’s especially frustrating since I am fresh off of living on a farm in Oregon where they would really appreciate this heat and this humidity and all this luscious compost fodder! Ah! We have all the right elements, it’s just that people would rather be sitting in traffic and working in cubicles than sweating a little for some stupid plants.

Miami brings out the worst in me, and for that, I am sorry.

(Imagine my surprise when I learned that the snap peas I used to pick off the vine in Oregon cost $8 a pound at the local farmer’s market - and these are nowhere near as fresh and crunchy and delicious as the peas I feasted on for free everyday while going about my duties in the garden…)

The only time I can stand Miami (beyond my house and backyard) is late, late at night, when my sister and I take on the darkened streets on our bicycles, relishing the cool breeze in our hair and feeling free. No cars to push us off the road - we ride down the very middle, hands outstretched in appreciation for the quiet peace we’ve finally found in our crazy city.

Miami’s hostile concrete environment also drives me to do other crazy things that I am a bit embarrassed to admit. For example, I feel a deep sorrow for the trees planted in haphazard holes made in the concrete, no other trees around for company, everyone passing them by without a second thought - such a harsh contrast with the harmony I felt with nature on the farm. There, life revolved around the trees, around all things green. Life was lived out in the garden, amongst the veggies - music, meals, meditation, laughter, bonfires, babies. We joked about how happy those plants must be, to be surrounded by all of our love and company. Now I realize that I’ve truly internalized that notion. I give an encouraging pat to to the lonely, scraggly palm outside of the post office. I whisper words of thanks to the lemon tree as I lock my bike to its trunk. I honor this land for what it once was - a tangled jungle of sprawling ficus trees - and I mourn what it has become - a concrete jungle of constant, inescapable, mind-numbing stimulation.

I have just had one of the most enchanting evenings of my life.

Russ brought the kids up to dinner today; Sue wasn’t with him and he didn’t stay. Myrtle had on a brand-new, sparkly dress. I asked her what the special occasion was and she swished her skirt around with a shy smile. Russ’ nervous, childish grin told me the reason. “Mytle and Guthrie are becoming a big sister and brother today,” he announced to the folks gathering in the kitchen for dinner. We all smiled; we had known for a while (news spreads like wildfire around here). We gave him our love and he ducked out.

After dinner, I took Myrtle and Guthrie down into the garden to distract them from the excitement. We sat down by the bees for a while and watched them crawl in and out of their boxes, buzzing with busy energy. One bee was peculiarly hanging from a blade of grass beside us the whole time, clearly in distress. We wondered how we could help it but decided it must be doing some job we didn’t know about. (It was still there a few hours later when we came to see the bees again. His dying body- that had seem so big before but now seemed so so small- lay quietly in the grass, easy to miss. Guthrie and I paid our respects and agreed it was certainly a very sad thing.)

Once we got our fill of beeez, we returned to the garden. We dilly-dallied down the rows of greens spilling out from the soil, picking an odd carrot or snap pea along the way, or a pretty flower for Mama. Up at the tool shack, Uncle Bonsai painted the mural for which the inspiration had just hit him moments earlier (it would be a splendid depiction of the four seasons, he had decided). We swung under the pine tree and told silly stories about monkeys and airplanes. Their giggles, their wide eyes, their smiles, their souls, so pure. Their tender insights about the world around them never cease to amaze me. We laid blankets and pillows on the village green and explored the ocean deep, page by page. Guthrie saw a star; Myrtle’s dress twinkled, too.

As dusk settled around us, Guthrie grew anxious; “I wanna see Mama,” he told me tearfully. Hope, Sue’s midwife (and a fellow community member/Sue’s upstairs neighbor - how’s that for convenience?) came by to visit us and assured the twins that Mama was doing good work to bring this baby into the world. Myrtle repeated that sweetly (and with such innocence!) to her brother afterwards whenever he got worked up. A few more lulling rhymes and they were conked by my first song. I kept singing for quite a while, feeling the weight of their little heads resting on my lap and the steady hum of their restful breaths; they didn’t stir when my body moved away. Down in the garden, I stood beside Bonsai, staring at his shapes and colors, sharing the warm night, marveling at the magic of this life and this land.

I had just written this in my journal (prematurely) - On the eve of July 25th, the day out of time, a new farmie is born - when I got a call from Hope. I woke the kids gently; “Christmas is here,” I whispered. Bonz and I cradled them in our arms, trying to shake them out of their dreams and not wanting to at the same time. I was greeted at the door by that signature newborn baby cry (which I had never heard before but I guess the movies clue you in). Sue and Russ smiled from the birthing bath, Hope kneeled on the floor beside them, all of them looking serene and accomplished . It took me a few seconds to fully register that a new life had just come into the world, and was being held in Sue’s arms right before me. Sue introduced her babies to their little sister, and their sleepy eyes widened in awe- in awe of her heartbeat, her cries, her pink, wrinkly body.

Welcome to the world, Hazel Holly. Of all the lives and lands to be born into on our planet today, yours is quite a beautiful one.

Happy Day out of Time!