Where does the time go? We already talked about how I procrastinate, so here we are... talking about July which was six months ago.
As they say on Glee, here's what you missed (well, the highlights anyway. I can't believe I remember that from Glee; it's been a while since I've binge-watched that!):
Sheep are still fun. I love hanging out with them. They're kind of standoffish, at least until they realize I have food. Then they're pretty chummy. They're so cute when they eat. This is Banda chomping on some lettuce.
We have continued to attend MOFGA farm training workshops. The one we went to on July 6th was at the farm at the fairgrounds. The farmers-in-residence do their entire operation with horse-drawn equipment. I've been around that kind of thing as a kid, but it was neat to explore it as an adult, now that I have a greater appreciation for such things. I think the thing that impressed me the most was the horse-drawn baler. I didn't know that could be done. The baler has its own motor to which the horses become accustomed. The farmers hitched the horses up to a flatbed wagon and took us for a ride around the farm. It was a nice time, despite the sprinkles. It's shaping into a dry summer, so any rain is welcome. I didn't know Maine could have those stretches of ninety-degree days we get back in the Southern Tier, but turns out it can. The nice thing about it, though, is that there is still a significant drop in temperature overnight, so sleeping remains comfortable, unlike those nights I remember as a kid (and in college... and the whole time I lived in New York...) where it was so hot and sticky that it was just impossible to get comfortable. One more thing to add to the list of things I like about you, Maine: you're pretty reasonable about the humidity.
We are slowly progressing on the house. On July 9th, we did our final marking for the foundation, the outhouse and the grey water pit. We will be renting the excavator soon, so we've had to get it together and decide what we're going to do, finally. We've toyed with the idea of building in the woods, but with all the ticks, the standing dead, the deep ruts and jutting rocks, it may not be easy to get back there with a concrete truck, and never mind hauling everything back there, probably by hand, to build. Plus these frickin' ticks... they're everywhere. Anyway, in the foreground below, you can see the foundation. The four close stakes behind that to the left mark the outhouse, or "pit privy", and way in the back, behind the house, stand the stakes for the grey water system.
Our logs need to be cut to sixteen-inch lengths for ease of burning. We have a lot of standing dead, which will be keeping us warm for many months (if not years) to come. The logs tend to be irregular and they like to bounce around a lot, so Nate built this bucking stand. It's collapsible for easy storage; it has a strap to lash down the logs so they don't bounce around; and he made the sections sixteen inches wide, so there's no guesswork. He can just line the edge of the chainsaw up with the board and make his cut. Nate is excellent at engineering things like this. He is an excellent partner for building a house. I flit around with wild and impractical ideas about how to make it unique and pretty, but he's the one who's going to make sure it doesn't fall down.
Our winter wood supply is coming along nicely. I'm pretty sure this much came just from downed trees that we (ok, Nate) cut up. We should have plenty of wood by winter.
I'm not sure what our soil is like or how crops will grow in it (one of our 2017 tasks is to send in soil samples for analysis so we can add the proper amendments), but our compost pile seems to be very fertile. We have this guy taking off in it. Don't know what it is, though it appears to be a curcubit.
Remember these guys? They're getting so big! They're still holdable, though. But they're getting squirmier.
On July 13th, I treated myself to a tiny adventure. I had always wondered what bogs were all about, so I went to visit one. The Bangor City Forest has a bog walk. It's probably a mile long, and it's a boardwalk that goes out into the bog. It's really interesting to watch the ecosystem change while progressing from forest to bog. There are some scraggly trees in the bog that look like Charlie Brown Christmas trees, but that are probably a hundred years old; they're just doing the best they can in the really wet soil. If one were to walk into the bog itself (which is not only ill-advised, but is also strictly verboten, because it is a very rare and fragile ecosystem), it would be like walking on a very large, very wet sponge. The plant life is fascinating. There are orchids and pitcher plants, neither of which I was aware grew in a place as unexotic (no offense) as Maine. I always thought those things lived in tropical rain forests. It was a beautiful walk.
And finally, July 14th became the day we officially broke ground. Nate rented the excavator for a twenty-four hour period and was disappointed to learn that there's a governor on it that limits actual use time to eight hours. Nonetheless. Nate dug out our grey water pit, our pit privy and the center and footer for our foundation (second photo, below). With extra time to burn, he dug out the hole for the other post for the gate and decided to make us a "pond". There is an area where there were two giant pits left over from the logging that filled themselves with water. Nate decided to combine them into one giant pit. We will see what becomes of that experiment. I would love for it to succeed as a pond that we can expand a little more.
You may be wondering why the romance is dead, especially given the non-dismal tone of this letter so far. No, Nate and I are fine (if somewhat contentious at times). We still enjoy the farm... but the disillusionment is this: farming is really, really fucking hard on the body (duh...). Nate has his own occasional aches and pains, but then there's me. I thought I was very strong and healthy, and I am, really. But the pain I have had on and off in my wrists, hands and forearms for the past decade or so is back with a vengeance. It seems like carpal tunnel from the symptoms. But then there's this really weird phenomenon... it came on very suddenly. One night in early July, I had a dream that someone had grabbed my right ring finger and was holding it bent very tightly into my palm. In the dream, I was trying to straighten it, but it just wouldn't straighten, and it hurt like hell. I woke up and realized that it wasn't really a dream. No, no one was actually trying to hurt me, but my right ring finger was stuck in a bent position. I managed to get it to straighten, but not without pain, and I didn't sleep very well for the rest of the night. It's persisted and gotten worse. Farming, turns out, is a whole lot of repetitive motion. I think using clippers (to cut flowers, harvest vegetables, etc.) is what has messed up my finger, so I'm trying to back off on that. But, yeah, having my finger get stuck and waking up multiple times a night with my hands tingly, painful, numb or completely dead really fucking sucks. So, yeah, it has occurred to me that being a farmer full-time is probably not the healthiest choice for me. I need my body to last another few decades. I think it will be okay to farm part-time, just to feed ourselves (it will have to be okay, because that's where our food is going to come from), but not at this breakneck pace where the goal seems to be speed and efficiency. My style is more to slow down, enjoy the work and still get it done, but with joy and ease.
So, last August, I spent a week at Menla, which is the Dalai Lama's retreat in the Catskills, at Baron Baptiste's Level One Yoga Teacher Training (Journey Into Power). It was so incredibly powerful that I signed up for Level Two (The Sannyasin's Journey) in September, because I knew that I wanted and needed to go and that I would find all the excuses not to go (it's a ridiculously big chunk of change) if I didn't sign up and commit right then. So Level Two, or "Yoga Camp", as I like to call it (so that lay people will sort of understand) was from July 16th through 23rd. I took a break from farming and dove back into the yoga world. If there is one thing I know, it is that I must never, ever let yoga disappear from my life again.
Several miracles happened that week.
First, I learned that there is a Naga who dwells in the valley at Menla. A Naga is a Buddhist water deity, kind of like a dragon. I learned that this particular Naga is a healer and likes white things. There is a small pond and a shrine on the property dedicated to the Naga. I saw the shrine last year, but I didn't know what it was for. As soon as I got all these details, I made an offering of a daisy to the Naga, just as a showing of gratitude for sharing its valley and for all the healing work it does. Later that day, I lost my voice from all the yelling and screaming (with enthusiasm, mind you). I picked some white yarrow and offered it to the Naga with the request that if it wouldn't mind, maybe it could help heal my voice. About four hours later, I came out of our session to go to dinner, and lo and behold, in my shoe there was a cough drop! I knew it was the Naga answering my prayer.
That's the kind of magic that happens with yoga.
Aside from all the love, great yoga practices, fantastic connections and magical experiences, there were four other miracles.
We had an assignment to come up with all the things we bitch about, complain about, let drag us down, etc. I couldn't really come up with anything that was more significant than being annoyed at having lost my voice. I pondered and pondered, and then I said to myself, "For fuck's sake, there must be something wrong!" And it was like the heavens opened up and a stream of pure light illuminated me and I could hear the angels sing... It was a revelation! No, in fact, nothing has to be wrong! I actually get to be happy! Turns out, all my life, I've been creating problems where there were none, because somewhere along the way, I decided I wasn't allowed to be happy. Fuck that!
Next, we had an assignment to come up with all the things we hide. There were obvious things, like grey hair, porno mags and stolen money, but what about the real stuff? So again I pondered... I pretty much tell it like it is, and I put it all out there. When I'm angry, people know. When I'm sad, people know... Yeah, when the emotion is negative, people know (oh, do they know!). ...and then this little voice inside me whispered, "Why do you hide your joy?" And it was like another smack to the forehead! THAT'S what I've been hiding! My joy! My delight! My happiness! I mean, it makes sense... I've been around a lot of joyless people in my life, so I've had to protect my tiny seeds of happiness so that they couldn't be taken away, but I'm stronger than that now. I now own my joy. I live it. And it has made all the difference.
The next miracle is that yoga frickin' heals. By the end of the week, the pain in my hands and wrists was practically gone, and my finger was catching a lot less. I was sleeping better, not waking up to the pain. It was probably Menla (the valley was created by a meteor, and apparently the gravity there is a teeny, tiny bit less there than it is everywhere else on the planet), the Naga, and yoga all combined, but whatever it was, it healed me.
And finally... Baptiste programs have posters on the walls. All week long, there was a poster that said "Expect a Miracle." On the very last day, it had been replaced with a poster that said "You Are the Miracle." And for the first time in my life, I believed it.
Level Two changed everything.
And this woman - this powerful, compassionate, intelligent, articulate, amazing woman - is the catalyst behind it all. She gave me the tools to find my heart and my joy. I love you, Paige Elenson!
And what can be more joyful than jumping into a really cold swimming pool with all my sweaty yoga clothes on?
In that moment, nothing.
And, just in case I didn't get the message, there it was again. As I was leaving Menla for the next stop on my adventure, I stopped for gas. And of all the trash cans I could have pulled up next to, I pulled up next to this one:
Yes, mysterious chalk-wielding stranger. Yes, it is. Life IS fun...
Thank you for the reminder.
And the fun was just beginning! Because then there's these girls...
It was fantastic to see them again, and at one of my favorite places: The Finger Lakes Grassroots Festival of Music and Dance in Trumansburg, New York. Shannon and I camped at Indian Creek Farm while Hillary came up with Kevin, Windsor (under the hat in Hillary's arms) and Bristol (running into the picture from the left-hand corner). I also got to catch up with Brad (my pig-farming college BFF), Heather (another awesome college pal) and Chuck (only one of the kindest, coolest, most generous, longest-standing friends I've ever had). I also got to see Mary and Jackie, which was another treat. There were many friendly faces there, both new and old.
It dawned on me one night at Menla that since my doctors are still in New York, I could go to the walk-in Sunday morning (after Grassroots) about my hands, so I did. I now have a diagnosis: carpal tunnel and trigger finger. What to do about it? Not much, beyond what I'm already doing, until I can see a specialist (and pray for no surgery). I will try to find someone in Maine to treat me, but I bet that's going to be impossible given the state of our health care/insurance system. I stopped and spent some time with Kristen and Jason before heading back on my journey.
Can you imagine driving seven hundred miles with a week's worth of disgusting, sweaty yoga clothes and mat towels in the car? Neither could I. Unfortunately, I had to tolerate them for about three hundred miles. It was amazing how hard it was to find a laundromat open on a Sunday in New England! (I still have this thing were I don't want to give New York any more of my money than necessary... I'm still mad at New York!) Nonetheless, I found this one in Bennington, Vermont, so the last five hours or so of my journey were much more pleasant.
And would you look at what these guys got up to while I was gone? They grew! They're not really so cuddly and holdable anymore. Sigh. It was bound to happen. I knew they would have to grow up sometime... just not so soon.
Coming back from Menla with my new joyful vision of the world made me even more appreciative of farm life, despite the pain that started returning to my hands. Just look at this field of flowers! Can you imagine? And I get to spend a few hours in the midst of all those flowers a couple times a week. What's not to love?
On July 29th, these guys got their first taste of freedom (well, within the confines of a fence, anyway). I appreciate the way in which they arranged themselves by alternating colors. That pleases me greatly. Brings me joy, one might say.
And look at this guy! He's producing a green something! We're still not sure quite what it is, but we will enjoy watching it grow.
Nate and I rounded out the month by going on a date. Yes, we live together (in 180 square feet). Sure, we work together. Indeed, we spend practically every waking and sleeping moment together. It can be a bit... much. And you'd be surprised (or not) at how absolutely not romantic it can be sometimes.
So Nate planned a surprise. We got up early and started driving. He took us to Moosehead Lake, which is a true jewel in the heart of north-central Maine. The lake is a funky shape, and one of the islands in its middle is this one: Mount Kineo. It is only accessible by boat. There is a convenient ferry to and from.
It has a couple hiking trails: one that circumnavigates almost the entire island, and a couple that go up to the summit where there is a fire tower. The sky was amazing. The view was amazing. And I love how this shot of this tree came out.
The reason the hiking trails don't encircle the entire island is because of the golf course. This view is looking down on it from the top of Mount Kineo. I don't golf, but I might learn so that I can golf there just one time.
We climbed to the top of the fire tower. You might not know how momentous this really is. I am very uncomfortable in high places (yet I climb mountains...to face the fear!). The tower was high (and shaky); the steps were steep (and made of those metal grate-like treads that you can see all the way down through); and I was scared. I thought I would have to stay up there forever, because down was even scarier than up. I'm just addicted to those views, though! I've got to keep climbing.
One of the best things about Maine is the readily available food. These scrumptious blueberries were growing right next to the trail.
As we were rounding out the end of our hike and waiting for the next ferry, we stepped out on this rock. A pair of nice ladies came along and told us what a neat picture it would make and then offered to take one, and we let her. It did turn out nice. Thank you, nice ladies!
So, rest assured that the romance between Nate and me is not dead. It's just important to rekindle the flame every so often, and for us, getting away into Nature seems to do the trick.
And winter is coming... People are already starting to talk about it and it's only July! You may have noticed that we've been slacking on the house... yes, we have a trench dug and a bunch of holes but not much else. We have to either (a) build a frickin house by winter - one that's dried in at least, but preferably one that's livable, or (b) stop where we are and wait until spring. It would be really bad for us to have a half-assed, half-exposed, half-built house (and no place to live) come winter.
Time will tell.
Until next time,
Tamarra
P.S. I didn't proofread or edit this one, either, because being a perfectionist is stupid. It's too hard; it's too much pressure; and it's no fun. So welcome to the new, perfectly imperfect me!
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