Putting it to rest.

I dug up my squash plants. The leaves died, no more blooms. The end of my sweet yellow summer squash. A demise in a forest of weeds in my ‘compost’ pile. Time for the earth to renew itself. Time to let that corner of the garden rest for a few months. Next to go will be the increasingly dry cucumber vines. No matter how much water I carry, it never matches the quality of a soft summer rain. The plants just soak it up, they don’t appreciate it. And the smell isn’t nearly as sweet. The only thing still clinging to life is a few tomato plants, the few remaining of the second planting, as the first were killed off by the blight and half of the second got annihilated by tomato bugs. So much for the wonder of sevendust. Those big green horny moth-wannabe’s certainly ate their fill from my garden. My two metal planters, large washtubs, are slowly meeting their demise also. Soon the one full of watermelon vines (as no watermelons have been allowed to survive thanks to my woodland friends)  will be filled with fall colored pansies, ready to soak up the cool air and the fall chill as much as I am.  The only thing really thriving is the line of marigolds at the back of my little golden. They are almost ready to bloom, planted late, with buds now bursting at the seams. They will bring an array of sunset oranges and wheaty golden yellows to my garden just as the leaves begin to change into brightly colored candies.

My garden will rest for the winter. Fortifying itself for the spring planting season. I will begin gathering seeds and flats, soil and fertilizers so that the spring thaw will not be ahead of me. The garden will sleep amidst the clang of horseshoes and the crackle of a pine campfire. For there is nothing more peaceful than the crackle of pine, a sky full of stars, and the laughter of friends as a garden sleeps.

Can you ‘dig’ it?

A look into the world of sustainable agriculture models and methods

 The people in my area work to farm. Although a seemingly hypocritical statement, the rural area in which I live is speckled with still operating family farms that vary from back yard gardens to full-fledged cattle ranches, orchards and greenhouses. In 2000, Mineral County’s 327.7 square miles there are 1,061 operating farms on record (Citymelt). But most of the residents that participate in this agricultural way of life also maintain jobs outside of the farm and home, quite simply, working to earn wages so that they can manage and maintain their farms.

We have a spread of Farmers Markets and “pick-‘em-yourself orchards”, and access to locally grown food in the growing months is more cost efficient (not to mention tastier) than what we’ll find at the local Wal*Mart. The Mineral County Technical center offers courses in Greenhouse Technology and runs a student maintained greenhouse, open to the public. There are churches that have provided our elderly shut-ins with container plants and there are ‘Master Gardener’ programs in place for those that want to continue their learning of the natural world in a more structured manner.

It sure sounds like there is a lot going on. But in the world of social entrepreneurship, new ideas and innovations are always being brought to the table. The question has arisen of how to make these farming practices more than just a hobby for the residents of Mineral County. How can farmers make enough to live on from their farms, how can we get more community involvement so that those in low income situations have access to cheap and nutritious food? How do we get our children learning so when they grow up there are situation in place for them to take advantage of agriculturally? How can the system be changed so that people can farm for work, rather than working to farm?

Nothing sweeter…

I love the time in spring when the grass is so green it almost hurts your eyes. When it gets cut for the first time, the smell is so refreshing it makes the effort all the more worth it. I love the feel of dirt between my toes and a rake or shovel in my hand as I work the earth into the canvas for what will be a beautiful painting. The combination of colors, bright and swirling, and the heady odor of fruit blossoms and fresh earth mingle and linger in my senses, following me long after I’ve abandoned the serenity of my garden for the peace of my bedroom. The peace follows me here, filling every empty niche, finding every hollow crevice and filling it to its brim, bringing it to a gloriously ripe fullness that the mind requires. Sweet, juicy, crisp, tart – not only words or senses – full powers of embodiment that can transform our perception of the world.

I love standing, at the end of the day, with my hands on my hips and a smile of satisfaction on my face, knowing full well, that  I have accomplished something. That I have earned what I will reap from the gardens that I sow.

Who took the FUN out of Funding?

“…I think that we as a civilization ought to be remembered for something other than the ribbons of concrete with which we mar the landscape.”

                                                                  Mr. Simon, downstate Cabondale in response to a cost objection to the American Folklife Preservation Act. (in reference to the cost of highways and expressways versus the cost of the proposed folklife bill)

            It seems to me some days that everyone wants their fifteen minutes of fame. It seems that everyone wants to be remembered, whether by many or by few, for something. We hope to live on even after our passing in the memories of those that knew us. The overwhelming need to create memories and participate in life is existent; the only problem seems to be that more often than not there are few who want to foot the bill for our life’s production. For making an impact surely is a costly endeavor. There has been many a war waged, some in silence, some within the highest realms of authority, for the sake and preservation of the everyday life. There is something to be cherished in how people choose to carry out their lives and there is importance in every action. For taking no action is also choosing to act, and this motion can be monumental.

Is it Ground Work or Working the Ground?

“Folk is established by traditions. Folk is traditional, it is frequently old-timey, and some people consider it old-fashioned. Folk is homemade. Folk is the self made culture of a people. Folk is the unselfconscious constructs in the material and nonmaterial culture of a given group.”  (Rehder)

People ask me where I live when I travel. I don’t have a strong dialect, and I dress in what could be considered a stereotypically ‘normal’ way for modern society. But there is so much more to a person than what can be seen. Their roots, their base, their beliefs, their traditions, their family, their home; all of these remain a mystery when hidden behind layers of clothes and words.

            I live in the mountains. They, too, cannot be understood or explained by sight alone. But without the mountains the place would not be the same. The traditions, the folk, the foodways, the basic human condition would be completely different if it had evolved in any other place than these breathtaking mountains. Those that travel and pass through them may enjoy their sight, but are not experiencing the true Appalachia in the way that a resident does. To someone who resides here, the mountains are as real and as vital as breath. They remain ever constant, with little recognition until they are no longer there. Like having the wind knocked from your lungs, a land that is flat often makes my soul feel lifeless.