The digital and the real

 

This is what a digital conversation with my husband looks like these days. In adjacent countries we open up private portals in our living rooms and have something that resembles a conversation. While these calls can feel surreal I am grateful I have them. At this time last year I did not have internet stable enough to have a predictable video call. When COVID hit and everyone was working from home, suddenly the video call became a necessity. I would regularly drive a few miles from my house to a nearby cell tower to participate in online meetings with clients. I didn't make a big thing about the fact I was in my car I just carried on. Everyone expects you to have the internet if you are in business, hell if you are alive. My lack of internet was a point of shame at times, a badge of courage at others.

The promise of better internet has been hovering around us for a few years. Better cell service helped for a long time and the fact that I could not stream media was actually ok with me. I got a lot of work done instead of looking at inane videos online. I read more during that time and of course I used the internet but in a very deliberate way. I handled my phone much less. I was more focused.

But the internet caught up with me and so too has the anxiety about it. In March this year we got DSL service via the existing phone lines. This work is part of an initiative to provide internet access to everyone in remote areas of the US. I am literally at the farthest point on my road that the signal can reach. Neighbors to the north still rely on satellite service. Being presented with the entirety of the internet to stream in my home was amazing but now 8 months in I am beginning to feel the old malaise returning. Time vanishes into screens. The light of the screen replacing the sun for our attention and I know it's time to turn away.

My husband joked when we first met 20 years ago that our relationship was perfect in every way except for my home internet. Now of course, he'd like a bit more bandwidth. 

Circular

I told my daughter tonight that if she wanted to know what sort of mood I was in to check the state of the kitchen sink. If the sink is clean I am feeling good. If there is chaos in the sink I am not in a good place. I think it's important to give kids these clues, to help them navigate the emotional landscape of the people they live with. My mother was not an open book. There were certain things she communicated clearly but teenagers are naturally self absorbed which makes picking up subtle cues challenging, if not entirely off their radar. I don't want to burden my kid with the process I find myself in currently, this period of hormonal readjustment, this life as a creative, self employed, slightly fragile human. This drying up. It's complicated and sometimes scary.

So far, the fall has been good. My daughter has been busy which means I am busy supporting her, in her multiple activities. In many ways being in service to another human makes your own life very simple and directed. It's easy to suppress your own feelings when someone else needs your support. I wake early, make breakfast, make lunch, drive her to the bus or to school, have my day, attend school related functions revolving around sports and music, make supper, plan lunch, sleep. Strangely, I feel the opposite of put upon. I feel like we are this team. I signed up for this and she is working really hard. It's my job to help her be her best. The structure of her life dictates the structure of my life and this holds me together while the rest of me fluctuates wildly. There is no chaos when I look at her. I see the course we are on, I know what to do. I am grateful for her.

I stopped over at the urban farm today, the home of my friend who I have been helping in exchange for fruit and vegetables, since the spring. We picked tomatoes and she gave me the low-down on making sauce, which I will do tomorrow. We weeded a bit, social weeding while catching up pulling out bind weed, that stuff that just spirals around everything. She dug me up a perennial to take home. An Echinops; globe thistle, to be planted in full sun. I made a note on my phone, my memory is poor for these things, these days. The garden is moving along, into a new phase, there is still so much life there.

A long silence

The weather has been mixed. The bees are frantic in the kiwi vines above the path to my office. I can hear them buzzing furiously as I pass. They are oblivious to the dense clouds shifting back and forth in the sky, time is of the essence as the blossoms fall like snow at my feet. One minute glorious sun the next, atomic darkness. My pupils are sore from all the adjusting. The bees are charged.

I am trying to keep up with my integrated approach to my work keeping my guilt about certain activities at bay. I have a little chant, take breaks, take care of yourself, rest, work, repeat. Overall my energy to work has been good. I have gone from light work to almost every client I have every known contacting me seemingly overnight. I am sticking to my routine which seems to hold me together and I am making lists like a fiend and following them. I am not letting my mind go wild which seems counterintuitive but the result is calming. I stick to the structure of my day and complete the items on the list. I am talking to people, I have made more phone calls this last month than I made all last year. I can hear a change in my voice. I feel as though the blog has suffered because I feel well, but that is a twisted notion. I am writing now, that is positive.

Sons of Norway, Mission BC Vintage Trailer Meet

(long pause)

I didn't finish this post. It has been sitting here in a tab on my laptop. What have I been doing? What haven't I been doing? Writing is the main thing I haven't been doing. But the good thing is that I am busy, doing things, feeling well. School is out and so we are gliding into summer which for me means working diligently but also sliding in more recreational activities. When the weather is fine, one must get out.

We just spent 3 days on the Coast helping a family member manage his life. It wasn't so bad. There was the usual tension between Mark and his siblings when this work has to be done but they have agreed to do it, and so they do it willingly. No matter where you are in life there is the potential to be someone's caretaker or at least take part in the care of another human being. Our helpee lives in a small trailer park near a creek on the gorgeous Sunshine Coast. Whenever I visit there I imagine what it would be like, how one could arrange a minimal space and make it pleasant. Many of the residents have sweet little set-ups, making the best of where they are. Others are a little less polished or welcoming but the world is full of all types. Gardeners and hoarders, smokers and the deranged. We all have to end up somewhere and I like to imagine various possibilities so that if I ended up in a 16ft travel trailer with a joey-shack-sunroom and a sidewalk scooter I'd be okay with it. There are many ways to live, the point is to be happy with where you are and make it the best, for you.

So the summer means mobility and that means I have to get used to working everywhere because there is work that needs to be done. It's fine, it's better than fine. The routine of work keeps me sane and money keeps me from being a burden, and doing it in different places is freeing.

Wellness

I had a migraine on Tuesday brought on by whatever causes these things. I felt horrendous for about 18 hours and then after the pain subsided I was left with rising anxiety and severe heart palpitations accompanied by acute self awareness spiked with massive dread. These feelings rise up in me and I get thrown off, I feel lost and afraid to be alone. And then as quickly as they arrive the feelings disappear and the intense despair is replaced by my normal happy outlook, keen to embrace the day in all it's mundane wonder and I am left wondering if any of it really happened. 2 versions of the same picture sliding apart and then back together overlapping each other calmly. Fortunately for me I have an extraordinary partner and friends who have known way more misery than I ever will and they are always nearby when I need them most. My work is busy again and to counterbalance the stress of being creative for a living I have been helping my good friend in her garden. I am going once a week. We have a little visit and discuss this and that and then I help her with a few tasks. On my way home last week I felt an overwhelming sense of well-being. I am well. Well I am.

Swept away.

So far it's one of those springs when the weather got hot early and the snow has melted quickly. The local creeks are full and rushing and the combination of this and fine weather seems to draw young men (typically) to fast water. Two were lost at the height of the heatwave in Gold Creek near here, in a swimming hole we have swum in but that was late in the summer and by then the water was tired from rushing and the only danger was the icy temperature. Even my dad leaped into the granite pool carved there by centuries of falling water. Young men have also been lost in capsized canoes in deep interior lakes that bear pioneer women's names. Bodies are washing up on the banks of the Fraser, remains have been found up north in Prince George. Yesterday a boulder crushed two campers, a man and his daughter. Harsh spring, but a beautiful one.

The sun has been shining and so I have had no time to be reflective beyond noticing how tremendously hopeful and happy I feel. On Monday while I hung out the laundry on the clothesline I could hear bees buzzing loudly and naturally thought it sounded like trucks and cars whizzing by on the Trans-Canada highway 5 miles to the north. It turned out it was a bee swarm in a tree above my office. Mark was panicked as he has an irrational fear of bees and he was in the office when they appeared. I was over-the-moon. Let's face it the last few months have been rather hellish in the work department so the appearance of nature's busiest creature felt more symbolic than plagueish to me. The bees have stayed and so have the indications that I will probably be okay after all. I launched my new website, and reinstated my land line after a year and a channel of communication as wide as the Ganges has opened. We borrowed a box for the bees from our neighbor on Tuesday and thanks to the internet we set it in what seems like a good location. We rubbed the box with lemon rind and Mark put a bit of honey near the entrance. He relaxed around the bees and let his natural obsessive tendency kick in checking on the swarm and box every 45 seconds.

It's 8 days later now, it's been raining and I have returned from Canada to discover the swarm still up in the tree but the bee box is quiet and I fear barren. I have been busy with work and in between things today I took the opportunity to prune a few limbs along the driveway. I found myself under this red twig dogwood and the blossoms were alive with bees. I felt so pleased to discover they were here on the property. I am hoping that there is so much pollen to be had that the bees are lingering around and are enjoying being up that tree. Who can blame them, they have a view of the whole yard. I really want to open the box to see what went on in there. Did they just come in and raid the cupboards, so-to-speak, rob the hive of its honey and move along? It's a possibility but they are still up there so I am still hopeful that they will let me make them a home here.

Wasteful

There is no picture for this post. If there were you wouldn't like it. The distended anus of a chicken as it propels itself forward shitting one final shit as its heart stops and its nerves fire one last time and it lands way off in the corner of the pen causing me to grab at it with the pitch fork. All I can think is what a waste, 3 months of feeding and it can't be eaten. The butchering takes preparation and will happen in two days on another farm near here. If I were a farm wife, I'd know what to do in this situation. I might even have an over-sized pot boiling on the wood cook-stove up in the farmhouse, sharpened knives at the ready. 15 or 20 minutes and it would be ready to cook for my hungry family. If I were a farm wife I wouldn't  have on a Pashmina scarf under my chartreuse green coat, I wouldn't be worried about feathers and blood and guts. I might even have pigs that I could throw the entrails to like little treats or god forbid the entire chicken if it were suspect enough. I am not a farm wife, I am a designer and I have no time to pluck a chicken today because I need to finish a rush job, butchering a suddenly dead chicken was not on my docket for the day. Even still, I feel the futility as the limp body heavy with meat gets tossed into the woods, hopefully some other animal will discover it and eat it. Happy early Thanksgiving.

Are you experienced?

Meat birds at 5 Weeks

It's Sunday here where I sit, somewhere it's Monday and I will be thrust into that reality soon enough but until then I will enjoy Sunday. As I sit and write this in my espresso induced sweat my head is full and strangely empty all at once. I feel calm mostly but occasionally have a flash of things that need my attention and I try to add them to the list for the coming week, things I must do, food I must cook, emails I must respond to. For now though we are listening to Neil Young and my husband is sitting across from me the way he does at his house and we have our laptops spread out on the kitchen table and the kid is recuperating down the hall with a semi nasty cough watching endless movies on cable-TV.

I have done nothing to document the chicks development as I had wanted to and time is leaving this idea in its dust. I imagined pages of quaint gestural drawings, spontaneous captivating paintings and daily photos. I even considered building a small lit cove in which I could drop a chicken or two for a couple of real money shots but I have not done any of it. In its place is growing disappointment and harsh words directed inward to the file of things I just never got to. They are six weeks old now, we are on the home stretch, in the next 3 weeks we will organize the butchering day and even though I never thought I had the stomach for this type of activity (and maybe I don't) I am willing myself to fall headlong into the experience. Why not. Why shouldn't I attempt to butcher 27 meat birds at home with borrowed chicken butchering equipment? This has been the work of farm women for millennia why should I be squeamish and spared.

In casual conversation regarding the butchering of various commonly farmed animals the question of what to do with the plethora of nasty bits that we refined North Americans deem un-consumable, it occurred to me that I would be in possession of a treasure trove of chicken feet, a delicacy in the Chinese community. One of the strange features of the Cornish Cross breed are their huge feet and thick legs. In an effort not to waste them I inquired about eating them to my Chinese friend who's old mother is visiting soon. I half expected her to be completely grossed out but instead she waxed poetic about the wonderful experience of eating them as a child, their fried exterior concealing a delicious gelatinous interior. She went on to tell how she had gone with her mother to Chinatown to the chicken butcher where you could choose a live bird and have it butchered on the spot, carrying home the recently live bird in a shopping bag.

So my new fantasy is that this old woman from China via Los Angeles, who has been described as looking like Nelsen Mandela will join us on butchering day perhaps wielding her own cleaver and be our guide. Women working together to shouts in Cantonese and English, and cries of the chickens as their throats are slit while the pile of beautiful yellow legs grows to be taken home and enjoyed for Thanksgiving.

Progress

Despite the incredibly wet weather and abounding sadness around me I am feeling pretty good. I attribute it to fruit. I was not eating enough plant matter and lately I have upped my quota, choosing fresh snacks instead of cheese and crackers. My old tenants, the bus people came for a visit from Oregon and we had a little potluck with all the neighbors. I think there were about 9 kids in the house, I was surprisingly calm as I had made sure to have a glass of wine before everyone arrived. The dinner was great and it was wonderful to catch up with everyone. That was Wednesday and on Friday the world turned upside down when one of the neighborhood dogs collided with a neighbors car on the driveway. Everything felt uncertain and dreadfully sad and we were all involved, suddenly drawn together by shared sadness and compassion for one another. Friday night was a blur but on Saturday came some relief in the form of shared tears, a release of pain for this lost dog who was a friend to us all. I wept over his body and said goodbye, petting his cold shoulder as he lay so still in his bed. A friend came to visit later that morning to check out the studio and to discuss a card I am helping design and print which memorializes his wife who recently died of cancer. We talked about the dog, and his loss and adjustment to being without a partner. I was struck again by how we are all walking along side death at all times, a slack fence line that separates the two states, brushing our hips and hands. And I eat fruit with my meals because I want to feel better, when I feel better my thoughts are less morose and death is less scary but thoughts of it don't subside. When I feel better I can accept it's presence as equal to my own life, no larger, no worse, just there.

My Little Town

The image of the small town is ubiquitous in songs and literature, they are fodder for nostalgia of things real and imagined. Bruce Springsteen wrote about his Hometown, John Mellencamp wrote of his Small Town, of living in it and even dying in it. Even Paul Simon sang about his (my) Little Town.

I have had the good fortune of living in 2 small towns, the one I was raised in and the one I live in now. I spent 15 years in cities in between and maybe that is why I can appreciate the small town experience, because it is familiar to me and I have something else to compare it to.

My car broke down the other day in the post office parking lot in Everson, my little town. I was on my way home from a glorious walk along edge of the Nooksack with the dog and my dear friend Rio. I didn’t panic or fret even for a second. I called my mechanic, Brandon and told him what had happened and he said he’d be right over. Only five minutes passed before he arrived and we got the car started in short order. We drove back to his shop where he lent me the shop truck so I could get home and back to work. I often wave at this same truck when I pass it on the road, never sure who’s driving it as it’s sort of become the community truck.

Growing up I experienced a sort of celebrity being the youngest of four children of one of the only doctors in town and was well known and liked. People knew us, all of us and in some respects that can be a burden but in other ways it’s comforting. You never need to tell your story, everyone already knows it. We had a reputation to live up to as the offspring of a respected member of the community. It kept us on the straight and narrow to some extent, respectful of the delicate social order of small town life.

Coming to a small town as an adult is a different experience. I have had to get to know people and find the places where I fit in. For me it has happened naturally over time in light conversations that get struck up at the grocery store check out. Time passes and you realize that you suddenly know a lot about the cashiers and then you realize how you look forward to those little interactions, there is warmth to them. The same goes for the library, feed store, dentist office. I was in the library recently siphoning off the high speed internet connection feeling a bit overwhelmed because I thought my state taxes were over due. I felt a tap on my shoulder and there stood my affable accountant. He asked if I was going to stop over and see him soon and I said I thought I had missed the date and spewed some expletives. He reassured me I still had time. This could only happen in a small town.

I have lived in my little town for 15 years now. It’s the most time I have lived anywhere in my life and I am feeling the results of the roots that I have put down. When I drive the roads between my house and town I relish the familiarity of the physical landscape and it’s population, we share the same experiences. They have seen Pearl grow up from a baby being pushed in her red jogger to a tween riding her bike along the road as I walk my daily circuit. The people we encounter in the grocery store, library, and at school functions are our friends and we share their sadness and joy as if it were our own because in a way they are.

I think Paul Simon was wrong when he said “nothing but the dead and dying back in my little town”. In my little town there is an abundance of life, there are the old and the young, some of us are building a strong foundation to head out into the bigger world, some of us have come home from years away to settle down and start new lives. It’s the authenticity of it that I cherish the most.

Normal Social Anxiety

Social anxiety is a pain in the ass. I think we all have it to some degree. In the worst cases people just give up putting themselves in situations where these nasty feelings are triggered. As part of my little recovery program I am working on dealing with these feelings and it seems to be working because last night I went to a party and actually danced. I have not danced in years which is a real tragedy because dancing is fun and considering my enormous size I think I am an okay dancer. When I was in college I danced all the time. My fellow art students and I would drink Long Island Ice Teas at the Coconut Teaser on Sunset Blvd and we drove the boys a little bit wild. It was great. Then I got married and somehow we stopped going out and we never danced and then I started to develop the evil pattern of social anxiety that has been strangling me ever since.

Here's my plan. I don't worry ahead about the outing even if I happen to dream about it the night before. When I am there I work on being a good conversationalist, I like listening to what other people have to say and I have plenty to say myself, so that part is easy. I turn off my monkey brain that shouts insults at me and I take into consideration that everyone else at the party feels a bit nervous about something so we're all basically even. Then, and this is key, on the way home, I don't berate myself about what I did or didn't do or say I just think about how much fun it was. And man it was fun.

Farm Tour Logo

This is a quick little logo for my client Sustainable Connections. Fast and fun and the client liked it which makes me happy. Perhaps not the height of esoteric design but it's friendly, inviting, and legible. Cartoony goodness I would say.

I Heart the Interweb

So I am sitting here this morning in my office in Podunk Washington, the dog asleep on the couch. It's rainy, it's grey. I am designing some 4th O'July ads for the Bellingham Farmers Market that are due today. I like to leave things until the last moment. It heightens the excitement level in my life. In between designing the ads I am reading an interview by my friend Maria McLeod with Poet Lucia Parillo and I am struck by it. I stop and draft a quick poem to be refined later for a little series I am working on which I hope will mark the final chapter in a rather confounding period in my development. I go back to the ads and notice that an email has come in from Etsy. It is from a writer inquiring about one of my wrapping paper images. He is writing a Design reference book for Rockport publishers who I am coincidentally designing a book for at the moment. I call him up, we have a nice chat about letterpress, not being a designer he has just discovered it and all it's wonders. I hang up the phone and send off the ads and just feel really good about the world and how connected we all are.

The image for today is of a map of the US, maybe a nice embroidered one on a souvenir scarf and there are red ex's on Everson, Phoenix, Olympia, Sedro Woolley and Boston with red embroidered lines connecting them all. (Happy sigh).

Community Supported Agriculture

Holistic Homestead Bounty

Spring is coming and everyone is talking about planting and all that good stuff. Times are tight and I know loads of people are starting their own gardens which is a good thing. After my fore´ into the world of food growing last year—I really barely got my toes wet—it is clear to me I am not one of those food growing types. My whole gardening philosophy is to put in things that need little care, this is not a good approach when growing food. My solution is to support one of the local organic growers in my neighborhood. With cash in my hot little hands I gave my deposit check to Gretchen Woody of Holistic Homestead . Her farm is located about 8 miles from my house and last year when my farming efforts were failing I signed up for a half season with her. It was awesome. This year I thought I would get a jump on it, these farmers need cash come spring so I was happy to give it. I take pride in serving my family healthy food that is grown near by and I am also proud to help another small business person. If you love vegies, consider a CSA, there are many of them in the area and farmers are grateful for early sign-ups. Seeds cost money you know and farmers need to eat so that in turn we can eat.

And then it was over.

Today marks 3 weeks since our first heavy snowfall. My thoughts were consumed by snow. I loved it then I hated it. Yesterday I was planning to blog 6 things the snow afforded me because even I was tiring of my own whining. I only came up with 4 and the need to blog passed.

And then it was over.

I awoke this morning to 50° and green lawn where before there had been a field of white cotton with paths dug like veins around the property. The unrelenting rain had washed it all away and we are suddenly back to normal. No over bundling, no worries of sliding off the road.

It is however, extremely wet. The ground is spongy and soft. The road is under water in several places between me and my regular destinations. The Nooksack is thick-wide-fast. I wondered about the strength of the bridge as I sped over and noticed all the dead trees floating down in bunches. Despite these things the change to rain feels good. I will take a much needed walk this afternoon with my neighbor and the dogs. I can't remember the last serious walk I took. Brutal. You can well imagine what my mental state has been. Picture thread.

There is one thing I will miss about the snow and that is how changed the quality of light is from our normal all green world.

The Annual Tree

Not sure what kind it is this year but it fit the bill. We made our annual trek next door to my neighbor Neil's micro tree lot. I called him ahead to make sure he was still in the mood to sell his little trees. He is a good guy Neil and he answered my query in the affirmative. As a bonus when we stopped off at his house to pay him the princely sum of $20 he gave us a big piece of smoked salmon. Where, I ask can you procure a really fresh tree (we cut it ourselves) and get a piece of home smoked fish thrown in for twenty measly dollars? Mana from heaven is what I say. We cut the little tree and carried it home stopping to check out Neil's frozen pond. I long to skate outdoors when the temperature dips below freezing. I did not venture out on the ice, instead we went home and decorated the tree. It started snowing at bedtime and all at once it felt like Christmas.

Dogbite Debriefing

Diagram of Potentially Dangerous Dog

I am closing the dogbite chapter of this life in the country. Wednesday September 1oth, 2008 whilst walking my fine dog Luna, I suffered a surprise attack from a poorly socialized mutt who lives on my road. The little sneak came around the back of Luna who, had swung out in front of me on her leash. In a split second the marauding dog leaped toward the hind side of my right leg, made a big chomp, and then raced off. Feeling a bit victorious I am sure. I was deeply appalled and more than vaguely shaken.

I called Animal Control to follow up last week. As it turns out, this dog has a long-standing bad habit, of going out and terrorizing people as they pass on the road, or stop to check their mailboxes which are situated directly across from the dog's driveway. Animal control has deemed the dog potentially dangerous and so it needs to be:

1. Kenneled in a 5 sided kennel on a slab, kennel must be locked at all times.
2. When on leash dog must be muzzled. Leash holder must be 15 or older.
3. Dog must wear an orange collar to indicate potential danger.

Last but not least I sent a letter to the owners of the dog requesting reimbursement for medical expenses. I am not a suer, it was just an unfortunate accident. They have been keeping up their end of deal in containing the dog. I acknowledged this in my letter to them.

The good news is am back to my precious walks. I have a semi gross purple scar on my leg which will fade over time. There is a knot under the skin, I wonder if it's a lump of compressed fat or something. When the dog bit me, all it felt like was a little snap. I think the snap came from my skin popping open under the pressure of the dog's jaws.

I have not yet bought any pepper spray as I boasted I would and I regularly forget to carry my anti-dog-stick with me, instead I carry milkbones. When Luna and I walk up the road I can hear the dog barking at us and it's sad to think that it would have been a whole different dog if someone had just taken the time to walk it everyday, but there it sits locked in it's kennel, barking at the world.

Firewood, finally.

I've been sort of silently freaking out about my lack of firewood now that fall seems to be fast approaching. It's way past the time that I generally find a few reasonably priced cords and coerce Mark into completely straining himself by chopping it all up in one go. With gas prices on the rise cord prices were going crazy too and a few of the local wood connections I had dried up. I have plenty of wood on my place but that takes time and a fair amount of effort. I need about 3 cords to keep the place comfortable through the winter. My sisters partner cut at least a cord in the winter, I helped by splitting and stacking it. I look at that little wood pile very proudly but it was also a reminder that I needed to get serious about getting some more. I felled 3 trees earlier in the spring, thinking I would limb them and buck them myself. I never got around to it. Last week an industrious neighbor stopped by and offered up wood cutting services. Thank the universe that watches over me.

He cut up the trees, making neat piles of the limbs and bucked rounds. I collected them up in our little trailer pulled by the rider mower. I split and stacked the lot and I think I have another cord. The wood is a bit wet and will need some time to dry, which it will do under our sweet carport. I feel a huge sense of accomplishment, I got my wood further along and helped out a member of my neighborhood community. In total my neighbor cut up the 3 trees I cut down plus 3 more that were too big for me to tackle with my saw. Additionally, he brush-hogged the whole area where the pigs were last year and also cut the blackberries off my manure pile. It was heavenly.

I have a cord each of alder and cedar and now I just need a load of fir. Dry fir if possible.

Garden Update

I feel the time is right to reveal what happened with the garden project from earlier in the spring. I think it is safe to say I have learned many things about my commitment to growing food. We had high hopes for an abundant garden where participants could drop over, plant a few seeds, pull a few weeds and in the course of time harvest a bit of veg. Seems good right?

In reality I could never make it to the farm more than twice in a week and often when I got there I was overwhelmed by what needed to be done and also not sure how to do things like mix soil, space seeds, run a rototiller. Pearl was not as stoked about the whole experience either so when we went to the farm we generally ended up visiting the river and throwing stones instead of doing actual farm work.

By June when it was still frigid out I swore I would always have a CSA share and try to support a farmer regardless of how many of the veggies languished in my fridge. Farming is fucking hard work. There is no disputing this. I planted 3 100ft rows of beets and it nearly killed my back. I see now that I put the micro seeds too close together and the beets are crowded.

Here's the catch. The fact that the beets are growing, and the fact that today we harvested carrots that Pearl planted draws me deeper into the whole process. We dropped those seeds into soil and they miraculously grew. I asked Pearl what she thought of the carrots she grew and she said they were the best she had tasted, and they are.

So here's the plan for next year. In February I will join a CSA, I am not sure who's yet, but someone from my immediate area. This will be a hedge against my tendency for laziness and over ambitious plans. I will also endeavor to grow some stuff BUT I will do it at my own place so I can tend the garden easily without having to make a trip in the car. I have berries, cherries and apples growing here and if I could grow a few things either in a garden or greenhouse that would be great. We'll see how it goes.

Decade

Mark, Pearl and the Whales enjoy a dip in Centennial Pool

It is a tad rainy today but for 6 days previous to today it has been absolutely, top-shelf summer fun. I do hate to go on about the good time I am having, but what else do I have to talk about? I am all out of misery. Can't muster a grumble, a snear, not even a little pout.

It started last Saturday with a little sail in Mark's boat up at Jericho Beach in Vancouver. The wind was consistent and we happily tacked back and forth in the bay. At one point we were out pacing a wind-surfer which pleased Mark tremendously. After retrieving Luna from the dog day care we ended up at Moderne Burger for some restorative protein. This place makes a great burger platter and has been closed due to renovations for the past 18 months. We had a serious jones.

Tuesday found us celebrating Canada Day with a parade that came conveniently close to the townhouse. We were at the end of the parade route and all the floats got backed up in front of us. It was cool at first seeing the displays up close but it soon became awkward, we had to keep waving to the the now stationary patriots.

It was really nice and hot. Pearl ran wild in the complex play area and mid afternoon we hit the local outdoor pool. I think Canada may be a more civilized country because of the easy access to parks and facilities. The Centennial Pool was recently widened and spiffed up. We all took turns on the rope swing. That was a personal reminder that I am a sad, weak-armed softy. I can't really make out the form my body took as it skidded along the surface of the pool before crashing in, hippo comes to mind. I am trying not to think about it. Pearl was graceful going in. Mark made us all laugh by employing some small plastic whales as flotation devices clenched in his freakishly long toes.

Finished the catalog and am now embarking on a web project and new Coupon Book cover. Samuels sign is in the process of going up. I am continuing to feel light and open, ideas around every corner.

Pearl turns the BIG 1-0 shortly. Big pause here as I try to organize my thoughts to say something really profound (feel free to get up and refresh your drink) but ultimately it changes everyday and I am just getting better at how I react to the ebb and flow. She's a really nice human being and I am trying to do her justice.

Living With Dial-Up

The book is finished, for now. I had to FTP the three fairly huge PDF files to the client today. As the internet knows (because it sees my computer like an x-ray machine) I am on dial-up here at Rowanville. This is a topic of great discussion for me and anybody I encounter who has any understanding of what I do for a living, or anyone who lives near me and suffers the same digital disadvantage. Living with dial-up is like living with impotence, only they have Viagra. I have nothing, no options, just resignation that anytime I need to send a few large files or receive the same, I have to pack up my laptop and hit the road. I can handle things under about 10megs but it still takes forever. If the files are under 50megs I go to Pearl's school and sit in the library on small chairs. If the files are larger like 100megs, I have discovered the library in my town of Everson is best.

So off I went to the library after dropping Pearl at school. I arrived at 9:07am to discover that the library didn't open until 10:00. I sent a few emails from the car and then went over to the coffee place which is owned by one of the moms from school. While I was inside I ran into a woman who used to babysit Pearl now and then. She works in one of the local bank branches, the same one that DoubleMRanch did work for a few years back. We had an enlightening discussion, it was good to see her looking so well. I got my Tea and headed back to the library. I let the dog out for a quick pee in the empty lot next to the library. Two dogs barked at us while Luna sniffed at their fence, hackles up. I strolled around the lot a bit and looked at the bushes by the library. There was some sweet looking rhody I might have to ask my friend Binda about.

At 10:00am they opened the library doors and in I went along with several other people who had been slowly gathering in the parking lot. I picked my spot, back of the library but facing forward, enabling me to key an eye on everything. Happily I had conversations with several people I know from my community. My neighbor who is a retired art teacher and I discussed the problems we have on the road with unlicensed 4 wheelers ridden by high school boys, and... wait for it...dial-up!. I also spoke to a couple of the women who work at the library, both artists. Another photographer friend stopped over and told me about a show of his work in Bellingham. I spoke with 3 strangers briefly. I ended up working for about 3 hours on the final section of the book while the first two sent. I downloaded some other job materials and finally sent the last book files.

To some the inconvenience of not having hi-speed is daunting, an annoyance, something that must be fixed. It is almost a point of shame and embarrassment to me at times. But today, it felt like an irresistible opportunity for enrichment and connection with my community.