Feeding Ourselves

Tomatoes hang heavy and green from sturdy branches. As I prune each vine for maximum air flow to the fruit the sun lights up the hairs on both our limbs. I look at my arm then to the arm of the vine admiring the similarity. The tomatoes which hang from each vine are not all the perfect round globes found in the produce isle. These are not Monsanto GMO (genetically modified organisms) from the local green house. These are not the tomatoes engineered in a windowless lab to arrive on our grocers shelves all perfectly round and lacking in taste. No, these are real tomatoes bred by a friends mom, and raised from seeds saved by a friend.  These are heirloom tomatoes with ridges and bumps and oblong shapes. The way tomatoes are supposed to be in the wild.

Last night the first of these fruits was borne from my hand to my mouth and then Mike's mouth. We shared, equally, the first ripe tomato of the year. I have friends who have been eating Home Depot tomatoes for weeks while I have been waiting for the first glimmer of red to appear between the leaves. It was worth waiting for. The little tomato was shaped more like a fat pepper than an orb. It's skin was firm as was the meat which gave way to a delicious sweetness on the tongue. I closed my eyes, swallowed and thought, "candy". Mike's reaction was the same. I was full of pride. I had fed us.

It is here I have to admit that the garden looks more like an after thought this year. We were recovering from last years cancer journey, I had quit one job and started a new job and the garden did not take a front seat. There was no annual trip to Erickson's Greenhouse. I grabbed some left over seeds from a friend and pretty much let 'er buck. It was a rush to get seeds in. The tiller was broken. I was stressed and in the back of my mind, though I knew different, I thought the garden would just take care of itself. And it did, till the bunnies.

This spring while raking straw off one of the beds I discovered baby bunnies. Seven sweet little bundles of fur with big shining eyes. I should have, as Mike suggested, dispatched them, but hindsight is 20/20. The babies grew up. Moved in under the woodpile and while we slept mowed down pea shoots, beet tops, cabbage babies and chard. I sprayed with Liquid Fence. The ate the bean shoots and the carrot tops. I sprayed with Liquid Fence. We ate one rabbit for dinner, we moved the woodpile I sprayed with Liquid Fence and the garden finally grew. The beets, peas and chard did not make it. My garden looked sparse and I became frustrated and disappointed. I stopped weeding. I didn't spend much time with the plants. I chose to watch Deadliest Catch on the computer instead of playing in the garden. I gave up on it.

Still, like I said, we have tomatoes. The garden didn't give up on me.

We had our first meal of green beans. The herbs are doing well and lemon basil is now a favorite. Our fist zucchini is growing by the second. I have a couple of squash turning dark green, thumb sized cucumbers are hiding under the thick leaves of their plants, the remaining cabbages are big and developing heads and the corn is sending up it's tall flower heads. The garden is going to feed us, though not on a grand scale this year.

I'm listening to the audio book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbra Kingsolver. It's a book about how she and her family tried to eat locally and why. It's not a how to book. It's their story of eating what they could grow or what they could buy from other farmers and why they did it. Though they did it as a way to help their impact on global climate change I am hearing the deep satisfaction which rewards them for providing for themselves. This I understand. There is much satisfaction, much pride in being able to carry food from your garden into your kitchen and then nourish the bodies of you and your loved ones. There is a smugness, when, in the middle of winter, you pop open a jar of jam or beans or tomatoes you picked way back July or August. There is comfort in knowing where your food comes from and raising it yourself. This reward is why I grow vegetables.

Maybe this makes me a farmer. I like to say I'm a farmer. Mike teases me about this. He says, "Karen, you are a gardener." But as I look out my window towards the garden, I see crops. Crops feed people. I'm a farmer. A small scale farmer.

Peace from Down on the Farm

Karen

Who the hell am I?

The week has been, well, stressful. That is to say full of stress. Work has been a grind as we get ready for the "Great Minnesota Shop Hop". For those of you who are not in the know this is a two week  feeding frenzy of crazed quilters who drive from quilt shop to quilt shop in Minnesota to see the same fabric displayed differently and to spend great sums of money buying said fabric to add to their stash. "Stash" being large quantities of fabric kept in secret places where husbands might not look. There are other rules for "stash" but that's a whole other blog and this one is about stress.

Also, at work are some employee problems otherwise called DRAMA. There is also the issue of replacing two employees who will be done by September first and the little problem of my lack of training in the custom ordering of the store and trying to get a booth ready for the Bemidji Women's Expo. On top of that there has been store restructuring which has not exactly gone without a hitch and a deadline of the Shop Hop for having the new look ready. I didn't make that deadline.

On the home front there has been kid drama. The kind that comes between Mike and I. The kind that shakes confidence and trust. I'm not going into detail here I'll leave that to Mike if he so chooses. All I'm going to say is that IT is the ONLY thing that gets between us, it stresses me out and makes me doubt myself. I have been crabby, short tempered and irritable in recent weeks. I have not been very fun to live with.

Yesterday we went to Fargo for a follow-up appt for Mike. It was a trip I needed. He had good news as he continues to recover from cancer. We shopped for items we wanted for our bikes and for some supplies we will need as we start a garage organization project. We had a great meal together at a favorite Italian restaurant. We found a favorite wine, bought a little scotch and mostly laughed a lot. It was a day we both needed. The stress melted and we were both relaxed.

That, however, ended with a voice mail. I know this isn't going to sound like a huge thing but it is. Because of a misunderstanding I may have lost my friends daughter's 4H project. I was entrusted with chicken chores for Claire. A job I was excited to do since I miss having my own little flock of chickens. I was to do chores Tuesday through Thursday morning, or so I thought. Tammy called when they got home last night, Friday, wondering if I could shed some light on why they could only find one chicken? I was mortified. At 10:30 at  night I couldn't call and find out if they were found and have been worried sick most of the night. I had left the chickens out of the coop for an entire night because I didn't get it right. I screwed up in a big way. I lost a 4 H project! That is a big deal.

It is not like me to make a mistake like this and I have spent most of a sleepless night wondering if this is the culmination of a years worth of stress? I'm wondering who I am and I'm wondering where in the hell my mind is?  I'm not getting a lot of things right these days and that bothers me a great deal. Maybe I need to take better care of me. As Mike says, put myself at the head of my own short line. I dunno. I don't have the answer this morning.

So, in an hour I'm gonna call and find out if the chickens were found and if not I'm going to figure out what I can do to make this better if there is anything and hopefully I haven't screwed up a friendship in the process. I don't know how I'm gonna face Claire if the chickens are gone. I'm mad at myself for my recent behavior and I am sorry for all the hassle I have caused the people in my life as of late. I'm gonna do better. I'm gonna figure out who I am.

Peace,
Karen

We've just been busy...

Sunday morning, quiet outside. The wind chimes bong with the gentle breeze. The day is warming up and the shades are drawn against the heat. Karen and I are having coffee as we ease into the morning. Well, I am easing; Karen is busy sewing an ostomy belt for me.

Last week Karen's sister, Linda, commented on the lack of new entries here. She is right. New entries have dropped off in a big way. The blog is not the only place where that is happening. This is from my journal.

(Thursday, July 15, 12:25 pm. work)
...Looking back I am surprised to see that 2 weeks have passed since my last entry.  Really I guess I should not be that surprised. Evenings and weekends fill up quickly; time that is free to journal or sit and think without comment, has been sparse. Linda commented on the lack of new material on the blog. What can we say? We are living a life- one with too much time taken at work and too little time that is unclaimed, or rather, too little time we claim for ourselves.


I cannot muster the energy to be self-chastising. This is what life is now. Last year the outlook was different, facing the unknown of cancer and the fear that rides the coattails. Last year our focus was fighting the cancer-putting our lives out on the blog, questioning, hoping, trying to find a way to make a life work with new rules.


The rules have, or are, changing and that is good. We did not want to stay on edge all the time; no one does. Occasionally we talk about what we might want in the future, whatever that means.


Sometimes I feel like complacency has slipped in to our lives, and I don't have much urge to rail against its' pull. Maybe it is an age thing-maybe I just like being more comfortable, more content. Maybe, without thinking too much about it, we realize that most of the stuff we used to chase or have to deal with, is just that- stuff, and really has no lasting value, no positive impact on the quality of our lives.


There is only so much time left and though I have no idea now much time is left, I am pretty sure that running all over, panicked or excited or frustrated or whatever, is not the best way to use that time. I found my life is easier when I am wiling to accept what comes, That is not always an easy task and does not always work as well as I hope, but generally I see signs of positive progress.


It just occurred to me, the amount of time I used to spend being angry or frustrated by what was not happening, was a large part of my life. I am thankful the amount of time taken up by that emotion is smaller. I hope it cotinues to shrink. Here again, my life is not always that way. I still do have periods or hours where I am angry, frustrated, at a loss, but overall, being as honest as possible, those times are smaller and I am so glad.


So there-  that may help explain the lack of a new blog. We don't have that much to bitch about- no major battles. Our life is living and we are living pretty much full time these days.

I know that when I look back a year ago the details are fuzzy. I remember that time in general terms and find myself wondering how anything got done at all because these days our life just seems busy. I am not sure where our time has gone. We are not fishing all that much and paddling even less. The garden work is about the same and I am purposely mowing less yard. My work is busier and Karen's too. We haven't been camping and haven't spent a night on the ground in over a year and a half.

But we have been picking wild blueberries; twice with Dan and Mandi. I have been riding my bike to work as often as possible and that is good. Watching 'Deadliest Catch' takes up some evenings and mostly that is ok. We are still hoping to take some small weekend trips, maybe to LaCrosse to see George and Beth and Mark; maybe to the State Fair or Renaissance Festival. Last week we hosted a couple cross-country bike riders for one night and had a blast visiting with them. We do have new passports burning holes in our pockets and may have to make a run for the border just because we can.

The midpoint of summer has passed but I don't think we should get too hung up that kind of reckoning. It ought to be enough to remember that each day is a gift. We can't return them if we don't like the one we have been given. We can just hope the next one is a better fit.  I do miss journaling and writing. I love black lines scrawled across ivory pages and if I manage to do more of that, then there is a good chance there will be more to read on this blog. Even if I do not get more writing, I will try to do more blogging.

I apologize to friends and family if it seems like Karen and I have fallen off the face of the earth. We've just  been busy.

Peace and love to you all,
Mike

Looking back....okay....peeking back

For the first time in a year I took a look back at the blog. Not really a look, just a peek. I was curious to see where we were last year at this time. There was a picture of Mike standing naked in Newman Lake fishing. There's not much for commentary it's mostly just picture.

It's really hard to look back and a peek is all I can manage. I thought maybe I could look more, read more but the picture took me over the edge and tears just popped from my eyes without warning. It's a bit of a shock to have all that pain still so close to the surface. Most of the time I don't think about it. I barely notice the ostomy and the band Mike wears to conceal it has become the new normal for me. We have new normal in our lives and I think I'm handling it all so well and then.....

I remember the day I took that picture. I remember it was the day before he got his port. I remember how much I hated the port and the chemo pump and how guilty I felt for hating that which was saving his life. I remember that I was already mourning the impending loss of his belly; all the roller coaster emotions just pop to the surface like the tears and it's clear I am not over it. It's clear that I've just stuffed some of it and there are things I still mourn and didn't because there was only time for being brave and strong. It's clear I still have some work to do.

Today we are going to the woods with Dan and Mandi. Blueberry picking is the activity of the day. That and a stop at the Becida Tavern for burgers. I'm glad Mike is still here for this, he loves picking berries. We will continue going forward and occasionally, as I feel braver, I will look back to see how far we've come.

Peace,

Karen