Much has happened, but nothing has changed(In which a cousin appears, and a reacquaintance is undertaken)...

And as far as I'm concerned this is just fine. How are y'all doing? I'm just fine, thanks for asking. Today is the first day of summer up here in my little corner of the PacNorWe. Sunny, blue skies, and no rain in the forecast for at least a week. I'm almost as happy about this as the plants in the garden must be. We've been planting beans for the last two days, bush beans, green, yellow, and purple, and a bunch of beautiful dried heirloom beans I've never even heard of before. It's interesting. We've gotten to a point where instead of being days or weeks behind schedule we're actually getting things done when they're meant to be done. It's pretty cool. The farm is looking really good, and I'm incredibly happy to have been able to be a part of making it happen.

The fourth of July has come and gone, and I was lucky enough to be able to spend it with cousin David, who i haven't seen in years, since before he left for Japan, at least. It was a lot of fun to see him; even though we didn't get to spend a ton of time together. I'm sure we'll do what we can to remedy that situation in the coming months. We went to Lake Crescent, and I essentially gave him the guided tour that Maggie gave me and Kay several weeks ago, which was nice, since it allowed me to sound like I had some idea of what I was talking about.My favorite moment, and Dave's I reckon, of the whole trip happened as we emerged from the woods from our unsanctioned jaunt to Superior falls.

There was a small child playing on the border of the observation platform at the top of Merrymere falls. He was watching us descend from up high where we were clearly not meant to be. There was something akin to awe on his face, wonder sparkling in his eyes. His mother called to him, told him it was time to go. He shook his head, and pointed in the direction we had just come. "I want to go up there." He said. She shook her head, mentioned erosion, obviously a lesson she had been trying to convey to him. Dave frowned, explaining his belief that it's our responsibility to say yes to the next generation, to share with them our excitement for the world and it's myriad wonders. He smiled though, once we reached the bottom of the trail and pointed out that we had ruined that child. Having seen two weird guys emerge from the woods, where HE WAS NOT ALLOWED TO GO, he'll never be the same. He'll grow up wanting to be that weird guy, and as David said, that's pretty damn awesome.

After our hike we went and met up with some people, the farmers from over at the Lazy J, and we went into Port Townsend to celebrate the holiday there, which was convenient for David to catch the early morning ferry he needed to return to Bellingham. It was a fun time, we had dinner, and watched the fireworks at a park near the house we were staying at. In addition to the Port Townsend fireworks you could see at least half a dozen other displays being put on by small towns and islands across the bay. It was certainly a different experience from watching the show from a suburban high school. Afterward we returned to the house where we were staying and called it a night; I had to get up at five am to make it back to the Johnston's in time to do my writing before the day began.

The kids from the Lazy J, however, being infinitely more hardcore than I, went out to the weekly fiddle fest at Fort Worden, and didn't get back till three in the morning. This would be unremarkable if it weren't for the fact that Mike had me wake him at five, and I brought him back to his farm to get an early start. Their example is one of the reasons I have never felt overworked on my farm. Not even for a moment.

Not sure how much else I have to report. I cannot believe I've already been here for two months. That means it's time to start searching in earnest for what I'm going to do, and where I'm going to go next. I have some ideas, and some inklings, but nothing concrete yet. You can rest assured that as soon as I have something to report, you'll hear it here.

Some pics to prove to you that Dave and I actually were in the same place at the same time.

Lake Crescent:

Merrymere falls(I refuse to post my illicit pictures of Superior falls, if you want to see it you'll have to come to the PacNorWe, and make the hike yourself):

After our hike to the falls, we got a little turned around trying to make our way back to civilization:


And to finish a couple of shots from the farm.

The first of the garlic:

What did I do with my share of the bountiful harvest? Roasted it, and put three entire heads in a single loaf of bread. Heh. It was pretty fine.

My peas, finally ripe, and you had best believe I can't stop eating them:


The petit pois in particular are astonishing, more pics to follow, if I can ever stop eating them long enough to snap some pics.

Volunteer artichokes, discovered over by the winter squash. Talk about your happy accidents:



Ruth's birthday cupcakes, Vegan chocolate toasted coconut. I promise I tried to bake a proper cake, but couldn't find the right pan, and so I had to make do. No one complained:


I love you guys, and I look forward to talking to you all when I've got a chance. If I still owe you an email, I promise I'm working on it, but I'm trying not to spend too much of my time tied to a computer. Instead I'm reading(about farming, mostly), writing, and cooking. The things I've always loved most, which are being given a special savor because of where I am and what I'm doing. I hope you're all doing as well as I, and I can't wait until I see you all again.

Here we are...

...at the Blackbird Cafe, on Sunday morning, as is my wont. Not a whole lot to report this week. We've been busy, but I don't expect anything about that to change until, oh, about November. This week we got the rest of the display garden raked into beds, and began planting more alliums: onions, shallots, and leeks. We planted another session of herbs and lettuces: parsley, dill, arugula, and cilantro. We did another bed each of wheat and flax. We got the winter squash into the ground, although we still have another hundred hills to plant, and got some land cleared to plant pumpkins yesterday, which was something of an adventure.

We, Ruth and I, cleared an overgrown weed patch, trucked in compost, tilled the earth, built mounds, covered the whole lot in black plastic, and put the gourds in the ground. In other words, we spent the day doing that which farmers do. Transforming wilderness into something else, something productive. It was a satisfying experience, but tiring. The tilling part of the morning, was especially exciting. I'll post some pictures next time, but for now, if you can imagine a berm, four feet tall, and twenty five or thirty feet long, with gently sloping sides, covered in thistles, you'll have some idea of what we had to contend with. I got to invent a new sport, which I've been referring to as eXtreme tilling, whereby you till at a steep up and down angle, pushing a piece of heavy machinery around on a berm, much like a snowboarder in a halfpipe. Tiring, but fun in a perverse sort of way, too.

I've been doing a lot of baking lately. Having another pair of hands on the farm is such a relief for all of us, and I'm only too happy to keep them supplied with a steady stream of bread and cookies. It's amazing what an extra pair of people is allowing us to accomplish. On Tuesday we all gathered in my trailer for pizza and beer, and it was really awesome to be able to cook for the people whom I'll be spending so much of my time with over the next few months. We even made a desert pizza to finish off the evening. I'll try and get some pictures of people, so you can put faces to names, but I feel weird asking people to pose. I broke my bike the other day; I had a little wipeout, but finally got a new chain installed today, and so will probably take a ride rather than go for a hike, but my plans may change depending on the weather, which hasn't quite settled as much as Kelly would like.

On Friday Maggie gave me the training guide used by a nearby teaching farm, and I've been rapidly devouring it ever since. It's absolutely fascinating to read about the radically differing theories about how best to grow, and I'm learning a lot. I haven't been able to do as much reading as I'd like since I've arrived, but I'm finding it easier to get into a textbook than the fiction I've been plodding through lately. It's funny how our tastes change as we age, no?

I noticed that Matt left me a comment on a post from a few weeks ago. Hey there, little man. How are you? I love you and your sisters, and miss you all, too. In answer to your question, Lake Crescent is about half an hour, maybe forty minutes away from the farm, but there are other forests even closer. The nearest entrance to the Olympic National Forest is only twenty minutes away, and has a plethora of trails for me to explore. That banana slug was huge, six or seven inches long, and a disturbing shade of yellow, not bright like an banana skin, but more of a pastel shade, reminiscent of the color of the banana itself. I'm hope you guys are doing well and enjoying your summer vacation. I'm enjoying myself, but I can promise you, that this is no vacation.

I know this is going to come as a surprise, but I have no pictures to share. My camera died, and I haven't gotten new batteries yet, but I'll do that this afternoon, and I'll update this with some pics from the last week. Until then I wish you all the best, but I've got to be going, though this is Somebody's Sabbath(tm), I have things to do, and no time to rest, which is just fine by me. I love you all, and hope you're well, and look forward to seeing you in the relatively near future. I can't believe I've been here for almost two months already. Astonishing.

The appearance of interns, and the impending emergence of summer...

I am not Alone!

Wow. What a week. I've meant to post long before now, but I just haven't had the chance. I meant to write a long, in-depth post about my second journey to Lake Crescent, last Sunday, but i think I'll limit my discussion to a few brief points.

The day started out gray and gloomy, i.e. Aaron's favorite sort of day. Kay and I met up with Maggie, who works on the farm on Fridays, and the rest of the week at the Olympic Park Institute. We went to Salt Creek at Crescent Bay? and walked amongst the tide pools for a couple of hours. It was fascinating, and Maggie and her friends are amazingly knowledgeable; working for the Institute they are used to sharing that knowledge.

After our fun amongst the tide pools we headed to Lake Crescent, and the Institute. This is where I began to realize that I wasn't going to have a just another fun day of hiking, but something better, more satisfying. The sun came out during our travel time, and the wind picked up. The lake was as blue as can be imagined, and it's normally glassy surface was rippled with a constant stream of whitecaps. The institute is the very stereotype of a summer camp, lodges and cabins on the lakeside; it evoked an instant nostalgia, of the sort the recalls every camp memory, and the whole coming of age genre of movies and literature.

We walked along the lake, and through the woods to Merrymere falls, which you may recall I've been to before, although from a different direction. Once we reached the falls, Maggie leaned over surreptitiously, and mentioned that there was a way to get to the top of the falls, but the trail wasn't an official path. I wasn't about to pass up that chance, so we hiked, and got a view that I'm sure far fewer people ever get to see. it was really magical. There's something about being on the mountainside in the PacNorWe, that I find profoundly satisfying. Every time I find myself there I feel like I would be happy to never leave.

After our hike was done we went onto Le Sage, an old home on the shore of Lake Crescent, owned by the park, and leased on a rotating basis to the educators who work at the institute. The whole time we were there I stared in disbelief that this amazing home, with a view as fine as any in the world, I'm sure, that these people, my peers, or younger, got to live in this place, and that their job is to teach an endless succession of schoolkids their love of the natural world in general, and this one place in particular. It makes me really happy to know that such a place exists outside of Hollywood, or our imaginations, this archetypal place where group after group of kids have formative experiences in an environment that is still seems unreal to me.

That was the short version. Sheesh, listen to me ramble on. So what's happening on the farm, you ask? We've gotten a lot done lately. Planted a field of winter sqaush, and got a whole mess of weeding done. We've been having an stretch of sunny days lately which means, we've had to spend more time than usual moving the water around. Kelly's planning on upgrading the irrigation in the next week, which will be a real help for all of us.

There was a formative farm experience on Wednesday? I was sitting in the Johnston farm Internet Cafe(the Gazebo), when Kay and Ruth came around the corner to ask for my help. The chicken had all somehow gotten out of teh coop. We spent the next half an hour catching chickens. I was mostly herding, while Ruth caught most of them. She's the last intern of the season, a classically trained violinist, who dates one of the Johnston's neighbors, who happens to be an incredible fiddler in his own right. She had chickens when she was younger so has chicken catching skills that make mine look strictly amateurish.

I caught one of the two roosters, the handome Bantam, and got him back into their area, and turned around in time to see Kay and Ruthie pulling the other rooster, the gorgeous white one, from under Kay's car, dead. It was a sad moment, but we had chicken to catch, so we didn't really consider what to do with him, until we got teh rest of the hens recaptured. Once we had done that, I presented Kelly with the deceased cock, and he said that we needed to bury it deep in the compost, unless one of us wanted to deal with the business of turning it from lievstock into food.

The girls, being vegetarian and vegan, opted to skip that, but after a moment's hard consideration, I volunteered to do the dirty work. Kelly was surprised, I think, but It seemed more respectful of me, to do what had to be done. Kelly helped with the initial butchery, removing the head, tail, and wings, and leaving me to remove the feathers, and to finish teh butchery. I think that though he's obviously killed a chicken or two in his day, it's clearly not a job he relished. I was amazed by how little the whole process botehred me. I ended up the evening spattered with blood, and with feathers stuck here and there.

I dressed teh bird and got it into the fridge, and spent the next two days making the best stock I've ever made in my life, using every trick and technique in my,rather impressive, he says, modestly, arsenal. Then I made matzoh balls. Everyone said that soup was the only thing the rooster would be any good for, and while it's true that the breasts were a little tough, they tasted quite good, and the thighs and drumsticks, even after half a day in the stock pot were flavored quite nicely.

I liked that rooster, you have to understand. I thought he was beautiful, a proud creature, and one with whom I shared the sunrise for the last month and a half. I did what I did out of a sense of obligation. A need to ensure that though it was sad that he died an untimely death, at least it would not be totally in vain, and that I would derive nourishment, physical and mental from the occurence.

Still having a great time out here; had a couple of particularly stressful days this week, but we worked through them, and will keep trying to get as much done as we can. In addition to winter sqaush we finally got the summer sqaush and cucumbers in the ground, and transplanted the bush tomatoes out into teh field. The wheat has started to sprout, and the potatoes have been hilled up. The straweberries are starting to come ripe, and there can be no doubt that summer has arrived in the PacNorWe at last.

David is in Bellingham, and we're going to figure out a way to get together, hopefully soon. I'm excited at the prospect of seeing him again after so long.

I love you all, and I'm still working on answering e-mails; I know it's been awhile for some of you, but I promise they are coming, but I've been busy, and it doesn't seem like the work will be slowing down anytime in the near future. Love y'all, miss you, and hope you're well. Next time, I'll tackle some more faqs(frequently, heh). I'll leave you with a few pics to tide you over until next time, mi familia, .

The latest loaves, a challah, and a buckwheat pain au levain:


Cucumbers, and summer sqaush:


Look at how my peas have grown:

A tidepool, I know it's hard to convey scale in an image like this, but those sea stars were all about the size of a record album:



This is the second time I've been to Merrymere falls, and I managed to snap a single pic for your enjoyment, but I hardly think it manages to capture the experience:


And in closing, strawberries, most of which I ate with the cream that separated out of my milk, this morning for breakfast:


In closing, Happy Father's Day, Papa Miguel, I love you.

In which I find myself atop a mountain, and achieve, momentarily at least, enlightenment...

Or something to that effect. This past Sunday I found myself with an afternoon to do whatever I wished, and what I decided was to climb a mountain. So I loaded up my van and drove west until I arrived at Crescent Lake. The whole drive I found myself remarking "Hey, you're in the Pacific Northwest." This revelation keeps surprising me, and making me grin like an idiot. I arrived at the Storm King Ranger Station, to hike to Merrymere falls, which was supposed to be short, sweet, flat, and as easy as walking to the mailbox. It was, but that came later. First, as I was leaving the parking lot, not half a minute from my car, and five feet to my left a doe, and her faun.

Isn't that precious? ::shrugs::


I also decided to take a little side trail that went straight up the side of Mount Storm King. That trail was two miles long, and one mile straight up the side of the mountain. It was a short intense hike, and by the time I reached the end of the trail I understood, or at least felt the compulsion to make it to the top that plagues mankind under those circumstances. So despite the trail ending, and the sign posted on the tree warning of steep, rocky, unmarked paths, I trod on.

Some shots I took along the way. I broke out the camera whenever I had to stop to catch my breath, which was rather more often than I'd like to admit. This was a serious trail, unlike the suburban trails back in NoGa:




It wasn't much farther from the end of the trail to the top of the mountain, but I had no choice in the matter. I had to do it. I had to, if not conquer the mountain, share a little triumph, a victory, with it. There were several stretches that would have been impassable if it were not for the courtesy of those who went before leaving ropes strung along the several parts of the trail to allow for successful crossings. I met a pair of rockclimbers just before I made my final ascent. They seemed surprised to find me there without so much as a bottle of water, but I could only shrug. Once I started there was no way I could let myself stop until I had reached the top. Everytime I thought about it, it made me laugh, and at the same time, it made me feel more human. To share this compulsion with so many of my fellow hairless monkeys.

And here we are. Doofy grin plastered on my face, and I'll tell you I couldn't wipe it off the whole way down the mountain, or on the way to the falls. I was probably still smiling like an idiot as I drove back to the farm after the hike ended:


I didn't get any shots of the waterfall, my camera died, but undoubtedly if you'd like to see it you could search for it on Flickr. I saw plenty of people with much nicer cameras than mine taking pictures. So aside from my mountaintop adventure, how am I? I'm really quite well, thank you for asking. The work on the farm is hard. Really hard. I have never been half so dirty, and for such an extended period of time, in my life. We're still getting this place cleaned up from the winter, but we're starting to put more food in the ground, and it's taking shape before my eyes. It's really cool. I'm eating ridiculously well, and as the seasons turn, I have no doubt the food will only get better.

I promise my next post will be more farm centric and less about taking a walk in the woods, but after all, how often does one find ones self doing the things you've always wanted to do. I've spent much time lusting after the PacNorWe, and now I'm here. Simple as that, but it still has only just begun to sunk in. This is beautiful country, and I feel genuinely privileged to be here. On the other hand, privileged my but; I earned that hike. Just ask the pigs, or that chicken that keeps escaping.