Step by Step-- Climate Challenge

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NXwM3pJFqAc

We are moving into a dark time, both in the seasonal year, and, on a larger scale, the ecological realm. We have, very recently, received another report from the IPCC which states that we have 10-15 years to reduce our carbon emissions by 45 percent, and they have to be at zero by 2050 if we do not want to send the entire planet into climate disaster. If we do not heed this, our planet will be dark—and for far longer than the time between now and the Winter Solstice, when the light begins to return to the natural world. What do we do, what can we do, in the face of this disastrous report? I think Pete Seeger has the answer.

Step by step, the longest march
Can be won, can be won
Many stones can form an arch
Singly none, singly none
And by union what we will
Can be accomplished still
Drops of water turn a mill
Singly none, singly none

This is not an easy answer. It requires constant, steady, hard work. Long marches—not a circle around the courthouse— are both physical and emotional trials. Building arches with stones will bash and bruise fingers and souls in the process. Drops of water will not only turn a mill, but wear away the stones, given enough time. Building unions is the most difficult work I can imagine because it means reaching across battle lines, listening to others, working together, work perhaps best done while constructing the stone arches. This very necessary action  is our constant, daily work in the coming ten years, if we want a decent home for ourselves and our children’s children, as well as all other living creatures.

How to begin? For me, the light begins to return on December 22^nd, the morning after the Winter Solstice. After spending Solstice Night by candle and fire light, after a long, cold, damp walk in the winter woods, after a day of self-imposed silence, we turn on lights and music, eat whole wheat pancakes, and begin the celebration of Yule, that mid-winter pause when the sun is far away, but community is near. Between now and then is a dark time—Advent for some, as they count down the days until Christmas-- before  the return of the sun. It is a good time to take action, to establish the practices that will become our goals, set on the Solstice in our house, for the coming year.

So this is my plan. Every day, from November 30^th until December 21^st, I will take action on climate change. I will also note it here, so that I am held accountable! Every action, in and of itself, is a small drop of water against the wheel of the problem. I know that. But, I also know that, ”in union, what we will can be accomplished still.” So, this time, I am not wanting to act alone. The song is sung as a round; please join me in this work. Together, we can push back against the coming dark times.

November Days

My November Guest My Sorrow, when she's here with me, Thinks these dark days of autumn rain Are beautiful as days can be; She loves the bare, the withered tree; She walked the sodden pasture lane. Her pleasure will not let me stay. She talks and I am fain to list: She's glad the birds are gone away, She's glad her simple worsted gray Is silver now with clinging mist. The desolate, deserted trees, The faded earth, the heavy sky, The beauties she so truly sees, She thinks I have no eye for these, And vexes me for reason why. Not yesterday I learned to know The love of bare November days Before the coming of the snow, But it were vain to tell her so, And they are better for her praise. Robert Frost   Fig tree, November 4th             I have always loved this poem. It haunted me when I lived with maple trees in the back yard and watched the leaves fall in late October; it followed me West to  this cloudy, misty land where I live now. November can be a hard month as the darkness closes in, but, when I am outside, walking in the woods, she praises the world just as she did for Robert Frost one hundred years ago.

2018 Harvest

Blueberries: 3 quarts dried

Plums: 6 quarts, dried

Apples: 8 quarts, dried

                8 pints, sauced

                15 quarts, pressed for juice

Tomatoes:  48 half pints, roasted

                  17 pints, sauced

                9 pints, salsa

Figs: 6 quarts, dried

                14 half pints of fig butter

Pickles: Dill—8

                Bread and Butter—5

                Senfgerkin—11

Pears: dried 5 quarts

                3 pints, sauced

Honey- 1 quart (more in the spring!)

Black beans: 1.5 quarts, dried

Potatoes: 69 pounds, total

                Deseree—18 pounds

                Butte—10 pounds

                Blue—21 pounds

                Yukon Gold—20 pounds

All of the bold was grown in the backyard, of within walking distance of the house.

               

Backyard Fires

                It is a gorgeous weekend—dry, breezy, high blue skies. Leaves are turning and we brought home four pumpkins and some cider yesterday from the local farm stand. The larder is filling up with squash and potatoes and I finally took down the cucumber vines, although most of the tomatoes are still sprawling and some have put on new growth.

                Last night, we had a fire in our little chimminera which sits in the center of the vegetable gardens.  I went out t set it up while Mark washed the dinner dishes. It was just growing dusky. The wind was blowing through all of the chimes and the plum tree leaves. Mr Beezhold went into his hutch fairly willingly; he was tired from running around all day. The chickens were more reluctant; two sat on the doorstep of the coop, making sure they were not missing any possible snacks while I worked. Scrap wood piled into a milk crate, chairs arranged, s’more tin hauled out and toasting fork found….we were ready. We settled in, watched the darkness fall, the first stars come out, the flames swirl in circles around the pot. Mark stomped out a few sparks on the grass. I stretched my bare toes to the warmth. The cat prowled the shadows.  The wind died down. Aside from traffic on King’s, the evening was quiet.

                After the fire settled down a bit, we toasted marshmallows for s’mores, graham crackers lined up neatly on the arm of my chair.  The sticky substance tangled in Mark’s beard and the cat’s fur and he had to go in to wash up. The chickens had quiet disagreements about their placement on the perch; Kayli stood her ground against the two new, young, all black cats next door. The clear, sharp-edged moon rose, tangled in the plum tree branches. It’s a crescent still, not full enough to light the yard. More stars appeared.

                Mark turned on the podcast from This American Life and we listened, watching the flames, petting the cat, basking in the warmth of the fire. Sparks flew upward, caught in the costmary branched, burned, and fell. We watched. Someone came home to the apartments behind us, a few cars went down the alley.  Breezes blew through chimes. The world turned around the still, quiet center of the fire in the backyard.

Why I Love Ward Five

I have been knocking on doors and walking around Ward Five this week. It is election season-- but, more importantly, I like listening to people. I love my ward. It is my home and my neighborhood.

1. Ward Five:  full of feisty women.
2. Ward Five: location, location, location. We never drive. More people walk and bike in ward five than any other in town.
3. Ward Five: parents walk their kids to school in the morning, clutching coffee cups.
4. Ward Five: Solar panels everywhere. n the houses. On the high school.
5. Small houses, from 600 square feet up to about 1500, thus more affordable to buy and maintain.
6. Did I mention wild gardens that we can see from the sidewalk because we have a pedestrian scaled neighborhood?
7. Ward Five is kind.

Old Clothes

                With the coming cooler days, I spent a few minutes yesterday shifting clothes around, putting summer shirts in the other closet or up on the shelf, bringing out the flannel and sweaters. The exercise confirmed my suspicions:  we have way more old clothes than new clothes.

                Part of the problem is our definition of too old to be worn: seriously torn in revealing places. If it still covers us, it is ok. Mark has several pairs of jeans that are somewhat worn in the crotch and thighs, but he saves them for hiking and painting. At least one of my shirts is thin under the arms, but I still love it.  Until the garment is too frayed to be put on in the morning (think, leg goes through hole) it sticks around on the shelf and is worn, at least on a muddy trail.

                Part of the problem is style. We are both fussy about fit. Not in the constantly changing way people who watch fashion are, but in a not too tight, not too loose, not too heavy or thin way. It is not easy to find clothes that fit right, especially when you are sturdy and five feet tall, not thin as a rail and almost six feet, like models. When I do, I hold onto them—for decades. And fashions change. Some years, t shirts are long and thin. Other years, they are hefty and boxy. It is hard to replace the perfect shirt.

                Part of the problem is how much we hate to shop. Malls are overwhelming. Trying on clothes is distressing. We are cheap—why pay so much for a shirt? We are far more likely to scan the racks at the local thrift shop than we are to enter a department store, which leads to already worn clothes with a shorter respectable shelf life.  When I find something that I like new, I buy two or three in different colors.

                All of this adds up to a pile of older t-shirts, jeans, and plaid flannel shirts. I divide my closet into “wear to school” and “home” but the balance is off and leads to moments around ten AM in the girl’s bathroom when I think “What am I wearing?!”  It can be a real challenge, some days, to look presentable and professional, even in a fairly casual environment.

                Goodwill does not want our old clothes. They are too old. The rag bag does not want our clothes. They are not old enough. We need to sort, to set aside some garments to wear out before we bring out others. But even so, we have more t-shirts than we can wear out in our lifetime unless we leave society behind for years.

Tomatoes on the March

Tomatoes are on the march in the Urban Homestead. It has been a very good year. I moved them into the back garden beds as part of a crop rotation, where they have always been very happy, in the garden beds or in big black tubs.  There are two beds of tomatoes: one for sauces and one for eating out of hand.

                I made a few changes to the varieties that I plant. I added Grandaro, a large paste tomato that I found in the Johnny’s catalog. It has been very prolific, which huge fruits that are resistant to blossom end rot, which has always been a plum tomato problem in my yard.  On their own, two plants are responsible for almost all of my sauce. I will be planting these again. I also planted two new sandwich varieties. A friend gave me some free oxheart seeds, so I planted them. They are truly the size of an ox heart, and ne plant put out over a dozen large, richly flavored fruits. They were excellent on a tomato sandwich. The other new variety was Tangerine, which put out round orange globes that were also yummy in salads with basil and olive oil. Add the usual varieties-- Sungold and Peacevine, Heinz  and Stupice, as well as the winter Longkeepers—and I had a perfect mix of color and size in the back yard.

                This year, I experimented with tomato sauce. For years, I have roasted most of my winter stores, slicing them in half and roasting in a hot oven until wilted. This year, I took out the crock pot for a little variety. I chopped the tomatoes into quarters, sloshed half a cup of water into the base, and turned it on to slowly cook down. Overnight, with no effort, I have a thick and chunky sauce. It piles up in the fridge until I have three or four quarts, then I can in into pint jars for winter soups and lasagna. I have roasted, sauced, and salsa-d enough tomatoes this year that I am seriously thinking on planting half as many, only for eating, next summer.