I really don’t know how it got to be the end of January, or the beginning of February already, and I am only posting this now.
This is a collection of old and lingering thoughts that are probably best expunged from my laptop (or the front of my consciousness). They fit better here, as something archived, done. I learn a lot, typically, from old notes and incomplete thoughts that trigger reminiscence but I need them to move aside for awhile. New years are, after all, about looking forward, right? I will surely, someday, be “that person” on the block who forgets to take her twinkling, multi-colored Christmas lights down, or who waits to pull the fully trimmed and decorated tree to the curb, until the end of January. Yup.

Dan's labor intensive eggnog was no joke: worth the dozen plus eggs that made it beautiful and delicious!
A holiday visit back to New York involved wonderful food and drink frenzies, snow, and shared times, conversation, with some of the best people all the world over. I left bloated and hungover with cheer, grateful for the community and place I love and know well. In many ways, though, I was ready and excited to continue on my journey and exploration for a new place, projects, ideas and ways to communicate and share them.
I ate a bosc pear, crunchy and sweet, grown at Maynard Farms and purchased at the Troy Farmer’s Market, as I waited at Gate A18 in the center of Newark Liberty International Airport. The flight back to Seattle from New York is as long as the one to Nuuk, the capital of Greenland. I am traveling a world away despite the sea of words, accompanied by smells, that are embedded in our consciousness, working hard to persuade us across this country, and the world, to buy: McDonalds, Starbucks, TGIFridays, etc.. Does one look odd when not eating something wrapped in plastic, paper, from one of these multi-national institutions, at the airport? A Hudson Valley-grown pear becomes subversive, I thought.
The smells of chain-grown foods and beverages is embedded in the pleather seats and the paint chips on the walls. They permeate surfaces that seem impermeable: holding on to them with a vengeance that is consumer driven thanks to advertising dollars, mimicking the old question, “What comes first, the chicken or the egg?” (In this case, the consumer or the corporation?)
I wanted chickens and eggs in my backyard again.
So I came back to GreenMan Farm, on Vashon Island, and plan to stay here a little longer before going north to help dig up hops rhizomes, weed, add compost to soil, and work on trellising and mulching projects at Crannog Ales and Farm in mid-March. I am happy with my routine here, investing in new and dear friendships that are sure to be lasting, and uncovering more about, and connecting with, the underground Island food community (another post – an exciting one! – coming soon). Plus, the dormant lull of January can be comforting. I have a sweet place to live, a woodshed and studio turned home and cabin, that carries many connections with it. Like any good place to dwell, it offers shelter and repose (most of the time), and feels alive when I’m there.

My house was built by someone who has become my closest friend. Ours is a sweet story, one in process, to be told another time. The image credits belong to him, T.R.
Life moves and takes home with it. Examining honey bee hives after colonies leave profoundly resonates this: the wax, once supple and alive with activity, dries out, cracks, and dies when abandoned. When the form’s purpose changes this is reflected in all that it is.

Because home really is where the heart is, this photo, my parents' refrigerator memories, reminds me of that.

A wasp nest is usually constructed from chewed bark and dried timber mixed with saliva, appearing paper like and fragile, but serving as a safe and sturdy home for the colony for a year. Once a nest dies in the autumn the queen never uses it again the following year. She will always start a fresh nest the following season.



































































As you can see, there’s a sweet rainbow swiss chard explosion happening now at 





