ride

Class got out at its typical time. It was different when I stepped outside strapping my bike helmet. The sun was still out. It surprised me with its presence, and brought joy to my spirit. The clouds overlaying the sun's trail were soft, like a watercolor painting with hues blending in and out to make a masterpiece. The tones were somewhat muted and gentle.

My mile ride home goes by quick. It's mostly downhill which felt cold against my exposed toes. As spring is on the horizon, I am reminded of new life that comes. The joys the sun brings fills my memory. Days are longer, the sun beats down stronger, the beauties of seasons. You don't know what you have till it's gone. Then when it comes back, you appreciate it all the more.

change

The lack there of. I have found that snow builds character. The coming and going of seasons with distinct definitions of the effects of those seasons are important to my survival. When the first frost occurred on my lawn, It was time to dig up the gladiola bulbs and make sure the leaves have been raked off the ground. When the first snow fell, it melted on the warm rock it landed on; however, the temperature continued to drop and the ground acclimated to the surrounding degrees to allow this beautiful form of water blanket its inferior matter with a glow of clean crisp snow. When the layers of snowfall accumulated, each crystal, with its own distinct shape, created a grave of fallen angels for a young child's enjoyment. For nothing brings greater joy than to bundle up in snow pants and fall in the snow, laying there as it slowly makes your back grow numb. I remember making snowflakes out of folded up paper, cutting little triangles and slits to create an interesting design, and during some storms, I would focus on single flakes that fell infront of my face and land on my black mitten and realize that God's design of every flake far surpasses my simple paper-cutting skills. Their three dementional structure lasted only for seconds on my warm hand as they changed from solid to liquid to gas.

These dreams of snow would be all that infiltrated my mind in the September, October months when all the leaves had fallen and I had my fill of leave forts. The snow too would loose its mystery come late February. By this time, I was ready to see the tulips pop out of the stone hard garden next to my front door. For once I saw their green leaves protrude through the soil, I knew that spring was on its way.

Spring brings joy. I can take in a deep breath without discomfort in my lungs. Breathing in the scent of trees blossuming and grass growing is like none other. The first day my parents would let me run outside with my bare feet was always monumental. Shoes are for the civilized I thought, and I preferred the barbaric. The spring also brought spring cleaning of my playhouse in the back yard. I would sweep out the dirt that might have accumulated over the winter and wash the curtains as they got to be dusty. I remember enjoying laying on my front sidewalk and letting ants run over my legs and hands; they would tickle me, displacing one hair at a time. I would form a triangle around them with my thumbs and pointer fingers to try and force them to climb on my hands. Once they did, I would make a jungle gym out of my fingers, creating different paths for them to crawl on.

The main distinction between spring and summer was the lack of school. For summer always took me by surprise with the temperature slowly increasing till it hit its max in the 90s. Summer also meant it was soon my birthday. And my birthday was my second favorite day of the year after Christmas. Summer meant I could wear shorts (if it was over 60 degrees outside). If it was over 70 degrees, I could turn on the sprinkler and play in my contrived rain; it's funny how running back and forth through a moving flow of water would entertain me for hours. Above anything special about summer, going to my grandparents' cabin topped everything. The drive took one hour. The drive is straight up Highway 55. It only requires 7 turns from my driveway to my grandparents' driveway which I found so fascinating. I would always wear my swimsuit before leaving home, so once we arrived, I could run down the stairs and jump in the water (which is usually where I would find my grandparents).

Summer always felt short, especially as I age. The wind started to blow. The trees transform from a monochromatic shade of deep green, to multiple varieties of yellow, orange, and red. Driving into Wisconsin stunned me to see the fields of trees with their vibrant colors fill my vision. These deciduous trees created a dream of a playground when they dropped their leaves. I would rake and create a maze of walls and paths with the thick cover of leaves. I loved putting on a sweater and warm socks for the first time and feeling the wind grow stronger against my neck. I knew that as the wind grew stronger, as the trees grew naked, and as the degrees diminished, winter was on its way, and the cycle started all over again.

Living in a climate void of the distinct seasons leaves me lacking. It is good to remember the feelings every season brings. I appreciate Aldo Leopolds book the Sand County Almanac with it's different depictions of every month of the year. The different animals he viewed, the different feelings he had with the days passing. As Thoreau says,
Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each.
That is my goal as I live in a different climate than what I grew to love. I want to continue to appreciate the beauty and subtle changes the sun brings around me in San Luis Obispo.

sister

Here I sit with a once blank page of paper, my sister to my right, and a pen in hand. We made it up the steepest climb she's seen in a while, for Minnesota doesn't offer many foothills. She just picked me a flower to press, now she's taking my picture. So I will sit here pretending not to see her. My hands are covered in mud. Our climb up required a bit of crawling up the muddy slopes.

This view is like none other that I've seen, and it only takes 27 minutes on foot from my front door. With Madonna straight ahead, the 101 below, Paso Robles to my right, and rolling foothills in all directions, I am in awe of its beauty. I forget what I am surrounded with. I forget there are so many adventures within the small San Luis Obispo vicinity. It's funny to see a barbed wire fence in front of me while I sit on this hill of a mountain. Who put it there? What were they blocking off or trying to keep in/out? Maybe sheep used to graze this hill in days past.

Thoreau did a lot of exploring right in his own backyard. He was one who believed that exploring within a 10-mile vicinity was the best way to discover the landscape. Who needs to fly to exotic lands when there are beautiful foothills in all directions. Walking to this spot was enjoyable. I don't often walk with a companion, but my sister was perfect company. She was fascinated with the expensive houses as we were walking through city streets.

It has been wonderful having her here in California. She is one of my biggest connections with home. She knows my insides like no other. I have found that I can get so consumed with school that I forget about people around me. When she came last Monday, I was so stressed the amount of studying I had to do. It's hard for me to get beyond those thoughts and enjoy her company. This walk was a perfect escape from school life. I hope I can show her how much I love her. I do realize that I get refreshed when I'm able to spend time outside of my house.

I hope I don't get too busy with what I find important that I miss out on beauty around me. Beauty in relationships is the first thing I neglect when life gets busy, but I am discovering that they are one of the most important qualities that gives pleasure to the mind and senses. Walking with Kara brings peace to my spirit. Arm in arm. She reminds me of what's truly important.

The clouds took over the sky;
it was time to descend.
It was muddy
and fear overtook me.
Falling to my death.
We held onto roots,
slid on butts, and
screamed.
Fearful thoughts overwhelmed my mind;
were we ever going stand again?
The ground appeared closer
than I thought possible.
Death seemed farther than before;
life was close at hand.
I stood, held my breath,
and ran.

mud

English 380 met at the Crops Unit. I arrived on my bike after riding in the cool wind. I forgot my jacket, but I knew I could survive; I've felt worse winds on my skin. We began our journey headed out through the orchards where I saw almond, walnut, and avocado trees growing. There were two rows of almonds growing, one where fruit was budding, and the other with flowers in full bloom. Professor Marx explained the intricacy of pruning; it is an art. Looking at the detail of the flowers and smelling the buds was closer than I've ever been to a growing almond. Chris suggested that I smell the almond tree's flower. Its smell was so sweet, and it's color of white with a subtle pink made its appearance soft and warm. The rows of these trees lined the orchard with blooms and soon nuts to be enjoyed for their nutrition and distinct flavor. I've decided that my backyard will someday have these fruitful trees covering its landscape; at least I hope that's the case.

As we continued to walk, the soil grew moist as we got closer to Stenner Creek. Sycamores lined the water with their branches spanning and intertwining with other tree varieties. A red-tailed hawk flew above searching for food below. The sun felt warm at this particular spot. The breeze was subtle, and I felt a sense of contentment walking with my fellow peers, exploring the vast land of Cal Poly.

We continued and entered the organic farm. This is were the journey became more of an adventure. The mud started to trap us, creating each step heavier than the prior. I wore the wrong shoes this morning with gaps in the heal where more mud resided. We made it over to the organic farm; the workers were very informative in the process of this farm. The land these crops grew on has only been farmed for 2 years. They practice a rotation of the crops; letting one section rest while the other section is being harvested.

As I looked out over the crops, beautiful shades of maroon, forest green, lime green, yellow, and many others were layered throughout the rows. There was such order to the plants; it reminded me of the I used to grow with my father except large scale, where green beans grew next to tomatoes which grew next to squash. The diversity in the crop is something so foreign to my eyes beyond my own garden. Growing up in the Midwest, most fields harvested corn and only corn. Acres and acres of corn typically sold and processed to make high fructose corn syrup to add to Coca Cola or Trix. Soybeans are also a large crop in Minnesota. Living in California, I have been fascinated that if drive 5 miles, I can see 10 different varieties of crops out my window. Such diversity I am not accustomed to. This organic farm was this experience multiplied. Seeing kale grow next to leeks, which grow next to beets, which grow next to lettuce. I just wanted to stand and gaze and recognize all the different varieties of vegetables growing, but the walk continued.

The mud got deeper, so I decided to follow other students lead and take off my shoes. This moist soil felt refreshing in between my toes. My feet loose their callus in the winter months when they are always protected by shoes. When summer comes, they grow tuff; they are ready to run down the street over pebbles and twigs with enough protection to keep my senses from pain. Today, my soft feet felt the rough terrain I was exposing them to, so I washed off my shoes and covered my bear paws.

This walk was full of action. We continued and arrived at our next stop to observe a cow liking her newborn calf. I saw this animal’s placenta, and the fluid that was covering its skin. What a magnificent site.

We arrived at the CSA pickup site. Malarie explained to us in greater detail the process of purchasing organic vegetables grown on the land. Animals were wandering throughout from goats to roosters. There was a turkey lying contently in the grass. It allowed students to caress its feathers without a flinch. I was greatly impressed with a small house made of hay barrels, stucco, and mud allowing a cool temp in the summer and a warm temp in the winter. I am continually impressed with Cal Poly students' minds and their creativity.

This was a beautiful day. The wind blew, I felt goosebumps, I saw a greater glimpse to the vast land of Cal Poly, and now I am in a warm library allowing my fingers to unthaw from the cool temperature. This campus has so much to offer.

pause

I sit on my porch. The rain slowly drips down around me. I see my breath as I exhale I forget it's there until I enter the cold. People walk with their hats trying to protect their eyes from the wet. A pool of water overtakes the base of my driveway and soft drops bounce leaving a ring behind. A bird flies and lands on the electrical pole in front of my house as it chirps gaily. The sun comes out, and I see that the M on Madonna is dry.

I think rain stirs creativity in the soul. It brings a lot of emotions to me, some of sorrow, some of joy that life will be spurred from its presence.

The magnolia out front of my house has fresh dew on its leaves. The flowers are still blooming, not hiding from the midday rain. They must feel joy themselves knowing that they will be able to bloom yet another day. Their fuchsia color is fresh to my eyes. Some pedals have turned a stale shade of brown, yet some are just popping out of their blossom for their first site at the sun, if the clouds did not hide it. The clouds have moved east bringing the rain with them and leaving my magnolias and me a hint of sun, and a deep blue sky. I appreciate the vivid color of the sky more so when I don't see it for a few days. Distance makes the heart grow fonder they say. My heart is fonder.

It's funny when people drive by so fast in front of my porch, for my road is only a block in between 2 stop signs. I wonder where they are trying to get in such a hurry that they need to speed only to slow to a screeching halt to wait for traffic to go by. There goes another one. One night, I was in my room, and I heard a huge screech and screaming and chatter about outside of my window. I looked to see, and a young man was getting off the ground trying to pick up his crotch rocket that had skidded across the road 20 feet. He was cruising down my road well over 50 miles per hour when he lost control and flew off his bike. He was okay, his bike was scratched, and it left me pondering. The need for speed, excitement, and trill runs so many people actions. This thought made me think how I myself need to slow down and have an excuse to. What is it in human brains that we need to go 10 miles faster than the speed limit just to arrive at our destination 3-7 minutes faster. It's almost as if we're on fast-forward. Someone press the pause button please. I need to catch my breath.

In Minnesota, I remember feeling a pause when the snow would downpour, and it would leave me trapped in my house. I never got a snow day being home schooled; I was jealous of the normal kids who listened to the radio and hoped their school was concerned enough to close down the school for the day for the safety of the children. My desk in the basement was of no danger for me to travel to, but just knowing that if I was a normal child, and I did travel to school, I wouldn't have to go. Jealousy would infest my thoughts, but I would get over it after I did my studies and put on my snow-gear and would lie in the snow. It's funny how weather can cause a change in lifestyle. I do think that the rain is a pause button, or at least a slow motion button. It's easy to make life busy and complicated; when it rains, I assess if I want to sacrifice getting wet riding my bike to that destination, or waiting for the bus to come. More often than not, what seemed so important is put into perspective.

I stop, breathe, listen, and absorb.

A few days later: I have to explain the funny situation of riding my bike home in the rain.

Sunday, February 19 was a sunny morning. I wore tights, a skirt, my yellow sweater, and moccasins to church that morning. I left my bike at school the night before because it was raining and hailing so hard, I could not ride home safely. I took the bus to school from church, which was a funny experience in itself to get on this empty bus to go to school on a Sunday. The sky was full of action; the sun shone bright. When arriving at school, I decided to play piano in the Music Building for a few minutes before riding home. When I came out, soft drops ascended on my head. I started laughing. By the time I arrived at my bike, the rain was falling harder and more viscous, but I could not leave it there one more day. So I decided to get on and head home. Students walking to do their weekend studying were laughing at me. I rode on and made it to the top of California, when the rain settled and hail emerged from the angry clouds. This is when my laughter grew louder. For who is in a hailstorm on their bike? At least I had my helmet on. I decided to cruise through puddles because I was already as wet as I was going to be, I mine as well have fun. I finally arrived home safe and sound. My roommate Chloe spotted me entering the driveway, and she greeted me with strong laughter as she saw me drenched. It's fun to be in the rain, and a little hail doesn't hurt. Tomato soup is good.

wake

wet face
hide from air under bag
hat on
feet in mukluks
campfire nearby
people laughing, go to sleep...
laying
stars above
waking to moisture
sleep
wake
sleep, roll over
wake
air is fresh
sun peaks
beams of warmth
feeling courageous
sit
ache

learning to eat

I am very challenged by Wendell Berry's The Pleasures of Eating essay. I grew up with a garden, watching my green beans grow, so I can see an appreciate his stance on the appreciation found when actually harvesting and participating in the cultivation and growth of food. This essay was helpful for me to pinpoint specific areas of my life, as a city dweller, that can positively affect the food system. His list of ways to participate is as follows:



1) Participate in food production to the extent that you can.
I hope to grow a garden when I own my own land. My roommates participate in CSA gardening; they help cultivate, wash, and pack vegetables for the program. I am encouraged by their participation and am considering joining their efforts next year. I can grow basil in my kitchen window, but I just tend to forget the essential watering step of keeping plants. Hopefully that will change as I age.
2) Prepare your own food.
This is at times difficult being a busy college student, but it is possible.
3) Learn the origins of the food you buy, and buy the food that is produced closest to your home.
This is also at times difficult, but I find the more I am conscious regarding where my food is produced, the more I appreciate it. I enjoy buying produce/vegetables at the farmers market from the Cal Poly organic farm. Their carrots are so juicy and sweet.
4) Whenever possible, deal directly with a local farmer, gardener, or orchardist.
5) Learn, in self-defense, as much as you can of the economy and technology of industrial food production.
6) Learn what is involved in the best farming and gardening.
I am excited to learn.
7) Learn as much as you can, by direct observation and experience if possible, of the life histories of the food species.

Learning is the main theme running through every step of the process, and I am looking forward to learning throughout life ways to implement these steps into my life. As Berry states,

Eaters, that is, must understand that eating takes place inescapably in the world, that it is inescapably an agricultural act, and that how we eat determines, to a considerable extent, how the world is used.

I want to be considerate of the way I use the world. I want to live a life appreciative of my blessings and thankful to God, my provider, for taking care of my needs. Food is essential, and it is pleasurable. I appreciate how Wendell explains that more pleasure is found in eating when understanding of the foods lifespan that took place. Thinking is good for me.