Sowing Sabbath

Food Matters

2010-09-25T15:32:00.000-05:00

Pike Place Market in Seattle

Hi blog readers! Are any of you still out there? It’s been awhile since I’ve been on here; turns out life in the unemployment world can still be pretty busy!

I have wanted to do a series of posts about food movements and what I’ve learned about them. I had been wary about posting too much this summer because the more I learned and read, the more complex my opinions became. But I think I’m at a place where I can hopefully (but not finally) offer some insight and feel I’m standing on solid ground. (This first post is a little long for the blogging world, I know, but it will frame things for future posts so stick with me!) Here it goes:

I wanted to start by addressing a fundamental question:

Why does it matter that we talk about where our food comes from?

I had a good friend in Boston tell me he wouldn’t think about where his food came from. For him, food and ethics didn’t mix. For one thing, if he ate local, his home state would only produce fish and potatoes for him to eat year round. I hung onto his statement as I weeded my way across the country wondering if any of my consternation really mattered.

I think his point was: eating is so fundamental, so basic, if you think too hard about it you’ll ruin the beauty of it. And after living near a Harvard world where every shocking headline or new scientific study became a movement, a revolution, I took his skepticism seriously. Marion Nestle, a nutritionist, writes about her own confusion about why people worry so much about food, “For me, food is one of life’s greatest pleasures…[but] eventually I came to realize that, for many people, food feels nothing at all like a source of pleasure; it feels more like a minefield.”[i] To this point, I think my friend is right. We should not be anxious about our food as Nestle suggests – that only exacerbates the symptoms of our disordered eating. But I get ahead of myself.

After sitting in the weeds with my friend’s question long enough, I feel comfortable saying that ultimately I think he was wrong, for many reasons. These questions are complex, as mentioned above, and hard to make sense of (hence the anxiety Nestle talks about). One thing I have found hard is that no one brings the issues together. Books are written about concern the sustainability of our planet, animal rights, food safety, human health, human mental health, body image, economics, or cultural critiques about how we eat (i.e. fast and from a window or microwave).

So here a few of the reasons why, I think, to answer his question, “it matters.”

To begin by responding to my friend’s comment about eating being so basic: It is because eating is so fundamental, so intimate, that it matters so much that we pay attention. The more we allow a basic element of life to be warped and abused, the more we ourselves become distorted.

Wendell Berry recognizes this distortion in his essay, “The Body and the Earth”. In his discussion about the isolation of the body (from soul, earth, community, etc.) he criticizes the fallacy of the separation of body and soul that is often expressed in religion. He writes:

“You cannot devalue the body and value the soul – or value anything else…contempt for the body is invariably manifested in contempt for other bodies…Relationships with all other creatures become competitive and exploitive rather than collaborative and convivial. The world is seen and dealt with, not as an ecological community, but as a stock exchange, the ethics of which are based on the tragically misnamed “law of the jungle”…The body is degraded and saddened by being set in conflict against the Creation itself, of which all bodies are members, therefore members of each other. The body is thus sent to war against itself.”[ii]

If the health of our being (body & soul) is connected, then things connected to our body, namely food and the animals and earth from which it comes, matters. Ultimately we cannot separate ourselves from our bodies, or the earth, or from one another without bringing harm upon ourselves.

Americans have a particularly tenuous relationship with food. It is amazing to me the full spectrum of distorted relationships that exist. While many of the food critics out there focus on the ecological problems of food production, many overlook our problems with obesity (and all the health issues related to it), people who struggle with addiction to food (even if they are not overweight), and so many who deprive themselves of nourishment, withholding food for control and distorted body images. Our nation clearly has an eating disorder; perhaps, more then one.

We have diet plans being born each day with new followers eagerly overthrowing their current eating habits for the next quick fix. There are new products invented to excite the shopper (often the child) like Oreo cereal, and fruit snacks “packed with so much real fruit juice your kids won’t know they’re eating fruit.” There are people who don’t know what a tomato plant looks like or that carrots grow underground.

We have 3,900 calories available to each person each day in our country (nearly twice the amount the average adult needs), and yet families still go hungry.[iii]

In contrast to our food world, there are many cultures (I think first of French, Italian, Indian and Latin) that savor the beauty and gift of food, and know how to both create it and enjoy eating it. And there are impoverished countries that know the necessity of food and the limitations of growing it.

My goal in this post and in the ones to come is not to frame these statements in a condemning way that suggests all our food realities are wrong, but rather that something has been lost. Somehow in this place, we have lost sight of both ends of that spectrum.

Most of us are far enough removed from agricultural ancestors that we don’t know what cows and pigs are supposed to eat, nor what they’re fed now, or how to slaughter and clean an animal for our consumption. Wendell Berry might encourage us to look into this and ask us what that does to our bodies, the earth, and our community. Michael Pollan may ask us to forage our own mushrooms and hunt our own boar. But another voice recognizes the reality that these things are not possible for all of us, and we do have a world of 7 billion people to feed!

James McWilliams is a professor who was first a “locavore” and has written about the failings of the movement. He is still someone who believes that “the quest for sustainable methods of global food production cannot wait,” but he also has some harsh criticisms of the popular food movements that are trying to do just that. In contrast to Berry, Pollan and others who write with nostalgia about the history of agriculture and the woes of industrial farming, McWilliams wants to point out that farming, period, is destruction of the natural state of the ecosystem, and yet at this point a necessary evil.

“No matter how rhapsodic one waxes about the process of wresting edible plants and tamed animals from the sprawling vagaries of nature, there’s a timeless, unwavering truth espoused by those who worked the land for ages: no matter how responsible agriculture is, it is essentially about achieving the lesser of evils. To work the land is to change the land, to shape it to benefit one species over another, and thus necessarily to tame what is wild. Our task should be to deliver our blows gently.”[iv] In short: “domestication reinvents the rules of nature…cultivated plants are nature’s misfits…farming is, at its historical essence, the art of strategizing against the natural world.”[v]

And so you can begin to see, even among those who are searching for sustainable agriculture, among those who recognize there is a problem with the way we do food now, they are divided in their approach. There are those who want to work with nature, to return to it and the wisdom it provides, and there are those who say this is fundamentally impossible.

So it is with the realities of the world of fast-food and industrial farming, the realities the organic, local, slow, vegetarian, vegan, family-farm, sustainable living, permaculture, and raw food movements, and with the reality that we must feed a nation, a world, whose population has long been exploding, I enter into questions about food – because whether or not I’ve settled for one food movement, or worked out all the details about what I think our priorities should be in food production, I did solidify one thing on my journey, it indeed, does matter. It matters because it is not only an ecological issue, but it is a health issue for us, a mental health issue, and a spiritual issue that has long needed to be addressed as such.

And hopefully rather than convert you to any one movement, or convince you to start up your own farm and slaughter your own chickens (a misconception of readers from an earlier post), I can at least convince you to pay attention to not only where your food comes from, but how you eat, and ask yourself which pieces you think matter most to the earth, your health, your mental health, the health of your community, and your spirituality.

[i] Marion Nestle, What to Eat (New York: North Point Press, 2006), p. 3-4.

[ii] Norman Wirzba, Ed., The Art of the Commonplace: The Agrarian Essays of Wendell Berry (Berkley: Counterpoint, 2002), 101.

[iii] Nestle, 11.

[iv] James McWilliams, Just Food (New York: Back Bay Books, 2009), 9.

[v] McWilliams, 7.

Food Blogger Wannabe

2010-08-25T21:58:00.000-05:00

I know this is beginning to look like a food blog, but I had to share these classic cupcakes with y'all! And in fact, I will be finally talking more about what I've gathered about food and all the proverbial movements that accompany our grub these days - so stay tuned!

My sister-in-law turns 21 this week, and we made a huge Mexican-themed family dinner last night to celebrate - complete with vanilla and chocolate cupcakes at the request of the birthday princess.

Other than the recipe - I wanted to share some insights I had while whipping the pound of butter that went into these cups (they don't call it buttercream for nothin', kids).

So first: Here is the recipe. I hadn't used this food blog before, but the cake was so good with that buttermilk in it, and the frosting an excellent consistency (and without the finicky mess of egg whites).

I realized how much Daniel and I had been cooking since we've been with family these last couple weeks, often to celebrate something (birthday, being home, August produce, etc.). For me, this means cooking the best food I can both dream up and successfully pull off in the kitchen. Food is often central to our festivities in life, it's a marker that something special is happening, a marker of special time (sometimes sabbath perhaps?)

So as I labored for hours over just the cupcakes (not to mention the chicken mole, homemade salsa, green rice, beans, or fried green tomatoes), I thought about all the short cuts we've given ourselves to accomplish such meals:

boxed cake mix and frosting in a tube
salsa in a jar
quick rice in just 15 minutes!

...not to mention the prepared food we can buy for such occasions.

I get that people are in a hurry.
And I know a lot of people don't like to cook.
But I think there is something fundamental about spending a day in the kitchen, making what you are able, spending time on the preparation and savoring the basic ingredients that go into each dish. Eating is necessary. Thus, preparing food is necessary. The more we take ourselves away from that process, the more time we create for things that are perhaps not so necessary, not so nourishing, and definitely don't taste as good. Because cupcakes just aren't the same when all you do is "add water and egg."

Blueberry Awesomeness

2010-08-17T09:07:00.000-05:00

To celebrate our return, what we learned on the farm, and thank my parents for their support, we cooked a huge dinner to celebrate! We bought most of our goodies from the Midland farmers market - it's finally tomato season!!! Yum.

Here was the menu :)

Homemade Farmer's Bread (here's the recipe)
Pork Shoulder with Peach Sauce (local pork, the cut was ironically a Boston Butt)
Purple, Yellow & Green Bean Medley with citrus sauce and candied pecans
Creamed Corn (Tennessee style with Peaches and Cream Fresh Corn)
And finally, a Blueberry Almond Honey Tart (made with honey from our first farm)
We also opened the meal with a silent Quaker prayer we practiced on the farm in Minnesota; a splendid way to start a meal!

So good to make fine food from scratch and celebrate together!

Home

2010-08-14T20:59:00.001-05:00

A few days ago, we left Tess, Brent, and Chicago to drive our last leg on this summer journey. It’s strange that it’s all coming to a close, and even stranger to be returning to a place I call home but haven’t lived in for nine years.

In some ways I was nervous about heading back to Midland. I was one of those kids who grew up in small town America dreaming of bigger and better things and one who swore I’d never look back when I left for college. Midland was a great place to grow up, but never a place to live as an adult. I was a girl from a small Midwestern town, bound for the modern city lifestyle.

But I have missed family, and I have missed the familiarity of the region in which I grew up, and the identity and history it offers me. And yet at the same time, I still swoon at the city lights, and I am tickled by the seemingly boundless opportunities for experiencing new people, cultures, food, ritual.

Wendell Berry made a choice to return home to Kentucky after he had “successfully made it out.” He had established himself as a writer, was working as faculty at NYU, and living in one of the largest and richest cultural centers of our country. He writes about the conversation he had with his colleague who was trying to talk him out of the move.

“His argument [Berry’s colleague's] was based on the belief that once one had attained the metropolis, the literary capital, the worth of one’s origins was canceled out; there simply could be nothing worth going back to. What lay behind one had ceased to be a part of life, and had become 'subject matter'…that a place such as I came from could be returned to only at the price of intellectual death; cut off from the cultural springs of the metropolis…Finally, there was the assumption that the life of the metropolis is the experience, the modern experience, and that the life of the rural towns, the farms, the wilderness places is not only irrelevant to our time, but archaic as well…”1

I too have feared as I look for work that if I moved to Nowhere, Indiana, my life would end. Even as we toured the countryside, I battled with the tension between the deep peace I found in the open sky and intimate communities against my desire for being a part of a diverse community and for good Indian food.

But one thing has given me hope. This time, in Chicago, I didn’t get excited about the city as we drove in, and I didn’t long to spend the day exploring the sites. I missed the open sky, the pasture, and the spirit of the rural communities. I will always love the city, whether I live there or visit, but as Berry says about his move to Kentucky, wherever I am, I will not be there because of circumstance, but because I chose to be there. And with time, hopefully, I will become a part of the very fabric of the place, it’s history and rhythms.

For now, I am home, in a place rich with its own history, and full of people who showed me love and care as I grew up. And if I’ve learned anything this summer, my hunch is that my life will not end, but instead has circled upon itself, offering me an opportunity to again commune with family and the Midwest, even if just for a short time.

1. The Art of the Commonplace: The Agrarian Essays of Wendell Berry. Ed: Norman Wirzba, (Berkley, CA: Counterpoint), 2002, p. 6-7.

Trouble with Grace

2010-08-10T16:51:00.000-05:00

Today my husband, Daniel, is guest-posting about some of his experiences this summer, and some of his reflections on our reading of Wendell Berry. This summer would have been much less rich without him, and I am grateful for his companionship and his intentionality about reflecting on our experience together.

I have not formally asked any one to guest post before, but I would love for others to contribute to this blog! If you have something to say about sabbath, farms, food, travel, life, chickens...you get the idea, please let me know! I'd love to continue this even though we've almost made it back home.

* * *

I’ve always had trouble with grace. As a child, I sang about it often in hymns like ‘Amazing Grace’ and ‘Grace Greater Than Our Sin’, but it wasn’t preached or talked about nearly enough for me to truly understand the feeling of grace. When I was baptized as a teenager, no great sensation swept over me, as I had hoped it might. Throughout my life, I have believed in and known God’s love and even God’s forgiveness in various ways. But grace has always been a little bit more elusive.

In a way, I’ve always felt that I’m somehow missing out on something that a lot of other people seem to experience with a degree of ease. I’d love to have one of those dramatic ‘see the light’ or ‘come to Jesus’ moments that certain Christian people have had. And growing up in a church where folks talked about salvation and piety a lot more than grace only intensified my disappointment that I never found myself in the middle of such an experience. Alas, I’ve had to ‘settle’ for subtle moments of beauty, truth, and clarity instead.

You might wonder what any of this has to do with our farm work and sabbath journeys this summer. Well as I look back over the past few months, I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve been looking for the wrong kind of grace. My work and time on farms this summer was filled with blessings. The simplicity of the lifestyle, the connection to the land, meals that were healthy and fresh from the garden, and being able to spend all day outside in the sun – all of these things filled me with a subtle but deep feeling of gladness and contentment. I’ve hoped to encounter God’s grace as an all-consuming redemption and perhaps as a mystical relationship with the Divine. Ultimately, I’ve wanted grace to be something overwhelming, something of which I’m clearly conscious. But I suspect that through our work and sabbath time I have experienced grace at a very unconscious level.

In The Art of the Commonplace Wendell Berry writes, “The distinction between the physical and the spiritual is, I believe, false. A much more valid distinction, and one that we need urgently to make, is that between the organic and the mechanical” (p. 147). He’s talking about the tendency in Christian theology of drawing a sharp boundary between flesh and spirit, between body and mind. It is this division that fuels the expectation of an entirely conscious experience of grace. I believe that Berry is suggesting that the subtle pleasures, simultaneously spiritual and physical, of living and working within the flow of creation’s rhythms are as true an experience of God’s grace as any dramatic altar call.

I’m learning how to embrace and enjoy this grace. As our summer ends and we return to a more normal routine, I wonder how we might maintain an ability to dwell in those graceful rhythms.

~ Daniel

Maya Angelou on Sabbath

2010-08-04T22:26:00.001-05:00

This short Angelou piece is from her book Wouldn't Take Nothing For My Journey Now.

"A Day Away"

We often think that our affairs, great or small, must be tended continuously and in detail, or our world will disintegrate, and we will lose our places in the universe. That is not true, or if it is true, then our situations were so temporary that they would have collapsed anyway.

Once a year or so I give myself a day away. On the eve of my day of absence, I begin to unwrap the bonds which hold me in harness. I inform housemates, my family and close friends that I will not be reachable for 24 hours; then I disengage the telephone. I turn the radio dial to an all-music station, preferably one which plays the soothing golden oldies. I sit for at least an hour in a very hot tub; then I lay out my clothes in preparation for my morning escape, and knowing that nothing will disturb me, I sleep the sleep of the just.

On the morning I wake naturally, for I will have set no clock, nor informed my body time piece when it should alarm. I dress in comfortable shoes and casual clothes and leave my house going no place. If I am living in a city, I wander streets, window-shop, or gaze at buildings. I enter and leave public parks, libraries, the lobbies of skyscrapers, and movie houses. I stay in no place for very long.

On the getaway day I try for amnesia. I do not want to know my name, where I live, or how many dire responsibilities rest on my shoulders. I detest encountering even the closest friend, for then I am reminded for who I am. And the circumstances of my life, which I want to forget for awhile.

Every person needs to take one day away. A day in which one consciously separates the past from the future. Jobs, lovers, family, employers and friends can exist one day without any one of us, and if our egos permit us to confess, they could exist eternally in our absence.

Each person deserves a day away in which no problems are confronted, no solutions searched for. Each of us needs to withdraw from the cares which will not withdraw from us. We need hours of aimless wandering or spates of time sitting on park benches, observing the mysterious world of ants and the canopy of treetops.

If we step away for a time, we are not, as many may think and some will accuse, being irresponsible, but rather we are preparing ourselves to more ably perform our duties and discharge our obligations.

When I return home, I am always surprised to find some questions I sought to evade had been answered and some entanglements I had hoped to flee had become unraveled in my absence.

A day away acts as a spring tonic. It can dispel rancor, transform indecision, and renew the spirit.

Family

2010-08-01T20:15:00.001-05:00

Cousins Sally & Bob and their kids Jack and Andrew

I had the opportunity to reconnect with family while out west. I have cousins and an uncle in Oregon and Washington whom I haven't seen in years. Our entire trip has been a mix of farms and staying with friends/family inbetween, but this time I was truly (re)developing relationships with people I don't really know.

Columbia River

Part of Sabbath is time spent with family, and my time at home in MI, with my sister, and with close friends surely counts as family time. I wasn't sure how or if I would get to see my cousins. Both graciously offered to host us in their home cities of Portland and Seattle, and both spent time getting to know me and D. As we made the turn back east, I realized driving away that this was some of the best "family" Sabbath time yet - the kind that is perhaps intended most.

My cousin Mike and I in the canyon hike

We took a trip up the gorge and to Mt. Hood with Mike and "played", a good Sabbath practice. And we shared stories with both sets. Some were warm memories of loved ones no longer with us, and others stories of pain and shame.

Falls on our hike hear the gorge

Sitting in the spot where cousin Mike proposed to his wife Lucy (family history at its best!)

Even though I barely know these cousins, I was connected to them in so many ways, and connected to a larger story. Though in the company of practical strangers, I was somehow able to tap into love and truth that can be so heavily guarded and scary with other people who would have been just as unknown, but not family. It was amazing to me that even though they have always felt distant (due to age differences, geography, and sometimes family tension), I realized that there is not really that much distance between family no matter how far they are. The shared stories and histories forever bind you together. Though they can be hard stories at times, it's comforting to know others not only know about them, but have experienced them too.

Estranged by Distance

2010-07-30T07:50:00.000-05:00

Estranged by distance, he relearns

The way to quiet not his own,

The light at rest on tree and stone,

The high leaves falling their turns,

Spiraling through the air made gold

By their slow fall. Bright on the ground,

They wait their darkening, commend

To coming light the light they hold.

His own long comedown from the air

Complete, safe home again, absence

Withdrawing from him tense by tense

In presence of the resting year.

Blessing and blessed in this result

Of times not blessed, now he has risen.

He walks in quiet beyond division

In surcease of his own tumult.

Wendell Berry, A Timbered Choir

The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997: 1984, 5.

Oregonia

2010-07-30T01:48:00.000-05:00

Catching up on some Oregon pics! Washington to come soon...

Crater Lake - the amazing blue is from the depth of the lake

Oregon Coast at Bandon Beach

Ah... officially arrived from coast to coast

Myrtle Glen Farm

Elephant Garlic

They had several Llama...

...and aliens.

My first attempt at milking. Turns out I don't care for the flavor of goat's milk much, I prefer the cheese variety. It was also raw...but that's for another post.

Community Intentions

2010-07-24T16:44:00.000-05:00

One week. We weren’t sure we were going to make it this long at Myrtle Glen Farm. After some last minute scrambling to set up an Oregon farm, we confirmed our stay for 10 days believing we were headed toward an old family farm that was no longer doing business. I was looking forward to getting to know a wise old man as we helped out on his property that was now up for sale.

As we drove up to the house (a good 20+ minutes from the nearest small (read: miniscule) town), we were greeted by a small crowd eating dinner on the patio of the gorgeous custom built farmhouse. Hearing names, where people were from, and how long they’d been here, we learned that indeed this was no family farm but more of a make-shift (and relatively transient) intentional community.

I quickly adjusted my expectations and thought to myself how neat of an experience this might be; I’ve always been interested in living in such a community. But the more I began to settle in, the more uncomfortable I got.

At first, it was the shifty looks of which we were the object that bothered me most. It was clear, to be sure, that we were the most “mainstream,” what with our Honda Accord, actual luggage, and yes, clean clothes.

Each individual did warm up to us, and we got to know people better. It’s amazing how time and a willingness to be in uncomfortable situations can really make people learn to dwell with each other more harmoniously.

There was a mix of ultra self-consciousness on my part but also newfound space to fully embrace my quirks and failings more publicly. My self-consciousness was interestingly not about my body, which is often the case in the “real-world.” This time it was about what I believe or how my opinions might be different.

In one way I felt liberated from worries about being stinky, exposing cellulite, or temple grease in the hair. No instead I was worried that my anxiety about drinking raw milk would be discovered, or my opinion that the government can actually accomplish good things (everything was a conspiracy theory here). On the one hand, there was an affirming community that saw beauty and righteousness in each person. On the other hand, should one stray too far from shared values and beliefs, one would be considered misguided at best, evil at worst.

This made living here as a “mainstream-shower taking-leg shaving-I like my electronic coffee maker –and don’t hang out my aluminum foil to dry” individual challenging, to say the least. Yet, as I describe the community here, both the wholeness and brokenness of it, I realize it’s not that different from any other community that creates space for diversity in particular ways but also shuns others for particular ideas or practices. Every community makes choices about such categories and guidelines.

I think the more shocking thing perhaps, is that despite it's transience it was a community, something we sometimes fail to achieve in the so-called “mainstream” (I definitely lacked one while living in Boston). And yes, community is messy at best, but it is sometimes that messiness, the step you take deep into the shit and realize "damn this is hard," that you realize you are in fact truly, intentionally, communing with others.

Brewed for Thought

2010-07-20T23:53:00.000-05:00

While I was in Idaho, I had the opportunity to participate in a conversation with Southminster Pres members and friends who get together once a month for “Brewed for Thought.” Each meeting they gather for dinner, drinks and discussion; recently, they have been reading the Social Creed for the 21st Century, which I was excited to be introduced to.

Our discussion that evening centered on food production, consumption, and the local movement. D. and I had the opportunity to share a bit of our summer’s education with others.

There were too many topics and questions raised to recap them all here, so I will just mention two.

(1) After several specific questions raised (many of which we couldn’t really answer fully), the group began talking about how to make decisions about how to buy/consume food when we hear so many conflicting pieces of data from a myriad of sources. Ultimately, we turned to the question, “What do you value?” And then how can you let those values inform your inquiries and your purchases?

Some people may value chemical/natural production concerns and turn toward organic, others local, some may value special diet needs such as non-dairy, gluten-free, vegan/vegetarian). Ultimately, knowing what practices of food production most concern you and knowing what your priorities are will help you know what questions to ask, and where to put your money. (I also believe we should think beyond the concerns/priorities of only ourselves and also ask about the larger community and maybe world since Americans tend to lose that perspective easily.)

(2) The second observation I want to share was a personal one. After spending so much time with farm families and people who are hyper-conscious about sustainability, it was good for me to attempt to communicate my experiences and ‘the message’ of those I worked with to representatives of a more general population.

D. and I have been grateful for our really unintended back and forth between farm and friends. Not only has it provided respite mentally, emotionally, and physically, but it has allowed us to stay grounded in the reality of how distinctly different the communities we have participated in are from the way most of the population lives. While I believe what these sustainable communities do is beyond admirable, necessary perhaps, the depressing truth is that so many people are so far from this lifestyle. I can’t help but ask, how do we bridge that gap?

(Re)Creating Sabbath

2010-07-18T23:47:00.001-05:00

Someone recently passed this article on to me from the New York Times written by Judith Shulevitz. It wasn't until I finished the article that I realized the author was the same woman whose book I just finished on sabbath: The Sabbath World: Glimpses of a Different Order of Time.

The book did a good job of talking about histories of Sabbath in both the Jewish and Christian traditions as well as lesser known groups such as the Hutterites or Sabbatarians; she also draws from Abraham Heschel who I've mentioned in previous posts. Her mix of history and personal writing was a little scattered for me, she never really seemed to say anything at the end of the day. She claims Sabbath is a completely dead practice, and I would also challenge her on this point. I liked her article better.

She begins by asking the reader how you would recreate the Sabbath, and then describes a few fellow New Yorkers who do so.

I like the intentional taking of time set aside and time with family that the therapist from Brooklyn Heights is careful about. I like that she is not threatened as a confident capable professional woman who also affirms the masculinity of her husband through a traditional family blessing. Since when have you seen someone so comfortable in the particularity of gender roles?

I have a harder time separating my theology from Sabbath as does the Israeli novelist. Why call it Sabbath then? Why not just have personal time that you take to set aside each week. Perhaps it is his Jewish heritage that provides meaning for him, but even that heritage was a focus on time rather than a practice as he claims. He doesn't like the rules, but the rules come from defining Sabbath as practice rather than as time.

Finally, the professor asks my favorite question. Most people who are trying to reclaim Sabbath, do so alone, often during moments during their week when they can fit it in. Sabbath is about time first, not just "time when you can fit it in." And she asks about how we can move away from the individual spirituality of Sabbath back into a communal framework.

Check it out:
Creating Sabbath Peace Amid the Noise
...and let me know how you would/do (re)claim Sabbath today.

Note: Why is an article on Sabbath in the "Fashion & Style" section, and then listed under "cultural studies"? Is this perhaps another cultural critique on our anxiety about taking time out? Will we go out of style? Be in bad fashion?

Worm Food

2010-07-15T11:28:00.002-05:00

Even though we are not on a farm while in Boise, we have still been able to continue our theme of exploring food production. On Saturday, we went to the Boise farmer's market in downtown and indulged in those yummy mini donuts you get fried for you on the spot, but also some local cherries, elk, dried fruits, cheese curds, and local Idaho potato chips. That night we made yummy elk burgers with a side salad dressed with local dressing and fresh grilled beets, turnips and onion.

Last night, however, we indulged in a meal out at the Bittercreek AleHouse. This downtown pub and it's sister restaurant, The Red Feather Lounge, are two purveyors of all things local. They try to buy as much of their food and drink from as local a farm as they can find, and even list their drink menu from least to most miles traveled. This does make indulging in a good Belgium beer difficult when you see it's been shipped 5,000 miles. (O, Brick Store, how I still love thee!)

As someone traveling in the area, it's nice to get a sense of what is unique to Idaho and the surrounding region. I can buy a hamburger or a salad anywhere. But what kinds of burgers, what kinds of fish and veggies are they using to dress their sandwiches and salads are seasonal and regional for this place? I had a smoked trout plate with local goat cheese, flatbread, capers, and roasted garlic along with a Butterleaf Wedge salad with leeks, tomato, and parmesan. Daniel had the cheesesteak made with grass-fed roast beef.

The restaurant also has a "Low Power Happy Hour" during the week from 4-6 in which they offer you deals on their fare in exchange for a darker atmosphere. They do not turn on the dining room lights until 6pm. In fact, they wondered how much they would save on their electricity bill if they simply turned off their neon pub signs, and they discovered a 30% decline! Needless to say, we didn't see any flashing Pabst signs on our visit.

Finally, the restaurant prints their menus on paper, and shreds them to create worm food when they reprint. Wait, worm food? That's right, perhaps the most intriguing part of the restaurant is the two vats of compost we toured in the basement each holding 200 lbs. of worms and all the food and paper compost the restaurant could feed them. Surprisingly, the basement didn't smell at all (they don't compost their meat/dairy products down there), and the worms were creating compost that would go back into the soil to grow veggies and flowers for the restaurant owner's garden.

All in all, it was one of the best meals I've had on the road. Cheers!

Montucky

2010-07-14T00:02:00.001-05:00

Native Sunflower to Montana

I thought I'd catch up on some pictures from Montana (or Montucky as Bryce from Native Ideals calls it). On this trip I'll be visiting several new states on my checklist, but this one has won my heart so far.

First, some pictures from the farm: Native Ideals.

Though this poofball is a weed for the farm, it is pretty in the light. :)

The southern side of the farm with Mt. McCloud in the background.

I'm forgetting - but I think the Cutleaf Daisy (?) - we weeded the younger version.

Rows of wildflowers.

Scarlet Gilia

Deerhorn Clarkia - the one annual they currently sell.

While we were at the farm, we went to the PowWow (an annual celebration of the local tribes that happens right in Arlee). Part of the celebration is the rodeo, which seemed to be more of a European American event in reality. I'd never been to one, and thought the 4th of July was an appropriate day to start, but I walked away a little unsure about the practice.

Horse

Bull

Finally, we had the chance to go see the National Bison Range, a few miles from Arlee. The range has bison, but also Elk, Deer, Antelope, Black Bear, lots of birds and marmots. Native Ideals actually does some contract work with the refuge. The bison are enormous; they can easily weigh one ton! Here's a few favorite shots.

The Missions are in the background

Female Elk with a little one down slope.

White Tailed Deer on the move

There are somewhere between 300-500 on the range. We probably saw a total of 100 driving around.

Antelope

A storm rolling in. The sky is amazing from the valley.

A Sabbath Sermon

2010-07-11T13:08:00.001-05:00

I am currently in the company of some good seminary friends in Boise, ID, and Marci graciously invited me to preach at her church, Southminster Presbyterian, this morning. I couldn't seem to help but preach, of course, about Sabbath. So here it is.
Gen 2:1-4

Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all heir multitude. And on the seventh day God finished the work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all the work that he had done. So God blessed the seventh day and hallowed it, because on it God rested form all the work that he had done in creation. These are the generations of the heavens and the earth when they were created.

Luke 10:25-37

Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” He answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.”

But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into that hands of robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

***

Who is my neighbor? That is often the question we hinge on from this familiar gospel story. We’ve each probably heard a half a dozen sermons about the Good Samaritan, many no doubt asking us important questions about how we treat those around us, and who we consider to be neighbors, or maybe even why we should show people kindness. But I’d like to take us in a different direction this morning.

Some of you may have heard about a study conducted in 1973 by a couple of psychologists who used the story of The Good Samaritan as their template. Their intention was to look at personality factors that affected whether or not people would stop to help another person in distress. Interestingly, they recruited seminary students (of the Presbyterian variety, from Princeton) as their participants, and instructed each of them to travel from one building to another where they would give a talk. They had a few variables, half the students were asked to talk about job prospects in that talk, the other half were asking to preach a sermon on the Good Samaritan. Then each of those two groups were broken into thirds, one third was told to hurry over to the next building, they were going to be late! The second was told they were on time, but not to dilly dally, the final group was told the program was running late and but they could go ahead and make their way over. Every student passed an actor playing a homeless man who was in health distress on their way to the second building to talk.

The researchers were hoping to find that these benevolent seminary students would differ in their responses mostly based on personality, but what they found was that the biggest factor in whether someone stopped to help was whether or not they were in a hurry. Those who stopped the most, were those who had been told the program was running late and had extra time to spare.

When was the last time you were in a hurry? Maybe Friday afternoon, rushing to get out of the office and beat weekend rush hour traffic? Perhaps it was yesterday as you made your way to a meeting or the kids practice. Or was it this morning as you left the house in a flurry to make it to church on time?

Being busy is a status symbol in our culture today. It is a compliment of sorts to hear, “Wow, you must really be busy” and reply with a non-chalant, “nah, not really.” Being too busy is the number one reason why people say they can’t vote; half of people who don’t attend church say it’s because they’re too busy. We have twitter because we’re too busy to read an entire letter or e-mail about how our friends are doing, we’ve got blackberries because we’re too busy to remember what comes in the next hour, we’ve got 8-minute ab workouts because we’re too busy to find time to be active outdoors doing something we actually enjoy that is good for our bodies.

Thomas Merton talks about this business as a kind of violence; he says:

“To allow oneself to be carried away by the multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender to too many demands, to commit oneself to too many projects, to want to help everyone in everything, is to succumb to violence. The frenzy of our activism neutralizes our work for peace, [because] it destroys our own inner capacity for peace.”

And indeed, when we look at the story of The Good Samaritan and the priest and Levite who both passed by, or the study in which even budding do-gooder pastors walk by the homeless man, we begin to see how this busy life might in fact deliver violence in our world.

So how do we respond to this life? How to we resist the status of a full calendar, and find time to rest, to nurture ourselves, those around us, and our relationship with God?

I had the opportunity to think more deeply about this in seminary. I found myself at the end of two full years of studying and interning, and realized I didn’t have it in me to do another summer of work; Clinical Pastoral Education was next on the docket. So I went to one of my professors to talk it over with him, and said I just needed to take a break, I was overwhelmed and so emotionally dry that I couldn’t begin to imagine serving as a chaplain for the summer. He supported my decision to postpone CPE, but corrected my description of it, telling me that I was not merely “taking a break”, but instead practicing Sabbath.

I think this ancient faith practice, one that we only vaguely recognize as Christians today, is one way we can respond to our hurried culture. When you hear the word Sabbath, many of you might first think about Judaism, or even Seventh Day Adventists, and indeed they are two traditions that prioritize the Sabbath.

Jews have several texts that inform their practice of Sabbath, but there are two that seem particularly foundational, and Christians also hold these passages in high esteem. One of these texts was our first scripture reading from this morning in Genesis, in which God creates the seventh day, rested, and hallowed it. But this alone, might seem like not enough of a reason that we should deserve a weekly rest, creating the world must have been harder work than anything we could have ever possibly participated in. So look then to the Decalogue, the ten commandments. We generally attempt to follow these basic laws right? We’re all familiar with thou shall not steal, murder, or covet your neighbor. You shall honor your father and mother, and not make false idols.

But we often forget the fourth commandment; can you name what it is?

“Remember the Sabbath day, and keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work. But the seventh day is a Sabbath to the Lord your God; you shall not do any work.”

You may be wondering what is the Sabbath, or how do we practice it? Certainly we go to church on Sundays, and you may have heard about other traditions like Judaism in which they refrain from labor and work, but also cooking, or use of light or transportation, and eat traditional meals with family. It may even conjure up memories of the old blue laws which prohibit the sale of liquor, gambling, bingo, labor, or recreational sports on Sundays depending on which state you are in.

But Sabbath is not about restrictions or rules, nor is it about idle rest. It is an active cessation of work, a rest in motion. Sabbath is not a time intended for us to make it as far as we get until we collapse into a desperate repose in which we can do nothing for our exhaustion. Instead it is an intentional time to regularly tend to God, to community and self, to celebrate life. In fact it is less a particular practice and more an observance of a particular time.

Let’s turn to the Genesis passage again. Throughout the entire story, God has created each portion of creation, declaring each good at the end of the day. But what happens on the seventh day is unique. God creates another day, another portion of time, and then God rests and blesses that time. The Hebrew is qadosh, which means holy, or to make holy. It is the first appearance of that word in the Bible, and notice it is not used for creation, not on the Earth, the waters, the animals, nor even us. God makes time, a particular time, holy. And then God dwells in that time, and later invites us to do so too.

Abraham Heschel was a rabbi born in Germany, but came to the US just before WWII. He was adjusting to his new life here with fellow Jews who were trying to figure out what it meant to be American. His book, The Sabbath, was written largely in response to what he saw happening to the Jewish Sabbath. I quote his daughter’s introduction of the book, “The Sabbath appeared at a time when American Jews were assimilating radically and when many were embarrassed by public expressions of Jewishness…For them, the Sabbath interfered with jobs, socializing, shopping, and simply being American.”

Heschel talks about how we have lost the distinction of time. Time has become a commodity, a thing that can be traded and measured. He contrasts time to space, arguing that space is the real commodity we’re after, and we use time to gain more space (more property, more things, more power, more cubic feet). Hence the phrase, time is money.

But try as we might, we really cannot conquer or dominate time, it does seem to march on incessantly no matter how hard we try to contain it. And whether we like it or not, time is not as uniform as we may think. We do not consider being five minutes late to a dinner party the same as being five minutes late to work. Nor do we consider a 10 minute traffic delay the same as a ten minute delay spent catching up with friends. Or consider the nine long months of pregnancy compared to the first nine months of your child’s life. There is work time, vacation time, chore time. In our faith we have Ordinary Time, Lenten Time, Advent Time, and Christmas and Easter time. Sabbath is another particular time, one that happens weekly. And it is time that has been made holy by God first.

When I began to think about Sabbath more intentionally, I realized that part of the purpose of Sabbath was to participate in sanctification (or the making holy) of myself and of the world. And I thought that if I could just get the right practices down, and spend time dedicated to those practices, I would be on the right track. But then I realized it is the time itself that is holy, not the practice. And it isn’t until I submit to that time, not until I dwell in it, revel in it, celebrate that time, that I too experience the holy.

The Sabbath is a sanctuary from the world as we know it, from the time we battle during the week, from the labor and work we are required to do, from the reality of this world. It is a day for praise, a day for the celebration of life. It is a day where we stop thinking about space, and think about time in a new way. It is a day to stop thinking about what we need to do, or what needs to get done, and rest in a time meant for God, for community, and for self.

What is on your to do list for this afternoon? Mow the lawn? Do the budget? Read those documents from work you didn’t get to on Friday afternoon? What would happen if you didn’t get to that list?

I mentioned that Sabbath is more an observance of time than it is a practice, but that doesn’t mean that certain practices can’t help you transition into that time. Certainly coming to worship with your faith community is a good place to start. Simply being with others who are attempting to enter into that time collectively can help any one individual resist the temptations to succumb to another six or seven day work week. Worship can set the tone for the joyous celebration of the day of resurrection that we observe as Christians on the Lord’s Day. It can be a time where the community swells with life. But what happens after church? What will help you find that different mode of time, and let go of the anxieties and to do lists? What will help you create a sanctuary in time?

Maybe you turn your cell phone off for the day, or refrain from using the internet. Perhaps you do house chores on Saturday and spend the day enjoying your garden or lawn by playing games or sitting and reading in it. Maybe you extend your time with community by sharing a meal. Perhaps you journal, run, sit in silence, sing loud, or dance. Maybe each week you do something new, or you might develop a regular practice. Whatever it is, it should take you away from those spatial comforts Heschel talks about, and draw you nearer to the people you love, nearer to God, and nearer to self. It should not just be a distraction from you work, but a delight in life and rest. It should feel like a different time, so that when step out of it, you feel somehow lighter, you feel fed, more alive.

The poem on your bulletin this morning I think summarizes how Sabbath should feel quite well. Wendell Berry is a writer, and lives on his farm in Kentucky. Part of his Sunday Sabbath is to walk through his property, often in silence, and sometimes he writes (he writes poetry though, which is intentionally different from his day job). This poem is one of his Sabbath poems, and I’m just going to read you the end of it:

The mind that comes to rest is tended

In ways that it cannot intend:

Is borne, preserved, and comprehended

By what it cannot comprehend.

Your Sabbath, Lord, thus keeps us by

Your will, not ours. And it is fit

Our only choice should be to die

Into that rest, or out of it.

May we walk away from this sanctuary, but remain in a sanctuary of time where our mind and our hearts are tended, where community is nurtured, and out of that rest is born life. Our own lives, the life of our community, and life that extends beyond us; life that reminds us to be the Samaritan who will stop, and maybe even take a step out of our daily time, even on a Tuesday.

Amen.

Native Ideals

2010-07-06T17:27:00.000-05:00

Daniel and I have celebrated the 4th and begun our second farm here in Arlee, Montana at Native Ideals, LLC. The farm is still young, in its third year, but already well established and has a growing market. The couple, Bryce and Rebecca, are both interested in native plants, specifically to Western Montana (and the Rockies). As they say on their website, there are many reasons to grow native plants, but for this region in particular, drought resistant plants that don't require extra watering is big. Native Ideals does do retail (mostly for people interested in native plants and wildflower landscaping beds for home), but their real interest is land restoration. They have several contracts with the forestry service and the city of Missoula to produce native seed for the agencies' land restoration projects.

So far, we've learned additional plant identification skills, accompanied our hosts to the farmers market, and participated in the seed harvesting and cleaning process. Though Daniel and I got into the WWOOFing journey thinking mainly about food production, it has been good for us to think about both the local movement and "being green" in a new way. We often don't think about how our maintenance of a lawn (especially in a place like the Rocky Mountains), or our collection of exotic things (flower, food, furniture, housing materials, trinkets) all require far more resources to produce and transport and maintain than we often see. The company also uses reclaimed wood from the area to make their giftboxes, and they employ a local budding metal worker to create their copper plates for the logo.

So...what are you growing in your garden?

Check out their website for now - it'll post pictures soon!

Michael Jackson on Sabbath

2010-07-05T19:57:00.000-05:00

I just learned yesterday that Michael Jackson was a Seventh Day Adventist growing up, and then I stumbled across this article as I was googling all things Sabbath.

It portrays an interesting side of Michael we didn't see much in the media (until of course, the end, when he starts talking about children). Have a look - tell me what you think!

Favorite Glacier Shots

2010-07-02T15:50:00.000-05:00

So in the last 200 years, this park has lost over 120 of it's glaciers, and is down to about 26. They estimate that all of them will be gone by 2030 - and much of the wildlife with it. So enjoy these goats and sheep now people, I don't know how long they'll all be around :-/

Biking part of the Going-to-the-Sun road.

Goose Island - midway up our bike trek on the mtn.

St. Mary's Lake

Along the falls trail

Thinking about a dip. St. Mary's Lake was gawgeous, and cold! We did take one later.

St. Mary's Falls (click to make bigger - there's a rainbow!)

Before the storm

Pink clouds at night

On the Iceberg Lake trail

Iceberg Lake - never really thaws in summer

Top of Iceberg Lake Trail

Mountain Goats

Rams - lookin' ugly with their summer wool

Avalanche!

Waiting to get through Logan Pass by car.

So close!

finding my BEARings

2010-07-01T12:30:00.001-05:00

Today we finished our first month of summer Sabbath. I have not been wanting to write because in part I feel “behind” on the blog, and in part I’ve enjoyed not thinking about an audience.

I’ve reveled in the good company of Adam and Megan in Grand Forks, ND…

…and then in the beauty and greatness of the Rockies as we made our way into another time zone.

Daniel and I spend three nights and two full days at Glacier National Park in western Montana. It was so peaceful to have two full days alone with Daniel in the mountains, unlinked from phone and internet.

As I’ve gained distance from the MN farm, I realize how I am seeing the things with an adjusted viewpoint. There are many things that may have bothered me before (such as the monstrous RV’s people set up and stay holed up in to ensure they don’t get too close to nature), and things that are new (such as the extra plastic bags Daniel and I were sure to preserve to reduce waste and use again). But there were two things in particular that both embarrassed me for my lack of oneness with the Earth, and also “put me in my place” within Creation.

#1: FIRE

After swiftly setting up our tent following a 13 hr. drive across ND and MT, Daniel and I wanted what every good campsite calls for: a fire. So we stopped by the mini-mountain grocer to pick up a bundle of fuel. After neatly stacking a tent of wood, we wadded up our recycled newspapers and let ‘er rip. About 30 minutes later, we decided that only the dry grass, newspaper, and anniversary cards (sorry fam!) had burned, and the wood wasn’t going to take. We went to bed defeated and cold (39 low that night) wondering how we could have strayed so far from the most momentous skill humankind has ever acquired in history: making fire.

After some additional help from the local grocer and some handy overpriced fire sticks, we made use of our bundle of fuel. As Daniel so aptly summarized, we got 1.5 fires out of 1 bundle of wood and 3 attempts! Remembering the MN farm which uses only wood to heat their home (read: one room), my mind wandered to all the things we use heat and fire for, and how little I know about it. What else have I gained allowed such distance from?

#2: BEARS

The second event that “put me in my place” was our encounter with bears. Actually, the park warnings alone about GRIZZLY COUNTRY had me gingerly taking my first step onto the first outlook point (500 feet into the woods). But we did encounter bears, six to be precise. The first was a cuddly black bear munching on the hillside as we rode past on bikes. Bikes are good – comforting! The second sighting was on our 10 mile hike to Iceberg Lake; a mama and 3 cubs about 30 yards down on the hiking trail were digging for food. The park especially warned about the mamas! The third sighting was the 6^th bear, and the biggest. A huge grizzly about 15 feet to my right off the trail hidden in the trees until he heard my clapping (fear of bears) and turned away.

Given our experiences you’d think it was easy to spot these oversized stuffed animals. But we ran into many jealous hikers who never saw one. They were eager to get a perfect shot, and willing to approach them to do so. All I wanted was to stay alive, and I couldn’t help but think that perhaps my appropriate fear of these animals lead me to moments of encounter. Alone in the medows, next to the fireweed and grizzly, I lost all sense of sitting at the center of the universe. If anything, the grizzly and the mountain seem to command that position with far more grace than me. I would like to say, I was a mere voyeur, but even that pulls me from the scene and either places me again at the center (because I have “developed cranial knowledge” about what I’m seeing) or outside of the system entirely.

Wendell Berry describes this position we’ve taken as watchers:

“Apparently with the rise of industry, we began to romanticize the wilderness - which is to say we began to institutionalize it within the concept of the "scenic". Because of railroads and improved highways, the wilderness was no longer an arduous passage for the traveler, but something to be looked at as grand or beautiful from the high vantages of the roadside...we no longer traveled in the wilderness as a matter of course...we forgot, indeed, that the civilized and the domestic continued to depend upon wilderness" (The Art of the Commonplace, p. 96).

(This picture was taken at 10:00pm)

So tonight, my last night in the park, I seek to sleep under the stars, knowing that the world is greater than me, definitely greater than my modern comforts, and I rest with gratitude knowing that conquering it, nor even saving it (though I should try), are ultimately up to me.

The Slaughter

2010-06-25T17:24:00.001-05:00

It has now been 5 days since I killed my first chicken, and I haven't yet blogged about it in part because I have been busy, in part because I was processing the event, and in part because I've been unsure what to make public and hedging bets about who might be squeamish to read. But at the encouragement of a vegetarian friend, I've decided to include a more detailed account (which means this is inevitably a longer post...be patient O Children of Twitter).

So...my disclaimer is here: this post is more graphic, and will include some photos of a chicken dying, and me with a knife....

If you do choose not to read or take a peek, I simply ask that you ask yourself one question: Why not?

* * *

As mentioned in an earlier post, Daniel and I had the opportunity to participate in slaughtering and preparing two roosters for food.

We had a great teacher who was patient and kind in all he taught us at the farm.

The first step was actually to cage the chickens the night before so that the crop was clean (the first stop on the digestive tract for chickens).

We then hung the chickens upside down by their feet from a tree (they grow amazingly still while in this position) to kill them. Paul explained how he goes about slaughtering the chicken. To minimize pain, he first piths the bird (basically scrambles the brain so that it is no longer able to process pain). You do this by sticking the knife through the roof of the mouth into the brain and wiggle...

Then you make a cut in the throat so that the chicken bleeds out; it will move but it is reflex at this point. There's actually a telling way to know when the chicken is dead. At first, it flaps it wings together in tandem, and then starts to flap one at a time alternately during the last throws of death. We stood there watching the chicken lose its blood and then plucked one by hand (to cook with the skin) and skinned the other before gutting both.

I was curious how I would feel throughout the entire process, especially given my previously stated phobia. Interestingly, I had an experience similar to my experience of reading Michael Pollan's account of slaughtering chickens. As a reader, I waited with anticipation for his description of it, but at the end thought, "that was it?"

We can rationalize the question about whether to eat meat, or not, either way - that is not the question I tend to get caught up on. There are many examples of the ruthless nature animals display simply to survive, and we are no exception. But death and consuming another animal (if thoughtfully done) is very different from inflicting cruelty on these beasts. In fact, all life must consume some other form of life to exist.

Barbara Kingsolver reflects on this question and her own processing on the farm in her book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle:

"Most nonfarmers are intimate with animal life in only three categories: people, pets (i.e. junior people); and wildlife (as seen on nature shows, presumed beautiful and rare). Purposely beheading any of the above is unthinkable, for obvious reasons. No other categories present themselves at close range for consideration. So I understand why it's hard to think about harvest, a categorical act that includes cutting the heads off living lettuces, extended to crops that blink their beady eyes. On our farm, we don't especially enjoy processing our animals, but we do value it as an important ritual for ourselves and any friends adventurous to come and help, because of what we learn from it. We reconnect with the purpose for which these animals were bred. We dispense with all delusions about who put the live in livestock, and who must take it away" (p. 224).

* * *

As I stood there wielding my fish fillet knife, I knew this rooster had happily grazed the earth, tackled plenty a hen, and run from the rooster-chasing-farm dog, Mica. It had lived a good life as far as chickens go (in fact it had lived several months longer than most do, it was at least a year old), and just as my body will one day feed other living things, today this chicken would feed mine.

A Rooster fleeing from Mica

One of the reasons I wanted to have the experience of slaughtering something I would eventually eat, and the reason I decided to post so many details about it, is our growing distance we have from our food supply. I grew up with many a friend who didn't want the food on their plate to look anything like the living creature it once was. (While this was generally a reference about meat, it's becoming more true of plants and vegetables as well. How often do we think about whether our chip was made of corn or potato? Or where the sugar in our cookie came from: corn, beet, cane?)

This farm child flourishes amidst life and death on the farm, and taught us to be less squeamish!

Rather than being more difficult to eat a chicken I had looked into the eyes of hours before, it was easier. I knew his quality of life, the method of death, and the processing that went into the preparation of the meal. And in the Quaker silent prayer before supper, I gave thanks for the life of a bird whose driveway antics of squawking, pecking and crowding would otherwise cause me abnormal heart palpitations.

Anniversary

2010-06-25T08:12:00.000-05:00

Five years ago I married someone who I become more grateful every day to call my partner. He and I have begun several new "life phases" together, and he has been my security, my best friend, a place to be held when lonely, a place to express my unedited joy and anger. He has been, and is, home for me when I don't feel home.

He has taught me to stop, slow down, and savor life more, which has in turn fed me daily, and informed my practice of Sabbath. I am exited about where our summer will lead us, and grateful to have someone who seeks to be so intentional about our life decisions by my side.

Time & Space

2010-06-22T15:32:00.002-05:00

“We must not forget that it is not a thing that lends significance to a moment; it is the moment that lends significance to things.” Abraham Joshua Heschel, The Sabbath, pg. 6.

I’ve been reading The Sabbath by Abraham Joshua Heschel, one of the leading Jewish theologians of the 20^th century. He opens his book with the bold claim that “technical civilization is man’s conquest of space.” In other words, the more we build, own, and even create and collect things the more we have controlled the space around us. We need space to survive, he allows for this, but he criticizes the lengths we go to to own and control more space than we need.

There is a security in space, we especially like our spacious homes and privacy, and look for other things to fill that vacuous space to ensure we’ve claimed it as our own. Space is power and borders are guarded heavily; space is comfort when it has been tailored to fit wo/men placed in the center.

Daniel and I have experienced the discomfort of not having a space to call our own home, to leave behind many of our things that fill space, and live in a space that in unknown to us and governed by another family’s customs. Though they are a family that in many ways lives simply in comparison to many Americans (heat with wood in MN winter, limit their water use, limit their appliance and electricity use, and reuse every piece of plastic, glass and tin available) they too seem just as bound by things as any other family. And indeed, Heschel talks about how many people are liberated from many things, but few are liberated from the lure of owning space.

You may notice I’ve been talking about things as space, a delineation Heschel uses in his definition. He does not go so far to say that all things unnecessary for life should be omitted from life, but rather we should be independent of such luxuries. Simply put, “to have them and to be able to do without them” (p. 28). This is one goal, I think, of the Sabbath, to practice time rather than space. To use the historical practices as examples, to stop use of transportation, light, stoves, etc., and to dwell in a kind of time that is different and less dependent on things in space. This is one aspect of Sabbath and Daniel and I are modestly attempting to practice.

As I continued to read I thought about how I also treat time as a thing, a commody to be bargained and gained or lost. But Heschel has a much clearer understanding that time is in fact one thing we cannot conquer or possess. Furthermore, it is not as monolithic as we mistake it to be. Time is not just one minute, or hour, or day that marches steadily on. There is a diversity to time, one that Heschel claims the Jewish faith is built around. The festival days are markers of events in time rather than signifying a triumph or space or number. The Sabbath is the ultimate example of a differentiated time, it is holy time, time that will be holy with or without us, but time in which we may choose to dwell.

***

As I’ve entered into my Sabbath time, I have thought a lot about sanctification and how I participate in my own and in the world’s through my practices. But Heschel redirected me by returning to the Genesis text. God hallowed the day in Gen 2:3, creation (space) was declared good after the first six days, but on the seventh, God created and blessed time, a particular time.

And so perhaps it is that simply by being in that time, within the Sabbath rather than achieving Sabbath, I too become sanctified. In my active cessation I have enjoyed the bliss of creation, the wonders of life, and have glimpsed the eternity Heschel describes as the climax of living in the holiness of Sabbath.

Heschel’s daughter wrote the introduction to the book saying, “The Sabbath appeared at a time when American Jews were assimilating radically and when many were embarrassed by public expressions of Jewishness…For them, the Sabbath interfered with jobs, socializing, shopping and simply being American” (p. xii) I’m afraid much hasn’t changed for many Americans, Jew, Christian or otherwise.

When do we stop and submit to time set apart for matters of the spirit? When do we stop and submit to time at all? When do we leave our spatial conquest to dwell in time that reflects a world where space is no longer an expression of greed and pride, but an expression of the beauty of creation and a God who loves us regardless of space acquired.

Even as I take three months of intentional time, time I know will end, time for which I have been hungry, I can feel my grip on space, on things, on security and comfort grow stubborn. I must remember that the Sabbath is not idle rest for the weary, not a day that depends upon me to exist, but a holy time blessed by God for the sake of life and the celebration of it.

New Life

2010-06-18T22:34:00.002-05:00

Today we welcomed two new calves to the herd of cattle. Paul awoke to the screech of a little one and rushed outside to the herd to discover a coyote lurking in the pasture. Evidently the calf born overnight had come close to having a short life, but the herd quickly came to his defense once the coyote wrapped his jaws around him.

Later we went out to castrate and tag the babe.

At the end of the day we began to move the herd to the south pasture for the a new rotation in grazing, and we discovered yet another calf, born probably within 30 minutes of our arrival. The placenta was still on the ground next to the mama, and the little one could barely stand. This time, Paul tried to tag the calf in the pasture with the herd, and in doing so got head butted by mom and surrounded by the rest of the cows (these guys have longer horns...remember?) He walked away saying, "that was intimidating, no?"

An older calf from earlier this spring nursing on mama.

It was pretty cool to see the herd care for the little ones and watch new life learn how to nurse and walk - all within a very short time of their birth. The mama actually eats the placenta to protect the newborn from threatening carnivores (such as this morning's coyote).

Between the time we greeted each of the two new calves, I discovered a new flock of chicks prancing around in the driveway; add another six little fuzzy ones to the mix! We stood there trying to count the chicken total, I asked Paul if he knew how many he had but he said he'd stopped counting. I think he's approaching 100. A few are wreaking havoc on the vegetable garden so he moved them to "the top of his list," and sure enough two were caged tonight. I think Daniel and I will have our hand at ending life for the first time tomorrow. After today it somehow seems fitting.

Continued pictures from Northern lights

2010-06-17T20:04:00.003-05:00

One of the other happy tasks I mentioned earlier is moving manure, some nicely composted resembling soil, and others that are a bit more.....fresh. Most of it ends up in the new beds we're preparing for veggies, but we also tromp though this pile to herd cattle. It's also been pouring here recently, which makes this task even stickier.

Most of the cattle are pretty skittish, especially the baby calves, but this yearling is Milky Way. She had to be bottle fed for awhile last year and comes to greet people relatively easily.

This is one of my favorite shots so far.

(If you click on it you will see a larger version)

This is their cat Touffe. Playing with one of the six cats, one dog, dozens of chickens or herd of cattle are favorite pastimes. Touffe has been mesmerized by the barn swallow's nest in the eve of the house these last few days.

Today was the first day of their season's CSA (community supported agriculture). So we woke up earlier than usual to harvest, process, sort and package the veggies for the shares today. They do half of their shares on Thursdays and half on Mondays, so we will do this again very soon! The first share was big this year: potatoes and onions from last season, rhubarb, radishes, spicy mustard greens, lettuce/spinach mix, lamb's quarters (another green), and fresh tarragon and chives.

We're in the transportation business

2010-06-17T16:28:00.003-05:00

The more we complete tasks on the farm, the more it seems we actually don't do much of the work that actually makes the food we eat grow. The earth, plants, and animals really take care of most of it, we just transport particular things at a particular time. Think about it...the growing of both flora and fauna happen on their own. Their waste feeds each other, and their reproduction of seed and babe happen independent of human hands. Most of the work we do is to transport seed to soil, manure to bed, cow to new pasture, egg to counter, weeds to mulch, animal to slaughterhouse, harvest to table. It is important work; increasing production of plants and organizing them in a way that eliminates foraging makes our human survival more possible. It is humbling to realize, however, that that is in fact all we are doing - moving and organizing. The work of creating sustenance for our bodies is really the gift of the earth. I think we often forget this relationship, believing instead that we have somehow created and grown the food on our dinner table - when in fact all we're doing is orchestrating and gathering to grow our own bodies.

The cow is a good example of how nutrients get transported from the earth into our bodies. Cows eat grass, one plant that we don't digest so well. They are able to survive solely on this green because they have an extra stomach called the rumen, which breaks down the grass and converts the plant into protein. That protein becomes the muscle and fat of meat that we in turn are able to digest.

Some of you have asked for more pictures and details about what we're doing here. So here they are!

We started our week by helping plant the tomato beds. They are still dinky lil' things, but will eventually be several varieties of yummy heirloom tomatoes! They have cutworms here which come an take one bite of the stem (they don't eat the plant otherwise), but their one bite will cut the plant from it's roots. So we learned to wrap the stems in aluminum foil before planting the seedlings in the beds. A few of these rows are also eggplant, peppers, and the back will eventually be summer squash.

We've also been working on some fencing to prepare new pasture for the cattle to chow down. The cows actually help manage the growth of the grass, and the ideal rotation will happen so that the cows go through the pasture and take one bite on the grass, and then the herd gets moved before the second bite is taken so that the grass can recover and continue to be a diverse and healthy pasture the cows will come back to. So fencing and herding is where most of the work happens for the farmer who does rotational grazing (or management intensive grazing). And as Paul said, when working with the cows, you must be on cattle time. One of the harder tasks was separating the yearlings from the rest of the herd (more specifically the bull) because they should not be bred in their first year. Since we've separated them they have been talking (loudly) to one another across the pasture! Momma misses her baby.

I'll continue another post after this...I'm at the max for pictures here!

On Chickens

2010-06-14T21:18:00.004-05:00

It is Monday night, and we arrived at Northern Lights Farm Sunday afternoon. As we pulled into the farm, we were greeted first by the chickens - all 50 or so of them - and I realized my pseudo-bird phobia was going to be challenged even sooner than expected. As we stepped out of the car amongst squawking fowl, we began to search for where we might find our hosts. A heavily bearded and half balding man with long wiry grey hair popped his head over the tall grass just beyond the dirt drive.

Paul, the one who spends most of the family's time in the garden, gave us a tour of his 160 acres of beautiful Minnesota country, starting first....with the chickens. After some discussion about not killing enough roosters and finding hatchlings walk out from behind hidden trees with their mamas, we moved on to see the cattle. The farm raises Highland Cattle, which are a breed originally from Scotland who withstand the cold well and are relatively mild tempered and small animals. They've got somewhere around 30 cattle I'd say, 8 calves this year already (!) and unlike the chickens....only one bull (Ruby).

After the pasture (and some chit-chatting about the management-intensive grazing method Michael Pollan talks about in Omivore's Dilemma) we moved on to the garden, where Paul really spends the bulk of his time. It's split into two sections, an extensive (low-maintenance) level with corn, potatoes and winter squash. And an intensive (high-maintenance) field where they grow their lettuce, beans, parsnip, herbs, tomatoes, summer squash, garlic and more.

Lastly, Paul showed us the busiest part of the farm (though the chickens are a close second)...the honeybees. About an hour and a half after we arrived, we were out working in the upper garden on the tomato rows and Daniel and I were ready to get our hands dirty and fill our lungs with the fresh air.

Today, we continued our work in the upper garden, but on my breaks I would actually find myself wandering toward the chickens. They are really an amazingly beautiful bird, and it's sad to me that I never fully had an appreciation for the animal, nor an understanding of it's beauty until now. "Chicken" to me has meant mostly "lean meat," and unfortunately I'm not the only woman so far removed from these curious creatures who has lost such a sense of the animal.

This morning as I followed Paul on some morning rounds of the animals, he came upon one of his younger heritage chicks (Chanticleer) laying sick in the pen. He scooped it up and she was barely breathing, but opened her eyes briefly to see where she was. We brought her inside under a heat lamp and fed her sugar water, but Paul didn't have high expectations. He said chickens don't usually show any sign of illness or injury until they're about to go ker-plunk. We came in later to check on her, and she did die shortly after.

These are the two (yellow) Chanticleer chicks (roosters...again) left

Thinking about these chickens and trying my hardest to not spase when they come running toward me to peck my feet, I thought about Paul's comment about chickens not showing any signs of weakness until they're about to break. Now that I'm out in open space and can actually see the sky, I can only help but see myself and so many people I know as these frantic chickens mowing down each other non-stop, ignoring any pain or weariness until they finally go ker-plunk.

I've come a long way in 24 hours, from fowl-phobia to imagining myself with a backyard somewhere stocked with a few chickens, not only for the fresh eggs, but for the laughter they spontaneously inspire and the reminder to slow down before I find myself ker-plunked.

"Where are you moving?"

2010-06-13T22:22:00.001-05:00

The question of the year. As we prepared to leave Boston, closing out both job and school, selling bookshelves and tables and trinkets never used, people kept asking, “where are you moving?” And even as we loaded the oversized Penske on Waldo St., our neighbors (who we never met until our last month in Boston) came out to ask, “where are you moving?” Our reply these last months, spoken with both a sense of uncertainty but also a quiet excitement was… “we don’t really know yet.”

We drove out of beantown headed to my parents’ house in Michigan (aka WaechterStorage USA) and realized we were technically homeless – entering into a liminal space (yes, I can heard all you seminary folk groaning) unsure of where that big yellow truck will eventually take us.

In the meantime…we are traveling. Volunteer farming in short.

We have registered with the organization called WWOOF (the World-Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms) and will be setting off as woofers to farm. The deal is, we received a book in the mail of registered farms from WWOOF, and we directly contact those farms to stay for a period of time offering our young backs and eagerness to learn about food production for some shelter and farm fresh grub.

I realize the irony of this commitment, given that I have boldly claimed a summer Sabbath. I am breaking a few key rules according to traditional Jewish practice, namely plowing the earth and driving all over the U. S. of A in an automobile. But Reformed Jews claim that work is defined differently in this age, and so tending to a garden may be a method of connecting to God and self for someone who does not regularly sweat or get their hands dirty at work. (More reflection on this coming from Mr. Berry…) And since I am a captial R-eformed Christian (some days) something about this reformedness exception must transfer, right?

We have had the opportunity to soak in some family time, both with D’s at graduation and mine this week. And now we’re ready to get to it! First stop… Solway, MN.

A Sabbath Poem

2010-06-10T10:11:00.002-05:00

Another Sunday morning comes
And I resume the standing Sabbath
Of the woods, where the finest blooms
Of time return, and where no path

Is worn but wears its makers out
At last, and disappears in leaves
Of fallen seasons. The tracked rut
Fills and levels; here nothing grieves

In the risen season. Past life
Lives in the living. Resurrection
Is in the way each maple leaf
Commemorates its kind, by connection

Outreaching understanding. What rises
Rises into comprehension
And beyond. Even falling raises
In praise of light. What is begun

Is unfinished. And so the mind
That comes to rest among the bluebells
Comes to rest in motion, refined
By alteration. The bud swells,

Opens, makes seed, falls, is well,
Being becoming what it is:
Miracle and parable
Exceeding thought, because it is

Immeasurable; the understander
Encloses understanding, thus
Darkens the light. We can stand under
No ray that is not dimmed by us.

The mind that comes to rest is tended
In ways that it cannot intend:
Is borne, preserved, and comprehended
By what it cannot comprehend.

Your Sabbath, Lord, thus keeps us by
Your will, not ours. And it is fit
Our only choice should be to die
Into that rest, or out of it.

Wendell Berry
A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997
1979: II

A Summer Sabbath

2010-06-09T16:52:00.001-05:00

This summer, I am again invoking an ancient practice that I have only done so intentionally once before: Sabbath. It is a practice still vaguely familiar to many people of faith, and related to a perhaps more familiar practice in our culture (at least in academia), the sabbatical. However, both the professor’s sabbatical and most people’s typical weekly day of Sabbath lack many of the qualities, or at least the intentionality, of Sabbath’s origins.

The word Sabbath comes from the Hebrew (“Shabbat”), meaning rest or cessation. The weekly practice of Sabbath is tied to Genesis 2:2 where this verb is found describing God’s rest on the seventh day of creation. God’s rest was not a lazy one, however, but an active cessation in which God sanctified creation. Thus, our Sabbath is indeed a cessation from work, a rest from daily activities, but it is also a time for the active engagement in spiritual matters. A time for blessing, cleansing, perfecting, making holy all that is overlooked in our otherwise hurried lives.

For Jews, this meant/means (depending on the brand of Jew), a set of rules that ~~allowed~~ demanded, one cease work and celebrate life, God and family. Examples of these rules include: no plowing of the earth, no cooking/baking, no washing, no use of lamps or artificial light, no use of technology, not travel or use of automobiles. It also meant saying prayers, breaking bread, time with family, playing games, napping, even celebrating “marital relations” (one of the few healthy religious practices that recognizes and celebrates sexuality).

While the professor’s Sabbatical is an example of resting from the daily exhaustion of teaching and in theory having more time with family, it has lost a very pure understanding of rest, particularly the rest from one’s normal work. It is expected that our scholars produce during their time of rest; produce new studies, a set of lectures, and always more books. Some have even begun to trade their sabbatical from teaching for a time abroad in a professor’s exchange between universities.

Our Sabbath days as people of faith have also been eclipsed by our need to be busy and “perfected” (sanctified) in the eyes of anything but God. We may rest from our salaried position or hourly pay, but we rush home from services of workshop and prayer to mow the lawn, clean the house, finish an application for the next big phase of life, finish a book only so it’s done for book club next Tuesday, and generally “get things done.” How often do we set aside an entire day to tend to our souls, our relationships, and the creation that surrounds us?

* * *

It wasn’t until I became completely overwhelmed with life that I began to understand the importance of this practice. Summer of 2007 I was lined up to do my Clinical Pastoral Education after my second year of seminary. It was promised to be a grueling emotional summer that would also change my life – one that I couldn’t be a successful pastor without (according to most Presbyteries).

But I was tired. Not just your average end of the year – finals week – eventually crash and get sick tired, but I was bone tired. Heart-tired. Mind-tired. And I couldn’t even attempt to come up with energy to dig deep and do the emotional and spiritual work that CPE requires.

So I stepped off the yellow-brick road to ministry, and got a summer job slicing meat at a sandwich shop in town. I rested from theology (the study of it anyway), from writing formally, even from reading. I gardened, exercised my body, cultivated new relationships in the community through a new job, and prayed.

I have again come to a wall. A wall where I face exhaustion, but also an emptiness spiritually, emotionally, vocationally, and even intellectually. It is time, again, for active cessation. Time for tending to God, to Daniel, to family, and to self.