Fruit of the Earth

This morning's cool cloud cover is a nice break between a week of 95 degree heat and the upcoming week of 100+ degree temperatures. I spent some time watering the garden this morning, enjoying the sweet, earthy perfume of all the plants. The entire yard felt cooler and glistened with the look of a gentle rain. I harvested a handful of snap peas for a midmorning snack before I descend to my office for an afternoon of writing.

I'm 2 weeks into a new job writing pages for a start up website, TownMe. Their idea is really cool - to create a Wiki for every city. Right now they are launching in major cities nationwide with hired writing teams. They're still in the beta testing stage but ultimately the site will become a living, breathing entity as Portlanders (and her visitors) update and elaborate on content.

Last week I wrote a page for them about farmer's markets in Portland. During my research I discovered the Interstate Farmer's Market and can't wait to check it out. They have some raw food and vegan vendors I want to check out. A vegan diet is fun and delicious to me - a way to celebrate the perfect beauty of Earth's bounty (and honor the equality of all species) and this summer the Earth has been especially rewarding. My family is half-way through the 8 pounds of blueberries Justin and I picked out at Bella's Organic Farm on Sauvie Island 2 weeks ago. I baked an ultra delicious vegan blueberry pie, making up a simple recipe . First I must confess I always use those frozen pie shells they have at Whole Foods or New Season's. Here's my quick and easy 3 step vegan blueberry pie recipe:


3 Step Vegan Blueberry Pie

6 cups fresh blueberries.
1/4 cup water
2 heaping tablespoons agar agar flakes or organic cornstarch
1/2 cup powdered sugar or 1/4 - 1/3 cup agave nectar
1 pie crust

1. Smash about half of the berries with your hands and stir them together with the remaining whole berries.
2. Stir the cornstartch or agar flakes into the water, pour that and the sugar or agave over the berries and stir it well.
3. Pour into pie shell and bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes.

The pie may be slightly juicy still but will firm up after sitting for 2-3 hours. If you use agar instead of cornstartch when you remove the pie from the oven you may notice the agar flakes didn't totally dissolve. If so, just stir the hot filling up and allow to cool. Agar thickens as it cools from hot temperatures and cornstartch thickens as it heats after being dissolved into cool water.

Midsummer Harvest

After June's gentle ripening of strawberries, the blossoming of vegetables and fruits emerging from the branches, July brings a moderate harvest. Every morning I step outside to wake up, meditate and visit the garden in fresh morning air. I spend time visiting with the midsummer harvest, before I get to work. There's a hum in the air. Almost an electric pulse. The intense, vital heartbeat of a burning hot sun, hundreds of insects fighting for dew drops and birds calling high and carefree. This elephant garlic has been grown by the same woman here for over 40 years. She passed away earlier this summer and left a beautiful, serene garden. Every year asian pears go to waste. Giving them away and eating them every day is not enough. I need to find a good recipe for these fruits. Maybe a sweet-spicy-gingery-peppery chutney?
This view reminds me of being 3 or 4 years old. It's a timeless summer lawn, that to me, is only in Portland. That particular mix of grass and "weeds", our sweet, rather accomodating honeybee drones...
Amaranth grown by the previous owners of this house is one of the perennial surprises that come with the property. Green and red varieties. Perhaps enough grain to steam and serve with fresh corn? I hear the leaves are good steamed or shredded in salad. I need to be more adventurous with the greens I eat. It was just within the last year that I began eating kale!
A garden is not complete without roses. Spicy, lemony their perfume is heavy in the air. This Queen of the Flowers inspires passion and compassion. It's very existense soothes my heart and proves that beauty will exist no matter what. I especially enjoy a strong black tea brewed with rose petals and a touch of agave.
The plum tree is heavy with fruit and I hope the harvest isn't a misery of wasps and hornets. They seem to have alot of business in this tree. Justin and I are going to infuse the plums with orange oil and dry them for healthy desserts.
First harvest on a blueberry bush from the Olympia Farmer's Market.
Garlic harvest. Soon to be chopped with the final harvest of the kale and maybe some snap peas if we can stop eating them raw right off the vine like candy.
I await impatiently for the tomatoes. We have 4 heirloom varieties and I harvested 3 cherry tomatoes this morning. My favorite summer breakfast is toasted Dave's Killer Bread with a little flax oil or Earth Balance, a few tablespoons of nutritional yeast and layers of thinly sliced, garden fresh tomatoes doused generously with kosher salt and fresh cracked pepper.
Soon these banana peppers will add a sweet dimension to Justin's kick-ass chili. Someday he's going to enter a chili competition and blow them away with his vegan masterpiece.

Poetry

Lately I've been thinking about poetry, what is it? why do I write it? and where does it go when I'm not writing it? It has been said that it is not so much what poets say, but their ability to tune into poetic language rhythms that makes their poetry great. In the case of Dr. Suess this is completely true.

About 16 years ago I began crafting and publishing poems, and for about 10 years poetry was within my grasp constantly. I wrote poems sitting on the floor of overcrowded buses, at my desk surrounded by candles and incense, curled into scratchy plaid chairs at the campus library, wandering lonely through parks; I even wrote poems in my dreams.

The word poetry is originally derived from the Greek poiein, to make or create. From agriculture to architechture humans are driven to create order. We make our world systematically, efficiently and beautifully. When we say something is poetic, it generally has an elegance (from the Latin root eligere, to choose out, select).

One reason I write poetry is for the satisfaction (or is it a need?) of creating an elegant structure for the raw, chaotic, fertile mud of existence. Indeed when I am in sync with the poetic energies of existence there is a rhythm, an orderliness to that feeling. The anxiety, existential quandries and whatever else climb out of the archetypal earth of my mind is soothed by the meaning and purpose of composition.

Here's a poem I wrote during that first prolific period of poetry -

A Half-Sleep Dream

Night, when it is still
The dark air offers its voice
And the house settles
~
As a man of soft
moldering bones eases in
to his rain-damp grave
~
Strong black boots echo
slow steps, sauntering to the
far end of the hall
~
The giant starfish
of his hand sliding along
the cool milk white wall
~
The wind stirs the chimes
their song, and the rains', distant
like him, at my door
~
I see this in my
head, as the clock ticks away
the silence of night

I wrote this poem in the Americanized haiku form of 3 lines, with 5, 7 and 5 syllables. Do you feel the rhythm? Footsteps, rain, chimes, a clock ticking. My heart beating.

June, the Glorious Month

Cycling through Portland is my new drug.

Whenever I'm feeling stuck I get on my bike and go. Whenever it's too gorgeous to bear another minute inside. Whenever I have a book to pick up at the library, or need some sewing supplies, to make a bank deposit or meet a friend.

I've been covering SE 122nd to about SE 20th and from Powell to about Stark and notice how each neighborhood seems to have its own smells. The winding neighborhoods east of 82nd smell like Round Up and cut grass; the spicy lemony nectar of thousands of roses drifts heavy in the air and I feel safe and electric pedaling down the worn streets.

Cutting down SE Mill to parallel Division and cross 82nd I discovered a shady emerald aisle. The entire 10 block stretch from 92nd is lined with tall whispery trees that form a shimmering canopy. The shade smells like mettalic soil, rich in minerals and decomposition, the base stuff of life.

The closer I get to 39th the houses gain height and ancestry. It gets warmer, the air heavier and I smell sweet blossoms like lily and mock orange, peppery stock and silvery birch.

My bike is a black and silver Schwinn with just 5 gears. Since I've been riding in Portland my strength is up and I can pedal up hills that were out of my league back in Olympia. I've been thinking about making some upgrades so I don't have to go out of my way to avoid really big hills and be more comfortable for longer rides. Can I swap the big chrome fenders for something lighter and is it worthwhile to regear a bike? For now my bike serves me well as it is but I like the idea of modifying it as my needs change rather than just buying a new one altogether.

A Day at the Oregon Coast

Oregon Coast Icon: Haystack Rock


The majesty of Nature

Settling In

I have always been especially in tune with the collective energies of my surroundings. The city of Portland for instance, has always been Home. When I moved to Olympia to attend Evergreen I developed an inner sense of home, that I suppose all college students must. My time there was temporary and when I was ready to leave I completed my move back to Portland in a matter of weeks.

This time around the circumstances were much different. When Justin and I settled into Olympia in April 2008, we intended to be there for about 5 years while we launched and nurtured our nascent businesses. Despite that intention, I soon felt stagnant in the small pond of Olympia and missed the people and culture in Portland. I felt the energetic fabric of my life spread thin over the 105 miles between the two places and realized I wanted to move back to Portland as soon as possible.

Much of my heart remained firmly in my hometown; with family and friends but also by the entity of My Life, which seems somehow married to the fabric of this city, stitched in place by my history here. Major events like my wedding, the birth of nieces and nephews or simply the feel of a certain period in my life are still alive here and I am more connected to the current of my existence here.

It's been just over 7 days since we've arrived. People ask if we are "settled" and I think deeper about that question. I'm not someone to leave boxes unpacked and miscelleanea scattered about for days. Our boxes were unpacked, the bed made and my office set up within 24 hours. I was back to work for my regular clients within 24 hours too and even picked up a new client within a few days. Surely that's settled. But still here now, a week later I haven't established any routine and I find that the days are speeding by. Is this unsettled or simply a new lifestyle?

Self-employment is still fairly new to me so the constricted existence of 9 hours or more a day in an office or retail store is not a distant memory. For a long time my job provided structure and unbreakable routine. Freedom from this was initially exhilarating, but now it simply feels natural, as if there could be no other way. Coming back to Portland is something like that.

In the last week Justin and I have visited so many favorite places and several new ones as well. Each day has been a treasure hunt of activity. Cathedral Park, where we were married, was one of the first stops. Above is a photo of that park and part of the view from the ceremony site. We also went to First Thursday and enjoyed works by Dali, Chagall and Picasso at the Lawrence Gallery. We discovered a (new to us) vegan-friendly restaurant in SE Portland called Hungry Tiger and have taken several walks in gorgeous old neighborhoods drooling over all the Four Square houses. Last night was bargain night at the Hollywood Theater and we saw an awesome documentary on the heavy metal band Anvil.

Today is a work day, but I'm sure the city will be calling soon and I will find myself out and about. I love that the possibilities are almost endless. We're going to hike at Multnomah Falls later this week and with summer coming I look forward to walks in the Washington Park rose garden, berry picking on Sauvie Island, weekend bonfires at the coast and long warm nights of live music downtown. Settling in was like piecing together a puzzle - I'm home!

So long cruel winter

From my windows in March the world is a tangle of dry bramble, skinny deprived branches scattered over a low, frozen sky and hesitant birds that scuttle through soggy brush, fat and slow in winter their down.

A vast improvement from the scrawling mess and drear of February, the utter absence of hope.

In a matter of weeks and then days, things change. At first a more favorable rotation, then the gentle gilding of the sun gives way to thorough solar impregnation. The world is a riot of blossoms and buds and birdsong. Everything drinks in the warmth and the light and the rich fertile atmosphere.

Finally, we emerge from winter with a slow kindling of life, mounting before our eyes. Then in those first few days of long sunshine and air thick with pollen and wings, Spring born. The ground is a dynamic carpet of life - nests and burrows and nascent plants all shimmering in richness of ancient sea bed. The camellia tree with its hundred red flowers, vibrates with a dozen hummingbirds and five times as many honeybees, droning for sweet nectar.

The pear tree, once utterly lifeless, timidly sprouts pale green buds - they pulse bigger and more complex, then you see how this is an incubating, unabashed flower. Blackberry brambles once left to drown in the dark neglect of winter, revive - their once barren stalks bearing spines of hardy young leaves. Overnight, raspberries and mint put forth shiny green tips, confidently stretching upward to meet the delicious radioactive ambrosia.

The animals execute their prayers of passion, their singular way of being alive - uncomplicated, without ambition or regret.

Duos of birds soar in exhuberant arcs, drawing halos of simple joy in the gentle morning sky. Shy rabbits make steady and effective work, giving to and taking from the grasses, so they are a rich emerald, blades thick and glossy. Giant bumble bees, solid as baby mice, hover along the ground, nesting beneath strawberry leaves and at the base of a pink-blossomed cedar. The deer wait in the forest behind our field, ducked behind leaves that spread open in slow motion, hands reaching out to hold the sun.