Spanish Moss

We ( me, mystery man, and the three children) spent a week in Savannah,Georgia, visiting my Dad over Spring break. I will tell now of my impressions of that area and it's people. I went with a specific curiosity about the place that comes only when one is looking from the perspective of considering living there. I didn't really think I would want to live there, and yet there is a part of me that longs for family nearby. Since my father is there, I thought maybe someday I would join him if I loved the area enough. With this in mind, I was sort of looking for my tribe. If I were to love a place, it would have to be partly because I knew that I could find not just blood family, but a chosen family, i.e; people who are likely to share my values, interests and even my quests. This is where I would create a support system and a network of soul sisters. Naturally, the first place I needed to find was a rockin' natural food store. I am completely dependent on such a place. I identify with my grocery store on a level that I guess to be somewhat uncommon among most mainstream Americans. For starters, I have spent more than a decade of my life in employment with various health food stores. This is where I met many of my closest friends, as well as my partner. This is also where I learned vast amounts of information about how to take care of the needs of myself and my family. I learned how to research and treat almost any illness, pain or condition with herbs, vitamins, homeopathy and whole foods, so that I rarely need to waste my time and money by seeking the services of a physician. I learned about many lesser known, delicious and nutritious meal ingredients which have added richness, interest and variety to my diet. I learned, working in produce, about things that help me in my garden. I learned to discern between companies that do and do not share in my commitment to sustainable living and respect for life, so that I may choose where my money goes and who I want to represent. I learned to read labels. I learned to make things from scratch. This is just the beginning. I could go on for pages. The bottom line is, I will simply not live where there is not a great, independent, natural food store. Ideally more than one, but definitely no less. I don't count the organic section of the corporate food chain, or the monstrous Whole Foods Market as sufficient. Those places do not meet my standards. I want a grassroots joint. Plus, the best place to find my tribe, is... you guessed it. At the grocery store. Unfortunately, it took awhile to get my Dad to take me to one. He and Jenny (his wife who I am growing to love) kept letting me know that their local Kroger and Big Lots stores had any natural product that I might be seeking, and probably at a better price. Plus, Jenny is an amazing cook and had already stocked up on groceries that we would like, so there was not a huge actual need to grocery shop. So,we spent the first day in their neighborhood, just adjusting to the new time zone and chilling. Mystery man and I took a walk on the cement path that goes through the golf course which my Dad lives next to. It is a very suburban feeling area, miles from any attractions one might want to walk or bike to, with big houses where everyone dares not unlock their doors even in the daytime because of recent robberies. Our walk got disrupted by a few aging male golfers who advised us in a very authoritative and disapproving way that we should not be on that path for fear of getting hit by golf balls, especially with a baby(who was on her Papa in a sling)and directed us onto the street, away from all green area. So much for observing the area's plentiful flora and fauna. Later that day, we took my older sons (12 and 8)on a walk in the woods. It is not clear who owns the woods, but they are at the edge of the natural pond that my Dad's place backs up to, and they and the water are beautiful with lots of wild birds, ferns, etc. Well the woods weren't so big, and before we knew it we had reached the end, which was some one's driveway and backyard. Even though I felt a little funny about it, we decided to head down the driveway toward the street, because we just didn't feel finished adventuring yet. We crossed the street, walked a while and found nothing but an abandoned DMV building, a trailer park and a few properties marked by confederate flags (racist anyone?). So we turned back. Unfortunately the only way we knew to get back was the way we came- through some one's driveway and yard. This time the resident, who looked a little large and pale and reminded me distinctly of a stereotypical trailer parker, came out and yelled at us to get off of her private property. When she found out that we had come from my father's home on 'the Southridge golf course' she seemed oddly intimidated and let us pass, if we promised not to ever come back on her property again. So far, this did not seem like such a friendly place,but then again I was not going to judge it so soon. We were out in the suburbs of the South, after all. Our second day was in downtown at the huge St. Patrick's day parade. It was crazy and intensely crowded with a distinctly inebrious (I like to make up words)vibe. Everyone wore green of course, except my Dad, who for some reason wore bright orange. He stood out. The parade was big and long, but unimpressive as far as floats go. Mostly there were a lot of marching bands, military and veteran types. There was so much clapping and support for the military. HMMMM... :( I thought it was kind of funny how all of the young women would paint on a bunch of lipstick and go kiss the male paraders. They all had tons of kiss marks. People threw beads down at us from iron balconies, too. We all wore them for the day, then I took them home and now they are some of baby's favorite toys. I saw a lot of different kinds of people in the parade crowd- young, old, hip, conservative, flaming queer, punk, artsy, self-conscious, trashy, businessy, etc.... That was refreshing. And so many different lovely colors of skin. There is a great waterfront area with bars and shops, and it has nice bridges over cobblestone streets. I liked walking down there. The boys liked climbing and throwing acorns at each other down there. We spent one day at the beach. That was fun. It was busy with fraternity type spring breakers who were throwing balls and Frisbees badly and drunk, but it was still fun. I adore the ocean. I can't get enough... until I get a sunburn, which I did. I'm still peeling. Finally a trip to Brighter Day Natural Foods in downtown on the way home. It was a nice place. The owners and staff were really cool, and the store felt good. I immediately felt at home when I walked in and inhaled that lovely mixture of smells that comes from bulk herbs and incense and all that is healthy. It was a nice, small but not too small store, and they had decent variety,but nowhere near everything I am used to selecting from, and no enchilada sauce –what the heck? Who doesn’t carry that? Do we just love enchiladas on the Western side of the states? To add to the goodness of the place, there was an organic coffee house next door that had all sorts of hip seeming (in a good and not too mainstream way) hanger outers in and outside of it. They had a beautiful little garden patio that I just loved! I was so comforted to see the bins in the back of the coffee shop that said “lets all recycle”, and had a place to sort all the different cups, cans, paper, etc. Jenny had told me a few days prior that the city of Savannah does not recycle at all, and I was completely appalled. I came to learn that there is no curbside recycling pick-up service, but if you are serious about it, there are places you can take the stuff. Still, how can they not make recycling a priority and create a system that is accessible to the masses? Major points against Savannah right there, if that is truly the case. So, that little block was a good place, and there was a great park across the way that I would love to spend more time in. Pecans grow in that area like crazy, and I do like pecans. The houses are pretty, but they are too close together and too expensive with little to no yards in the only area of town that I would ever consider making my home. Plus, I didn’t see a single vegetable garden, or any garden for that matter. Jenny says that it isn’t yet the season, but I happen to think that is crazy. It was in the mid to upper seventies most of the time we were there, and I'm pretty sure it didn't fall below forty at night. People are planting in Colorado and it is still freezing a little on occasion. I would think people could grow hardy greens there year round. Plus, I didn't even see a plot where a garden lived last year. I was told that that is because it is a student area, and they don't have time. When I was a student I made time. Don't a large percentage of students in most schools fall into the 'nontraditional' category and have families, and probably even gardens? These seemingly small matters weigh big when I try to get a feel for the culture there. I sought out other clues about the people in Savannah by checking out the coffee shop and grocery store bulletin boards. I saw a decent bit about art, which I would expect, since I know that SCAT (Savannah College of Art and Design) is a huge presence. I think that the place would be quite plain and without quirkiness without such a college. I saw no yoga or meditation flyers. No drumming, attachment parenting, music or concert flyers, nothing about current progressive political groups, movements or protests, and nothing Pagan or relating to Eastern religion or Earth Spirituality. I saw one pamphlet put out by two women advertising their doula business. What a relief that there is at least some support for natural pregnancy in the area. I hope earnestly that there are people out there who know Savannah well, and will post comments to tell me I am wrong, and put me in my place. Maybe I just didn't know where to look. I will say that based on my current observations, I won't be choosing to live in Savannah. I do not believe that many of my tribe reside there. I must say that the rampant Spanish Moss is spectacular. I wish that it grew where I am. It made the place feel like a magical fantasy land. The boys brought some home in bags, which we are trying to keep alive in a terrarium. I don't know if it will work. Thanks Dad and Jenny for a lovely trip. It was a nice place to visit, and I enjoyed all of the time with you. Thanks for showing me around, and sorry for being so picky.

Pep talk to the gardener In me

It snowed this morning. I woke to the sound of it on the roof. Mystery man thought it was rain, which got me all excited, because I LOVE rain, but then it turned out to be very wet snow. It was 40 degrees outside, so I hear. That doesn't really seem like a normal temp for snow. That is why it melted so quickly, I conclude. It smelled good outside. Not quite the mineral smell of rain that I can't get enough of, but a nice, wet wood and mud smell. So, that was ALL, right? I mean it's almost April. Enough of this winter crap, already. There is a daffodil and a crocus in my front yard, peeping through the leaves left from Fall. I want strictly rain from now on until Halloween (and some sun, too, but lots of rain). If the ground could be really soft and wet, I would feel a lot more motivated to put my baby on my back and go dig in the garden. I love gardening. I am not sure why I feel so intimidated by getting started this year. Having an in-arms aged baby makes me feel a lot less capable of pursuing my usual pursuits. I get more overwhelmed, and I just don't want to get in over my head. I would be so disappointed if I stalled long enough to completely miss planting season, so I'd best get my will in line and get at it. That's a note to self. Tomorrow do something that at least leads toward sowing seeds.

Hot Tamales! I've done it!

Every Sunday in almost all weather, a cute, small, Mexican woman with gold teeth walks the North neighborhoods in Fort Collins. She can be heard blocks away calling out "Tamalessss...."

with her strong accent. My children and I used to love to run out to her noisy, teetery homemade cart, and buy the chili y queso variety, which she would pull out of a tall pot tied closed with strips of plastic grocery sacs. They are tasty and authentic, and I love that she makes them in her own kitchen, bypassing the city laws for health and vending licenses. I love this in theory, but then I start to wonder, what does her kitchen look like? What are the quality of her ingredients? Her English is such that I am not sure I could carry on this type of conversation with her, and I would feel so snobby coming out and asking these questions...

Do you use lard or hydrogenated fats?
Is the corn is the masa flour genetically modified? So, I have chosen to appreciate the presence of her lovely homemade tamales in my town, but not partake any longer. Still, the taste remained on my palate, which inspired this. I searched the web for recipes, and ended up mixing several into my own. They are fiery-hot-delicious, 1/2 of them vegan and all of them organic. They have black beans, tomatillos, cilantro, and olive oil. They took forever. During the extended two day process I had them for lunch to taste and adjust the spices, for dinner when I brought them to the potluck, for lunch the next day, and when the final ones pictured above where finished steaming at 11 PM last night, I took a bite and couldn't eat another. I put them in the freezer. I don't think I'll be able to eat another tamale for at least a week. Good thing they freeze well. In retrospect, it was fun, and definitely something I will do again.

Here is what else I've been working on. Magic wands. I made them to sell during the holidays, but they were plainer. Here are some that I made as gifts that involve needle felting on top of the wool felt. Fun, I think. The next ones I make will have hand whittled sticks instead of dowels, and I will use recycled sweater wool instead of manufactured felt. Yay!

Almost Blown Away

Here is my first blog. I have been increasingly fascinated by the concept of blogging for months now, being the communicator that I am. It is like writing a personal journal that the whole world can access [am I am exhibitionist on some level?] and reply with feedback. I am hoping that my thoughts and life are as interesting to others as theirs are to me. So now I have done it and must learn all of the ins and outs of making my page pretty, adding photos, links, etc. I'm so excited! This said, here is a start.



It is so lovely that my little darlin' is napping soundly while I learn how to blog! That is her on vacation in Georgia visiting my Dad last week, with mr. mystery man, i.e., her Papa hiding behind her face.

I am sorry to criticize an element, being the balance-seeking pagan that I am, but here it is. I hate the wind. I hate the headache that it gives me, and the cold it creates, and the trash that it blows into my yard, trying to hold onto myself while walking in it, and the way it feels in my ears. I appreciate, to the credit of wind though, the bang-up job that it does at spreading seeds and it's interplay with the ocean. So in all of my frustration with it, and wishing it would get out of my life on this Spring day that feels an awful lot like winter still here in Northern Colorado. I will still show respectful gratitude. Oh, and it's awfully nice in the Summer, except then I think it is rightfully called a breeze, not wind. So there you have it, I like small and subtle wind.

I have been looking into raising back yard chickens. I am currently overcome with interest in the subject and am quickly becoming determined to do it. I am trying to figure out how to get the materials to build a light weight, moveable, easily to clean and maintain, reasonably attractive coop on a shoestring budget. Free supplies would be best. I am so excited about this, that it is hard for me to wait long enough to do the proper research. I am trying to restrain myself so that I do it well. 'Tis the season, so I hear, and I really want those cute little chicks peeping in a box in my house until they are big enough to go outside and start laying delicious eggs (hopefully the pretty blueish green or speckled kind), eating my kitchen scraps and fertilizing my garden.

Speaking of kitchen scraps, another goal is to finish building the red worm bin that I started last summer. I have this great big wooden box with a hinged lid that my mystery man dragged out of a dumpster for me, but I want to insulate it so that the worms will be toasty during the next winter months and cool enough this summer. How can I do this? If anyone knows about this subject- what materials to use and how to attach them, I would be ever so grateful to know. Here are pics of it as it is now, so whoever is looking can help me brainstorm.

So much more to talk about, as this blogging thing has been brewing in my head for ages, and generally once I start writing, I can't stop. I must go make tamales for tomorrow's potluck meeting of the Woolie Mamas.