If only there were more time to blog. I forget how much work Springtime is. Between the gardens, my three jobs and gigs - plus projects - I am hardly keeping my head above water. It is during this time - always - that I have to re-train myself to be okay with chaos.

I am really enamored with spring in Minnesota this year. Everything is so beautiful and we are receiving day after day of gorgeous weather. The tulips are exploding, along with lilacs and there are bunnies and birds everywhere! Last night EJ and I drove behind a really cute kitty as it chased a tiny bunny in zig zag patterns down the middle of the street street. The car in front of us was honking repeatedly to scare the cat out of the way, but it was oblivious to the cars. It only saw cotton-tail. Luckily neither animal was injured - at least, not while I was a witness. I made EJ stop so I could rescue the bunny and relocate it, (and also to protect the stupid cat) but the rodent burrowed deep into some nearby shrubbery and I couldn't retrieve it. Instead, I pet the blue-grey kitty who purred quite loudly and pawed at the shrubs.

I made my first locally grown meal of the season, on Saturday night. Over-wintered mashed potatoes with chives from the garden, local asparagus and egg burritos with vegan chorizo. It was delicious and it was such a relief to eat food from Minnesota, again. I am looking forward to the spinach and kale from our garden and some fresh strawberries from the patch we planted last summer, not to mention hundreds of tomatoes! This summer I am going to eat tomatoes until I am pooping tomato puree. Hooray for heirlooms!

And the gardening begins!

Last year's attempt at gardening was joyful. I nourished my own excitement with each step of planting, watering, pruning and harvesting. It is very unfortunate that a lot of the fruits I coveted most - pumpkins and melons - mangled by an off-road vehicle. However; I am looking forward to a bigger and better crop, this year.


This is where the veggie garden will remain. 390 square feet!
















This is the new squash/melon patch:
















Garlic and perennial herbs:


















Strawberries!























We planted some wild ones last year, too. They are already spreading and growing!


















A new spot for the cold frame and annual herbs:






























Finally, the native flower garden will start to take shape, here:



















Last year spring came very late and fall came early. We got the plants in late and in August we were left with lots of green tomatoes that never ripened, so this year we have two new tools. A grow light

















These are the babies, already coming up! Tomatoes (three different kinds), eggplant, peppers, fennel, onions and lots of herbs... (beans, corn, potatoes, squash, pumpkins and melons will go in the ground, later).


















This one's an apple tree! (Sshhhhhh).


















and a cold frame!





















I built it today - all by myself - with materials I found in the garage. (EJ made the frame for the window panes). It is two pieces that can be dis-assembled and stored when we aren't using it. Otherwise, it would have been too heavy to move.


So, off we go again on the grand adventure of growing our own food. I can't wait for the Amish Pastes!!!!

My cat sings when she poops

My cat is regular. No joke. Every morning after breakfast she runs to the basement to use the litter box. The best part is her singing. When Caixa uses the potty she howls and yowls and produces tremelos that sound like "carrrrrrrrrr-oooooe!" She also empties my underwear drawer on a semi-regular basis with no apparent motivation and admires small secret things like ear plugs and bobby pins. (When we clean, we generally find dozens of these items under the beds and furniture). Caixa also hides things in shoes, often. When I lived in the south she hid one of the numerous roaches she found in someone's shoe. It wasn't a small one, either.

I live near a neighborhood restaurant/bar. It's a home-town, mom & pop kind of place with cheap beer and daily lunch and dinner specials and cheap breakfast; the kind you know is so painfully delicious because it's only five dollars and full of questionable ingredients. The coffee is most definitely Folger's and the server is about 54-years-old and lives in the house she grew up in, four doors down. On Monday, when I got a sudden craving for a good old-fashioned country breakfast, I dragged EJ over with me. (Well, dragged is too strong a word. He practically raced me. I rarely let him indulge in such ambiguously tasty treats). It was a time-warp culture-adventure. Here, two miles from downtown St. Paul, I sat in an old country kitchen, every table full of "real" retired Minnesotans, lapping up eggs and bacon and biscuits and gravy while watching The Price Is Right! on a television in the corner. The server was whisking about the room, hollering at the clientele with outbursts like, "Hang on!" and "Oh, I forgot the coffee!" and "Ooops, it's almost closing time! I gotta resent these tables!!!" Despite her abrasive serving techniques, she was honestly very sweet and chatty. She is the kind of server who will try to help with any dilemma, whether it be your under-cooked eggs, directions to the nearest gas station or how to manage your over-sexed teenager. I figure if I ever need counseling, I can just mosey on over and sit down for a cup of coffee and a chat with "server Betty." Before leaving, EJ and I both received a kiss on the cheek. The food may not meet my standards of health and environmental safety, but I'll take the human-ness of this place over the Seward Cafe, any day.

The dementia of a sleeping brain.

This morning I am feeling a little put off by... well... by myself. After a series of utterly terrifying, morose and abhorrent dreams, I am seeming to need some recovery time from sleeping. I have to attribute these dreams to the level of stress is my life, as there was nothing edifying about them. However; they do strike me as interesting in the respect that I am utterly astonished by my brain's ability to so thoroughly conjure and piece together these horrid films in my head. Also interesting how, during parts I was fully submerged (you might catch the pun here) in the dream as an active character, but during other segments, when the "film" became to gory for me to participate, I became the on-looker. Someone watching a movie from a safe place. I suppose I am grateful that my mind was able to identify which material was too morbid to participate in. If you choose to read, brace yourself.

Part I: I am part of some mission for which I do not have a choice in participation. I have time to dwell on it either, because my life is currently at stake. I am far beneath the surface of the sea water and it is dark. (This is terrifying enough. I am fully aqua-phobic when it comes to lakes and rivers and particularly at the thought of being submerged. Ironically I love the water and being near it; the way it smells and looks - but I have no desire to be further in than waist deep. I often have nightmares about being sucked down into dark murky water). I am swimming from a transport vessel and am holding my breath and struggling to put on the head piece of my suit. This is dangerous. It can only be put on once in the water, so it must be locked and drained before the operator runs out of breath. (Imagine an astronaut suit). I finally get it on and am relieved... slightly. Now I must refrain from panic. There is only enough oxygen to support me breathing normally. If I hyperventilate, I am done for.

Now I am following some training course on a sea bed. A voice directs me through a speaker near my ear. The current is strong and keeps pulling me in different directions. There is a modicum of light shining from the transport vessel above me, but I am mostly swallowed in darkness and sometimes lose sight of anything solid. This terrifies me and I breath harder, but now I can't breathe, because my oxygen supply is locked. The voice tells me I must regain control to survive. I do.

Part II: I am now inside a very large box-like structure under the ocean. It has air. I am no longer in the suit. It is too heavy to wear out of the water, so I am in my underwear. There are many rooms I am supposed to explore, but there are dangerous things in here. Poisonous snakes that have miraculously found a way in. Of course, I am bitten by one. I have to be taken out.

Part III: I am back inside the underwater structure. There is no longer the voice telling me what to do, but a woman. She is working inside and teaching me how to operate the facility. I am astonished when a big door opens. The water does not come in. You can reach your hand right into it, but it doesn't come inside. Some complex system is working to create a strange pressure barrier. She is sending wooden boxes through it; shipments to the surface.

Later, I am alone with a man and a younger boy. The boy is about 13, but he also works here. He is important and he is very smart. Something has gone wrong. The man is very ill. He can't breathe. The facility is failing and beginning to fill up with water. The boy won't leave. He is going to fix the problem, but the man will die if we don't leave, now.

*This is where I check out. I am no longer involved, but watching this scene, as if it's a movie.

There is a woman. She is in love with the man who is dying. She is desperate to get him out, but the boy won't let them leave. There is a pair of crutches. She picks up one and repeatedly bludgeons the boy's head until he is unconscious. She then eats his flesh... all of it. This - in her mind - is the only way to kill him effectively. She puts both of them into a large plastic bag full of air and sends them to the surface.

Part IV: I have returned to the surface. My mission is over and I am on a bus back home. It's a double-decker bus with seats on the roof, as well. I am on the roof with EJ. It's a beautiful day and we are riding through the city. The bus makes a turn and it's going a little too fast. I make a comment about how unsafe it is. Other passengers start to notice. Soon we are rocketing down the street, so fast that we are all afraid. We retreat to the inside of the bus. When I get to the bottom level I can see the driver. She is driving as if it were a normal day of work. We are closing in on an intersection. I see people start to cross the street. I yell at the driver to stop, but she keeps driving. A little boy is in front of the bus now. He is about three, and has no chance of escaping our trajectory. The bus hits the little boy. The driver seems surprised and then suddenly frightened. She leaps from the seat and curls up in the aisle, covering her head with her hands. The bus is still moving. A really fat woman in bright pink pants scurries to the front and stops the bus. I exit and run back to the boy. The ambulance has already arrived and he is taken to the hospital. I meet him there. I am crying. I can't believe this injustice. After surgery I am told that he will survive. His lungs were collapsed and he is on a breathing machine, but he will be okay. He can't talk to me, but he seems happy, despite the situation.

Part V: I am watching the horrid scene under the water, again. This time, EJ and I are watching it on a documentary-type film. The narrator tells about how the woman ate the flesh of the upper half of the boy's body in less than two minutes. I feel sick. I ask him why anyone could anything so disgusting. He says, "Well, she has been convicted." I don't find peace in that.

I am now with the convicted woman and the man from under the water and a friend of theirs. We are all much older. She has served her sentence - apparently a short one on grounds of temporary insanity or something insane - and is now a celebrity of sorts and a millionaire. She has no shame for her crime. He has a dilemma. They live together, and he is torn. He loves her, but he is mortified by her solution to saving his life. He feels indebted to her for rescuing him. We all have the weight of this demented act pressing down on us. He thinks about suicide often. Inexplicably, I am left the burden of preventing him from doing so. I care about him, somehow. I don't want him to take his own life. I can't seem to get through to him. If I leave him for one second I will bare the guilt of his death. Then... I wake up.

Brunchin, local economy style! Cafe Juliahna

Yesterday - as the day unfolded and I slithered out of bed, still feeling the remnants of the previous evening's spontaneous strawberry mimosa extravaganza (something had to be done with the two bottles of champagne lurking in the fridge from New Year's...) - the first gathering of Local Economy Brunchers were enjoying the delicious food and drink of Cafe Juliahna, just a short number of paces from my home. This brunch idea had zapped me months ago as I frequented the all-organic, solar-powered gem of a cafe which nests on a nice little corner, near the top of one the tallest hills in the Twin Cities area. Most of my friends had never heard of it and that seemed to me be just silly. I thought:
"Here is this fantastic establishment - one of the greenest in the twin cities - owned by a fantastically friendly and accommodating community-oriented woman, and basically no one across the river is aware of it!"

Well, the project-oriented, let's-do-some-good-and-enthusiastically-share-all-things-great-in-the-world part of me formulated yet another plan, and this one would start by exposing West Saint Paul's best. I would put together an evite and send it to everyone I know asking them to come out and support Cafe Juliahna and eventually other lesser-known, independently owned small businesses. We would make it our mission - in the shadow of this severe recession - (I heart alliteration) to help sustain the local economy by helping to keep these small family businesses around.

If only I had gotten the memo about the daylight savings change...

On the bright side, I was only an hour late to the event that I had so enthusiastically planned and when I arrived everyone was delighting in their quiche and breakfast burritos and lattes while joyfully making news acquaintances of their own ambition. Sherry was delighted to see so many new customers and I was delighted at the success of the turn out and enthusiasm of everyone in attendance. There were multiple requests to plan more of these events, which I fully intend to do. Why not?! It's fun and supporting the local economy is only an evite away!

Wow! Donuts!

I saw this sign in the Seward neighborhood at a Holiday gas station.

Never thought you could be so excited about donuts, did you?

A very personal promise...

Once upon a time I was born in Ohio and grew up in Kentucky. Then I graduated from high school and moved back to Ohio for undergraduate school in the field of music. Between starting and ending I was in a drum corps and toured the U.S. In my early twenties I graduated from college and moved to Alabama; a really difficult state for "northerners" to live in. After two years there I went on tour with another drum corps, this time as a teacher. This made me realize that I should not live in Alabama anymore so I abandoned life there and relocated to Minnesota. And here I am.

That's the outline. All the "stuff" that's happened in-between is what makes it my life; the best times, the worst times, the funny times... I will try very hard not to ever base my worth on what I do or "where" I am, in my life. I will try very hard to always remember all of the wonderful friends and mentors who are all over the country. The people who have passed through, becoming a small thread in a massive weave. The people who supported me, cared for me and helped to shape me. I will try very hard to remember that every single experience with every single one of these people was necessary and strengthened the fibers of me. Most importantly, I will try very, very hard to continue speaking to them and to let them know that they are important and that I love them. That is my promise to them. That is the promise to myself.

Is it easy being green? (An article on the re-emerging do-it-yourself lifestyles in America).

I certainly don't think so. Anyone who claims otherwise is crazy or paying for someone else to make their lives greener. But is it worth it? You bet! Even as I stressed with my partner two nights ago about what seeds to buy for our gardens this summer, I felt the twinge of excitement in growing things again! Growing our own food and weekly trips to the Farmer's Markets. Canning, drying, preparing and stuffing the deep-freeze for winter. I'm still popping open jars of homemade tomato sauce and pickles and jalapenos and hauling up frozen batches of veggie lasagna, eggplant Parmesan, pumpkin and vegetable soup from last summer. And you know what? Anything I made myself is much more satisfying than a store-bought item. I can't wait to try the fermenting sauerkraut I started last week or to start a batch of Kim chi!

Making things yourself is obviously more time-consuming, but these things are not as difficult to learn as some seem to think. Is it practical to bike ten miles to work, up-hill both ways? It is if you want to save hundreds of dollars in gas, cut emissions by %75 and get in shape! Who needs a daily workout after that commute. And pickling is not for your grandmother, people! It's logical and fun! Not only do your pickles taste amazing but you can reuse the jars, multiple times before tossing them in the recycling.

Last year, when EJ and I realized we were collectively spending well over $100 a month on Kombucha, we learned how to make our own. Is it as good as G.T.'s, you ask? Well no, not always. There is always a level of inconsistency in homemade things, but I've made killer batches of strawberry, raspberry, orange and ginger flavors, saved hundreds of glass bottles and caps and boo koo cash. Not to mention the benefit of slurping down a delicious dose of instant probiotics and enzymes. (Here's a little secret for all you ladies out there... anytime you have to take antibiotics, drink a Kombucha a day while on the meds and you will steer clear of those dreadful feminine-related side affects)!

It's encouraging to see that awareness is growing right along with all the new fruits and veggies sprouting up in yards around the country. I still sometimes feel very isolated in my endeavors to be self-sufficient, but am comforted by the arrivals of new terminologies such as "Locavore" and "Urban Farming," the former turning up in one my most favorite books ever: Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver. This book not only pushed me to change the way I thought about buying and eating food, but it offers some fantastic recipes!

Why is it important to make your own? Why freeze and can and dry? Why buy locally? Lots of reasons. Buying locally supports the economy and helps small business owners prosper, which also improves the community and creates more, better-quality jobs. Shopping at local farmers markets means that you are getting food that is grown at home - which means way less Co2 emissions -and grown with fewer (or no) chemicals, since a farm can't be sustained for very long if it is zapped with tons pesticides and herbicides. Saving your own food means buying less that is shipped from other countries or California or Texas (which, if you live in the midwest or east coast is a long, long way). We try to buy as few non-local items as possible, meaning lots of storing for the long Minnesota winter.

Another reason to grow your own: Protecting food species. Most super markets only sell a small variety of fruit and vegetable species when there are, in fact, thousands, most of which are endangered. And many of these are so much tastier than the norm. Then why don't stores sell them, you ask? I have no freakin' clue! Most of us are aware of the importance of bio-diversity. This is also really, really, really important in relation to food species. I'll let you ponder why. The good news is that you can get thousands of varieties of seeds from a seed bank in Iowa called The Seed Savers Exchange. The Seed Savers specialize in preserving rare and endangered food species. And not only are these foods tastier, but they come in so many beautiful shapes and colors. We are purchasing nearly-extinct peppers and melons this year, plus the "Christmas Beans" on the cover of Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, just because I think they're pretty.

So, if you've made it this far, I hope I have been some inspiration to you. And if you need more resources, check out this site for some kick-ass do-it-yourself advice and guidance.

"You must joyfully participate in the sorrows of the world..."

This is the single most important and consistent piece of advice from my favorite author/mythologist/philosopher which I know in my heart to be the core of everything and which (of course) is the hardest thing. All religions are based on this concept. Joseph Campbell didn't invent it, but he sure wrote about it a lot. It basically just means that everything is what it is, life is life and you can't change it. You just have to love it. ALL of it. Even the hard stuff. I think I'm getting better at it...

It's nice, taking joy in all the little things. It's so easy to get caught up in all of the everything that is going on all the time. But it's harder to pick out those precious, meaningful bits and really focus on them and embrace the fact that this simple joy is all that really matters. And when I start to really pay attention, I notice more and more. Like how much I really love to sip my sweet breakfast tea in the mornings and even more so if I can enjoy EJ's company. And how the sun on the snow can be so very brilliant in Minnesota in February, that I don't even mind that it's still cold. And it's almost time to start our seedlings for the garden and when our grow light arrived in the mail I bounced excitedly and squealed. Or even when I'm feeling stressed out at work, (which is not unusual and just simply part of child care), and one child walks up to me and throws his arms around me neck and just giggles because he's happy I am there and he loves me, too. I see some of the kids more than they see their own parents. Some of them spend 10.5 hours a day at our school. It seems a little unreasonable to make a child be a school that long and I feel grateful that I get to be part of their nurturing and develpment, rather than a great many other people in the field who really don't care at all.

So, yeah. I guess I've got it pretty good. I get to eat delicious food that I know how to prepare and it's always available. I live in a nice house. I have five plots to garden in our yard. I teach a variety of people, some as young as 16 months and some as old as 70. I have good health care. My partner is wonderful. I can do yoga and I love to do it. I can run. I have good friends. I get to write my own music. ..

I guess all I need now is a millions bucks so I can move on to the big things, because the little things are plentiful.

Purely for pleasure

Well, I can confidently say that things are moving forward in my life. It's a nice feeling - being this busy and actually enjoying it. However; there has been little time for simple, selfish play. So, in the midst of my broken-down immune system confining me to the house, I am finally doing what has been in the back of my busy, little brain, nagging me for weeks on end: Blogging! Just recently I was contacted by a long-ago friend in Portland who alerted me that her new book will soon be available. I haven't spoken to her in years. In a corresponding email she asked me if I am still blogging. Short answer: Yes... eventually. So, hopefully my dear sweet friend, from whom I've been separated for so long, will have something current to read if she does visit this page.

So, what's new? So many things! New jobs, new musical opportunities, new experiences. A memory that crept into my consciousness today, for the first time since December was The Farm. EJ's farm. For the first time, I met all of his extended family, including both living grandparents. What a fun time! His family was so inviting and warm. They really enjoy their traditions, it is obvious. And the farm. How neat! So much land. So flat. We hiked out across a snow-crusted field on Christmas Day in North Dakota, me in his Aunt's, over-sized, puffy down-coat, eleven degrees and brilliantly sunny, tracking what we concluded must have been a bob-cat. There were pheasants everywhere and bald eagles. The evergreens that EJ and his brother planted many years ago, now tall and full.

And the barn. It was like stepping back in time. The old tractor with the crank jabbed in the nose. The stalls and the loft that we couldn't push open. I was disappointed to miss seeing the space where the boys spent so many hours in hiding, as children. There was a large, pane-less window on the south side where snow had drifted in and showed proof of a cat seeking shelter. On the way out it shocked me to notice a long-dead carcass on the floor, "probably a deer," EJ said. "We leave them for the cats." It was eerie to stand over the skeleton, now nothing but a spine with small curved ribs curling out, caked with dirt and hair. It must have been a small deer. I imagine life on a farm reveals many raw and truthful gems.

And now here we are, me in my late twenties and he in his early thirties, doing our best to hang onto what we love to do most, which is to play music. Living, day to day, in this big house with our three cats and which-ever roommate happens to be here at the time, gardening in the summer, spending ample time with friends, trying to hang on to the ones so far away by which ever means necessary - usually phone or Internet - and hoping that one day we can go back to the land. Raise our own nourishment from the elements and spend hours with our fingers in the warm dirt, encouraging growth.

I am constantly amazed at the miracles of life and just how simple things really are.