Thanks for Nothing

It’s Thanksgiving weekend here in Canada and I am thankful for Nothing. On a 3-day romantic get-away in a haunted hotel on Saltspring Island, and Nothing is right.

Nothing on the To-Do list. Three whole days with just me and Sarah and sweet sweet time. We spent the whole Saturday morning enjoying the “farmers” market (82 artisans, 22 baked goods, 5 farmers). Long hike with views over the ocean to the East and West. Two naps (so far). Delicious dinners out and local produce picnic lunches. Long long talks and dreams and financial visioning from rocks overlooking the ocean, fish&chips joint flooded with the sunset, 5-Rhythms Dance with our incomparable dance-diva friend Shawna, hotel queen-sized bed with the TV cabinet closed (except for that really bad chick-flick about the Playboy centre-fold who becomes a sorority house mom.)

The awareness of this sweet Nothingness became poignant in the final half-hour of preparing to leave the house. As we scrambled to pack, close up the house and leave instructions for my mom and kids to keep the farm going, we rushed past all the Work we would have otherwise been doing this long weekend. Stepped over the broken doorsill, passed by the piles of garlic to be processed, walked under the falling insulation that needs ceiling board, and through the open doorway that really needs that new door hung. Covered up the apples to be canned, piled up the laundry to be folded, put all that FreeRange Consulting work back on the shelf to finish later. Walked through the garden that’s ready to put to sleep for the winter, through the greenhouse of tomatoes that needs a final harvest pronto before the frost gets serious, and out to feed the cow and water buffalo in the tub that needs replacing with a real pallet hayfeeder. Then drove down the driveway alongside the cabin that will get interior plaster on Monday, out by the farm stand that needs to be replenished with garlic and apple butter, and up the road past the mailbox that we haven’t collected in a week.

In so many ways this is the worst timing to run away. Just when we’re exhausted from the spring/summer farming and think it’s rest time, October is our busiest month – final food preservation, winter gardening, and this reno that’s so temptingly close to Done. But these three days have let us clear our heads, reconnect with each other and ourselves, rest, get some perspective. We’re the star basketball player who hates being called off for a breather, but then goes back onto the court with renewed vigour. That huge list of time-sensitive Things-to-Do now looks not only do-able, but enjoyable again – stuff we Want to do. And the circles that Sarah and I have been running in are at least concentric again, joined and overlapping and coherent.

So thank you Grandma for the chance to sit back and take stock, to breathe deep with my wife – out with the overwhelm, in with the appetite. We return this afternoon ready for our children, our land, this ambitious life we choose and thrive in and for which we are truly Thankful.

Wall Street protest

While my body (and romantic heart) are about to go on a 3-day Saltspring Island getaway with my beautiful wife, my activist brain and soul are down on Wall Street, marching in solidarity with a nation waking up and taking action against the ever-increasing corporate control of our society. At the G8/G20 protests last year we tried to engage or confront the governments, but it is perhaps speaking more to the base of power to go straight to the corporate sector.

What follows below is the first official, collective statement of the protesters in Zuccotti Park. While I agree with pretty much every statement and do believe they're identifying key pieces of the puzzle, I'm disturbed by the focus on "THEY." Corporations only have the power that WE give to them. Every time we shop, vote, select a media source, accept a job, hit a cash machine, sign up for flight miles on our corporate visa card, even choose an internet browser, we are not just giving THEM power; we are part of that energy. Let's first face up to where WE are in those THEY statements below, then let some solutions flow.

The protests are great and I truly wish I was there (instead of being "virtually there" through Avaaz), but the huge societal change that is needed will only really come when we are ready to invest all of our resources and energy, establish and meet all of our needs, and derive all of our Joy through ethical means. Which in my mind pretty much means local, organic, people you know and trust, small businesses who responsibly reinvest your money in your community: ie, not corporations.

Anyways, here's what our sisters and brothers down on Wall Street have come together to say (with my devil's advocate WE responsibility statements following in italics; "WE" meaning the majority of Canadian/American citizens, and, let's face it, a lot of us imperfect activists too - I went to Walmart yesterday):

As we gather together in solidarity to express a feeling of mass injustice, we must not lose sight of what brought us together. We write so that all people who feel wronged by the corporate forces of the world can know that we are your allies.

As one people, united, we acknowledge the reality: that the future of the human race requires the cooperation of its members; that our system must protect our rights, and upon corruption of that system, it is up to the individuals to protect their own rights, and those of their neighbors; that a democratic government derives its just power from the people, but corporations do not seek consent to extract wealth from the people and the Earth; and that no true democracy is attainable when the process is determined by economic power. We come to you at a time when corporations, which place profit over people, self-interest over justice, and oppression over equality, run our governments. We have peaceably assembled here, as is our right, to let these facts be known.

They have taken our houses through an illegal foreclosure process, despite not having the original mortgage.
WE chose to buy larger and larger houses, ignoring how it pushed us beyond our financial limits.

They have taken bailouts from taxpayers with impunity, and continue to give Executives exorbitant bonuses.
WE still shop and invest there.

They have perpetuated inequality and discrimination in the workplace based on age, the color of one's skin, sex, gender identity and sexual orientation.
WE still shop there.

They have poisoned the food supply through negligence, and undermined the farming system through monopolization.
WE still balk at the cost of organic food at the local farmers' market - "i'd eat local and organic, but it's too expensive."

They have profited off of the torture, confinement, and cruel treatment of countless animals, and actively hide these practices.
WE still wear make-up.

They have continuously sought to strip employees of the right to negotiate for better pay and safer working conditions.
WE still wear nike shoes.

They have held students hostage with tens of thousands of dollars of debt on education, which is itself a human right.
WE vote for governments who reduce funding to educational institutes, making them more dependent on corporations.

They have consistently outsourced labor and used that outsourcing as leverage to cut workers’ healthcare and pay.
WE still buy from them.

They have influenced the courts to achieve the same rights as people, with none of the culpability or responsibility.
All of these "they" statements are de-facto treating corporations as people, not recognizing the human beings behind them and our connection to them.

They have spent millions of dollars on legal teams that look for ways to get them out of contracts in regards to health insurance.
WE vote for governments with a "lower-taxes" platform, ignoring the cuts that it will necessitate.


They have sold our privacy as a commodity.
WE use credit cards and sign up for flight miles and hang out on facebook and google and willingly give away or sell our privacy.

They have used the military and police force to prevent freedom of the press.
WE still make CNN and Fox the most-watched news sources.

They have deliberately declined to recall faulty products endangering lives in pursuit of profit.
WE still buy products from those same companies.

They determine economic policy, despite the catastrophic failures their policies have produced and continue to produce.
WE just voted stephen harper back into power, and quite possibly will return george bush's party to power.

They have donated large sums of money to politicians, who are responsible for regulating them.
WE still vote for those politicians.

They continue to block alternate forms of energy to keep us dependent on oil.
WE still drive much larger vehicles than most places in the world, and still don't fork out the extra money for biodiesel or electric cars.
They continue to block generic forms of medicine that could save people’s lives or provide relief in order to protect investments that have already turned a substantial profit.
WE still rely on the conventional western medical system.

They have purposely covered up oil spills, accidents, faulty bookkeeping, and inactive ingredients in pursuit of profit.
BP still sells its products here.

They purposefully keep people misinformed and fearful through their control of the media.
WE choose not to adequately use alternative media sources to find the truth out for ourselves.

They have accepted private contracts to murder prisoners even when presented with serious doubts about their guilt.
WE just gave majority power to a prime minister who wants to increase penal institutions.

They have perpetuated colonialism at home and abroad.
WE buy non-fair-trade products.

They have participated in the torture and murder of innocent civilians overseas.
WE still support the military.

They continue to create weapons of mass destruction in order to receive government contracts.
We still support the military.


To the people of the world, We, the New York City General Assembly occupying Wall Street in Liberty Square, urge you to assert your power.

Exercise your right to peaceably assemble; occupy public space; create a process to address the problems we face, and generate solutions accessible to everyone.

To all communities that take action and form groups in the spirit of direct democracy, we offer support, documentation, and all of the resources at our disposal.

Join us and make your voices heard!

My skinhead kids

"Dad, I want to shave my head and join the army." Well, that's not exactly what the boys said, but that's how it felt. And like anything that evokes a strong gut reaction, there were some unexpected lessons to be learned; shedding assumptions and biases takes longer than shaving a bit of cerebral growth.

We have a long relationship with long-haired boys in this family, so it took a lot of cajoling to break out the old buzz cut razor. The kids were trembling with excitement at this new follicular journey; I was trembling with the fear that my boys would be lost in the frenzy, their quirky sweet natures swept away with the golden locks on the kitchen floor.

They weren't, of course, lost, but definitely harder to find. For the first days and even months we still had trouble recognizing our boys. Our perhaps more precisely, trouble distinguishing them from the crowd. Our precious protected TV-less Waldorf Quaker pacifist organic-eating gnome-knitting children looked just like any other kid on the public park playground.

So the first thing I had to let go of was attachment to my children looking different; to associating their special unique natures with the way they dress and do their hair. The photo still shows G's goofy antics and Z's raw excitement at life - much too pure to be disguised by any hair or lack thereof.

I also had to face up to the judgement I carry about how other parents' children dress and look. To assume anything about a child just because of her hair or school or logo on his shirt is a disservice and dishonouring of that child, who's every bit as precious and unique and extra-ordinary in the eyes of her parent as my children are to me.

Finally, and perhaps most challenging, I have to accept that it's OK for our children to run with the pack a bit, to be "normal" or "mainstream" in some ways. They like hockey cards, skiing, Elvis Presley, bike jumps, soccer, and many other "normal" things (a lot like their papa). There are still elements of a child's "typical" upbringing that I continue to shelter my boys from - mainstream media and internet being the biggest - but a lot of what's common in this world is common because it's OK. We spend so much energy teaching our children that it's OK to be different, unique, special, that perhaps we forget to tell them or ourselves that it's also OK to be a normal kid.

In the end, what makes my children special isn't a unique look or ability or school or music repertoire. It's their souls irrepressibly shining through all of that. How we guide them and shelter or expose them (while we still can) is important, but the way we love and honour and support them in whatever new Way they're trying on is ultimately the greatest gift we can give them.

I still prefer my children with longer hair. I still prefer them singing Russian folksongs in 3-part harmony (tonight's musical adventure) to Lady Gaga, and watching their nimble fingers dance over a violin or a cross-stitch project rather than on a video game. But I honour that somewhere nearby, some other Papa maybe watched his buzz-cut boy do a fantastic dance imitation of Justin Bieber and loved him just as thoroughly as I did my boys tonight.

Love is the Buzz

As I was almost falling out of an apple tree yesterday, watching half-drugged wasps lazily supping on some apples, I mused on what makes them do it. They're about to die, yet still trying to get just a little more sustenance for next year's brood. Their last dying acts, like their first, are to serve the group and their young.

Today as I stumbled through an exhausting day of construction, apple processing and the final lawn mowing of the year, I wondered if I'm so different. Life would certainly be easier and more comfortable with no kids. We'd have a smaller energy-efficient house, eat less, travel more, work less, and sleeeeeeeeep deeeeeeeep. So why have we chosen this difficult path, this extreme sacrifice for the sake of our progeny?

No doubt at some molecular level it's the same drive as my wasp friends (the ones in the apple tree, that is) - survival of the species. And of my genes in particular. I live alot longer than bees, but in the end it just ends unless my kids and grandkids are fruitful and multiply and come to dominate the earth. My old reptilian brain doesn't question, it just drives me to procreate.

But my over-evolved human neocortex isn't so sure. I am unwittingly part of this basic instinctual drive to spread my seed as if it's the only thing that matters, even though while picking apples I was wondering why I should care if the world continues after I'm gone. Really, why would it be a tragedy if this whole, brief experience of mankind just ended?

In the end, my limbic system and frontal lobe come to the rescue, over-riding all my instincts and reasoning. They flood me with the emotional experience of Love, and Joy, excitement, the pure ecstasy of being a parent. I chose to have children because I love children. I choose daily to devote the vast majority of my energy and focus on my children because I love my children. Sure it might just be some cognitive trick that our over-analyzing brains had to come up with to continue the species, but I buy it. I live it. Children are my drugs, the opiate of our masses.

As drop-dead tired as I was all day, it was worth it to cut that grass before the rains come so that the kids can enjoy playing soccer all winter on a field that isn't soaking with 3-inch grass blades catching water. Putting away enough apples and apple sauce to feed the whole valley is worth it to send our children to school with happy, healthy lunches all winter. I'll forgo world travel for a few decades in exchange for the vivid journey through our boys' childhood.

I still complain sometimes about not having enough time to Do Things because I'm so busy caring for the boys. But that is life, the life I've chosen and continually choose. The day doesn't start after they're dropped at school; the day was full and bursting with life during the 2 hours of being with them and getting them clean and fed and dressed and confident and loved and packed and there on time and hugged good bye. And while they're gone, I'm spending my day buzzin' happily, collecting nectar and making honey for when they come home to me.

In my sons' eyes I can see the future
A reflection of who I am and what shall be
And though they'll grow and someday leave
Maybe make a family
When I'm gone I hope you'll see how happy they've made me
I'll be there, in my sons' eyes
- one of our nighttime songs, adapted from a Martina McBride song

Small Town Business

Doing business on an island is kinda like planting garlic - you take your time, mix in alot of manure, lean on the hoe and talk about planting methods and weather with your neighbour, and eventually something juicy and delicious comes up.

For 3 weeks I've been beating my head against the wall trying to find 50-grit silica sand for the finishing plaster of our bedroom extension. Ron at Victoria Clay Arts explained that they only carry potters grade sand, and spent an extra 15 minutes going over the various applications of silica, diverging into how the Zinc Oxide we're using as white pigment can also be for pottery, food-grade or other applications, where to get different types, etc etc. Happy to share his expertise whether I needed it or not. Gruff and real and friendly and scary, that's Ron.

I finally hooked up with Jeremy at Sleggs Lumber up in Nanaimo. He'll order it in by Monday, and offered to ship it down to Victoria in the pick-up of his manager. I asked if the manager could be bribed to stop in Duncan en route and drop it off for me, perhaps in exchange for some organic heritage WildSide garlic. Which of course launched us into a discussion about what garlic I grow, how I got the original planting bulbs from Steve and Gail just up the road, when and why we moved from Vancouver, etc, and ended up not only with his manager Mel agreeing to the drop-off, but his co-worker Ken also ordering 20 bulbs.

So thanks to Ron, Jeremy, Mel and Ken, I not only will have my plaster supplies brought to me by Monday, but I know a lot more about pottery and lumber supply chains and have a new garlic customer.

By the way, all 1200 of our garlic bulbs came up beautiful this year, so we are selling that garlic at $10 for 5 bulbs. Come on by our roadside stand, or Sarah can bring some into Vancouver next week. Just let us know - ramble@WildSideFarm.ca.

Seeing in the dark

Since I seem to be on a roll with sizing up personalities in the last few posts, let me continue with another hypothesis - you can tell a lot about people by their quirks and special talents. Take my feet for example. No, not the permanent fungus and nail-bed damage from too much Africa and too small ski boots. The eyes on em.

Yup, I gots me some eyes on my toes. They see in the dark. It started at Casa Guatemala when I ran out of batteries for my cheap flashlight and couldn't be bothered to buy new ones. One of my jobs at the orphanage was to turn off the diesel generator about an hour after dark. I'd wander down the dirt path yelling out "Voy a pagar la luz" and every teacher in the compound would yell back, "No, not yet Richard" and I'd laugh and continue on behind the buildings to the generator shack. The best moment was just after turning off those noisy belching electricity-making beasts, hearing the wails of the half-made-up young teachers rise then slowly subside, and the whole world accepting that it was plunged into darkness and silence, the hidden sounds of the jungle finally emerging to take back their night domain. True true peace.

Then I'd remember that I had to get back with no light. So I learned to feel the path step by step with my bare feet, discerning the harder-tread path from the lighter dust on the side, gently sliding over tree roots, feeling for the slight sloping rise on the side of the path. Many a night I was aided by the frequent electrical storms in the sky, which would light up the whole jungle like a giant flash camera. I'd memorize the path in front of me, then run forward as far as I felt like I could remember, then stop and wait another minute or two or five for the next lightening flash to reveal the next 20 yards of path. The 2 minute walk sometimes took 20 to get back out, but there was no hurry in this jungle. Work was done, children were asleep, it was just me and my bare feet making love with the jungle track.

Four years later my house was down another lush tropical path just up from Lake Malawi in Tanzania. In finding a piece of land to build on, I'd started by walking at night as far as I could from the hospital compound until I could no longer hear their generator. The trade-off of silence for lack of electricity was more like a double-bonus - the nighttime ritual of entering my house slowly and feeling on the window ledge for the matches and lantern that would be my 4-foot sphere for the rest of the night was the instant slow-down we lack in our instant- and bright-lit world. My world was 4-feet round, keeping my focus right where I was and on what I was doing, and requiring a deliberate shifting of worlds to move to another activity or room. For fun I installed a light switch at the doorway, which fooled every visitor and even me after 3 years - a lighthearted reminder of the convenience and distraction we enjoy, suffer, and take for granted in Everything Everywhere North American life.

Once again, I had to walk down a long path to get home, this time lushly overgrown with tall grasses on both sides. I felt not only with my feet as before, but now also with my shins and thighs, gauging where the grass was bending in too much on one side. In the rainy season I'd be sloshing through the streams that formed in the well-worn path, feeling the direction and speed of the water as I navigated upstream then, upon feeling the inflow of my particular feeder stream, veering off the path toward my own home. In dry season, it was again the ruts and the slopes, the sudden feeling of roughness or vegetation to say I'd stepped too far out of line.

The common thread between Guatemala and Tanzania is more than just a Ricky too cheap to invest in a good flashlight and batteries. They were both times when I had/took time to enjoy the walk. Time to adjust, to get in-sync with nature and be part of it, let the natural world guide me. Trust in my senses other than just sight and thinking. Be open to the changing seasons - coming from a world where our roads are built to perform the same every minute of every season, living on a path that changed constantly and predictably was a fascinating learning experience.

I still love to do it, love to walk barefoot in the night and slow down enough to feel my way around. It's a reminder that I don't have to get the chickens put away in 2 minutes flat - as I feel my land under me I'm also seeing the sky above, the waving silhouettes of the giant trees that were here before me and will be here after. I'm hearing the screech owl and whooping cranes and how much louder the highway is at night, or rather how much quieter the world is that usually drowns those big trucks. I can't taste the air the way Zekiah can, but I am feeling the air on my face, in my throat, on my eyelids, sensing if there's rain on the way.

Sometimes the best way to see your path is to close your eyes.

Measurements

Who needs to read palms? My new personality test is to read bicycle tires.

Sending the family to buy Sarah a new inner tube, I told her she needs 28 x 1 5/8 x 1 3/8. Reactions may tell a lot about our family:

Sarah - "What do those measurements mean? Do they have to be in that order? Why..."
Rick - "Just tell them that, you don't need to understand why."
Z (excited) - "I know, there's three of us going, so we can each memorize one. I'll remember 28. That'll be easy for, cause I'll just have to remember 20, and I'm turning 8 soon."
G - "I've forgotten mine already."