Ross and the goats of Wealth Underground Farm
I have much to be thankful for this
post-Thanksgiving season. I am thankful for my mom, dad, and
brother, and the rest of my extended family spread throughout the
country. I am thankful for Lesley and my other great friends. I am
thankful to be a Park Ranger at Crater Lake National Park for some of
the year. I am thankful for the results of the November 2012
election: given that only two political parties have realistic
chances at office, the better of the two has made substantial gains.
My heart goes out to the victims of Hurricane Sandy in New York and
Haiti and elsewhere. I hope that we can rebuild and restore. And I
hope that we work to curb global warming, and prevent worse
recurrences.
The Homestead 35th reunion, 2012
I am thankful for my other family—the
community of current and former residents of The Homestead. We share
a unique bond, like no other place I've known. Once, I was stranded
in Austin, Texas, as a “refugee” from Galveston Island after
Hurricane Ike. With no place to stay, I sent an email to a Homestead
alum named Grant, whom I had never met, but knew lived in Austin from
correspondence on our alumni email list-serve. And yes, he took me
in for a week. Such is the kinship among Homesteaders.
Several of my Homestead comrades have
launched new sustainable business projects, and furnished careers for
themselves and earth-friendly goods and services for their
communities. Among these pioneers are Colin and Brad of The Seattle Urban Farm Company, and Chris and Nolan of Wealth Underground Farm.
(Side note: Colin and Brad published a book this year. Food Grown Right, In Your Backyard provides wise advice for novice and seasoned
gardeners alike. And it makes a great Christmas gift!)
The new tome of garden wisdom
From time to time, I return to these
outposts of Homesteading, for a few hours or a few months. This
Thanksgiving, Lesley and I paid a visit to Portland, on that rare and
precious thing known as a sunny day. From downtown, we rode bicycles
for ten miles, past green houses surrounded by vine maples, past
street mosaics and telephone poles full of staples, and across the St John's Bridge. The snow-covered Mount Hood was like a shining cloud
in the distance; the river, 200 feet below us, swirled green and grey; we pedaled
on a little patch of earth, surrounded by expanses of sky. The icy
wind turned our knuckles white. Cars and trucks rumbled by slowly.
In Portland, they slow down for cyclists.
After the bridge, between us and our
destination, loomed a great hill. We pedaled and breathed hard. We
hopped off the bikes and walked them, and breathed harder. I felt my
legs become a little stiff, and I walked faster. Eventually, by this
combination of walking and pedaling, we reached the top of the hill.
We guessed a distance of five miles uphill, although the cold green
highway signs indicated we had traveled only one.
After a right turn and a short downhill
coast, we reached Wealth Underground Farm. Within the house, Nolan,
Chris and his family, and their comrades crowded by warmth of a
wood-burning stove, which provides both heat and cooking. While they
steamed vegetables and boiled free-range flesh, we talked about life,
mutual friends, present and past work and farming (wherein Chris and
Lesley discovered that both had worked at Hidden Villa), and The Homestead of our origin.
Nolan, Chris, and Ross at Wealth Underground, 2011
We went out into the farm. I had last
seen it in the spring of 2011, and tilled the earth and planted seeds
alongside the agrarian duo. Now, in the fall, the garden swelled and
gushed with plant-life. Cabbages the size of my head, turnips the
size of my fist, and kale leaves wider than the span of my hand.
Pumpkins and squash. A greenhouse with still-ripe tomatoes. It was
impressive, to put it mildly. And they regularly furnish goods for a
30-member CSA!
The Mind of the Goat
And we met the goats. Their fur was
soft, their brains inquisitive. They accepted petting from Lesley
and I, and expressed special interest in the Portland map. I only
permitted them a little nibble.
Lesley and the goats of New World Farmstead (Eugene, OR)
To roam among goats, to eat of the
earth, to build my own shelter, and to gather by the warmth of the
fire. I seek all these in life, but wonder if it is too much to ask
of the modern world. Fossil fuels can rapidly take one from point A
to point B, and can give any room a tropical climate. But the joys
of walking the journey or splitting the wood are missed. We
celebrate in winter because of the need for companionship against the
challenges of weather, wherein there is hard darkness but also joyous
light. Life in a climate-controlled box makes for an even, dull
grey. However, when the age of cheap oil comes to an end, we may all
learn the way of the Homestead, by necessity. If such occurs, we
will have losses but also great gains.
On the way back down, the hill was
short. It felt like half a mile at most. Thanksgiving with Lesley
and her family went well. After dinner, we performed “Dumpster Theater,” our new show of storytelling and shadow puppets. We told
ancient stories, and used new materials, acquired in the rubbish. We
shared the wisdom of coyote and huckleberries and fire, across the
generations.
Top photo by © 2012 Lesley McClintock. Reunion photo by © 2012 some Homie alum.
