bananas

I'm taking the afternoon off to allow a particularly nasty spider bite on my toe to get some air.  There IS an upside to necrotic lesions!  I'm assured that there are no brown recluse spiders in New York, and that it is most likely the result of a yellow sac spider mistaking my footwear for living quarters and defending itself against my invading toe.  I think I'm going to live, but uncomfortably.  Which is more than I can say for the spider, probably. 

In the meantime there is an ever-growing pile of recently-removed overgrowth from around the pool house property that is not being turned to much-needed mulch by my awesome new chipper.. 

.. and there are boxes upon boxes of unassembled IKEA furniture giving me nightmares and cold sweats as the self-imposed deadline of August 1st looms ever nearer.  I intend to tackle the madness this week while Tristan attends a camp at Olana, historic home and studio of Frederic Edwin Church.  He'll be spared the screaming and swearing that will inevitably accompany the furniture assemblage.  Although he'd probably have better luck interpreting the "instructions" than I will. 

Tristan's birthday is coming up, and we're heading back to Iowa the week of the 27th for a few days to celebrate with friends there before coming back here to throw a party at the pool house on School House on August 1st.  I had hoped to sneak away for a couple days the next weekend to catch Faith No More in Montreal, but certain events have unfolded that may preclude that from actually happening.  We are definitely going Switzerland, France and Holland towards the end of August, though.  And moving out of this apartment as soon as possible. 

In summation, things are completely bananas!!  I'm leaving out oodles just to stop everyone worrying in earnest about my mental health.  Because I'm fine!!  Really!!  (Though feel free to send money… and booze, so I don't have to spend the money on booze.)  Forget it, I'm okay (really). 

Here are some photos of Tristan at CAMP OMI, which he attended the past two weeks..

He's a happy camper.  He's also playing guitar and whooping my ass at chess since learning to do so at the Hudson Opera House last month.  He's impervious to the bananas, thankfully.  And he requests Minecraft-themed LEGOs for his birthday, much to my disgust.

make room for turtles

I am so tired.  And sorry for the silence.  I have no pictures, but I have blisters and ragged cuticles and spiderbites on sunburned skin.  I have wild strawberries, box turtles and a spring-fed well that never runs dry.  Life is good; I've never been happier.  Or more exhausted.

In all honesty this article in the Guardian about the ongoing mass-extinction of species inspired me to cobble a few words together just so that I might have a context in which to share it…

"In all, our single species now commandeers somewhere between 25% and 40% of primary productivity on Earth. It is a productivity, that over large areas of land, is “hyper-fertilized” by the extraction of millions of tons of nitrogen from the air, in the Haber-Bosch process, and by digging comparable amounts of phosphate from the ground.

These super-fed crops are fed, highly efficiently, to farm animals, that we eat in turn. The scale of this operation is a large reason for the scale of the ongoing mass extinction of other organisms.

The scientist Vaclav Smil, of the University of Manitoba, has calculated that simply measured by mass, humans now make up a third of land vertebrates, and the animals that we keep to eat – cows, pigs, sheep and so on – make up most of the other two thirds. All the wild animals – elephants, giraffes, tigers and so on – are now less than 5% by mass. It’s a measure of how they have been pushed to the fringes by humans."

As I read this I was reminded of our train trip to Iowa this past April, our first time back in the Midwest since moving to New York in January.  The endless expanse of raped and poisoned Earth gave a solemn comfort and a solid affirmation that I was indeed ready to move on.  It's surely no coincidence that I fell in love with one of the most wild, overgrown and unmanaged pieces of property available in the Hudson Valley.  I'm even warming up to the poison ivy.  It sure beats living amidst the stench of thousands of confined animal feeding operations.

Also inspiring me lately:  This fantastic new book by Ken Druse discusses in an intelligent and not-at-all alarmist or political way the means by which gardeners might acclimate themselves to the changing climate.  The long hours I've spent toiling in the hot sun the past several weeks have me pining for an ice age, but I suppose a shade garden will do.

To everyone that I've been too lazy to talk to and write to:  I love you. 

I love you, Alix Dobkin.

Whenever I think I'm at my end and can't find my feet or focus or socks without holes I dig out a compilation entitled "Let My People Come", given to me by America's Funnyman and his lovely wife many years back, and suddenly all is right with the world.  Featuring, I think, just a few songs from the musical of the same name, the most significant track for me is "Every Woman Can Be a Lesbian" by Alix Dobkin.  I feel better just thinking about it.  Ms. Dobkin happens to be a fellow Hudson Valley resident and I'd probably have a little bit of a moment if I ever ran into her.  I'll probably never be a lesbian but Alix is a really neat lady and I'm so grateful for her (and appreciate the words of encouragement).


We haven't spent enough time in our woods.  So today we decided to spend some time there, despite the heat and the mayflies and ample important work that needs doing elsewhere on the property.  These aren't old woods and they don't harbor the kind of biological diversity I was hoping for, but they have some charm..

...and mayapples galore!

It never fails to amaze, how venturing past the tree line can transform a person.  The woods remind me, almost demand me, to be calm and quiet and present and to pay close attention.  If I'd rushed through hastily and carelessly I'd have missed (and likely destroyed) this:

Jack-in-the-Pulpit

Another interesting aspect of our woods is this old stone wall or terrace that now serves as the boundary between ours and the neighbors' property. 

On our little woodland adventure Tristan also discovered bottles and bones and a weed we'd never seen..

What is this?  Not Scotch broom I hope...!

..as well as this peculiar orange rust on a native, invasive bramble.

Who says disease isn't pretty.

crap on a crap cracker (and pictures)

My trees are lost in transit!!  Some of them, anyway.  Only about $700 worth of them.  They were shipped from California on Monday, today they mistakenly arrived in Iowa, and I'm pulling my hair out in New York.  Next week the trees will head back to California from Iowa and then onto New York, but by that time I will be in California, and then in Iowa, before arriving back to New York just in time to find my trees dead in their boxes.

There is probably some lesson to be learned here about buying local but instead I'm cursing the east coast for not having or growing or doing anything as well as the west coast.  I don't understand why east coast - west coast nursery competition shouldn't be as fierce as the rivalry between their respective hip hop artists in the 90s.  The true moral of the story is that we all have something to learn from dead rappers.

I've been a little busy lately, what with the traveling and the pool house and the planting and being sick with a nasty bug on top of all that.  This week has been the first we've really had to dig in at the Schoolhouse Road property, and we've unearthed (literally and figuratively) all kinds of unexpected problems.  Which is to be expected, I guess, ironically.  I'm still excited about having rocks and fossils and things in my soil, but my arms are less and less excited about excavating them.  The clay is something I have no love for.  In some places I wonder if it might be pottery-quality.  Seriously.  It's grey.  It's devoid of life and oxygen and I don't know what the fuck to do with it besides maybe throwing it.  All I need now is a wheel.

Tristan began private art lessons today, and I started taking mandolin on Thursday.  Yes, really.  I couldn't be happier.  My teacher remarked on my total lack of fear and shame.  I told him that he had no idea.

Here are some pictures of our time in Omaha and Chicago in early April!

At Lauritzen Gardens in Omaha..

 

Tibetan monk torsos?  Anyone?  If they were red?  Friar?  Something.

I'm not usually inspired to use filters, but when I am..

This one really needs scratch & sniff technology more than it does fancy filters.

At the Art Institute of Chicago.. 

 

 At the Willis Tower in Chicago..

And perhaps most importantly, at XOCO in Chicago, where Tristan had chocolate for lunch..

Order the Mexico City Chocolate, thank me later.

And these last two, because SPRING..

Perfect.

Pool House Chronicles III

Future site of les jardins.  Hopefully.

I officially own the pool house on Schoolhouse.  I am officially burdened by multiple required improvements before it can be a viable source of income.  But I now have my own personal refuge from the world, from concrete and noise and the people that put more thought into their wardrobe and hair color than they do into anything else.  I have acres of land in which to plant whatever I desire, and seemingly miles of deer fence to install. 

I am grateful and ecstatic in anticipation of seeing my girlfriends in Iowa this weekend, and tearful over the reality that these precious opportunities will be less and less as I prepare to sell our home in Ida Grove. 

I've had way too much to eat and drink at Food Studio tonight.

I can't get enough of this.

Tristan had his first guitar lesson this week, with a woman who is also apparently really into cheese.  I am almost paralyzed by confusion and glee when I think about it..  a nice respite from the feeling of being crushed by the weight of responsibility and uncertainty. 

Things are alive under that ice.

nothing illegal in the winkelwagen

Researching and finding vendors for obscure vegetable seeds has become a real obsession for me, and I think it stems directly from the absolutely apocalyptically just fucking god-awful weather in New York.  It's snowing today.  SNOWING.  It is spring, it's practically APRIL, nothing is green, there's still glacier-like snowpack in the shadows and the snow is still coming down.  Fucking hell.  I think the seeds are like a little promise of warm weather ahead, and I need all kinds of reassurance at this point.

I've placed an unnecessary and excessive order with the crazy-awesome Dutch seed house Vreeken's Zaden, which I'm hoping a friend in Holland will send on to me although neither of us is sure about the regulations involved with shipping seed internationally.  Here's hoping customs doesn't confiscate my black Spanish carrots, Indian eggplants and Australian Jarrahdale squash (an historically true-to-type yellow-fleshed strain, SCORE!).  I did order weed seeds, but not the weed anyone is expecting -- Scandix pectin-veneris is a tasty chervil-like umbellifer and is almost certainly classified as an invasive in the States.  But so are dandelions which are one of the most nutritious and useful species on the planet and a great example of why officially categorizing plants as weeds is just stupid.  I didn't put any cannabis in my cart so I'm hoping we're good.

Tristan and I are in the middle of a two-day paste paper and book-making class at the Art School of Columbia County.  I love this place, in part because they're so welcoming to Tristan even though the classes are generally for adults.  The fantastic teacher, Beth, sent us home with all the extra paint for making paste paper so we'll be painting up a storm for the next few days.  Everyone can expect handmade books for Christmas.

Tristan's books are amazing, the wrinkles and smudges are mine.

Dispirit didn't suck.  And I appreciate that SF's Blue Bottle has set up shop in NYC so that I can actually enjoy a coffee when I wake up away from home, but I don't appreciate that it's yet another example of the many things that are better on the west coast.  I sure wish New York would warm up enough to stop me thinking that I've made a huge mistake.