eaarth

I can't pronounce the name of the book, eaarth, either and I've heard the author, Bill McKibben, say it several times in interviews, "eaarth," he says, pronouncing the double a's with a gurgle. I can't explain it. Each time I can see him smile when he says it though and I held tightly to that image as I read the book. The man is optimistic and yet 50 pages in I had a post apocalyptic dream. Or maybe it was a hot flash. Either way it woke me up.

Which is the point of McKibben's eaarth; to wake his audience up to the subtitle of his book, Making a Life on a Tough New Planet.

He stacks up the effects of climate change, not thirty years from now, but changes occurring right now, one on top of the other and somehow, I don't know how, but somehow still gives the reader room to breathe. I kept picking the book up to read more. Bill McKibben's perennial optimism comes through. In one interview he sited his optimism as the result of working with young people. I loved that.

I also loved the last quarter of the book, Lightly Carefully, Gracefully. He writes about industrial farming, small farmers, farmers' markets, local food; my favorite subjects. He writes about community and being neighborly, which is good food anytime.

McKibben's good neighbor, Barbara Kingsolver, blurbs the book on the front cover.

"What I have to say about this book is very simple; Read it, please. Straight through to the end. Whatever else you were planning to do next, nothing could be more important."

I can't blurb the book better than that. It's not always an easy read but it is an important read.

Appreciations

1 - Going to the Sunday morning farmers' market in the rain. Great parking and easy access at every canopy. Okay, a couple people with umbrellas under the canopies are dangerous but otherwise access is a breeze. And everyone says, thank you for coming out. And means it.

2 - Spooning St. Benoits Meyer Lemon Yogurt straight from the returnable mason jar. The cream at the top is like lemon pudding. But better.

3 - Stopping at the Master Gardeners tomato starts sale in the bank parking lot yesterday. Did she really say they sold 4,000 starts? In three hours?

4 - Eating Rio Zape beans from Rancho Gordo. I don't know why they taste so good, but they do.

5 - Sharing a Marin potato pizza at Picco's with the cute guy and having asparagus cut like confetti added on. The perfect spring pie.

6 - Watching the movie Sweetgrass. Beautiful. Some rough patches. But still beautiful.

7 - Reading a Homemade Life by the popular blogger, Orangette. I ate it up. She is popular for a reason. Smart, funny, young and heartfelt. And so very delicious.

8 - Listening to An Organic Conversation with Helge Hellberg. I liked the first show I downloaded. The second show was better, the third better still and now I'm simply in love with them all.

9 - Having frozen jalapenos to cook with all winter long. And spring.

10 - Using organic cotton produce bags because they feel good and get even softer with age.

Indian Valley Campus Organic Farm

So many years ago, more than I want to tell you, I took a class on an organic farm, at the Santa Rosa Jr. College. Bob Cannard was the teacher. I ran into him again last year at Bioneers, he was talking about farming, the same common sense, use what you have philosophy of the last time I'd seen him. Except everything he said was new again, as exciting as the first time I'd heard him. He talks a lot about dirt, taking care of the dirt, where the dirt comes from, how important the dirt is. He's teaching again, or maybe still, I haven't followed him closely. He teaches interns at Green String Farm in Petaluma; a wide expanse of a farm with rolling hills of vineyards as a back drop, a real old wood barn, chickens and a farm stand open year round. It's worth seeking out.

Last week I found myself at another organic school farm, this one younger, on the campus of College of Marin at Indian Valley. The student tended rows of turnips, lettuces, beets, and kale reached from the open space land that cradles the entire campus to a soccer field that caters to joggers, bike riders and dog walkers, not a person with a ball to be seen. And the first thing the farmer did when he walked through the gate, you already know, he picked up a handful of dirt and brought it to his nose. He seemed to relax then, the feel of dirt on his hands, the difference between the classroom and the garden. He reached for a calendula, handed it to the first person beside him, another and another, I had one too. Orange and yellow calendulas, no two the same and I never knew they could grow in such variety.

He with the dirt on his hands was Steve Quirt, the planner and teacher on the farm, our tour guide for the visit. He's another farmer, like Bob Cannard, who knows the importance of dirt. And Wendy Johnson, also a teacher at the farm, we didn't have her pleasure but it's impossible to know about the farm and not know about Wendy. She was there in the impossibly silver artichoke plants and the fava beans, magenta blossoms. Deep, saturated magenta. She's the same Wendy Johnson of Green Gulch Farm, and the author of Gardening at the Dragon's Gate, a big green book I've entered through a hundred different gates or often while beating back the weeds looking for a damn gate.

The farm at Indian Valley has a farm stand of sorts too but the hours appear random. It's either open or it's closed. A shaded roof and plywood tables. If there's class I suppose, and vegetables to be picked, enough to actually sell, it seems they sell them. How perfectly wonderful for the neighborhoods nearby, the communities of people on foot, what a bit of magic to bring home a bag of peas or a pair of artichokes from so close to home. From school. It's their secret garden. (Don't tell anyone you read it here.)

And while they're there, neighbors meeting again or for the first time, at the cyclone gate near the metal sink with a hose running in it, I hope someone invites them to pick up a handful of the dirt, bring it to their nose and, yes, take a smell of it. Maybe you will too, if you find yourself the next time at a farm, letting the dirt fall slowly, in dusty drifts through the text books of your hands, appreciating it for everything we eat.

Joel Salatin in Petaluma

I had dinner last week with Joel Salatin, the farmer highlighted in Michael Pollan's Omnivore's Dillemma and featured in Food, Inc. Joel was two tables away and there were at least 100 other people also having dinner with him but if I leaned forward I could see the two chickens on his tie.

The event was a benefit for the CSA members of Tara Firma Farm of which I'm only an occasional, but excited, customer. The dinner of chicken, pork, butternut squash, beets, chard, salad greens, was entirely from the farms' harvest.

After the meal Joel talked about farming and being the lunatic farmer. He told a story about Gandhi's four steps for a revolution. "First they ignore you," he said. "Then they say you're crazy." He paused and looked around the room. I squeezed my husband's hand and we shared a look. I often feel like the odd person at the table.

"After that they fight you, and then you win." He made it sound easy.

"Right now, big ag, Monsanto, they are pushing back," he said and continued to talk about Michelle Obama's organic garden on the White House lawn. He'd had dinner with the White House chef, Sam Kass, and the story the chef told was that the organicness of the first garden was the cause of many upset calls throughout Washington. Joel threw his arms in the air pantomiming chaos. "Organic?"

He went on to talk about his farm and his neighbors farms. He told another story about a drought year and the fact that his farm stayed green. "Joel gets more rain," his next door neighbor told a friend. Joel shrugged his shoulders and reiterated a point he'd made earlier; "We see when we're ready to see."

"He doesn't get more rain, does he?" I whispered to my husband.

He shook his head no.

The talk ended with questions that could have gone on for hours. "If grass fed cows sequester carbon, why isn't that happening on a large scale?" "Is organic better than non-organic?" "What can we do to make a difference in our school lunch programs?"

He answered each question as if it were the first time he'd done so and ended the evening with this, "May your children call you blessed." I looked at my husband with wet eyes. He winked.

And then I came home and wrote a thank you note to the White House for the organic garden on the front lawn. Thanks to Joel Salatin and Tara Firms Farms I appreciate its crazy message of hope more than ever.

Haiku Friday

This haiku is from my friend Ellie. She sends haiku to me with stories of her cats, invitations and reviews of books that someday I'd like to read.

Fragile minute hand
tinier than a needle
pushes me along.

Mountains Beyond Mountains

With the news of the recent devastation in Haiti I keep thinking of a book I read several years ago, Mountains Beyond Mountains, by Tracy Kidder. It's on my list of all time favorites.

The book is about a doctor, Paul Farmer; you've likely heard of him. It focuses on his work in Haiti and his building of a hospital there. And it's a bigger story than building a hospital. Paul Farmer relies on the community, trains doctors and nurses. He's a diplomat, a fund raiser. He does house calls; I think he even gets married during the course of the book although how he had time I can't remember. The man doesn't stop.

The details of the story have faded but I've not forgotten the work Paul Farmer initiated in Haiti, the way he empowers the people he comes in contact with, the young doctors and nurses who are carrying on his work while he introduces it around the world. I've not lost the feeling of awe.

Paul Farmer's organization started in Haiti, but now worldwide, is Partners in Health. Their hospital outside of the capital of Haiti was not damaged in the earthquake and they've been providing medical care as far and fast as they can since. They are the first place I turned when I heard the news as I knew they would be immediately on the front lines of relief. And like so many organizations they are in need of help to continue providing care.

With the bad news coming out of Haiti, Mountains Beyond Mountains, is a story of good news happening in the country. So many years after reading it I still feel like the people of Haiti are my next door neighbors; as if they are part of my community. It's a story that replaces borders with compassion and the power of one person to inspire others by example.

If you haven't read this now may be a good time to pick up a copy. It's a very good read and as relevant as ever as Haiti looks to rebuild and the world looks to help.

Haiku Friday

Bursting from its skin,
a gifted pomegranate
is received gently.

Righteous Porkchop

The first time I heard anyone talk about industrial pig factories it was Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. What he described was so unfathomable I reasoned it must not be true or he was exaggerating. Or something. The speech was likely made at the same time the author of Righteous Porkchop, Nicolette Hahn Niman, worked for Kennedy at Waterkeeper Alliance as a staff attorney and head of a national campaign to combat pig factories.

Maybe I haven't been paying attention between the time of that speech half a dozen years ago and two weeks ago when I picked up Righteous Porkchop. I thought the pork industry had cleaned up its, please excuse me, cleaned up its shit for all I heard about it.

They haven't.

Righteous Pork may change that. NHN spends the first half of the book describing her work with the pig factories and the people and communities who worked alongside her. Which is why I didn't want to put the book down. It's not all pretty reading but the people and communities affected by the factories are.

In some ways the story is an unfolding drama. I found myself more than once, okay, a lot, routing for the local communities but NHN also shows the corner the factory owners have gotten themselves into and I couldn't help but route for them too; that they can find a way out. No one is having a good time.

There's a little bit of spying; quite a few bad politicians. There's a guy hired by the pork industry to tail NHN to community meetings. Eventually someone does have a good time and there's romance too.

The later part of the book visits industrial chicken and fish, factory dairies and beef. Did you know that it's a widespread practice to feed factory hens red dye to make the yolks of their eggs yellow? I had no idea. I also learned the correct terminology for the animals on a dairy. They are not all cows.

There's a lot to learn from Righteous Porkchop. It's a smart book with history.

My only criticism is Niman Ranch beef comes across too precious in Niman's telling. In one example she praises a retailer for carrying Niman beef, overlooking the foreign imports in their produce department. That would have been fine but she goes on to knock the produce department of another retailer that doesn't carry Niman beef.

And I loved this book. It's an important read revealing the truth that corporate meat producers don't want us to know. It's to their benefit to keep us ignorant. Righteous Porkchop changes that though, one knowledgeable page at a time.

Day Old Bread

I saw Novella Carpentar do a reading this week from her book, Farm City. She's our current household hero. The cute guy and I loved the book and the urban farm on squatted land but mostly she's our hero for her generous heart that came through in the story. And again tonight at the reading.

Novella's reading and the book I'm currently reading, Righteous Porkchop, have me thinking about farming, past and present. My Grandparents and Great Grandparents on both sides were farmers. Ranch farmers. Between them they had cows, sheep, turkey and chickens. I grew up thinking every one's grandparents came from one ranch or another, had animals and grew food.

One Grandfather could grow anything. Even from his wheel chair he grew prize tomatoes in barrels and baked apple pies. The other collected bags of day old bread from the bakery in town. He fed it to the cows, the dogs. We ate some too.

Dad still gets day old bread from a bakery down the road and feeds it to his doghouse chickens and a pair of crows that recognize his truck. They meet him at the old ranch and start in on the bread in the back of the truck. And then a mile as the crow flies they beat him home where they finish cleaning up the crumbs. "Crazy crows," he says.

The last time I saw him he gave me two loaves of old bread. "It's still good," he said. It felt soft, there was no mold. It was in plastic with a tie and I remembered liking the brand when I ate packaged bread. "Thanks, Dad," I said and put the loaves in the car.

If I had chickens or a dog I suppose I would have fed them some, it's in my blood, but there's just the two of us, the cute guy and I; we had toast. And I have to admit, Dad was right, the bread was good.

Not as good as Farm City or Righteous Porkchop but almost. A little homemade strawberry jam and they'd be equal.

No Impact Man - The Movie

It's been a long time since I've cried at a movie. But that's exactly what I did last night watching the new documentary, No Impact Man. Not crying really but weeping, appreciation and laughing tears. I fell in love with the whole family it's about; Colin, Michelle and Isabella.

While I was aware from news bites that there was a guy in NY that had given up everything (I never considered what he was gaining) I didn't read his blog or follow. Then Beth at Fake Plastic Fish had an interview post with the guy, Colin, which had me take notice. After that the Green Phone Booth posted a review of his book. I was interested.

I went to the movie with a friend who has never carried a canvas bag; not unlike Colin's wife, Michelle. While I learned new low impact tips from him I was his choir in the audience. More importantly, Michelle related to the audience that had yet to hear the siren's green call. Her distaste for worms, choice words for bike riders; her melt down at giving up caffeine. She spoke from the beauticians chair getting her hair colored and from her air conditioned office at Business Week sucking on ice. And then she cooked her first dinner. We were all changed.

On the way out of the theater my friend asked, "Do you think the growers would refill the plastic shells I buy berries in if I return them to the store?"

I tried not to cry again.

The big ahhh factor is their daughter, Isabella. She was a mimicking sprite; as happy in the dark as she was in the garden.

Admittedly I was biased toward the documentary from the beginning as Colin shopped for local food with flour sack towels and cloth produce bags. He spoke all my favorite things about sourcing food from near by. But he didn't overload our plates with food. He moved on to transportation, household cleaning products, cosmetics; the source of our power. He polished himself up for politics, volunteering, for talking to audiences. And while people were watching him, he was listening to the people doing the watching. Which is where he earned my final respect. He didn't flinch at the truth of criticism but neither did he give up in the face of it.

If you see this movie ( here's the schedule) I'd love to know how it impacts you. And take a friend. You'll want to talk about it at the end.

(Also posted at the Blogging Bookworm.)

Farm City: The Education Of An Urban Farmer

I finished the perfect summer read, Farm City, by Novella Carpenter. The trouble is I finished it on the first day of summer. Now what do I do? I don't think anything is going to beat this book.

Farm City is a memoir but it's also bits and parts of how to, or how not to make a garden in the ghetto; on squatted land with an eventual farm yard of animals. The story reads like a novel. The characters are naturally characters; I fell in love with everyone. Except the prostitute looking butcher - there has to be someone not to like.

Novella is quirky, smart, driven and she has a seriously good heart. She made me laugh a lot and look at my neighborhood with new eyes. There's a deserted house nearby with a sunny front yard that would be a perfect urban garden. The idea had never crossed my mind before. That's what this book does. Novella finds possibility and assistance in places generally looked away from. All is not pretty on the urban farm. Even when I was laughing.

To start with she's farming in Oakland, not Mayberry. A homeless man watches over the garden and offers constant advice. She hauls in free horse manure, forages from local dumpsters to feed the animals. She meets the neighborhood in the garden, invited and not. Even with the weeds and fish heads, I have to admit though, it sounded like fun.

The cute guy is nearly done with Farm City. He laughs out loud too. Stays up too late reading. "Where are you now?" I hungrily ask him. He tells me and we talk about it. It's almost like getting to read the book again.

Which is what I'm going to do - read the book again. That is unless I find an empty lot I can garden.

Haiku Friday

Reading on the bus
I look up at the first stop.
The weeds have been mown.

Haiku Friday

What's in your cheese?
Leaving Stacey's for
the sixtieth and last time,
I hold back the tears.

Finding Beauty In A Broken World

I really have been reading. It's so wonderful! Here's a review I just put up at the bookworm blog ...

This is the first book I've read by Terry Tempest Williams although I've heard her name in the distance for years. And the truth is I set the book down after the first 35 pages and it was only by chance I picked it up after two weeks and began again. The second time I barely set it down until I turned the last page though.

Finding Beauty opens with TTW's experience with making mosaic in Italy, the metaphor of which is carried through the remainder of the book. I could have done without this part but the art ties the remaining two seemingly disparate sections of the book together.

The first half, after the opening, is about prairie dogs. Yeah, I know. Prairie dogs. I saw one once and have never given them another thought. Given their shrinking numbers I'll likely never see one again either. And I was fascinated with them.

TTW spends two weeks with a leading prairie dog researcher in the Utah desert observing the dogs 14 hours a day. Her observations are all over the map. They're part memoir, part poetry, part educational, humor, despair, part hope. I fell in love with prairie dogs. They live in communities, communally nurse the young and are brilliant in their contribution to the natural landscape. And they have language. It's amazing.

The second half of the book is about the author's experience in Rwanda with a group of artists building a memorial in a survivors town. It's a world away from the Utah desert but TTW ties it in with the mosaic metaphor. I appreciated reading the ways in which the Rwanda people are healing. And it was hard to read what individual people went through, are still going through. But there's beauty; the never ending beauty of spirit, of community, of courage and renewal. A miracle really.

I not only learned about prairie dogs and the people of Rwanda from reading this book but it reminded me to look for beauty in the broken places too. My only disappointment is I can't read it for the first time again.

Culinate Book Review

I was excited today to find a review of Bottomfeeder in the recent, what do you call it, issue?, of Culinate, the online sustainable food magazine, which lands in my mail each Wednesday. I read and reviewed the book last year and have been a champion of it since. Funny how some books have that effect.

Culinate's review of Bottomfeeder - How To Eat Ethically In A World Of Vanishing Seafood is by Twilight Greenaway. She works for the Center for Urban Education and Sustainable Agriculture, better known as the people that put on the Ferry Building farmers' market, which makes me believe this book is slowly getting the audience it deserves. And it gives me hope that even though we can't see what's going on underwater in the ocean, we really do care.

The Culinate review is a good one, although not as good looking as the Chewy Chocolate Cookie recipe right beneath it. They're wicked.

Oceana

The first time I heard someone say that nine out of ten of all the big fish in the ocean are gone, it was James Gustave Speth speaking at the World Affairs Council. But I didn't believe him. I tried to convince myself I'd heard him incorrectly. That he was a kook. I looked at his bio again - Dean of the School of Forestry and Environmental Studies at Yale.

Then I looked around the room. No one, well, other than Mr. Speth, seemed too concerned. I left confidant that I'd missed a clarifying precursor to the nine out of ten missing big fish. I often miss things.

Then I read Bottomfeeder, How to Eat Ethically in a World of Vanishing Seafood. The author, Taras Grescoe, wrote about the missing big fish but he also wrote about the little fish still plentiful that he loved to eat. I focused there and tried fresh sardines and then stayed away from seafood for the most part. Eating it was too overwhelming to consider; the mercury, the way it was caught or grown, where it came from. I needed to let the ocean settle before I put any part back on my plate.

Last night I saw Ted Danson talk about acting and his work with Oceana. And I heard that line again, "Nine out of ten big fish are gone from the oceans as a result of over fishing." He was literally on the edge of his chair, a posture he never took when reminiscing about acting. He looked ready to spring up and pace the stage. He gave more facts but I was still repeating the first one and then the lights were turned up for questions.

A young woman asked, "What can we do to help the ocean."

"Become activists," he replied. "Eat sustainably caught fish that's low in mercury."

There were more questions about his twelve years on Cheers, other roles he'd played. Not another question about the ocean.

I wish I'd stood up, taken the microphone and asked Ted Danson to repeat the first line one more time, "Nine out of ten big fish in the ocean are gone as a result of commercial fishing." Maybe then I would believe it. I'm still reasoning that it must be some other ocean. Not my ocean. Ha.

Haiku Friday

Organic Marin
wrapped in a big red ribbon
was under our tree.

Sugar Skulls

I'm at the Bookwormers Blog this week too. Come on by. I wrote about a new cook book with very pretty pictures, a platter of figs and other recipes.

Haiku Friday

Van Jones' book made the
New York Times best seller list!
Very good, good news!

The Heirloom Tomato, From Garden To Table

I'm moonlighting at the Bookworm Blog this week. Come on over and check it out.

There's a new review by Audrey at Eat Local Northwest of one of my favorite books, Uncertain Peril.

I wrote about seeing the author, Amy Goldman, talk about her new book The Heirloom Tomato, From Garden to Table.

And there's the weekly call for new green reads, reviews, new bookwormers.

Get a few green reading ideas or share some of your own.