a day to reflect

Today is a great day. It is a sit-back-and-take-stock kind of day. It is a nose hair freezing day; it is a be glad to be inside listening to the wind howl, and not outside in it day. It is a look outside and see the swirling mists of white and enjoy it because you can turn your head and feel the warmth of a blazing fire nearby kind of day. As the year wanes and former Farmers arrive for visits, I am thankful; thankful for their visits and thankful that we have a lovely, big house to use for hosting friends and hosting parties.

Our friend and former Farmer--"once a Farmer, always a Farmer" (sounds a little Narnian)--Becca, arrived yesterday. After dinner she and I went over to Mummy Dearests' place and hung out and talked; so good to catch up with former Farmers because we just pick up where we leave off, reminds me how truly like family we are to one another.

I was able to take the day off to hang out with Becca, and thus far have spent the day sitting and talking with Becca, RugbyGirl and EvanAlmighty; playing with a new Christmas present (a CD/DVD burner/writer); and keeping the fire going on this bitter cold and windy day. As we spend this time with Becca before she goes back to Chicago and grad school, and also while we look forward to a visit from our friends Tizzy and Horse, I have been reflecting on all the people who have come in and out of my life because of the Farm. All the friendships forged and solidified. It is pretty damn amazing. I occasionally sit back and think of how very different my life would be if I had stayed in Michigan and did the "normal" thing after undergrad: got a job (hopefully in my field), made some money and possibly grew old not far from where I grew up. Hmmm...how different my life is because of one job that I took almost 7 years(!!!) ago. Thinking all these thoughts of course reminded me of a poem. As is almost always the case, one of my favorites:

"The Road Not Taken"

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back. ~ Robert Frost

welcome new followers

I always appreciate new followers to the blog, so I wanted to welcome:

Sanish of sanishmatthews.blogspot and my Farm friend Pauline, who though not a signed-in "follower," follows my blog now too! Thank you both for finding something here worth your time.  :)

milking magic

I think that as Farmers, in this very distinct community, that we all have our moments where we stop and think, "what the hell am I doing?" It is very difficult to do work in the field that we work in under "normal" circumstances, but then add the fact that we live in the midst of where we work, well, that definitely throws a HUGE wrench into things. Lately I have been having a lot of those aforementioned wonderings. And yet, there are days that start winding down like today; days which catch me, shake me hard, rattle around the marbles upstairs, and almost shout, "SEE!"

I was very tired this afternoon, recovering from a visit with my old college roomie College Kim--her and her boyfriend were here for just hours yesterday en route to visiting his family, who happen to live in western MA--and two trips to the airport in two days (one to pick up College Kim and one to pick up returning Farmer S today). And of course today also happened to be my milking day, and being tired I was grumbling more than just a little, then to top things off some folks who vacation in the area stopped by and wanted to help.

It took everything in me to not shout, "go away, can't you see that I am sleepy and just want to get out of here, and don't want to talk and pretend to be a nice Farmer!!" And yet, I took a deep breath and became the nice Farmer who is buried in me somewhere, and managed to get through the small talk of who I am and what I do here, etc. and began to realize that they really were helpful. The man and his 5 year old daughter dumped milk buckets, weighed the milk, recorded the who-milked-how-much and dumped it into the bulk tank for me. Then they broke up the bales of hay, which Farmer J had set out for me, and portioned hay out to all the cows. They were both very nice and the daughter was very sweet and kept asking me (in such a sweet little voice) why I was doing what I was doing; if the new calf missed his mother, who is no longer in the pen with him; asked all sorts of questions. And in her questions I felt a little twinge of the Librarian I used to be, answering the kids questions. And I missed that: working with kids; being looked up to as if I knew so many of the answers.

But I was able to give something to this little girl to take away with her. She was able to watch as I bottle fed "S," (name to be determined), our little calf born last week before Christmas. It was one of those really wonderful, special moments that I was so glad I could share with someone else. It was such a great way to end a tired day. To leave the barn; boots steaming in the cold air from the hot wash I had given them; to hear the coyotes loudly calling to one another; to look up under another crisp and starry night; to go to the upper campus and hear as the bell rang and called us to dinner.

the Prince of Peace is born!

A Christmas Carol

The shepherds went their hasty way,
And found the lowly stable-shed
Where the Virgin-Mother lay:
And now they checked their eager tread,
For to the Babe, that at her bosom clung,
A Mother’s song the Virgin-Mother sung.

They told her how a glorious light,
Streaming from a heavenly throng,
Around them shone, suspending night!
While sweeter than a mother’s song,
Blest Angels heralded the Saviour’s birth,
Glory to God on high! and Peace on Earth.

She listened to the tale divine,
And closer still the Babe she pressed;
And while she cried, the Babe is mine!
The milk rushed faster to her breast:
Joy rose within her, like a summer’s morn;
Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.

Thou Mother of the Prince of Peace,
Poor, simple, and of low estate!
That strife should vanish, battle cease,
O why should this thy soul elate?
Sweet Music’s loudest note, the Poet’s story, —
Didst thou ne’er love to hear of fame and glory?

And is not War a youthful king,
A stately Hero clad in mail?
Beneath his footsteps laurels spring;
Him Earth’s majestic monarchs hail
Their friend, their playmate! and his bold bright eye
Compels the maiden’s love-confessing sigh.

“Tell this in some more courtly scene,
To maids and youths in robes of state!
I am a woman poor and mean,
And therefore is my soul elate.
War is a ruffian, all with guilt defiled,
That from the agéd father tears his child!

A murderous fiend, by fiends adored,
He kills the sire and starves the son;
The husband kills, and from her board
Steals all his widow’s toil had won;
Plunders God’s world of beauty; rends away
All safety from the night, all comfort from the day.

Then wisely is my soul elate,
That strife should vanish, battle cease:
I’m poor and of a low estate,
The Mother of the Prince of Peace.
Joy rises in me, like a summer’s morn:
Peace, Peace on Earth! the Prince of Peace is born.”

~ Samuel Taylor Coleridge

MERRY CHRISTMAS to ALL!

good news of great joy

This year, for the first time in my life, I will miss Christmas Mass. I am really bummed about that, as I do love the sacredness of Christmas that I always find in the Catholic church, but midnight Mass isn't going to be an option since we'd get back so late and I am opening the Kitchen tomorrow, and since I will be working tomorrow I can't go in the morning. Tonight I decided instead to go to the UCC church in town for their Christmas Eve service to see B1 and Farmer MacDonald do a reading. I am so glad that I went. The service was simple: a reading of the Nativity story being done by several SmallTown community members, with breaks between readers to sing Christmas songs. When the last reader had finished, Pastor L reminded us that the light conquers the dark in the world; this is my favorite message about Christmas.

It was so lovely to walk into this small, old church on Christmas Eve, and feel the presence of so many hopeful people (so many of them Farmers too!); to feel so tucked away on a cold night; to feel so surrounded by the presence of God; to feel a wonder that I often feel at Christmastime, which I felt as a child.

The Gospel of Luke 2:1-14

In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus
that the whole world should be enrolled.
This was the first enrollment,
when Quirinius was governor of Syria.
So all went to be enrolled, each to his own town.
And Joseph too went up from Galilee from the town of Nazareth
to Judea, to the city of David that is called Bethlehem
because he was of the house and family of David,
to be enrolled with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child.
While they were there,
the time came for her to have her child,
and she gave birth to her firstborn son.
She wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger,
because there was no room for them in the inn.

Now there were shepherds in that region living in the fields
and keeping the night watch over their flock.
The angel of the Lord appeared to them
and the glory of the Lord shone around them,
and they were struck with great fear.
The angel said to them,
“Do not be afraid;
for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy
that will be for all the people.
For today in the city of David
a savior has been born for you who is Christ and Lord.
And this will be a sign for you:
you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes
and lying in a manger.”
And suddenly there was a multitude of the heavenly host with the angel,
praising God and saying:
“Glory to God in the highest
and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

~ From the New American Catholic Bible

"Bachelorette #3, what would your perfect day look like?"

I often wondered, while watch old episodes of the Dating Game--when I was a kid--what I would answer when the Bachelor asked "what would your perfect date look like?" Granted I was a little kid and had no concept of the horribleness of dating (maybe I am a little jaded...?), and also did not really even know what grown-ups did on dates. Somehow I came to thinking about it today, and thought, I would like to change the question a little bit and have it be "Bachelorette #3, what would your perfect day look like?" My answer might go a little something like this:

• Day off from work.
• Good breakfast.
• Morning meeting ends and two of the guys rocked out on guitar and fiddle. A real "I love community," moment.
• Broomball game (think hockey sans skates, just shoes. Also sticks AND brooms; a soccer ball in lieu of a puck.) My team wentings.
• Being able to admire our Christmas tree in a quiet house. Get things done on my computer.
• Go down and see the new calf. Chat with the Farmers.
• Good lunch. Coffee from the General Store with JennaBean after I win a bet.
• Home. Relax while others have to work. Be thankful to be inside today.
• Short Community Meeting followed by another game of Broomball. My team wins again.
• After Broomball game Farmer MacDonald and I clear snow off the pond while Minnesota tries to relearn how to skate.
• Farmer MacDonald takes me down to Farm and teaches me how to move HUGE round bales, which, by the way, weigh hundreds of pounds. Have fun climbing to the top of the enormous stack of bales, scrambling up like a little kid on a jungle gym! Work together to heave-ho the bale down and into the bed of the truck. Farmer MacDonald then shows me how to unwrap the netting from the hay bale and put the metal circular feeder over the bale.
• A great dinner. Good conversations after dinner. Sit around and chatting with friends for an hour.
• Go home. Drink tea and chat with RugbyGirl.

So, it would seem, today was a near perfect day for me. I feel like I went from one activity to the next really enjoying myself. So fun. Had so many *sigh* "I love community!" moments today.

Now tomorrow morning back to the grind. Finishing touches for the big Christmas Eve dinner at the Farm. Going to be 100 people by candlelight. Looking forward to the food and so many friends joining us.

Merry Christmas All!

more suggested great reads

I love lists. I love making them. I love reading them. I even like posting them. Oh, Jesus, is my Type A personality showing through? Anyway, these books look fun. And I love NPR, so I am willing to take their suggestions anytime.

Maureen Corrigan's Complete List: The Best Books Of 2009
(click the book titles below or the book covers at left to read an excerpt)
For the whole article, click here.

Fiction

• The Believers, by Zoe Heller, hardcover, 352 pages, Harper, list price: $25.99

• Brooklyn, by Colm Toibin, hardcover, 262 pages, Scribner, list price: $25
• A Gate at the Stairs, by Lorrie Moore, hardcover, 336 pages, Knopf, list price: $25.95
• The Man in the Wooden Hat, by Jane Gardam, paperback, 240 pages, Europa, list price: $15
• The Financial Lives of the Poets, by Jess Walter, hardcover, 304 pages, Harper, list price: $25.99

Non-Fiction

• Happens Every Day: An All-Too-True Story, by Isabel Gillies, hardcover, 272 pages, Scribner, list price: $25
• The Woman Behind the New Deal: The Life of Frances Perkins, FDR'S Secretary of Labor and His Moral Conscience, by Kirstin Downey, hardcover, 480 pages, Nan A. Talese, list price: $35
• Fordlandia: The Rise and Fall of Henry Ford's Forgotten Jungle City, by Greg Grandin, hardcover, 432 pages, Metropolitan, list price $27.50
• Dancing in the Dark: A Cultural History of the Great Depression, by Morris Dickstein, hardcover, 624 pags, W.W. Norton & Co., list price: $29.95

Mystery

• "Moe Prager" mysteries, by Reed Farrell Coleman, paperback

the sun stands still

Happy Winter Solstice all. The days are getting (a very little bit) longer from now on out. The light of the world is coming! I learned today that "solstice," means, "the sun stands still."

For more interesting facts about the solstice, check out National Geographic.


from FOUR QUARTETS: East Coker

O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark. 
The vacant interstellar spaces...... 
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope 
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love 
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith 
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting. 
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought: 
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
~ T.S. Eliot

Copenhagen and beyond

For anyone who is following (or trying to follow) what is going on in Copenhagen, I am pleased to be able to share this reflection from my friend Amanda Atherton. She was able to be there for the conference and has graciously said that I can share this, her departing thoughts. Thanks Amanda!

"Greetings all. Negotiations have concluded and we now have the Copenhagen Accord. After world leaders descended en masse on the city, talks continued around the clock at the Bella Center. Although access was denied to most NGOs, a few members of our delegation had press credentials and were able to sit in on all of the press conferences and some of the negotiations and saw virtually every world leader there. A few even pulled all-nighters. Lesson for the next round: get press credentials!

It is definitely a good sign that some agreement was formed. This is in part due to President Obama, who held many meetings with leaders from China, India, Brazil and South Africa just when it seemed like everything was falling apart and Copenhagen might be a complete failure. However, we are a long way from a treaty that will effect real change, as the language of the Accord is quite weak, with a lot of "should" and not much "shall." Here are the basics:

Aid
The U.S. and other developed countries (mostly Europe) will put up to $100 billion on the table to aid developing countries. This will be used for both "adaptation" and "mitigation" (the two big buzzwords here). Adaptation is especially important for developing countries because they do not have the funds to pay for the drastic changes that may be necessary as a result of climate change, such as relocation of climate refugees and technological advancements in agriculture.

Verification
A big sticking point for this round of negotiations was China's unwillingness to have their carbon emissions independently verified. My understanding is that China does not feel it has the financial resources to pay for this, and that any verification should be done by its own citizens to create jobs. However, as the world's leading emitter of CO2, a system without independent verification would be essentially useless. In the end China has agreed to this framework.

Two Degrees (aka 450 parts per million)
The Accord aims to limit carbon emissions to 450 parts per million in the atmosphere, or an overall temperature increase of 2 degrees. Many developed countries were gunning hard for 1.5 degrees or less, but were unable to achieve that target. As those who are familiar with 350.org have certainly heard, a limitation of 350 parts per million is generally agreed to be a safer goal, and 2 degrees may or may not be enough. However, the mere fact that we are arguing about 1.5 vs. 2 degrees may help shed light on the strong scientific basis for the evidence and could rally political support.

COP16
The next Conference of the Parties will be held in Mexico City, and the goal of that meeting is a legally binding agreement to enact the provisions discussed in Copenhagen. This meeting will be held sometime in 2010, although the last time I checked the exact date was still being negotiated (earlier would be better, obviously). There has been a lot of criticism of the discussions here, and there is language in the Accord mandating that future host countries do a lot of legwork before the conference to smooth the negotiating process, but I am not sure it is something that can be fixed within the current U.N. framework. Part of the problem is that much here is decided by consensus rather than majority, which makes it extremely difficult to get anything done. However, the alternative presents the issues of sovereignty (one country can't tell another country what to do) and willing participation.

There is so much more information to share, but in the interest of keeping this readable I will stop here with the technical stuff..."  ~ Amanda Atherton

home

When Mummy & Hubby, Big & Little Fish moved out this summer the Farm saw fit to bequeath their house to TSO, RugbyGirl and I. We moved into the house, Avalon, in September, and I've yet to post any pics. Was at home sick today and in a moment of weird wakefulness I took these. Oh, and I am really into taking black and white pictures right now.

This is one of my favorite things  about this house (there are dozens of favorite things about this house!) This is our cupboard for wine glasses and cook books galore, but we also have a stash of random on the top shelf: the cookie cutters we used when we were kids, a beer stein from Germany, etc.

This definitely gets my vote for the best hallway. I love the way that this hallway leads EVERYWHERE. To the right you go into our kitchen, straight ahead goes into the living room and then if you keep going you will wind up on the front porch. And I love the way our coats look hanging on our wall hooks.

A view of our living room from the stairway. Our Charlie Brown Christmas tree wanted to be in the shot...there was NO avoiding it.

I love the view from our front door. It looks out onto our porch and through this other screen door, down and out, across the street. If you listen when it is calm out you can hear the Brook babbling through, down in the ravine just past these trees.

Life is good. I love our house. The cool thing about the Farm is that there is the opportunity to live in a variety of houses as your role and status changes here. This is my third Farm house (second on property, one off property when I first moved out here in '03) and though each one definitely provides great memories and will always hold something very special for me, I think this is my favorite. I finally feel like a grown-up. Kinda...race you to the snow!

O Tannenbaum

Here is a picture of our Charlie Brown Christmas tree, in our living room at Avalon.

"A Tannenbaum is a fir tree (die Tanne) or Christmas tree (der Weihnachtsbaum). Although most Christmas trees today are Fichten (spruce) rather than Tannen, the qualities of the evergreen have inspired musicians to write several “Tannenbaum” songs in German over the years. The best known version (above) was penned in 1824 by a Leipzig organist named Ernst Anschütz. The melody is an old folk tune. The first known “Tannenbaum” song lyrics date back to 1550. A similar 1615 song by Melchior Franck (1573-1639) goes: “Ach Tannebaum, ach Tannebaum, du bist ein edler Zweig! Du grünest uns den Winter, die lieben Sommerzeit.”

Tannenbaum, Ernst Anschütz, 1824

"O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum,
wie treu sind deine Blätter!
Du grünst nicht nur
zur Sommerzeit,
Nein auch im Winter, wenn es schneit.
O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum,
wie treu sind deine Blätter!
O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum!
Du kannst mir sehr gefallen!
Wie oft hat nicht zur Weihnachtszeit
Ein Baum von dir mich hoch erfreut!
O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum!
Du kannst mir sehr gefallen!
O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum!
Dein Kleid will mich
was lehren:
Die Hoffnung und Beständigkeit
Gibt Trost und Kraft
zu jeder Zeit.
O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum!
Das soll dein Kleid
mich lehren."

the white path before me

With so many people leaving for Christmas this week I am getting the itch to travel. To get in my car and drive until I can't go any further west. To drive and drive and drive until the road weariness comes over me. To drive and see the sun rise in one state and set in another. I haven't been on a good road trip in a very long time...hmmm...were that I were a bird, I would fly away.

"Song of the Open Road"

Afoot and light-hearted, I take to the open road.
Healthy, free, the world before me,


The long brown path before me, leading wherever I choose.
Henceforth I ask not good-fortune—I myself am good fortune;
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Strong and content, I travel the open road.


The earth—that is sufficient;
I do not want the constellations any nearer;
I know they are very well where they are;
I know they suffice for those who belong to them.


All this thinking of traveling led me to this:
(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens;
I carry them, men and women—I carry them with me wherever I go;
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them;
I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.)
You road I enter upon and look around! I believe you are not all that is here;
I believe that much unseen is also here...

~ Walt Whitman

revisiting the land I had lost with my childhood

Looking for our Christmas tree this week; in the very act of hiking in the woods, in deep snow, over sleeping mounds of tucked in stumps and un-navigable stones, I became buoyant with energy. It was as though that sleeping child, which hides deep within all of us, was reawakened. As I wandered alone I became less aware of the tree I was supposed to be looking for, and more aware of a memory which I had forgotten. I was suddenly thinking of one of my favorite moments alone with my Dad.

The woods behind our house lay as an open canvas until we had nearly outgrown it and the activity it provided children. In this, its uncharted-ness, my Dad and I ventured off, following the semblence of a trail; a hunters path; a deer road, perhaps. We walked for what felt like miles and though I can't recall exactly, I imagine that my Dad told me stories as we hiked. Maybe of the sea; stories which made me long to rock with the ocean, falling asleep to its sounds; maybe stories of his youth; stories of us finding this place which had became our home. Or maybe we didn't speak at all. Maybe we just held hands and marched forward into the woods, me acting as the guide as it was my playground and grownups had a way of being estranged from the woods.

For what seemed like acres and acres of pines and birch and maples we walked until dusk was creeping upon us and our wooded path led us out into a meadow. There before us stood a deer; in what became one of those moments where everything seems to synch: the drooping sun, low on the horizon; the deer lit from behind by the suns fading rays; us staring at him, he at us; the thrill of looking upon something so close and so real and so wild. The memory when shared with others seems cliche, everything too right. And it was. For that moment. And then just as everything came into the right focus, the moment was over. The deer leapt away. My Dad indicated that we should head home to dinner, and we did. That precious, short amount of time which I shared with my Dad in the woods of my youth is some of the most real to me.

In thinking about all this, I was very pleased to stumble upon this loveliest of lovely poems.

"Lost in the Forest"

Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.
Something from far off it seemed
deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,
a shout muffled by huge autumns,
by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.
Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig
sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance
climbed up through my conscious mind
as if suddenly the roots I had left behind
cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood---
and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.

~ Pablo Neruda

looking through the thin frost

Something lovely after all those library related posts.

An Old Man's Winter Night

All out of doors looked darkly in at him
Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,
That gathers on the pane in empty rooms.
What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze
Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand.
What kept him from remembering what it was
That brought him to that creaking room was age.
He stood with barrels round him -- at a loss.
And having scared the cellar under him
In clomping there, he scared it once again
In clomping off; -- and scared the outer night,
Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar
Of trees and crack of branches, common things,
But nothing so like beating on a box.
A light he was to no one but himself
Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what,
A quiet light, and then not even that.
He consigned to the moon, such as she was,
So late-arising, to the broken moon
As better than the sun in any case
For such a charge, his snow upon the roof,
His icicles along the wall to keep;
And slept. The log that shifted with a jolt
Once in the stove, disturbed him and he shifted,
And eased his heavy breathing, but still slept.
One aged man -- one man -- can't keep a house,
A farm, a countryside, or if he can,
It's thus he does it of a winter night.

~ Robert Frost

I love this poem. Something in it speaks to the wonder I feel at living in an old, creeky Farm house. I love that Frost has a poem for every feeling I have ever felt. A marvel!

a sign of the (library) times

More library land goings-on

The Children's Friend: a New Years present (oldest known American Christmas book)

Christmas in the public library?

First Carbon Positive Library

22 really great presidential photos

Saying goodbye to Kirkus Review (This bums me out...I really relied on their reviews when I was in grad school)

Book 99 years overdue

This looks like such a cool library to work. This is a video from their Library Christmas party 2008. (The 2009 video of their party was a little dark, and I thought this one was cooler anyway).

YALSA top reads

Since I am on my all-things-libraries-kick, here is some more:

According to the American Library Association,

"CHICAGO – The Young Adult Library Services Association (YALSA) selected five books as finalists for the 2010 Excellence in Nonfiction for Young Adults, which honors the best nonfiction books written for young adults between Nov. 1, 2008 and Oct. 31, 2009. This is the first time the awards have been announced. YALSA will name the 2010 winner at the Youth Media Awards on Jan. 18, during the American Library Association’s Midwinter Meeting in Boston.

The 2010 finalists are:

• “Almost Astronauts: 13 Women Who Dared to Dream” by Tanya Lee Stone, published by Candlewick
• “Charles and Emma: The Darwins’ Leap of Faith” by Deborah Heiligman, published by Henry Holt Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Macmillan Children’s Publishing Group
• “Claudette Colvin: Twice toward Justice” by Phillip Hoose, published by Melanie Kroupa Books/ Farrar Straus Giroux, an imprint of Macmillan children’s Publishing Group
• “The Great and Only Barnum: The Tremendous and Stupendous Life of the Showman P. T. Barnum” by Candace Fleming, published by Schwartz & Wade Books/Random House
• “Written in Bone: Buried Lives of Jamestown and Colonial Maryland” by Sally M. Walker, published by Carolrhoda/Lerner"

Jobs for Main Street Act and libraries

I have become lax when it comes to posting on all things library, since I am more a Farmer than a Librarian these days.

Was just doing some reading on the Jobs for Main Street Act, which passed yesterday. (There is a comprehensive enough article about that here, from The Michigan News) and was interested in what our library advocates in Washington had been doing around this. Searching the American Libraries Direct online mag, I found these two links which I found interesting.

1. Background for Jobs for Main Street Act

2. Libraries Getting America Back to Work: a legislative proposal to save libraries and help job seekers

Reading these documents made me grateful that there are members of the American Library Association whose job it is to make our voices heard.

chopping in life, unchopping in literature

Thinking about how we are going to cut down our Christmas tree has reminded me of this, a favorite poem (which I know I've shared on my blog before.) Lovely, lovely.

Unchopping A Tree

Start with the leaves, the small twigs, and the nests that have been shaken, ripped, or broken off by the fall; these must be gathered and attached once again to their respective places. It is not arduous work, unless major limbs have been smashed or mutilated. If the fall was carefully and correctly planned, the chances of anything of the kind happening will have been reduced. Again, much depends upon the size, age, shape, and species of the tree. Still, you will be lucky if you can get through this stages without having to use machinery. Even in the best of circumstances it is a labor that will make you wish often that you had won the favor of the universe of ants, the empire of mice, or at least a local tribe of squirrels, and could enlist their labors and their talents. But no, they leave you to it. They have learned, with time. This is men's work. It goes without saying that if the tree was hollow in whole or in part, and contained old nests of bird or mammal or insect, or hoards of nuts or such structures as wasps or bees build for their survival, the contents will have to repaired where necessary, and reassembled, insofar as possible, in their original order, including the shells of nuts already opened. With spider's webs you must simply do the best you can. We do not have the spider's weaving equipment, nor any substitute for the leaf's living bond with its point of attachment and nourishment. It is even harder to simulate the latter when the leaves have once become dry--as they are bound to do, for this is not the labor of a moment, Also it hardly needs saying that this the time fro repairing any neighboring trees or bushes or other growth that might have been damaged by the fall. The same rules apply. Where neighboring tree were of the same species it is difficult not to waste time conveying a detached leaf back to the wrong tree. Practice, practice. Put your hope in that. Now the tackle must be put into place, or the scaffolding, depending on the surroundings and the dimension of the tree. It is ticklish work. Almost always it involves, in itself, further damage to the area, which will have to be corrected later. But, as you've heard, it can't be helped. And care now is likely to save you considerable trouble later. Be careful to grind nothing into the ground. At last the time comes for the erecting of the trunk. By now it will scarcely be necessary to remind you of the delicacy of this huge skeleton. Every motion of the tackle, every slightly upward heave of the trunk, the branches, their elaborately reassembled panoply of leaves (now dead) will draw from you an involuntary gasp. You will watch for a lead or a twig to be snapped off yet again. You will listen for the nuts to shift in the hollow limb and you will hear whether they are indeed falling into place or are spilling in disorder -- in which case, or in the event of anything else of the kind -- operations will have to cease, of course, while you correct the matter. The raising itself is no small enterprise, from the moment when the chains tighten around the old bandages until the boles hands vertical above the stump, splinter above splinter. How the final straightening of the splinters themselves can take place (the preliminary work is best done while the wood is still green and soft, but at times when the splinters are not badly twisted most of the straightening is left until now, when the torn ends are face to face with each other). When the splinters are perfectly complementary the appropriate fixative is applied. Again we have no duplicate of the original substance. Ours is extremely strong, but it is rigid. It is limited to surfaces, and there is no play in it. However the core is not the part of the trunk that conducted life from the roots up to the branches and back again. It was relatively inert. The fixative for this part is not the same as the one for the outer layers and the bark, and if either of these is involved in the splintered sections they must receive applications of the appropriate adhesives. Apart from being incorrect and probably ineffective, the core fixative would leave a scar on the bark. When all is ready the splintered trunk is lowered onto the splinters of the stump. This, one might say, is only the skeleton of the resurrection. Now the chips must be gathered, and the sawdust, and returned to their former positions. The fixative for the wood layers will be applied to chips and sawdust consisting only of wood. Chips and sawdust consisting of several substances will receive applications of the correct adhesives. It is as well, where possible, to shelter the materials from the elements while working. Weathering makes it harder to identify the smaller fragments. Bark sawdust in particular the earth lays claim to very quickly. You must find our own way of coping with this problems. There is a certain beauty, you will notice at moments, in the patterns of the chips as they are fitted back into place. You will wonder to what extent it should be described as natural, to what extent man-made. It will lead you on to speculations about the parentage of beauty itself, to which you will return. The adhesive for the chips is translucent, and not so rigid as that for splinters. That for the bark and its subcutaneous layers if transparent and runs into the fibers on either side, partially dissolving them into each other. It does not set the sap flowing again but it does pay a kind of tribute to the preoccupations of the ancient thoroughfares. You could not roll an egg over the joints but some of the mine-shafts would still be passable, no doubt. For the first exploring insect who raises its head in the tight echoless passages. The day comes when it is all restored, even to the moss (now dead) over the wound. You will sleep badly, thinking of the removal of the scaffolding that must begin the next morning. How you will hope for sun and a still day! The removal of the scaffolding or tackle is not a dangerous, perhaps, to the surroundings, as its installation, but it presents problems. It should be taken from the spot piece by piece as it is detached, and stored at a distance. You have come to accept it there, around the tree. The sky begins to look naked as the chains and struts one by one vacate their positions. Finally the moment arrives when the last sustaining piece is removed and the tree stands again on its own. It is as though its weight for a moment stood on your heart. You listen for a thud of settlement, a warning creak deep in the intricate joinery. You cannot believe it will hold. How like something dreamed it is, standing there all by itself. How long will it stand there now? The first breeze that touches its dead leaves all seems to flow into your mouth. You are afraid the motion of the clouds will be enough to push to over. What more can you do? What more can you do? But there is nothing more you can do.Others are waiting.Everything is going to have to be put back.

~ W. S. Merwin

thankfulness

I am hibernating, or at least that's what I feel like when I wake up in the morning and rumble and roll out of bed, freaking out the cat in the process. I paw at my hair to get it to stay under my work hat; paw at my face as I wash it, splashing cold water everywhere; fumble with my toothbrush. Mornings are rough these days. It is like our bodies know that the days are getting shorter and shorter for another week and are working against our rise-and-shine-urges. I am sure that the cold outside vs. the warmth under layers of blankets might have something to do with it too.

Dragging myself out of bed and begrudgingly going to work this morning made me think that the day was going to all be for crap. But, it turned out to be this really good, good day which ends now with me laying before a fire thankful for so many things. After TSO's and my unsuccessful search yesterday I felt like going out during lunch today and searching for the perfect tree. I drove all around the Farm, staring hard into the woods for a not too tall, not too Charlie Brown-ish tree. I finally found a stand of pines and the search began. I was so pleased with myself when I found what I thought was a good one, which RugbyGirl approved later this afternoon. I was so pleased that we finally found a tree and now can look forward to cutting it down tomorrow during lunch. Thankfulness #1. We live in a place where we can go off into the woods on the property and cut down our own tree. How cool is that!?

Then tonight after dinner the Farm had it's annual tradition: Bringing down the Christmas tree. The tradition begins with Farmers following lights up a hillside into the woods to find a Christmas tree (which is preselected and already cut down--though we always let the kids think that it has magically been found by following the lights), which we put up in the living room. The evening was spent singing carols as the lights were strung around the tree, then ornaments were passed around and we all had a chance to have a hand in decorating the tree. It really kinda feels like a family affair. After the tree was decorated people were given the opportunity to share stories from previous holidays and then everyone hunkered down to hear a reading of "Twas the Night before Christmas." Thankfulness #2. Singing Christmas carols with my Farm "fam," while watching the kids dance around with each other made my life here feel even more like home.

And my last thankfulness just comes from time spent with housemates lately. RugbyGirl and I had a really great, long conversation tonight. Our night is just now ending: RugbyGirl gone to bed, TSO falling asleep in a chair, guitar in hand and me writing. Life is good. Thankfulness #3. I love my housemates.

where the answers are kept

Something is happening to me lately. Not like a Peter Brady-hitting-puberty-kind-of-thing, but rather something more introspective. I feel like in some small ways I am noticing how I am changing, and oddly enough, I am trying to be mindful of these slight things--I say oddly enough, since I am not a patient or particularly introspective person like others. I am noticing that I need more time to think and process; I am enjoying silence and solitude in situations were I normally liked the busy, noisy; I am changing. I am doing a lot of thinking about what my future is supposed to look like; where I am supposed to be this time next year (next month!). So many things. Made me think of this lovely (and favorite) poem.

I hope the answers are still in the fridge...that's where I am looking next.

How to Like it

These are the first days of fall. The wind at evening smells of roads still to be traveled, while the sound of leaves blowing across the lawns is like an unsettled feeling in the blood, the desire to get in a car and just keep driving.

A man and a dog descend their front steps.The dog says, Let’s go downtown and get crazy drunk.

Let’s tip over all the trash cans we can find. This is how dogs deal with the prospect of change.

But in his sense of the season, the man is struck by the oppressiveness of his past, how his memories which were shifting and fluid have grown more solid until it seems he can see remembered faces caught up among the dark places in the trees.

The dog says, Let’s pick up some girls and just rip off their clothes. Let’s dig holes everywhere.

Above his house, the man notices wisps of cloud crossing the face of the moon. Like in a movie, he says to himself, a movie about a person leaving on a journey. He looks down the street to the hills outside of town and finds the cut where the road heads north. He thinks of driving on that road and the dusty smell of the car heater, which hasn’t been used since last winter.

The dog says, Let’s go down to the diner and sniff people’s legs. Let’s stuff ourselves on burgers.

In the man’s mind, the road is empty and dark. Pine trees press down to the edge of the shoulder, where the eyes of animals, fixed in his headlights, shine like small cautions against the night. Sometimes a passing truck makes his whole car shake.

The dog says, Let’s go to sleep. Let’s lie downby the fire and put our tails over our noses.

But the man wants to drive all night, crossing one state line after another, and never stop until the sun creeps into his rearview mirror.

Then he’ll pull over and rest awhile before starting again, and at dusk he’ll crest a hill and there, filling a valley, will be the lights of a city entirely new to him.

But the dog says, Let’s just go back inside. Let’s not do anything tonight. So they walk back up the sidewalk to the front steps.

How is it possible to want so many thing sand still want nothing. The man wants to sleep and wants to hit his head again and again against a wall. Why is it all so difficult?

But the dog says, Let’s go make a sandwich. Let’s make the tallest sandwich anyone’s ever seen.

And that’s what they do and that’s where the man’s wife finds him, staring into the refrigerator as if into the place where the answers are kept-the ones telling why you get up in the morning and how it is possible to sleep at night, answers to what comes next and how to like it.

~ Stephen Dobyns

living Animal Planet

Some days I feel like we are living National Geographic or Animal Planet (compared to my old life in the city).

Today TSO and I went for a hike on one of the Farm's many trails, in search of the perfect Christmas tree. What we found were many Charlie Brown looking species of evergreens and lots of animal prints; paw prints from dogs and racoons, deer tracks, people prints. We even saw 6 white tail deer majestically bound away from us as we hiked. We were marching in a swooping fashion that would pop us out by the gravel pit, where we had found a beautiful tree in a past year, when we heard cries from coyotes. My knee jerk thought processes were as such: 1. Coyotes? but it's not even dark out yet. 2. Holy crap! Coyotes! and I am in the woods.

I bravely turned to TSO and said, "we gotta go back." I am not sure when I became such a wimp, but I envisioned a very fat coyote picking his teeth with one of my bones after a very filling meal. TSO was very supportive of my decision, saying things like, "I'm sure you aren't going to be attacked by a pack of coyotes, who could eat you in about 7 seconds--that is, if they are hungry. And all they would find is your bright red hat..." You know, supportive stuff.

Well, we made it back unscathed and tree-less.

Then later tonight after dinner S and I were driving to the library in town when we saw a red fox and then again saw one (or the same one) on our way back from the library. We are living Animal Planet, I tell you.

stands a child without her father

"On the beach at night"

On the beach at night,
Stands a child with her father,
Watching the east, the autumn sky.

Up through the darkness,
While ravening clouds, the burial clouds, in black masses spreading,
Lower sullen and fast athwart and down the sky,
Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the east,
Ascends large and calm the lord-star Jupiter,
And nigh at hand, only a very little above,
Swim the delicate sisters the Pleiades.

From the beach the child holding the hand of her father,
Those burial-clouds that lower victorious soon to devour all,
Watching, silently weeps.

Weep not, child,Weep not, my darling,
With these kisses let me remove your tears,
The ravening clouds shall not long be victorious,
They shall not long possess the sky, they devour the stars only in apparition,
Jupiter shall emerge, be patient, watch again another night, the Pleiades shall emerge,
They are immortal, all those stars both silvery and golden shall shine out again,
The great stars and the little ones shall shine out again, they endure,
The vast immortal suns and the long-enduring pensive moons shall again shine.

Then dearest child mournest thou only for Jupiter?
Considerest thou alone the burial of the stars?

Something there is,
(With my lips soothing thee, adding I whisper,
I give thee the first suggestion, the problem and indirection,)
Something there is more immortal even than the stars,
(Many the burials, many the days and nights, passing away,)
Something that shall endure longer even than lustrous Jupiter
Longer than sun or any revolving satellite,
Or the radiant sisters the Pleiades.

~ Walt Whitman

I miss. We all miss something. I have been missing my Dad a lot lately. This poem was lovely and made me think of him. And miss him. But I am getting better at missing. I am trying to be mindful of the emotion, but not let it bowl me over.

disorganized thoughts

The fall came upon as most falls do, unassumingly, and yet, I am lost in this snowy fall-ready-for-winter season. There is something hushed and sacred in the nights like last night; the heavens look down upon near winter nights, and in their near darkness blast out bright lights which are lit chandeliers over conversations.

Last night was our Farm staff party, which wound up being one of those great nights where everything lines up just right and everyone has a good time. We were allowed to host the party at a Farmers' off-Farm property, which is this absolutely gorgeous house. Built before the Revolutionary War, BHill has so many great, spacious rooms just perfect for conversations (both private and public) to be happening in. I found that I spent so much time just wandering around the house admiring the majestic quality that I find in old houses; an unassuming presence and a real lived-in feeling. Everything was great and I think everyone had a really good time. Maybe I should become a party planner...hmm...

So glad that I had taken today off because I was a little ermm...tired this morning. Being home this morning meant that we could have a housemates breakfast (since TSO and RugbyGirl have a different weekend than me it's usually not possible). Mmm...blueberry pancakes and bacon tasted like magic and it was so hard to leave the warm, food scented house this morning to go help Mummy Dearest and family move, but go we did. JennaBean, Christy, M, Mummy & Hubby, Hubby's dad and the three of us took part in the move from Mummy & family's recent digs to the apartment next door, which is bigger.

This three day weekend has felt like such a whirlwind. I feel like I shouldn't have even written this blog, as my mind is this discombobulated mess and so are my thoughts. It is hard to think of everything that I've done this weekend: Party prep and set-up, Party, breakfast with roomies, helping with move. I feel like a zombie now...need sleep...and still need to finish Christmas cards...ergh...when is it the weekend again? At least I only have a four day week...

turning the whisperings into music

After reading Mummy's FANTASTIC post with wise words from Khalil Gibran, I got to thinking...which led to some searching...which led me to reading portions of The Prophet, (which I am ashamed to say I have never read--note to self: put on TO DO list)...which then led me to finding loads of great stuff...which of course led me to wanting to share. I found this passage of particular interest, especially as my last post was about the Farm, my work and my life. (Mummy, hope you don't mind if I steal your GREAT idea!)

"Then a ploughman said, "Speak to us of Work."

And he answered, saying:

You work that you may keep pace with the earth and the soul of the earth.

For to be idle is to become a stranger unto the seasons, and to step out of life's procession, that marches in majesty and proud submission towards the infinite.

When you work you are a flute through whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music.

Which of you would be a reed, dumb and silent, when all else sings together in unison?

Always you have been told that work is a curse and labour a misfortune.

But I say to you that when you work you fulfil a part of earth's furthest dream, assigned to you when that dream was born,

And in keeping yourself with labour you are in truth loving life,

And to love life through labour is to be intimate with life's inmost secret.

But if you in your pain call birth an affliction and the support of the flesh a curse written upon your brow, then I answer that naught but the sweat of your brow shall wash away that which is written.

You have been told also life is darkness, and in your weariness you echo what was said by the weary.

And I say that life is indeed darkness save when there is urge,

And all urge is blind save when there is knowledge,

And all knowledge is vain save when there is work,

And all work is empty save when there is love;

And when you work with love you bind yourself to yourself, and to one another, and to God.

And what is it to work with love?

It is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart, even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth.

It is to build a house with affection, even as if your beloved were to dwell in that house.

It is to sow seeds with tenderness and reap the harvest with joy, even as if your beloved were to eat the fruit.

It is to charge all things you fashion with a breath of your own spirit,

And to know that all the blessed dead are standing about you and watching."

~ Khalil Gibran, The Prophet

we've got talent

"America's Got Talent," has nothing on our Farm. People here are so amazingly gifted in so many ways, but I think I become immune to that until I sit down and watch an Open Mic Night like tonights. It was amazing and great and fun and funny and...satisfying. Sometimes, once I am home at the end of the day, it is so hard for me to want to go back into the community for all-Farm events, but I am so glad that I did tonight!

Everything about the night was right. The Open Mic Night took place in the old living room. Twenty or thirty some people crammed in, grabbing empty chairs or floor space, and a makeshift stage was set up in front of the fireplace. The charm of events like these is buried in everything, even the simplest things like how we all cram in together, all of us Farmers: friends, coworkers, staff and guests snuggled in together, sitting elbow to elbow. Just being. I sometimes stop and look around and really appreciate how we are like a big family (the true gift and magic of the Farm). And magic abounded in everything, from the simplest acts of singing songs, both written by the performers and famous songs sung; magic in the escalating laughter as the Farm team sang and danced to an 80s medley; magic in how the youngest of our community tottered around the room--stopping occasionally, being picked up by various Farmers and bounced on dozens of knees--not far from the oldest member of our community.

I caught myself in the midst of all this magic, thinking of the blessing that this Community, this Farm is for me. The blessing it is to sit next to close friends. The blessing it is to be happy. I found myself almost uncontrolably moving to the music and humming along to songs I knew. Smiling and laughing...a lot. Life is good. And nights like tonight are important reminders of that.

vintage fun

Searching for that just-perfect Christmas picture on my last blog, I came across some other really fun vintage ads. I offer them now:

Wow. Words can't even express...

Is this a maternity dress or is it just baggy and ugly? And why is she standing like someone slammed her leg in the closet door?

Coca Cola: satisfying all those whorey urges.

For the family who wants to outdo the funeral home in town, the new Chrysler Hearse.Why do her paddles look so sneakily like car ice scrappers?The fat girl in me just burst into tears...while simultaenously wondering where I can get those charming clothes for my next Chubbies convention.

Schlitz beer...it makes you ALMOST forget about how small your TV really is.

alternative Secret Santa gifts

Secret Santa began yesterday at the Farm; names were drawn from a hat and we marched forth into the cold afternoon and possibly all pondered those ponderous pre-Christmas (Hannukah/Kwanza) thoughts about what to get our Secret Santees. We were instructed to try to not spend over $5 over the course of the week, which isn't too hard, but how to be clever and original? In years past I have given my Santee: poetry, candy, cookies and even a snowman, but what am I to do this year? Brainstorming, I have come up with a few ideas:

• A "snake-coiled" brownie in a cellophane "holiday" baggy, with a note that says, "Santa's reindeer left this for you." Make sure the brownie has corn pressed into it...everyone knows reindeer LOVE corn.
• A stripper who pops out of a lifesized fruit cake, sings Christmas carols and has a mischieviously placed candy cane. WINK!
• Someone dressed like a snowman who will pose on the persons' front lawn. When your Santee comes home and thinks, "oh, my Secret Santa must have made this snowman for me," the snowman will then tackle the person, facewash them and scream "Merry Christmas," before running off.
• A vintage leg lamp...hmm...this might cost more than $5.
• Smutty romance novels. I always see tons of these at the Dollar Tree in town. Nothing says the holidays like a bare chested man posing like Conan the Barbarian.
• These.

Now my only question is which one do I do for tomorrow?

-----> Now, that's what I call Reagan-omics!

holiday traditions begin

This fall, like this summer, has been so strange. And so too December began with snow on the first day, (just a dusting; enough to remind us what month it is) then a couple relatively warm days, and now 20 degree (Farenheit) temperatures and snow. And ice. Yes, ice. Gone are the days of even the sturdiest farmers eating breakfast and lunch outside, it is too cold for even us now. And so begins the coldest season, the time of year which also pulls us along towards the holidays, which means Farm traditions.

At the Farm we have many cool traditions, which I really appreciate, having grown up without a huge emphasis on any traditions which we followed yearly. Today marked the first of the Christmas traditions with the Farm Lighting of the tree, which entails us standing around a tree singing Christmas carols until the spirit of the season is so moved within us that the lights come on. The tree is lit and thus forward we march towards Christmas with a sure indicator of the light of the world coming to us (though to most people it's just a Christmas tree, I appreciate the symbolism).

Tomorrow we draw names for our yearly Secret Santa; Friday night the Hanukkah festivities begin with the lighting of the menorah and prayers. Then next week we go and "bring down the tree," picking out the tree and decorating it, so that it may adorn the main buildings' living room.

Just thinking about all of these things which are happening, ranging from Christian to Judaic traditions, I feel blessed that we live in a place where diversity is abundant and the season is made special. My mind is too dull for much of an entry tonight, so instead I will share a picture of what the Farm is beginning to look like. The season is upon us and I am leaning back to take it all in...

computer argh revisited

Well, N wasn't able to work any magic, so I wound up calling the IT department for Acer and was promptly referred to I don't know who. It seemed that no matter what I did all my things like documents and iTunes which were saved to my C Drive might never be retrieved, so I just bit the damn bullet and rebooted my computer YET AGAIN and wiped everything away. I am starting at step 1 all over again with this DAMN COMPUTER! Whew...deep breathing...deep breathing...at least it is working now...grumble grumble.

Luckily when my old computer crashed I saved all my old photos, etc. on the Mummy Dearests' computer (thanks to N), so the only photos I lost on this computer were a few from my recent trip to NYC (all else are on Facebook--phew!) The biggest loss was definitely iTunes, but I am hoping that when I get all my things off their hard drive that might??! come too?

So, I write this from my rebooted computer with the resolution that this month for Christmas I am getting myself a new hard drive and an external CD drive!

computer argh

My little netbook, which I've only had for a few months, pooped out on me the other day. Thanks to a relatively helpful website, Acer was able to guide me through rebooting my computer, which momentarily resulted in: A. exhaltation B. a sense of computer savy which soon faded when I realized that since rebooting I can no longer: A. Hook up to our house's WIFI B. can't access my C Drive where all my documents and iTunes were stored in the reboot.

I was referred to another tech agency who I called this morning only to be told that A. the WIFI hookup should be reestablished when I reboot a different way B. rebooting this different way will wipe out my C Drive. I can live without the documents which I had saved, but the pictures I had just uploaded and had not yet put anywhere else?! And my iTunes? That is going to be a pain in the ass to reestablish and rebuild!

All of this has made me realize that I shouldn't have put off getting that external hard drive and backing everything up! Guess that's on the Christmas list for myself.

Still hoping that my friend N (who is also the Farm IT guy) can work a slap-you-on-the-forehead-"YOU-ARE-HEALED!"-kinda-miracle on my computer. We shall see.

Thanksgiving stats

People always ask how much food/what kind of food we make, so here are the Thanksgiving stats:

• 12 turkeys, which equaled roughly 108 pounds of meat
• 176 dinner rolls (made by our baking/pastry program)
• 50 lbs mashed potatoes
• 40 lbs Farm Brussels sprouts
• 40 lbs Farm squash (butternut)
• 224 cups (I estimate this wound up being about 40/50 lbs) of stuffing **this is what I made for the meal**
• 2 gravies: 1 turkey, one vegetarian mushroom
• 12+ lbs of white bean stew
• Quinoa with walnuts and raisins
• Cranberry sauce
• 6 + lbs of Farm applesauce
• Gallons and gallons of Farm apple cider
• Water, coffee and tea
• 40 pies/tarts: 9 Blueberry Pies, 9 Pumpkin Pies, 9 Chocolate Pies, 9 Lemon Curd Tarts and 4 Cranberry Tarts (made by our baking/pastry program)

About 2 dozen pairs of hands went into making the meal; 6 people carved turkeys Thanksgiving morning; 134 people enjoyed the Thanksgiving meal.

It was a busy day which began at 6:30 for me, opening the Kitchen, and which didn't end until a very sleepy me was yawning and mentally rehashing the day as I meandered around curvy roads back from the train station an hour away (having taken my cousin Jessi, from NYC, to catch the train back into the city). It was a lovely November day that found me sitting with my Farm family (my dearest friends here); thinking nostalgically of home; being thankful for all the gifts in my life.