Misadventures of the Monster Librarian

Sometimes, on a good night, before I go to sleep, between the reading or the interneting or the listening to music, I try and find time for gratitude. As a child I really, firmly believed that God wouldn't grant my wishes--as though God were a genie!--if I didn't also thank him/her for things too. While I don't really think of God that way anymore, I still like to do both things, not because I need to tip the scales in my favor, but rather because as an adult I realize what gifts this great world has to offer. In putting my needs out into the universe I also want to be mindful of paying attention to the little, minute wonderful things too; it is a way that I try and realign myself. I saw this quote on my friend Christy's FB page tonight and it struck me. Hope in the sharing others find something to ponder to! "Prayer is not asking. It is a longing of the soul. It is daily admission of one's weakness. It is better in prayer to have a heart without words than

Recently the Farm hosted their (sometimes) annual Gala fundraiser at the GORGEOUS Stoneover Farm . Since it is a fundraiser the tickets were a little outside my price range (being a poor farmer and all), so I jumped at an opportunity to work the Gala so I could attend for free. The owners were wonderful enough to donate the use of their barn, which sweetened the situation more than a little since this is one of those barns which once decorated is something (in my mind at least) akin to a fairy tale setting. Neighbor P, S and I arrived around 2ish to find the barn interior taking shape. A gentleman by the name of Peter, who decorates movie sets!!!!!!!! (notice my excitement) was there setting up indoor garden scapes (for lack of a better term) all around the inside of the barn and near the entrance. And to top it all off, Peter had donated his services to the Farm! While this was happening us women arranged tables, set up chairs, linened the tables, set up vases of fabulous flowers,

The Kitchen here at the Farm sees so much bounty during the summer when our gardeners are harvesting vegetables and fruits from our very own gardens. Earlier in the spring we were eating leeks, green onions and asparagus; now we find ourselves preparing, serving and enjoying: spinach, salad greens, bok choi, radishes and arugala. Radishes are in my head and stomach these days. I am positively having a love affair with radishes. Here is a recipe that our community loves. Roasted Radishes with Basalmic Vinegar : 1. Steam the radishes until you can poke through the biggest one. 2. Toss the radishes in olive oil, basalmic vinegar and salt & pepper. 3. Roast the radishes in an oven at around 375-400 degrees Farenheit for about 15 minutes.. 4. Check on radishes after the first 15 minutes are up, you may need to add more vinegar or oil. Roast the radishes a little longer until the they are a golden brown and slightly carmelized on the outside. * I don't even trim t

Mummy Dearest and I walked the three mile loop around the Farm tonight. It was humid--the sky having only spitted rain earlier--a mugginess which made our clothes cling to us and sweat trickle down unpleasantly; beads gathering on my forehead and along my temples, on the nape of my neck. We hiked, leaving behind the Farm, walking past a neighboring farm and then on past houses. We walked towards dusk with the hopes of seeing a bear. All we saw were deer. Two deer, the first pausing in the road to stare at us as we approached, somehow making me feel as though we'd intruded upon something sacred. After disdainfully glancing upon us the first deer leapt into the woods followed closely by another. As we slowly made our way up the hill I glanced past Mummy and saw the deer watching us still, this time from the shadows of the woods, looking wonderingly at us one more time before bounding away. While we walked I told Mummy how lately I struggle with my writing, since really isn't

I went to such a great birthday party for Amos tonight. Fajitas and margaritas, bocce ball, ring toss, a bonfire, good conversation, sitting under a starry sky laughing. These times--precious hours with friends--have been some of the best moments of my twenties. In the midst of all the partying and fun I had to pause and snap a picture of the lovely mountain laurels growing around Snow Cottage, where B1 & B2 live. It seemed so appropriate after my last blog. As the dinner turned into dessert, a gorgeous cake made by Amos' hubby CJ, our original group grew in size as more Farmers trickled in. The lovely spring night sky grew darker and games ended, we crept closer to the fire and settled in as fireflies dotted the sky. Life is good.

"Mountain Laurel" Within our laurel's blooms I spy by chance two catbirds, improvising ear to ear, as each upon the other's art descants. I stand in awe of how the two cohere. Aware of me, perhaps, they flush, and clear the laurel, soaring to our neighbor's orchard and leave the scrawny poet in me tortured. ~ Leland Jamieson One thing I love about the Farm is the attention that is paid to nature; its cycles, its gifts. At this time of year we look to the woods during late spring for the mountain laurel. The other day at a morning meeting the subject of mountain laurels ( Kalmia latifolia) , came up, or rather the lack of the flowers this year; the skimpy amount of laurels appearing on and around the Farm trail which bears the bushes name. I had yet to see the laurels, until today. Every summer the Farm takes a trip to the nearby state forest for a picnic and time at the lake; swimming and boating. This year we've decided to go once every month, Ma

"The Voice of the Rain" And who art thou? said I to the soft-falling shower, Which, strange to tell, gave me an answer, as here translated: I am the Poem of Earth, said the voice of the rain, Eternal I rise impalpable out of the land and the bottomless sea, Upward to heaven, whence, vaguely form'd, altogether changed, and yet the same, I descend to lave the drouths, atomies, dust-layers of the globe, And all that in them without me were seeds only, latent, unborn; And forever, by day and night, I give back life to my own origin, and make pure and beautify it; (For song, issuing from its birth-place, after fulfilment, wandering, Reck'd or unreck'd, duly with love returns.) ~ Walt Whitman

I am a firm believer that sometimes things happen for a reason. Take this morning for example. I forgot to put on deoderant after getting out of the shower; realizing this fact when I got to work, I walked back home--easy, since I live about 40 paces from work--and met our new neighbor. He/she's pictured below. And to think, I would have missed my encounter if I'd remembered my deoderant this morning!! From National Geographic I learned: The Porcupine's Latin name means "quill pig" Porcupines can have 30,000 or more quills Porcupines love to eat wood Some porcupines even have "prehensile" (gripping) tails, which helps while climbing trees Porcupines can get up to 3 feet long and weigh as much as 35 pounds For more info on our North American porcupines click  here .

When I went to milk the cows this afternoon there was nary a cow in sight. Leaving the dairy barn yard, I crossed the Farm's "main drag," intersecting streets to get into the pen which leads out to the fields near the beehives. This is the best time for milk--the cows out to pasture, eating lots of yummy grass and in turn, nourshing us. Great article about this here. Once inside the pen still no sight of the ladies. I called, "HEY BOSS!" cupping my hands to try and and boom my voice through the woods. I clapped. I whistled. Nothing. I walked deeper into the woods. Trudging out further away from the street I followed the fresh cow prints, evidence of the cows' daily path, and found myself slightly out of view of the road. I was for once looking out--the perspective then mine was that of the cows all summer. I saw cars passing by, though I wasn't quite as visible to them; felt the way that the trees running parallel with the road provide a wall; looked

One of the things that always amazes me is how I can do things; remove myself from community in small ways; and yet when I come back into It; Community; the Farm; I see, smell, taste, hear things in a different way. It never fails. This weekend provided me many opportunities to be away from community; to fall away from things here; to enter some worlds of slight anonymity; to come back refreshed. It was nice to find  comradery in this feeling with Farmer MacDonald who just returned from Poland. We walked and talked about things seen there and things changed here and how different things can seem after having been away. At the end of our walk the sunset was brilliant, streaking pastels in dazzling strokes. On thinking about that beautiful sunset and  the profundity of being I turned to Rilke. "Sunset" "Slowly the west reaches for clothes of new colors which it passes to a row of ancient trees. You look, and soon these two worlds both leave you one part climbs tow

As promised, pictures of the garden around our house. 1. Yellow Day Lilies 2. Our front porch stairs with the twine up for the Morning Glories and Moonflowers. Also visible is a purple iris. 3. Purply blue Forget-me-nots. 4. A view of our porch and flower twine from the other side. You can't really see it but my Cosmos are coming up over here as are some sunflowers in the back row, up against the house. 5. The path to our back door; framed on the left with our gorgeous apple trees; on the right you can see part of the garden where the Lilies of the valley and daffodils were growing. 6. The view from our front yard, looking down the road toward yet another apple tree. 7. Tools of the trade. 8.  Irises--I love these flowers, they remind me of Van Gogh's Irises .