Feelings of accomplishment, success, relief, freedom, and a little apprehension, gallop through my veins on this demure winter afternoon. My teaching career has ended. I taught choir to 50 junior high and high school students for eighteen weeks.
Many people whom I am very close to are in the teaching field, firstly my two best friends and my brother. Even so, I always kind of got the feeling that people who become teachers more frequently relish high school drama, and/or are unfit for any other career. There are obvious and many exceptions, see above. And in my community, a large amount of them seem to be married to farmers, not that there's anything wrong with that, simply a job that happens to be available anywhere. So my expectations of teaching, while acknowledging my total lack of preparation or experience, were on the low side. However, my lack of connection with youth, with the exception of being one a very short time ago, was about to be critically challenged. I was ready to be changed by this experience.
After about a week into it, I realized a truth of teaching: teachers gotta have their s*** together. Teaching multiple subjects a day, coaching a sport, sponsoring extra-curricular activities, and the constant stress of dealing with hormonal teenagers. This is life-consuming, with excellent vacation and benefits. I taught one class in the morning with one hour of prep time, and two classes twice a week in the afternoons. This was not exactly a high-stress situation, yet it occupied all my limited energy resources. As often happens, my real-life experiences tend to be playing the game of real-life.
Priority Number One: Classroom management. Learning cannot happen without it. I am more prone to the win-over-by-affection type of management than the yell-and-get-angry. This works perfectly in a high school classroom of 9 girls and 1 boy. Treat them with respect, and they do the same. However, a classroom of 22 junior high students won't provide the same docility. I had indigestion for the first month. I remember being a junior high student, and still have an abiding dislike for following rules, so, truth be told, I'm on their side. I can't be mad at them for acting the way they do, which ends up condoning it. Let me put it this way: there's a reason 12-14 year olds are put in their own school. To keep them from infecting the other students. To top it off, my 1-2 classes per week with them made it difficult to establish a relationship, or to teach anything of value. I also was ill-equipped to teach them music fundamentals which they so desperately needed after years of interim teachers. So I was failing doubly, at disciplining them and at actually teaching them something. Only a few weeks into the semester did I decide I couldn't carry on with it. The issue was never their level of affection for me. What junior high student doesn't love a nice teacher with a mohawk? But it is simply their nature to challenge authority. Although I got better at teaching, it never became easier.
Being around teenagers all the time is challenging. I didn't even like being one. Their desperate vying for acceptance should waken sentiments of pity in me, but I find it repulsive. This is certainly not to say the whole thing was negative. They are also each incredible, unique individuals who are developing their personalities and viewpoints. It's spectacular to witness. The younger ones are at a jumping off point where they get to choose their life paths, and don't even know it. Within a few years they will be divided, but right now their varied backgrounds and preferences interest each other and pull them together.
Although relief is mostly flooding out other emotions, I do feel a little like I'm letting these students down in giving up on them. They deserve a great teacher, which I am not. They deserve the Shelby Leylands, Marcia Keeles and Alex Millers of the world. To be a great teacher, you have to love teaching. And I don't. So it is the right choice for me, and I hope for them. My goal in teaching has been to keep the students in love with music, and I believe I succeeded, but now it is out of my hands.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Back to School
So I'm a teacher now. What a quirky turn of events. I have spent the better portion of my life convincing others, as well as myself, that teaching is simply not my calling. I have always been secretly afraid that it is actually my calling, just because the prospect seems so terrifying. Well as of yesterday, just call me Ms. Miller. And in my line of study, how many times have I heard the words "so, you're going to be a teacher?" That's what music majors do. Apparently that's not just a stereotype, as much as I tried to fight it. I do believe it is the universe's justice to push us outside of any remnant of comfort we may have scrapped together.
I graduated from Hastings College over one year ago with the happy understanding that my major area of study would be henceforth useless, excepting the well-trained hobby it had offered me. Three months ago I moved back in with my parents with the apprehension that making a living in Lewellen, Nebraska is no easy feat (albeit with the easy optimism that making a living has never been my priority). And the jobs just started falling in my lap. I was offered the opportunity to promote sustainability in the village, exactly the line of work I was interested in pursuing. I whiled my summer afternoons lounging in a serene art gallery. I sweated a pint digging beautiful deep beds for my garden. I frequently rode my bike as a form of transportation. It seemed like I was going places. Or rather, staying place.
And then something else fell in my lap. A friend of the family and outstanding musician and teacher, Steve Lawlor, was offered the teaching job at the Garden County Schools. A resident of Toronto, Ontario, Steve was obliged to turn the job down and recommend...well. I was hesitant, but open, and now the job is mine. Three choirs: high school, 7th and 8th grade, and 6th grade. I have never instructed a single person on how to sing (with the possible exception of one Shelby Leyland, who happens to be the greatest singer in the world, and who obviously didn't need my two bits), nor directed a choir. I wasn't even in choir in high school, I was the accompanist. I was in the Hastings College Choir for one and a half years, if my memory serves. I am not exactly qualified. But the school was desperate, having found no other teacher. The elementary music is taught by a retired math teacher-current pastor with no trained background. The band is instructed by another, like myself, uncertified, although qualified. We're a ragtag team.
One never knows what life will present them, and sometime precisely the thing one wishes wouldn't happen, is the thing that needs to be. I am still not convinced as my calling as a teacher, and have not started pursuing certification. But I do hope to offer the students a passion of music, and in return, receive their gifts. What those are, I can only dream. But the dreams are beautiful.
I graduated from Hastings College over one year ago with the happy understanding that my major area of study would be henceforth useless, excepting the well-trained hobby it had offered me. Three months ago I moved back in with my parents with the apprehension that making a living in Lewellen, Nebraska is no easy feat (albeit with the easy optimism that making a living has never been my priority). And the jobs just started falling in my lap. I was offered the opportunity to promote sustainability in the village, exactly the line of work I was interested in pursuing. I whiled my summer afternoons lounging in a serene art gallery. I sweated a pint digging beautiful deep beds for my garden. I frequently rode my bike as a form of transportation. It seemed like I was going places. Or rather, staying place.
And then something else fell in my lap. A friend of the family and outstanding musician and teacher, Steve Lawlor, was offered the teaching job at the Garden County Schools. A resident of Toronto, Ontario, Steve was obliged to turn the job down and recommend...well. I was hesitant, but open, and now the job is mine. Three choirs: high school, 7th and 8th grade, and 6th grade. I have never instructed a single person on how to sing (with the possible exception of one Shelby Leyland, who happens to be the greatest singer in the world, and who obviously didn't need my two bits), nor directed a choir. I wasn't even in choir in high school, I was the accompanist. I was in the Hastings College Choir for one and a half years, if my memory serves. I am not exactly qualified. But the school was desperate, having found no other teacher. The elementary music is taught by a retired math teacher-current pastor with no trained background. The band is instructed by another, like myself, uncertified, although qualified. We're a ragtag team.
One never knows what life will present them, and sometime precisely the thing one wishes wouldn't happen, is the thing that needs to be. I am still not convinced as my calling as a teacher, and have not started pursuing certification. But I do hope to offer the students a passion of music, and in return, receive their gifts. What those are, I can only dream. But the dreams are beautiful.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
The Omnipresence of Lizards
Okay, so we established that I love crabs, a slow, unexpected love affair that blossomed over long contact. But I immediately fell for the lizards.
We call the ones that live in our apartment "Tara". Tara is a non-color, a bit transparent so you can see her veins and organs if you looks closely or she has light shining through her. I saw her eat a wasp larger than the side of her head. Needless to say, we appreciate her presence here. I have only once seen a Tara on the floor, she is usually to be found clinging to the ceiling and walls.
The iguanas are naturally the most impressive, and remarkably quick, running to a hiding place when startled. There is one that consistently lives in a drainage pipe near Salvatore's. We saw one as roadkill on Calle Litibu, it's head flattened, and three other iguanas surrounding it, whether offering help or anticipating feasting on it, I cannot say. The first is a bit more romantic.
A laundry day several months ago>> I was rarin' to go on our hand-crank Amish-made washing machine, and my clothes were even more ready for a good wash. I uncovered the quaint little device and opened the lid, to discover a sizeable lizard relaxing in the base. I told it sweetly that it would need to leave, because I was in need of its new home. It took this news very calmly, without moving. So I prodded it with the agitator and it still neglected to move. This is highly unusual behavior for a lizard, which are usually quickly agitated (no pun intended). Then it dawned on me...this lizard was dead. And I had just killed one several days earlier by accidental suffocation while I was shoveling soil. I had never used the washing machine, but had constructed it several months earlier, and I supposed that the latency period had caused a drawn-out starvation and a very unpleasant death. This was devastating and I wasn't up to dealing with it, so I abandoned my bag of laundry of Salvatore's porch, and ran away to recount the story to Sascha in horror. He agreed to take care of the situation the following day. We trooped up and I stood away so as to not witness my hapless victim. He moved it around and got a plastic sand castle shovel out to scoop it up and carry it away. De repente, it scuttled to the other side of the washer! It was extremely dehydrated and hungry, I'm sure, but not willing to be buried alive. Sascha yelped and hollered and we laughed. We laid the washer on its side in the sun to give it some energy, but the next day it hadn't left, so I finally scared it out and I hope it is currently living a happy and profitable life.
I will miss the lizards. I probably see an average of six per day, and the record was eight at one time, within six feet of each other by some outdoor lights at night. Reptiles are amazing.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Got Crabs? Too Cliche?
As our time in Litibu has been winding down, Sascha and I repeatedly ask each other the question, "what will you miss the most?"
He lists of names of fruit and fish which are succulently fresh, among many other things. I find the question more challenging. After five and a half months in Mexico, what have I learned to love about it?
Before I get too reflective, I would really prefer this post to be a story. It's the wildlife that I love.
Sascha and I took a walk today, an unusually cloudy day in Litibu, down our beach. We are privileged to live on a beautiful sandy beach, with little windrows of stones, and relatively few visitors. It stretches past the Litibu community into what is called Punta Negra, where a huge semi-abandoned resort full of hotel skeletons looms eerily, with a shiny 600 ft long swimming pool and sea-side showers. It's quite a hike over there, and today we walked to where the sidewalk ends.
Today also happened to be day one of the big crab season. I would categorize the crabs in our area in three ways, all with varying sizes within:
1. Hermit crabs
2. Crabs that dig perfect holes in the sand and have their eyes located on the top of their heads to peek out for predators
3. Crabs that dig caves in the sand and have eyes on the front of their heads
Hermit crabs are an easy win, it's adorable when they curl up into their tiny shells until their legs resemble an armed fortress and frolic across walkways only to get scared and roll away accidentally.
#2 crab types have been seen in abundance, the most frequent resembling spiders in size, shape and color, as they are perfectly camoflauged to the sand. Their little homes fill up with water at every changing tide, but they are always there to rebuild. I would have to add that having an eyeball on the end of a veritable tentacle seems to be a distinct advantage, and all around pretty darn cool.
And today there was some magical sign of nature which triggered #3 to come out of hibernation and get busy livin'. According to our full-time residents, this is approximately three months earlier than normal. There were crab caves, crab villages, and even a crab city. Why they would decide to shack up so close to each other is beyond my knowledge of natural food limits, but it was reminiscent of a prairie dog town, minus the chirping. They shoveled little clawfuls of sand out of their dwellings and rearranged the slipping crumbles until excavation perfection was achieved.
Our stroll-turned-hike revealed this wonder of nature, and Sascha amused himself by playing bullfight with a particularly agressive one, without the traditional ending. It grasped onto his shirt (removed from body) and hung momentarily when lifted. When we reached the end of the beach one and a half hours later, a magical cove awaited us. We were fortunate to be walking at very low tide, the best time for exploring and finding. Large flat rocks with channels carved in them housed little pools, which always house little sea creatures, like snails, and...well, crabs. A daring architect and even more daring inhabitant had built a house overhanging said cove, and at the foot of the steps there were little colonies of tiny hermit crabs. Sascha amused himself by pushing them into the sand and watching the climb their way back out, while I let them crawl over my hands and tried to avoid crushing them with my feet.
As a proclaimed seafood hater, I never expected to love crabs, but they are simply so loveable. So the first answer to the first question would have to be, I will miss the crabs. To be continued...
He lists of names of fruit and fish which are succulently fresh, among many other things. I find the question more challenging. After five and a half months in Mexico, what have I learned to love about it?
Before I get too reflective, I would really prefer this post to be a story. It's the wildlife that I love.
Sascha and I took a walk today, an unusually cloudy day in Litibu, down our beach. We are privileged to live on a beautiful sandy beach, with little windrows of stones, and relatively few visitors. It stretches past the Litibu community into what is called Punta Negra, where a huge semi-abandoned resort full of hotel skeletons looms eerily, with a shiny 600 ft long swimming pool and sea-side showers. It's quite a hike over there, and today we walked to where the sidewalk ends.
Today also happened to be day one of the big crab season. I would categorize the crabs in our area in three ways, all with varying sizes within:
1. Hermit crabs
2. Crabs that dig perfect holes in the sand and have their eyes located on the top of their heads to peek out for predators
3. Crabs that dig caves in the sand and have eyes on the front of their heads
Hermit crabs are an easy win, it's adorable when they curl up into their tiny shells until their legs resemble an armed fortress and frolic across walkways only to get scared and roll away accidentally.
#2 crab types have been seen in abundance, the most frequent resembling spiders in size, shape and color, as they are perfectly camoflauged to the sand. Their little homes fill up with water at every changing tide, but they are always there to rebuild. I would have to add that having an eyeball on the end of a veritable tentacle seems to be a distinct advantage, and all around pretty darn cool.
And today there was some magical sign of nature which triggered #3 to come out of hibernation and get busy livin'. According to our full-time residents, this is approximately three months earlier than normal. There were crab caves, crab villages, and even a crab city. Why they would decide to shack up so close to each other is beyond my knowledge of natural food limits, but it was reminiscent of a prairie dog town, minus the chirping. They shoveled little clawfuls of sand out of their dwellings and rearranged the slipping crumbles until excavation perfection was achieved.
Our stroll-turned-hike revealed this wonder of nature, and Sascha amused himself by playing bullfight with a particularly agressive one, without the traditional ending. It grasped onto his shirt (removed from body) and hung momentarily when lifted. When we reached the end of the beach one and a half hours later, a magical cove awaited us. We were fortunate to be walking at very low tide, the best time for exploring and finding. Large flat rocks with channels carved in them housed little pools, which always house little sea creatures, like snails, and...well, crabs. A daring architect and even more daring inhabitant had built a house overhanging said cove, and at the foot of the steps there were little colonies of tiny hermit crabs. Sascha amused himself by pushing them into the sand and watching the climb their way back out, while I let them crawl over my hands and tried to avoid crushing them with my feet.
As a proclaimed seafood hater, I never expected to love crabs, but they are simply so loveable. So the first answer to the first question would have to be, I will miss the crabs. To be continued...
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Little Red Riding Permaculturalist and the Food Forest
The Project marches forward, as Salvatore returned this week to push us onward toward the Celestial City...aka phase I of a food forest.
We had the excellent fortune of entertaining two guests for an extended period in March. Matthew Greenwald, my cousin from Boulder and fellow Permaculture graduate, was here on Spring Break to enjoy Mexican culture, sun, beaches, beauty in general, and help us out a good deal! It was a highly productive week, as we purchased some trees, built a spiral herb garden, and mapped out and dug swales (for those who don't know, swales are on-contour ditches which hold and absorb water). We also were fortunate to have the company of Denny Storer, a retired political science professor from Hastings College, and a good friend of Sascha's. They certainly kept each other entertained and had some Mexican adventures.
Thursdays are special days here, because we get the help of the gardeners for about four hours. I always feel a tiny bit like this is cheating, as I feel the physical labor part is an important piece of what I should be learning, but they dug approximately 50 tree-sized holes in hard-pan, so I'm not going to complain too loud. Although I have to take a moment here to brag about my improving ground pick skills. Matthew, if you're reading this...sssssshh. I tend to be a bit more gentle on the gardeners than Salvatore, but it's his money, so that's understandable. Barring time spent in Spanish lessons, I believe I spoke more Spanish last Thursday than I have on any previous day, as a go-between from Salvatore to Antonio and Fermin. I am certainly not on professional translator level, but I felt pretty good about it. We have our food forest laid out, approximately half an acre in a bowl-shape, with five swales and the afore-mentioned holes for our brand new trees!
Insert related thought here>> I think Salvatore and I work well together because I am a focus-on-the-details, use what we have, keep it low budget kind of person, while Salvatore is the big picture, buy whatever we need and some what we don't, access the advice of experts kind of person. In the end, we keep each other on a straight path.
Back to the story>>Yesterday we drove over to the San Pancho vivero (nursery), the site of our class, and met with two men, Luis and Alan. Luis does bird-tours and also works at Emerald Coast, the investment agency which sponsored the now abandoned vivero. Alan is a biologist who helped design the botanical garden in Puerto Vallarta. We showed them the design which Salvatore and Dianne put together in Boulder with the help of Marco Lam, in which the fruit trees are planted in the center of a cluster of other trees, called nursing trees, which serve the purposes of mulch, canopy, and nitrogen fixing in the soil. They recommended trees, bushes, and groundcovers for us and were all around genial and generous (and Alan is guapo!). Quinn, the caretaker of the vivero, came to help us dig out trees, and we took home around 15, some of which we can take cuttings from. We also went to Alan's home, where he made us a Chaya drink, leaves from several of our new trees which have medicinal value. Alan has a lovely garden with many varieties of plants, where we took our first Noni fruit home, where it promptly ripened by turning to jelly and stinking up the apartment (apparently this means it's ready). I continue to learn heaps and this experience definitely reminded me that I am still in love with gardening!
We have about three more weeks of work to finish all our projects, including phase I of the food forest, finishing our cob benches, and making sure our giant compost bin is in good working order.
We had the excellent fortune of entertaining two guests for an extended period in March. Matthew Greenwald, my cousin from Boulder and fellow Permaculture graduate, was here on Spring Break to enjoy Mexican culture, sun, beaches, beauty in general, and help us out a good deal! It was a highly productive week, as we purchased some trees, built a spiral herb garden, and mapped out and dug swales (for those who don't know, swales are on-contour ditches which hold and absorb water). We also were fortunate to have the company of Denny Storer, a retired political science professor from Hastings College, and a good friend of Sascha's. They certainly kept each other entertained and had some Mexican adventures.
Thursdays are special days here, because we get the help of the gardeners for about four hours. I always feel a tiny bit like this is cheating, as I feel the physical labor part is an important piece of what I should be learning, but they dug approximately 50 tree-sized holes in hard-pan, so I'm not going to complain too loud. Although I have to take a moment here to brag about my improving ground pick skills. Matthew, if you're reading this...sssssshh. I tend to be a bit more gentle on the gardeners than Salvatore, but it's his money, so that's understandable. Barring time spent in Spanish lessons, I believe I spoke more Spanish last Thursday than I have on any previous day, as a go-between from Salvatore to Antonio and Fermin. I am certainly not on professional translator level, but I felt pretty good about it. We have our food forest laid out, approximately half an acre in a bowl-shape, with five swales and the afore-mentioned holes for our brand new trees!
Insert related thought here>> I think Salvatore and I work well together because I am a focus-on-the-details, use what we have, keep it low budget kind of person, while Salvatore is the big picture, buy whatever we need and some what we don't, access the advice of experts kind of person. In the end, we keep each other on a straight path.
Back to the story>>Yesterday we drove over to the San Pancho vivero (nursery), the site of our class, and met with two men, Luis and Alan. Luis does bird-tours and also works at Emerald Coast, the investment agency which sponsored the now abandoned vivero. Alan is a biologist who helped design the botanical garden in Puerto Vallarta. We showed them the design which Salvatore and Dianne put together in Boulder with the help of Marco Lam, in which the fruit trees are planted in the center of a cluster of other trees, called nursing trees, which serve the purposes of mulch, canopy, and nitrogen fixing in the soil. They recommended trees, bushes, and groundcovers for us and were all around genial and generous (and Alan is guapo!). Quinn, the caretaker of the vivero, came to help us dig out trees, and we took home around 15, some of which we can take cuttings from. We also went to Alan's home, where he made us a Chaya drink, leaves from several of our new trees which have medicinal value. Alan has a lovely garden with many varieties of plants, where we took our first Noni fruit home, where it promptly ripened by turning to jelly and stinking up the apartment (apparently this means it's ready). I continue to learn heaps and this experience definitely reminded me that I am still in love with gardening!
We have about three more weeks of work to finish all our projects, including phase I of the food forest, finishing our cob benches, and making sure our giant compost bin is in good working order.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Semana Santa...and a few food observations
In Mexico, the biggest and longest holiday of the year is Semana Santa, or Holy Week. I wouldn't even consider Easter to be the most important day, from what I observed. The Saturday eight days before Easter, they arrived. Legions of Mexicans, camping on the beach, constructing palapa kitchens, volleyball courts, fruit stands, ice cream vendors. As the week progressed, more and more arrived, with live music every day, mariachi bands with more than a dozen members. The ocean was dripping with their youth and the beach was baking with men drinking beer. Our beach is a public beach, and I almost proud of that, even if this isn't really "my" community. It is NOT a gated community, and I think the Mexicans should have complete access. A few families to whom Litibu Eco-group are especially friendly set up right on our lawn, playing games, setting up chairs and picnics, getting water from our hose, and using the upstairs bathroom. For anyone who doesn't know, our apartment has no glass in the windows, and no curtains. Only screen seperates us and the endearing sound of an electric generator and the piercing lights which accompany it after dark. I have not experienced that lack of privacy, and while it was enjoyable to watch their celebrations, adorable to watch the chubby little children, and amiable to exchange greetings on the beach, I wasn't sad to see them pack their tents first thing Easter morning. We really are spoiled here! Sascha estimated that there were 2000 people, but I would say less, in a 500 m long beach.
One of the biggest events during Semana Santa is the passion procession, walking around the village to different points and going through the Stations of the Cross. We were both looking forward to participating in this, and made it to town bright and early Friday morning, to find the church locked. We had asked five people the day before, with five different answers, and finally someone confirmed for us it was at five that afternoon. So we returned at five, to absolutely no avail. Now, the fascinating part about Mexicans and time (or distance, or population, or whatever) is that no one knows what time anything is, yet they all manage to be there. It's an amazing system. Luckily, with all the people, we had no trouble catching a ride, and wrote it off to extra exercise.
For our own celebrations, Sascha and I had been planning a trip back to Tequepexpan (see previous post for more info) to participate in a vision quest ceremony, and got as far as Sayulita. Our ride didn't work out, and Sascha was exhausted from Denny's three week visit, and had some back pain. But I, personally, was determined not to let Easter suck as bad as Christmas, Thanksgiving, or my birthday. What is it that makes holidays special days? You do something special on them. Yes, that is what we had been missing, so I planned a surprise for Sascha and hid candy, cookies, eggs, etc in the serenity garden for him to find. We also had a lovely walk on the beach, now considerably more empty, and I made us some chile rellenos for supper, which were much easier than I expected.
Chile rellenos, which are egg battered sweet peppers stuffed with cheese and fried, are the vegetarian staple at any Mexican restaurant (other than the classic quesadilla), but Janet and Miriam (the cleaning women/caretakers of Donnamarie/daughters of friend Carlos) informed us that chile rellenos, camarones (shrimp), and pescado (fish) are their traditional Easter foods. So we came to the conclusion that they really do eat the same things all the time. Sascha's family has goose, rabbit, and lamb with funky potato balls. Maybe it's because their cuisine hasn't shifted to an international palette, so their traditional food isn't on special days, it's still every day. I love rice/beans/tortillas. I even learned to love guacamole. And I admire the cultural value, which every geographical and social group of people have had, of a staple food. Corn tortillas! They go with EVERYTHING. Sascha's favorite combo is Huichol salsa (like tabasco sauce) and peanut butter.
We have eaten some diverse Mexican food. But mostly Mexicans don't eat at nice Mexican restaurants. They eat at comedores and loncherias, where they serve...yep. Rice, beans, tortillas, and probably chicken with a nice sauce which you saw running from a rooster the previous day. It's fresh, and that's no mistake! What judgment am I making about Mexican food? It's delicious, it varies little, but I respect that. It would just be hard for me to do it full time. Our grocery store, the largest in town, is smaller than my parents' living room. A healthy portion of that is taken up by beer coolers and racks of cookies. I will put it up to lack of discipline on our part that we are sometimes fatigued by the lack of selection. The grocer helped me tie my grocery bags on to my bicycle for five minutes the other day, and you can't knock that kind of service.
One of the biggest events during Semana Santa is the passion procession, walking around the village to different points and going through the Stations of the Cross. We were both looking forward to participating in this, and made it to town bright and early Friday morning, to find the church locked. We had asked five people the day before, with five different answers, and finally someone confirmed for us it was at five that afternoon. So we returned at five, to absolutely no avail. Now, the fascinating part about Mexicans and time (or distance, or population, or whatever) is that no one knows what time anything is, yet they all manage to be there. It's an amazing system. Luckily, with all the people, we had no trouble catching a ride, and wrote it off to extra exercise.
For our own celebrations, Sascha and I had been planning a trip back to Tequepexpan (see previous post for more info) to participate in a vision quest ceremony, and got as far as Sayulita. Our ride didn't work out, and Sascha was exhausted from Denny's three week visit, and had some back pain. But I, personally, was determined not to let Easter suck as bad as Christmas, Thanksgiving, or my birthday. What is it that makes holidays special days? You do something special on them. Yes, that is what we had been missing, so I planned a surprise for Sascha and hid candy, cookies, eggs, etc in the serenity garden for him to find. We also had a lovely walk on the beach, now considerably more empty, and I made us some chile rellenos for supper, which were much easier than I expected.
Chile rellenos, which are egg battered sweet peppers stuffed with cheese and fried, are the vegetarian staple at any Mexican restaurant (other than the classic quesadilla), but Janet and Miriam (the cleaning women/caretakers of Donnamarie/daughters of friend Carlos) informed us that chile rellenos, camarones (shrimp), and pescado (fish) are their traditional Easter foods. So we came to the conclusion that they really do eat the same things all the time. Sascha's family has goose, rabbit, and lamb with funky potato balls. Maybe it's because their cuisine hasn't shifted to an international palette, so their traditional food isn't on special days, it's still every day. I love rice/beans/tortillas. I even learned to love guacamole. And I admire the cultural value, which every geographical and social group of people have had, of a staple food. Corn tortillas! They go with EVERYTHING. Sascha's favorite combo is Huichol salsa (like tabasco sauce) and peanut butter.
We have eaten some diverse Mexican food. But mostly Mexicans don't eat at nice Mexican restaurants. They eat at comedores and loncherias, where they serve...yep. Rice, beans, tortillas, and probably chicken with a nice sauce which you saw running from a rooster the previous day. It's fresh, and that's no mistake! What judgment am I making about Mexican food? It's delicious, it varies little, but I respect that. It would just be hard for me to do it full time. Our grocery store, the largest in town, is smaller than my parents' living room. A healthy portion of that is taken up by beer coolers and racks of cookies. I will put it up to lack of discipline on our part that we are sometimes fatigued by the lack of selection. The grocer helped me tie my grocery bags on to my bicycle for five minutes the other day, and you can't knock that kind of service.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Is There a Theme Here?
Another weekend in Tepic, fabulous metropolis of Nayarit. We enjoyed the festivities of the Feria Nacional de la Mexicanidad 2010, a four week fair to celebrate Mexican culture. It was of extremely high quality, with display tents of technology, health, agriculture, culture, local goods, endless rows of carnival games and vendors, a livestock show, and bears riding motorcycles. You may be thinking that forcing bears to travel the country riding motorcycles is cruel. You would be right. It was also slightly fascinating. We also witnessed a traditional ritual of four men jumping off a 50 foot high pole and winding around and around it upside down until they land on the ground. It was hard to take it really seriously, as it occurred directly prior to the dancing bear show. Once again, we spent our time with Miguel and his family, our Spanish teacher. It was exciting to see our progress in Spanish, as it was much easier to communicate with Miguel's wife this trip. It's difficult to believe that we get almost no opportunity to practice our Spanish, and we live in Mexico, but it's the truth.
The plan for the next morning was to head to San Blas, a coastal town with mangrove swamps. The mangroves grow in a unique acquatic ecosystem, as they grow in saline water, and in some mangrove swamps in Mexico live manatees and sea turtles. San Blas also has an interesting colonial history, as a Fort for keeping marauders at bay (hehehe).
Miguel and co. showed up an hour later than planned, but as there was no clock in our hotel room, it didn't phase us a bit. We loaded up the car and headed out. Abotu ten minutes into the trip, Miguel's wife (I apologize for not knowing her name) yelled out to him, he slammed on the brakes, and we crashed into a pickup which was in the intersection. Miguel's daughter Paula was sitting on her mother's lap with no seatbelt and hit her face against the dash, loosening some teeth. Everyone was generally fine, and we stayed the rest of the day in Tepic, taking a Turibus around the city, and to a village where only Huichol people live (the local natives). I bought a beautiful beadwork bracelet there from a woman who spoke both Huichol and Spanish (sidenote - Tepic also produces a picante salsa called Huichol which is my favorite, and they make little Huichol style dresses as bottle covers which are adorable). We also went to a really nice museum which had ancient artifacts from all the peoples who had lived in the area. The artwork was absolutely intriguing and up to 10,000 years old. We only got to see the beginning of the exhibit, but I was amazed by the details and the imagination involved.
In the evening we caught Alicia en el Pais de Marvilloso (Alice in Wonderland) in 3D and Spanish, which was a challenge but fun. After attending Mass the next morning, we headed home.
The following weekend, after the arrival of Denny, a retired Political Science professor from Hastings College, we headed to San Blas again. After some lucky hitches and a loooooong wait to transfer buses, we made it to that quaint town I discussed above. The birds, turtles, and crocodiles in the refuge were beautiful, and the boat ride through the glades was thrilling. We saw crocodiles from 1 foot long to 12 feet long. It is one of the best things I've done in Mexico! They also had a crocodile nursery, which turned out to be more of a zoo, although they do release about 100 crocodiles into the wild every year. And we're not talking Henry Doorly here, these animals were in small pens with no attempt at natural wildlife, tamirs, deer, macaws, and lots and lots of crocodiles. We took the tent with us, and Sascha and I made a go of it on the beach. We didn't stay in the designated camping area so we wouldn't have to pay, and had no problems except for SWARMS of mosquitoes and noseeums which violently attacked us as soon as we opened the tent doors in the morning. We were scratching all week.
I met an interesting girl in the plaza while enjoying Harry Potter y la Camara Secreta, a Nova Scotian named Gabby. She had been staying on Stone Island off of Mazatlan, north of here, and had spent time in a Canadian volunteer corps. We exchanged pleasantries about food sovereignty and politics and then went our separate ways.
After waiting two hours for the bus, we began our journey back to Litibu. Half an hour into the trip, as the bus sat in the left turn lane of an intersection, a young kid in a pickup truck sideswiped us directly under my seat. The bus was barely damaged but the pickup had a harder time, and the driver's brother showed up at the site enraged and had to be detained by the police. The bus waited for two hours while three different types of police showed up, and as far as I could tell, mostly directed traffic around the accident site. Finally another bus on the way to Puerto Vallarta showed up, and we got on the road again. The final bus from Bucerias had a crazy driver, and we were able to fear for our lives once again before finally and exhaustingly arriving at our own house and going to bed.
Two hectic weekends and two too many car crashes. After I told Miguel what had happened to us, he informed me that he and his family had ALSO been in another car accident that weekend, and also a mutual acquaintance of ours, a teacher from Higuera. It would make one skeptical to travel in Mexico any more!
The plan for the next morning was to head to San Blas, a coastal town with mangrove swamps. The mangroves grow in a unique acquatic ecosystem, as they grow in saline water, and in some mangrove swamps in Mexico live manatees and sea turtles. San Blas also has an interesting colonial history, as a Fort for keeping marauders at bay (hehehe).
Miguel and co. showed up an hour later than planned, but as there was no clock in our hotel room, it didn't phase us a bit. We loaded up the car and headed out. Abotu ten minutes into the trip, Miguel's wife (I apologize for not knowing her name) yelled out to him, he slammed on the brakes, and we crashed into a pickup which was in the intersection. Miguel's daughter Paula was sitting on her mother's lap with no seatbelt and hit her face against the dash, loosening some teeth. Everyone was generally fine, and we stayed the rest of the day in Tepic, taking a Turibus around the city, and to a village where only Huichol people live (the local natives). I bought a beautiful beadwork bracelet there from a woman who spoke both Huichol and Spanish (sidenote - Tepic also produces a picante salsa called Huichol which is my favorite, and they make little Huichol style dresses as bottle covers which are adorable). We also went to a really nice museum which had ancient artifacts from all the peoples who had lived in the area. The artwork was absolutely intriguing and up to 10,000 years old. We only got to see the beginning of the exhibit, but I was amazed by the details and the imagination involved.
In the evening we caught Alicia en el Pais de Marvilloso (Alice in Wonderland) in 3D and Spanish, which was a challenge but fun. After attending Mass the next morning, we headed home.
The following weekend, after the arrival of Denny, a retired Political Science professor from Hastings College, we headed to San Blas again. After some lucky hitches and a loooooong wait to transfer buses, we made it to that quaint town I discussed above. The birds, turtles, and crocodiles in the refuge were beautiful, and the boat ride through the glades was thrilling. We saw crocodiles from 1 foot long to 12 feet long. It is one of the best things I've done in Mexico! They also had a crocodile nursery, which turned out to be more of a zoo, although they do release about 100 crocodiles into the wild every year. And we're not talking Henry Doorly here, these animals were in small pens with no attempt at natural wildlife, tamirs, deer, macaws, and lots and lots of crocodiles. We took the tent with us, and Sascha and I made a go of it on the beach. We didn't stay in the designated camping area so we wouldn't have to pay, and had no problems except for SWARMS of mosquitoes and noseeums which violently attacked us as soon as we opened the tent doors in the morning. We were scratching all week.
I met an interesting girl in the plaza while enjoying Harry Potter y la Camara Secreta, a Nova Scotian named Gabby. She had been staying on Stone Island off of Mazatlan, north of here, and had spent time in a Canadian volunteer corps. We exchanged pleasantries about food sovereignty and politics and then went our separate ways.
After waiting two hours for the bus, we began our journey back to Litibu. Half an hour into the trip, as the bus sat in the left turn lane of an intersection, a young kid in a pickup truck sideswiped us directly under my seat. The bus was barely damaged but the pickup had a harder time, and the driver's brother showed up at the site enraged and had to be detained by the police. The bus waited for two hours while three different types of police showed up, and as far as I could tell, mostly directed traffic around the accident site. Finally another bus on the way to Puerto Vallarta showed up, and we got on the road again. The final bus from Bucerias had a crazy driver, and we were able to fear for our lives once again before finally and exhaustingly arriving at our own house and going to bed.
Two hectic weekends and two too many car crashes. After I told Miguel what had happened to us, he informed me that he and his family had ALSO been in another car accident that weekend, and also a mutual acquaintance of ours, a teacher from Higuera. It would make one skeptical to travel in Mexico any more!
Monday, February 8, 2010
Temascal
To end a whirlwind week, our yogic gardening class decided to travel to a village in the mountains and participate in a sacred ritual called a Temascal, or sweat lodge. Many people were interested in going, but in the end only two can be Mexico's. next. top...oh wait. Only Emily and I ended up going.
The buses in Mexico are good quality, regular, and inexpensive, so we took the venture on our own. Sadly we got on one of the more expensive buses, and halfway there realized there were no more buses to our destination that day, and had to hire a 200 peso taxi. You win some, you lose some. Tequepexpan is a small village with more traditional architecture, including stone walls in fields and mud brick houses. The community we visited is outside of the village, and has several permanent residents. Their focus is spiritual, a mixture of indigenous religion and Chrisianity. While the houses are not outstanding in their construction in any conventional sense, there is an underriding current of care and peacefulness. Emily commented on their use of religious symbols as decoration, such as God's Eyes or prayer flags, which help to constantly remind of the connection with the spiritual world. The house was also decorated with a large pile of marijuana on the night table (in my opinion, a huge pile, but I have limited experience in these things).
The mountains opened up a different ecosystem to our willing, prodding eyes, with pine trees with 10" long needles, and scrub brilliantly set off by banana trees. The mountain valley was a quilt of agave, corn, and sugar cane. Behind the "mountains" in the foreground, the real mountains wait, the Sierra Madres, invisible.
We prepared for the Temascal with a sage smudge blessing, prayed over a handful of tobacco and tossed it in the fire. Between eight and ten people participated in the Temascal, Emily and I being the only non-Mexicans, and 2 of the only 3 women. We crawled into the dome, made of willow branches and draped with canvas to keep in the steam. The hole in the center was filled with glowing red rocks. Sirgio, the Shaman, would bless each rock with tobacco and everyone would welcome it into our midst. A five gallon bucket of water stood at convenience and soon the space filled with steam. And just when you think it's blisteringly hot, more water is dumped on and the temperature increases. Anna Paula informed us that we could not leave until the door was opened between the four parts of the ceremony. This made me slightly nervous, but it ended up being fine. Everyone had an opportunity to pray aloud, with singing in between. The Temascal invites all the elements to interact, water, fire, earth, and air. More rocks were added, more water, until breathing in makes no sense and breathing out just stirs the air against your skin. After one hour of this cleansing, we crawled back out. I was immiediately cold again, soaked with sweat in the chilly air. But everyone else was ready for a cool down, so each poured a five gallon bucket of cold water over their heads. So even though I was already cold, I did it too. Gah! But the fire was waiting, and dry clothes.
Simultaneously, a birthday party for a three year old was happening in the open kitchen area. Her whole family was there, including a man named Jaime, who informed me he was 26 (contrary to physical evidence) and before the night was over, told me he loved me. Despite my constantly informing him I had a boyfriend. I thought my new haircut would scare people off, but I guess the pull of legal papers is stronger. The food that evening was absolutley delicious, a cabbage dish, and then crazy with the beans: refried beans, lentils, and garbanzo beans in tomato sauce. Naturally, complemented by corn tortillas. For dessert, they made little corn cakes baked on banana leaves. mmmmm. The evening wore on, and Emily and I both got an extended opportunity to practice our Spanish. Only Anna Paula speaks English, and she was preoccupied with her lover.
As the night wore on, we wandered toward our cabin, which six people shared, Emily and I in one bed next to Anna Paula & co, and two other men on the other side of the wall. One man woke up before dawn and called out into the valley. At dawn, the two men had a conversation in normal volume voices inside the cabin for half an hour. After sunrise, when I found myself alone with the couple, I decided it was time to evacuate. We enjoyed some cinnamon tea in the kitchen, and realized all of our food had been taken by the partiers the night before, accidentally. So we hiked into the village, through the hills and brush rather than on the road, and came upon a little door in the village. Inside was a terraced yard, chickens, kittens, little furry dogs, and an elderly woman in a kitchen. The kitchen had a yellow painted earthen oven and pots, pitcher, and kettles hung on the walls in descending size. We thought we were eating there, and she provided us with mint tea fresh from the garden and some buttery crackers. After half an hour of conversation our guide Ernesto asked if we were ready to leave. It turns out she is the tortilla maker, and we returned to her later in the morning to fetch her homemade corn tortillas, which were like pancakes, delicious and fluffy. We traversed the town, and bought some produce. There is generally a convenience store on every block, and no grocery stores, and they prefer to sell cookies, soda, and chips than food staples. Sometimes I really wonder what the Mexican people eat. Beans, tortillas, and salsa for every meal, I think. Our second trip to the village that afternoon to fetch the tortillas brought us to a different path with our guide Ernesto. We were leaping over fences, running from cows, bounding streams, and climbing like mountain goats. I didn't consider it a "trail" exactly, so much as a possibility.
We enjoyed a nice breakfast and took a leisurely hike up the closest mountain to gain a magnificent view of the valley and the small sierra around us. Anna Paula brought us back to Sayulita and Litibu, and taught us some of the Spanish songs which we heard in the Temascal. It was a blessing to be granted an insight into this amazing Mexican community, their ceremonies, and their hospitality. How is this lesson applied to American hospitality to Mexican visitors or immigrants?
The buses in Mexico are good quality, regular, and inexpensive, so we took the venture on our own. Sadly we got on one of the more expensive buses, and halfway there realized there were no more buses to our destination that day, and had to hire a 200 peso taxi. You win some, you lose some. Tequepexpan is a small village with more traditional architecture, including stone walls in fields and mud brick houses. The community we visited is outside of the village, and has several permanent residents. Their focus is spiritual, a mixture of indigenous religion and Chrisianity. While the houses are not outstanding in their construction in any conventional sense, there is an underriding current of care and peacefulness. Emily commented on their use of religious symbols as decoration, such as God's Eyes or prayer flags, which help to constantly remind of the connection with the spiritual world. The house was also decorated with a large pile of marijuana on the night table (in my opinion, a huge pile, but I have limited experience in these things).
The mountains opened up a different ecosystem to our willing, prodding eyes, with pine trees with 10" long needles, and scrub brilliantly set off by banana trees. The mountain valley was a quilt of agave, corn, and sugar cane. Behind the "mountains" in the foreground, the real mountains wait, the Sierra Madres, invisible.
We prepared for the Temascal with a sage smudge blessing, prayed over a handful of tobacco and tossed it in the fire. Between eight and ten people participated in the Temascal, Emily and I being the only non-Mexicans, and 2 of the only 3 women. We crawled into the dome, made of willow branches and draped with canvas to keep in the steam. The hole in the center was filled with glowing red rocks. Sirgio, the Shaman, would bless each rock with tobacco and everyone would welcome it into our midst. A five gallon bucket of water stood at convenience and soon the space filled with steam. And just when you think it's blisteringly hot, more water is dumped on and the temperature increases. Anna Paula informed us that we could not leave until the door was opened between the four parts of the ceremony. This made me slightly nervous, but it ended up being fine. Everyone had an opportunity to pray aloud, with singing in between. The Temascal invites all the elements to interact, water, fire, earth, and air. More rocks were added, more water, until breathing in makes no sense and breathing out just stirs the air against your skin. After one hour of this cleansing, we crawled back out. I was immiediately cold again, soaked with sweat in the chilly air. But everyone else was ready for a cool down, so each poured a five gallon bucket of cold water over their heads. So even though I was already cold, I did it too. Gah! But the fire was waiting, and dry clothes.
Simultaneously, a birthday party for a three year old was happening in the open kitchen area. Her whole family was there, including a man named Jaime, who informed me he was 26 (contrary to physical evidence) and before the night was over, told me he loved me. Despite my constantly informing him I had a boyfriend. I thought my new haircut would scare people off, but I guess the pull of legal papers is stronger. The food that evening was absolutley delicious, a cabbage dish, and then crazy with the beans: refried beans, lentils, and garbanzo beans in tomato sauce. Naturally, complemented by corn tortillas. For dessert, they made little corn cakes baked on banana leaves. mmmmm. The evening wore on, and Emily and I both got an extended opportunity to practice our Spanish. Only Anna Paula speaks English, and she was preoccupied with her lover.
As the night wore on, we wandered toward our cabin, which six people shared, Emily and I in one bed next to Anna Paula & co, and two other men on the other side of the wall. One man woke up before dawn and called out into the valley. At dawn, the two men had a conversation in normal volume voices inside the cabin for half an hour. After sunrise, when I found myself alone with the couple, I decided it was time to evacuate. We enjoyed some cinnamon tea in the kitchen, and realized all of our food had been taken by the partiers the night before, accidentally. So we hiked into the village, through the hills and brush rather than on the road, and came upon a little door in the village. Inside was a terraced yard, chickens, kittens, little furry dogs, and an elderly woman in a kitchen. The kitchen had a yellow painted earthen oven and pots, pitcher, and kettles hung on the walls in descending size. We thought we were eating there, and she provided us with mint tea fresh from the garden and some buttery crackers. After half an hour of conversation our guide Ernesto asked if we were ready to leave. It turns out she is the tortilla maker, and we returned to her later in the morning to fetch her homemade corn tortillas, which were like pancakes, delicious and fluffy. We traversed the town, and bought some produce. There is generally a convenience store on every block, and no grocery stores, and they prefer to sell cookies, soda, and chips than food staples. Sometimes I really wonder what the Mexican people eat. Beans, tortillas, and salsa for every meal, I think. Our second trip to the village that afternoon to fetch the tortillas brought us to a different path with our guide Ernesto. We were leaping over fences, running from cows, bounding streams, and climbing like mountain goats. I didn't consider it a "trail" exactly, so much as a possibility.
We enjoyed a nice breakfast and took a leisurely hike up the closest mountain to gain a magnificent view of the valley and the small sierra around us. Anna Paula brought us back to Sayulita and Litibu, and taught us some of the Spanish songs which we heard in the Temascal. It was a blessing to be granted an insight into this amazing Mexican community, their ceremonies, and their hospitality. How is this lesson applied to American hospitality to Mexican visitors or immigrants?
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Gardening + Yoga = Happy Body Happy Spirit
I spent the last seven days attending a workshop, entitled "Entering the Temple Gates - a Yogic Approach to Organic Gardening". Intriguing? Confusing? Potentially a flop? Well, I didn't have to pay for it, so I didn't mind. I readily entered the flow of the week. The class was led by Juaquin and Yoga Ma Barbara, an eccentric "couple". Barbara lives in a van down by the ocean for the winter in San Pancho, and Juaquin used to have a very active Vivero (nursery) there, which reached a rapid and mysterious demise ten months ago. Barbara is an excellent yoga instructor and Juaquin is a scatterbrained philosopher and perfectionist in the garden.
Our preliminary meeting was to feel out who wanted to participate in the course so they could shape it (or one could say, Juaquin did absolutely no preparation). Those that showed up: Salvatore and I, the Americans, three Mexicans, one French woman who has lived in the area for eight years, two French Canadians, and one Swedish woman. Her name is Emily, and she was the first one I saw when I arrived, with her baggy pantaloons and squashed leather hat. Emily has spent the last year and a half of her life spending time taking courses like this one, and WWOOFing (World Wide Organization of Organic Farming), which is what I would like to do as soon as my time here is over. And to add a little awesome icing, she lived in Canada for the past months. She travels alone. And she happens to have the same skin type and basic body features as me. As the week progressed, we became good friends.
The third and fourth days of our class brought an impressive storm, which washed Emily up in Litibu. The ten foot overhang of our porch still allowed about a six foot strip of our floor wet, we had to move our bed into our "guest bedroom" aka the other side of the curtain. It rained all day and several inches and then all night. So our plans for double digging were severly compromised. But we were able to complete it by the end of the class. We learned preparing seed flats, sowing and planting different size seeds in flats and beds, transplanting, and soil preparation. So I'll let you decide if this was a lot or a little for seven days, but we learned how to do it all with perfection. I am not a perfectionist.
Juaquin is trained as a biodynamic gardener, which involves planting with planet, moon, and sun cycles, and focuses on the health of soils. Our course was not explicitly biodynamic, but Juaquin was trained by Alan Chadwick, a famous personality that further developed the biodynamic and French intensive system. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jdMeyywc2xo, it's worth it just to hear his voice).
The last day we came to Litibu, to evaluate our site and talk about our food forest. Salvatore hired Juaquin to do a design for us, and he came out several days previous to the course to give us suggestions and scout out the land. Our day here turned out to be 90% unproductive in terms of developing our design. Juaquin went through some tree varieties with us in a semi-systematic way, for the benefit of other community members. But we ate some delicious locally made popcicles, and did some yoga in Salvatore's serenity garden.
Although the variety of information may have been limited, what we learned we learned well, and I feel completely competent in starting my own seeds or garden, or possibly even a nursery! Not that I actually want to do that...but I wouldn't say no to a greenhouse. Are you reading this, Dad?
Our preliminary meeting was to feel out who wanted to participate in the course so they could shape it (or one could say, Juaquin did absolutely no preparation). Those that showed up: Salvatore and I, the Americans, three Mexicans, one French woman who has lived in the area for eight years, two French Canadians, and one Swedish woman. Her name is Emily, and she was the first one I saw when I arrived, with her baggy pantaloons and squashed leather hat. Emily has spent the last year and a half of her life spending time taking courses like this one, and WWOOFing (World Wide Organization of Organic Farming), which is what I would like to do as soon as my time here is over. And to add a little awesome icing, she lived in Canada for the past months. She travels alone. And she happens to have the same skin type and basic body features as me. As the week progressed, we became good friends.
The third and fourth days of our class brought an impressive storm, which washed Emily up in Litibu. The ten foot overhang of our porch still allowed about a six foot strip of our floor wet, we had to move our bed into our "guest bedroom" aka the other side of the curtain. It rained all day and several inches and then all night. So our plans for double digging were severly compromised. But we were able to complete it by the end of the class. We learned preparing seed flats, sowing and planting different size seeds in flats and beds, transplanting, and soil preparation. So I'll let you decide if this was a lot or a little for seven days, but we learned how to do it all with perfection. I am not a perfectionist.
Juaquin is trained as a biodynamic gardener, which involves planting with planet, moon, and sun cycles, and focuses on the health of soils. Our course was not explicitly biodynamic, but Juaquin was trained by Alan Chadwick, a famous personality that further developed the biodynamic and French intensive system. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jdMeyywc2xo, it's worth it just to hear his voice).
The last day we came to Litibu, to evaluate our site and talk about our food forest. Salvatore hired Juaquin to do a design for us, and he came out several days previous to the course to give us suggestions and scout out the land. Our day here turned out to be 90% unproductive in terms of developing our design. Juaquin went through some tree varieties with us in a semi-systematic way, for the benefit of other community members. But we ate some delicious locally made popcicles, and did some yoga in Salvatore's serenity garden.
Although the variety of information may have been limited, what we learned we learned well, and I feel completely competent in starting my own seeds or garden, or possibly even a nursery! Not that I actually want to do that...but I wouldn't say no to a greenhouse. Are you reading this, Dad?
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Permaculture Proposal
Well, you might assume by reading my blog so far that it's all fun and games here. And you might be right, but we've also been preparing a proposal for the community on how they can further move toward sustainability. To give a little more basic information:
This property was purchased almost 20 years ago, although legally this has only happened recently. The community is made up of seven houses and 10 families (some with just one person). The youngest person in this community is 70, and they are all American born. They also all worked for or have a connection to the Institute of Cultural Affairs (ICA) which is an international organization that focuses on community and leadership development, often in impoverished countries. Three of my dad's siblings spent time working with them. This group of people gradually formed with the shared value that they would like to live "lightly on the land" (on the beach in Mexico) and were one of the first to develop this area. It has since turned into a community of approximately 50, mostly gringos, but this particular corporation is the 10 families, who cooperatively own the property. Only six people live here full time, two of which require constant care or supervision by their spouses or others. This creates a divide between the wants of those here part time and the time constraints and interests of those here full time, left to care for the projects. We interviewed almost every community member for 1-2 hours about their current level of sustainability and what sort of projects they would be interested in for the future. Everyone here uses rainwater catchment almost exclusively, and they all have solar power, but now they're on the grid and that energy goes unused. They "compost" by throwing their organic waste into a hole in the ground and eventually digging a new hole, or in buckets which devolves into black muck, then is tossed on some plants.
We calculated the sectors (external forces that could affect our design) and zones (the movement of people, how we can design to increase efficiency) and took into consideration the interests of the members, and eventually came up with a design to include safety issues, centralized composting and recycling, a living fence and improved gates to keep out one unwelcome horse, a fire pit with cob benches and oven, a mandala shaped garden in the central community space, with mainly herbs, a food forest and some other small projects and recommendations. We will only be here for another 4 1/2 months, so we needed them to prioritize.
The annual community meeting was a three day extravaganza this year, the first day to give reports and proposals, the second to divide into task forces to develop a final draft, and the last to reach consensus and decision, and all of them for the celebration of community. The broad spectrum of community organizing and facilitation experience makes it a very interesting process to observe. The one point I would mention is their incorporation of joy and play into what could be a mundane meeting while maintaining a high level of structure.
By day two our project was honed down to two compost structures, a fire pit, a small food forest, and some private herb gardens and raised beds for vegetables as needed. The third day saw our project accepted with a $1000 budget. Woohoo!
Let the work begin.
This property was purchased almost 20 years ago, although legally this has only happened recently. The community is made up of seven houses and 10 families (some with just one person). The youngest person in this community is 70, and they are all American born. They also all worked for or have a connection to the Institute of Cultural Affairs (ICA) which is an international organization that focuses on community and leadership development, often in impoverished countries. Three of my dad's siblings spent time working with them. This group of people gradually formed with the shared value that they would like to live "lightly on the land" (on the beach in Mexico) and were one of the first to develop this area. It has since turned into a community of approximately 50, mostly gringos, but this particular corporation is the 10 families, who cooperatively own the property. Only six people live here full time, two of which require constant care or supervision by their spouses or others. This creates a divide between the wants of those here part time and the time constraints and interests of those here full time, left to care for the projects. We interviewed almost every community member for 1-2 hours about their current level of sustainability and what sort of projects they would be interested in for the future. Everyone here uses rainwater catchment almost exclusively, and they all have solar power, but now they're on the grid and that energy goes unused. They "compost" by throwing their organic waste into a hole in the ground and eventually digging a new hole, or in buckets which devolves into black muck, then is tossed on some plants.
We calculated the sectors (external forces that could affect our design) and zones (the movement of people, how we can design to increase efficiency) and took into consideration the interests of the members, and eventually came up with a design to include safety issues, centralized composting and recycling, a living fence and improved gates to keep out one unwelcome horse, a fire pit with cob benches and oven, a mandala shaped garden in the central community space, with mainly herbs, a food forest and some other small projects and recommendations. We will only be here for another 4 1/2 months, so we needed them to prioritize.
The annual community meeting was a three day extravaganza this year, the first day to give reports and proposals, the second to divide into task forces to develop a final draft, and the last to reach consensus and decision, and all of them for the celebration of community. The broad spectrum of community organizing and facilitation experience makes it a very interesting process to observe. The one point I would mention is their incorporation of joy and play into what could be a mundane meeting while maintaining a high level of structure.
By day two our project was honed down to two compost structures, a fire pit, a small food forest, and some private herb gardens and raised beds for vegetables as needed. The third day saw our project accepted with a $1000 budget. Woohoo!
Let the work begin.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)