Eating after fasting

So, the Fast went well, although I was still hungry every evening. And Saturday evening we broke the fast together at the Dojang. Everyone who is making a test- 18 people in all- fasted and then spent the day sitting in meditation. Like for 12 hours. Which almost no one in the room had done and which amounted to a great heaving beast of fidgeting, snoring, rustling, water drinking, window gazing, sleeping, and suffering. I was not there, but this was Nic's report. Poor thing. However, she did say she had quite an opportunity to practice, and the the insight to practice, having a larger field than the beast within which she could actually relax, in the silence around the noise. Also, she saw what a good training we had of the mind and the body while living in aforementioned zen center. She and only about three others were left sitting upright by the end of the day. Everyone else had succumbed to gravity and were lying about strewn on the battlefield of their own minds, having been totally slain by their egos, and lay limp on the Dojang floor. To be fair, almost none of these people have ever meditated and there were a handful of girls under 20 who had to be there- without their cell phones, maybe for the first time ever except when they are sleeping. This was a really hard thing they all did, and I am proud of them all for doing the best they could. And, wow.

 It is always interesting to start eating again after not having done so for a while. I ate a bowl and a half of soup and got a belly ache. It helps me to understand why, when people who have been starving receive food aid, for example, they often still die from malnutrition. The stomach has shrunken and the ability to get food into the body is diminished, let alone to digest it and deal with it once it is there. It takes awhile to build up to a normal portion and one must eat so little. A few snacks here and there, only about a cup of food each time. And this time both of us felt dizzy after we ate and I had such pain in my stomach when I ate just a little too much.  And after juicing, which is a larger ratio of of calories to substance than food, which is filled with fiber, the calories one can eat at one sitting are not so many. I think we had five small meals on Sunday. Listening to my body to see exactly what it is that it wants to eat, not what my mind wants or what my mouth wants to taste. And also when I am full, not eating more because it tastes good, or because I ate too fast to notice I was eating and enjoy it. I eat so fast!!!

Eating is so much a cultural thing, so much of a tradition that comes from a place. All of the feelings that come up when we do not to eat with people, or to eat in front of someone who cannot, or chooses not to. Or to eat more than we need or less. Usually the traditions of food teach us, without our knowing, how to eat to maintain health and vibrancy. What happens when we eat foods from other places removed from the culture that the food tradition is borne out of? What happens when we start to eat too fast? When we stop preparing our own foods? Last night at dinner, Uncle Richard said that there was a time in Germany, probably during the war, when they would put little styrofoam beads, the size of blackberry or raspberry seeds into the jams in the factory with aroma and water and only some actual fruit. Cheaper that way, and no one ever noticed they were eating styrofoam! So much arises around the food itself. How our food comes to us and from where, and whether we must grow it or cook it. How much we have, and can get and not get. Flying avocados here from Peru, for example. Or buying things out of season, or that don't grow even on this continent. Eating really is a political as well as a social and cultural event.

still no pictures from the computer. i wanted to give you a sunflower.

A short lesson

So, I think everyone who reads this blog knows that Nic and I want to work with girls who are trafficked across country borders and forced into sex work. If not, now you know that. Another abominable but connected atrocity is the rape and torture of women as a weapon of war. Especially in areas of Africa, when a woman has been raped, she is no longer accepted by her husband and is therefore cast out by her family. In the Congo, women are being gang raped and tortured as a part of the ongoing war being fought there. Essentially, the oil and mineral benefits are so high that the truth of the people is being largely ignored by, oh, the entire world.

Here is a map of Africa, you are looking for what is known as the DRC or Democratic Republic of Congo,
So, in this country there is a war going on, for almost 13 years now, which has taken the lives of 6 million people and left more than 500,000 women raped and tortured. Also, the tribe known and the Pygmies, considered the original inhabitants of that area of Africa have been hunted down and eaten. Yes, it is what you think it is. Which war, you might ask. Read here.


Please also read this article by Eve Ensler, who wrote the famous Vagina Monologues and who has been working for women's rights around the world and an end to violence against women of any kind for years now. She has written a beautiful piece called, "Congo Cancer", about her own battle with uterine cancer (amazing, right?) and her experience of working with the women in the DRC. She has helped to establish the City of Joy, which is a community in the DRC for survivors of such crimes. Here is the blog which is an information and fund raiser. Also, please see Stop Raping our Greatest Resource, which is a human rights organization to stop the rapes going on in the DRC. 


I promise to post something happy next time, but I needed to share a bit about why I want to do the work I feel called to do.

Fasting Day 3

This is the strangest fast I have ever done. Normally, I don't have any hunger, and I have a hard time eating again at the end and I don't really have any reactions to fasting. This time, I had headaches the first day and half of the second, and a belly ache during that same time. I kept drinking Master Cleanse and water and finally succumbed to the bed on Monday night. It is fair, I suppose, to say that being in an entirely new country, with entirely new surroundings, not even half as much stress as I used to have, and a totally different intention for this fast might make a wee bit of difference. But, wow, this is like, a totally new animal that I have never met.

I am fasting for two, or maybe three reasons. First, to support Nic in her fast that she has to do before the 12 hour meditation day on Saturday at her Dojang in preparation for her third dan test (third black belt). We'll break fast on saturday evening after the meditation (which I will not be attending), for which I will bring a big pot of carrot avocado soup, the recipe of which is from my friend, Micki, who is amazing and has a link in the friends column to her pictures of what she calls, Everyday Artfulness. Please look at these handmade beautiful beings that she has created. She is a true sister of the handmade life and an inspiration for me every day, especially when I receive a picture of her beautiful artfulness in my email box. Annoyingly, I still cannot get pictures onto the blog, so I can't show you.

OK, so, second reason I am fasting is because I have hated my belly and especially the fat around it since puberty, and I think it is time to come into relationship with my belly exactly as she is and stop all of that nonsense.  I have been doing all sorts of writing and questioning and diving down into what is buried in there. It is a powerful thing to do, and i am getting to look at all sorts of stuff that I thought I had dealt with already, or, that I would really rather not have to look at. The belly, known as the Hara or Dan Tien in japanese and chinese respectively, is the center of our power. Our digestion, assimilation of nutrients, our life energy, and our sexual energy are all housed and generated in the lower halves of our abdomens. I think partly it is my piece of the cultural repression of the feminine and the demand that we look a certain way etc. that I carry, compounded with my own shames and guilts and secrets and everything that I will not spill all over this blog. Just know, this is a major piece of work and supported by the fasting.

Third, because I would have liked to do a Vision Fast (see School of Lost Borders under "nourishment for the handmade life" on the right) between leaving the zen center I lived in for 7 years and moving to another country on another continent. It can help us to consciously make a change during life transitions by marking them with some kind of ceremony. I have found deep healing and power in the wild places in the world and in myself when I entrust myself to them. I will also be "verpartnered" ,meaning partnered with nic, in a civil union in a month's time and this is another good reason for going out onto the land and crying for a vision, of wholeness and beauty, to bring into our commitment of a life together. However, I am in a town in Germany and don't have the resources to do such a ceremony of fasting in the wilderness, but this is a good intention to carry while we both fast together this week. We took our rings out last night and showed them to friends and looked at the pictures of our Blessing Ceremony in May in Connecticut. It was beautiful to see all of the faces and smiles of the people who were there giving such love.

And the sacredness of the time during a fast is somehow always present, even in the midst of our lives.There were moments today, when I was walking from the train to my school, for example, when I had no idea where I was. Or, better said, I could have been anywhere- no one spoke german during those steps of mine to give some context of place and I was wrapped in the anonymity of travel. I was walking within a world of people and things, all particular in their beingness and all a part of the world fabric in that moment, and there was nothing to make it a thing to speak of, only a shared creation of place and time. This was a moment of freedom, a gift from the lightness of the fast and the faith of being here.

Fasting Day 1

Some thoughts from today:

This morning we had fresh apple juice and I had carrot juice this afternoon before my language class so I would have some sugar in my brain to understand German. Not that this helps much, but I figure I had better do everything in my power to put the odds in my favor. Turns out our new teacher has lots of energy and speaks rapid fire. Somehow, she has singled me out as the person she can best speak with, ask questions of, etc and therefore sends quite a bit my way. I try not to have a glazed look in my eyes when I look back, although with language, it is hard to hide when you don't understand. Usually it takes me a full minute before I understand sufficiently to actually formulate a response. Then is takes another minute to actually let the German words bubble up from my subconscious and arrive on the tip of my tongue in order for me to gurgle and spit them out.

That being said, we had rain again today, for like, the 30th time since July 23. Where did our summer go? I have so much adjusting to do after living in Santa Fe. So much homesickness for our little house and garden and friends and Tai Chi classes and chiles and tortillas and pinto beans and oh, green chile chicken enchiladas, or huevos rancheros christmas, or...oh, i should stop now. The point is, homesick for everyone on that side of the Atlantic Ocean, especially in the mountainous areas of New Mexico and Colorado, and in Maine and Toronto, and Connecticut...I really which the states were across a slightly smaller body of water. Meanwhile, we make a life here, or begin to, slowly, not having the slightest idea what is going to happen, and less of an idea every day.

Spinning Wheel

Oh My Gosh, Look!

                    Here is my spinning wheel!

I know what I am going to be doing this week instead of eating- fixing and figuring out how to use my new old spinning wheel! Nic and I went to the Farmer's Market in Hanau yesterday, we bought carrots and apples for juicing, lettuce starts for papa's garden, looked at hundreds of beautiful handmade baskets and as we were waiting for the bus there was a little tag sale sort of a table, everything for 5 euro (about $6.50). I saw this beauty right away and the lady thought we were looking at the box of inline roller skates next to it (who cares about inline skates anymore?) and we said no, the wheel. She said, 5 euro. I almost fell down. We asked if it worked and she said no, only for decoration. however, my eyes told me different- all parts in place except for the little hook-y things on the fly, original treadle in tact, only missing the leather connecting bits. I'll take it! 5 euro! New wheels similar to this are selling for 583 euro at ecoferme, which by the way, you should check out if you live in Europe and are interested in handmade living- they sell sheep, goats, poultry, spinning wheels, etc. I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. And now, I have my old beautiful wheel for 5 euro that only needs a bit of leather and some wire hooks. And I need to find wool! I would like to find out what sort of wheel it is so I can check for parts, find replacement parts in the future, buy more spindles, etc.

In the past I have been spinning wool with  a drop spindle, which also works beautifully, and also with a small hand spindle in a gourd for cotton and silk. These work really well, and when I travel, even to the meadow, I can bring them along. However, I am looking forward to trying to use a wheel for spinning so that my foot can keep the spin while I have two hands for working the wool or whatever fiber I am working with. I would like to try to make nettle fiber and next year if i have a garden, I would like to try growing flax. Maybe after that I will try growing plants for dye. Then all I need are the sheep...which will probably take longer to acquire.

So, I have gotten the drive bands on the  wheels and figured out what kind of wheel it is, Saxony. And I think I get what all the parts are called, thanks to Joy of Hand Spinning, a fab website for folks who spin with drop spindles and spinning wheels. They have instructional videos and texts on everything from parts of a spinning wheel, to fibers, to plant dyes, to carding- all really helpful and well done.

 I have also been given a wheel by Nic's parents that some relative either found or used, no one is sure which, but it is a Castle style wheel, which means everything is all piled up vertically. Everything is in tact, but I am missing the flyer, which rests between the maidens and through the bobbins. Check out this website as well, Elizabeth's Fiber and Yarn Store for info on spinning wheels etc.

And now that I have written about spinning wheels and blackberry bushes surrounding towns, I had better include the story of Sleeping Beauty, as I am having all sorts of archetypal occurrences. Once Upon a Time...

Indian Spices 101

I went shopping with my friend, R, today to the great big Indian store near the Hauptbahnhof, or main train station, in Frankfurt. I wanted to buy all of the ingredients to make her yummy dal and for our future Sambar instruction. It was a big huge store that has things from all over- India, Africa, Sri Lanka, Thailand, I need to go back so I can spend hours there poking around and looking at every jar, package, bottle, green vegetable (they have Winged Beans and Bitter Gourd!) and piece of equipment (mortar and pestle? rice cooker? tiffin? fabulous pots and pans?).

Here is what we bought:
1 jar Mango Chutney in Olive Oil
1 package Tamarind
1 bag Toor dal
1 bag Moong dal
1 package dried Curry Leaves
1 bag FRESH Curry Leaves (to be stored in a jar in the freezer)
1 package Garam Masala
1 package Haldi (Turmeric)
1 package Ground COriander
1 jar Hing (Asafoetida)
2 pieces Fresh GInger
1 package Brown Mustard Seeds
1 package Chutney Podina Masala (mix of salt, mint, dried mango, pomegranate seed, chili,      
        coriander,black pepper, musk melon, caraway, nutmeg)
1 package Sambar Powder (toor dal, black gram dal, coriander, chili, cumin, turmeric,
       mustard, fenugreek, asafoetida, ginger, curry leaves, salt, oil)
1 package of Halwa (Indian style- wheat flour, jaggery, cardamom, cashew nuts, coconut oil)
AND A GREEN PAPAYA!!! so now i can make green papaya salad with the real thing.

Incidentally, an amazing blog about cooking South Indian food striving to be healthy while still tasting really good with a dash of crazy thrown in, is Sinful Curry. Check her out. Most recent post, pumpkin dal. looks so good.

However, I am starting a fast on Monday and will not be cooking anything. Green Papaya Salad today, a Butter Lettuce salad today, and then no eating. Nic makes her third dan test in September in Tae Kwon Do and she has a five day fast before a 12 hour day of meditation next Saturday. In solidarity, I said I would fast as well. I think it is time for a cleanse- I like to do two or three a year. We borrowed a juicer, so I may post a few delicious juice recipes, however, next week shall be dedicated to making things other than food and to starting my next course in school.

I am trying to have a different relationship with this fast- different meaning, not for weight loss, or to make myself different, healthier, better, something other. We'll see what actually comes up. But it seems to be a part of my no dogma, no habits of self hate campaign, to do this differently than almost every other fast/cleanse I have done. (Except the wilderness fast, which was a whole other thing.) So, instead of bam, no more eating today, we looked into the fridge and saw beautiful strawberries and peaches and lettuce, and the green papaya and thought- we'll only eat fruits and vegetables raw until all of these beautiful things are gone. Then we'll start the fast. So, already kindness- towards our vegetables in the fridge, our wallets, and our bodies is present. May all bellies be healthy and free from suffering.

What's Important

from the never ending story, by Michael Ende

As they advanced, one after another of Bastian's Fantastican gifts fell away from him. The strong, handsome, fearless hero became again the small, fat, timid boy. Even his clothing, which had been reduced almost to rags in the Minroud Mine, vanished and dissolved into nothingness. In the end he stood naked before the great golden bowl, at the center of which the Water of Life leapt high into the air like a crystal tree.

In this last moment, when he no longer possessed any of the Fantastican gifts but had not yet recovered his memory of his own world and himself, he was in a state of utter uncertainty, not knowing which world he belonged to or whether he really existed.

But then, he jumped into the crystal clear water. He splashed and spluttered and let the sparkling rain fall into his mouth. He drank till his thirst was quenched. And joy filled him from head to foot, the joy of living and the joy of being himself. He was newborn. And the best part of it was that he was now the very person he wanted to be. If he had been free to choose, he would have chosen to be no one else. Because now he knew there were thousands and thousands of forms of joy in the world, but that all were essentially one and the same, namely, the joy of being able to love.

                                                                  ---------------

Meaning, loving, being able to love, is what springs forth joy in us. It is not so easy to love, is it? But I think it is the task worth learning how to do well. And that it can take so many many forms in each of our unique lives. It is a demanding, truth telling, soul searing work, not to be taken lightly and not possible unless we are willing to meet the darkness, the underworld, within us and within the world. Love cannot only be in the light and the happy dancing bubbles of happiness. Love is rooted in a far deeper and darker and truer place than that. And we have to go down to the root and discover our life. 

Here is the basket, the first attempt. Nic says it is beautiful. I've decided to believe her.

Yellow and Green

squash blossoms

stuffed only with chevre

Dipped in egg and flour and sauteed in olive oil. heaven.

I have also been experimenting with making Thai Green Papaya Salad, which i love. I have all of the ingredients for the sauce, but no green papaya. So, I am using different vegetables to try it out. So far, cucumber without seeds and skin works best. Hopefully, I will find an asian market where I can buy produce.

Wild Blackberry Jam!

I harvested wild blackberries on Wednesday- 1.5 kilo! from the town of Dreieich. In the middle ages, blackberry bushes were planted in a circle around the town as a defense- sound familiar, Sleeping Beauty? and Thursday I made jars of Blackberry Jam. So yummy! Today, I harvested more from Grosskrotzenburg, maybe 2 kilos. Here is the basket with blackberries after picking them.

I'll make more jam with these and then at the end of the week, I will go pick more of them  to make a pie... and maybe ice cream, although I have no ice cream maker.

Blackberry Jam recipe (my first recipe in grams)
1.5 kilo Blackberries (1500 grams)
30g pectin mix
400g sugar, honey, agave

Sort and lightly wash the Blackberries and place them in a pot. Mix in the pectin completely and then the sugar. Bring to a boil and then simmer until the jam begins to set, maybe five minutes after the boil. Stir with a wooden spoon (I use the one Nic's grandmother used for making jam.)

Meanwhile, in another pot, bring water to a rapid boil for sterilizing the clean jars. Sterilize all utensils-  tongs, spoon or ladle (non-metal is best)

Step 1. sterilize jar.
Step 2. place on plate and fill with hot jam until 1/4 in. below the top of the jar.
Step 3. with a paper towel, wipe away any jam around the rim.
Step 4. Sterilize lid.
Step 5. Screw on lid tight and turn the jar upside down.
Step 6. Place upside down on a towel and allow to cool completely.

Repeat until all jars are filled. You do not need to boil the jars to seal them after filling (who knew?!) This took me an hour and 15 minutes to make. Then another 15 to clean up- not bad timing for 5 jars of home made blackberry jam.

By the way, in the states, Pomona's Univeral Pectin is the easiest to use ever, ever, ever, for making jams and jellies and because it uses calcium to set, you need very little sugar. Here I use some organic stuff that also has calcium in it.

 I went to the Farmer's Market in Frankfurt yesterday and bought basil for making pesto, 2 huge golden zucchinis for zucchini pancakes (recipe to come) and zucchini bread. Walnut bread, smoked schinken (like prosciutto, but German), carrots, green beans (for green beans and potatoes and to use in thai green papaya salad), butter lettuce, a bunch of scallions, and a big gorgeous eggplant. One of the stands is like the Santa Fe Farmer's Market- everything is homemade and home grown and there are little bits of everything- pickles, jam, wild harvested mushrooms, wurst, bread, vegetables, fruits, etc. and I heard the woman say something to the man in english and I heard the man answer back- and he is from the states. He has been here since 1971 minus two years- he said there were no jobs for him after the war in the U.S. And he is at market each week. That was fun to speak english with him and hear the numbers of the cost of what I bought in english numbers. 5,60 euro for the two huge zucchinis, 2 kg of plums, lettuce, and scallions. And I always get an herb lemonade from them- so delicious.

Here is one of the three sheep that live next to the cemetery where I picked the blackberries. They are so sweet. I cannot find out which breed they are, though I would love to have some one day. They were sheared not too long ago, but I never see a person around to ask if I can buy some wool. I still have not found a good source for wool, even though there are sheep around. So, I am spinning cotton and silk right now while I wait for my wool to arrive with my parents in September. They'll bring a suitcase each for me and nic and my massage table when they come. I filled my suitcase with wool, seeds, watercolors, knitting needles, fall shoes and a jacket. Typical.

slowness

Which is not my strong suit, in case any of you have noticed. Although, after living in a schedule of someone else's making for 7 years, the result is, i am looking for my own rhythm and speed, like water searches its own level. And, surprise, surprise, I find I am actually slower than I thought. Or was. And, I am still speedy too. Patience, for example, I still don't have, although the entire universe and the country of Germany are conspiring to teach me this one. But moving so fast for 7 years has paradoxically produced in me the capacity and wish for slowness. And the hand made life, whatever that turns out to be, requires time. Spinning, weaving, bead making, everything that is real and made of real things has a story and a life and is embedded in a world that I am a part of. Learning how to weave a basket out of cattails means, I have to harvest them, dry them, soak them, and then I can try to weave them. I harvested them almost 2 weeks ago and they are still drying, in all of this rainy weather, in our bathroom. I find that I have many projects all in a flow of process and in different stages of creation or destruction. And everything moves at its own rhythm. And each thing I work with "out there" has its resonance "in here". Slowness means letting everything take the time it takes, not pushing or forcing. Letting loose whatever bonds I discover, again and again, within my own belly.

I am reading David Suzuki's The Sacred Balance right now, in which he talks about how we got so far from connected- to the earth, to each other, to ourselves- through our culture of science and consumerism. He talks about recovering a worldview that is made up of the realization of practical interconnectedness with the 4 elements plus biodiversity as the 5th. A worldview is defined by anthropologists as "a story whose subject for each group is the world and everything in it, a world in which human beings are deeply and inextricably immersed. Each worldview was tied to a unique locale and people with spirits and gods...Stars, clouds, forests, oceans, and human beings are interconnected components of a single system in which nothing can exist in isolation." He points out that once we have disconnected ourselves from the sources we need to make a life- clean air, water, soil, our own capacity for the hand made, "we imagine a world under our control and will risk or sacrifice almost anything to make sure our way of life continues." But, "the challenge now is to use these techniques (of computers, science, engineering and technology) to rediscover our conections to time and space, our place in the biosphere."

To quote another blogspot blogger, Bill Shefel, "I first heard the term "the handmade life" from Clarissa Pinkola Estes' telling of the Hans Christian Anderson fairly tale The Red Shoes. In brief, the red shoes represent the glamor of the careerism, consumerism, acquisition and ambition. The wearer of the red shoes, though beginning with good intentions, is eventually "worn" by the shoes, swept into a life of speed one cannot control. Taking up the handmade life means taking off the shoes - an initially uncomfortable, disarming, confusing, lonely and very vulnerable process. It means saying "no" to a lot of things and saying "yes" to... slowness. Perhaps the foundation of recovering our connection to the "indigenous mind" is slowness...

We often ask what we can do in the face of war, environmental catastrophe, personal depression or even simple stress. The handmade life is always available to us as remedy and creative opportunity." (Check out his blog on my list to the right.)

My home base, ground level, hand made activity is cooking. It is always available, no matter where I am- I always ask to help in the kitchen while someone is cooking if I don't have access to one of my own. Cooking connects me not only to my own body, but the body of the human community and the more than human world as well as the regional tastes of what I cook and the soil, water, and sunlight from where the food grows. When I don't have a garden, can't find wool to spin, or don't take the time to sing, I can cook. And it takes time to cook. And I practice making something real and edible and nourishing out of some idea in my head or a book. Which I always need help with.

 Here is my friend, R's, recipe for dal. I think it is the best dal I have ever had. And, I got to watch her make it! She, of course, doesn't have a curry mix from the grocery store like most folks usually do, she just makes the curry in the pan while she is cooking. We used moong dal, the little yellow split mung beans. 


Cook the lentils separately in a pot or pressure cooker. We had maybe 2 cups uncooked lentils. All measurements are by your hand, meaning, you can put in however much your taste buds enjoy. However, as a comparison, when R was putting them into the pot she put not more than 1 tablespoon of anything. Between each addition of the spice mixture, saute for about 1 minute before going to the next ingredient (so, between sentences). Cook on quite a high heat, the oil should be very hot but not smoking.


For the spice mixture:
Melt the olive oil and ghee in the pot. When hot, add mustard seeds- they should sizzle and fry a bit in the oil. Add maybe 1 tsp hing (asafoetida).Then, add finely chopped green chili, 1 medium onion, small dice, and some curry leaves (maybe 15?) and stir. Add 2 cloves fresh pressed garlic and 1 Tablespoon finely chopped ginger. Add salt to bring out the juices from the onion. Add 1 Tablespoon turmeric. Add the amount of 1 tomato, crushed (from a can) or finely chopped (fresh) and saute 2 minutes. Add 1-2 tsp garam masala, 1 tsp dried ground red chili, 1 tsp ground coriander seed. Saute for 2 minutes. 


For the Dal:
Add the dal by large spoonfuls to incorporate into the spice mixture alternating with water. (Dal should be neither too thin nor too thick, it is supposed to go over the rice and not have water sitting at the bottom of the plate.) After all of the dal is added, taste for salt and correct. Lastly, add either fresh lemon juice or tamarind mixed with a bit of water and lots of fresh coarsely chopped coriander leaves. Allow to cook on very low heat until the dal is evenly warm and the flavors have had time to "marry"- about 10 minutes. Spoon over fresh cooked basmati rice and enjoy. Feeds maybe 4-6 people, depending on what else you have on the table.


R says that in India, when you eat at someone's house, you are fed and fed and fed- your plate always refilled and the host and hostess are always saying- eat! After the main meal, when the adults are talking, children are sent in to place snacks on the tables so that there will always be food available.


When did we forget the basic practices of hospitality? When did speed become more important than depth? When did quantity become more important than quality? When did we lose the holy responsibility of feeding one another and the ritual of slowing down to talk and share stories together, from our own lives and the Big Stories from our life as humans? When did spice mixes become preferred to the traditions of cooking? When talking with R she said that the food is different in every region of India and that each family has slightly different ways of making the food. She learned, of course, in her family how to make the food from her region. Literally, her mother tongue was her language and the tastes of her region. She has now learned how to make the food from her husband's region of Kerala and she is learning to speak the language. Dialects and customs change from region to region according to history, geography, geology, climate, what grows there to eat, and how it is prepared. It is the same here in Germany. Everyone speaks Hoch Deutsch, or high German, but each region has its own dialect and vernacular. The state of Hessen has its own dialect and each town has its particular pronunciation and words. There is, for eaxmple, "Krotzebojerisch" (that is how people from here call the dialect from Grosskrotzenburg- "Krotzeborsch"). I am learning not only the language of German, but also the regional dialect, cooking, and stories that come from this place. The fairy tales and Brother's Grimm are the old stories that come out of the wisdom of this very place. 

Butterflies and Cattails

So, back from three days in the mountains of Bavaria, in the town of Fichtelberg. Internet connection was soooo slow, so posting something wasn't possible. It rained a lot and was gray the other days, so we didn't get to do the hiking I would have liked. However, we did go to the Kristall Therme, which was fabulous. The only weird thing was that upstairs they had the crystal meditation grotto (with lights behind the crystals to make different colors for color therapy) and the smoker's lounge right next to each other. But there were 11 different saunas and different pools to swim and sit in. Remember, this is where the term "cure" came from. Health insurances here pay for people with particular illnesses- e.g. heart or lung diseases- to go for a cure for a week. Special foods, excercises, and prescriptive soaks and saunas. Amazing, eh? The other thing that comes from here, apart from hot spring culture and spas is castles. This is where the stories were lived- castles, knights in shining armor, damsels in distress, dragons, fights, escapes, true love. When a person travels around Deutschland, one sees castles. We saw one in Bamberg on the way home on the top of the tallest of 7 hills. And the Brother's Grimm are from Hanau, which is 8 kilometers from where we live.


We also went to the butterfly house where there are hundreds of butterflies flying around and you can walk right into their space! I had one land on my orange scarf and try to drink from it with its' proboscus. Amazing! Oh and our friends found this great little teeny tiny cheese shop with goat cheeses and cow cheeses in a little refrigerator, some bars of chocolate, coffee, and cucumbers and tomatoes from their garden. Oh, and eggs from their chickens. The shop was in a little closet at the back of the house and there was a beautiful garden with all sorts of vegetables- corn, tomatoes, kohlrabi, cabbage, carrots, herbs, cukes, all jumbled together beautifully. The chickens were at the back of the yard in their own section with a big wooden coop- so sweet. Our friends are foodies too, so it is fun to be with them and eat.


This is the one that landed on my scarf.

The Secret Garden is still basically untouched because it has been raining so much and I have been away. However, plans have been made, of course. I had thought to double dig around the plants that are there to get the weed roots out and bring some air into the soil. Normally, I am a permaculture being, but often when i first get into a garden I like to double dig or single dig to give everything a good start. However, there is so much clay in the soil that I was not able to get the Shovel more than a few inches deep and when I removed it there was a slice in the soil like the edge of a potters slab. So, I am going to sheet mulch. But how do I acquire the needed materials. I will go to the previously mentioned dairy farmer and ask for manure, even if he laughs at me. Then I will use the paper recycling and cardboard for the carbon. Other than that, whatever I find is fair game. Whatever compost and fresh greens I can scare up, straw, if I can find it. any feathers, poop (except for cat and dog and human), leaves, weeds, anything. I hope to do this in the next weeks. However, I have also acquired two packets of seeds from the most wonderful garden store in the whole of Frankfurt, whose name I have forgotten completely. However, it is a small family garden shop that has within it these exquisite garden tools by Sneeboer, hand forged stainless steel tools that are not actually that expensive. I get giddy looking at them. They are cheaper here, so save your money for a plane ticket and come buy them on this side of the pond! I think I would like to have a perennial spade (long handle), a transplanting trowel, a potting trowel, a 4 tined fork, and a planting shovel- just in case anyone is interested. oh, and while we're on the subject of hand forged tools I absolutely have to have, have you seen the  Watanabe knives? Back to the garden, I think I will take my digging stick, "the copper dragon", and my daikon and salsify seeds to the Secret Garden on wednesday and plant them. Maybe I'll do the sheet mulching after, since it will take me awhile to locate all of the materials. On the other hand, if I get my hands on a Sneeboer Fork i may have to double dig after all.

My cattails are drying in the bathroom for me to use for weaving my first basket. I collected them on Saturday at my meadow, and read that they have to dry before they are soaked to prevent shrinking once you actually weave them. While looking on the internet for basket instruction, I found Joan Carrigan. Wow.

Baskets are containers in which the threads of human history and the natural world intertwine  and hold endless possibilities  of creative expression."

- Joan Carrigan

Next I will soak them and then begin, by the seat of my pants, of course, to weave a basket. I promise to show pictures of whatever comes out of it. I am sure it will have a very strange shape.

Three Days, part 3

Monday, August 2, was the day to make the stuffed Grape Leaves. I found a recipe on the internet I liked as well as one in a book and then, like I always do, just made it up as I went along.
I used fresh Grape Leaves from Papa's garden,

so I blanched them the night before and kept them in the fridge over night, rolled up together in jars. Then, in the morning, I sorted the Grape Leave according to toughness and place the biggest, toughtest ones on the bottom of the pan- this prevents the stuffed ones from sticking to the bottom of the pot. Then layer thinly sliced lemon (and tomato and potato, if you want) on top of the grape leaves.Then I made the filling

1 cup arborio rice (rinse in cold water, then boiling water, then cold water)
then add the following:
1/4 cup raisins
1/2 cup pine nuts
2 medium tomatoes, finely chopped
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1/2 sweet red pepper, finely chopped
2 scallions, chopped
1/2t ground sumac
2 t fresh thyme, chopped
2T fresh parsley, chopped
salt and fresh ground pepper to taste

Place a Grape Leaf smooth side down, place with  1-2 Tablespoons of filling depending on their size, and roll- bottom up, sides in, roll tightly. Place the roll into the bottom of the pan, seam side down. It is important to pack the stuffed grape leaves as tightly as possible together in the bottom of the pan and it is totally ok to make more than one layer, but I read not more than 4. Once you have your stuffed leaves packed in, make a mixture of water, juice of one lemon, 5 cloves of garlic- smashed with salt, and 2 T of olive oil. Pour this over the stuffed leaves to cover. Place a plate on top of them so that they won't float. Put a lid on the pot and cook, over medium heat for one hour. (The more layers, the more time it takes to cook, I think) Check periodically that there is enough water in the pan so that they don't burn and add boiling water if necessary. Check if they are done at the end of the hour. We couldn't wait and ate them warm, and they were delicious, but later, when I had one at room temperature they were even better. After the meal, I put them into a container and covered them with some olive oil, they keep for some days, if they last that long! Yum!

Three Days, part 2

On Sunday, August 1, we went to the Weinfest in Michelbach, a village near here where Papa was born and raised. Michelbach, now a part of Alzenau, is nestled in the hills to the east of Grosskrotzenburg, where we live. Michelbach is part of the Unterfranken region in the state of Bavaria. Grosskrotzenburg, our town of 8000 souls, is a part of the central state of Hessen. Sunday afternoon, we went to Weingut Heilmann, the family vinyards run by Papa's father's brother's son's son, Armin. I can't figure out which relation that makes him, but we spent the afternoon drinking wine that he made from the grapes in the fields we sat next to, eating pfifferlinge (a mushroom that is in season now) gathered in the region, with cream sauce from cows in the next town, over handmade noodles. Followed by coffee and cake, plum cake known as  Quetsche or zwetschgen kuchen. Armin Heilmann's Riesling won first place for Best Riesling in 2010 from an international panel. He will go to Rome to receive the award. Armin was the busboy that day and cleared the glasses from the tables. From August 12 through Septmber 5, they also have what they call Haeckerwirtschaft, in which they serve food and wine in their converted barn.

Not a bad life, eh? I like that plan, maybe I'll have a seasonal restaurant on our land in August and September when we have lots of produce coming in from the garden, and chicken and lamb and goat cheese. I could probably do it for two months! The bottles you see on the tables are flat and round, which is the traditional shape for wine bottles from this region. They are called Bocksbeutel (Buck's pouch) and are fashioned after the old flasks made from the bladders of goats that had that shape. Only wine from Franken can be sold in those bottles. We shared a bottle of dry Riesling and then I drank a glass of "Bacchus", a sweeter white wine, while we listened to an old German oompah band that also played Frank Sinatra and 40s Jazz on trumpet, tuba, and accordion. Quite an afternoon.

When we arrived home that evening I blanched the grape leaves in preparation for stuffing the next day. The leaves I had were older than I would have liked so I let them cook a few minutes more- about 7 minutes at a boil- to soften the leaves further. Then I rolled them and put them in plastic bags in the fridge. A friend I spoke to on the phone told me that her grandmother, who was from Rhodes, and mother, would go out and pick wine leaves in the spring and then layer them with olive oil and vinegar to keep for when they would make dolmades. I learned to make Lebanese stuffed Grape leaves with a friend I lived with for a time at the zen center, Samar. Her parents were from Lebanon and she taught me many wonderful recipes when we worked in the kitchen together.

Talking with new friends from school (German language classes) about food and the traditions from their homes, I remarked that I love to eat and I do not mind so much where the food comes from, meaning which culture it arises out of, only that I do not want to eat food that comes from "nowhere". Fast food from the U.S. has infiltrated here as well, I imagine from the presence of the American soldiers in Frankfurt and Hanau and Wiesbaden since WW2. There are KFC, McDonald's, Burger King, Subway all throughout Frankfurt. This is somehow disturbing for me, part of why I was looking forward to moving here was to get away from exactly this in the American Culture- fast, fake, and bigger is better- and it has followed me over here. I suppose, as Wendell Berry writes in The Unsettling of America; Culture and Agriculture, when speaking about the American historical and present relationship with the land of North America and the peoples who originally lived upon it, "We can understand a great deal of our history...by thinking of ourselves as divided into conquerors and victims. In order to understand our own time and predicament and the work that is to be done, we would do well to shift the terms and say that we are divided between exploitation and nurture. The first set of terms is too simple for the purpose because, in any given situation, it proposes to divide people into two mutually exclusive groups...The terms exploitation and nurture, on the other hand, describe a division not only between persons but also within persons. We are all to some extent the products of an exploitative society, and it would be foolish and self defeating to pretend that we do not bear its stamp."

If this is true, and I am totally prepared to acknowledge that it is, then the itch of awareness of the fast food life and all it represents (soil erosion, chemicals in the soil and water, monocultures, agribusiness, machine made) that crawls across my belly, seems to be for the purpose of helping me to remember. As Pablo Neruda says, "remembering is so short, forgetting so long". This seems to be the sum of my spiritual life or my drive towards making a life; the numbness of forgetting seeps in and steels over my heart. KFC wakes me up out of the slumber of little town mind and reminds me why it is so important to drink Armin Heilmann's wine. (Tasting as good as it does, of course, provides a more palatable and immediate reason to drink it.) The hand made life can only be lived here in my own house and heart. When I am in despair over "the state of the world" my answer is to turn towards my own life and make stuffed grape leaves with leaves from Papa's garden.

Three Days, part 1

On Saturday, July 30, I went out onto the land, feeling, after two months here, that I do not yet have my feet underneath me. That is to say, I don't yet feel a connection with the land of Germany, don't yet have a relationship within the ecology that is this bio-region. Mostly, I walk around hungry for connection and longing for my own land, the sheep and goats, and gardens I hope to have one day. Walking on the concrete path along the Main river, or seeing the day dawn rainy, again, or astounded by the amount of green plants here, i have a growing sense of the wateriness of this land- the power of the Main flowing fast and fierce, rain pouring down and literally turning into plants- but this does not help with the feeling of being displaced or uprooted. It does, however, comfort me within the awareness that everything is groundless, it is only now in apparent crisis that I am actually seeing what is in fact always true. A good practice reminder, when I can see it in context, although exactly what I am practicing is a total mystery. Having lived and practiced in a Zen center for almost 8 years, and being deeply inculcated and inducted into said culture, I know that I am not practicing Zen right now. Which is a relief. One of my dearest friends has been reading Hildegard von Bingen, the 12 century mystic whose home abbey is not too far from where I now live, and told me about her theological concept of Viriditas, which is Latin for greenness. This seems to be about as close to a definition of what I may or may not be practicing at the moment. When I am having a meltdown of existential proportions because of my recent move, I often find solace lying on my back looking up at the leaves of a tree, watching the play of colors, shadows, and sunlight, with the blue sky beyond. Gazing at the particular color of sunlight through green leaves or wind blowing through grass are two of my favorite mind stopping activities.

Having had such a week, fraught with existential crises, I found myself pulled out the door and into the forest, finally, for the first time in two months, alone out on the land. I walked first to the Main river and was greeted by two swans, energetically preening and cleaning themselves. They would lay their necks out along their bodies to clean their tails and then jump up vertically in the water, pumping their black legs and flapping their huge wings with their beaks pointed straight up into the sky. After which, they would fluff and shake their entire bodies, head to rump, and then resume their floating toilette.  One of the swans left a feather from her heart (I am assuming the swan to be the female of the pair as she was smaller), which she left on the rock in between the two of us. I tucked it into the pages of the book I am reading for the third time, Gardening at the Dragon's Gate; At work in the Wild and Cultivated World by Wendy Johnson and made my way to the garden.

I am growing a secret garden. Unfortunately, I did not find a key hidden amongst the ivy which opened the door to a walled garden, a la Frances Hodgson Burnett, however it is secret nonetheless. Self secret, that is, for it is visibly in the middle of three different neighbors' lawns. It is the garden of my sweetheart, Nic's, late aunt who died almost 7 weeks ago, and for which we promised to care. Her dying was not in the plans when we were speaking with her about planting and cultivating said garden, however, it seems the appropriate thing to do to continue. And I am absolutely dying to get my hands into the earth. The reason it is secret is that Nic's parents feel the need to either worry over or control most things having to do with, um, life, and I would really like not to have to consult or ask permission or reassure, etc. So, I am just going ahead and gardening. At some point they will see what I am doing as they go over there quite a bit, but hopefully by then it will be too late. For now, I am content to weed, make wild nettle and yarrow tea for the soil, and try to locate manure and cardboard and so forth for sheet mulching (more on that when I do it). Incidentally, I want to go to the dairy farmer around the corner for manure and Nic thinks that he will look at us funny. I remember when we went to ask him for milk- remember he is a dairy and meat cow farmer- he looked at us as if we had a hold of the wrong end of the stick and said he hadn't any to sell to us. Am I the only one that finds that strange?

After going to the garden to clean up some weeds I had drying on the lawn, I made my way to the forest, red riding hood fashion, whereupon I gathered stinging nettles (for tea for myself, to make fiber with, and to make tea for the garden), Cattail reeds (for attempting basket weaving), and yarrow (also for the garden tea). Also, quite accidentally, I found my "spot" the place where I can sit and look into the middle distance and see various shades of green around me and above me and in the far distance I can even see the hills of the Spessart. I watched thistle down blow in the wind, catching sunlight with its iridescence. I watched the wind move through the meadow grasses and cattails and heard the birch leaves rustle and tremble above me. I watched the clouds move across the blue sky above. And I heard ravens calling, bike's wheels whizzing, people talking, and my own breath moving with the wind. Finally, I arrived in one place on this continent, sitting on the ground, green gazing. Unfortunately, I met no wolves that day, but I did rediscover my own wildness.

Coming home again, I crossed the threshold from wilderness to civilization, which is always the terrain of the trickster, cayumare, who lives at the threshold to snatch the secret documents away from us, leaving us empty handed and bereft, with no proof of our soul's visits with the holy. In my arms I carried nettles, cattails, yarrow, thistle down, and in my heart, greenness, all of which survived the threshold crossing. Papa, who is of the "prune it back and tie it up" tribe of gardeners, had been pruning  the grape leaves that morning and upon hearing this, I of the "hand made life tribe" dove into the compost pile to retrieve 50 leaves so I could make Lebanese stuffed grape leaves on Monday (pictures and instructions to follow in part 3). I am most happy when I am with the green things of this earth, and finally I came home to myself through their verdant embrace.  It was a good day, Saturday, the last day of July.