More adventurous, more safe

I am happy to announce that I am coming to you live as the new program/garden intern of Bountiful Brookline, a non-profit organization working to promote local food production, community access to fresh sustainable produce, and strengthen the local food system. As it is a small and fairly young organization, my role will be multi-faceted and dynamic and I will be working in different capacities. I am most excited about the summer when I will be leading the Teen Grow program of a handful of youth volunteers from the community! This past summer was the pilot year with only 4 kids and a month-long experience, but I believe it will be bigger and more involved this time around. As I envision it, this is Camp Rotary meets my academic interests, or helping kids learn about the value and rewards (and trials) of getting to know your food, its source, and how to produce it. Freaking awesome, right?

I think so. Also, I would be lying if I said that a small part of me is not excited about being able to put something on my resume besides food service jobs. Mostly I am excited because this is stuff that I am good at, and interested in, and passionate about. I feel a renewed sense of vigor, and purpose, and a bit less anxious about the future. Of course, this opportunity, assuming everything works out, will conclude at the end of the summer. But there will be plenty of time to worry about the future then, eh?

When I got home from my "interview" (aka coffee date with Jenny, the head gardener for BB), perhaps in celebration, I potted up some herb seedlings to liven up our windowsills. I don't know if they will all survive because they had been suffering for a while in their little seed pod-lets, but at least now they have a chance.

ps- you can check out my organization here http://www.bountifulbrookline.org/

You are what you Love

Olive trees and windmills in the town.
Strange powerful wind with names and faces too many to count.
Smelly ride north (El Jadida) 60dh. Please keep light and air flowing to keep clarity growing, give thanks for bus rides and vacations;
grilled fish moments usually only alive in wish given depth and weight free of time constraint.
Rather it is granted to contemplate, working thought into filament splice with heartstringlined motion of feelings that overwhelm the ways of men.
broken magnifying glasses, life refuse of the night bus high and driving, line the pavement.

Mm hmm I want to linger (on), mm hmm a little longer. Make me fried eggs though the day and let the humdrum cradle my mind into the dark for tonight will be the night that we begin to ease the plugs out of the dam. Precious souls are comforted to sleep; others find clarity in its absence ̶ the drug of the screen’s fakesenseofillingconnection;
some find comfort in themselves with back scraped by rocks shelves.
Just sail belly up to the clouds breath and pulse and seethe and loosen the flood gate and be, the vessel. The sand and wind and fog buffet, they infiltrate between thought and expression to the most dear scale space and plate.

Clear the scraps palm the rudder ̶ we can find the way back under behind maps a place built by thoughts at work cemented with power potential and poise of deepfeel.

(Can you tell me the way home?)

Through the Window

I can smell fall through the window. It is creeping in to revive my sniffly nostrils. It comes and goes in waves, like my anxiety about the future.

As much as we bitched about the foliage tourists, we were just as guilty as them. The brash self-confidence of youth removes itself from the range of its own criticism. The weekend whirls in my mind, an extemporaneous exercise in escape from 'the city.' Returning to Russell Pond, where my family camped when I was a wee lad, brought memories of tang and Salamander hunts, leaking tents and water-tight spirits, coleman stoves and long drives, family, fun, and the idyllic natural getaway of the New Hampshire woods. Hiking most of Mount Lafayette just to escape the tree line, feel the icy rime of the Alpine zone, and see the view, was as taxing as it was rewarding. Leaving on Sunday night was a good idea, for we all had "lots of stuff" to do today. Also, the desire to avoid more leave-hunters was mutual.

I slept until noon:20 today, very soundly and restfully. One single night in a tent will make you fall in love with your bed again. One night in the woods will make your mind wander,make you question the importance of your cell phone, and make it hard to focus on your computer screen. One trek in the company of Brendan will help you identify Moose tracks and excrement, the difference between a Balsam Fir and an Eastern Hemlock, and the many forest microclimates that your feet take you through in a surprisingly short time. One whiff of the mountain stream that ambled along besides our trail will leave you wanting more. Or rather, how fortunate we were that our path wove through the trees alongside this majestic babbling brook, whose allure attracted the trail and who will outlive the trail, and ourselves.

The tree I see through my window rides the wind with style and grace, its green leaves rustle alongside the maple leaves that extend from the other tree, in the corner of the yard. Some of the maple leaves are tinged red or yellow, preparing to shed themselves in preparation for the winter. They are preparing for a great graceful fall down to the rectangle of fenced-in ground that we call the backyard. Such a great sacrifice deciduous leaves make for their trees. Perhaps that is part of the appeal of New England's fall foliage, some appreciation of such a brazen calculated strategy crucial for winter survival. The cycle of life turns on, and removed in the comfort of my elaborate shelter, I watch it through my window.