St. Johns Wort Oil... my first foray into a new life...

Today I went out and collected St. John's Wort and finally made... started my first herbal oil.  But the story doesn't start there....

It starts with a garden- a large garden at a local non-profit that I was charged with last year (and by being charged with- I mean, I took charge of...) This year, with multiple successes last year, I was gung-ho and ready to take charge.  Plans changed.  I was presented with the things I didn't do (in all honesty they were not things that I was supposed to do- but got pinned to me in the end.)  "We are bringing someone else on to help you."  "Ok"  Well, despite my efforts, it did not go well.  I quit.

I was convinced (in a strange condescending way that tugged at my ego.), but I felt overwhemlingly it wasn't going to be good.  Gardens are supposed to be healing and supportive places.  Places where women and men can come to grow and learn.  This wasn't feeling like that- too many people- all women- who were vying for attention and top dog status.

In coming back, I promised myself that I would let go.  Let go of all the things that I couldn't get to.  Let go of all the combative emails about water or compost or equipment.  Let go of the politics inside the organization... and just focus on the plants, the volunteer gardeners and my relationship with them.  I would focus on where I wanted to go and what I wanted to learn.

So I went to a workshop.  A medicinal herb workshop- it was good, but I had actually learned all those things from our former head gardener and emeritus herbalist before.  Okay.  But what I also learned was I was interested in learning more about herbs and using them in medicinal and culinary ways.  I wanted to grow.

Then I started to look up herb conferences, peoples resumes, all sorts of information and I found myself getting stressed out.  I'm not a hippy sort (despite my college years), I have a shell.  I am mistrustful.  I don't want drum circles, chants, or red tent conversations.  I can't connect with other women. I don't have children (so I am less then a women), I don't want to talk about sex, menstruation, and what not.  I don't connect.  I can never be an herbalist.

Finally, I could get up.  All I wanted was to be productive in some way.  So I headed out the the fields.  I came across the St. John's Wort.  I tested it- based on what I knew from my teachings and positively identified it.  I had a jar in my car and proceeded to fill it.  I thanked every plant as I ripped the flowers and buds off.  I didn't harvest more then a third.  My hands were stained the tell-tale purple.  I got my jar.

Long story... but I have started my journey.  I used the knowledge that was shared with me.  I fought negative thoughts and deer-flys.  I became an herbalist today.

I will continue on this path- one of transformation.  One of healing.  One of creating.  This is my first jar of St. John's Wort.  And I want to remember this journey and story- so I can evolve and grow.

Much thanks,

I want a new me

I want a new me
One that I can look at in the mirror
One that fits into cute dresses
One that feels healthy
One that feels good.

I want a new me
One that doesn't mask the pain
Or runs from it
Or hides from it,
Like it doesn't exist...

I want a new me.

I know what it takes,
I don't know how to do it.
I know the answers,
I don't know if I can do it.

I want a new me.

Starting now.
Starting tomorrow.
Continuing the next day
and the next

I want to be happy with the girl, [strike that] woman,
 I see in the mirror
Not because of society
because of me.
I don't like what I see... and that is not right.

I can make a new me.
I can do this.
One small step at a time...
but steps nonetheless...
become giant leaps

I want to live what I preach
I want to be healthy
I want to be happy
I want to love myself
I want others to see

 I want a new me. 

My Dad and Solar Eclipses.

They say that you can't look directly into the sun during a solar eclipse... to me that is what the passing of my dad feels like.

It has been 2 months now, and I still can't look directly at it.  I can't imagine that he won't answer the phone when I call my mom twice daily to make sure that she is okay, I can't imagine that he isn't there to give me crap about my job situation, I can't imagine that he isn't there... it's like looking straight into that void, burning my eyes and soul out waiting for an answer.

But I was there... I gave a fine eulogy (so I was told), I held tight to his ashes as we transported them home despite road blocks (ashes are much heavier then I expected), I was present at the reception, I held people's hands.  I kept vigil with those who needed to and I continually mourn. He is gone.  Not forgotten.

There is an empty space when a dad... father... dies.  I say it over and over- "my mom is the glue, but my dad was the foundation."  So true.  The little girl in me cries out for him... into that empty hole of a sun.

I miss you dad.

Story Circles

I've been reading a book called Everyday Sacred, which I found in the reading room at my church (church is a whole new thing to me... and for another day).  This quote stuck out to me.  My life is full of surprising and fun stories, but sometimes I get frustrated at the wandering journey and the endless circles I seem to spin.

I also get lost... a lot. 

"Stories move in circles. 

They don't go in straight lines. So it helps if you listen in circles. There are stories inside stories and stories between stories, and finding your way through them is as easy and as hard as finding your way home. 

And part of the finding is the getting lost. 

And when your're lost, you start to look around and to listen."

Right now, I am simply working on finding new circles, the beauty of the ones I have, and also to not run endlessly in futile ones.  Sometimes you just have to let go to the universe and  trust it's plan.  

Trust that what is right will come back around again.

And so we begin again...

My attempt to start this blog again last year was an epic fail!  Life on the farm and off the farm just got too hectic, and when down-time came, I wanted to do nothing more the drink wine and stream shows on the internet.  But it is a new day...

March 1, 2013- moved again!  This is my biggest solo place by far- a whole two bedrooms- yup read it, one.. two!  Not a super accomplishment by most standards, but to actually have separate spaces for my office and arts and sleeping, and hanging out... this is BIG!  Unfortunately the only factor hanging over me is how to actually afford it.  

I only have one part time job (thanks Master's Degree and crappy economy), but that is temporary.  And a big part of this move is making it work!  That means...budget, budget, budget.  I have many ideas how to do that- but the follow-through is the key.  The first main step is food.  Planning, shopping, preparing and eating at home.  Making as much as I can from scratch.  It is so much cheaper to buy raw ingredients and cook from home then to go to pre-packaged meals (or get nasty bad for you take-out).  It is a habit thou... and one that I want to develop.  My health has not been good for a while (packing on the pounds- I am sure I will post much about my quest to loose 25-30 lbs) because of poor eating habits and exercising habits.  My new place is .5 miles to my gym.  I am sooo excited.  

So we begin again.  I first have to unpack... I am already making a "wish" list of items I need.  I think re-store, thrift stores, and craig's list will be my shopping/ hunting grounds.  New things are fine, but finding things is better.  Heck I am even dreaming of making a picnic table for my back porch... ah the dreams of a delusional extremely tired person.  But first... we begin again.  Baby steps.  

I am looking forward to this journey...

Don't Count.. no...Name Your Chickens

It's been 4 years since my last blog.  Land of milk and honey not achieved...yet.  I find myself living on a farm in central (Piedmont) North Carolina, managing a farmers' market in Chapel Hill, and working another part-time job as a project manager for a woman I met through a discussion course.  Life has taken many turns- up and down... but I will write from the now (mostly)...here we go again...

Living on a farm, life and death are immediately closer to everyday life.  There is no buffer zone.  The easy... we grow vegetables and rip out weeds.  We harvest produce and compost (or feed to the ducks and chickens) those that have bolted, eaten by bugs, or just didn't make it.  We cut the grass and weeds, and use them as mulch.  Life and Death.

Harder is when the animals are involved.  We only have chickens and ducks (plus dogs and cats), and we don't process the birds for food- minus the time when we ordered a straight run (farmer talk ... ordering a dozen chicks from a "source farm" (good reputation, sustainable, organic) and all are supposed to be hens) and over half were roosters.  We have eaten several rooster dishes... Anyhow, we have 40+ ducks and 120-ish chickens.

Most, chickens and ducks, are indiscriminate... but there are the very few which display personalities that are discriminate.  I tend to name them.  They tend to not make it.  They stand out because they are different.  I am sad when any animal dies (unintended), but these very special few bring sadness.
First there was Funky Foot- a rooster with a deformity- he lived under the coop so evaded the rooster grab.  He was a loner, and yet liked people.  An animal of some sorts got him... after a few days of not seeing him, I looked and found his body.  We buried him under one of the fruit trees- why buy bone meal...

Then there was one chick- a runt, I donned Chicken Little... he wouldn't grow!  When we moved the rest of chicks in his cohort, he was still to small, so he lived with the ducks.. and grew to think of himself as a duck!  Thank goodness farmer M. was there when he went for his first swim!  I once tried to put him (most likely a her) back with the other chicks- and later found her wandering the woods looking for her ducks...  We lost him to the cold snap a few days later.

Today, another bold chick, who I have named twisty based on a deformity which has left her face/ beak twisted was grabbed by one of the dogs.  Another bold personality... always the first to the feeding bin, in your face, not shy... she even approached the running mower today.  I don't know her fate yet- only one puncture wound- but enough for a young chick.  I am doubtful and pray.  I like her- I like her tenacity.

You can't can't count your chickens before they are hatched.  Don't name them either.  Life and death is constant on a farm.  But the life and experience out-weighs the death.

Future posts will be less detailed... I think!  But I would like to honor those pioneering chickens ... Chicken Little and Twisty.... always nice to know personality exists!

Dreams

Wow, what happens when a dream comes true? I see this tree, one of my favorites in Centre County, several times a week on my bike rides home. It always seems so perfect in the middle of a field, the green fields and there is a great old barn just a bit farther down the road. Something of rural dreams.

I wrote about rural dreams, well in a way, in my thesis. The images that are portrayed versus the reality that is there- a theme that surfaced during the course of my work. My work, almost a dream in itself. Something I worked so hard on, and something I am so proud of. I hope that it continues, through me or inspires another - wouldn't that be a dream.

But now what to do? What do you do when a dream comes true. Achieving is scarier then not achieving. It is easy to make excuses to "why not"- busy, real life took over, lost interest, got a job, my dog ate my thesis.... but there are no excuses for success. And then there is the aftermath, the dreaded "what now?" The last question they asked me in my defense, the question that hangs over my head now.... well for a bit I will dream- code for sleep!- and bike past my tree at a slower pace- and know that no matter what --I can do what ever my dreams may be.

Thanks to all who help me realize my dreams.