Aksel and I just went on a glorious autumn walk with Reilly. The colors are stupendous, and so it seems the perfect moment to enjoy an Oktoberfest beer and send a note out to my world. I made a batch of Byerly's Wild Rice Soup which is just waiting for Shawn and Lachen to return from the rink to be devoured. I bought the rice at the pow-wow this year, so I am especially excited about this pot o' soup.
We carved pumpkins outside on the patio because it was so sunny and warm. Of course, I have to enter grades and progress reports before 8:00 a.m. tomorrow for 20 students, but that's what nightfall is for, right? Yes, I am ever the procrastinator. But, really, isn't it equally as scandalous to squander a glorious fall day?
I just cleaned, peeled, and sliced at least ten pounds of carrots from my garden. It's the never-ending supply. I wish carrots were as easy to mail as garlic. I don't think they would fare well. I am thoroughly enjoying the garlic cloves my mom sent me via the postal service. In a cardboard box that lets them breathe, they are highly sendable, and they make quite an odiferous entrance into any mailroom.
Finally, I have been reading
Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell, and it has gotten me thinking about so many different parts of my childhood, American society, parenting, and so many more things. One thing that I feel so intensely living in New England is what an agrarian lifestyle I am used to, even though I certainly didn't grow up on a farm. Gladwell juxtaposes the culture of herders versus farmers and how herders have to protect their flock and always be on the defensive. Sheep are relatively easy to steal or kill, right? Conversely, farmers have to work together to produce a successful crop, and the notion of someone stealing a harvest seems comical: "By moonlight, the neighboring jealous farmer stole a whole year's harvest of potatoes." Sheayh! Right! The cut-throat, suspicious herding mentality isn't really necessary. Compare the violent threat of a wolf versus that of a grazing deer, or imagine the wrath of a jealous neighbor whose flock is overgrazing the sweetest clover. Granted, tempermental weather can be an evil foe as well, but in that case, all the farmers suffer a drought, a flood, or an early frost with equanimity.
This isn't to say that I'm surrounded by herders here in Massachusetts. The metaphor doesn't follow that seamlessly. Rather, I think that the distended link between food producer and food consumer strains--if not obliterates--those agrarian cultural roots that are apparently part of this place as well. Yes, there are apple orchards around. Hugely commercial, with apple pies made in a factory and apple-flavored candy made in China. We can go and pick apples...for $24 a bag.
Today, I'm really yearning for a harvest gathering. Crock pots of steaming, hearty food. Peter's home brewed beer. Pies made with lard. A firebowl or fireplace that forces everyone to gather around closely to stay warm. I remember gathering on a farm the first September that I wasn't a student. It was the year I was in LVC. I had gone to a conference and learned about Hmong families and their urban garden plots; I learned about reviving a nearly-lost language and the symbolism of the four seasons, directions, and elements from a Lakota woman. And then, I returned to the city to join my roommates on a to trek out to our CSA for a harvest party. I posed for a picture on a mountain of brilliant orange, bulbous pumpkins. Then I cupped my hands around a mug of steaming lentil-potato-chard stew in a barn sitting on a metal folding chair. All of my cheeks were numb with cold, but my palms, belly, and soul were toasty warm.
Please tell me that somebody is doing that this Sunday afternoon.
