Regarding: Gustavus Adolphus College

(Dear friends; I know I have been lax in the extreme about blog posting over the last few years, but this is very important to me.  Please pass this on to anyone you know who is concerned about Gustavus.  It's time to take action.  Since this letter was sent, President Ohle has publicly stated that he will not resign.)

On Wednesday December 12, 2012, over 30 students and alumni of Gustavus Adolphus College gave President Jack Ohle letters asking for his resignation. Accompanying the letters were gifts, as a gesture of good will and respect. This is one of those letters:

December 6, 2012

Camp Amnicon, South Range, WI

Dear President Ohle,

I’d like to extend my sincere congratulations for the work you have done to promote Gustavus’ core value of excellence. Last year, I was present for Homecoming, Nobel and sesquicentennial kick-off events, and I saw excellence on display everywhere. Every event I attended spoke to the greatness of Gustavus, an institution that I am proud to call my alma mater. I’m grateful for the work you’ve done with fundraising. I want Gustavus to be everything that it can be. It is because of this honest desire that I am respectfully asking you to resign from the post of president.

I care so much because my educational experience at Gustavus was incredible. Because of my truly great professors I learned more in the classroom than I could have imagined possible. I was challenged and stretched, and became not just a better writer and a better thinker but a better human. My professors taught me excellence as much by example as by instruction. I learned about community in the dormitories, first as a resident and then as a Collegiate Fellow, where the
girls I lived with and the colleagues I worked with taught me about laughing together and caring for each other as equals. It was as a member of I Am We Are that I embraced Gustavus’ value of justice and began speaking out for and with those who go unheard. I learned about service on the couches of the Center for Vocational Reflection, where Chris Johnson and Amy Pehrson, along with my friends and peers, challenged and supported in my desire to be a servant leader. Finally, it was as a volunteer and worshipper in Christ Chapel that my faith came to life; the mentorship and care of Chaplains Brian
Johnson and Rachel Larson taught me to engage in the struggle of living out the values of excellence, community justice and service with hope, joy and trust in the love of God. Without these experiences I would not be who I am today—I would be a smaller person with smaller interests, revolving mainly around my own happiness. It is thanks to Gustavusand those who live out its core values that I find myself on the journey to live them out as well in full-time ministry.

So I applaud the advancement of Gustavus as an institution, and the celebration of its excellence, and am glad to know that excellence continues to be a priority. All the same, over the homecoming weekend and in the year since then I have found myself asking how the other four values are being advanced. As a community, Gustavus is more fragmented than I’ve ever seen it; too many community members feel that they aren’t being valued or heard. It breaks my heart to see the very staff and faculty that taught me so much about living well near tears due to your leadership. How is justice valued at Gustavus when I Am We Are is asked to censor its message for the sake of appearances? How is servant leadership being
played out in your administration? And finally, faith: in my view, the loss of Brian Johnson and the subsequent unilateral restructuring of the chapel staff has been a tragedy for Gustavus. It is my fear that it signals a change in the ethos of Christ Chapel, which had been, in Brian’s words, “a tent of meeting” where difference was encountered with love and where faith was both challenged and deepened.

Yes, I am pleased that Gustavus is advancing; but my fear is that institutional advancement is valued over institutional humility. It is my prayer that the Gustavus community continues to ask the hard questions seeking the truest—not the most attractive, convenient, or marketable but the most real— ways to live out its values.

I hope that you will accept this letter and gift in the spirit in which I send it—one of trust in our shared concern for the institution of learning we both value. I’m sending you a tin of my favorite home-grown herbal tea; I pray that you will accept this gift and the comfort it provides as you walk through this trying time. Its ingredients are nettle and mint, herbs traditionally used for healing and clarity of mind—traits that we all need in this season. I wish you no ill-will, Mr. President; I honor your contributions to Gustavus, and ask you to make one more by stepping down at this time.

With Sincere Hope,

Bethany Ringdal, Class of 2011

P.S. It is the season of Advent—the time of hopeful waiting. Many of us are directing our Advent prayers towardsGustavus this season. Know that my prayers are with you and your family as well.

I know, I know, it's been a long time...

But I'm still alive!  Once a person gets behind on blogging, the amount of things that COULD be said is overwhelming, and one just doesn't even want to try.  But here I am, nonetheless!  I'll deal with my little problem with a random list of things I've been thinking about, in no particular order.  I'm just going to be ok with being a sloppy blogger. 

1. This is my first fall without school in 19 years.  Which makes me feel excited and nostalgic and unprepared and lonely and excited again.  I do miss the grand adventure of learning, every day, as my main task.  Always at this time of year I get itchy to start writing papers, thinking new thoughts, being challenged by ideas that I never would have encountered on my own.  I particularly miss the tactile bits right now: new notebooks, not yet the unorganized chaos they would become mid-semester.  New pencils.  A daily schedule, written out and full of possibilities!  But that's my life looking forward... I mean the "full of possibilities" part, not the "written out."  It is entirely unwritten.  
2. Yeah, about that future... Coming towards the end of something always makes me anxious and day-dreamy about my long-term future.  Brendan and I dream out loud a lot about what we could do.  Start a farm/commune/social justice community?  Organize communities around food availability and intimacy?  Find some community without a co-op and start one?  An apple orchard?  An off-the-grid house on our own plot of land?  Notice the theme: FOOD.  
3. My amazing friend Amanda asked me recently how I came to care about food so much, and I had a new realization today on that front.  I believe that there are two basic categories of human need: the physical (food, shelter, etc.), and the spiritual (community, nature, pleasure, God).  Food is one thing that can fill both of those needs.  Obviously everyone needs a certain amount of daily calories, but we can become just as sick without our spiritual needs met.  People gather around food, find pleasure in it, get to be outside when they grow it.  Making and eating good food forces us to slow down and just do one thing.  And (of course) food is theologically significant, a major part of Jesus' ministry, the center of Christian ritual in the eucharist.  Ask me someday about a eucharistic ethics of food justice.  Or go read Sara Miles' really really good book, "Take This Bread".  Anyways.  Food.  Love it.  
4. And just for good measure, some things I've been doing lately: harvesting and processing food like crazy--roasting and freezing tomatoes, canning salsa, drying pears, storing potatoes.  Today we picked two bushels of apples from a friends trees, so we'll be elbow deep in applesauce and apple butter soon.  We're almost done putting up a high tunnel (a sort of unheated green house to grow produce in the winter!)  Generally loving up this place all we can while we can. 

Life and Death

It's been a while since I've written, so I thought I'd make up for it with some really intense subject matter--Life and Death.  I used to have the impression that farmers were people who made life happen--farmers help plants and animals to grow and thrive, so that the people who eat them can grow and thrive.  And this is true.  I understand myself as a food midwife, ushering zucchini and eggs and cheese and jam into the world.  But farming is undeniably also about death.  There's a lot of casual death around here.  Out in the garden, where we are helping the tomatoes and carrots and beans to grow, we pull out any plant that we don't want there, starve it of water and nutrients, and throw it on the compost heap to rot.  The beautiful red beetles that were munching on the potatoes last week were smashed under my boot by the handful.  Of course, too, we know that the turkeys that I've fallen so in love with will be dinner come November, and that we are raising two beautiful calves that will likely be dinner too, and that soon we have to slaughter a couple of roosters because we have too many of them.  I know that life and death is everywhere in the world, but the interplay between them is so close to the surface here on the farm.  Yesterday it bubbled up right in my hands.  We had a little chick, two or three weeks old, who couldn't walk.  Something had gone wrong with his or her legs, and the poor little thing would flop over every time it tried to stand.  We tried nursing it, separating it from the others and giving it its own food and water, making little splints out of pipecleaners... but none of it worked.  The Chick sat in one place for a day and a half, unable to hobble even to the dish of food we'd put out for it.  And so we had to kill it.  I know that I kill mosquitos all the time, and weeds, and that I've eaten meat for most of my life and so am implicit in the killing of animals, but this was the first creature that I've had to take in my hands with the implicit purpose of ending its little life.  I could feel it breathing, and hear it chirping, and he relaxed in my hands when I turned him on his back and through my tears I had to twist its neck.  I don't think I was decisive enough--it kept breathing, chirping, flopping.  Brendan gave it a few more twists and we left it on the compost pile and went to eat breakfast.  And our lives go on.  One becomes very aware, on a farm, how much our living is tied up in dying--not just our own eventual deaths, which color everything, but the little lives extinguished for our survival--or even just our comfort--every day.  It's enough to make one stop and think, isn't it? 

Baking Day

Friday is baking day.  We get up early, let Sue do all the morning chores, and roll our sleeves up for a long day.  I run the inside oven, making pastries and sweets, and Brendan bakes the bread out on the patio in our wood-fired clay oven.  Here's what we have for tomorrow's farmer's market:

Raspberry Cream Cheese tarts, with our own berries!

Elderflower cupcakes, garnished with black raspberries and crystalized elderflowers

Of course, the sourdough bread.  We make white, whole wheat, rye, and multigrain, and score each with a different pattern so we can tell them apart.  These are rye and white.

Come see us at the market in Downtown Rochester or at the farm, any weekend!

God, bless the little berries, black, blue, rasp, and otherwise...

Guess what this is?  Ah!  Our first beautiful ripe red juicy RASPBERRY!  We've been harvesting strawberries for a week and a half now, but we only get a handful every day--soon we'll be simply SWIMMING in raspberries.  Can you tell I'm pumped?  Yesterday we had buttermilk pancakes with raspberries and rhubarb syrup for breakfast.  YUM. 

P.S. Extra points to anyone who gets the title reference...

Turkey-Love

You know how you always hear that turkeys are stupid and mean and ugly?  I vehemently deny it!  I am quickly falling in love with our little turkey charges.  We have ten of them, and Brendan and I share most of the turkey duties--mainly giving them food and water, changing their bedding, and spending some time with them each day to make sure that no one is acting funny or sick. 

Ok, so other people might think our little turks are ugly, but I think they're... endearingly ugly.  Like little dinosaurs.  They're definitely not mean--though they are a bit clumsy and keep on accidentally stepping on the ducks.  And they may not be the brightest birds in the coop--they can't find any kitchen scraps we put in unless we put them right in their dish with the feed--but they're sweet.  They're really curious, and will peck lightly at any speck they don't understand--a colored patch on your jacket, a picture of a chicken on a feed bag. 

And they're growing so fast!  Already it takes two hands to hold one, and they get bigger every day.  The toms have started getting red on their necks (you can see a little in the picture above--it's more pronounced now) and they've taken to puffing up, holding out their wings, fanning their tails, and turning in little circles, showing off for anyone who will watch them.  They think they're pretty tough, but when we tried to let them out of their little pen to explore today, not a one would leave the coop on its own.  I think they're shy around the big chickens. 

My mom is ordering one of these babies for thanksgiving.  I look forward to sharing my handiwork with my family, but I know there will be a few tears shed and many thank-you's said when I eat one of these sweet little critters.  

The Deluge

There's a section in my favorite novel, One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, where it rains for something like 20 years straight.  That's what it feels like this week, although it's really only been 4 days or so.  The chickens have been hiding under the truck bed to keep dry; I guess they have cabin fever too and want to stay out of the coop.  I have a lot to do in the garden (the weeds!  the rain is helping them out TOO MUCH.) but the whole garden is a mud puddle, and every step I take compresses the soil into a concrete brick, which I absolutely want to avoid, so... I have to find other work to do.  I'm getting a head-start on baking for the weekend (this week: lemon-poppyseed chick cookies, peach-strawberry tarts, rhubarb cupcakes, and, of course, wood-fired sourdough bread...) and I've been cleaning out the barn... an adventure that could take a loooong time.  Yesterday I faced the extra-glamorous task of scraping chicken poop out of the barn loft, where they roosted all winter.  Today... I think I'll organize the GIANT PILE OF TOOLS in the front part of the barn--they'll be much more useful if we know where they all are!  My mucking-about boots are getting a solid workout in all of the mud.  Here's hoping it clears up for the weekend! 

Me and My Cow Friends

I'm working on befriending the cows.  I really want to learn to milk, so that I can give Sue some time off.  And so I can know how to milk a cow!  I've been spending a bit of time in the pasture each day with a pocket full of cow cookies and sweet grain, trying to convince them that I'm a pretty nice person, really.  LaFonda is such a sweet and loving cow that the very first time I came out she let me brush her all over.  She's the one I most want to love me, since she's the milk cow. 

Her calf, Lindyhop, is less convinced.  Here he is playing on the compost pile--he's kind of a goof!  He's getting bolder--now he'll come and lick my fingers, if I'm patient, and today he even let me pet him for a second.

Lariat is kind of a grouch.  She knew that I had food today and came right up, and would tolerate petting if I kept up a steady stream of food, but I could tell she didn't like it.  When I tried to spend time with the calves, she actually headbutted Lindy out of the way to get to my pocket-full of grain!  At least she let me touch her--she used to take one sniff and turn around as if to say "nope.  we're NOT friends."  I don't have a good picture of Lariat's calf Jitterbug, who's beautiful and black and very shy.  I can't haven't ever gotten close enough to touch her, although she's starting to get used to my presence.  I'm hoping to start halter training the calves soon, but I'll need to get the piggy mamas out of the way first! 

 Lindyhop, the steer calf, is starting to be convinced.  He'll lick my fingers a little and today he let me pet him for a second. 

A Day Off = A Day On

Tuesdays are shaping up to be my days off--the weekends are full of farmers market and farm store, and once I get home from Church on Sundays its more fun to work in the garden and chat with visitors than to sit inside by myself.  Tuesdays are perfect--the weekend is done and cleaned up after, and there's no rush to get ready for the next one yet.  Last Tuesday, Brendan and I borrowed the car and went to find the thrift stores in town.  It was over 100 degrees, but we had a picnic anyways.  It was a good day to not be working!  

This Tuesday I was on my own, since Brendan's on a family vacation.  I started off the day slow and lazy, reading in bed and having breakfast in my pajamas on the hammock, and then decided, since it was a lovely day, to get off my butt and have an adventure.  Sue got her bike down from the top of the barn, and pointed me towards the Douglas Trail, and off I went!  

The Trail is lovely, deep and wooded, with farms dotting the way.

I was totally overjoyed when, about 2 miles into my ride, the trail crossed the Zumbro River.  I miss rivers like crazy in this, my first summer away from Camp Amnicon.  It was total bliss--with a dash of nostalgia--to sit on the bank and daydream.

 And I found some marsh marigolds, my favorite wildflower!  They grow all over at Amnicon, and they added to the sense of home. 

There was a nice little perch up on the bridge where I could watch the river go it's way.  I wish I would have brought a field guide for trees or birds or wildflowers!

 Did I mention that it was a glorious day?  

My ride ultimately took me to Pine Island, a cute little town about 8 miles down the trail.  I wandered around a bit, had a muffin in a coffee shop, and decided to head back.  By the time I started home, the wind was whipping up and it felt like rain... and it seems like the uphill stretches are disproportionately arranged for the way back!  Sue called at one point to ask if I wanted a lift, but I persevered and made it back to reward myself with the uber-delicious cinnamon ice-cream I'd made that morning.  

Moo Juice

 Meet LaFonda, our ever-generous milk-cow, and her calf, Lindyhop. 

When we first got here, LaFonda was producing 3 gallons of milk a day--not counting what Lindy drank.  Now, as Lindy gets bigger and more hungry, we get more like 2.  Nonetheless... that's a LOT of milk.  Wanna guess what the fridge looks like?

And that's not counting the fridge out in the barn, which is TOTALLY full of milk!  Needless to say, figuring out what to do with all of that dairy is a daily chore.  Today I made ice-cream, frozen yogurt, mozzerella, and cream cheese.  We had the mozz (which only takes a half-hour to make and is really fun!) and the frozen yogurt with dinner--the ice-cream and cream cheese will be ready (and good, I hope) tomorrow. 

This milk... let me tell you.  It's good milk.  It's raw, so there's some amount of risk, but Sue takes lots of percausions to make sure nothing nasty gets into it.  It is so rich and flavorful that I don't think I'll be able to go back to plain-ole watery bland skim.  If you ever want to take some off of our hands, just come visit and we'll load you down with dairy products! 

Me Vs. The Violets

My title doubles for the name of my new one person band; me and my diggy-prying tool singing to the strawberries.

I used to really like violets.   My favorite color was decidedly purple.  When I was I kid I imagined that I'd name my first daughter violet, and I was always thrilled when I'd find them growing in someone's lawn. 

But the story has changed, I'm afraid.  Violets are one of the worst weeds in my garden, and I've spent all weekend trying to rescue the poor strawberries from their grasp.  When we got here the strawberries were invisible under a jungle of tall thistles and grass; it was our first weeding job to free them.  It's evident now, a week and a half later, that in all of our clueless enthusiasm ("We're weeding!  In a real garden!  Wowee!") we didn't do a very good job.  You can't pull violets up by their roots--they grow in clumps with big, horizontal, tuberous roots just under the surface, and when you pull, you just get the stems.  My tool of the week is a long diggy-prying tool that in the past I've seen used to get out long dandelion roots; it's the best way to pry violets out of the soil too.  The problem is, the violets really like to grow right at the root of my strawberry plants.  More than once this weekend I found myself triumphantly raising a violet clump only to find that I'm also holding up a poor, uprooted strawberry, gasping in the air.  I guess I'm accidentally thinning our over-crowded little patch. 

The best thing about violets, though, is how SATISFYING they are to dig up.  Unlike grass, at which you can dig and pull for a long while without much victory, violets pop out of the ground with a satisfying THUMP! when you get the diggy-pryer under them just right.  This work is full to brimming of little victories. 

Fashion Forward

Here is my all-purpose, chilly-out-with-sun-and-pitchforking-to-do outfit.  It's all the rage!

 I know you were wondering... yes, those are $100 Ray-Ban sunglasses.  To be fair, my dad found them in a dumpster up North, and the hinges are real wobbly, but they fit over my glasses great!  They had a little adventure today--I was pruning around the outside of the pasture's electric fence with the sunglasses ticked into the top of my ubiquitous straw hat, and somewhere along the way realized that the $100 sunglasses were (gasp!) gone!  Luckily, Brendan found them later.  Whew!  

Tools O' the Trade 1: The Crowbar

Says Brendan: "My father always told me never to get between a woman and her crowbar!"

Thus far, this is my favorite gardening tool--a crowbar with one bent edge and notches out of both sides.  I use it for hacking up chunks of dirt and also for the more delicate work of weeding in between closely spaced plants.  It got a lot of use today--I spent all morning weeding between the rows of peas, radishes, lettuce, and beets, with this bad boy in my right hand and a bunch of weeds in my left. 

By lunch time I had weeded, thinned, and mulched these four rows.  They look lovely, but I'll admit that I was a bit disappointed.  Five hours of work for four measly rows??? This is one of my big lessons so far.  This work takes time, and the gratification is the opposite of instant; it'll be another month before we're enjoying the crops off of these plants.  Life on the farm is forcing me to slow down, do one task at a time, and do it well.  It reminds me a bit of the taoist idea of wu-wei, or "actionless action."  Followers of the Tao are supposed to act without being attached to the outcome of their actions.  Of course, I'm terribly attached to the dream of peas coming off of these plants, but I know that any number of factors could get between today's hard work and next month's salad, and I have to work hard anyways.  It's incredibly satisfying to work so hard, so simply, in the clean air.  Just me and my crowbar. 

Whipping the garden into shape has been a full-time job for Brendan and me these last few days; weeding, planting, mulching, weeding, weeding, weeding, researching, strategizing, weeding, planting, taking hydrating breaks... and it's been HOT.  and HUMID.  We both got our first farming sunburns yesterday.  We had intended to take the day off, but it rained overnight and we wanted to take advantage of the easy weeding with moist soil, so... we worked all day.  We had to find some inside work around noon, though--it was just TOO HOT to be doing hard work outside. 

The garden is clearly seeping deep into my subconcious; as I've been sleeping, I've had the strange sensation that I'm a vegetable.  I wrote a poem about it...

Garden Night

These days my sleep is vegetal,
soak through, heavy with
unborn fruit.  Tomorrow I weed
the potatoes and tonight's is potato
sleep, underground, heavy and close.
My arm loses feeling underneath me,
a blind root reaching down, and my
dreams nudge above the surface,
new, green things, seeking light.  

And Now We're Farmers!

I'm sorry that I haven't posted anything yet--the four days since we got here to Squash Blossom Farm have been FULL of work and learning, and there's been no time or energy to spare for futzing with computers. I just got my computer hooked up to the wireless here, so I should be more connected from here on out, but if you really want to get a hold of me, call and leave a message on my cell phone, and I'll (probably) get it by night time. I'm trying to be as present to life HERE as possible.

Anyways. An update is, I think, in order.

It is BEAUTIFUL here. I feel like we've walked into a dirty little piece of heaven.


Here's the view from my window.  Yup.  Pretty darn spectacular.  I catch a great sunrise every morning, too.

Our first day here we were cleaning the outdoor kitchen when I heard a new noise.  I walked into an unused (except for junk storage) room of the barn, and found a whole bunch of baby chicks!  9 of them had fallen into the holes in a cinder block and couldn't get out.  Their poor mama was terribly flustered... she'd hidden them away in that room and then couldn't get them out!  We're letting her keep them in there until she wants to join us in the outside world, so she can take care of them on her own terms.

Brendan and I spent some of our time yesterday gathering wild yummables to sell at the farmers market.  These were surprise goodies--nettles (yes, the stinging kind!) and wild parsnips, which can give you a terrible rash!  If handled and cooked right, they're both excellent, and we'd like them out of the meadow, so... here I am with some muddy parsnips, freshly dug up.

We spent the rest of the day BAKING.  One of our major projects is to learn the art of sourdough bread.  We started multiplying the starter on wednesday night, mixed the dough on Thursday night, and baked all day on Friday for Saturday's farmers market.  We made 48 loaves total, all in the outdoor clay oven, which had to be refired between every batch.  It was a lot of work, but also a lot of fun!  Here are some of our whole wheat loaves, fresh from the oven.  Below that is a picture of us at the farmers market.  We sold all of our bread, and (surprise!) all of the nettles and most of the parsnips!  It was a good day, and when we got back we all took a well-deserved nap. 

It's a good thing that I'm too lazy to take and add pictures; with Alyssa and I coming home and the entire packing/unpacking process in midstream, the house looks like a stuff-bomb went off in every room. I'm culling through everything I own, giving bags and bags away to rummage. This is much more enjoyable than I had thought; its a weight off of my shoulders to own less things. I still own SO MUCH! I put four boxes of books in my parents attic for storage, and a whole box of clothes that I don't need now. I'm wondering... if I don't need them now, do I need them ever? Maybe I'll get rid of those next time I'm home.
I have two streams of thought about all of this; first, the example of my dad, who, being thrifty and handy, likes to keep things around that might be useful. Mostly this adds up to lots of piles of junk, but whenever we need something... walla! He either has it already or can cobble it together with wire and duct tape. I have a hard time throwing away things that could, someday, be useful, or could be turned into other, more wonderful things, if only I had the time and inclination. It seems like a great way to save money and keep things from the trash! But, of course, I don't have anywhere to store useful things. I'm mobile right now, and I will be for a good couple of years before I have anywhere to keep my own piles of junk. And really, when I think about it, I'd like to be as unattached to things as possible. I've been throwing out all kinds of sentimental things this week, knowing that my memories and feelings about the people and experiences they bring to mind are not, in fact, the things themselves. I have the example of my friend Kelley, who lives so happily and so purposefully with so very little.
Today I get to see my very wonderful friend Anna, run some pre-farm errands (buy sunscreen, bike helmet, tennishoes, embroidery floss...) and then try to make the house livable again before I leave tomorrow. Yikes!

Graduation Day!

Today's the day--one end, and one great big beginning. After four excellent years at Gustavus Adolphus College, I'm graduating for good. Thanks to all of my friends, mentors, and teachers; you've really made a difference in my life! For the occasion, here's a poem of mine. I read it at last night's candle-light service for the other seniors. When I wrote this three years ago, in an attempt to work a difficult french form, I had no idea how appropriate it would be today. (As a side note, an edited version of this poem is the text of a new commissioned piece for Baritone and piano by composer Libby Larson, to be premiered at the Gustavus Sesquicentenial kick-off celebration on September 30.)

Turn, Turn,

we turn and turn and turn around again
to find some light, and in the turning find
that where we are is where we've always been

we reach our arms out, blind, to find a friend
then love and lose and turn, release and bind,
we turn and turn and turn around again

and ache to find our home, a love to tend,
and finding one turn back again to pine—
but where we are is where we've always been

then breach the gap and hold the tear and mend
the burning need and then: another time
we turn and turn and turn around again

and turning hate the ties and tear and rend
for bitter freedom, then we turn the mind—
and where we are is where we've always been

we turn until we come round right, and bend
to loss and grow more wise, more lined,
still turn and turn and turn around again
still where we are is where we've always been.

Hello Goodbye, Hello Goodbye...

It's been about a year since I've last written here (yikes!) but as I leave one home and find another, I want to refresh this as a way to keep in touch about my adventures. Here's the scoop: I graduate from Gustavus Adolphus College on Sunday. Next Wednesday, Brendan and I are moving in at Squash Blossom Farm (squashblossomfarm.blogspot.com) a very lovely little farm outside of Rochester. We'll be helping out with the cows, chickens, and garden and running a farmers market stand with yummy fresh sourdough bread. Hoorah! We're getting really excited for the brand new adventure. Both of us are really committed to changing food systems and can imagine farming in our future, but we haven't farmed a day in our lives and have no idea how we'll like the work. We're thinking of this summer as a sort of farming sampler platter, a chance to test it out. In the fall I'll be moving back up the Camp Amnicon (www.amnicon.org) for a year-round internship. As excited as I am to go to the farm, it's hard for me to NOT be going to camp this summer; after three summers of guiding, Amnicon is really a true home for me. I'm glad that I'll be going back in a few months, and that I'll get to see an entirely different side of camp life.

Back to Amnicon

I'm heading back to camp again, for more wonderful and difficult and heart-wrenching and joyful adventures, and a good dose of solid hard work. If you're interested in visiting me at some point up by Duluth, let me know ASAP so I can try to get a day off for you. Otherwise, please send me letters! Here's my address...

8450 E. Camp Amnicon Rd.
South Range WI 54874.

I'll have my cell phone, but won't be answering it. If you leave a message I'll try to get back to you. Same goes for e-mail--I'll try to check every week or so.

Summer love and many adventures to you!

Spring

For Everything There Is a Season

It is time!

It is time for turning,
for leaning,
time for dancing,
time for climbing trees
and for spinning
in circles,
for turning your face
to the sky.

The puddles are full
to their brims. The birds
know it is time;
they sing in the
morning to turn
turn turn
the seasons
round to some
new purpose.

Don't you know?
Or are you too buried
in the bookish wool
of winter to
hear them
turning
their songs over
on themselves
like cartwheels?

Close your books,
just now. It is
time to stop
the click-clack
of brain with
words
with
work
and put on
rubber boots
and turn
(turn!)
the time
to now.

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

I dropped a class this spring. Not because it was too hard, or not interesting (it was wonderful) but because I needed soul time. It was one of the best ideas I've had. I'm trying to learn the art of quitting, of giving myself permission to not do everything, to not fill my time and my space with to-dos. Since I dropped that class I've started writing again, and not just because I have more time, but also because I have the spiritual energy to make poetry possible.