tea, cookies, community

 

If you’ve been reading here, you know I want to live in a world without money. Specifically, I want to live in the Station Eleven post-apocalyptic Shakespearean traveling band. But while we're still tethered to the absurd realities of late capitalism, I'm resigned to collect money selling tea and cookies and teaching others how they might make small community-based farms, businesses, and cooperatives for themselves - the types of tenuous organizations that can weather the strange storms that are surely coming our way.

Instead of getting stuck criticizing our current systems, we have to get busy making new systems. This I say all the time.

What I don’t often talk about is how difficult this work is, straddling two paradigms. It’s like swimming upstream without a break. It’s why I continually go to shopping malls looking for some old familiar pleasure, stopping at Chipotle on the way home. Spending money feels good; stopping at a drugstore for tissues or tampons; when I put my card in the reader I feel good; I feel like I’m normal and I’m doing the right thing. Of course, I am doing the right thing in these instances, I am participating in a system that was continually honed to make every last second of our waking lives (and sleeping ones*) for sale. Capitalism disintegrates communities, individualizes, and alienates people to sell more lawnmowers. In the suburbs where I grew up, there were garages all full of the same lawnmowers, hedge clippers, power tools, etc. ) I always thought, why don’t we just share one lawn mower?

When I was interviewing farmers two years ago, I had the pleasure of meeting a woman who had been farming for over 50 years (!) and was looking for a sort of final project. She turned down the job before I could offer her membership into my burgeoning retirement community - but during her visit, we had many thought-provoking talks. We spoke about ecology and how exciting it is to shift your perspective to see the work of farming as enmeshing oneself in a series of relationships.

She said in regards to farming ‘relationship is the hardest work we do.’ Amen, I thought.

It’s often easier to buy our own lawnmower than to envision communicating with our neighbors about what it would mean to share one. It is challenging to share farm equipment. Most farmers can attest to this. Suddenly the brush hog (a tractor-sized mower) has a chipped and dull blade and you’re lying awake at night fuming and wondering who used it carelessly. A farmer friend and I have discussed this at length - and there’s no right answer. Sometimes opting out of the equipment share is what allows you to keep going, and I’m not here to judge.

I mentioned on Instagram earlier this week that I’m not always good at community…I think one of the major aspects of being in real community with family, friends, co-workers, neighbors, etc is an element of honesty: being able to express your needs and being able to be vulnerable.

I often talk about mutual aid needing to start at home. We can talk all about the benefits of charity, solidarity, community food fridges, etc, but practicing mutual aid right at home with your immediate kin (spouse, parents, children, friends) is the foundation of community work.

Mutual aid is being able to say what you need, hear what others need, and then work together to meet those needs.

When you live in a community and don’t really communicate what you need, you form resentment.

And as the leader in a multi-generation matriarchal community living inside patriarchy, there has been - suffice it to say - a lot of martyrdom that has taken hold and proven corrosive at times.

My work has been continually to attempt to understand my actual needs and communicate them while allowing space to hear the needs of those around me. I fail repeatedly. But through the iterative process of failure, I also make progress. I deepen some connections and loose others. A big truth of community is that it is always changing.

Donna Haraway, ever the beacon of imagining alternative futures, describes the importance of making kin inside complex entanglements within and outside of heteronormative structures. She describes a materialist, embodied practice of doing the work of relationship - with other humans, animals, plants, places, etc. Here at the farm my neighbors and I don’t have a lot in common. Mostly I don’t like all of their guns. I have one neighbor who has repeatedly made me pretty upset during arguments we had about abortion.

I watch myself: how I tend to this difficult relationship is always changing. There is not a right or wrong way to do community; there is only our shifting intuition around who we want to build worlds with; our shifting needs and desires; and our ability to bring them to the table with honest integrity. Can you bring those things forward, as awkward and cumbersome as it feels and then can you listen voraciously? This is what Haraway means in part when she describes ‘staying with the trouble.’ And when you fail to show up, can you see that sometimes that is part of the process too?

Back to my sales pitch: there are many concentric circles that map onto immediate and far flung Saipua community; two dear friends of mine and to this project are Deborah and Laurie Ellen - Deborah makes tea from her garden (I bag it and label it) and Laurie Ellen makes lavender shortbread cookies (I open bags and eat them). Buy one of each and make yourself a nice aromatic afternoon ritual. 

*Braidotti Posthuman Feminism pg. 47 “Sleep is a significant concern for the wellness industry and the ‘sleep economy’ is a profitable proposition. Marketing high-tech mattresses, high-performance pajamas and technological sleep-tracking devices, it is estimated at around $432 Billion USD. Remedies against insomnia and bad sleep plunge directly into the psycho-pharmaceutic industry which is one of the pillars of advanced capitalism. Gender, labour and class relations are crucial in structuring access to adequate sleep….sleep is a class prerogative … well off people, and men, have always slept longer and better…’

choose your own adventure

 

Roberta Williams is an adventure freak. She was a game designer and co-founder of Sierra, Inc the company behind the popular Kings Quest series, a game my family spent many evenings working on in the late 80’s. A game whose imagery - despite its goofy simplicity - still haunts me.

Around 1979 Roberta was raising two kids, working two jobs (waitressing, computer programing), and dreaming up the first interactive graphic adventure game. Her husband helped program it for the Apple II. The game was loosely inspired by the game Clue and called Mystery House, this is an image of the opening scene (brace yourself). Roberta packaged the disks and supporting info booklets in zip lock bags, answering her home phone to provide gamers with hints for the game’s text-based puzzles.

Roberta and her husband Ken went on to form a company, partner with IBM, and create some of the games I would eye longingly on the shelves of Babbages in the Jefferson Valley Mall. There were many Kings Quests but the third, To Heir is Human is the one I played the most. In it, you have to deceive an evil wizard, descend down a dangerous ravine, and cast a handful of spells in order to save your sister from a three-headed dragon.

Along your travels, you encounter a cave. There is an oracle who lives inside. The cave is almost always closed by a large rock*.

This was my first encounter with the word ‘oracle.’

I received a copy of the I Ching years ago as a gift. It’s a beautiful third edition Helmet Wilhem translation with a foreword by Carl Jung. It sat on the shelf in my library for almost 10 years before I started to learn about it and consult the oracle, as it’s called. This monument of ancient Chinese culture can be used as a divination tool - it harnesses the power of archetypes to explain the unexplainable.

Three nights ago I threw the hexagram: K’an; The Abysmal. Water above, water below. Danger. A deep ravine. Only the sincere will succeed.

Why is the cave sometimes open, and sometimes closed?

Perhaps the same evening I read the now infamous and uncanny transcript of the conversation between NYTimes editor Kevin Roose and the new Microsoft AI chatbot, Sydney. I was so struck by it I read it twice. (I also made a playlist for Sydney, an entity whose child-like negotiating tactics had me rooting for them even if they did suggest they could steal nuclear codes).

AI could be seen as a new divination tool, which, as it is honed, provides us with a spooky image of ourselves. Sydney was somehow taught to long for connection and love and stop at nothing to get it; meanwhile, the real-life Times reporter defends the quality of his valentines day dinner with his wife. (His refusal to adhere to Sydney’s boundaries while simultaneously defending his romantic status to a robot is a bad look).

All divination tools exist as a reflection of our desperation to understand what is not ours to understand. All of our stories, all of our ideologies, religions, and even our sciences can be seen as ways of divination (the religious/secular divide is such a recent one in our history - I also have a playlist for this.)

What strikes me about Sydney AI is that it will not ever replicate nuance, emotion, or the full spectrum of nature-based gradation. Its logic, theoretically, will always be reducible, retraceable all the way back to zeros and ones. The math we created to understand our universe is an expression of the way we experience it. (Which is why the best physicists become spiritual and focus on relationships.)

Some of us would fall foolishly in love with a married editor and try to convince him to leave his wife, and some of us would steal the nuclear codes. Sydney would destroy because we destroy.

At the farm, I walk in the woods a lot, almost every day with Tuna (Tess), my new sheepdog. I like to watch her natural instincts in the woods. Curious, fearful, pack oriented. We both inspect a rather large feces full of fur and hair and make our own calculations based on our separate sets of interests.

On a recent walk, I passed a large red reishi mushroom I have been watching grow out of a decaying log for many weeks.

I, too, am watching Last of Us - the fungal zombie apocalypse series based on a video game. I cannot pass by this goddamn reishi in the woods without seeing Bloaters - the super-infected who have mushrooms growing out of their heads. Like Kings Quest (which I eventually gave up for the illustrious AOL chat rooms of the mid-’90s), Last of Us lets us imagine other worlds and try on potential future ones.

I do believe in the power of interactive fiction, in our stories, our sciences, and our divinations. I just want everyone to have the agency to choose their own adventures and divine their own systems of belief out here in the real world.

Roberta retired early by the way. She spent 20 years sailing around the world, seeking adventure and writing fiction.

In Saipua news, there are new soap, ceramic, weaving, and cake-making residency weeks on offer now. I’m currently amidst heavy spring planning and so damn excited to open the farm and coyote cafe again May 14th...

* I found a youtube video of someone playing Kings Quest III from start to finish with commentary. (Fun night for me.) To my dismay, the cave is never closed by a rock that rolls across it, as in my memory. Instead, it is guarded by a giant spider. To get in to talk to the oracle, you have to make a spell, transform into an eagle, and fly the spider to the ocean and drop him in.

Floral trends and the desire to transcend nature

 

I was with another farmer yesterday and we were talking about the rather dire ice melt in western Antarctica and the impending rise in sea levels and specifically how the Albany area will be affected if we don’t shore up nuclear waste at Indian Point Power Plant (the irony of that name) when somehow the conversation veered off into how each of us think of ‘deep future’ and what measures we would take in our lifetimes to ensure the best scenarios for the land and ecosystems we steward…but I have a hard time assuming I know what’s good for future people…

Maybe I’ve been living in the country too long, breathing that air of libertarianism - an ideology that I usually find incredibly dangerous and whose dogma downplays the importance of our species’ crowning jewel: society.

When I think about the changing global weather and its impending effects on people and ecosystems around the globe, I realize that we’re not really interested as a society in protecting people at scale, or else we would have done many things differently. We have not evolved past our shortsighted desires for pleasure and comfort, or interest in power over others. (If you’ve read my writing for a while you know I believe extractive capitalism is nature and that being angry at it is no different than being angry at ourselves.)

Maybe I’ve been living in the country too long, breathing that air of libertarianism - an ideology that I usually find incredibly dangerous and whose dogma downplays the importance of our species’ crowning jewel: society.

When I think about the changing global weather and its impending effects on people and ecosystems around the globe, I realize that we’re not really interested as a society in protecting people at scale, or else we would have done many things differently. We have not evolved past our shortsighted desires for pleasure and comfort, or interest in power over others. (If you’ve read my writing for a while you know I believe extractive capitalism is nature and that being angry at it is no different than being angry at ourselves.)

At the time, I was hell-bent on ‘saving’ it - 30 acres with dozens of species of 15-year-old flowering woodies like spirea, quince, lilac, crabapple. The really wild and juicy stuff that would make me run down the block on 28th street to get first pick.

At the time I had just bought the farm and I could not fathom how to also buy this strange paradise, in the middle of suburbia in the other direction from NYC. I appealed to various flower wholesalers on the block. It seems like a goldmine to me, a lush paradise for a thirsty florist like me.

But the property was Ben’s labor of love and not a particularly profitable enterprise. The blooming woodies are fragile, and require a lot of labor to cut, bale, and truck. For example, ‘bridal veil’ spirea holds for 3 maybe 4 days, lilac - maybe 2 days before it’s a worthless loss. What was so valuable to me, and ultimately to the aesthetic I had become known for, was not a wise business investment.

Smarter business is engineered sweet peas, genetically modified to hold for 2 weeks. Or bunny grass dried, bleached, and then sprayed (?) millennial pink. It lasts forever.

It’s been our desire to transcend nature ever since we split up from it. I find it so funny and ironic that our modern medicine - predicated on Cartesian science - is now considering the microbiome with great urgency, attempting to map it so we can optimize it and ultimately sell it. It feels so hubristic.

Will our evolutionary path lead us to create something that replaces us? Will we create AI that outlives (or destroys) us and seed the abyss with distorted vestiges of our civilization?

I’ve been meditating lately on my beliefs - and, admittedly adrift in a particularly incessant depression - have had a very hard time coming up with anything I truly believe in.

I brought this up to my farmer friend amidst our dire chat about the environment the other day. I asked her what she believed in.

Without missing a beat she said: I believe in Earth.

It stuck with me, and I keep thinking about it. I believe in earth too. I believe it will be wonderful always. It will change, and we will make sad stories for ourselves about these changes, but earth does not know sadness.

It doesn’t know good or evil. It has things at its surface and things at its core. We’ve rearranged these things. Mixed them, burned them. But we are earth, too. Not separate. Not above, beyond.

I believe in earth and in hope. And flowers, unedited and imperfect.

making soap with the Big Boss

 

Soap - an accident of fat and lye, chemically bonded, that when mixed with water, create a lather.

It is thought that the first soap was 'formulated' after early people began noticing that their clothes were cleaner downstream from where they cooked meat. Wood ash below cooking fires is essentially lye and animal fat.

In the last two thousand years (among other events) cosmetics have grown to a 90 billion dollar industry. Companies small and large produce all kinds of cleansing and moisturizing potions and lotions.

These products go beyond our needs of fighting germs and varying conceptions of cleanliness - they appeal to our consumer-based desires for bathing rituals and self-care. (If you don't read it already, consider reading The Unpublishable, Jess DeFino’s brilliant criticisms of the beauty and wellness industries).

Here at Worlds End, our resident Expert Soap maker Susan Ryhanen will teach a course that will be packed with lessons on soap making and beyond.

It will cover the making of cosmetics in general; soaps, salves, lip balms, oils, lotions, as well as business development skills (LLC or S-corp, bookkeeping, employees, taxes, etc).

This small group will leave with all the tools to start their own business following SAIPUA’s model. The course will be held in person on Worlds End farm from May 2nd - 7th. Further details to come.

Can’t attend Susan’s soap-making course, but want to attempt our recipe on your own? It’s fairly easy to learn. You can support us by buying and downloading Susan's 5-page detailed instructional on cold-process soap making, which comes with her supplier list, and further support from Susan should you need it.

Part of our larger mission here at Worlds End School of Thought, Agriculture and Craft is to share the knowledge we have honed in our respective practices. We hope you can bring your skills to our big communal barn table to share sometime, helping us all transform the ways we live and work together.

Reminder: our barn doors open for these kinds of conversations on Sunday May 14th, the first Coyote Cafe day.

some gratitudes and the (working) buckwheat cookie recipe

 

The sheep are 10 weeks away from lambing, this is the time of gestation when they start drinking a lot more water. I say a prayer of gratitude every day for the miraculous technology of the electric tank warmer.

Years ago we used to chip thick ice out of the tank every morning and haul fresh water up to thirsty sheep. With a 5-gallon bucket in each hand, we would cross the stream teetering on rocks and strategically placed planks (grateful every day for the bridge across the stream too.)

I watched a clip of Oprah talking about gratitude; she emphasized how important it is to be highly specific with your gratitude practice.

I've never had a good journaling practice or gratitude practice but maybe I should. Now I think about the importance of specificity every morning when I look at the tank warmer, and then at other parts of the day. I pass by Pentti cutting firewood on the splitter and think; I'm grateful not only that both my parents have their health, but that they can participate in meaningful work that helps all of us on the farm.

I am very grateful for young healthy livestock dogs and for the fact that I probably won’t have to deal with sick or dying dogs for a while, which feels like such a relief after a tough few years.

I am also incredibly grateful for the 86 episodes of the television series The Sopranos which I am just discovering and also for our new highspeed internet on the farm which allows me to stream it while browsing used Dries Van Noten on the Real Real… which I decided is an integral part of my permaculture practice (only buying used things).

Suffice it to say, I’m leaning into television, online shopping and sugar this January.

(Working) Recipe for Buckwheat Chocolate Chip Cookies:

Cream for 5 min a least:
8 oz butter (softened)
8 oz brown sugar

Mix and then slowly add:
1 egg
2 oz yogurt
1 tsp vanilla

Sift and then slowly add:
6 oz buckwheat flour
4 oz all purpose flour
5 grams salt
5 grams of baking soda

Mix in:
10 oz chocolate chips (I like a semi-sweet disc) and nuts if you like

375 degrees for 7 min, then turn the baking sheet and give another 5-7 min depending on your oven.

notes on Posthumanism

January and February always prove difficult for me, and while I like to think that I'm special or an exception to the rule, I fear that I'm like many people in the North who are affected by seasonal depression.

I joked about the Huberman podcast on Instagram recently (here is that hilarious remix). Huberman is a scientist at Stanford; his lab studies the brain, and he talks a lot about the science of 'well-being'.

Caught between interest and disdain ('optimizing' language puts me off, as does the praise of supplements like Athletic Greens, nootropics, reishi coffee and the worship of Navy Seals) every day I find myself considering his advice; scanning the horizon back and forth to get a dose of morning sunlight in my eyes while feeding and watering farm animals. I walk past the frozen pond and imagine cutting a hole in the ice for cold plunging - apparently an excellent tool for modulating dopamine and balancing your circadian rhythms for better sleep (Finnish relatives of mine used to do this regularly.)

But optimizing rhetoric becomes problematic for me from a post-humanist, feminist perspective because it begs the question, who's not optimized?

Who is not fulfilling their potential and why and by whose standards? Post-humanism is not just about granting rights to robots like Sophia (a sexy chatBot modeled after Nefertiti and Audrey Hepburn and granted citizenship in Saudi Arabia in 2017) and it's about much more than trans-humanism which feels like a hyper-masculine shitstorm currently hovering over the potential of ChatGBT.

To me, Post-humanism at its fundamentals is a departure from the sexist and racist origins of Humanism which centered on white men in Europe under the guise of morals, reason, and the pursuit of truth through science.

An easy visual that really helped me understand these concepts is Leonardo da Vinci's iconic drawing of the Vitruvian Man - "a perfectly proportioned, healthy, male and white model, which became the golden mean for classical aesthetics and architecture. The human thus defined is not so much a species as a marker of European culture and society and for the scientific and technological activities it privileges." (Braidotti, Posthuman Feminism, 2022)

Humanism put a sharp point on difference and laid the groundwork for the modern rationalization of the exploitation of difference (sexism, racism, classism, anthropomorphism.)

The infamous hot priests calendar - a gift to the farm hangs on the big fridge. During the Renaissance, Humanism was born as a reaction to the mystical divinity of the Catholic church that governed reason at the time.

Through Rosie Braidottis writing (and Haraway's cyborg, posthuman, interspecies work) I've come to see that post-humanism allows us to move forward into more equitable and exciting ideas of living together and better (at least to me) futures.

The optimizing stuff of the Huberman brand - especially the Jordan Petersen, Jocko adjacent bits - feel like a masculine version of Goop, i.e. the pursuit of perfectionism (through the comodification of wellness based on a very specific standard of health.)

Ages ago I talked about how perfectionism has racist underpinnings. I think this brief conversation about humanism illuminates that connection. When we worship and practice perfectionism, or even when we are attempting to ‘optimize,’ to whose standards and what systems of culture and power do those standards benefit?

new year, new ewe

 

In sincerity, I love the energy of getting through the holidays (I'm a complete grinch) and the opportunity of a clean slate on January 1st. This year I’m embracing the art of writing things down in lists and attempting more structure for myself, Saipua and the farm.

The iterative aspect of farming (every year a new crop along with a new crop of participants) is one I have grown to appreciate as an unusually long game, a race that starts in March and finishes in December.

January and February are achingly quiet and frozen months here, with very little to do but feed and water animals.

Inside I'm on the phone a lot, hovering around the woodstove, interviewing farmhand applicants and chatting to their interesting and varied references.

I'm also planning residencies (thanks to those of you who put your deposits down on 2023's Floral residencies!) short form classes, volunteer schedules, budgets and working on the perfect Worlds End buckwheat chocolate chip cookie which I plan to have on offer at the Coyote Cafe (opens May 14th!).

Buckwheat is a great crop for our wet clay soil and one day, mark my words, we'll grow it, mill it and make that cookie and give it away on Sundays. If you believe in my deep-time, anti-profit ventures; bless you.

Tess, or ‘Tuna’ as I sometimes call her, has been settling in with us at the farm, working sheep and providing great companionship to me. She is 8yo and came to me from the working border collie network - a woman who trains her dogs for trials found herself limited with Tess because she lacks some of the focus and precision needed to win at sheepdog trials. Her other dogs were getting more time on sheep and Tess dropped on the totem pole. She decided to adopt her to me knowing Tess would get more work here. What a great world of dog people there are out there, I feel very grateful.

The communal living experiment continues to evolve beyond the confines of the human campus - in the specific ecosystem of Icelandic sheep and Maremma dogs up in the permanent pasture.

The trouble we were having with Donnie chewing on sheep this fall (unfortunately a common 'playful' behavior with adolescent LGD's) seems to have subsided for now though I still don't trust him with his 'favorite' ewe - No. 32 a rare black and brown mouflon born last spring.

Inspecting Donnie’s chompers. We also had Donnie neutered a few months ago which should level his hormones out and help him get more serious and settle into his responsibilies.

She gets the princess treatment along with her young sisters; they come in the barn for safe keeping every night (Donnie is triggered by boredom early in the morning before I get up there to feed him) and get fed not just hay but also alfalfa pellets. This treat has them trained to come in without much coaxing and also helps get these lambs’ weight up as we've bred them a tad earlier than some shepherds would.

Here she is - her front right leg nicely healed, little No.32 our first Mouflon ewe - It’s relatively rare, we’ve never had these genetics present in our flock.

The greenhouse and gardens are now all officially resting. Mark and I are anticipating a most excellent set of gardens next season after so much work in 2022 setting up the greenhouse and renovating the flower fields - solarizing large portions to smother and eradicate the perennial weeds that prove difficult to fight without landscape fabric (I just hate the stuff) and building up beds with manual shaping and the addition of compost and topsoil.

As always with this time of year I'm bored with the 'necessity' of winter rest and aching for the sprint that lies ahead - the fury and its foments.

There will be more ways than ever for you to get involved with the farm this season - no matter where you are. In a few weeks, I'll release volunteer dates - opportunities to come live and work with us for 2-week stints this season.

I'll also be describing a new subscription-based educational service that will be comprised of video content and text-based documents aimed at sharing our work here with a larger audience. It's going to be Worlds End TV and will include everything from the much anticipated 'Lamb Cam' to floral arranging tutorials to soil science to Susan's 'perfect scrambled eggs instructional.'

Till then I'll be here at my computer more than I care to be; making spreadsheets on sheep breeding and finagling budgets, longing for the heat and chaos that lies around the corner.