in uptown (or downtown) Normal today, I overheard a college student, telling his visiting parents, “It’s like…a real establishment. Not like franchised or anything. … It’s, like, where I take my dates.”
and I thought to myself, “huzzah! good for the universe that I can hear a college student on the street, recommending a non-franchised eatery. that maybe, just maybe, this college kid understands the value of a non-franchised eatery. “two thumbs up!” I say.
Now on to more or less pressing matters. I just finished reading J.D. Salinger’s book, RAISE HIGH THE ROOF BEAM, CARPENTERS and SEYMOUR, AN INTRODUCTION, which I found comfortably captivating. To me, there was something stimulating about the voice of the narrator and his diary-like style of writing. these sorts of first-person narratives are as if the narrator is letting me in on a secret. or maybe rather the whole world. It’s tricky. this bias which leads me to believe the words of the narrator. But enough about this. Maybe I am only writing this paragraph since last night I was re-reading essays I wrote in college. ha!
I am at one of my favorite places in Normal, Illinois, The Garlic Press, source of all things “quality” kitchen products and delicious foods and treats and cheese. yum… what good news it is, I think. Henry sells them rhubarb in the spring for pies and tarts and whatevers they want. hooray.
This week, on the farm, was, in my perception, exciting!!! cold!!! Thursday in particular was a day of days of days. One of the days that is one of the days of a life. A day in which a person really lives. Not to say that I do not really live on other days because I am very much so, in my perception, alive and vibrant and full, slash Thursday. The day began at 6:00 a.m. or really maybe 5:30 a.m. when I woke up without an alarm. I lay in bed, gently stretching and rubbing my belly, as I awaited the approach of 6 a.m. when it came time for me really to rise. Lately, I seldom sleep until my alarm, since I go to bed as early as I do, and since because of the day’s light arriving later, we have been starting later. the night before I fell asleep around 9 p.m., so by 5:30 a.m., I had already rejuvenated in a sleeping state for 8 and 1/2 hours. So. At 6:00 a.m. I rose and immediately went to the stove to cook my steel cut oats in milk and water with raisins. I then fried two eggs, and put them on a “bed of” arugula. I proceeded to eat. then bundle. Bundle bundle bundle. I wore corduroy pants, two pairs of wool socks, wool leg warmers, a wool tank top, a long sleeve cotton shirt, a tunic of sorts, and four wool sweaters. One scarf. a wool cap. a pair of fingertipless gloves. Boots. Ready to work. Henry had forewarned us that we would not be breaking for lunch because this was an essential day for getting work done. so I grabbed a hunk of pumpkin bread and set off to the field to begin the harvest. it was windy and cool, a high of 48 degrees. And most of the day was generally pleasant for me. Hiroko brought us some hot soup in the late morning, and then we return to cutting and bunching. Around one in the afternoon, Henry sent Michelle and me to the sorrel, where we cut and bunched forty bunches. Sorrel is one of my favorite jobs on the farm. Sorrel is, perhaps, my forte, some might say. Every Friday harvest, for most of the season and last season, I began by harvesting the sorrel all alone in silence. I think I do this work more efficiently when I am alone. I focus in such a way that time is non-existent. Thoughts float through my mind without ever sticking. I grab with my left hand a handful of leaves, and with my right hand, I proceed to slice the stems about four inches about the ground. I then pull out “bad leaves” with my right hand. then I take the bunch in my right hand and flip it, pass it back to my left hand and remove the “bad leaves” from the other side. I hold the bunch in my right hand and remove small, loose, or “bad leaves” from the base of the bunch. I then, assuming the bunch is still too small, place the leaves in a pile on the ground and begin the process again, until I have a ‘proper-sized’ bunch of worthy leaves. This requires focus. I think it is, probably healthy for my mind, like neurofeedback without the sensors. My mind and body are in sync, working timelessly to create the bunches. At times, four hours have passed while I have been harvesting sorrel in silence. Four hours. I could drive to chicago and part of the way back during that time. Daniel could run a marthon (or more!) in that time. And yet, I hardly notice.
Sorrel is kind of an underappreciated vegetable. But man, talk to a raw foodie, they’ll tell you. or the sorrel guy. or Majorie. or Charlie and I who cooked and ate, super awesome sorrel soup, made with the two of forty-one bunches of sorrel that came back from market yesterday. seriously sorrel.
On Thursday, returning to the story, harvesting sorrel was a little different. It was midday, I was working with a partner, and it began to rain. Rain, sort of, or sleet, rather. My rain gear was on the other side of the ford in the truck. Michelle and I decided to wait it out, finish cutting the sorrel, and then retrieve our gear. By the time gear was retrieved, my shoes and pants were wet wet wet. And my hands were such that the muscles were stiff and struggling to hold twisties. oh well. But my gear still felt…good. That extra layer of plastic overalls and raincoat was protection not only from the rain, but also from the wind. Thank goodness. We worked for another three and half hours in this weather. In sleet, rain, temperatures in the thirties, wind. heavy wet clothes. And when we were done, my body relaxed and began shivering. Shivering, like after I ran the Chicago Marathon. In fact, the only thing I can compare it to is running the Chicago Marathon. the exhaustion. the relief. the bodily sensations. the whole event. how amazing it is. The way, as hard as it was, I knew that eventually it would end. That everything is temporary. And the way I trusted that once it was done, I would forget about it, or maybe not forget about it; I would realize that it was not so bad. I think this is inherent to my me-ness. My ness that gets me through challenging experiences, and painful sensations. This ever-reliant knowing that everything is temporary. That things can and do change. That I am never stuck and nothing is binding.
So funny to me to recognize that I have just told this elaborate story, stressing the difficulties and challenges of my life on the farm, AND I am also saying, it’s not that difficult or challenging, and I am okay. I guess that’s the lesson in it all. I am okay. I am okay. I am okay. I am okay. and I feel proud.
the day concluded with me returning home to a hot shower, that still felt cold on my icy body, followed by a hot meal. I cooked garbanzo beans with parsnips and cinnamon and garlic and napa cabbage, and Charlie baked us some sweet potatoes. yum. I drank a hot cup of ‘chai spices’ and milk, and fell deeply, happily! to sleep. ooh my favorite thing. deep happy sleep.
