Dark Days preparation

Today (well, likely yesterday by the time I post this) marks the first day of this year’s Dark Days Challenge.  At least one day this week I will cook a meal – probably dinner – that is based on food that is sustainable, organic, local, an ethical.

Looking at my kitchen tonight, it felt like a tall order.  While I eat as well as I can most of the time, there are many things in my meals that just aren’t local. Sure there are big things that I can certainly leave out for a meal at a time.  Frozen fish.  Dried beans.  Rice.  But there are other things – small things – that sneak in a lot that I think are going to be tougher.  Soy sauce.  Fish sauce.  Chili sauce.  Miso.  Broth.  This is where things get interesting.

But for one meal a week, I think I can do this.  I hope I can do this.  Heck, if nothing else I’m going to try to do this, and I’m going to enjoy myself while doing it.  This summer, with a weekly trip to the market and lots of good post-market cooking, was lovely.  I’m really hoping that I can extend this into fall and winter.  Although it sounds horribly clichéd, I’d like to keep the magic alive.

With pulling this off in mind, I’ve started to plan.  I’ve never been one to plan meals all that well – something that I really should do, especially from a grocery shopping and food waste standpoint – but now I’m giving it some thought since the options are somewhat more limited.  I know that I have local free-range eggs in the fridge, and local grass-fed hormone free pork for J. (much of this is not certified organic because of the costs to farmers).  I have parsnips, sweet potatoes, regular potatoes, and butternut squash left from the market.  There’s apple and plum butter that I canned this summer.  Even if just for this week, I can probably make a meal based on those things, although I’m really looking forward to this week’s trip to the market.

In addition to planning, I’m also preparing.  I’d like to make bread this week, especially if the new mixer shows up.  I have local flour that was milled at a local mill, and salt that also counts as local.  While I don’t think I’d have a problem using store-bought yeast as an exception, I’ve got a sourdough starter starting in the kitchen in preparation.  I figure there isn’t really any yeast more local than those inhabiting my kitchen right now.

As I was standing in the kitchen, making my started, I got to thinking about an old blog post by a friend of mine.  She eats far more locally than I do, and is much more selective about her food choices, something that I really admire.  The essence of the post, however, was that if she didn’t plan, she didn’t eat.  Everything took so long to prepare, and took so much lead time for the preparation – fermenting the yogurt, feeding the starter, baking the bread, preserving the peaches – that there were no quick fixes unless something had already been made and preserved in some way.

Part of me rebels against this idea, and the need to plan ahead so far in advance.  But more and more I find the idea of preparation not only compelling, but also important.  Knowing how long food takes to get ready, what steps go into its preparation or preservation, and how much of it we need to make it through a dark season is incredibly valuable information.  While starting with a meal at a time doesn’t feel like much, it’s still a start, and I appreciate the push to start thinking about Saturday’s dinner now.

Regaining a sense of control

“Those of you inclined to worry have the widest selection in history.” – Mark Twain

I have a tendency towards being anxious.  I worry.  A lot.  Sometimes about things that are worth worrying about, but admittedly sometimes about things that are not. Some people (not naming any names) have suggested that when I don’t have something real to worry about, I simply find something else.  Sadly, I’m not entirely sure that they’re wrong.

So, I’m trying to get away from the worry a bit more by focusing on some things I can do to make myself feel a bit better, maybe even a bit more in control.  Inaction leaves me spinning my wheels further into worry.  Action, no matter how small, offers some relief.

Logically, I know I can’t control everything.  Heck, I can’t control anywhere even close to everything.  I’m not single handedly going to be able to fix the economy, or the environment, or hunger, or poverty (much as I wish that I could).  But feeling like I have some say in my little part of the world, small as it may be, makes me feel better, and allays my fears a little bit.

And so, I do what I can.  I make the changes I can make at home and in my life.  I try to help others make changes as well.  I reach out, where reaching out is welcome.  I write letters and sign petitions.  Although I know some people think I’m a bit too extreme for them in terms of some of the choices I make, none of these things are really all that earth changing.  Sometimes it don’t feel like much, especially when facing down the enormity of the task before us, and what seem to be ever-increasing threats.  But I do it anyway not only because it’s the right thing to do, but also because it feels like a small measure of control in a world that becomes increasingly unpredictable.

On some level, I know that some worms in my apartment, canning jars under the bed, savings in the bank, rice and beans in the kitchen, tools in the cupboard, knitting supplies on the couch, and books stacked to the rafters won’t make everything right with the world.  The skills I’ve been working on developing in growing, preserving, and making are valuable, but also not a surefire way to mitigate what still often feels like an uncertain future, especially for those of us inclined to worry. But every little bit helps – both the world, and my tendency to worry.

And so I find myself recommending this approach more and more to people who tell me that they feel the same, who are worried and anxious and uncertain of where they are and what they should be doing.  Even small changes are worth it – one little thing a week, or even a month that’s real and that helps to regain a sense of control.  Making a composter or learning to cook.  Starting some savings or buying some extra food.  Picking up some seeds or learning to knit.  Riding a bike or planting some seeds.  It’s about keeping on keeping on, one small change after another, each one helping you feel a bit more settled in a world that sometimes feels anything but.

The Farm Next Door

 

Found through Nest.  Great blog, great video, great idea.

Reading and writing…

…rather than doing and making.

That pretty much sums up what’s been going on over here.  I spend most of every day at my desk, with my laptop, writing and revising chapters. And…pretty much nothing else.

I don’t mind, honestly.  This isn’t a complaint, and I’m so excited to be almost to done that I’m beside myself with the thought that somehow, someday, I might actually finish.  I really do miss making things, though.  I had exciting plans for all kind of canning and preservation and food experiments this year, but few of them happened.  I wanted to grow more plants, but didn’t have as much time for the garden as I really wanted.  I had knitting that I wanted to do, sewing patterns to try, and a list of projects as long as my arm.  Heck, even cooking has fallen to the wayside of late, and I rely more on old standards than new experiments on the evenings that I manage to rouse myself from my hunch-backed posture in time to cook at all.

I keep telling people that one of the things I look forward to most when the dissertation is done is new research projects.  I’ve been working on this research for a long time, and I have some new ideas that I’m itching to get to. But right on par with new research is new projects for food and home.  I want to turn the last haul from the market in butters and jams and pickles whatever else I can think of. I want to knit and sew and draw and make things.  I want to get the worm composter sorted out enough to come inside for the winter.  Heck, I really want to clean out the apartment to make room for more projects, because there just isn’t a lot of space in here right now.

Despite my academic tendencies, I’m not a person who can live exclusively in my head.  I need tangible projects and real things to do.  Without them, I feel disconnected from life, which is pretty much how I’m feeling now.  Sure, I’m producing something, but it’s a very different kind of production.  I’m itching to get back to the kind that leaves dirt under my fingernails and flour down my sweaters.

Time for food

After I posted about making a bit more time for food, I actually started making a bit more time for food (how very novel).  In addition to cooking even a bit more from scratch than I already do, I’ve made more time to take care of food for the future – everything from later this week to later this year.  Some things do take longer than others, of course, but even just a few minutes here and there seems to make a difference, and there are a lot of things that can get done fairly quickly.  I’ve been pretty proud of what I’ve accomplished so far.

Since realising that I wasn’t spending the amount of time on food it really deserved, I’ve made a conscious effort to try to fit in one food related project a day – big or small – above and beyond simply cooking.  Most of the time this has involved making or tending to something, although occasionally I imagine it will be finding supplies for my food endeavours (I still need a canner, for instance, and wouldn’t turn up my nose at a jelly bag).

So far, the projects have included:

Thursday:

• Tending the community garden
• Foraging wild garlic
• Making basil-walnut pesto

Friday:

• Going to the farmers’ market
• Making ginger beer starter
• Starting fermented sour pickles
• Setting out mung beans to soak for sprouting
• Making sprouting lids for my jars

Saturday:

• More farmers’ market
• Brewing two kinds of iced tea
• Making sugar syrup (for the iced tea)

Sunday:

• Brewing yet more iced tea (so nice in the summer heat)
• Making granola

Monday:

• Making sourdough starter
• Weeding and watering the garden

Tuesday:

• Tending to all of the various bubbling things in the kitchen
• Setting out chick peas to soak

Wednesday:

• Brewing yet more tea, and making yet more simple syrup
• Researching crocks for pickles and other fermented goodies
• Starting sauerkraut

It’s been a good week for food.  Some days have involved food in more ways than others.  Some days, especially later in the week, have simply been too hot for much of anything.  At the very least, though, every day has involved food in a careful and thoughtful way.  I’ve started new projects, and tended established ones.  At the very least I’ve rinsed the sprouts, fed the ginger beer and sourdough starters, checked on the pickles, and watered the herbs growing outside.  And it really hasn’t taken that much time at all, especially when I take into account how very good it feels to be doing these things.

Things and stuff

I generally consider myself to be anti-consumerist, at least in the modern sense of the word.  I abhor buying for the sake of buying, especially when buying cheap, poorly-made stuff that in no way really advantages the consumer or the people who made it, only the big store who have a vested interest in making a quick buck.

That said, I’ll be the first to admit to the somewhat contradictory fact that I value my stuff.  I’ll also ‘fess up that I have things that fall much more toward the “want” end of the continuum than the “need”, especially since I have other things that could probably do the same job almost as well.  I have knives.  I don’t need a mandolin slicer or a dedicated apple peeler.  I have a rolling pin.  I don’t need a pasta maker.  Many of my more specialized tools can fairly easily replaced with more basic multipurpose ones.

But there’s something to be said for having useful and, yes, even nice things.  Things that are a pleasure to use.  Things that make tasks easier than they otherwise would be.  Maybe it’s silly, but I take far more pleasure in a cup of tea drunk from a plain old jadeite mug (thanks, Mom!) than I do from a cheap logo covered ceramic one.  Given how lousy I am with the rolling pin, the pasta maker does make my life a bit easier when we decide that homemade pasta is our preferred dinner option.

Of course, if push came to shove I’d be fine with the bare minimum.  I have no problem making do with big reused food cans to cook in, a not-great knife to chop with, and heck, I’ve eaten off frisbees before.  I’m not bothered by any of this, and I appreciate being able to work reasonably effectively with the bare minimum.  But at the same time, I also enjoy having things that do make my life a bit easier and, in some cases, a bit nicer each day.  It’s not necessary, of course, but it is appreciated.

Getting dirty

It’s been a long time coming – too long, really – but I’ve managed to get myself a spot in a community garden on campus.

This community garden is community in the truest sense of the word.  Rather than our own plots of land, everyone tosses in 10 bucks for seeds and tools and we all share the space, including what grows (or what doesn’t, I guess).  The benefit is that because we’re sharing the work, we all have to head in less, which works nicely with my schedule.

I headed out to my first meeting last night.  After a hot and sunny 25 minute bike ride there, it was a relief to find the small plot of land with the tool shed, composter, and water tank.  Other people started showing up and we divided up the work that needed to be done.  For two hours, even through the rain and the departure of much of the group, I helped to fix the fences, then spent a good long while helping to dig out grass and weeds to get the area ready to plant the seedlings that had already been started over in the campus’ greenhouses.

I biked home again under dark clouds and the threat of storms, covered in a mixture of sunscreen and earth, feeling happy and relaxed.

Thank goodness for sun and rain, seeds and earth.

Making music

I love music.  Yes, I’ll admit to being one of those people who more often than not has earphones in and a iPod somewhere on their person.  I love having music while I’m doing the dishes, going for a run, walking to campus, or just taking it easy in the evening.  When I’m not out and about or otherwise just don’t have the iPod on, I’m likely to have the old GE radio playing in the kitchen, usually tuned to CBC’s Radio 2.  Or I have a record playing on the turntable in the living room.

In a sense, music pervades my life.  I listen to music that matches my moods, or that lifts me up when I’m feeling down.  I’ve marked events with music – to this day I can’t hear “Dweller on the Threshold” without thinking of being in Oxford, or “Life is Long” without remembering the roadtrip to Buffalo for a conference.  I associated music with people, places, and times, which tends to give it a lot of meaning.

Of course, all of this music requires power – not a lot of it, but power all the same.  I wonder what will happen if we have less access to electricity than we do now, if we have any at all.  Awhile back I did get a hand-crank radio to have around for emergencies.  The sound is fine, although a good deal of cranking seems to be required.  But it’s a bit of a pain, and from a music standpoint if something bad happens, I’m not expecting to be hearing that much music coming through the speakers.

Music, of course, is not the first priority, and its loss will be neither the biggest nor the hardest felt if and when things start to get worse.  There is something to be said for music, though.  It’s associated with memories, sure, but it’s a also entertainment, a distraction, and perhaps most importantly, a way of bringing people together.  And so, a little bit at a time I’ve been trying to play my own music a bit more, to get out the instruments, remember what I once knew, and learn what I didn’t.

And so I’ve started picking up the guitar again.  It’s been a good long while since I played, and my skills were never really all that great anyway, so this really is a bit of a learning process, but it feels good to be getting it out, sitting down, and playing a bit.  Right now I’m mostly playing to build up calluses so that my fingers ca withstand learning to pick again, but I anticipate that getting into some harder practice will be good as well, and I hope that some of my earlier lessons (which I wish now I’d taken a lot more seriously back in the day).

It’s a bit of a relief to know that I could make music again – or even learn to make music again – if I had to.  I have the guitar and the accessories and the books.  I also have a saxophone here somewhere as well, although that doesn’t really work all that well in an apartment I find, especially when the walls are thin and the sound carries.  But to know that I could make my own – without relying on power – feels important and empowering.  It may not save the world, but I imagine it could make a world of difference.

Early inspiration

Back when I was working on my Master’s degree, I became interested in food. I’d always been interested in food – I love to cook and to eat – but I suddenly happened into more of an interest in what I was eating and where it came from.

Through some online searching, I found a farmers’ market at a Waldorf School north of the city, only a 20 minute drive from where I lived.  Every weekend I’d drive up and come home with fresh organic fruits, veggies, and dairy products.  I started trying new foods, seeing what could be done in the kitchen with beets and kholrabi.  I started talking to farmers, learning what was in season, and buying based on their knowledge and recommendations about what was good.

I’d been going for a few months when I saw an information sheet about a community garden a few members were looking to start on some land that the Waldorf school had promised as a loan.  For teaching students the school already had its own garden, bees, and chickens, but were willing to make some land available.  I signed up, paid the fee, and started attending meetings.

Meetings were run by a local biodynamic farmer who was willing to offer help and guidance.  He was everything that I’d felt a farmer should be – calm, unassuming, kind, and most of all knowledgeable and willing to patiently share that knowledge with those of us who were still very green.

A few weeks later we started planting.  Every week, and sometimes a few times a week I’d show up in dirty jean, rubber boots, and gardening gloves to play in the mud.  Soon, we had sprouts, and not long after that there was spinach, tomatoes, beans, broccoli, beets, cucumber, squash, zucchini and all kinds of other good things.  Best of all, although some members where perhaps somewhat more zealous about it than I’d generally prefer, I learned something about both organic and biodynamic farming.

The farmers’ market was wonderful, but the community garden was a revelation.  That was the summer that I really discovered food, and discovered what it was to grow food, to think it through from beginning to end, watch it, care for it, and then finally benefit from it weeks or even months after seeds met soil.