Living Energy Farm was the biggest expanse of death I had ever seen. It took me a long time to believe that the bumpy dirt road through piles of sun baked clear cut was the farm I had been so looking forward to visiting. Despite my initial wave of dismayed shock, Living Energy Farm(LEF) was without a doubt one of the most informative and enjoyable stops on my trip.
Every tree on the property was recently cut to the stump by the previous owner. When funding fell through for whatever the man was clearing the land for (most likely suburban sprawl) he sold the land to the one and only Alexis. Alexis's goal for the land is to turn it into a zero fossil fuel farm. He has given himself three years to use fossil fuels to get the thing started, and then is going into all natural mode! What a cool guy!
My visit coincided with a group of very cool Virginia students, and Alexis put us to work right off. We planted a whole grove of pecan trees, which was a wonderful feeling. If I die tomorrow I may not leave behind much, but at least 50 years from now the trees I planted will still be here and feeding the good folks at LEF. Over the few days I spent there we also worked in the garden, cleared brush, built a pergola (a sort of trellis), built a close line, and attended a workshop on eco building (to build a house you just make thick walls out of whatever you like (hay, leaves, ect...) through a layer of concrete on either side, top it off with a tin roof, and tah-dah! you have made a super insulated house for next to nothing!).
Working at LEF was a window into what it means to make something purely from manual labor. To build a trellis from scratch first you must search through the log covered landscape for a log that was the size you want and the kind of wood you want (and we were lucky enough to be spared the step of cutting it down), then unbury it from whatever pile it was in, cut off all the limbs, cut the log into the lengths you want, you need to notch the logs you are using for poles, you need to dig the holes to put the poles in, put the poles in the holes, and then lay the long thin logs across the notches in the top of the poles. Not one of those steps was quick and easy. I am a firm believer in making with human power rather than any fossil fuels, and LEF introduced me to what that really means.
I truly loved it there. In the evenings we would sit around a fire and all laugh together. The place had wonderful visitors who would sit with us and play guitar under the stars. I fell into a mode of bliss, one of those times when your are so pleased with everything that's happening around you, you have not a care in the world, and you are surrounded by beauty.
When I first gave up riding in planes and cars I was nervous that I would be missing out on seeing the world. This bike ride has been teaching me that there is endless amounts of world to see right here where I live. There are many and aspects to the experience of being in another country that can not be duplicated, but LEF sure felt like another country. We had next to no electricity, we had to fetch water, the beans and rice we ate were cooked over a wood stove, and the landscape looking nothing like beautiful, green Virginia. My visit to LEF is easily on par with almost all of the places I stayed in Ecuador. Life and the world around us are just so chalk full of wonders and beauties to experience. If you sally forth and search for what you desire, I guarantee you will find it. There is simply too much out there for it not to exist somewhere nearby, waiting for you.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Old Rag
I traveled 98 miles the day I left for old rag, biking over the foot hills of the blue ridge mountains. I got my butt kicked most of the day, and by the end could barely go above 5 mph on the up hills. I just biked on and on and on. When I reached the campsite at long last I was so fully joyed to be there.
I had hiked old rags several times, but never by myself. It was such a different experience. There was no Paul Amsel to call "lets go climb that one!" no dad to plead "oh please don't do that", not even a camper to whine "I want to be in the front of the line." It was just me. I moved more slowly. When I climbed a rock I thought about why I was climbing. How did I really feel and did I really enjoy it? I loved the balanced art of making it up a rock face, but there was no one to share a triumphant smile with from the top. I wondered how much of my previous enthusiasm to scramble up everything in sight came from the want to impress those near me and how much came from my own desire to climb.
There was a special thrill to this assent because I was really there. I had earned being there and it felt more real. I had all day to hike the mountain and could go at my own pleasant pace, I had no where to be, and the day was long and gorgeous.
I sat for a long time at the peak. I stared out over the mountains and wrote. The wind flew by me and rustled my papers. I breathed it in and kept on writing.
I met a group of St. Marrys sophomores on spring break. They new Graham Martin-Poteet as the dude with dreads who road around on his long board! They were having a blast. They laughed and joked and messed around up on the mountain. They were all looking forward to driving home, napping, then partying all night. The type of fun they were having was so different from what I was going through. There is nothing wrong with the way they were enjoying the mountain, but it felt like we were living in different worlds, and there was some kind of a void between us.
I sat and wrote for a while longer. I wrote the thoughts that had come to me through out the day and I started the short fiction story that had been bouncing around in my head for a long time.
Both nights I camped at old rag were scary ones. I had never slept with no one for miles before. I woke often thinking a bear or a ghost was just outside my tent.
I have had transformational and wonderful experiences at old rag, and I am thankful that I could start my travels with a visit to its rocky trails.
I had hiked old rags several times, but never by myself. It was such a different experience. There was no Paul Amsel to call "lets go climb that one!" no dad to plead "oh please don't do that", not even a camper to whine "I want to be in the front of the line." It was just me. I moved more slowly. When I climbed a rock I thought about why I was climbing. How did I really feel and did I really enjoy it? I loved the balanced art of making it up a rock face, but there was no one to share a triumphant smile with from the top. I wondered how much of my previous enthusiasm to scramble up everything in sight came from the want to impress those near me and how much came from my own desire to climb.
There was a special thrill to this assent because I was really there. I had earned being there and it felt more real. I had all day to hike the mountain and could go at my own pleasant pace, I had no where to be, and the day was long and gorgeous.
I sat for a long time at the peak. I stared out over the mountains and wrote. The wind flew by me and rustled my papers. I breathed it in and kept on writing.
I met a group of St. Marrys sophomores on spring break. They new Graham Martin-Poteet as the dude with dreads who road around on his long board! They were having a blast. They laughed and joked and messed around up on the mountain. They were all looking forward to driving home, napping, then partying all night. The type of fun they were having was so different from what I was going through. There is nothing wrong with the way they were enjoying the mountain, but it felt like we were living in different worlds, and there was some kind of a void between us.
I sat and wrote for a while longer. I wrote the thoughts that had come to me through out the day and I started the short fiction story that had been bouncing around in my head for a long time.
Both nights I camped at old rag were scary ones. I had never slept with no one for miles before. I woke often thinking a bear or a ghost was just outside my tent.
I have had transformational and wonderful experiences at old rag, and I am thankful that I could start my travels with a visit to its rocky trails.
Patrick's Place
Mountains! The grand old blue ridge greeted me after biking west on the W&OD. They gleamed with a new splendor this day because I had reached them with my own bodily effort. I had experienced the land between my house and their green rolling slopes.
When I showed up at Patrick's house he wasn't home, but all his animals were were there to say hello. Chickens, pigs, ducks, goats, rabbits, and a dog all called this house home, and most of them could wander where they pleased. Patrick lives with no human companions, but a party seemed to be always going on at his house. Chickens would try to establish pecking order with the ducks who were not familiar with the idea, and the pigs enjoyed chasing the chickens in circles. Goats screamed their high pitched bleats constantly. When Patrick spoke with the goats he used his entertainly screeching voice in an attempt to communicate on their level.
In the one full day I spent there I did lots of stall mucking and clearing of his yard. It was a fun day, he lives in a very beautiful spot, nestled in the crook of the mountains with a stream running through his property. Patrick did not grow up a farmer, but decided its what he wanted to do with his life and dove right in the deep end. I can hardly imagine living as the epicenter of so much animal camotion and attention.
Patrick lived in a mess. His house seemed to be only half built and covered in debris. My first night he brought a goat in the house to be milked into a cup. when the milk spilled on the floor Patrick grabbed a sock, wiped up the milk, and then left the sock on the floor. I once thought that order and tidiness were superfluous and not necessarily practical. However, I found it hard to do any work there since there was so much screaming "I need to be finished!" and a sense of chaos hung over the place. After visiting Patrick's house I believe that for a farmer order is a matter of survival.
At one point Patrick gave me the low down on his life. The part he spoke most fondly of and in greatest detail was touring the greatfull dead at the age of 19. Is this year going to be what forty year old me sees as my best years? oh man I better enjoy this journey while I am here!
When I showed up at Patrick's house he wasn't home, but all his animals were were there to say hello. Chickens, pigs, ducks, goats, rabbits, and a dog all called this house home, and most of them could wander where they pleased. Patrick lives with no human companions, but a party seemed to be always going on at his house. Chickens would try to establish pecking order with the ducks who were not familiar with the idea, and the pigs enjoyed chasing the chickens in circles. Goats screamed their high pitched bleats constantly. When Patrick spoke with the goats he used his entertainly screeching voice in an attempt to communicate on their level.
In the one full day I spent there I did lots of stall mucking and clearing of his yard. It was a fun day, he lives in a very beautiful spot, nestled in the crook of the mountains with a stream running through his property. Patrick did not grow up a farmer, but decided its what he wanted to do with his life and dove right in the deep end. I can hardly imagine living as the epicenter of so much animal camotion and attention.
Patrick lived in a mess. His house seemed to be only half built and covered in debris. My first night he brought a goat in the house to be milked into a cup. when the milk spilled on the floor Patrick grabbed a sock, wiped up the milk, and then left the sock on the floor. I once thought that order and tidiness were superfluous and not necessarily practical. However, I found it hard to do any work there since there was so much screaming "I need to be finished!" and a sense of chaos hung over the place. After visiting Patrick's house I believe that for a farmer order is a matter of survival.
At one point Patrick gave me the low down on his life. The part he spoke most fondly of and in greatest detail was touring the greatfull dead at the age of 19. Is this year going to be what forty year old me sees as my best years? oh man I better enjoy this journey while I am here!
DC
On march tenth I walked out my door, hopped on my bike (Dawn is her name), and started biking. I just started going, and I haven't stop since. I had a complicated bike route planned out to get to DC that day, but turns out Washington Blvd has its name because it goes to Washington! so that made life easier.
Along with a super team of DG, Alex, Bryan, Tim, a few adults, and some prime campers we got some kids to choose a life of bym camps and changed their lives forever. boooya!
I spent the night in the wonderful hospitality of Bart Naylor and Nina Janopaul. The next morning I went to my first Episcopal service with my lovely hosts. A programmed service has its advantages. For someone trying to become more religiously devoted, I at times find it difficult to be devoted to total spiritual freedom. It is possible, but certainly more challenging. I also enjoyed hearing bible versus that I have been referencing all my life but never actually read!
after the service we had a small group discussion about personality types and how they related to prayer. One of the topics we touched on was the idea that some people get their energy from being with people, while others get their energy from being alone. On this trip I have been visiting and making countless friends, but I have been decidedly alone. I bike by myself, sleep alone, and have no one who is on the journey with me to share stories and experiences with. Learning to be comfortable and even refreshed by a night in the woods with no one to share a laugh with has been a big part of this trip. I have always been very dependent on what people think of me and I find it healthy to be honing my ability to exist in and of myself more.
Along with a super team of DG, Alex, Bryan, Tim, a few adults, and some prime campers we got some kids to choose a life of bym camps and changed their lives forever. boooya!
I spent the night in the wonderful hospitality of Bart Naylor and Nina Janopaul. The next morning I went to my first Episcopal service with my lovely hosts. A programmed service has its advantages. For someone trying to become more religiously devoted, I at times find it difficult to be devoted to total spiritual freedom. It is possible, but certainly more challenging. I also enjoyed hearing bible versus that I have been referencing all my life but never actually read!
after the service we had a small group discussion about personality types and how they related to prayer. One of the topics we touched on was the idea that some people get their energy from being with people, while others get their energy from being alone. On this trip I have been visiting and making countless friends, but I have been decidedly alone. I bike by myself, sleep alone, and have no one who is on the journey with me to share stories and experiences with. Learning to be comfortable and even refreshed by a night in the woods with no one to share a laugh with has been a big part of this trip. I have always been very dependent on what people think of me and I find it healthy to be honing my ability to exist in and of myself more.
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