A View From Here: Resettling Big Stone County Minnesota

Boys on wood pile - day after Thanksgiving

I unloaded two trailer loads of cut wood yesterday. In the morning, a huge flocks of geese passed right overhead. One flock was so large it looked like a small black cloud. I leaned back on the trailer to take in their flight. The multiple V-formations had a pattern inside it. Large goose, little goose, large goose, little goose. Parent/child/parent/child. At the end of the flock the very last goose had a section of his wing missing-- I could see the sunlight through where there should have been wing feathers. And yet- they stayed together- maybe a Grandparent pulling up the rear.

Last night the boys (all of 5-years-old) and I unloaded another load of wood while the sunset and the combines, unseen, rumbled to the north and west and all around. The stars came out ("star light star bright first star I see tonight...") and the moon had a large halo around it nearly touching our silos.

We're in the midst of clearing out our old grove (about 3 acres!) in anticipation of a major tree planting next spring. The bulldozer was in last week to pull up the stumps and our farmstead looks like a tornado passed through. What's exciting is that we're hopeful we have enough wood for the next 3 winters already cut. It's like money in the bank to see the stacked wood piles- strategically placed to cure or to burn.

Two years ago I was talking with my neighbor Brent wondering what we would do with all the standing dead wood on our farm. He said "get a Central Boiler" and we did. It's turned out to be a great move. Instead of letting the dead wood rot in place (emitting CO2) or burning it in a massive pile, we are metering it out to heat our house and water year around. We haven't purchased any propane since we installed the boiler two years ago.

It's the anti-Dubai.

Two years ago when I heard National Public Radio do an uncritical and fawning hour of "financial reporting" on Dubai I was sickened. Couldn't everyone see that this was the most unsustainable, ill-fated project of our times? I mean really- we need artificial luxury islands, indoors ski-slope in the desert, and unlimited high end shopping? All built and sustained on fossil fuel supplies and profits. And now bankrupt. Surprise.

Instead, I'm grateful for stacked wood, my family (mom helped out all Thanksgiving week and sister Kelley left her dairy farm in SE Minn to visit us), for a nice community and singing in the church choir, and the opportunity to be completely content. 'Tis a gift to be simple and, frankly, a lot safer.

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That which you manifest is before you.

My wonderful sister-in-law gave me a book to read "The Art of Racing in the Rain." If you're having a rough week, this book is enough to make you want to slit your wrists- (ok- a bit melodramatic). Thwarted dreams told through the eyes of a dying dog, wife dies, losing custody of young daughter, arrested for sexual assault, and, of course, the dog dies.

The one take home message that doesn't make you want to gouge your eyes out is "that which you manifest is before you. Simply put- your race car goes where your eyes go."

So it seems that Mike and the kids manifested a pair of dogs. Mike has been talking about getting a hunting dog and Alma said we could butcher her ducks if we got her a puppy (kinda gruesome bargaining wouldn't you say?). By now you know that we live alone on the prairie. So last Sunday Mike and the kids were driving home from Artichoke Baptist Church and saw a dog on a nearby unoccupied farmstead. When Mike got out of the car, a momma and her pup came out of the grass--weak, tired, hungry-- alone.

I was in the garden when the minivan exploded with screaming kids and dogs. Mike and I reminded them that the dogs were probably from a "neighbor's" house and started calling around. We put an ad on the radio as well. But it looks like we now have two golden labs.

That which you manifest is before you.

So now the naming begins. I think the momma should be Joy-- in hope that Joy will get along with Happy. The boy puppy is another story. I say he should have a character name- like Courage, Honor, Reliable, Honesty... At breakfast this morning Mike, exasperated, asks "How do you think it will sound if I'm yelling "INTEGRITY!" while out hunting?" Which led to a chorus of us all practicing yelling "INTEGRITY" at the tops of our lungs while eating our blueberry buckwheat pancakes. I don't know- I think it sounds like a great thing to yell out. Try it. "INTEGRITY!"

That which you manifest is before you.

I read books like "The Not so Big Life" "The Artist's Way" etc... about how to achieve a calm, contented life of directed and leisurely purpose. And I can't help but think that it is all a crock-- I mean, give that book to the mom in Haiti who is feeding dirt to her child to stave off the ache of hunger. It's all a narcissistic dream of a pampered western world. Keep in mind that most Americans live better, more comfortable lives than the wealthiest nobility a few hundred years ago.

One of my elders tells me of her neighbor, a farm wife, who died too young- in her 40's. She always suspected that the poor woman worked herself to death on that hard scrabble farm with a half dozen kids. Poor thing probably welcomed the big rest.

That which you manifest is before you... When I was in grad school I peacefully mulled over my future. My mind's eye had me on a farm, growing spices and herbs, the theme songs was "I always cook with honey, 'cuz it sweetens up the nights..." There was calm and candlelight and a handsome man adoring me. And maybe I'm partway there- a farm and adored. But like Denny, the main character in The Art of Racing in the Rain, I have to go through some trials before I can take that deep breathe and relax into that future I manifest for myself.

Or maybe I should just get back to work.

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Sunday morning at 5 am the wind hit the farm like a thunderous wall. All the upstairs doors were knocking in their frames -- trying to open and close at the same time from the violent gusts of wind coming in the windows. The windows had been left open just a crack to let in the comfortable and fresh nightime air.

And I was hit with the flu- classic high temp, chills, body aches, headaches, etc... So I was in and out of consciousness while watching V is for Vendetta three times. I've always been one of those "things worth dying for" rather than "things worth killing for" kind of people. So while I don't relate to the Vendetta as much, I appreciate (to tears) the courage of people to take to the streets in search of truth and freedom.

I hope you can see this movie. And I hope you don't have to get the flu in order to do so.

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Natural Resource Conservation Service Grazing Plan for our Farm
(EQIP = Environmental Quality Improvement Program)

Mike and I signed on the dotted line for the conservation plans for our farm- 172 acres total into grazing and organic agriculture beginning between now and 2011. We'll start by creating 92 acres of rotational grazing for beef cattle in 2010. This part scares me the most-- lots of fences, new well, many water lines and watering stations, big beefy animals that could step on little kids....

Across the driveway (not shown) we've enrolled 80 acres into the brand spanking new USDA Organic transition program. **Proud moment- we ranked 2nd in the entire State of Minnesota for this program** Mike is more intimidated by this organic 80 acres. In my mind, we could make this work just by force of will -- weeding by hand every day of the growing season if need be. Harvest with scythes, whatever... We actually calculated out the kids ages to figure out if they would be of good weeding ages in 2011 (7, 7 and 11).

So between the two of us we are confident we can make it work on the north and south side of the driveway (or conversely scared it won't work on the north or south side of the driveway).

In all honesty, part of my motivation for doing this (which my husband of nearly 15 years won't know until he reads this blog entry) is that we as a civilization have to-- HAVE TO-- learn (or remember) how to farm using sunlight as the major food source (grazing cattle) and making due with resources lower on the petroleum food chain (organic). Because in an uncertain future there will still be sunlight and some poop to keep this farm going.

So I am comfortable taking the risk of moving from conventional row crops (corn and soybeans) which we know can make the farm payments to experimenting with sunlight and crafty labor and inputs. When I say "Lord help us" that is not just a figure of speech.

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I was up before sunrise and stepped outside to a perfect late spring morning. The air was crisp and cool, a symphony of birds all around me- geese to the west, pheasants to the east, and any number of song birds and mourning doves all around me. Thanks to Mike’s hard work the garden is in. We have nearly five acres of market garden if you count the sweet corn, popcorn, and black turtle beans. Since we’re using organic production practices Mike strode in the house after planting the last of the beans and got on line to order Alma and me a couple of “stirrup” hoes. Says it’s going to be a challenging summer keeping the weeds down.

It’s wonderful to see the green shoots all around—it is full on biomass production time. With green shoots you can see, touch, and smell- shoots that will produce food to feed my family, friends, and folks in the community.

I had a dream last night. I was walking down a city street, like Wall Street, holding my newborn baby in my arms- only a couple days old. As I walked, a tall, young man in a suit pushed me over to get into his office door. I was very mad and walked into his office saying “how rude! You push over a woman carrying a newborn to get into your office?!” He looked over his shoulder, sneered at me, pointed Security over to me, and walked into his office. Three security guards, one like Secret Service, patted me down and one even groped me as my baby lay on the counter. I was furious and started citing my professional credentials. But I was ignored and helpless.

That dream shows my own frustration with giving the moneyed elite on Wall Street our national coffers so that they can get the green shoots going. They are sneering, taking your money, and groping you in the process. This will not end well.

I think we’re best off looking out here for green shoots.

**Note: I have to add that my Dad and Uncle were both community bankers who served families, communities, and small businesses with integrity and feeling (sometimes feeling quite bad during the hard times these).

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I gave up economics for Lent. It wasn't easy, but I quit checking the stock market, business news services, Bloomberg radio, blogs, futures markets and the Baltic Dry Index. Alma overheard me telling someone that I had given up the economy for Lent and she said "But mom, you ask Dad everyday "how did the market do?" Alma gave up her MP3 player, Jens wanted to give up naps (didn't let him), Lake just scowled at the idea. Mike said, from his Baptist tradition, that everything that everyone gave up for Lent they gave up all year.

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Ice on (yet) un-named pond on our road

I dreamt the other night that I was in the barn with Jens and Alma. It was warm and I had lost one boot. Jens was barefooted. It was getting very dark and I decide to run back to the house with the one boot and with Jens in my arms - feet wrapped. I ran throught the snow and then fell through the crust and up to my chest. I could see the yellow glow of the house lights close- but out of reach. Alma and Jens crawled across the crust and I tried to "swim" my way out of the snow.

Monday I walked into the ditch to get on the pond. I walked on the crust until I fell in up to my waist- the dream returning to me in the pre-dawn morning. I walked around the ice taking in the frozen animal tracks, the drifts of snow like isthmuses across the blue grey ice, the patterns of cracks. Again yesterday I waded through snow onto the pond, thinking I was taking a completely different path and surprised to find I was walking the same steps. By day 3 it has become a looked for path of comfort. I smiled at myself the critter- a path making critter. There was an element of instinct- I'd found a safe path and sought that path.

What lies ahead of us is uncharted and we need a new path. It's going to require some trail blazing. There will anxiety, even fear. But somehow, sometime that new path will bring comfort.

Sunrise on the pond

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photo credit- St. Paul Lutheran, Michigan

'Cause we were looking for an echo an answer to our sound. A place to be in harmony a place we almost found ooooh....' (lyrics by Ol' 55)

Last night was the elementary school holiday program. An original score and music by our very own music teacher Tammy Ragan. Do you realize what a gift she has and that she gives to these kids and our community? What's more the band teacher (James Pope) is a miracle worker. The 5th graders played Jingle Bells. Keep in mind that they've only had instruments in their hands for 10 weeks (at best).

We need the brightness of children and music in these short, cold days.

Because the news is not good. And it's not just bad "news" -- it is bad reality. Hard times are here for many and soon to be many more. I'll refer you to Sharon Astyk for a heartfelt and eloquent article on the seriousness of the times.

Musically, I've found the perfect echo. It is the best sound chamber I've ever entered in my life. The U of M St. Paul campus gym women's shower room. I know-- because I've been singing there. I've been singing this lilting, dark December songs that reflect the news of our times.

Let us pause in life's pleasures and count its many tears,
While we all sup sorrow with the poor;
There's a song that will linger forever in our ears;
Oh Hard times come again no more.

Continue reading "Looking for an Echo" »

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Morgan Stanley CEO John Mack- leaving the meeting with US Treasury Secretary Paulson after learning he is forced to accept $250,000,000,000 from US Taxpayers. KJD notes: Does this man look repentant, sorry, chagrined?

"That's a jig saw Mommy" my son Lake informs me as Mike cuts out the back of the kitchen wall to extricate a rotting mouse that was making us all gag. The kitchen had been smelling increasingly putrid over the past couple of days. Relief was immediate when Mike took out the mouse, uncharacteristically groaning with displeasure and telling the boys to run because they wouldn't want to see this!

That's not all. My mom was helping me clean out my pantry-- filled to the brim with scores of squash, couple hundred pounds of potatoes, dried beans, garlic, and canned goods. I grabbed a bag of potatoes and the bottom fell out in a soggy mess of rotted potatoes-- the smell rivaled the dead mouse. But I had to clean this one up.

I had a dream yesterday. In my dream I was sitting on a park bench with a colleague from the Bush Foundation. A baby carriage was beside us. Distraught, I told her "I spent 3 years working on the farm bill. It was $6 billion dollars. Now they passed $700 billion in 10 days." I started to cry. "I wasted three years of my life."

The gentlemen above "reluctantly" accepted $250 billion of your dollars. Paulson et al. decided upon and spent that money in one weekend.

Something Stinks.

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October 4 cover of The Economist

I'm not alone with my inner apocolypt anymore-- I have company. One of my respected elders told me today that she felt the economic collapse was imprinting the same trauma in her mind as President Kennedy's assisination.

For me, I keep seeing the scene from Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Rings where Stryder (Aragorn) drags Frodo up the stairs of the Prancing Pony and tosses him on the floor in front of the fireplace.

"Are you scared?" Stryder demands
"Yes" says Frodo
"Not nearly enough-- I know what hunts you."

I want to say bluntly.... This is where my dream meets my nightmare. Most of my life I dreamed of farming. But our move to the farm last year was also part of my survival plan for when the collapse came. Hope for the best- prepare for the worst.

So you can see how I am both living out my dream and my nightmare at the same time. Dream and nightmare look the same-- food self sufficiency, a close and supportive community, energy independence. Living the dream is self actualization, living the nightmare is survival.

This is no time to panic.

I find that the advantage of always being alert for signs of the collapse makes me calmer when times get rough. I've rehearsed this in mind, studied it even. Now is the time to think clearly. We need to get to work on the basics and fundamentals. By that I mean real work, real products, new paradigms.

This is the time to rethink how we are living and what we need to sustain our society and resources we depend upon. In that sense:

A crisis is a terrible thing to waste.

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“When the wells begin to peter out, the competition for the remaining petroleum resources will grow even fiercer. Are more than the 0.5 percent of Americans who now serve in the military willing to risk their lives fighting overseas so we can continue to live as we wish? Peak oil will force that question on us.�?

My favorite, most savored moments of the day are when I put my boys to bed. I lay between them in their shared bed, looking back and forth between their two sweet faces. Jens smiling, Lake sternly plotting to be the one who gets to turn off the light when we’re done reading. One night after the light was out I looked at Jens, the sprite, who still holds the look of a cherubic toddler at age four. My mind flashed forward to him being a soldier—a conscripted soldier. This thought came out of thin air, nothing I’d read or seen on tv had planted the seeds in my mind. This boy—Jens in particular—is not being raised to be a soldier. He’s being raised with tender kindness, humored in his spirited nature, adored for his adorableness. There are not a lot of hard edges in his world. I looked at him and could see his grown up face startled by a world of violence. I could see him remembering me, his mother, and these times together. So sweet, so safe.

Dreher goes on to say:

“A famed U.S. military leader has warned that the fossil-fuel supply on which American civilization depends utterly will run out someday in the 21st century and that our nation cannot afford to place our hope in "the sentimental belief that the things we fear will never really happen. I suggest that this is a good time to think soberly about our responsibilities to our descendants – those who will ring out the Fossil Fuel Age," said Adm. Hyman G. Rickover, father of the nuclear Navy. In 1957.

We've wasted a half-century of precious time, another non-renewable resource. We probably don't have another one to spare.�?

Next installment: Can you live out both your dream and your nightmare at the same time?

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One of the sights at the Big Stone County Museum

There are a group of folks coming together to Create a Value Added Community in Big Stone County. Through these gatherings I’m getting to know inspiring people, finding new treasures in the area (last nights people brought photos of a 1800's Rendezvous gathering, a kayaking stream, and a cormorant rookery), and working to make the Big Stone area a sustainable community for us (to quote Don Sherman).

We met last night at the Big Stone County Museum. This is a place of wonder and part of my awe was a brief conversation I had with Earl Komis, museum tour guide. Earl, nearly 90, was recently featured in Twin Cities Business Magazine in the 8 to 5 at 85 article. I learned just a snippet of Mr. Komis’ story.

In Minnesota, United States of America, around 1934 Earl Komis and some of his 11 siblings drew straws to see who would leave their farm. There was not enough food for the family. At 14 years old Earl drew the short straws and had to leave with just one loaf of bread. He walked 82 miles, sleeping in culverts and hungry. Along the way, a kind woman in Milan, Minnesota saw this hungry youngster and gave him a meal of grits. This act of kindness still catches in Earl’s throat 74 years later. Earl found a farmer needing help with 17 cows and was paid room and board for 2 years.

I asked Earl what he thought the future held in store for us—not just in Big Stone County but in our country. Earl, who lived through some of the hardest days our country has seen, said “The futures gonna be tougher than we’ve ever seen.�?

I’m bringing Alma to this museum on Friday (when the boys are down for their nap). I hope I can nab Earl as my museum guide and maybe even have a cup of coffee with him. Earl is part of the richness and blessings of living in a county with one of the highest percentage of people over 65 in the nation.

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Picture, 8/15/08, taken from the north side of our yard

Sometime in the not distant future.

My heart ran cold hearing the single engine plane circling above the township. I tasted the metallic bite of fear in my mouth as I glimpsed the plane to the west. The plane flew low, I wondered if it was some kind of reconnaissance.

My mind flashed back to the first time I’d seen a plane over this land. I was pregnant with my oldest daughter when a crop duster came to spray the corn crops to the north and the east of the house- right along side the house and yard. That would be 14 years ago now. I was so angry then—furious that I couldn’t protect myself and my unborn babe from the pesticides that were sprayed all over. We were just visiting my in-laws for the weekend. The farm was still theirs then and we lived in the city—safe from crop dusters. In fact, in those days part of my job was to reduce children’s and pregnant women’s exposure to pesticides. I remember feeling completely impotent to even protect myself and rage at my helplessness.

Later, after we had moved to the farm for good, I remember one day hearing and seeing the crop duster fly by. By then we’d been struggling a couple years to keep things going with spotty electric and even spottier access to diesel fuel. It was a comfort, to the point of tears, to see that plane in the sky tending crops the “old�? way. We didn’t have the connections and resources to buy seed corn and pesticides, but someone around here still could. If they could, that meant that there was still a system in place producing them. Things might get back to normal. It was a thrill to see that plane—it made my heart swell with pride for the sophisticated technology.

That was nine years ago and we’d seen no planes since. This plane felt like a bad omen. We’d been relatively free from looters over the years. Our crops our own--taking care of our neighbors as we could. Maybe we were faring better than others in the wider world, who knew? I regretted for the first time the garden and crops laid out in straight rows that my husband was so proud of; a clear sign from the air of our relative “prosperity.�? I was stunned by the next thoughts that went through my mind—could it be shot down? As the plane flew out of sight to the east I heard its engine whining and a distant repercussion.

None of us would be going to see what had happened to that plane, though I could guess. Today four families were gathering to make cheese. I subconsciously ran the math on the number of calories we would store up for the winter ahead. Enough calories for our 3 children for 3 weeks. This would be a good day after all.

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On their back were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery.

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Photo credit: Gary Greff, www.EnchantedHighway.net

The high price of gas is helping me savor my time on the road. I've changed my route to take the single lane Highway 12 and lowered my speed from 80 to 55 mph. I like it.

The other day I left my house about 5:00 am and drove 40 miles before I met the first car as I was crossing the Chippewa River coming into Benson. At first I reflexively worried about meeting troopers, but at 55 I don't have a care in the world. Roll down the windows, open the sun roof, turn on the satellite radio-- listen to Bob Edwards interviewing Lester Brown. Actually, I listened to every kind of music imaginable. Thoroughly enjoying the journey instead of barreling towards the destination. When I got to the Cities -- merging from 394 to 94 --I know I was the happiest person on the road.

My gas mileage went from 22 mpg to 32mpg. Round trip I spent 2 extra hours in the car, but I saved $22.70 in gas.

The other nice thing about high oil prices is that I appreciate being able to drive- that I have a car, that gas is available, its preciousness now reflected in its price. I recognize that I have the freedom of speed and movement-- all freedom comes at a cost.

Have you ever considered how perfectly smooth a newly paved road is? It's a delight to drive-- not a bump nor blemish. I fully expect that when the oil runs out we'll have other cool fuels to run our cars. But what will replace the petroleum in asphalt? Look down at that road-- it is held together with oil. What will keep up our road infrastructure? No one knows. So I'm just gonna savor that long ribbon of highway stretching from Artichoke Minnesota to St. Paul.

Trading time for mileage- and a bit of gratitude.

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Last Thursday I was a "distinguished environmental scientist" on a panel at the Form + Content Gallery in Minneapolis- packed to standing room only. The exhibition was by artist Christine Baeumler whose work I've loved, admired, and collected for over 10 years. She soulfully captures the poignant beauty, tinged with grief, of the natural world slipping away under our watch. One of Chris' works is the lovely center piece of our home -- a mosaic painting of 8 extinct fish speicies. It's just about the only thing we yell at the kids not to wreck-- "Quit hanging from the radiator pipes-- You'll hurt the art!!"

But I shook for two days; move by the exhibit, the panel discussion, my own fears.

On the panel, Kris Johnson and I talked about the Minnesota 2050 work/research we've been doing the past 1.5 years. We've been working with groups around the State to create scenarios of the year 2050. Most people, from Grand Marais to Worthington- Crookston to Winona, believe that we are in for a rough ride ahead what with intersection of climate change, peak oil, mass extinctions, economic strains, etc... Hope lies in what emerges from the ashes. Brent Olson, a writer from Big Stone County, articulates this perfectly in the scenario he wrote for Minnesota 2050 (click "continue reading" to read it). I read this scenario for the crowd and they were moved.

We are living in a time of transformation- that's the message I see in Lost Menagerie.

Continue reading "Lost Menagerie" »

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I spent 2 hours on main street Chokio (pronounced Cho-ky'-yo) yesterday. I enjoyed a couple diet cokes at John's cafe while Alma had her swimming lessons. Brilliant that they have 2 hour swim lessons for those of us who live remotely. The CHOKIO EQUITY EXCHANGE towers over the town of 400 people. There's something inspiring about sitting under the 20 foot high word "EQUITY." And don't be so sure that when it was painted that they just meant common corporate ownership-- there was probably an undercurrent of equity meaning:

"the concept or idea of fairness or justice in economics, particularly in terms of taxation and welfare economics"

When I rode in the ambulance from the farm to Ortonville last month I was with the county's emergency plan coordinator. Of course we talked about disaster preparedness. He told me that the city of Wilmar is planning that within 72 hours of a disaster their population will swell 2-3 times. That means in case of a pandemic or other scary unpredictable event that many cousins, great neices, college buddies, etc... will flee the Twin Cities to head to safer ground in Wilmar.

What does this have to do with Chokio?

Well- Chokio's population is swelling 2 to 3 time this weekend. Last night was the Federated Telephone Cooperative Annual meeting. I'm lucky and thankful to be a Federated Coop member. John, owner of the Chokio Cafe, was planning on feeding 750 people for that meeting! It doesn't stop there. Tonight is the 1947-1948 class reunion. Tomorrow, Saturday, is the town celebration and they are expecting 1,000 people to attend. They are serving FREE MEAT-- just bring your own salad for the noon meal, following the parade. On Sunday there's a fund raiser omelet breakfast at the Catholic Church to help pay for a new "Welcome to Chokio" sign.

On Saturday night Todd Sandberg, the Rock 'N Roll Farmer, will DJ the Chokio street dance from 9pm to 1 am.

The crops are under water-- we may as well dance the night away.

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After scaring myself silly reading Doris Lessing's "Memoirs of a Survivor" during the bleak, short days of late December, I promised my mom I would lay off the apocolyptic reading until spring. My friends and family kept me in light reading with a dozen hilarious Janet Evanovich books featuring Stephanie Plum as an inept, but lucky bounty hunter.

Well it's spring. The grass is a delectable green, the wheat is sprouting in the field past the slough. Oil prices dropped to $125 a barrell from $135. The world is fresh and new and full of promise. Now my mind can once again return to thoughts of an uncertain future. So I decided to put away a few days worth of food in case of an emergency. This is what I bought.

I laugh just looking at that pile of empty calories. I bought this food based on one criteria-- calorie density. One can of condensed milk would satisfy the caloric needs of my three kids for an entire day (although I just now wondered if I would be able to make them eat it?-- hmmm didn't take that into account).

In comes Alma-- "mmmm Kool Aid!" So I start explaining to my 8-year old that this is emergency food that we'll keep in the basement. If we need it, we can mix the butter flavored crisco with the sugar to make little energy balls. Alma says "I think I'll bring crackers." After showing her how you'd pop the top on the Spam and some vague words on emergency preparedness so as not to alarm her, she says to me:

"So. I guess we won't be eating healthy."

Maybe I should get some dried, organic cranberries to mix in those energy balls.

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cherry blossoms --photo credit Dennis Fiser

The title of this blog entry shows an arrogance towards the natural world-- it lacks humility. But I couldn't help it-- I liked the cadence of "20 years in two days".

In the past week we (and I mean we) planted 75 feet of strawberries, 30 feet of asparagus, and 12 fruit trees - apples, pears, plums, apricot, and cherry. God willing (injecting humility) these perennial crops will bear fruit for 20 years. A hard two days work for some ever bearing returns. Now I know the work doesn't end with the planting-- we have weeding, watering, and harvesting. But it feels good to see those strawberries bursting with new leaves already and the bright pink apple blossoms. And if I hadn't left the camera on and drained the batteries you'd be seeing actual photos of the farm.

Here's an interesting aside. The man who delivered and helped plant the trees works with a number of Hutterite and Amish people at the greenhouses. One of the Amish women told him that they up and moved here from Pennsylvania about 8 years ago because God told them to. They woke up one morning and God had instructed them to move to Milbank South Dakota (just on the other side of the Minnesota River from us here at the headwaters). They had never heard of Milbank SD before, but followed God's instructions.
Steve was skeptical.
I was comforted.
Imagine-- I moved to a place where someone heard God whispering for them to go. I'll assume a whisper-- that's how I picture God would talk to us in still, calm moments.

I just read James Howard Kunstlers "World Made by Hand" -- the story of a small town in post-oil America. Kunstler paints a fascinating scenario of a world-- probably set just 10 years out from now-- reduced to walking distance and your food coming from what you can grow or barter for. One of his many points is that without all the constant barrage of tv, radio, video games... some folks can more clearly hear the voice of God. I'll do a book review in the next few days. This is the most hopeful post-collapse book I've read-- and that's my genre you know.

In the mean time--
inch by inch, row by row
someone bless these seeds I sow.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 4:14 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Last Thursday I spent the evening in the Old Milan School in Milan Minnesota. The folks at CURE hosted a gathering of people from the Upper MN River basin interested in a local foods movement. I felt as if I were in the presence of a saving remnant. These are the people who see a different way in the world-- it's not a world of corn and soybeans as far as the eye can see. It is a rich and beautiful land-- with neighbors, food, the embrace of community, justice and beauty. Besides which, if things should go to hell in a hand basket and I can't feed my kids mangos on a winter night in Minnesota, I could feed them Audrey's elderberries and Mary Jo's beef and Carol's winter lettuce grown right there in Milan. A saving remnant indeed!

A 1936 essay by Albert Jay Nock appeared in the Atlantic Monthly pondering the Saving Remnant from the book of Isaiah and modern America. He says:

"Ah," the Lord said, "you do not get the point. There is a Remnant there that you know nothing about... They need to be encouraged and braced up because when everything has gone completely to the dogs, they are the ones who will come back and build up a new society; and meanwhile, your preaching will reassure them and keep them hanging on. Your job is to take care of the Remnant, so be off now and set about it."

Nock ends the essay saying "....hence a few of those who feel the prophetic afflatus might do better to apply themselves to serving the Remnant. It is a good job, an interesting job, much more interesting than serving the masses.."

I confess that I think of my own work as serving the Remnant--a good and interesting job--surrounded by many colleagues.

But right now I have to go out and play in the mud with my little kids.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 3:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

Imagine this. It is March 7, 2008 in the heart of the tall grass prairie region—what was once the greatest expanse of grassland in the world. It is winter, 13 degrees below zero. I am feeding my children a treat-- mangos (from Peru) and papayas from some other very warm place. I bought them in Ortonville, Minnesota. A modern miracle of food supply.

As I stand over my warm stove, I’m listening to American jazz, also from somewhere other than this cold prairie. I have a sense of appreciation for the warmth that the sweet tropical fruit and the music bring to my life here on a winters evening at the 46th parallel.

I’m reading Plan B 2.0 by Lester Brown (click on this link—the entire book is available on line). Brown lays out the environmental and economic situation we find ourselves in today and lays out a plan for a much better tomorrow—much better than if we try to stay on our current path.

What struck me, while eating my mango (at least metaphorically) is that humankind tipped the balance of over using our resources (water, soil, natural resources) around 1980. This means instead of living off the “interest�? provided by the earth’s bounty, we started eating into the “principle�? of our natural resources. The same study estimates that “global demands in 1999 exceeded that capacity by 20 percent. The gap, growing by 1 percent or so a year, is now much wider. We are meeting current demands by consuming the earth’s natural assets, setting the stage for decline and collapse.�?

We can’t keep going on this way and expect to have a happy ending.

Somehow, it makes the mangos taste even sweeter knowing that perhaps we are living in this blip of time (let’s say a 70 year period) when life is easy and sweet.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 4:36 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

I'm posting this Youtube clip, in part, for blog practice. (it appears to work on Internet Explorer, but not Mozilla Firefox)

A couple weeks ago Tex Hawkins, US Fish and Wildife Service in SE Minn, sent the link to an article that clearly laid out the calamitous intersections of peak oil, climate change, and growing economic disparities. There was something particularly disturbing for me about that article. It was too well organized, written, and fact supported to dismiss. I sent it to a few level headed people I know, nuetrally asking for their opinions. They replied "Yes, that looks like what I've been hearing in the news, etc..." No one dismissed the article, but none of them felt a frantic sense of urgency to do something or advocate for something to be done. NOW!

I've ordered this movie and will post a review when I have time to sit and watch it. The boys will be in Kindergarten in 2 years-- I should be able to get to it then.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 12:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

48 degrees and sunny. Kids said "It's spring!" The sledding hill has melted to mud. My father-in-law warns that our gumbo soil (heavier clays) need the hard freeze in order to "mellow." Otherwise they will be large hard ribbon clumps of clay that need lots of work to get a crop in. It was 41 degrees yesterday. January 5th and 6th.

There have been vultures flying in the skies over Big Stone County.

I asked Uncle Mick-- who has lived in the county for 81 years-- whether he had seen vultures in years past. Nope-- he never had. This was the first year he saw them. He doesn't believe in global warming.

There are possums here now too. They're new to the area says a younger farm neighbor-- but he finds them disconcerting. I've only seen them dead along the road, but I grew up in SE Minn and never saw a possum dead or alive. Big Stone County also had a death from West Nile and numerous infected. see news article under my November 19th entry (I'll learn to link soon!)

One of my board members from SE Minn expressed concern that we bought a farm in western MN-- concerns for out future in light of global warming. She didn't think we would fare well in a hotter world with less water. She may be right-- but these gumbo soils did well this past summer. 1 inch of rain in 10 peak weeks of crop growth. We still managed a yield of 100-125 tbushels of corn per acre this past year because that gumbo soil had some water holding capacity. Just 35 miles to the SE where the soils are sandier they were wiped out if they didn't have irrigation.

Well-- it looks like the temperature is dropping again. It's down to 43 degrees.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 6:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

"that epicist of the female experience, who with scepticism, fire and visionary power has subjected a divided civilisation to scrutiny"

Doris Lessing won the Nobel Prize for literature this year. She has me shaking in my farmhouse over a cup of chamomile tea at 10:41 pm. An hour I haven't seen in a long time- what with waking up everyday at 3:48 am (a scant 5 hours from now). I just finished reading The Memoirs of a Survivor.

The only thing hopeful about this novel is the title. She Survived? She wrote Memoirs? Wasn't killed by the hoards of 4-year wild cannibal "kids."? Come to think of it at this late hour-- she probably was making some kind of analogy about how little kids can sure eat us up-- time, energy, emotions. Hmmmmm. I've got a few of those running lose around my house too. But in the book the hoards of subterranean wordless children actually kill people and eat them. They don't just confine them to playing Pinky Pie My Little Pony tea time with Hot Wheels action for the Little Ponies (when all I REALLY want is a nap-- because I've been up since 3:44 a.m.).

Ok-- so WHO told me to read this book? I forgot who you are but remind me why you said that this was a tale of hopeful survival in the face of collapse and apocalypse? Why did I rush into Borders to buy this book on your recommendations that it would buoy me in the face of the other apocolyptic books on my night stand? I know you are someone I respect because I bought the book immediately upon your suggestions. It helped that there was a new little "Winner of the NOBLE PRIZE in literature" sticker on the front. Please write me and let me know what you found redeeming.

The book wasn't really scary until the end-- until all of the people had left the city and the author (Doris says this is as close to an autobiography as she has written) and the young girl/woman character are left alone in the city with the cannibal children in the stories above them. It was them being alone in the city that scared me. It was even more frightening just now when I walked down my pitch black stairs looking out the living room window on acres and miles of dark, empty land. I knew-- just 10 minutes ago-- that I could not stay on this farm alone. I can't be here without Mike, Alma, Jens, and Lake. What would I do without Mike? And Happy. If Happy started to bark now I would be terrified-- not just scared. The other thing that scared me was that there was no place to escape to:

"...where would we be going? To what? There was silence from out there, the places so many people had set off to reach. No word ever came back.... And what of all those people who had left, the multitudes, what had happened to them? They might as well have walked off the edge of a flat world.... news from the east: yes, it seemed that there was life of a sort down there still. A few people even farmed, grew crops, made lives. "Down there"-- "out there"-- we did hear ofd these places; they were alive for us.... But north and west, no. Nothing but cold and silence"

Looks like I'll keep writing.... if interested you can click on Continue reading.

Continue reading "The Memoirs of a Survivor" »

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 4:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Inner Apocalypt Part I

I just came from a class I’m “consulting�? to-- Phil. 1905: Possibilities of a Sustainable Future. The class was reporting their ideas for designing a sustainable world—sustainable families, recreation, towns, buildings, farms. The rooms was abuzz with great ideas. Many of which I see being tried and practices throughout greater Minnesota.

So, I think I was a bit of a buzzkill-- to use a quip from one of my new friends. No one else brought up cannibalism. No kidding I did. I read The Road by Cormac MacArthy. Not just read it once but I’m on my 3rd reading. It is the prose/poem story of a man and a son walking down a road in post apocalyptic America.

I don’t recommend you read it.

It's one of the most important book I’ve read.

I won’t lie to you. One of the reasons I was so eager to take up farming a gas tank away from St. Paul is because I have an inner apocalypt. Life in St. Paul was wonderfully easy, fun, pleasurable. But I had an escape plan to leave the City— travel to a farm where we could survive whatever crisis was upon us. I executed the escape plan early. Not for the wrong reasons—we’re not holed up survivalists. I am there for the right reasons—the Possibilities of a Sustainable Future.

Posted by Kathryn Draeger at 10:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)