I'm sure those of you who read my blog have noticed that my posts have gotten less frequent as my time in Utah has gone on. Part of that is due to a degree of laziness, yes. I was not one of those people who could spit out a 5 page paper in the two hours before class. Sometimes I slowly change, rearrange, and add things to a post for weeks before I post it. All that to say these posts take a fair amount of thought and editing for me. The other main reason for this is that my life here is really quite tranquil on a day-to-day basis. I go on some fun weekend adventures every now and again, but I detest play-by-play blog posts (except, of course, when it's a really good story). When you first move to a place, there's so much to observe and describe, and after you've been there for awhile, it's just your life. I'm sure it would still be special and different to people who aren't experiencing it, but it becomes harder to see it through that lens.
So really my goal for the past year or so has just been to post at least once a month. In my mind, it's probably just enough to let you know I'm still alive while allowing me to not stress about posting (you know, in the midst of my busy Netflix schedule). It seems, though, that I'm failing at even that because I missed February. It was one of the first months where I felt I had nothing to share. No posts simmering on the back burner, sitting there with little pieces of thoughts waiting to be connected into something cohesive. When I look back on February, the most obvious event was turning 26. I had a lovely, simple birthday, but that's not going to be the point of this post.
In February, I learned that life is not fair. It's a phrase that you always hear and that I've always particularly resented. Even as a child, I felt that it was wrong to sit back and accept that life isn't fair- we should try to make it that way. We should strive for justice and inclusiveness and making sure that everyone has the same chance at big and small happiness in life. So here I am, at 26, finally learning that in spite of all efforts, life still isn't fair. Without going into a whole lot of detail, the event that led me to this conclusion was a situation with an agency whose support is vital to the nonprofit I work for. They were going to end their support of us based on some hearsay about our organization- information that they made very little attempt to look into or verify. They were very uncooperative and uncommunicative about the issues. At the end of the process they agreed to continue to work with us, but I would call our renewed relationship tenuous at best. One that can be broken with the slightest infraction on our part.
The whole process left me feeling confused and powerless. For the first time, I felt like the victim of a system that put something important to me at the mercy of others. I have latent expectations that people will be thorough and fair and that in America, you are innocent until proven guilty, not the other way around. It's a sad thing to lose some faith in people and organizations that are supposed to be doing good things, but the fact that I'm just realizing these things is an indication of the privileged life I have led. The system has always worked for me, not against me. Until now, I have never had to lose sleep because something was wrong.
Other people have dealt with this their entire lives. They've experienced things that no one ever should. There's the really big ones, like being imprisoned for 10 years for a crime you didn't commit, but there's also the really every day stuff. There's a child with a single mom who's on drugs and has a boyfriend who beats her up. Or even just a child with two parents whose love looks like expensive presents and junk food and plenty of TV allowance, but not the things a child really needs. It's not fair. And it's no wonder that both of those children would grow up, get a minimum wage job, never go to college, and start the cycle over again. Sometimes people sometimes try really hard at things that should work, and for whatever reason, they don't. Sometimes everything is fine and then the floor drops out. Sometimes people who have power just make bad decisions, and sometimes they abuse their power because they can.
If it sounds like I'm trying to convince you to start taking anti-depressants, I'm not. But for those of us who can't understand why people need welfare and food pantries and struggle to keep jobs- remember that you have been sheltered from the cruelest parts of life. You haven't been kicked when you're down. You've experienced the benefits of our American economy, not the injustices that accompany it. You have a sound mind and family and friends and there was probably never really any doubt that you were going to be fine. If those things aren't true for you, but you finished your education, got more than a make-ends-meet job, and started a stable family, then congratulations. You have more will and determination than anyone I know. Either that or you had some powerful help along the way.
What I'm asking you to think about is nothing new. Before you judge a man, walk a mile in his shoes. I'm also saying that understanding that man is not enough. There is nothing wrong with being privileged, and it would be silly and ineffective to try to reverse that. But if you think for a moment that you've earned or deserve what you have, you're wrong. To me, the price of privilege should be helping those who aren't in whatever way feels meaningful to you. The world is not a kind or fair place, but it doesn't mean we all can't continue to work on that.
Preaching over. I promise to talk about happier things next time.
Sunday, 5 March 2017
Tuesday, 10 January 2017
The California Zephyr
As some of you know, I took the train back from Indiana to Utah on New Years Eve. 29 hours from Chicago's Union Station straight into Green River, Utah. Because it's not what you would call a typical form of transportation these days, I thought I'd tell you a bit about the experience. Just as a disclaimer, I traveled with Justin, who lives south of Detroit, so we both caught the train in Chicago. Everything I say is through the lens of having a travel buddy.
The most remarkable thing initially about the train is the utter lack of security. You could take knives, bombs, raw meat (which I would nevvvver do. never ever. whaat? me?), and really anything else your heart desired. And a lot of it. From my understanding, Amtrak allows you to have two checked bags (providing you're getting off at a station that allows checked bags, which Green River does not), two carry-on items, and two personal items. Phew. It's really more than you can carry. (and I would know) So if you need to travel somewhere with a lot of stuff and you don't want to drive, the train is the way to go. Depending on who you are, the lack of security can be disconcerting or a welcome perk.
Once you're on the train, you can exist within it's warmth the entire ride. The loveliness of that is not to be underestimated. They have smoking and stretch-your-legs stops, but I was always too lazy to get off. There are many conveniences that make your ride more comfortable, such as bathrooms (they make your ride muucchh more comfortable), a snack car, observation car, and dining car. The dining car food is edible, but I would recommend planning not to eat there. It's expensive microwave food, as our breakfast dining buddy put it. Luckily I have a wonderful mother who packed a large bag of food for me.
You can also pay to have part of a sleeper car, which I did not, but the seats themselves weren't bad at all to sleep in. Unlike airplanes, you have plenty of leg room, the seats recline far back, and a little leg rest pops up at the bottom to support you. There's a gentle sway to the train car that helped me relax and sleep. (in case you're not picking up on this, the train allowed me to be very lazy)
If you like chatting with strangers, you'll appreciate the train. The environment is relaxed, and there are always people getting on and off. Because I traveled with Justin, I didn't really talk to many strangers... which is probably how I would prefer it. People are also always in and out of the observation car, and it seems like a more talkative place. I probably wouldn't have enjoyed the experience quite as much if I had traveled by myself, although I'm sure it would have been a time for much fruitful contemplation and introspection. Providing I could get rid of all the talkative seat mates.
The observation car is quite obviously for observing the views. It has bigger windows, and the seats face outward rather than forward. There are also some tables for gathering and game-playing. For the first half of the ride (Chicago to the edge of Nebraska) the views weren't worth fighting over, but once we hit Colorado the observation car filled up right quick. For good reason. Traveling through the Rockies was gorgeous.
I noticed that the train seemed to be a popular choice for families. It makes sense- on the train your kids can roam, and you don't have to worry about driving so it's a great time to play games and talk. I think kids also get into the sense of adventure and the ability to explore.
An extra bonus, in my opinion, is that the California Zephyr didn't have wi-fi. Unless you love wasting data, that means disconnecting from the world a bit. It means hours of staring out the window, sleeping, eating, talking, and reading. Those are pretty much all of my favorite things right there.
So would I recommend traveling by train? If you have the time, yes. Why on earth would I subject myself to such slowness? Well... I recently bought a teapot that only holds 1 Liter. When it came I realized how small that actually is, I wondered aloud in the office if I should exchange it for a bigger size so we didn't have to refill it. One of my office mates, Abi, said, "nah, we need reasons to make life go slower, right?" My first reaction would probably have been- No, of course not. We need life to move efficiently. But the more I've thought about it, the truer that seems to be. We have so many tools to make our lives go faster... to the point where I think we need reasons to slow down. That's the best reason I can think of for taking the train. It's not as cheap as driving and it's certainly slower than flying, but it's just so pleasant. Take the train and remember that it's ok for life to move at a different pace.
The most remarkable thing initially about the train is the utter lack of security. You could take knives, bombs, raw meat (which I would nevvvver do. never ever. whaat? me?), and really anything else your heart desired. And a lot of it. From my understanding, Amtrak allows you to have two checked bags (providing you're getting off at a station that allows checked bags, which Green River does not), two carry-on items, and two personal items. Phew. It's really more than you can carry. (and I would know) So if you need to travel somewhere with a lot of stuff and you don't want to drive, the train is the way to go. Depending on who you are, the lack of security can be disconcerting or a welcome perk.
Once you're on the train, you can exist within it's warmth the entire ride. The loveliness of that is not to be underestimated. They have smoking and stretch-your-legs stops, but I was always too lazy to get off. There are many conveniences that make your ride more comfortable, such as bathrooms (they make your ride muucchh more comfortable), a snack car, observation car, and dining car. The dining car food is edible, but I would recommend planning not to eat there. It's expensive microwave food, as our breakfast dining buddy put it. Luckily I have a wonderful mother who packed a large bag of food for me.
You can also pay to have part of a sleeper car, which I did not, but the seats themselves weren't bad at all to sleep in. Unlike airplanes, you have plenty of leg room, the seats recline far back, and a little leg rest pops up at the bottom to support you. There's a gentle sway to the train car that helped me relax and sleep. (in case you're not picking up on this, the train allowed me to be very lazy)
If you like chatting with strangers, you'll appreciate the train. The environment is relaxed, and there are always people getting on and off. Because I traveled with Justin, I didn't really talk to many strangers... which is probably how I would prefer it. People are also always in and out of the observation car, and it seems like a more talkative place. I probably wouldn't have enjoyed the experience quite as much if I had traveled by myself, although I'm sure it would have been a time for much fruitful contemplation and introspection. Providing I could get rid of all the talkative seat mates.
The observation car is quite obviously for observing the views. It has bigger windows, and the seats face outward rather than forward. There are also some tables for gathering and game-playing. For the first half of the ride (Chicago to the edge of Nebraska) the views weren't worth fighting over, but once we hit Colorado the observation car filled up right quick. For good reason. Traveling through the Rockies was gorgeous.
I noticed that the train seemed to be a popular choice for families. It makes sense- on the train your kids can roam, and you don't have to worry about driving so it's a great time to play games and talk. I think kids also get into the sense of adventure and the ability to explore.
An extra bonus, in my opinion, is that the California Zephyr didn't have wi-fi. Unless you love wasting data, that means disconnecting from the world a bit. It means hours of staring out the window, sleeping, eating, talking, and reading. Those are pretty much all of my favorite things right there.
So would I recommend traveling by train? If you have the time, yes. Why on earth would I subject myself to such slowness? Well... I recently bought a teapot that only holds 1 Liter. When it came I realized how small that actually is, I wondered aloud in the office if I should exchange it for a bigger size so we didn't have to refill it. One of my office mates, Abi, said, "nah, we need reasons to make life go slower, right?" My first reaction would probably have been- No, of course not. We need life to move efficiently. But the more I've thought about it, the truer that seems to be. We have so many tools to make our lives go faster... to the point where I think we need reasons to slow down. That's the best reason I can think of for taking the train. It's not as cheap as driving and it's certainly slower than flying, but it's just so pleasant. Take the train and remember that it's ok for life to move at a different pace.
Tuesday, 29 November 2016
For Her
I don't get to hug her very often, and I'm not good at calling. For all she's done, I tell her far too infrequently how special she is.
She is not overly demonstrative, dramatic, or affectionate. Her love is solid and quiet, displayed more in actions and less in words. Her life has been filled with a husband and seven children whose needs she put above her own. She gardened and canned and cooked three meals a day. She sat in my bed and read Laura Ingles Wilder and Bernstein Bears until her eyes fell shut and I shook her awake. She made us our favorite birthday dinners every year. She cleaned the house and tolerated us as we threw our bags by the door and tracked in mud.
Within her is the softest of hearts tempered by firmness and consistency. She convincingly chased children to the stairs under the threat of a wooden spoon with no real intention of using it. When I tattled on my brothers for pinning me to the ground, she asked, "Did you deserve it?". She cried for me as I shook with nerves the mornings of cross country meets. She patiently raised ornery, sensitive, stubborn, and dramatic boys and girls. She has witnessed our choices and mistakes, but never hovered or condemned.
She did it all so quietly that we hardly noticed. Without buying anything expensive or extravagant, she made us the luckiest of children. We had the gift of a wonderful mother.
Happy Birthday Mom. I love you.
She is not overly demonstrative, dramatic, or affectionate. Her love is solid and quiet, displayed more in actions and less in words. Her life has been filled with a husband and seven children whose needs she put above her own. She gardened and canned and cooked three meals a day. She sat in my bed and read Laura Ingles Wilder and Bernstein Bears until her eyes fell shut and I shook her awake. She made us our favorite birthday dinners every year. She cleaned the house and tolerated us as we threw our bags by the door and tracked in mud.
Within her is the softest of hearts tempered by firmness and consistency. She convincingly chased children to the stairs under the threat of a wooden spoon with no real intention of using it. When I tattled on my brothers for pinning me to the ground, she asked, "Did you deserve it?". She cried for me as I shook with nerves the mornings of cross country meets. She patiently raised ornery, sensitive, stubborn, and dramatic boys and girls. She has witnessed our choices and mistakes, but never hovered or condemned.
She did it all so quietly that we hardly noticed. Without buying anything expensive or extravagant, she made us the luckiest of children. We had the gift of a wonderful mother.
Happy Birthday Mom. I love you.
Thursday, 20 October 2016
The Victoria Sandwich
I've never been a baker. I love cooking. I love throwing things together, adjusting as I go, using what's on hand. It's the best. But combining things in exact ratios and sticking in an oven where I just have to wait and it might be ruined at the very last second when I turn it out of the pan- that's the worst. My sister Andrea has always been more of a baker, and growing up I was always perfectly content just to eat her 4-H practice trials. My mom was also a wonderful baker. She didn't make a lot of cakes or sweets for everyday dinners, but she put the effort into making homemade things like biscuits and breads and rolls and coffee cakes... Midwestern German mom cooking... mmmm. Somehow the things she made just always seemed to turn out well. I can't remember ever seeing her flop.
Cake was just about the only thing my mom didn't make from scratch. So like most people, my childhood was filled with Betty Crocker cake mixes on my birthday (but beautifully decorated with her perfect handwriting). Eventually I reached this age where I decided I didn't even like cake very much, so I started requesting more non-traditional birthday desserts. My high school self was even determined to not have cake at my wedding. Maybe cheesecake, or a layered trifle pudding, but none of those boring one-dimensional sheet cakes. My views on cake and baking remained pretty firm, until one day...
I watched the Great British Bake Off. And everything changed.
I want to just put in a plug for this show. The BBC knows how to do television. For starters, the contestants are so nice to each other and so helpful. They clearly care about winning, but their competitiveness is at the "I just want to do well" level, not the "I want to take everyone out" level. The show is actually about the baking itself, not about some drama that was cooked up for entertainment's sake. The challenges don't require big twists and gimmicks because baking is enough of a challenge in itself. And BRITISH ACCENTS. Need I say more?
As I watched the first season and learned all this fascinating history on cakes and scones and sandwiches and the like I began to appreciate how lovely they really are. Their stories are integrated with the development of society as we know it. And to think that at some point people figured out that mixing ingredients in certain ratios will give you all kinds of these fluffy, chewy, buttery, flaky, sweet things just amazes me.
So how is it that cake- this thing that the British would eat for a casual tea time- turned into this super sweet treat that we only pull out at birthdays and weddings and only make from boxes or buy from a store? Like most packaged food stories, I'm sure it dates back to the 1950's, but I think it's really unfortunate. And because I feel sorry for the state of cake in America, I decided to attempt a classic British sponge cake: the Victoria sandwich.
(oh, an aside, one of the other reasons I love the GBBO is that I get to learn British terms for baked goods, which are often quite or slightly different than our versions. And I've never heard the word "sponge" used so often as I do on this show.)
This cake was lovely. To make and to eat. It tastes like a buttery sugar cookie in cake form. Of course, true to my baking luck, it sank in the middle, which could have been due to a variety of factors. Hooray for bread knives to slice off the top and fluffy frosting that covers all ills. Here's the recipe, straight from Mary Berry. I made it using a food scale, so I'm not sure how things come out if you use weight/volume conversions. A Victoria sandwich usually is just dusted with powdered sugar, but that's no fun. So mine had a whipped filling and topping made from 1 pint of whipping cream and 1/2 cup of powdered sugar.
Aside from this cake, I've been on a bit of a baking kick that's included cornbread, biscuits, baguettes, pizza dough, and a few types of cookies. That probably doesn't sound like a big deal, but these are strides for this non-baker. Through all this, I've realized that the real harsh reason I probably don't like baking is that I don't like failure. I don't like that I can put a whole bunch of work into something and it may not turn out. As anyone who knows me pretty well teases me about- I just want things to go right the first time. Don't give me any of that learning through mistakes nonsense. I don't want to make mistakes. Well, this year has probably been one big lesson in getting over that. Not that I'm over it yet. But baking therapy sure helps.
Cake was just about the only thing my mom didn't make from scratch. So like most people, my childhood was filled with Betty Crocker cake mixes on my birthday (but beautifully decorated with her perfect handwriting). Eventually I reached this age where I decided I didn't even like cake very much, so I started requesting more non-traditional birthday desserts. My high school self was even determined to not have cake at my wedding. Maybe cheesecake, or a layered trifle pudding, but none of those boring one-dimensional sheet cakes. My views on cake and baking remained pretty firm, until one day...
I watched the Great British Bake Off. And everything changed.
I want to just put in a plug for this show. The BBC knows how to do television. For starters, the contestants are so nice to each other and so helpful. They clearly care about winning, but their competitiveness is at the "I just want to do well" level, not the "I want to take everyone out" level. The show is actually about the baking itself, not about some drama that was cooked up for entertainment's sake. The challenges don't require big twists and gimmicks because baking is enough of a challenge in itself. And BRITISH ACCENTS. Need I say more?
As I watched the first season and learned all this fascinating history on cakes and scones and sandwiches and the like I began to appreciate how lovely they really are. Their stories are integrated with the development of society as we know it. And to think that at some point people figured out that mixing ingredients in certain ratios will give you all kinds of these fluffy, chewy, buttery, flaky, sweet things just amazes me.
So how is it that cake- this thing that the British would eat for a casual tea time- turned into this super sweet treat that we only pull out at birthdays and weddings and only make from boxes or buy from a store? Like most packaged food stories, I'm sure it dates back to the 1950's, but I think it's really unfortunate. And because I feel sorry for the state of cake in America, I decided to attempt a classic British sponge cake: the Victoria sandwich.
(oh, an aside, one of the other reasons I love the GBBO is that I get to learn British terms for baked goods, which are often quite or slightly different than our versions. And I've never heard the word "sponge" used so often as I do on this show.)
This cake was lovely. To make and to eat. It tastes like a buttery sugar cookie in cake form. Of course, true to my baking luck, it sank in the middle, which could have been due to a variety of factors. Hooray for bread knives to slice off the top and fluffy frosting that covers all ills. Here's the recipe, straight from Mary Berry. I made it using a food scale, so I'm not sure how things come out if you use weight/volume conversions. A Victoria sandwich usually is just dusted with powdered sugar, but that's no fun. So mine had a whipped filling and topping made from 1 pint of whipping cream and 1/2 cup of powdered sugar.
Aside from this cake, I've been on a bit of a baking kick that's included cornbread, biscuits, baguettes, pizza dough, and a few types of cookies. That probably doesn't sound like a big deal, but these are strides for this non-baker. Through all this, I've realized that the real harsh reason I probably don't like baking is that I don't like failure. I don't like that I can put a whole bunch of work into something and it may not turn out. As anyone who knows me pretty well teases me about- I just want things to go right the first time. Don't give me any of that learning through mistakes nonsense. I don't want to make mistakes. Well, this year has probably been one big lesson in getting over that. Not that I'm over it yet. But baking therapy sure helps.
Wednesday, 7 September 2016
When Life Gives You Eggs...
When you're in college, people love to ask you, "Where do you see yourself in 5 years?" I've always hated that question because in my experience so far, life is quite unpredictable. For example, I never would have imagined that in 2016 I'd be in Utah building a chicken coop, but here I am.
Ok, so this post isn't really about the fallacy of plans and unpredictability of life... it's about the chickens.
I don't really remember when we decided to get chickens. There wasn't ever "the conversation" when we hashed out all the pros and cons of having 15 fluffy birds running around the community center yard. I do remember one day surreptitiously placing a chicken coop in the amazon cart and Justin getting so excited at the prospect that he got a little teary-eyed (give him a break, chickens were a part of his childhood). But whatever the process, the day came when the post office called to say that a rather noisy parcel had arrived for us. It also so happens that Sarah, one of the post office ladies, hates chickens. Whoops.
We had ordered 15 chicks thinking that a couple of them would probably die on the journey. But lo and behold, the chicken people had outsmarted us and sent extra chicks with the same assumption. Our little two-day-old birds seemed to be especially hardy, and we went home with 18. A couple of days later we did lose Paprika, may she rest in peace. I just need to throw this in here... chicks are so. cute. If you're wondering, you can get chicks of a specific sex because most breeds can be sexed quite early (and no, you don't need a rooster for the hens to lay eggs). However Justin, in his chicken enthusiasm, decided to get a few of a cute little bantam breed that were too tiny to be sexed. And we now have four roosters. 4 out of 6. Those are unlucky odds.
Our chicken plan was so not thought out that the day they arrived we were like... well, I guess we need to figure out a home now. You can buy chicken coop kits online, but Justin had the oh-so-admirable idea of building the whole thing ourselves from scratch. I think in his confident mind he imagined finishing it in a couple of days. Well, many weeks later... We've finally finished the chicken coop. What did they do in the meantime, you might wonder? They spent their first few weeks exclusively in a repurposed cooler. As they grew, we made a little temporary pen outside the front door where they spent their days. Of course, the day came when those little chicken wire walls could not contain them, and they just ran around inside the fence that surrounds the community center. It is by no means secure, and they can easily escape, but chickens (thankfully) are quite the homebodies. We've only had a few complaints from the neighbors and daily complaints from our food pantry attendant, Kay, a sassy woman who takes her fly swatter to them whenever she gets the chance. This whole time, they've spent their nights in that cooler inside. Which means, yes, every night someone had to wrangle the chickens into the cooler, top it with chicken wire, and get it in the door. You may be beginning to understand my joy at having this chicken coop finished. I do, however, appreciate the chicken catching skills I've gained.
When they eventually lay eggs, which usually happens between 4-6 months old, they'll go to the kids' snack and cooking classes and excess to the food pantry. The kids love the chickens so far, and I'm excited at the prospect of them learning about the food system, animal care, and general responsibility. What you feed chickens actually translates (often visibly) to the nutritional quality of the egg, so our half free-range chickens are also a bonus.
I would say they've quite stolen the hearts of everyone who works at the community center (even Kay, though she would never admit it). We even have a little list of their milestones so far hanging on our wall, beginning with the first chicken poo date, and ending with the first crow of one of the roosters (which, as you may imagine, sounded exactly like a chicken going through puberty. Justin and I thought one of them was dying).
I never expected to become invested in chickens, of all things. Honestly, I thought they were kind of ugly and smelled pretty bad and were only a plus because of the laying eggs thing. But I have so enjoyed watching them grow from little puff balls to elegant ladies and gents. Kind of like children, they do the funniest things. I am not ashamed to admit that chunks of my day are spent just sitting in the sidewalk watching them peck and scratch and try to steal things from each other (seriously, if you want some real entertainment find a flock of chickens and throw something desirable into the middle of them). I love it when their curiosity brings them over to climb and perch on me, or when they eat out of my hand, or most of all, when they nestle in and chill for a bit. And I think they're quite soft and sleek and beautiful.
Life is full of surprises. A year ago I had just finished a Master's degree, and now I'm saying that if you like the idea of having fresh eggs all the time, or if you'd just like an unconventional outdoor pet, I can give you some tips on chicken care.
Ok, so this post isn't really about the fallacy of plans and unpredictability of life... it's about the chickens.
I don't really remember when we decided to get chickens. There wasn't ever "the conversation" when we hashed out all the pros and cons of having 15 fluffy birds running around the community center yard. I do remember one day surreptitiously placing a chicken coop in the amazon cart and Justin getting so excited at the prospect that he got a little teary-eyed (give him a break, chickens were a part of his childhood). But whatever the process, the day came when the post office called to say that a rather noisy parcel had arrived for us. It also so happens that Sarah, one of the post office ladies, hates chickens. Whoops.
This seems like a good place to insert my "Justin with the chickens" series.
 |
| Day one: love. |
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| Hanging out at work together |
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| Sometimes, they just need some quality time. |
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| He put feed all around him to lure them in. |
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| It's a love-hate relationship. |
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| All the ladies. |
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| The little balls of fluff. |
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| My office productivity took a bit of a dip with their arrival. |
Our chicken plan was so not thought out that the day they arrived we were like... well, I guess we need to figure out a home now. You can buy chicken coop kits online, but Justin had the oh-so-admirable idea of building the whole thing ourselves from scratch. I think in his confident mind he imagined finishing it in a couple of days. Well, many weeks later... We've finally finished the chicken coop. What did they do in the meantime, you might wonder? They spent their first few weeks exclusively in a repurposed cooler. As they grew, we made a little temporary pen outside the front door where they spent their days. Of course, the day came when those little chicken wire walls could not contain them, and they just ran around inside the fence that surrounds the community center. It is by no means secure, and they can easily escape, but chickens (thankfully) are quite the homebodies. We've only had a few complaints from the neighbors and daily complaints from our food pantry attendant, Kay, a sassy woman who takes her fly swatter to them whenever she gets the chance. This whole time, they've spent their nights in that cooler inside. Which means, yes, every night someone had to wrangle the chickens into the cooler, top it with chicken wire, and get it in the door. You may be beginning to understand my joy at having this chicken coop finished. I do, however, appreciate the chicken catching skills I've gained.
When they eventually lay eggs, which usually happens between 4-6 months old, they'll go to the kids' snack and cooking classes and excess to the food pantry. The kids love the chickens so far, and I'm excited at the prospect of them learning about the food system, animal care, and general responsibility. What you feed chickens actually translates (often visibly) to the nutritional quality of the egg, so our half free-range chickens are also a bonus.
I never expected to become invested in chickens, of all things. Honestly, I thought they were kind of ugly and smelled pretty bad and were only a plus because of the laying eggs thing. But I have so enjoyed watching them grow from little puff balls to elegant ladies and gents. Kind of like children, they do the funniest things. I am not ashamed to admit that chunks of my day are spent just sitting in the sidewalk watching them peck and scratch and try to steal things from each other (seriously, if you want some real entertainment find a flock of chickens and throw something desirable into the middle of them). I love it when their curiosity brings them over to climb and perch on me, or when they eat out of my hand, or most of all, when they nestle in and chill for a bit. And I think they're quite soft and sleek and beautiful.
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| This was definitely one of my favorite moments. The chicken basically sat in my hand and leaned over until it was supported by my hand. |
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| The "Barred Rock" ladies are probably our laziest. They're a big fan of roosting. |
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| The "Speckled Sussex" are so lovely. This one is named Duchess. |
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| These poor little "Mille Fleur" bantam roosters walk around with such dignity, but they're probably at the bottom of the general pecking order. |
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| The most popular hen, Blue, is an "Easter Egger", which means we really won't know what her eggs will look like until they come out. |
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| One of their favorite activities: chillin' in the mint. |
Sunday, 7 August 2016
They're Not Perfect, But They're Mine
In honor of my recent week back home, I'd like to verbalize a few the reasons I love my family. Of course, all families have their struggles and their bad eggs (ahem, Luke), but in general mine's pretty great.
1. We're huge.
Yeah, not like Duggar size, but there are plenty of us. I love that we practically fill restaurants, that my parents are building a dorm into their new house to fit all the grandkids, and that Christmas feels like a constant storm of jokes, giggles, meltdowns, games, arguments, squeals, and some good conversations. It can be quite a barrage on the senses, but you know, I just really can't think of who I would get rid of.
2. We're different.
I think some big families feel something like clans of clones. There's nothing wrong with cohesion, and it probably makes those hand-me-downs a lot easier, but I'll take some variety in my siblings. We come in all shapes and sizes, and our personalities are as different as our outsides. Even if it means we don't always agree, things usually stay interesting. My theory is that Mom and Dad are so very different they couldn't help but have the whole spectrum of children.
3. We'll go out of the way for people, and especially each other.
Maybe it was always having random people living in our house, or watching my dad invite people over for dinner when he barely knew them. Maybe it's the fact that you must learn to share with so many people in the house. Or maybe it's just a general Midwest thing. Regardless, we'll do a lot of each other. My sisters and I always complain that we help out the older siblings (kids, painting houses, moving, etc.) far more than they will ever help us, but really I don't think we mind. (ok, honestly, I'm probably much more on the receiving end than the giving end... my sisters have helped me move way more than they should have and my brothers have gotten me out of many pickles throughout child and adulthood... especially automotive pickles). My favorite thing is that we had/have this weird thing with food where we save leftovers for the people who like them best (especially for dad), and we ask every single person at the table if they want more of a dish before we finish it). Which leads me into the next point.
4. We connect over food.
In our house, the kitchen was the center of it all, literally and figuratively. The only time we all hung out in the living room was probably Christmas (or when someone started watching a random movie and everyone else filtered in, including dad, who asked a bunch of annoying questions and then promptly fell asleep). With a Mom who's a dynamite cooker and a Dad who's always coming up with new things, I guess it makes sense. Anytime we get together, I would say around 70% of it is spent preparing and eating food. And no matter how much Heather tries to run away from it, I would say we're all farm kids at heart.
5. We're hardcore teasers.
When I was about 12, this was probably the thing I would have said I liked least about our family. But that's when I was mostly on the receiving end. Once I could dish it out on my younger sisters... (; You really can't get away with anything in my family. If you do something foolish, someone always notices, and someone will say something about it. I've also found in my adult life that I get along well with people who are also teasers. Mom and Dad used to get on us all the time for being mean to each other. But I think we had this weird understanding where punching someone and calling them stupid was actually a statement of love.
People think that having so many kids must be a ton of work. They look at my mom and say "how did you do it?!". For one, I was blessed with parents who gave us the freedom to become our individual and independent selves. Parenting that many kids today would seem like so much work because people have made parenting so much work. I think the other thing people miss is that when there are so many of you, you practically raise each other. My siblings have had a huge impact on the person I am today. Maybe that's true for anyone, but I'm just saying... I've had 6 of them to learn from.
1. We're huge.
Yeah, not like Duggar size, but there are plenty of us. I love that we practically fill restaurants, that my parents are building a dorm into their new house to fit all the grandkids, and that Christmas feels like a constant storm of jokes, giggles, meltdowns, games, arguments, squeals, and some good conversations. It can be quite a barrage on the senses, but you know, I just really can't think of who I would get rid of.
2. We're different.
I think some big families feel something like clans of clones. There's nothing wrong with cohesion, and it probably makes those hand-me-downs a lot easier, but I'll take some variety in my siblings. We come in all shapes and sizes, and our personalities are as different as our outsides. Even if it means we don't always agree, things usually stay interesting. My theory is that Mom and Dad are so very different they couldn't help but have the whole spectrum of children.
3. We'll go out of the way for people, and especially each other.
Maybe it was always having random people living in our house, or watching my dad invite people over for dinner when he barely knew them. Maybe it's the fact that you must learn to share with so many people in the house. Or maybe it's just a general Midwest thing. Regardless, we'll do a lot of each other. My sisters and I always complain that we help out the older siblings (kids, painting houses, moving, etc.) far more than they will ever help us, but really I don't think we mind. (ok, honestly, I'm probably much more on the receiving end than the giving end... my sisters have helped me move way more than they should have and my brothers have gotten me out of many pickles throughout child and adulthood... especially automotive pickles). My favorite thing is that we had/have this weird thing with food where we save leftovers for the people who like them best (especially for dad), and we ask every single person at the table if they want more of a dish before we finish it). Which leads me into the next point.
4. We connect over food.
In our house, the kitchen was the center of it all, literally and figuratively. The only time we all hung out in the living room was probably Christmas (or when someone started watching a random movie and everyone else filtered in, including dad, who asked a bunch of annoying questions and then promptly fell asleep). With a Mom who's a dynamite cooker and a Dad who's always coming up with new things, I guess it makes sense. Anytime we get together, I would say around 70% of it is spent preparing and eating food. And no matter how much Heather tries to run away from it, I would say we're all farm kids at heart.
5. We're hardcore teasers.
When I was about 12, this was probably the thing I would have said I liked least about our family. But that's when I was mostly on the receiving end. Once I could dish it out on my younger sisters... (; You really can't get away with anything in my family. If you do something foolish, someone always notices, and someone will say something about it. I've also found in my adult life that I get along well with people who are also teasers. Mom and Dad used to get on us all the time for being mean to each other. But I think we had this weird understanding where punching someone and calling them stupid was actually a statement of love.
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Sunday, 19 June 2016
Round 2
The secret's out- I'm staying in Utah for another year, which means August of 2017 I'll be done with my second VISTA term. (it wasn't really much of a secret) Some of you already know that I'm staying mostly because I feel my projects will benefit from the continuity of having the same person two years in a row. It's a logical reason, but I'm sometimes asked (and ask myself) how I'm able to continue to live so far away from everything I knew and loved for the first 24 years of my life.
There are so many things I miss about living in Indiana. I miss the close friendships I developed in college and sitting in a room full of people that I'm deeply comfortable with. It is difficult to picture my nieces and nephews getting older without me witnessing their milestones, to know that I am not as much a part of my younger sisters' lives as I could be, to miss the countless dinners, birthdays, and special moments that are a part of my family's lives. Those are the kinds of things that should and do make it hard to decide to stay in Utah.
When I chose where to go to college and grad school, remaining close to my loved ones had far greater impact on my decision than anything I wanted to do with my life. I don't think there was anything right or wrong about that. It was just what I needed to do at the time I made those decisions. Wanting to have strong relationships and be involved in my family and friends' lives will always be a good thing, but there are also associated things that are not so good. I am prone to making decisions based on what I think people want from me, what I think will win their approval, love, or admiration, and based on the fear of "missing out" on fun and exciting things. I was a rather timid child and young adult (like afraid-to-call-the-dentist-to-make-your-own-appointment timid), and for a long time my actions were also heavily influenced by remaining within the comfort zone of the people I'm attached to.
But there was a point in my life when I realized that I honestly had no idea what drove me or what I wanted, which was clear in my undecided status on my major as a Freshman and my lack of enthusiasm on job options when I graduated grad school. I realized that I couldn't continue to make my life decisions based on other people's lives and thoughts and my attachments to them. I needed to do something that I wanted to, even if it detached me from everything I knew and loved. It's honestly difficult to say that without feeling selfish and slightly guilty, like I'm choosing to care more about what I want than about anyone in my life. That's a feeling I will carry with me however long I live away from my home. I also have this feeling, though, that the more I learn about myself and what I want, the more I have to give to others.
My quarter century has taught me so much, each stage bringing new successes and hardships and with those, new lessons. In undergrad, most importantly, I learned what it felt like to have real relationships with the people in my life. I learned about hard work- how to push myself beyond the limits of exhaustion for something important to me. I learned what it felt like to succeed. In grad school, I learned how to feel comparatively stupid and incompetent. Through that, I learned not to validate myself based on my successes. I learned that I will always be driven by people, not generally by money. I learned how to systematically address a problem in front of me.
And now here I am, and I had no idea what to expect when I moved to a small rural town in the middle of Utah, a state I knew nothing about. I've learned a lot about what I am naturally good at and and what I've just tried to make myself good at. In living and working so closely with such few people, I've picked up on a few of my not-so-great habits. I've learned what it feels like to have your work affect something beyond yourself (and the positives and negatives that go along with that) and done things I thought only other people were capable of.
I think life looks something like a flowchart where each move leads us to something meaningful, as long as we can see the lesson. Whatever the life stage, the times I have learned the most have always been when I pushed myself out of my comfort zone. Those are also the times when the things I've learned have the chance to actually impact my life. Utah is no exception. I am not here because I'm looking to find that one thing I want to do forever, that will come (or not). I am just looking to do what I can for others and learn what I can about myself. We'll see where that takes me.
I will continue to love and miss all of you.
There are so many things I miss about living in Indiana. I miss the close friendships I developed in college and sitting in a room full of people that I'm deeply comfortable with. It is difficult to picture my nieces and nephews getting older without me witnessing their milestones, to know that I am not as much a part of my younger sisters' lives as I could be, to miss the countless dinners, birthdays, and special moments that are a part of my family's lives. Those are the kinds of things that should and do make it hard to decide to stay in Utah.
When I chose where to go to college and grad school, remaining close to my loved ones had far greater impact on my decision than anything I wanted to do with my life. I don't think there was anything right or wrong about that. It was just what I needed to do at the time I made those decisions. Wanting to have strong relationships and be involved in my family and friends' lives will always be a good thing, but there are also associated things that are not so good. I am prone to making decisions based on what I think people want from me, what I think will win their approval, love, or admiration, and based on the fear of "missing out" on fun and exciting things. I was a rather timid child and young adult (like afraid-to-call-the-dentist-to-make-your-own-appointment timid), and for a long time my actions were also heavily influenced by remaining within the comfort zone of the people I'm attached to.
But there was a point in my life when I realized that I honestly had no idea what drove me or what I wanted, which was clear in my undecided status on my major as a Freshman and my lack of enthusiasm on job options when I graduated grad school. I realized that I couldn't continue to make my life decisions based on other people's lives and thoughts and my attachments to them. I needed to do something that I wanted to, even if it detached me from everything I knew and loved. It's honestly difficult to say that without feeling selfish and slightly guilty, like I'm choosing to care more about what I want than about anyone in my life. That's a feeling I will carry with me however long I live away from my home. I also have this feeling, though, that the more I learn about myself and what I want, the more I have to give to others.
My quarter century has taught me so much, each stage bringing new successes and hardships and with those, new lessons. In undergrad, most importantly, I learned what it felt like to have real relationships with the people in my life. I learned about hard work- how to push myself beyond the limits of exhaustion for something important to me. I learned what it felt like to succeed. In grad school, I learned how to feel comparatively stupid and incompetent. Through that, I learned not to validate myself based on my successes. I learned that I will always be driven by people, not generally by money. I learned how to systematically address a problem in front of me.
And now here I am, and I had no idea what to expect when I moved to a small rural town in the middle of Utah, a state I knew nothing about. I've learned a lot about what I am naturally good at and and what I've just tried to make myself good at. In living and working so closely with such few people, I've picked up on a few of my not-so-great habits. I've learned what it feels like to have your work affect something beyond yourself (and the positives and negatives that go along with that) and done things I thought only other people were capable of.
I think life looks something like a flowchart where each move leads us to something meaningful, as long as we can see the lesson. Whatever the life stage, the times I have learned the most have always been when I pushed myself out of my comfort zone. Those are also the times when the things I've learned have the chance to actually impact my life. Utah is no exception. I am not here because I'm looking to find that one thing I want to do forever, that will come (or not). I am just looking to do what I can for others and learn what I can about myself. We'll see where that takes me.
I will continue to love and miss all of you.
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