Support Your Local Farmer, Craftsperson, and Shopkeeper

It looks like if there is a common thread running through recent posts it is the idea of buying local. My concern was originally in the way of food. I feel a bit leery of the commercialization of the organic movement. Call me a “Luddite” but when the big Agri-Business takes over “Organic” food, I tend to not believe they have anything other than money in mind.

David St Lawrence in his blog this morning had this to say:

Why buy locally, when you can get things cheaper from overseas?

It's really simple. When you buy directly from an artisan or from a farmer, there is a sense of connection that matters. If the artisan and farmer have pride in their work, you take part in a transaction that validates the quality of the goods you have purchased and you have obtained something you are proud to take home.

You are not just buying a cup, a jug, or a head of lettuce. You are buying the careful effort that went into producing what you just bought. Afterward, you will find yourself telling others about your purchase and sharing your joy at finding something that was just right for you.

You have made a connection between yourself and another human being with a meaningful transaction.

I agree with David. By buying locally you are supporting your local economy. If the local economy grows there will be more opportunity. Think of “opportunity” as the real crop you are helping to grow with your support. Now, David (as the new director of the Jacksonville Center) has a vested interest in getting people to support their local craftsperson and artist, but, the only way this country is going to make it in the “Global Economy” is if we change the paradigm on what we buy.

The Blog of Henry David Thoreau

The Blog of Henry David Thoreau:

Thursday, June 22, 2006
Thoreau's Journal: 22-Jun-1851
As I walk the railroad causeway, I notice that the fields and meadows have acquired various tinges as the season advances, the sun gradually using all his paints. There is the rosaceous evening red tinge of red clover,—like an evening sky gone down under the grass,—the whiteweed tinge, the white clover tinge, which reminds me how sweet it smells. The tall buttercup stars the meadow on another side, telling of the wealth of dairies. The blue-eyed grass, so beautiful near at hand, imparts a kind of slate or clay blue tinge to the meads.

What a great idea...go be inspired.

Saturday, June 17, 2006
Thoreau's Journal: 17-Jun-1854
Another remarkably hazy day: our view is confined, the horizon near, no mountains; as you look off only four or five miles, you see a succession of dark wooded ridges and vales filled with mist. It is dry, hazy June weather. We are more of the earth, farther from heaven, these days. We live in a grosser element. We [are] getting deeper into the mists of earth. Even the birds sing with less vigor and vivacity. The season of hope and promise is past; already the season of small fruits has arrived. The Indians marked the midsummer as the season when berries were ripe. We are a little saddened, because we begin to see the interval between our hopes and their fulfillment. The prospect of the heavens is taken away, and we are presented with a few small berries.

'Organic' Loses Its Freshness

'Organic' Loses Its Freshness: Until recently, organic practices were sneered at by those in academia, in government and in chemical agribusiness -- now called 'conventional agriculture.' Thanks to a fast-growing demand for organic food, the sneers are now reserved for those who practice organics on a small scale. Long accustomed to being marginalized, unsubsidized and told to 'get big or get out,' small organic growers stubbornly plug away at their work, but the 'O' word that once gave them a special niche now means something entirely different. Currently it is used to lend credibility to 'industrial organic' food produced on large, factory-style farms, and while its newfound popularity may have brought some of those do's and don'ts into the mainstream, I think more of agribusiness has rubbed off on organics than vice versa.

The meaning of the organic label rests on a shifting balance between what the corporate lobbies want and what the watchdogs can prevent. Most organic brands are now niche labels of larger food companies that have no interest in the finer, more holistic aspects of the grower's craft. And many who practice that craft are scratching their heads and asking, 'What can I call my product instead?'

Barbara Damrosch has written a good piece laying out the changes that have occurred in the Organic Foods area. And her main point is very salient, buy fresh, locally grown, organic preferably, food produced by someone you know. Once the relationship between producer and consumer has been re-established, both will benefit.

My grandfather was an early convert to the J I Rodale school of gardening. By the time of his retirement he was gardening almost an acre organically. I grew up reading Organic Farming & Gardening, and for years I kept a stack of back issues for reference. I have watched as "Organic" has gone from "health food" to mainstream supermarket fare. Unfortunately, the definition of the word HAS been legislated into oblivion by the Corporate Ag group.

Maybe we need a new word. Europe seems to favor "biological" (as in the French "biologique"). It evokes the plant sciences more than it does the chemistry lab. Some committed growers describe what they grow as "beyond organic." Others have proposed "real food," "authentic food" or "food with the farmer's face on it." One I know sends his produce out with the trademarked slogan "Earth Passionate Agrarianism" and the tag line "Taking Organic Seriously."

This all relates back to "know your farmer", if you know your farmer, and trust him or her, chances are your food will be produced in a manner that you approve of... If not you will go somewhere else to buy your food. Since you are familiar with both your farmer and his farm, you will be aware of the general health of his farm and able to trust the products he is selling.

Pandemic

Latest measles case brings total to 14 - The Boston Globe: "June 21, 2006

The Massachusetts Department of Public Health confirmed another case of measles yesterday, bringing the total to 14 since early May. The patient, a woman in her early 20s, has recovered from the disease and is back at work at Hill Holiday, a communications company in the John Hancock Tower, where the outbreak began. No other suspect cases have been identified within Hill Holiday. For more information on measles, visit www.bphc.org , the Boston Public Health Commission's website, or www.state.ma.us/dph, the Department of Public Health's website."

Iowa Mumps Outbreak Contained: "Friday, June 16, 2006

The number of mumps cases in Iowa has declined dramatically over the past few weeks, and an outbreak of nearly 2,000 cases appears to be contained, state public health officials said Friday.

'People became more aware of it, people were being diagnosed faster, staying home when they had mumps so they are not transmitting it, and we had many more people get vaccinated, so our number of susceptible people went down,' said Dr. Patricia Quinlisk, state epidemiologist.

Iowa was the worst hit of 12 states, mostly in the Midwest, that have reported a total of more than 3,200 mumps cases. No deaths and few hospitalizations have been reported, but the numbers dwarf mumps reports from recent years.

As of Wednesday, there were 1,938 confirmed and probable cases of mumps reported by the Iowa Department of Public Health. The number was up just 14 cases from the previous week."

And everyone is worried about avian flu? Looks like it's going to be death by childhood disease instead. I guess it doesn't matter what specific outbreak you fall prey to, once one of these decides to mutate we will all be in trouble. The word from the authorities on the measles is that if you were born between 1957 and the late 60's your immunization wasn't all that effective...Oops.

Maybe Fred has the better idea, a small isolated place in the country on a nice quiet gravel road...Just wear a mask when you come to visit, please.

Our Stories, Mythology in the Making

Wandering through the blogs I read regularly today led to another interesting discovery...
via Colleen thru her sister Kathy to Christina Baldwin and her book "Storycatcher". Now it looks like I need to make another trip to the Amazon site. In reading at the storycatcher.net site a couple of things caught my eye...

Story is really all we leave each other. Even the most precious heirlooms, including the ones I tend in my own home, will not last: someday they'll end up in an estate sale or a house will burn down or they will simply lose meaning. What has the most lasting value is the story of who we are, who we come from, where we aspire to go.

And then there is this:

Story has a beginning, middle and end that makes a point, delivers an insight or shares an experience. This is called narrative... Narrative is how we remember, how we communicate, and how we assign meaning to events.

It looks like this may be what it is that is driving all of our blogging. The need to put the narrative back into the structure of our life. Without the stories of our life, can it really be said that we have left anything of us behind?

This will require more study...

"(Let us) make our own story in the world. (May) our grandchildren say about us that there was a time when many things looked dark, when people felt separated from each other ... and people were distracted and busy, driven along in the deterioration of many things they held dearly. But then, in the nick of time, something that no one could see, and no one could stop began to restore hope and instill them with wisdom and action: people began to remember the sweetness of story."

Home and Heart

Reading Fred First is like conversing with myself. He manages to say things in a much more articulate and beautiful way than I probably would. Take the following excerpt:

Home and the Heart

Why is there 'no place like home'?

Because I am away from home, I am wondering just what it means to feel 'at home'. I deeply love the southern Appalachians where I live, but feel certain I could love other places as well, had the Great Gumball Machine yielded ME in another instance of place and time.

I sometimes wonder, if I had grown up in some flat and featureless place (Kansas, maybe), would I have ever developed a 'sense of place', a feeling of belonging to a place that, upon leaving, all I would think of is how much I looked forward to returning, of standing in my own fields again?

I'm talking about a relationship with the land, WHERE you live, not the people, not the city, not the community. What makes one either bond to the physical features of where they live, or not? Is it simply a matter of loving the one you're with, geographically speaking? Growing where you're planted? I don't think so; at least not for me.

I know whereof he speaks. I was born on the coastal plain of east Texas. Houston, Texas was the place of my birth; Pasadena, Texas was the locale of my upbringing and early adulthood. In my early teen years I was exposed to the Texas Hill Country, and it was here that I hung my dreams of moving to when I was able. Over the years I would drag the family on camping trips into different parts of this rugged portion of the State in which I was born and love. On the drive home from every trip I have ever made into the central part of Texas I began to get depressed as I would get within 100 miles of home. For a long time I could not understand why this mood would hit. Then one trip I noted where exactly I began to get moody and it was then I noticed the one glaring fact...my mood came on exactly where the hills (such as they where) played out and the coastal plains of my birth began.

I began to really pay attention to the sacred places in my life (and at that time I really hadn't seen any real mountains), and all of them were heights. Enchanted Rock, a monolithic granet dome located in central Texas, has always been a favorite. The Devils Backbone, a stretch of Texas state road west of San Marcos, is a watershed divide with some nice views in each direction from the road. The drive to Lost Maples State Park where the road plunges of the top of the plateau and gets to the bottom as fast as it can...The one commonality of all of these and many others is the overview.

I have to wonder if Fred's Goose Creek Home would be as appealing to my personality. I have never lived in a place without the wide open horizons of my native state and have to wonder at my ability to adapt in a valley...don't know if I could handle the closed in nature of the place. I guess, as always after reading a Fred Fessay esay, I now have another thing to think about...Thanks Fred.

Fragments From Floyd: Curiosity, Wonder and Awe

Fred managed to wake up a bunch of blog readers this morning and the conversation is already going strong...

Fragments From Floyd: Curiosity, Wonder and Awe: "Curiosity, Wonder and Awe
Sometimes, when you are haunted by the same issue again and again in the period of a few days, and seemingly in random unrelated conversations, you might start to think that there is an idea, an inspiration, a message knocking at your door. And you probably ought to go see who's there before they change their mind and think you're not worthy of the call. "

Go on over to Fragments and add your thoughts on the subject.

SIMPLY WAIT: BECAUSE THEY BOW TO YOU WHEN THEY SAY GOOD-BYE

SIMPLY WAIT: BECAUSE THEY BOW TO YOU WHEN THEY SAY GOOD-BYE: " It occurred to me that we don't bow to each other nearly often enough. Not physically or spiritually. We don't acknowledge the sacred in every encounter, every conversation, every parting."

I know it's not just me...Fred First attracts the most interesting readers and bloggers to Fragments From Floyd. Patry Francis has some interesting things to say about the sacred and the sublime...

Loose Leaf Notes

Loose Leaf Notes: "“Mining the Gold of a Story,” which comes from this excerpt from the book: In this physical world, we have to mine for treasure. Gold and silver are precious gems are not usually found lying around on the surface of the earth. It’s the same with us; we have to excavate our own treasure, down through the door of our childhood, through the pain of what hurts, into the grief of our losses. Life nudges us to go deeper because to live on the surface is superficial. There is so much more."

Colleen has a way of really saying something that just reaches out and shakes you by the shoulders and says 'wake up, this is important.' Thanks for the wake-up call today, Colleen.

"Success goes to those who tell their story to the marketplace"

I was reading in Ripples this morning where David was discussing a conference on Sustainable Development held in Abingdon, Va. The following quote really jumped of the screen at me…

Ripples: post-corporate adventures: Sustainable Economic Development for Southwest Virginia?: "Governor Kaine emphasized this point near the end of his speech. 'Success goes to those who tell their story to the marketplace.' In a sense, that was the underlying theme of the entire conference, telling the story about the regions assets in a way that would attract tourists and investment."

That says it all about the organizations and businesses that have managed to involve me to the point of being a walking evangelist for them. It was the story that first brought me to try them, it was the reality of their living the story that keeps me going back, and it’s the belief in the philosophy that created the story that I seem to connect with.

One of the very first “stories” that brought me to the area of the Blue Ridge Mountains we now call ours, was the story of the Mast General Store in Valle Crucis. I stumbled on their website and read the history long before I planned that family trip to North Carolina. It was their story that set the location for our first visit. And it was the daily stops to sit on the porch and sip a ginger beer that helped make the stay a success.

During the planning for that trip, I first read the story of Grandfather Mountain and the love of one man for a “place” and the transformation that love brought to a mountain over the life of the man…which is why the recent death of a man I hadn’t ever met was like losing a member of the family. May you rest peacefully on the mountain, Hugh Morton.

And it was the story behind the rescue of the Orchard at Altapass (and speaking of serendipity, as I started writing this paragraph Bill Carson’s “Story of Altapass” popped up on my computers MP3 player) that led me to make the trip to visit that institution on the side of the Blue Ridge Parkway, where Bill piled me into his vehicle to run down the road to visit the graves of the McKinney’s who first settled there.

It isn’t just the stories though that makes these places special, it’s the people involved in living the stories today. And to all of you who are involved with these groups, I want to say thanks for being so very neighborly…It’s what keeps us coming back and keeps our “North Carolina Mountain Dreams” alive.

p.s. Just as an explanation of what makes the fact that Bill Carson’s “Story of Altapass” playing at the exact time I was typing the paragraph about the Orchard such a coincidence, my MP3 player is set to shuffle and has a playlist that contains over 5000 pieces.

Tuseday Muse

It has been a few weeks now since I jumped back into this try at blogging. I don’t think I have quite gotta handle on what I am trying to say yet. I am not even sure why I feel the need to throw this out into the ether. If you are along for the ride, bear with me and mind the bumps.

I started a post the other day and haven’t finished it to my satisfaction, so this isn’t it, but in that meandering try at prose I mentioned a book I grew up with here in Texas. Since this is the day of the internet and Google, I did a search for the title I remembered. Found it almost immediately at Biblio.com, someone had it for sale…short story long, I ordered it and will be reliving my early years over the next couple of weeks reading “Texas Sketchbook, A Collection of Historical Stories From The Humble Way”.

Just to keep with the idea behind the title of this Blog, here’s a bit about Boone, NC I came across today:

Boone

'Boone, the most elevated county seat east of the Rocky mountains, is 3,222 feet above the sea. Its population numbers 200, and lives along a street rising
and falling with the hills. No majestic mountains rise around it, consequently there is less of the attractive that distinguish most mountain county seats. Near the stream which flows on one side of the town, Daniel Boone, the famous hunter, is said to have camped while on a hunting tour. It is from this camping tradition that the village took its name.' (1883, Zeigler, p. 267)

'When we had ridden into its single street, which wanders over gentle hills, and landed at the most promising of the taverns, the Friend informed his comrade that Boone was 3,250 feet above Albemarle Sound, and believed by its inhabitants to be the highest village east of the Rocky Mountains. The Professor said that it might be so, but it was a God-forsaken place. Its inhabitants numbered perhaps 250, a few of them colored. It had a gaunt, shaky courthouse and jail, a store or two, and two taverns. The two taverns are needed to accommodate the judges and lawyers and their clients during the session of the court. The court is the only excitement, the only amusement...(continued to p.39)' (1889, Warner, Charles D. p. 36)

The site isn't all up but there is some great historical references...Western North Carolina Heritage. Go have some fun with history.

Ambivalence: Umuntu Ngumuntu Ngabantu

It has long been a theory of mine that the myth of our lives is created in the reflection we see in the eyes of our loved ones and friends. It is through our trying to live up to the myth created around our lives by those who watch that we surpass the mundane.

Stowe Boyd (no relation that I know of) seems to feel it also:

Ambivalence: Umuntu Ngumuntu Ngabantu: "Umuntu Ngumuntu Ngabantu

There is a common expression in Xhosa (Zulu), I have read, umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu which means 'a person is a person through other persons'. This is just as true for the nomad as it is for the villager, perhaps even more so, despite the distance and the time that holds us apart from others we know and love."

“A person is a person through other persons”, you are forced to live up to the myth you create by living up to the myth that others create about you. It’s all so circular, you have to wonder…wander as a nomad, live as a villager…it’s still the reflection of your life that you see.

Just as it is the brightest lights that cast the darkest shadows, the strongest bonds are those linking travelers to the unmoving world, but they are loose ties, hardly felt, like the embrace of the Earth holding us, or the push of the wind at our backs as we move ahead in the night. We are defined by our circles, but for the traveler these are loose, flowing, light: not a box and a book, but instead a bedouin's robe and a song or two, songs to be sung alone, or with others over the next rise. Travelers are never more themselves than then, sharing our innermost songs, singing the circles, telling our own tales. and then, moving on.

I can see I will need to keep track of what stories Stowe has to tell.

Thanks to Shelley Powers at Burningbird via The Magpie Nest…

Joni Mitchell on the Computer

“Were captive on the carousel of time
We cant return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and roundIn the circle game”

“Take your time, it won’t be long now
Till you drag your feet to slow the circles down”

“Though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true
There’ll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty
Before the last revolving year is through”

Circle Gamw by Joni Mitchell

As I sat at the computer today during lunch, I was reading Fragments From Floyd archives when I heard the Circle Game come on the computer. I first heard that song in a movie back around 1972 at the Lowe’s Delman Theatre on Main St. in Houston. The movie was Butterflies Are Free and the singer on the soundtrack was Buffy Sainte-Marie,

Every time I hear that song it pulls me back to an earlier time when it was all ahead of me, now after 34 years I find the words a little more prophetic.

Eat Local

This months issue of Mother Jones has an article on Polyface Farm and Joel Salatin. His comments on farming and politics really speak to me.

No Bar Code: "“We don’t have to beat them,” Joel patiently explained. “I’m not even sure we should try. We don’t need a law against McDonald’s or a law against slaughterhouse abuse—we ask for too much salvation by legislation. All we need to do is empower individuals with the right philosophy and the right information to opt out en masse.

“And make no mistake: it’s happening. The mainstream is splitting into smaller and smaller groups of like-minded people. It’s a little like Luther nailing his 95 theses up at Wittenberg. Back then it was the printing press that allowed the Protestants to break off and form their own communities; now it’s the Internet, splintering us into tribes that want to go their own way.”"

One of the things we always do when we come to Boone is visit the Watauga County Farmers Market, which is pretty much what they are talking about here. Buy local, get to know the local producers it's the best protection you have to insure the quality of your food.

I really liked the term Joel used in the following quote to equate the production of food to the ecology of the area the farm is located in:

“No, I don’t think you understand. I don’t believe it’s sustainable—‘organic,’ if you will—to FedEx meat all around the country,” Joel told me. “I’m afraid if you want to try one of our chickens, you’re going to have to drive down here to pick it up.”

This man was serious. He went on to explain that Polyface does not ship long distance, does not sell to supermarkets, and does not wholesale its food. All of the meat and eggs that Polyface produces is eaten within a few dozen miles or, at the most, half a day’s drive of the farm—within the farm’s “foodshed.”

I think I really like that term "foodshed", pretty much says every thing you need to say...If you are in the "foodshed" of Polyface Farm you might want to check'em out. This is the kind of grassroots action that could just take-off (after half a century of trying).

Home again

Just for fun I pulled up this old Landsat Photo and marked my home on it. Do you see me waving? This may give you an idea of why I watch the weather so closely this time of year. Most of what is between me and the Gulf of Mexico stands under at least a little water at some part of the year.

I guess it is a part of the Boy Scout training I received growing up, but maps and satellite photos are some of my favorite things. And Google Earth is way up on that list... 

Blue Ridge blog

Blue Ridge blog: "Hugh Morton passed away yesterday. Mr. Morton is a famous North Carolinian who championed the preservation of the Tarheel State's scenic beauty through his photography . It helped that he owned a mountain as grand as Grandfather. "

I never had the privilege of meeting Mr. Morton, but, he was one of the people in North Carolina that first inspired my interest in the Valle Crucis ~ Linville area. When I first started planning our first family trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains there were two areas I was looking at. Northwestern North Carolina I had visited alone in 2000, the other was the Ashville area. As I started investigating areas for the trip I stumbled onto the website of the Mast General Store in Valle Crucis. The story behind the store intrigued me and led me to do more research on the area. That led me to Grandfather Mountain, and the story of the Mountain, the family and the man inspired me. One of the primary sites on our agenda that year was going to be Grandfather Mountain, unfortunately the weather didn’t cooperate and it took three tries to get a chance to visit Mr. Morton’s Mountain. From then on one or more of Hugh Morton’s photos graced the desktop of my computer, and for the longest time the Grandfather Mountain Screensaver ran on my computers…

Our plans for this year are centered around the Highland Games. We planned the trip to be in Valle Crucis on the weekend after the 4th just to be able to attend. And for this, again my thanks go to Mr. Morton for his allowing this event to be held on “his mountain”. I intend to spend some time in silence, thanking the man himself for what he has held in trust for all of us.

And sometime in the future, I hope to attend the photographers weekend myself and learn from the spirit of the mountain…

Hugh Morton
1921-2006
Rest peacefully on the mountain.

Ron Rash, Iris Press

Ron Rash, Iris Press: "

It was last week that David St Lawrence posted about a reading given by Ron Rash in Floyd. I first stumbled onto Ron Rash last year on Garrison Keillor's email newsletter, The Writer’s Almanac, hear it here. The poem being presented was “The Exchange” from Among the Believers (2000, Iris Press,). Something in the poem really grabbed me ‘cause truth to tell, I don’t normally read poetry…Since then every time I have seen a reference to Mr. Rash and his work, I have paid attention. I am glad I did, and I really wish I could have been in Floyd that night to have heard the words in the voice of the man who wrote them…I am going to post a piece of “The Exchange” here, please go read the whole thing and then try a book or two…

The Exchange Between Wytheville, Virginiaand the North Carolina line,he meets a wagon headedwhere he's been, seated besideher parents a dark-eyed girlwho grips the reins in her fist,no more than sixteen, he'd guessas they come closer and shedoesn't look away or blushbut allows his eyes to holdhers that moment their lives pass.He rides into Boone at dusk,stops at an inn where he buyshis supper, a sleepless nightthinking of fallow fields stillmiles away, the girl he mightnot find the like of again.

A bit of family myth and the voice of a poet, with that combination, all of us would have a chance to write the epic of our own mythology.

From the Iris Press website:

Ron Rash's family has lived in the southern Appalachian mountains since the mid-1700's, and it is this region that is the primary focus of his writing. Rash grew up in Boiling Springs, North Carolina, and graduated from Gardner-Webb College and Clemson University. He is currently the Parris Distinguished Professor of Appalachian Studies at Western Carolina University. He is the author to three books of poetry: Eureka Mill, Among the Believers (2000, Iris Press,) and Raising the Dead (2002, Iris Press); and two collections of short stories: The Night The New Jesus Fell to Earth (1994), and Casualties (2000.) . He is also author or two acclaimed novels: One Foot in Eden (2002,) and Saints at the River (2004,) and one book for children: The Shark’s Tooth.


His poetry and fiction have been published in over 80 journals and magazines including Yale Review, Georgia Review, Oxford American, New England Review, Southern Review, Shenandoah and DoubleTake. Ron Rash has received frequent awards and recognition for his writing, including The Appalachian Writers Association Book of the Year Award for 2003 and Forward Magazine’s Gold Medal for Best Literary Novel of 2002, both for his debut novel, One Foot in Eden."