After months of cloudlessness, a storm passed over the valley today and as predicted, granted us farm-folk a day of rest. This climactic shift marks the beginning of the rainy season here in chico. We are finally enjoying all my favorite cold-weather crops: butternut squash, broccoli, and soon carrots. This time of fall harvest feels somehow much more exciting than the long summer days we would spend picking cherry tomatoes from the vine. We are wrapping up the season here, planting garlic and onions–the final task before adam and i set out and leave the farm. Work is slowing down. We still savor our weekly visit to the farmers market. With all the available foodstuffs and opportunities to trade with other vendors, my diet is now almost exclusively comprised of local food items. I can get everything from soap, to rice, to chocolate pie at the saturday market, usually without spending any cash.

With only a month left here on the farm, Adam and I are busy wrapping up a number of personal projects: the backyard sauna, winter mulching, canning, transplanting, herb collecting and drying… And of course, there’s all those chickens yet to harvest and sell. We’ve been raising them on our own the last eight weeks with the hopes of making a small profit for our homeward journey. They are very healthy, active birds. It’s been a wonderful experiment, which i will write about in detail next time.

This past weekend adam and i celebrated a long-awaited visit from our friend elizabeth, whose visit happened to coincide with the sierra oro farm trail. This annual event includes dozens of farm tours and wine-tastings throughout the surrounding area. Experiencing these farms firsthand really drives home the impact of participating in a local food economy. I like walking under the trees from which my favorite olive oil is pressed and meeting the cows who make possible the cheese i have been eating all summer.

One of the most sustainable farms we encountered on the tour was Chaffin Family Orchards. This vast farmland founded by the Chaffin family in the early 1900′s is home to olive trees, some over a hundred years old. The property is “hugged” by surrounding hills and scenically backed by tabletop mountain, behind which a reservoir and the potential for hydroelectric power lie hidden. This ideal geographic location helps form a microclimate in which fruit can be harvested 365 days a year. In the last ten years the farm has become a working testament to the the pastoral system. The hens for example are fenced in with the milking cows and rotated to distribute impact and fertility. Goats clear weeds. Sheep roam the orchard. All of the animals are joined by dogs who treat them as family, thereby minimizing predation. It’s a veritable Eden.

I am soaking up the last of my lessons here, knowing the next month is going to fly by. The change in weather reminds me how ready i am for something new, a change in scenery. which in turn reminds me how special is the here and now. everywhere i go these days, i see impossible futures reaching into present reality and imagine how it will all take place.

Last month we spent a day harvesting 25 chickens that Adam and I helped to raise (half of which are now ours for the eating). We made this video to document the process. Part II is just me cleaning and gutting the chicken, a task I am still not fully comfortable with. But it’s far more tasteful than the first half of the video in which adam slits their arteries. We are told that this is the most humane means of taking the birds lives–the upside-down position naturally relaxes the animals and some humans have even described the feeling of their blood being drained as a euphoric experience. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to participate. Even now, the disemboweling freaks me out. I’m just not used to having such a close relationship with the body of something i eat… this is good.

Well, the road ended several months ago when Adam and I first landed here on the farm in Chico. After a very brief, driving-intensive jaunt back home to ohio, we forded the last drifts of winter and have been settling (or should i say ‘melting’?) into our new lifestyle. I should have written all this sooner, but the hyper-immediacy of this medium just doesn’t suit my pace here. If we were frontiers-people back in the old west, at least three men and their horses would have died over the course of several months to bring you such news as, “yes, we’ve arrived. doing fine.” Well, you have my attention now that the isolationism is setting in. Even the writing of letters starts to feel like talking to oneself. I love the quiet and the few people i have within earshot. I am not lonely. Maybe just a little stir-crazy. There’s plenty here to distract me from such thought-traps though. Work, for one, consumes a lot of my physical energy. The rest is all learning, experiments, plants, food, co-existing…

We are joined here with two additional apprentices and our generous farm hosts, Matthew and Lisa, who cook and eat the best food of anyone I know. The farm itself is often described as a work in progress, with steady improvements made each year. It’s a ten-acre plot, surrounded by orchards, complete with goats, chickens, pigs, rows and rows of veggies, greenhouses, all the makings of a classic farm. But this place is far from being conventional. It’s not as easy as it seems, growing your food and raising your animals as close to “natural” as we can come. It requires far more labor, knowledge lost to our modern methods, and above all else–experimentation. That is why we came here to learn, from people who are still learning themselves. 

I also have a garden into which i invested a lot of my initial free time. Mostly medicinal herbs, I wanted to give the farm something it didn’t already have an abundance of. These are quite possibly the best food days of my life. I am slowly weening myself off of processed foods altogether in exchange for food grown here on the farm. It definitely inspires variety when you have a sometimes redundant palette of meal possibilities. My most time-consuming task thus far has been trimming zucchini, which can sometimes take up to six hours every morning. But it’s so satisfying to taste and see those fruits on the table after a long hard day. I really take such joy in the work. The only thing I struggle with here so far is the spiders. I’ve seen too many black widows to feel comfortable doing some tasks and visiting certain corners without gloves on. It’s plenty hot here too. Luckily there’s a river five bike-minutes away and our quaint trailer is outfitted with a swamp cooler that does the job well. We just finished harvesting onions and garlic the other week. So far every new food item is consistently “the best I’ve ever had”. One of our main responsibilities is helping out at the weekly farmer’s market. This community is really supportive of its artists and food-producers which is encouraging. Everyone is so turned on to the local organic food movement. The market is pretty much the full extent of our social interaction each week. I realize this time in my life is prime for hermitage. Time to finish books, start projects, meditate, grow my hair long and one day resurface in a flaming trajectory of eurekas…

December 28th

DAY 7

Erin’s birthday. Felt groggy, stayed inside.

January 5th

DAY 15

Monday morning. Very few campers left. Someone attempted to break into our truck while parked at the bath house. We followed our only suspect–an old man in a silver truck–around the park. Tried to stay dry.

January 23rd

DAY 33

Chopped wood for fire too big. A lick of fire flashed up and singed Adam’s face. Left after a little bit for Percy Quin to run centrifuge.

February 13th

DAY 54

Adam worked. Truck-stop shower. Cleopatra parade with Richard and friends.

February 28th

DAY 69

Drove along Louisiana’s Gulf coast to Texas. Stopped in Houston to visit Rothko Chapel. Wild fires on the way to Austin. Slept in motel parking lot.

March 12th

DAY 81

Woke up. Prepared to leave and were hassled/roped into endless conversation with very drunk friend Jerry. Drove to Magdalena, New Mexico and filed complaint against bitchy librarian before driving to a beautiful campsite at Water Canyon. Played scrabble and went to bed early to keep warm.

March 23rd

DAY 92

Explored orchards near campground. Stopped at Capitol Reef Visitor’s Center. Hiked along canyon trail with steep, imposing red cliffs on either side. Continued on scenic byways (with frequent stops to enjoy view and collect bones) through mountains to Escalante where we camped in a canyon at Calf Creek. Built a nice fire. Ate rice and beans for dinner.

March 28th

DAY 96

Erin and Japhy walked to the beach and left Adam behind. Later we packed up camp and talked to a guy who gave us some nice crystals. Cleaned out the cab and bed and set out on the road. Drove to Big Sur. On the way we stopped and played along the beach in tide pools. Found starfish and anemones and other things. Big Sur was full of people so we slept on a pull-off on the side of the road. (Also: watched sunset. On the way bak to the car we happened to meet two people from Cincinnati. Small world.)

Our destination in Chico feels like a mere stone’s throw compared to where we were only three months ago. California has been good to us so far, making me more and more excited to settle down here for the next six months. We’ve travelled Route 1 all the way up the coast from Los Angeles to Arcata. Again, too beautiful for words. There are fewer tourists north of San Franciso, making it that much more enjoyable, but Big Sur is still one of the most life-affirming places I have ever been. We had a chance to visit the Henry Miller Memorial Library on our way through. Miller made his home here among the coastal redwoods for the last 15 years of his life or so. He was visited by and inspired such literary “novices” as Jack Kerouac and Richard Brautigan. Really, some of my most admired authors have sought and found inspiration here. I think Henry Miller said it best: “It was here in Big Sur I first learned to say Amen!”

We caught a glimpse of this strange architecture along Route 1 and turned around to get a closer look. It’s actually a non-denominational chapel, called Sea Ranch Chapel, and is by far the most beautifully crafted structure I have ever set foot in.

The life of a landscape so grand, so pure, so diverse does not easily translate into a blog post. The pictures tell it better than any words I can conjure. So strange to ascend from such remote canyons and find oneself among the lights and smut of Vegas. It brings me great pleasure though to report that our westward route has finally met with the ocean.

Natural Bridges National Monument

Second largest natural bridge in the world.

Hite overlook.

Orchard at Fruita settlement, Capitol Reef National Park.

Trail in Capitol Reef National Park.

Dead bobcat.

Utah 12 scenic byway.

Clouds.

We went on a day trip with the family to the Jemez Mountains. The weather was perfect–not too hot, not too cold–but there were still patches of snow on the ground. I think this is the most water we’ve seen since the Gulf Coast. There were streams, lakes, waterfalls and of course, hot springs. We explored a small cave with beautifully textured water patterns and mineral deposits. Came home with a wet, dirty dog.

Our last morning in Albuquerque we ate a breakfast of delicious home-made tamales, said our goodbyes and drove several hours to Chaco Culture National Historic Park. After about twenty miles of rattling down a dirt and gravel road, we found ourselves at the heart of this ancient civilization. Few people are determined enough to make the trek, which is good since the remoteness of this destination is a large part of the reason why it’s so well-preserved. 
The park sits in a desert canyon and is home to a vast collection of Chacoan artifacts and structures (called Pueblos.) The largest of these is Pueblo Bonito, which Adam and I toured just this morning. The intricate masonry and sheer size of this site is awe-inspiring. It is still a mystery why many Chacoans vanished from this area around 1100 AD. Artifacts such as copper bells and Macaw feathers and bones which could have only come from Mexico, leave speculation as to the range of influence and exploration of  this complex society. Built around 800 AD, the Pueblo sort of resembles a fortress but as far as we know, the Chaco culture was very consensual and artistic one. These people had a strong connection to the land and astronomy. Many of their structures have architectural features that serve as solar and lunar markings. We were lucky enough to visit on the Spring Equinox which is still celebrated among present-day Chacoan ancestors. There was traditional dancing and drumming at sunrise in honor of this occasion. What I find most fascinating about this site is that there were very few permanent residents. Pueblo Bonito was a place of comings and goings among many tribes and native peoples. It was a place of ceremony and seeking. People were drawn to it for reasons not so dissimilar from those that have brought Adam and I here today.

No drive through the dull, parched expanse of West Texas would be complete without a stop in Marfa. The views alone, as you leave the interstate behind and increase elevation, make this detour well worth it. Adam and I came into town just after dark. We chased the setting sun–rubied and radiantly bruised–swept discreetly under the horizon. We drove around, but nowhere in Marfa could we find any evidence of it being a Saturday night. We played, but didn’t finish, a game of chess at a pizza place with a view of the town’s only traffic light, steadily informing travelers they’ve reached a crossroads. No doubt this place was built for passing through. That is, until 1971, when Minimalist icon Donald Judd sought retreat here, stamped his name on practically every building within sight of the courthouse, and popularized Marfa as an artist colony. Judd’s legacy is now evident in the work of a contemporary art collective known as The Chinati Foundation. He originally founded this community in Marfa as a museum intended to house a permanent collection of art, sculpture and installations. Judd’s notoriety and the work of his renowned Foundation, alongside a modest assortment of independent galleries, have helped established Marfa as a cultural landmark. The town’s proximity to Big Bend National Park and roadside curiosities like the mysterious “Marfa lights” also appear to draw a steady flow of tourists. Marfa leaves the impression of being at once settled and transitory, its population seemingly comprised of lower and middle class long-time residents, vacation home-owners and visiting New York art professionals. The streets are quiet. They have an ironic texture and retro aesthetic all their own. Many of the adobe-style houses appear to have been abandoned in the seventies and narrowly preserved. Their shades are all drawn. Cadillacs sit rusting on blown tires. Arm chairs fade on porches. The grass is pale and sharp. The yards are worn. Dogs bark. Everything collecting dust.

On our way out of town, we passed what I assumed was either a designer shoe store or a bitter mirage. Further investigation reveals that it was only a facade, the deceptive shell of a Prada boutique–a building-sized sculpture set against a sweeping high-desert landscape. Prada Marfa is also a time capsule, with several real samples from Prada’s ’95 collection. Like the rest of Marfa, it makes for a good roadside attraction and very appropriately concluded our stay.

We spent the next few days driving through and camping in New Mexico. All the national forest campgrounds are free here. The facilities are primitive, but so are the surroundings. A short drive through the Gila National Forest landed us in Kingston, New Mexico: Home of the Spit & Whittle Club. Apparently this mountain-town used to have 22 saloons, but now it’s just one big cemetery. 

Further north, we camped in the Cibola National Forest at a place called Water Canyon. The campground had great views and very little traffic. One morning we woke up to a hail storm, followed by snow. We spent all day inside the cab–cautiously heating water over the camp stove, writing letters, playing games, being cozy. Japhy kept leaving the site and returning with deer hooves (???).

We returned to civilization on Saturday and treated ourselves to a cheap hotel room. Stayed up late watching Caddyshack. I’m learning that a little bit of luxury goes a long way.

We were having such a fine time here in Austin this week when an even finer opportunity came soaring through the passenger side window, only to beckon us further west. And so we ride tomorrow with the promise of work, a home, food grown with love and the lush terrain of Northern California to inspire us. Though if it weren’t for the incredible timing and allure of this calling, Adam and I would have been perfectly content to call Austin “home” for the next stretch of our journey. People here say it’s the only place in Texas to live. And it’s people like this, who try to raise the standard of what it means to “live”, that really make this community thrive. It’s got everything you could hope to find in a liberal oasis: biker friendly streets, interesting graffiti, lots of independently owned coffee shops & bars, vegan food options, co-ops, parks (including a good-sized one just for the dogs), even a waste vegetable oil filling station. If I had any money to spend on shows, I might be able to better review the local music scene. But for now I’m just going on everybody else’s word that this is a mecca for indy, rock and blues bands alike. What I like about this town is that it feels about the size of Cincinnati, but more centralized. People here are friendly and it feels safe, with just a touch of grit and eccentricity (hence the grizzly old man with beard and high heels whose skirt caught the wind as he was walking down a residential street…). Not so far from the humidity and brokenness of New Orleans, we have the breezy sun-kissed streets of a place that feels whole–a place worth returning to.

We left promptly on Friday, as soon as Adam was released from his place of temporary employment. We were only two hours outside of the city when we reached Lafayette and decided we were far enough away to celebrate a new phase in our journey. New Orleans seems to me now more than ever like a kind of purgatory between the place i’ve called “home” and its uncharted afterlife. That said, stepping onto the porch of The Blue Moon Saloon & Guesthouse was like walking through the pearly gates and being welcomed by an indiscriminate association of family and friends i never knew. The night unravelled with great conversations, live entertainment, fleeting acquaintances, moments of pure joy and the refreshing sense of having finally finally arrived. Japhy made the evening with his magnetic demeanor, officially winning the title “best bar dog ever”. When not flashing his adorable grin and greeting passers-by, he was content to just chill under the table while we socialized. Yup, this one’s definitely a keeper.

We left early the next day, traveling along Louisiana’s Intercoastal Waterway to Houston, pulling over briefly to romp along the windy Gulf shores and comb for seashells. We stopped in Houston, for one reason and one reason only. It happens to be the unlikely home of The Rothko Chapel, a sacred, “total art space” dedicated to contemplation and positive action. Rothko has long been one of my favorite painters and abstractionists. With his commitment to “raise painting to the level of poignancy of music and poetry,” it’s no wonder I perceive his work not as art, but as a viewing experience, a subject of meditation. Rothko’s Chapel is the ultimate expression of this idea. The octagonal space, softly lit by partial skylights, consists of fourteen large canvases, painted black and hung to the artist’s specifications. It’s difficult to describe the effect that this one-room environment has on one’s senses. There’s a headiness, and for me, an almost primal urge to smile or weep–such that I can’t even choose between the two. Indeed, like listening to a song that touches so sweetly on the neglected strings of one’s life.

And that, friends, is how we now find ourselves in Austin. Hungry (we’ve taken to a diet of restaurant leftovers). Broke (the only way to leave New Orleans). Still homeless (joyfully so). With an ever-broadening concept of what it means to be “free”. We sail on the verge of something great.

… There’s the idea of bumping into experience and people while you’re wandering. You really are experiencing life that way. Nothing is routine, nothing is taken for granted. Everything is standing out on its own, because everything is a possibility, everything is a clue, everything is talking to you. It’s marvelous. It’s as though you had a nose that brought you into the right places. You are in for wonderful moments when you travel like that … - Joseph Campbell

The rest of the week was spent at our beloved Sandy Hollow, a wildlife preserve North of Lake Ponchartrain with a campground that’s completely free and seldom visited except by locals who go there to hunt and ride horses. It’s a wonder we even found it. But  so worth the hour and a half drive to enjoy the shady pine groves and drink the fresh spring water. Before setting out on this journey I invested in Don Wrights Guide to Free Campgrounds an inexpensive two-volume set that has information for state parks, but mostly really free sites like wildlife management areas where camping is legal. I will say that this book has led me astray before, and any directions should be cross-referenced with online maps. That’s how we finally found Sandy Hollow.

This brings me to a very exciting announcement, as Adam and I have adopted a new travel companion who we met during our stay at Sandy Hollow. His name is Japhy Rider. We found him licking vegetable oil off our trailer one day as we were returning from a hike. There was instant chemistry and it has been a pleasure to have him along thus far. Japhy loves to cuddle, a major plus. He’s also very compact and quiet, surprisingly obedient as well. It turns out our little travel-sized friend fits perfectly into our home, hearts and lifestyle.

Welcome Japhy Rider!

Not much more to report. Adam and I stopped by the Abita Brewery on the way back to New Orleans for a brief tour and tasting. That was fun and also free. We are going to be here exactly one more week, and plan on enjoying the parades in anticipation of our escape till then. For now, more photos…

NOTE: I will try in the future to keep puppy pictures to a minimum. It will not be easy, as Japhy’s cuteness is virtually irresistible to anyone with digital camera in hand.

Japhy after his bathy.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me drinking from the Abita tap.

Hungry for beads.

Adam and his loot.