By Sara Dougherty
Paul Smith’s College Alumni
June 1, 2016
6:30am-6:30pm
La Pierre
This morning, maybe almost every morning so far this summer, I wake early. As I do, my day starts with Bloo. Like all living things, there’s a routine to his day and it’s become a part of mine. It’s quiet, so quiet, and I talk softly to him, pet his soft ears and brush his coat. He’s my companion here, my friend. Once he’s on his run, I fill buckets from the spring.
Living without a water system in the cabin adds another layer of thought and chores. Water is one of the resources that is invisible in most of our lives—it’s there, at the tap, in the sink, in the toilet and in the washing machine, to drink and wash and clean with. But here, I am carrying every drop that I need to accomplish those tasks. The cabin is also without electricity, so there’s no refrigerator, no cold milk or orange juice. I have adapted my diet to include those foods that are organic, nutritious, local and that don’t require to be kept fresh by refrigeration! I choose a granola bar for breakfast and then take my laundry down from the line. Hand washing is accomplished in tin buckets, with fresh, cold spring water. I’m aware of the dirt in my life in every way.
The fields in front of the cabin are dark next to the spring grass, old dirt, old earth, old but now new again with onion beds. Weeding is a slow and tedious process. If you can’t get into a meditation kind of mindset, weeding can tend toward boredom. I had thought to break the monotony by listening to music while going through the rows, but my phone powered down and I worked in the quiet of the space until my solar charger gained enough juice. When left without those outside melodies and lyrics, my own thoughts, my own device, my head gears, began turning. It’s true that a working body provides for a working mind. While down in the dirt with these little plants, there were some educational notes that I felt would be worthy of inclusion here in my journal.
The varieties of “weeds” I was pulling from the ground also happened to be edible plants; the first commonly referred to as lamb’s quarter and the other vetch. There was also some quack grass that had started to shoot up, but this was not nearly as populated as the lamb’s quarter. It’s worthy of discussion, why we remove these edible and perhaps medicinal plants from our fields, when we know they can provide sustenance. And to call them weeds seems awfully insulting. This is an integral part of marketing and consumer’s choice. These plants are species that have been deemed unwanted and without value and we treat them as such. I wait for the day when someone brings baskets full of lamb’s quarter to the farmer’s market… maybe it will be me! Consumers look to buy what they are familiar with and, without learning how to change our diets, or without a good reason to do that, people will buy the same things and eat the same things and weed their gardens the same way.
Along with the weeding, I also gave my thoughts to the rocks that litter the beds. The mountains are rock and these beds are of the mountains. My grandfather, whose land I can see above the tree line as I look north, to the top of Bulwagga Mountain, his name, in French, before it was changed to something more “American” sounding, was La Pierre, translation meaning, “the stone”. I am from the stones, they are a part of my work right now, as they are for all who live here. Rocks rise and they have found the open sky here, where I am supposed to be growing food. Between each plant and where the primary weed growth was occurring, I began placing rocks to hopefully stop some of the weeds from taking growth in the area. When Charlie came later in the day, he was pleased with not only my thoroughness but my innovative thinking. That was a wonderful compliment.
Along with my meditations on weeds, came the more intent observations on the spiders. Many people are frightened of spiders, suffering from arachnophobia. But today, I began to understand these tiny hunters. They seem to be everywhere I look in the garden ecosystem, combating the many varieties of flies, which could potentially prove to be detrimental to some types of crops, and hiding in the shade of the rock’s shadows, waiting and hunting. I’ve a new respect for these magnificent, petite predators. I saw several different types of spiders, all too quick for my identifying eye. The media can be unfair in its depiction of nature. Much like how the forest can be portrayed as the dark, mysterious place where murders happen and monsters live, the spider has suffered the same depiction. Movies make spiders out to be the bad guy, they’ve too many eyes and too many legs. They are added to the scenery and plot to scare children and adults alike. What kind of effects does this have on spider populations or even simply on how humans interact with this species on any given day? I’m still not going to invite them to stay with me in my bed at night, but I’ve decided that I’m going to leave them in my cabin and in the fields. Their webs are helping me control the cluster fly problem in the cabin and for that I’m grateful. So while spiders aren’t cute creatures, they still serve such an important niche in our garden environments, so much so that I felt inclined to address this in my jottings today. I am now more of a fan of the spider, thanks to today’s meditations, than I was before sitting in the field, weeding onions.
Along with the spiders, there are so many other insect varieties as well. Before living here, my life in “the world outside” moved at a different pace, faster, for sure. Time is changed here. I think some of that is because I was connected to an electrical grid and to my devices. In our fast paced world, we hardly notice how many small creatures are living right with and around us. Planted in one space, sitting in the same spot of ground, pulling small plants out of the dirt, you gain a new perspective on the micro-world that not only exists in farm fields, but all around. Dragonflies, butterflies, damselflies, bumblebees (Bombus impatience), wasps, deer flies, black flies, earthworms, lady bugs, lightning bugs, and more I couldn’t identify, all shared my presence this morning. One worm appeared to be everywhere I looked as I raked back soil with my hands. Fat and grey, with a white head, its population in the garden beds seemed more apparent than any other type of insect there. I’m going to ask Charlie about them to make sure they are beneficial and not a pest.
The chore of weeding finished, I made my way over to Charlie and Candy’s to pick up flowers Charlie wanted put in bed next to the road. Coincidentally, as I arrived, Candy was complaining about a little red bug that had been eating the leaves of her lilies. I wonder what type of insect it was. Charlie had originally wanted me to put zucchini in, but instead I worked with marigolds, snapdragons, zinnias, and others I could not name. So many inspiring colors. It will be noticed by everyone as they drive up the small hill on Factoryville Road.
After I had loaded all the trays into my truck’s bed, Charlie remarked, “You’re not going to get through all of those today, but don’t worry about it. Tomorrow work the onions and we’ll transplant the zucchini, cucumbers and winter squash.” Charlie hasn’t known me long enough to know that I’m always up for a challenge and nothing gets me going more than when someone tells me, “You can’t.” So I made my way down to the cabin to begin transplanting the flowers. I drove my truck, (who I have christened “Brutus”), through a field for the first time. Brutus, the truck, wasn’t cooperative. He was stuck, deep in mud. A neighbor was called in to pull us out. This is how it works.
Bloo had come along for company and stayed close to watch me plant as he lay in the shade of Brutus. I worked my way through each tray of flowers. Charlie has told me to plant them in a scheme of 6-6-6-6. I’d take six marigolds and put them in the ground, followed by six snapdragons, six zinnias and so forth.
I proved Charlie wrong. The transplanting took a long time, but I put every single one of those flowers he had given me into the ground. And they looked good, really good. After the planting, I met Charlie in the field where he was loading up the rototiller to bring back to his house where he wanted to work the potatoes he had planted out back. There I gave him all of the empty flower trays, no comment from Charlie. Instead, we discussed my schedule for tomorrow. Since I hadn’t finished weeding the onions, I’d start with those again, and in the afternoon I’d tackle transplanting the zucchini, cucumbers, and winter squash. After Charlie made his way down the driveway, I grabbed my water buckets and gave myself a well-needed sponge bath. Running water, showers, maybe a bath! Not at the cabin! I am thankful for the fresh mountain spring water that comes straight up out of the ground. This is life, source of goodness.
Another point of learning from the spring. I began to realize the many ways that our water is wasted and the water intensity that some of our modern day devices demand. So, here, now, where I am living and working, I am without running water. It took some thinking, but thankfully only a couple days, to figure out the toilet. The ceramic bowl and sink are in a bathroom next to my bedroom and it will flush out to a septic tank, but the toilet cannot refill itself. Every flush means water, carried up in a bucket from the spring, be emptied back into the tank. This has me thinking through the water cycle and the ideas around the uses for greywater and greywater systems. Anytime I’m done with my laundry buckets, I dump that water in the back of the toilet instead of fresh spring water. Likewise, when I’m done bathing myself, that water gets repurposed in the same way too. Using fresh water to flush away waste is, ironically, wasteful. There is an invention called the Magic Toilet that is meant to improve the lives of those populations living where constructing water supply infrastructure is not practical. It would work here too, in rural America, for those who want to be unplugged, more sustainable, and less wasteful. Drought is bound to be a growing global concern. There is so much fresh water here in the mountains, it is hard to remember that all of our natural resources, even if they appear plentiful, deserve our best thought for their preservation.
I’ve quickly come to see how much water humans need, and specifically how much water is required for farming. Bloo and the plants and I are all thirsty, every day. When you have to walk to a spring and fill up containers every time you have a dish to wash, need to fill a water bottle, or have to flush a toilet, it gives your perspective on how water is used. I am forced to use this resource more wisely, cautiously, and respectfully. Our disconnect, much like that experienced with our food system, directly contributes to our water consumption as well. This is connected to my concerns for the future of food security. In my daily life here, I see clearly some of the challenges we may be facing with water security too. It’s easy to forget that these are growing issues when you have self-flush toilets, pools, garden hoses and endless hot showers.
On a brighter note, I took Bloo for a long afternoon walk and he was so thankful and lively from it. He brings me so much joy. When you’re out here alone with minimal human contact, a dog really is your best friend. The cat is too, but he’s not as lively during the day as he is at night when I’m trying to rest. Bloo made me smile from cheek to cheek as he ran through the fields with me, bounding across the meadow grasses, stopping, turning, looking like he was smiling. And when we finally got through the tall grass and reached a spot of regular green, he laid on his back and rolled around, grumbling in pure delight as a good hound should.
This put things in perspective. It’s not uncommon for me to get caught up in thinking about “the bigger picture,” our global concerns about pollution and drought and food and water security. But at the end of the day, I’m exhausted from the good work I’ve completed. I’ve worked the land, my labor is not in vain. And my dog adds a balance to my gloomy meditations, bringing a smile to my face. I ended up writing my journal entry here at the cabin tonight. I used my solar lamps to illuminate the dining room table in which I sit with my school work at hand. It was a long day but a good one. Tomorrow I’m up early again. That thought makes me more tired!