Lessons learned from bugs and bunnies (dead or alive)

In the last week the following things have happened in my outdoor domain - birds found and ate my tomatoes (now have to build a mesh enclosure over both seeds and established plants); earwigs attempted an assault on my basil (thwarted by dark beer, must get more tuna cans and dark beer); ditto for the unidentified pests who have a penchant for radish tops (note to self: figure out what those suckers are); pepper seeds failed to germinate (code word: "replant"); torrential rains caused all of the pea seeds to fill a few holes and sprout together there (now must untangle and replant); and a new cubic yard of dirt was delivered, but the fully loaded truck got stuck in the mud (many concrete blocks, spare chain, and two by fours later.... we called for help!).  Oh, and the cats have decided to bring their many gifts directly to the back door, in hopes of wooing the nearest serial killer (this week's tally - five small rabits, a few lizards; several field mice, and one mouse that was large I remain convinced it was conceived by a power plant).


On the indoor front, there are now chickens in the bathtub.


I am going somewhere with this... I think.  In all honesty, I am not completely sure.  Today, though, as I was making a list of things to buy during yet another trip to the feed and hardware stores, I realized that a) I will not get all of this done; b) I can't force more daylight, plants to grow, cats to stop killing things, or garden predators to move on; and c) that is okay.  The above three points are one definition of "patience."


Modern women are not forced to cultivate skills like patience.  We are told to go after what we want aggressively, decisively, and in designer footwear.  We may not know how to cook or bake, but we wield a Blackberry like no one's business.  We may never be taught to care for plant, animals, or other people, but we'll sign on the dotted line to buy houses, cars, and vacation flats without a man's money to back us up.  We are weaned on terms like "work-life balance," that talk a lot about work, give a brief mention of balance, and fail to mention our immortal souls.


I am not immune to the pull of progress.  It would be easy to immerse myself in work, dedicate every waking hour to someone else's whims, and dream of the things I will do "when I have time."  But now, on the cusp of a summer I will spend by myself, I am thinking a great deal about the skills we learn from others, the points that only nature can make, and the things that the internet will never share.


I learn when I am alone, the types of lessons that you learn when there is no one to rely on but yourself.  Lessons like how to trim an entire lawn with a weed whacker because you don't know how to fix the lawn mower and don't want to pay someone to do it; how to grill without a propane explosion; how to take a washing machine apart and how many towels it takes to clean up the water afterward; and how to cook, exercise, rest, and exist in a manner that makes you happy.  Lessons like how to grow food, feed my animals, and tackle garden challenges one at a time.


I am beginning to loathe the electronic leash that is my Blackberry.  It's a good feeling.

Putting down roots in the rain

I can think of better things to do when it's raining than garden.  But sometimes, a woman has to roll up her sleeves, jump into the mud, and make things grow.

I am thinking a great deal about gardens lately, as two weeks of building beds, hauling topsoil, and expanding further and further down the hill I live and plant on comes to a close (thoughts like how on earth am I going to maintain 300+ square feet of vegetables, fruit, and herbs by myself; where am I going to store this stuff when I start harvesting and processing in about a month; why won't the dogs stop trying to nap in the potato beds; and who really needs 4 rows of bok choy?).  Several thoughts in particular continue to strike me:

First, making things grow, literally and metaphorically, is a tremendous undertaking that demands physical and emotional energy, not to mention the courage to examine the spiritual.  This year I will grow herbs ("regular" and cinnamon basil, rosemary, marjoram, thyme, catnip, peppermint, stevia, three types of oregano, dill, cilantro, and a few others that escape me now); summer squash; winter squash; giant pumpkins; white pumpkins (why not?); yellow taxi, roma, steak, cherry, and "golden sunrise" tomatoes; jalapeno, serrano, and habanero peppers; green and stoplight bell peppers; lettuce, hot mustard, mild mustard, ruffled endive, arugula, and "fancy" mixed salad greens; kholrabi; bok choy; green and yellow onions; snap and sweet peas; radishes; fingerling, baby golden, and red potatoes; strawberries; key and mexican sweet limes; tangerines; grapefruit; lemons; and hopefully, almonds.  All of these plants must be cared for daily, harvested, then processed - either used immediately, canned, dehydrated, frozen, smoked, or some combination of the above.  This can be back-breaking, hand-hardening work.  This is work that provides for me, my animals, and my family.  This is work that provokes wonder and faith - to watch seeds grow, blossom, fruit; to rummage in the dirt while your animals frolic in the green that you nurture; to sleep sound in the knowledge that no matter what happens to WalMart, you are provided for... this is to know God.

I am continually amazed by the number of people who express surprise when I regularly choose my garden, my land, my animals, over the more traditional pursuits of those living in southern California.  These are the same people who click their tongues against their teeth and make disapproving noises at the blisters on my hands.  While sores from breaking the ground are not the most feminine thing, I can think of nothing more glittering and attractive than a woman who uses her body, her skills, her talents, and the resources around her for the good of herself and those she loves.  These are the signs of a country raising, that's true, but sure as I sit here, when fancy houses start sliding down hills, WalMart closes in the face of war with Asia, and prices rise until people pray the state will fall into the ocean, the country will need women who don't shy away from blisters, never stop in the face of a few burns, and aren't afraid to get their hands dirty.

 

A few garden views; the primary beds are here, on two levels, but there are several others scattered around.  Multiple smaller beds make upkeep easier and the workload more manageable.

What's the point of birthdays? Gratitude!

Yesterday I celebrated my first quarter century in this life.  It was fun, full, and completely unexpected. 

Like many, I often find myself bogged down in too much work and not enough play.  Running from job to job, debating major life decisions, worrying over the minor, it is a continual challenge to honor my relationships with the time and resources they need to flourish.  These relationships are, as my grandfather says, all that matter in the end.  I was reminded yesterday that love - whether it is between family, friends, people and animals, those together on a healing journey, or some other form of interaction - is a two-way street, and I am blessed beyond measure to be surrounded by men, women, children, and animals who believe the same.

To those who sent so many text messages and emails that my Blackberry battery gagged and said "enough" (then theatrically died in the middle of the night, begging for its charger); those whom I have met and those who I have not, but who called all the same and made me laugh; to the parents who shower me with gifts both tangible and otherwise; the friend who offered a rainbow of stones to wear around my neck and a bottle of wine with a Rottweiler on the label -


Thank you.  I am grateful for your offering and your reminder.  I love you, too.

With a grin and gratitude for a very happy birthday,
Jan

A Year of Inspiration Coming Soon...

For my first juggling act of 2010, in January I will move, travel 10 days for work, teach a large class, appear at another speaking engagement, present a booth at a festival, finish a powerlifting training cycle, help several friends ready for deployment, and celebrate my 25th birthday.

When merely looking at your appointment book can send you into peals of laughter (aside: I highly recommend Brush Dance if you are looking for a day planner, they produce inspiring, affordable products that are formatted for maximum use), it is probably smart to refrain from adding additional tasks to the workload.  What, then, to do about the obligatory "New Year's Resolution?"

I say "obligatory" because every good American, regardless of what we might say, feels some level of obligation to formulate a resolution, if for no other reason than to have something to talk about at New Year's Eve parties and avoid an appearance of the consummate lazy Western slob.  I am not immune, despite the realization that I am constantly formulating, revising, and achieving goals; despite the fact that I know winter is not the time we are physiologically wired to pursue ambitious new objectives; despite the knowledge that my proverbial plate is joyfully sliding all over the table as it is, and cannot tolerate one more task piled precariously on top before the whole thing goes crashing to the floor.  It's all fun and games to make resolutions until you lose your ability to hang onto any of them.....

As I reflected last night, bathed in the frantic, caressing glow of a blue moon and too much champagne, I realized that rather than thinking in terms of "tasks and goals," I can capitalize upon the New Year by thinking in terms of "attitudes and perspectives."  Adjusting, shifting, and refining my perspective at the beginning of 2010 will even enhance my ability to accomplish concrete objectives.  For instance, I intend to finish my first book by fall, an exploration of cyclical living and discussion of how and why such a lifestyle is vital to our ability to thrive.  With the workload outlined above, I often find myself stressed and anxious about how and when I will actually find time to write.  A nervous approach does nothing to help me tap into the fearlessness necessary to explore the topic, to share words and ideas and thoughts in full.  A harried energy distracts me from pursuing the experiences and people necessary to my continued development as a creator and an artist. 

Going further, to a more honest place, I will share that there are times I feel split into two as a result of stress and the demand that I perform and live in accordance with the strictures of modern society.  In constrained environments I can become defensive, overly aggressive, short.  I want to always be open, fierce but gentle, loving and light, courageous enough to follow my true path despite the doubts and scorn of others.  

How to cling to that courage?  I am not entirely sure, but as an artist I believe that an image always helps.  I have shared before that posting pictures of an ideal can help me achieve it.  Then I encouraged all to "Visualize the creative self while you are filling your space with inspirational objects, sights, and sounds. On the bulletin board above the desk where I write, wedged in between soaring landscapes, I keep a picture of myself on the Copper River with no makeup, camping hair, a sunburn, and an absolutely happy smile. A similar picture of myself is propped behind the easel where I paint. That is the me I want to be – that is the portrait of a happy, creative woman. That ideal, my ideal, reminds me to harness the energy of that woman whenever I pick up a pen or a paintbrush. Putting up pictures of yourself is neither modest nor socially acceptable, but it can be inspiring, and that is what matters."  I remain convinced, and first resolve to have enough adventures to be able to say, a year from now, "there is the picture of what I became in 2010." 

Also, in no particular order, in 2010 I resolve to:

- trust - the strength of my foundation, myself, and Spirit

- cultivate faith - in myself, my God, my visions, and my path

- walk - free of fear, without hesitation, and with a laugh

- remain - inspired, creative, happy

I'll keep you posted as I work to sustain these resolutions.  In the meantime, Happy New Year!

A Moose is a Moose, of Course, of Course

Nothing says "Alaska" like moose.  Whether you visit once or stay for years, you will have a moose story by the time you leave (if you leave!), or at the very least, a t-shirt, key chain, coffee mug, or hat with one of these fantastic creatures emblazoned proudly across it.  

This morning I woke to a moose pawing gracefully at the bag of trash by our curb.  A few hours later, a cow visited the salt lick on the edge of the yard.  The next afternoon, the same location was visited by another cow and her twin calves, while a second new female bedded down in the trees.  I never tire of watching them, and remain fascinated by how similar their movements are to the horses that dot the fields at my parent's ranch.

 
(photo copyright Jan Bowers, Anchorage 2009)

While you can learn just about everything you ever want to know about their feeding, mating, sleeping, and other behaviors here (did you know that a fully grown bull moose can weigh up to 1,600 pounds?)  or here (did you know that moose are the largest members of the deer family?), it is hard to describe the impact moose have on Alaska until you experience it first-hand.  From front yard photo opportunities to big game hunts, car accidents, and assaults on local gardens, these horse-like creatures affect the way Alaskans plant their vegetables and flowers, drive, eat, and live.

To me, moose symbolize growth.  I doubt I will ever lose the sense of excitement I felt the first time I met one - she emerged from the brush and came tantalizingly close to the passenger door of our car when stopped at an intersection on our way down to Whittier.  Now I observe roadsides, forests, and other open spaces with a greater sense of calm, allowing my eyes to grow old and center on the gentle giants who do not change as quickly as we do.  I have learned how to moose-proof a garden, tell a young bull from a baby cow, and identify the signs that it is time to move away (every year people are injured or killed by moose, most commonly in car accidents, or by cows protecting their calves.  When their ears turn back and flatten against their heads, it is time to go!  A lowered head, prancing, and curled lip follow if the animal remains threatened.  I strongly suggest that prior to any potential encounters, thoroughly research the creatures and their behaviors, and afford them the respect of a large swath of space.  Moose can travel up to 35 mph, but will seldom run far after a fleeing target.  If a moose does charge you, run.  If you are trampled, curl into a ball and protect your head and torso while doing your best to avoid the hooves.)

This year, however, I was humbled by the chance to lay my hands on a moose when we took a bull on a fall hunt (see older entries to learn more about that adventure).  As he breathed his last, I allowed my chest to fall with him, and   found words shimmer to our shared surface.   These words changed my life, making clear to me a connection that needs to be explored.  For now, though, I simply share them with you, that you may join our circle:

You are here.

Thank you for your gift.

Thank you for providing.

I will remember all that you saw.

You will nourish me.

I will grow strong.

Strong enough to roam these mountains

as you did.

I feel you.

Until we meet again,

thank you for your gift.

(all photos copyright Jan Shultis 2009)

Alaska is for writers

A seemingly obvious statement due to the whole "nature," "adventure," "bears bigger than horses," "moose on the porch," "last frontier" thing, but humor me.

I say Alaska is for writers (or painters, musicians, and craftsman) because I believe that creative persons need two things to actually create - 1) grand experiences, and 2) time and space to let these experience simmer, brew, toss and turn over themselves, and emerge as a hopefully fragrant stew.  It helps if the latter is a period free of distractions, so nothing remains but to catapult from the status of "person with a great idea" (i.e., everyone with a brain) to "one who logs off the internet, steps away from the cell phone, and creates."

Alaska provides both of these opportunities in a cycle as regular and simple as our sun.  Summers are for work, play, and ranging far over mountains and rivers.  Winters are for huddling close, embracing the darkness and building your own light, free of fear and full of faith that the sun will rise again.  Summer is for doing.  Winter is for surviving.  For a writer, that means writing; for a painter, picking up a brush; for a musician, placing fingers to strings, keys, and stops; for a craftsman.... I'll have to google it, but I'm confident it's an equally stimulating season.

I wonder what I will see this winter, this holiday season.  It can be hard to write in southern California, hemmed in on every side by people and cars and sun.  The snow waits for me, so deep and crisp that I will have no refuge save my own thoughts.  I look toward it eagerly.

More words of wisdom - writers should always carry a notepad, pen, and paper with them, so if the snow pours forth in an avalanche and you are trapped for days, you have something to do.  Musicians, grab your composition book.  Painters, pack a sketch pad.  Craftsman.... I'll have to google it.

Get out there and grow!

I have been thinking a lot lately about my relationship with the environment, the lands around me, my family, other women..... and food.

I am blessed to have women on both sides of my family, in both Alaska and the vast empty lands of Texas, who believe in the importance of growing and making their own food.  They garden and cook for many reasons - a sense of satisfaction, the chance to make things exactly the way you like them (pesticide and chemical free), and to save money (one of my favorite cookbooks, Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day, shares that making a loaf of bread costs approximately 40 cents.  I figure that my loaves are closer to 50 cents because I enjoy experimenting with different seeds, nuts, and other toppings and ingredients, but regardless, it's a far cry from the $3.00 that is the starting price at my local grocery store, and closer to $5.00 for the whole wheat and sprouted grain varieties we truly enjoy).

For the women on both sides of my family, winter means time to pull out the seed charts and order directly from the grower (Peters Seed Company has great vegetable and herb seeds at fair prices.  I particularly enjoy their cold-tolerant hybrids.  This year I am asking women from Fairbanks to Anchorage to test the Alaskan Fancy, a new tomato seed; I'll let you know how it goes!  Even in warmer climes, I enjoy northern varieties because they provide early yields).  Most of my garden remains in pots as I bounce from place to place across the country on military duty, so I take the time to stock up on space-saving items while they are on winter discount (this year's addition - potato and salad bins from Gardener's Supply Company, one of my favorite suppliers).  Early spring is perfect for starting seeds indoors; late spring is the season to get your hands dirty and move those slender shoots into the ground.  Summer is for watching, harvesting, and preserving.  My Italian mother cans up to 40 large jars of completely garden grown, homemade spaghetti squash in a plentiful year, boils down pears for jellies, pulls lemons from trees for lemonade, and breaks out the sealer to preserve everything from whole pies with her own fruits (just pull out and bake) to squash dishes.  My Alaskan mother-in-law produces potatoes the size of both hands, freezes enough spinach and carrots to feed at least three families that I know of throughout the winter, and hosts summer parties that feature margaritas made with her wild strawberries.  Fall is for late crops if desired, frantically harvesting before the frost, and giving away anything you can't fit in your own freezers.  Winter is for fostering gratitude for a bountiful harvest, and beginning the planning cycle again.

This cycle, based upon seasons, different every quarter, yet the same year after year, is deeply satisfying to me.  I believe that while men and women are equal in capabilities, talents, and abilities, we remain fundamentally different.  I believe it is right for women to connect to the earth, and to her loved ones around her, by cultivating one to share with the other.  Perhaps this connection is part of what makes Alaska so appealing to me.... the growing season there is short, but bountiful beyond compare, and the harsh winters make delineation between points in the cycle finite and clear.  Haven't experienced the satisfaction of growing your own food?  Then whether you choose a single herb or an acre of vegetables, it's time to get out there and grow!