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Showing posts from 2011

Where I’m Headed (or so I think):

I want to teach people how to learn a place. We can call it bioregionalism, landscape studies, interdisciplinary studies, experiential, regionalism; regardless of what we call it, I want to teach it.  I want to offer students the opportunity to become critical thinkers, invested, and knowledgeable (spiritually, creatively, and scientifically) of a place.  It is understood that when teaching students to be citizens of place, disciplinary depth is not expected; rather a broad breadth of synthesis is the ultimate goal.   I want to teach students to become members of a place by learning everything about it: geology, politics, flora, fauna, sociology, current issues, human history, culture, natural resources, and more: how the place works and functions as one community interwoven together. I want students to understand the cyclic nature of place; creation and loss. I want students to witness an intense consciousness of land and it’s relation with the human community. I want to teach them to

Summer 2011 Musings

Deep Winter Cruise

(written for Bonedale Bike Week 2011) Layers and layers -  fleece, wool, down, and polypro too dressing for sub freezing temps under the full moon gloves, hats, mittens, neck gaiters, scarves, socks, boots, hats, sometimes muffs fat as a Santa with all the fluff. Ice cycles grow from our noses on frost covered bikes  we’re cruising the town. Snow lodged between fenders and wheels We’re peddling and pushing through inches of white pow now turned brown. slow turning corners, no sliding around feet dangling near to the ground ready ready to recover from  slipping and sliding on dark icy paths. bike bling surrounds- horns, bells, whistles, booming tunes, shiny tinsel, and lights on the rear, in the front, in the spokes, wrapping the frame, held on tight blue, green, red, yellow, purple - lights spinning, twirling, moving, glowing, flashing lights reflecting on the snow in the sparkling moonlight. A rather intimate and hardy bunch camaraderie high, keeping warm with rum and such. Wipeouts

Listening to the Rain

“Nobody started it, nobody is going to stop it. It will talk as long as it wants, this rain. As long as it talks I am going to listen.” ~Thomas Merton Rain drops fall upon the hard ground. The street lamps light up the bubbles forming on the street as I peddle home. My jeans become a large sponge as my gortex parka keeps my torso warm and relatively dry.  The quiet, calm of night during a rain storm; embracing it and being in it is to be alive and fully part of the world.  Riding or walking home in the rain on a cold dark night can be one of the most humbling peaceful experiences. The world quiets while it pours down this silence and life giving blood to Mother Earth. This rejuvenation of life comes and also brings re-creation for us too. Time for a bit of quiet contemplation, introspection and listening.  The hustle and bustle of our days is calmed to a contemplative pace. The gray meditative type of day welcomes reflective thought and being.  Listening. Being. To just allow myself to

Tastes of Spring

I love receiving my CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) share every week. I look forward to the fresh cut spinach and tender lettuces. The coarse greens: kale, chard and other unusual leafy greens are tasty and nutritious. The variety of farm fresh eggs from blue to brown to tan and even beige brings back memories of having fresh eggs on my family’s farm from chickens grown on food scraps and field corn. Their rich yellow yolks tastes like no other eggs bought in the grocery. Potatoes dug in the fall, washed and stored all winter long, and now sent out to hungry souls during spring mud season are a special treat. Fresh garlic shoots and crisp green onions add spice to a bowl of salad. And best of all, the broccoli sprouts, a sweet flavor of sunshine. Spring CSA shares received in high mountain towns beginning in mid-March, when we can only dream of planting snap peas in our own gardens, is glorious. Food that is grown in greenhouses or under the snow cover at lower elevation