Last Day

I came here in April to live and work on a CSA/farm for a couple months this summer. It was another example in my life of me picking up and moving to a strange place with a bunch of people I didn't know (besides my brother who was here for a time). Will and I had road tripped it up from Texas with a car-full of my things, and as we drove into town for the first time, I remember distinctly thinking. "This is not my home. I don't belong here. What in the world am I doing??"

I would again have to begin the uncomfortable process of starting a new life from scratch.

And yet, seven short months later, Ft. Collins, Colorado doesn't seem so foreign anymore.
I know my way around.
I have people I care about.
This feels like home.

With my departure imminent and looming, the sudden realization that I am actually quite attached to this place and some of its people has hit me hard. There is a lot that I am going to miss….

…running with Pippin through the hay fields
…admiring the mountain-filled sunsets
…early mornings in the garden with Pam picking beautiful vegetables.
…mixing compost with Kathy
...counting how many eggs our hens laid
…enjoying good beer and a book on the Equniox or Odells patio by myself
…hanging out with Paul, Matt, Micah, Scott, and Sam-E in their house.
…playing countless games of cards with Pam, Jim, and Aleda
…coming back to the LoCo Foods office after a long day of driving to find Gideon, Josh, Sam, and Elizabeth's smiling faces.

and more.

It has been a good seven months.
I leave sad and yet so, so grateful.
Thank you.

Sunrise Summer

I think it's pretty common knowledge that I am generally not a morning person. I'm the type that sets 3 alarms, each 15 minutes apart—the type that wakes up as late as possible before leaving the house—and the type (as basically anyone I've ever lived with can attest to) that always looks bewildered and confused by everything for at least the first 30 minutes of the day.

I'm a sunset, not sunrise kind of human being.

And yet—this summer I have come to love, love, love this beautiful and sacred time of day.

Between working on the farm and making my LoCo deliveries, I wake up before or with the sun five days a week. Each time, I'm never disappointed.

There's the coolness of the air,
the stillness of the land,
the beauty of the Sun's rays peeking over the Eastern horizon.

This "Great Eastern Sun," as I learned about at a Shambhala Buddhist meditation, represents wisdom and discipline. Like the steadfast, rising sun, it is about continuing forward and "waking up to your life." It is about embracing the new day and illuminating it with our awareness.

So beautiful.

And while I haven't forgotten about sunsets— each one here made even more astonishing by the not-so-distant Rockies that they silhouette—there really is just something magically special about all the sunrises that I've had the privilege to be a part of this summer.

Of course…all that stuff I said at the beginning still continues to be true… I still set 3 alarms; I still wake up as late as possible before leaving the house, and yes, I'm still a confused, bewildered mess for the first 30 minutes of the day.

But once I'm finally out there…hmmm. What a sunrise! What a morning!

Definitely the best way to start a day.

The Gardener

A poem by Mary Oliver.

Have I lived enough?
Have I loved enough?
Have I considered Right Action enough, have I come to any conclusion?
Have I experienced happiness with sufficient gratitude?
Have I endured loneliness with grace?

I say this, or perhaps I'm just thinking it.
Actually, I probably think too much.


Then I step out into the garden,
where the gardener, who is said to be a simple man,
is tending his children, the roses.

50 Shades of Green

Hey everyone!

Here's another little update about life here in Fort Collins for those of you that have been wondering what's been going on!

Pam and I have still been working away in the garden, and everything is really starting to pop with the rising temperatures. All but two of our beds are planted now, and those that we planted in my first few weeks here are now brimming with life (see following photos). I recently left for five days to go to Omaha for a graduation and wedding and came back to find that everything had grown seemingly five inches or so! Of course all of the weeds are taking advantage of the beautiful weather as well, and I've been pulling them left and right like a mad woman. (Actually, the only thing that keeps me sane in this task is the thought that if one day we humans completely destroy the planet, at least we can count on weeds to grow and provide some sort of green ecosystem. There's no doubt in my mind that the prized plant Eva found in the movie WallE was assuredly what we would now consider a weed.) :P

But going back to the happy stuff—we currently have all of the following planted: Arugula, Spinach, Bok Choy, Swiss Chard, Radishes, Lettuce, Chives, Red and Yukon Gold Potatoes, a variety of Tomatoes, Broccoli, Broccoli Rabb, 3 types of Onions, Bunching Onions, Leeks, Kohlrabi, Cucumbers, a few types of Peppers, Red and Green Cabbage, Sweet Corn, Popcorn, Kale, Red and Golden Beets, a variety of Winter and Summer Squash, Pumpkins, 2 types of Melons, 3 types of Carrots, Parsnips, Red and White Turnips, Eggplant, 3 types of Beans, Peas, and a variety of Herbs (Basil, Parsley, Oregano, Thyme, Rosemary, Cilantro, Sage).

Yikes! I think that's it… All of that on less than a fourth of an acre! We start delivering to the 25 families signed up for Pam's CSA tomorrow, and it looks like the first 7 items on the list I just mentioned will be in their boxes, fresh and ready to eat.

It really is exciting to see it all grow, and despite the early wake up time for picking (5 AM), I'm excited for that, too! I'll let you know more about how that goes later.

--

I've also been fortunate to experience another side of the struggle to make the environment and human population a healthier one! Pam's friend Julie recently started a small program called The Food School in Fort Collins. Basically every other Thursday, Julie and two other women accompany a second grade class from Olander Elementary to a local CSA called Spring Kite Farms. There they have activities for the kids in which they learn more about where food comes from, how it grows, and who grows it. They are hoping that over time, they can build a stronger connection between the children and the sources of their food while also educating them on better nutrition and better ways to care for the environment. Such a cool, wonderful idea! I was able to attend the last 2 sessions before school got out for the summer, and I could already see the kids learning. For example, last time I was helping at a station where the students learned how to make hummus. At the beginning, a few different children stated that they would not be eating the final product because they assumed it to be gross. But by the end, every one of them changed their mind, and the majority went up for seconds and thirds! It was really exciting to see these kids expanding their food bubble to include more than just ice cream and chicken nuggets.

--

One more thing—I got a part time job! I start on Tuesday, and I'm actually really excited, as its mission is right up my alley. It's called LoCo Food Distribution. Basically they take locally grown and produced foods and bring them to businesses like grocery stores, coffee shops, and restaurants in the immediate area. This way they can distribute local foods to local institutions in a way that is more convenient and efficient for both parties. Such an interesting idea! I am starting out with only 10-20 hours a week, and my job would just be to deliver the food to the customers, but I think it will bring me some new experience, and I'm interested to see how local foods can be provided to people on a little bit larger of a scale than Pam's operation.

I suppose that's about it in my food world up here in FoCo.
Hope all is well with you all! Feel free to send me a message with what you've been up to also!
Thanks for reading.
-Jana

  

New Adventures

A few people wanted an update, so here it is!

I wake up to the sound of a robin throwing itself against my window. Either this bird wakes up suicidal every morning and decides that blunt-force trauma is the best way to kill itself or it just sees its reflection and decides to fight off the unwanted male in his territory. Either way, I must say that this bird doesn't give up! My new alarm clock has become the banging and fluttering of this silly red-breasted bird against the glass. (By the way, you can hit snooze by throwing a pillow towards it.)

But my interaction with the world outside only begins here.

After my morning wake up call, I put on the same pair of jeans and possibly the same shirt I wore the previous day and head upstairs for a bowl of granola (or on Saturdays homemade poppy seed waffles topped with honey and frozen raspberries and peaches from last year's harvest…YUM!).

Then Pam and I head outside to the garden…(for despite my deep love of good beer, the garden is actually the REAL reason I am living here in Ft. Collins for the next few months)... I came here to work with Pam and learn everything there is to know about soil, plants, organic gardening, and selling to people locally. I wanted some hands-on experience with an alternative to the large, mono-crop growing, pesticide-filling, long-distance shipping methods of traditional US agriculture today. Little did I know that I would also be learning how to burn tumble weeds, take care of egg-laying hens, horse-sit, and even deliciously cook! There are so many opportunities for learning and growing here, and everywhere I look, something else is fascinating me.

But anyway…Pam and I go out to the garden. We dig, we plant, we water. We talk, and I learn so many new little bits of things! And then there are also times when we don't talk. We silently listen to the beautiful calls of meadowlarks. We watch an earthworm wriggling in the compost. Every once in awhile I look up at the towering mountains in the distance. Everything is beautiful. Often I feel like I'm on a retreat. I don't have to worry about what I should say or what I look like. There are things to do, but we aren't necessarily in any hurry. I can just be happy, little me and go along at my slow, steady, Thich Nhat Hanh pace. I truly enjoy spending my days here connected with myself and with nature.

And yet, let me just clarify that it isn't all perfect and glamorous. The work can be strenuous, I tend to be dirty more than I am clean, my hands and lips are continually chapped (as nature can also be ruthlessly dry, cold, and windy), and I pull so many weeds that boldly just come back tomorrow.

It's not all easy, but I really think that I need all this. I need to be here and I need to learn these things...for not just myself but for the world (or at least the U.S.). Yes, it is all very different from my previous life in Managua, and yes, I do miss it and everyone there still so much, but I am also so thankful for this new opportunity to grow and change the world in a little different way.

I'm including a few pictures too! : )

The beginning bed prep

compost area

Planted peas and turnips

Planted carrots and radishes

The Cold Frame (opened)

Arugula and Lettuce!

Broccoli (under milk jugs for protection ha)

Green and Red Cabbage

Bok Choy

Purple Asparagus!

Tomatos and Peppers growing inside still

the Hen House

clear view from the house

Beautiful!

Easter tulips

2 Years

Any attempt to describe and sum up two years of life in a few words would be no less than a crazy, troll-sized, casi-impossible task for anyone. Personally, for me to tell about my last 2 years of living here in Managua, Nicaragua, I’m not even sure if I could do it if I were given 3 hours. And yet, I know the time will come when I am asked, “How was Nicaragua!?” --Ehh. Uhh….It was hard? It was beautiful?

It’s not that I dread or hate the question…I’m just not really sure what all to share!

How do I talk about Nicaragua and this whole new chapter of my life and identity to everyone?
Would they be described as the two years where I learned to speak and listen in Spanish? The two years I spent every Monday-Friday from 8-5 volunteering at ProyectoGenerando Vida? The two years I experienced what it’s like to live outside the United States?

Yes to all of the above.
And yet so, so much more…

They were the two years I learned to deal with sweltering heat and yet was obligated to wear pants. The two years I learned to ride on crowded public transportation.The two years I lost 15 pounds on our mainly rice/beans/vegetables/fresh fruits diet.

They were the two years I came to love chicharrón (fried pig skin). The two years I listened to Carlos Mejia-Godoy, Guardabaranco, and Calle 13 songs on repeat. The two years I trekked through some of the most beautiful beaches, lakes, rivers, waterfalls, mountains, and volcanos that I’ve ever seen.

They were the two years I didn’t have a cellphone. The two years I learned to wash a shirt without a machine. The two years I read 36 books. The two years I learned to sit, be, and enjoy the company of others.

They were the two years I lived in a house with various other loving women, each beautiful and amazing in her own way. The two years I learned the importance and necessity of interdependence and intentional convivencia (communal living). The two years I learned to share joyfully.

They were the two years I learned to fail and keep going. The two years I learned to be more loving and patient with myself. The two years I found my voice and practiced how to use it non-violently.

They were the two years I learned how to work in micro-lending. The two years I formed relationships of confianza (trust) with my coworkers and over 350 women. The two years I heard and witnessed the many injustices that people (especially women) in this world face. The two years I received more hugs than the rest of my life combined.

My life here has been all this and more. It has pushed me, taught me, held me, loved me, made me cry, made me question, made me laugh, and in the end transformed me. Maybe not in a big, Hollywood way, but in many small ways that matter.Thank you Nicaragua for all the beauty and struggle that you have shown me—that which exists within me, those around me, and in the world. May we continue to move forward together always.

(I also want to thank everyone who has supported me and kept in contact with me during my time here, whether it be by reading this blog, being my pen pal, calling to chat, or sending facebook messages/emails. It is such a relief to know that I am going back to people in the U.S. who have basically already heard my story—people who already know so much about how my past two years of life have been. Thank you for making this transition easier for me.)

Alcohol Injustice

Recently I saw a man lying in the dirt near the project where I work. I assumed him drunk as it’s not the first time I’ve seen this occur. But today was a little different. Today there was a mother. I watched as his elderly and in pain mother slowly walked up to where he lay. She bent down close and put her hand on his face to see if he was still alive. I felt her pain in those first few moments of uncertainty as we held our breaths hoping that he would show some small movement or sign of life. After a few gentle taps, he stirred a bit. Assured and relieved, she hobbled off but didn’t stay away long. She came back with a cup and a pan, both filled with water. She tried to make him drink, feeding him the water with a plastic spoon. Then she carefully poured some of the pan water on his head and feet, attempting to clean off the dust and grime. With the help of another very drunk man, they moved him underneath a tree a few yards away. Probably feeling that she had done all that she could do for the moment, she left him there in the shade to sleep. Later I saw some kids from the barrio trying to pee on him… 

This was not my first interaction with an overly drunk man in this country. I probably haven’t gone a single day without experiencing the horrible abuses of alcohol that happen all around me here. Just to get to work each morning I have to walk past a corner where I’m almost guaranteed at 7:45am to see at least two very drunk men. Once I saw a couple of women dragging a passed out, drunk relative from the street into their house. Another time I found a very drunk man outside the project who had fallen and was bleeding from the head. A different morning we found out that one of the regular drinkers from the barrio, a brother of one of the bank women, had died overnight due to cirrhosis of the liver. We also have a man named Balbino who is experiencing homelessness and who very often comes to our house drunk and asking for food.

I know that all of these things happen in the US, but never in my life have I been so surrounded by it all. Seeing it brings me a mix of emotions: sadness, frustration, anger, disgust, and nervousness. I often want to shake these men awake and yell, ¨Stop dong this to yourself and your family!¨ But I know that the cure is not that easy. The sadness tugs at me as I wonder what all these men have suffered in their lives to warrant this drastic form of self-depletion. It could be the not-so-distant wars that were fought here or the prevalent physical and verbal abuse. It could be the failed relationships or the unmedicated mental illnesses. Or maybe it could be the lack of quality education or even the fact that they can´t find a decent paying job. It is possible that it is a combination of many or all of them as well.

Seeing the human dignity in a very drunken person in the street can be a difficult task, and despite my own efforts, I still often have a hard time treating these men with kindness. But at a team prayer this year, many of my coworkers expressed that these men may be the prostitutes and lepers of our society today.   Maybe we should start treating them the way Jesus (or the mother in my first story) would—with love and compassion.