Val Phillips and Mark Schneider

Heirloom Spinach Seeds, July 2011

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Willow, July 2011

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Big tipi in lower meadow, May 2011

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Calendula Forest @ Shii Koeii

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Colorado Bike Trip August 2007

2007-08-19T20:22:00.001-06:00

Most people show their trip photos from beginning of trip to the end. Well, switcharoo on you! You get to view our photos from our August bike trip from end to the beginning, from the Palisade area (near Grand Junction) in reverse to our humble beginnings on a train ride from Denver to Granby.

Val riding along Colorado River in De Beque Canyon (shoulder of I-70)

Val with De Beque Canyon and Colorado River along bike path stretch parallel to I-70

Colorado River in De Beque Canyon and sunflowers!

Grape Orchard with Bookcliffs in the Palisade area

Mark taking a Dorito break in De Beque Canyon

Support Resisters!

2007-04-25T18:15:00.000-06:00

Letter I got published at www.Westword.com, in response to, An Uphill Battle, by Adam Cayton-Hollan, April 5, 2007.

My letter was published April 19, 2007:

Adam Cayton-Holland's superb story touchingly focuses on the intimate relationship between Steve Powers and Lance Hering, each successfully protecting the other from societal predators (police and the U.S. military). The thirty-plus grand that Steve has had to pay for the unnecessary search and rescue should be paid by all of us as gratitude for saving Lance from having to go back to U.S. military hell and, quite probably, saving many Iraqi lives.

The sooner we all support U.S. soldiers resisting orders and going AWOL, the sooner we'll have our families back, and the Iraqi people will get their land and country back.
Mark Schneider
Denver

Save Sami Al-Arian's Life!!

2007-03-21T15:19:00.000-06:00

Dr. Sami Al-Arian is in his 59th day of a hunger strike for freedom. Dr. Arian is the victim of a gross miscarriage of justice by the United States Government. Please act now to demand Dr. Al-Arian's freedom and save his life.

March 20, 2007
Al-Awda, The Palestine Right to Return Coalition, calls on all people of conscience to demand that Dr. Sami Al-Arian is immediately freed from hispolitical imprisonment. Dr. Al-Arian is a Palestinian former University ofFlorida professor who is currently on his 58th day of a water-only hungerstrike. He is protesting his maltreatment by the U.S. Department of Justice(DOJ) which violated an earlier plea agreement that absolved Dr. Al-Arianfrom any further cooperation with the government. According to his lawyer,the DOJ wanted Dr. Al-Arian to testify before a grand jury in Virginia.

When he refused, citing his plea agreement, he was sentenced up to 18 months injail.Dr. Al-Arian is currently being held at a medical facility in NorthCarolina. Family members who recently visited him reported that he had lost 53 pounds, equivalent to more than 25 percent of his body weight. He is no longer able to walk or stand on his own.

More information on Dr. Al-Arian's ordeal can be found in the transcript ofa recent interview with his wife, Nahla Al-Arian. See:http://www.democrac ynow.org/ article.pl? sid=07/03/ 16/1410255ACTIONWe ask all people of conscience to demand the immediate release and end to Dr. Al- Arian's suffering.

Call, Email and Write:

1- Attorney General Alberto Gonzales
U.S. Department of Justice
950 Pennsylvania Avenue, NW
Washington, DC 20530-0001
Fax Number: (202) 307-6777
Email: AskDOJ@usdoj. gov

2- The Honorable John Conyers, Jr
2426 Rayburn Building
Washington, DC 20515
(202) 225-5126
(202) 225-0072 Fax
John.Conyers@ mail.house. gov

3- Senator Patrick Leahy
433 Russell Senate Office Building
United States Senate
Washington, DC 20510
(299029)224-4242
senator_leahy@ leahy.senate. gov

4- Honorable Judge Gerald Lee
U.S. District Court for the Eastern District of Virginia
401 Courthouse Square, Alexandria, VA 22314

Thank you, Val

In Memory of MLK, Jr:

2007-01-15T23:31:00.000-07:00

Happy New Year USA!

2007-01-01T01:01:00.000-07:00

From Kurt Vonnegut's 1963 novel, Cat's Cradle, in the chapter, 'Why Americans are Hated'

Claire Minton's letter to the Times was published during the worst of the era of Senator McCarthy, and her husband was fired twelve hours after the letter was printed.
"What was so awful about the letter?" I asked.
"The highest form of treason," said Minton, "is to say that Americans aren't loved wherever they go, whatever they do. Claire tried to make the point that American foreign policy should recognize hate rather than imagine love."
"I guess Americans are hated a lot of places."

On Hearing Eman Ahmad Khamas Speak in Denver

2006-12-25T23:45:00.000-07:00

by Val D. Phillips

Greetings from the camps, my ancestors, yours.
Greetings from smoke, the showers, the trains,
the planes, the ovens, the graves, the children
shot in cold blood yesterday. I left my children

and husband, there, waiting for day, which rises
without a star, to plead our case against your hearts. Listen
my relatives, for this you are: the whistle of the train
grows louder, here, in your desert plain. Did you think

it was confined to mine? I do not come here to plead,
to surrender 6,000 years of dignity, all
that is left to me, but to gift you a prophecy.
Hear me, before it is too late, for your grandchildren;

the sun has gone down on mine. But they will remember,
as the trains across this plain are emptied, filled again,
the crows descend, and night screams to you across the Atlantic.
In our hour of need we turned to you, and you did nothing.

Why hope?

2006-12-23T21:52:00.000-07:00

Imagine if you and four activists boldly entered a military base, severely damaged a U.S. warplane on its way to kill and maim, were arrested and then three years later a jury of your peers acquitted you of all charges. Wouldn't that be lovely? Certainly hopeful and inspiring.

Yet if you watch TV, read the newspaper, or just talk to someone about current events, a feeling of powerless might infect your spirit. It certainly does for me. Even going to my usual websites for the alternative spin on matters mostly political, places like www.counterpunch.org and www.democracynow.org, I easily get depressed and angry. Hopeless.

It’s fairly easy to sketch the myriad of evil lurking out my door: U.S. genocide/invasions of Iraq & Afghanistan (and the blood on my hands), the mostly delusional and reactionary response of the U.S. Left, the racist massacre of New Orleans, the almost complete suspension of the Bill of Rights, global warming, the deportations and harassment of the mestizo people, and the list goes on.

And then I find out tofu is bad for you (especially processed), and it’s like, good lordy, what can I eat now?

Well, before you join me in slitting your wrists or self-immolation, there is hope out there. People are resisting the isms, and are even successful!

That imaginary scenario about damaging a warplane -- well, imagine no more, it has already happened. Weeks before the 2003 U.S. invasion of Iraq, five Catholic Workers (including one Nuin Dunlop, who spent a year at the local Denver Catholic Worker), went to Shannon Airport in Ireland (west of Limerick), where U.S. military aircraft stop and refuel, hammered a U.S. naval plane (making it inoperable), waited to be arrested, spent weeks in jail, were bailed out and then went through three trials (the first two were mistrials based on bias of the judge), the final one, this past July, fully acquitting all five activists. More here...

How about Lebanon? Even a pacifist like me found it heartening to see the Lebanese people (mostly Hezbollah) successfully defend themselves against the psychotic Israeli military and its leadership. While I would have preferred to see the Lebanese people only use nonviolence to defend themselves, I’m reminded of a speaker I heard a few years back at a local Denver anti-racism conference. This African-American scholar challenged the history of the white Left in the U.S. and reminded the audience that when the Black Panther Party of the 60s & 70s decided to use arms to defend their communities, their actions were either universally condemned by the white Left or meaningful support was not forthcoming beyond rhetoric; the white Left, the speaker said, would rather see the racist police state brutalize African-Americans who used arms as defense, then lend support. Certainly, Mohandes Gandhi said in such situations, that at least people can clearly point out which side was righteous in their cause.

Huwaida & Adam in southern Lebanon.
That all said, there was a notable exercise of nonviolence during Israel’s military invasion of Lebanon. International Solidarity Movement all stars like Huwaida Araf, Adam Shapiro, Paul Larudee and Kathy Kelly joined dozens of Lebanese Arabs and other internationals in August/September in attempting to deliver food and medicine to villages in southern Lebanon. A partial success. A month later local direct-action all-star Dan Winters inspired many by joining the fray in Lebanon.

In Palestine and Iraq the vast majority of people resist by simply surviving, a fundamental and hopeful act. For Palestinians, the Zionists of Israel want to make life unbearable enough for the Palestinian people to leave and never be allowed to return, one of the final acts of colonialism. Yet, look at the people of Gaza, who live in prison, regularly bombed and invaded by the Israeli military, and yet, they survive, often barely, but they’re surviving, still having weddings, births, funerals, eating, farming, teaching and keeping on.

For the people of Iraq, the U.S. simply doesn’t care about them, nor does the U.S. want to steal their land; the U.S. simply wants to control the oil and be a military buffer against nationalism & pan-arabism, and, ultimately China. Yet, the struggle to just live and survive has not been decimated, and for that we can be hopeful.

How about all the Palestinian villages who have led the most inspiring nonviolent direct action campaigns to stop Israel’s apartheid wall and the seizure of their pastoral land? You’d think the white liberal Left in the U.S. would be all over this incredible David & Goliath struggle, lending money and bodies to the courageous Palestinians defending their land. Villages like Bil’in offer examples for all us in the face of adversity.
From a 12/21/06 story from Bil'in:

“They took away the land I used to graze my sheep. They uprooted my family’s olive trees. I used to plant beans, wheat and potatoes. I’m not allowed to get to my land now that it’s behing the wall” says Wadji Burnat, a 50-year old farmer from the village. “The Israeli government is a government of thieves. They only care about a small part of their own people. They want to expel the Palestinians.”

A shout out to Father Peter Dougherty and Sister Mary Ellen Gundeck, members of the Michigan Peace Team, who a month ago took the simple and noble task of flying into Palestine, slipping into Gaza and taking a seat as a human shield in front of a Palestinian home under threat of bombing by Israel.

>Father Peter Dougherty and Sister Mary Ellen Gundeck sit on the rooftop of the house of Mohammad Baroud, leader of the Popular Resistance Committees that Israel targeted for destruction, in Beit Layiha, northern Gaza Strip.

My partner, Val Phillips, and I had quite the time with Peter (and maybe Mary Ellen, we can’t remember her) during our last visit 5 years ago to Palestine, joining together with other members of the Int’l Solidarity Movement in supporting Palestinian nonviolent direct action.

Closer to home, cheers of love out to the thousands of U.S. soldiers who have gone AWOL instead of violating their conscience to involve themselves in the U.S. genocide of Iraq. Many have rightly fled to Canada, some have faced court-martial and years in prison in the U.S. The first officer to refuse orders is Lt. Ehren Watada, whose mom, Carolyn Ho, this month has been on a speaking tour talking about parents have a duty to prevent their children from participating in illegal wars.

For years I’ve had this dream of getting hundreds of U.S. moms and dads taking flights into Amman and Baghdad and then dramatically going to find and retrieve (yanking them by their ears?) their soldier-children. What shame that would bring the U.S.! Cindy Sheehan and Fernando Suarez del Solar are vestiges of such a drama
.
During a speech at the August, 2006 Veterans for Peace convention in Seattle, Watada cracked emotion stating, “to stop an illegal and unjust war, soldiers can choose to stop fighting it.”

Just before he spoke, over 50 members of Iraq Veterans Against the War joined him on stage.

The most powerful element of the anti-war movement against U.S. genocide in Vietnam were the returning Vets, resisters and deserters who used their privileged positions to take radical positions and action.

Though I have a separate post with a quick run-down of the best movies I saw this year, this is a good segue to Sir No Sir, a new film documentary (that has been released for rental), about those Vietnam Vets who resisted. In their promotional material, the filmmakers, thank them, have made the obvious links between then and now (go to their website and click on the "Punk Ass Crusade" link).

This film will leave you teared up and inspired.

While on our honeymoon in the UK and Ireland, Val and I were demoralized by the realization that racism against immigrants (especially Arabs and Muslims) among the whites of Europe is even WORSE than whites in the U.S.

So where does one look for a source of tolerance and more? You have to be a moron not to notice the two-continent wide indigenous and mestizo uprising taking place. From Chiapas to Oaxaca, Mexico’s current uprisings against the state and capitalism, to Venezuela, Bolivia and Ecuador’s leftist indigenous and mestizo leaders advancing socialism that is unprecedented in my lifetime.

When is the last time a world leader took the stage at the U.N. and said of Pres. Bush “And the devil came here yesterday. Yesterday, the devil came here. Right here. Right here. And it smells of sulfur still today.” Brandishing a recent book of Noam Chomsky, Hugo Chavez continued, “…the world is waking up. It's waking up all over, and people are standing up. I have the feeling, dear world dictator, that you are going to live the rest of your days as a nightmare, because the rest of us are standing up, all those of us who are rising up against American imperialism, who are shouting for equality, for respect, for the sovereignty of nations.”

With but relatively small symbolic anti-war protests hanging around like worn threads, one of the only truly inspiring mobilizations in the U.S. this past year were the mass immigrant marches demanding respect, demanding amnesty, demanding to be treated with dignity. On March 25th, over 50,000 immigrants and supporters took to the streets in Denver; on May 1st, around 100,000. On April 10th, even Grand Junction, Colorado boasted a pro-immigrant rally of over 3000 people! In Tijuana on May 1st, over 1000 people blocked the border in solidarity with immigrants north of the border.

On May 1st, Val and I were in Portland, Oregon, at the 10,000+ strong pro-immigrant rally and march. The pre-march rally was dominated by speakers from various left-wing parties, often making the connection between worker rights and human rights. The highlight, however, was the aging grace of Carrie Dann.

Carrie of the Western Shoshone Defense Project has in action and in word struggled for the inherent rights of her people and the protection of their land. At the rally in Portland she noted with barely any sarcasm how the native people of this land have long had a problem with immigrants. How ironic now that after 500 years of conquest, the original people and their mixed descendants are now treated as the newcomers, the immigrants, the illegals, the aliens and so on. And with that millions marched across the U.S., to raise a voice that had rarely been heard before.

Clearly a shift is taking place. While it’s way too early to tell what’s going to happen in the U.S. (the white supremacist nature of much of the U.S. an obvious challenge), I find, in the midst of the near silent-static resistance in the U.S., these voices of the original people a hopeful sign.

- Mark

On December 27, 2006, this article appeared at Counterpunch and Palestine Chronicle.

Best Movies 2006

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While some of these I saw at the theatre and some I rented, all our worthy of your attention. No particular order:

Little Miss Sunshine. Quirky, subversive and fun. A slight exaggeration of a typical dysfunctional U.S. family who clink and clank their way to some kind of meaningful relationship. It feels like the word is out about this one, so I don't want to over-hype it.

Children of Men. A story about 20 tiny years into the future, when the racism against immigrants has gone to the worst extreme, and inexplicably, women can no longer get pregnant. A sort of 1984 ordinary man attempting to rise to the occasion crossed with a Christian nativity story. Clive Owen, give him credit for taking this role on.

Favela Rising. Deeply inspiring documentary about former drug outlaws in Brazil seizing life again through music and culture. Political, spiritual and all about redemption.

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang. Val Kilmer and Robert Downey Jr. are piss your pants funny. The dialogue is intricate, fast and witty, reminding me of fond memories of Bruce Willis & Cybill Shephard in Moonlighting. A smart hip movie – the best of the easy-on-the-brain category.

Hustle & Flow. Intimate with a subtle depth of the socio-economic issues around pimps, prostitutes and people forgotten, with a redemptive story about trying to carve out meaning in a life of shit.

The Agronomist. Documentary about Haitian radio/activist Jean Dominique, his form of resistance against the U.S. supported dictatorship, his exile, his return and how his spirit lives on. Bring a load of Kleenex and be prepared to be inspired by one man’s courage.

Joyeux Noel. Based on the true story of World War I soldiers in the trenches who, come Christmas time, refuse to fight eachother, sharing food, song, mass and protecting each other against artillery barrages. The generals on all sides flip out, having common enemy soldiers and officers become friends is not what war is supposed to be about!

After watching this film, I wondered if U.S. soldiers in Iraq could talk, share food, and song with Iraqi resistance fighters – might they find similarities? Might U.S. soldiers, a majority of whom already are against the U.S. invasion, consider more dramatic steps in refusing the orders of the psychotic generals and politicians in charge?

Over the Hedge. With the exception of the stereotypical bad-boy depiction of the grizzly bear (Nick Nolte's voice), this animated is spot-on in making you root for the anarchist foragers. Righteously critiquing middle class suburban emptiness, with witty dialogue and caricatures provided by Steve Carrell, Gary Shandling, Eugene Levy and others. And the soundtrack, by Ben Folds, is the best of any film this year. I'm no fan of award shows, but incrediby the Golden Globes ignored Over the Hedge, instead fronting Cars, Monster House, and Happy Feet.

Sir No Sir. See my description in the post above, "Why Hope?"

If anyone out there has a movie I really should see, please email me, dogbuckeye@yahoo.com

- Mark

News from Gaza: Our Co-Conspirators are Back on the Job!

2006-11-23T21:15:00.000-07:00

When Mark and I served with the International Solidarity Movement in December 2001, one of our colleagues with whom we were most impressed was a priest with the Michigan Peace Teams called Peter. I have to confess--although we are consensus freaks, we occasionally were a tad annoyed with MPT's insistence on circling up for decision-making whilst the IDF was literally bearing down on our necks. However, I must concede, this often so confounded the IDF it ended up protecting people and buying more time. Who knew?

Well, bless him, Father Peter is back at it again, with Sister Mary Gondeck. Story follows. A happy Thankstaking Day story, at last. Check it out and be inspired. V.

To see a photo of Peter and Mary (that's funny) paste this address in your browser: http://www.metimes.com/storyview.php?StoryID=20061122-094837-1788r

The following is used under rules of fair use. All copyright remains with the author and newspaper.

Palestinian Islamic militants host US priest, nun
Charles Levinson
AFP
November 22, 2006

BEIT LAHIYA, Gaza Strip -- Palestinian militants hosted an unlikely ally in their Gaza home Wednesday: a priest and a nun who came from the American heartland to stand as human shields against Israeli airstrikes.

"We're here just trying to get the word out about the suffering the people are enduring under the occupation," said Father Peter Dougherty, a Roman Catholic priest from Lansing, Michigan, the same sleepy Midwestern capital where controversial rights activist Malcolm X grew up.

Dougherty and Sister Mary Ellen Gondeck, a nun, are from the Michigan Peace Team, Christian do-gooders who before coming to Gaza fought for the rights of the Mayan Indians in southern Mexico and against US hate groups.

Now, during a month-long tour of the Palestinian territories, the elderly believers have brought their message of piety and peace to the cycle of violence that spurs on the decades-old Middle East conflict.

They have picked olives with Palestinians in the West Bank and protected Palestinian schoolchildren from hostile, rock-throwing Jewish settlers.

They joined the ranks of human shields who swarmed to the home of a local militant leader in Gaza earlier this week after a midnight phone call from the Israeli army warned inhabitants to leave before warplanes leveled the home.

Israel was forced to call off the raid after hundreds of civilians and militants, including those from the armed wing of the ruling Islamist movement Hamas, swarmed to the building in the northern Gaza Strip.

"We're protecting this house to keep it from being destroyed," says Dougherty, sitting cross-legged on the roof, surrounded by members of the Baroud family, their friends and neighbors.

"It's a wonderful nonviolent action," Dougherty continues. "Under international law it is wrong to use collective punishment and throw families out of their homes."

Their show of solidarity is presenting a face of Uncle Sam that Palestinians rarely see, rather than the United States vetoing pro-Palestinian UN resolutions and supplying Israel with the F16 jets and Apache helicopters that rain destruction down on Palestinian cities.

"This confirms to us that there are Americans for peace," says militant Wael Baroud, whose home has so far been spared by the mass of civilians who flocked to protect it. "We respect and appreciate the American people who come visit us and stand in solidarity with our suffering."

Dougherty, 72, and Godeck, 65, drink tea and communicate in hand gestures and smiles with their hosts who speak little English.

They coddle young Palestinian babies in their laps and listen to tales of Palestinian woe. They are gray haired and indignant.

These God-fearing pacifists rallied in the makeshift rooftop salon of the militant from the Popular Resistance Committees, one of Gaza's most hardline groups and among three factions responsible for the abduction of an Israeli soldier last summer.

A leading US-based human rights group earlier Wednesday urged Palestinian armed groups not to endanger civilian lives by encouraging human shields.

"There is no excuse for calling civilians to the scene of a planned attack," said Sarah Leah Whitson from the New York-based Human Rights Watch.

Godeck, the nun, says that it is Israeli violations of international law that have forced Palestinians to turn to violence. "I think Palestinians are such a gentle people," she says.

And still more reasons we don't celebrate Thanks-taking Day

2006-11-23T21:07:00.000-07:00

Once again, I'm stealing from our indigenous brothers and sisters. Miigwich/Pilamaya. Val

In addition to the article below, for those who would like a more accurate version of the Thanksgiving fallacy, we refer you to Charles Mann's book, "1491." especially Chapter Two, "Why Billington Survived." There, you will see the Plymouth colonizers for the avaricious, diseased, grave-robbing thieves that they were. -- Colorado AIM

www.colorado-aim.blogspot.com

Thanksgiving
A National Day of Mourning for Indians

By Moonanum James and Mahtowin Munro

Z Magazine Online
http://zmagsite.zmag.org/
November 2006 Volume 19 Number 11

Every year since 1970, United American Indians of New England has organized the National Day of Mourning in Plymouth at noon on Thanksgiving Day. Hundreds of Native people and supporters from all four directions join in. Every year, Native people from throughout the Americas speak the truth about our history and the current issues and struggles we are involved in.

Thanksgiving in this country— and in particular in Plymouth—is much more than a harvest home festival. It is a celebration of the pilgrim mythology. According to this mythology, the pilgrims arrived, the Native people fed them and welcomed them, the Indians promptly faded into the background, and everyone lived happily ever after.

The pilgrims are glorified and mythologized because the circumstances of the first English-speaking colony in Jamestown were frankly too ugly (for example, they turned to cannibalism to survive) to hold up as an effective national myth. The pilgrims did not find an empty land any more than Columbus “discovered” anything. Every inch of this land is Indian land. The pilgrims (who did not even call themselves pilgrims) did not come seeking religious freedom; they already had that in Holland. They came as part of a commercial venture. They introduced sexism, racism, anti-lesbian and gay bigotry, jails, and the class system to these shores. One of the very first things they did when they arrived on Cape Cod—before they made it to Plymouth—was to rob Wampanoag graves at Corn Hill and steal as much of the Indians’ winter provisions of corn and beans as they were able to carry. In doing this, they were no better than any other group of Europeans when it came to their treatment of the indigenous peoples here. And no, they did not even land at that sacred shrine called Plymouth Rock, a monument to racism and oppression which we are proud to say we buried in 1995.

The first official “Day of Thanksgiving” was proclaimed in 1637 by Governor Winthrop. He did so to celebrate the safe return of people from the Massachusetts Bay Colony who had gone to Mystic, Connecticut to participate in the massacre of over 700 Pequot women, children, and men.

About the only true thing in the whole mythology is that these pitiful European strangers would not have survived their first several years in “New England” were it not for the aid of Wampanoag people. What Native people got in return for this help was genocide, theft of their lands, and never-ending repression. They were treated either as quaint relics from the past or virtually invisible.

When we dare to stand up for our rights, we are considered unreasonable. When we speak the truth about the history of the European invasion, we are often told to “go back where we came from.” But we came from right here, our roots are here. They do not extend across any ocean.

The National Day of Mourning began in 1970 when Wamsutta Frank James, a Wampanoag, was asked to speak at a state dinner celebrating the 350th anniversary of the pilgrim landing. He refused to speak in praise of the white man for bringing civilization to the poor heathens. Native people from throughout the Americas came to Plymouth that year where they mourned their forebears who had been sold into slavery, burned alive, massacred, cheated, and mistreated since the arrival of the Pilgrims in 1620.

But the commemoration of National Day of Mourning goes far beyond the circumstances of 1970. Can we give thanks as we remember Native political prisoner Leonard Peltier, who was framed by the FBI and has been falsely imprisoned since 1976? Despite mountains of evidence exonerating Peltier and the proven misconduct of federal prosecutors and the FBI, Peltier has been denied a new trial. To Native people, the case of Peltier is one more ordeal in a litany of wrongdoings committed by the U.S. government against us. While the media in New England present images of the “Pequot miracle” in Connecticut, the vast majority of Native people continue to live in the most abysmal poverty.

Can we give thanks for the fact that, on many reservations, unemployment rates surpass 50 percent? Our life expectancies are much lower, our infant mortality and teen suicide rates much higher, than those of white Americans. Racist stereotypes of Native people, such as those perpetuated by the Cleveland Indians, the Atlanta Braves, and countless local and national sports teams, persist.

Every single one of the more than 350 treaties that Native nations signed has been broken by the U.S. government. Bipartisan budget cuts have severely reduced educational opportunities for Native youth and the development of new housing on reservations, and have caused deadly cutbacks in health-care and other necessary services. Are we to give thanks for being treated as unwelcome in our own country?

Perhaps we are expected to give thanks for the war that is being waged by the Mexican government against indigenous peoples there, with the military aid of the U.S. in the form of helicopters and other equipment? When the descendants of the Aztec, Maya, and Inca flee to the U.S., the descendants of the wash-ashore pilgrims term them “illegal aliens” and hunt them down.

We object to the “Pilgrim’s Progress” parade and to what goes on in Plymouth because they are making millions of tourist dollars every year from the false pilgrim mythology. That money is being made off the backs of our slaughtered indigenous ancestors.

Increasing numbers of people are seeking alternatives to Thanksgiving (and such holidays as Columbus Day). They are coming to the conclusion that, if we are ever to achieve some sense of community, we must first face the truth about the history of this country and the toll that history has taken on the lives of millions of indigenous, Black, Latino, Asian, and poor and working class white people.

The myth of Thanksgiving, served up with dollops of European superiority and manifest destiny, just does not work for many people in this country. As Malcolm X once said about the African-American experience in America, “We did not land on Plymouth Rock. Plymouth Rock landed on us.” Exactly.

Mahtowin Munro (Lakota) and Moonanum James (Wampanoag) are coleaders of United American Indians of New England (www.home.earthlink. net/ ~uainendom).

Why We Don't Celebrate Thanksgiving Day

2006-11-23T20:42:00.000-07:00

I write from our mother, Marilyn's, living room. I am blessed to have Mark and Marilyn (alive and healing), Jenn and Sean (safely back from Portland), and Salem warming the room, watching the Denver Broncos/Kansas City "It's not our word!" Team game. Like most of the U.S. tonight, we had a good family dinner together, pumpkin pie, and now we're all hanging out bemoaning our gluttony and watching the game.

I give thanks for them, for their love and shelter, for the friends and family we have, for our health, for our comparative wealth, our never lacking for food, water, housing, or clothing. I give thanks we're not in prison, that we are not being invaded or bombed or starved out by World Bank policy. But I give thanks for this every day, and so does Mark.

It's hard to break away from the holiday, Thanksgiving Day. It has taken on such mythological import in this country. From the time I was a small child, the myth of Thanksgiving Day was sold to me as this pretty tale in which, after the indigenous peoples of New England saved the Pilgrims from starvation by teaching them about indigenous agriculture, the Indians and the Pilgrims all got together and had a nice meal. There's one part of the myth that is based in truth: the part about native nations teaching us how to feed ourselves in this land. The rest, unfortunately, has no basis in history.

Mark and I, each independent of the other, began fasting on Thanksgiving Day several years ago, in protest not only of the gluttony but the abject refusal of American to honor and acknowledge the true history of this holiday, which is nothing less than the history of this country. I, at least, owe my debt for this idea to the American Indian Movement of Colorado which has tried for years to educate the people of Colorado about this holiday by organizing fasts on the Capitol steps. We break our fast in order to share communion with our families, whom we love--to honor the intention of the holiday. But we must also honor the truth, and thus we respectfully as you to read this passage, and allow it to seem into your consciousness and even, perhaps, your "celebration."

I have many times sat down at dinner tables with Indian people, and given thanks with them to our shared Creator. They have fed me, and I have been privileged on occasion to cook food shared with them. Today, above all else, I give thanks for them: Not only for their hospitality, compassion, and friendship, but for their resistance, their self-love and self-defense, for their mentorship and teaching, and for their partnership in the ongoing struggle for true liberty and justice for all.

The appalling history of Euro-American treatment of indigenous peoples is hard to take, but if we don't educate ourselves, we can't possibly build a better future for all our children. Peace, and may you never know hunger, terror, the grief of watching war take your loved ones.

Peace, love, a roof over your heads, and no fear in the night, Val.

Thanks to Ed Kent for sending this to Mom, and to Mom for sending it to us.
From: "Kenyatta Kenyatta"

A GLIMPSE OF THE REAL HISTORY OF THANKSGIVING

With Bible passages in their hands to justify their every move,
those referred to as "Puritans" began their march inland from the seaside
communities. Joined by British settlers, they seized land, took the
strong and young Natives as slaves to work the land, and killed the
rest.

When they reached the Connecticut Valley around 1633, they met a
different type of force. The Pequot Nation, very large and very
powerful, had never entered into a peace treaty as had other New
England Native nations. When 2 slave raiders were killed by
resisting Natives, the Puritans demanded that the killers be turned
over. The Pequot refused. What followed was the Pequot War, the
bloodiest of the Native wars in the northeast.

Because of the lack of fighting experience, and the vast numbers of
the fierce Pequot warriors, Commander John Mason elected not to stage an
open battle. Instead, the Pequot were attacked, one village at a
time, in the hours before dawn. Each village was set on fire with
its sleeping Natives burned alive. Women and children over 14 were
captured to be sold as slaves; other survivors were massacred. Many
buried in mass graves, many still alive.

The Natives were sold into slavery in The West Indies, the Azures,
Spain, Algiers and England; everywhere the Puritan merchants traded.
The slave trade was so lucrative that boatloads of 500 at a time
left the harbors of New England.

In 1641, the Dutch governor of Manhattan offered the first scalp
bounty; a common practice in many European countries. This was
broadened by the Puritans to include a bounty for Natives fit to be sold for slavery. The Dutch and Puritans joined forces to exterminate all Natives from New
England, and village after village fell.

Following an especially successful raid against the Pequot in what
is now Stamford, Connecticut, the churches of Manhattan announced a
day of "thanksgiving" to celebrate victory over the heathen savages. This
was Thanksgiving. During the feasting, the hacked off heads of Natives
were kicked through the streets of Manhattan like soccer balls.

The killing took on a frenzy, with days of thanksgiving being held
after each successful massacre. Even the friendly Wampanoag did not
escape.

Their chief was beheaded, and his head placed on a pole in Plymouth,
Massachusetts -- where it remained for 24 years. Each town held
thanksgiving days to celebrate their own victories over the Natives
until it became clear that there needed to be an order to these
special occasions. It was George Washington who finally brought a
system and a schedule to thanksgiving when he declared one day to be
celebrated across the nation as Thanksgiving Day.

By this time the Atlantic Slave trade was in full swing as the most
ruthless, vicious devils on the planet set out to destroy two
nations simultaneously, the Afrikan and Indigenous people of the earth.

It was Abraham Lincoln who decreed Thanksgiving Day to be a legal
national holiday during the Civil War -- on the same day and at the
same time he was ordering troops to march against the Sioux in
Minnesota ..... and subsequently ordered 38 Santee Sioux hung on
christmas Eve for leaving the reservation in search of food...the
promised supplies having never materialized)

Let's put this day called thanksgiving in context. For ourselves,
our families and especially the coming generation. Teach them the
truth. It will set them free in a way that we in this present generation have
not yet been able to accomplish because of compromise.

Join me in a day of fasting meditation and prayer. Let us use this
day as a time to plan our continued strategies for struggle, and to
remember the ancestors, both AfriKan and Native Amerikkan who
perished in the Maafa of these two proud Nations.

Let us move to the next level, seeking to find a way to pry away
from eurocentric thought and behavior and go back home to our true
selves, our best selves, your AFRIKAN SELF!!

Away with european holidays, no matter how convenient they may be.
No matter how much you like turkey and stuffing. No matter how good it
feels to hang out with the family. Eat turkey on another day. Come
together with family on other days and lets stop letting this
(eurocentric) society dictate and dupe us into the celebration of
its sickness.

If you can feel me raise you fist in the air!!!

Brother Kenyatta

If you can't,,,,,,,,,,,,,,eat turkey!

This Weekend in Denver: Remember Sand Creek!

2006-11-23T20:36:00.000-07:00

If you're in Denver this weekend, and want something to do rather than shop, come to the events listed below. They'll change your life, in a good and profoundly healing way. Trust me. You'll be glad you did. Peace, Val.

The following history of Sand Creek is taken in its entirety from the Colorado AIM weblog. All rights remain with the authors. For more awesome indigenous info and updates, go to www.colorado-aim.blogspot.com.

Never Forget the Sand Creek Massacre

One of the essential events that ensured the creation and expansion of Colorado as a colonizing project was the Sand Creek Massacre of November 29, 1864. The number of innocent Cheyenne and Arapaho people who were slaughtered at the hands of Methodist minister John Chivington's 3rd Colorado troops will never be known. Chivington bragged that over 500-600 were murdered -- contemporary historians place the number at from 200-300. Regardless, the reality is that the massacre was the result of an invading people, attacking and massacring defenseless elders, children and women. The attack was deliberately genocidal -- prior to riding to Sand Creek, Chivington was asked if the Native children should be killed. His response was "Kill and scalp all, big and little, nits make lice." His troops complied.

Two elements of Sand Creek are often obscured. One is the fact that a few days prior to the annual anniversary of the Sand Creek massacre, the people of the U.S. engage in their annual festival of gluttony and excess, also known as Thanksgiving. U.S. zombies wander in a total amnesiac stupor, oblivious to the carnage (such as at Sand Creek) that allows them today to occupy First Nations' homelands. The second obscured element is the consistent sanitation of the horrific, sexualized violence that Chivington and his American patriots inflicted at Sand Creek. Often, the massacre is described as the "killing and the mutilation" of the innocent victims -- nowhere approaching (as you will see below) the actual depravity of the troops.

As with Columbus and other genocidal actors, contemporary apologists attempt to minimize criminality with the justification that Chivington and Co. were simply "products of their own time," as though there were some irresistible 19th Century genetic code that was being obeyed. We know that such was not the case, because some troops refused to participate in the massacre. One heroic figure was Captain Silas Soule. Soule not only refused to follow Chivington's lead at Sand Creek, but he ordered his troops not to participate in the attack. Later, Soule would testify against Chivington and the 3rd Colorado Volunteers. On April 23, 1865, three days after Chvington was released from custody, Soule was assassinated on the streets of downtown Denver, reportedly by Chivington's agents.

Kneeling: Maj. Edward Wyncoop (left) and Captain Silas S. Soule (without hat); Seated, from left: White Antelope, Bull Bear, Black Kettle, Neva, and Notanee. Standing, unknown, unknown, John S. Smith, Heaps of Buffalo, Bosse, Dexter Colley, and unknown.

Soule's eyewitness accounts of the massacre are recorded for posterity in letters that he sent to his commanding officer, Major Edward Wyncoop. Soule's graphic testimony provides damning evidence against not only Chivington and the Colorado 3rd, but also of those who incited the massacre in Denver: Rocky Mountain News owner and publisher William Byers and John Evans -- who would become Colorado's first governor.

Soule wrote to Wyncoop on December 14, 1864:

"I told him [Chivington] that I would not take part in their intended murder....I refused to fire, and swore that none but a coward would, for this time hundreds of women and children were coming toward us, and getting on their knees for mercy. *** The massacre lasted six or eight hours...it was hard to see ittle children on their knees, have their brains beat out by men professing to be civilized. *** One Squaw with her two children, were on their knees, begging for their lives, of a dozen soldiers, within ten feet of them all firing -- when one succeeded in hitting the Squaw in the thigh, when she took a knife out and cut the throats of both children, and then killed herself. *** [t]hey were all scalped, and as high as a dozen taken from one head. They were horribly mutilated. One woman was cut open, and a child taken out of her, and scalped. White Antelope, War Bonnet, and a number of others had Ears and Privates cut off. Squaws snatches were cut out for trophies. You would think it impossible for white men to butcher and mutilate human beings as they did there, but every word I told you is the truth, which they do not deny."

This short excerpt, of a much longer and disgusting account, indicates the genocidal foundation upon which Denver and Colorado is constructed. In order to ensure that Denver and Colorado never forget the bloody origins of the state, Colorado AIM will join our relatives from the Northern Cheyenne Nation in the Sand Creek Memorial Run. Everyone is welcome to join us. The details are:

Sand Creek Spiritual Healing Run participants gathering Nov. 23-25, 2006.

DENVER—The Sand Creek Spiritual Healing Run on Nov. 23–25 will serve as sobering reminder, and a time to heal from one of Colorado’s darkest moments in history: the 1864 Sand Creek Massacre. On November 29, 1864, Col. John M. Chivington led the Colorado Volunteers to Sand Creek and initiated a gruesome attack that killed over 200 peaceful Cheyenne and Arapaho men, women and children. The Sand Creek Spiritual Healing Run started in 1999 to address the need to educate people about the travesties of the horrific incident and to commemorate the victims and survivors.

Public is welcome. Media are encouraged to cover the following event(s).

Thursday, November 23

7 AM Sunrise Ceremony at the Sand Creek Massacre National Historic Site, located 18 miles northeast of Eads in southeastern Colorado

9 AM Commencement of Healing Run from the Sand Creek Massacre Site through Eads, Colorado to Denver
Friday, November 24

7 AM Sunrise Ceremony – TBA
Continue Healing Run to Denver

7 PM Candlelight Vigil at the Denver Art Museum Wheel sculpture, 100 West 14th Avenue Parkway, Denver

Saturday, November 25

8 AM Honoring Ceremony at Riverside Cemetery, 5201 Brighton Boulevard, Denver, for Captain Silas Soule, Company D 1st Colorado Calvary, U.S. Army and Lieutenant Joseph
A. Cramer, Company K 8th Ohio Calvary, U.S. Army

9 AM Continue Healing Run from Riverside Cemetery to the Colorado State Capitol Building

9:50 AM At 15th and Arapahoe —the site where Silas Soule was assassinated—a walking portion of this years event will begin. The walkers will join with runners and continue the remaining 1 mile to the where the run/ walk will conclude.

11AM Presentation at the Colorado State Capitol Building, Denver (West side)

NOON Reception for Sand Creek Healing Run participants at the Colorado History Museum, Boettcher Auditorium, 1300 Broadway, Denver
Contact: Bill Tall Bull, Sand Creek Spiritual Healing Run, (303) 329-7390, sandcreek@rangeweb.net

Mom's home!

2006-11-15T23:42:00.001-07:00

Hi Everyone,

Well, Mom's home from the hospital, and already doing much, much better. Despite the Western medical establishment's best attempts to kill her, she's thriving, but still doesn't have much appetite. She's going to come through this back surgery and recovery an exceedingly svelte woman. Please: Send Pierogies!

Mark and I checked out several pieces of land last weekend in the southern Colorado Area. We found a few we liked, and which we think might work for our eventual community. We've got to get our photos developed/downloaded, and then we can share more with you about them. Most of the land we saw was 35-acre parcels, because beginning a few decades ago, Coloradans decided they wouldn't subdivide rural land beyond this. We visited developments called "Silver Spur," "River Ridge," "Santa Fe Trail Ranch", "La Veta Ranch," "Apishapa Ranch", "L Acres" and "SouthWinds". I never in my life thought I would be visiting properties that were part of a "ranch" or "development", but it's almost impossible to find any that might meet our needs which are not part of such things.

We're hoping to make another trip in December to another part of Colorado, and we welcome suggestions!

In other news...the situation in Gaza has us enraged, worried for our friends, Ayman and Rachel and their family, and generally frustrated, as per usual. I had lunch with the Palestinian ambassador to the US last week, and found him a very intelligent, clueful and caring man, who I think really is trying to do the best for the Palestinian people in his capacity as a diplomat. But it is just so hard. The US government's position is ridiculous and is responsible for genocide. But then, genocide is nothing new to the U.S. government.

The situation in Iraq, of course, is no better. And while it wasn't at all surprising, it was disheartening to hear recently elected Democratic Colorado members of Congress saying that the Democrats' victory wasn't a referendum on US involvement in Iraq and a call for all withdrawal. Of course it was. But what do the people's voices matter when Bechtel, Halliburton, and the other carpetbaggers, not to mention the oil companies, have profits to be made? What do the lives of Iraqis and Americans, among others, matter?

Sorry. It's late, and I'm tired and cynical.

We've had some sad news here. A long time activist with the Colorado Campaign for Middle East Peace (for whom Mark worked for many years) wrote us at the end of October that she was scheduled to be married in Oaxaca, Mexico. In light of the situation there, she and her fiance wanted folks to send money to community development and other good institutions in Oaxaca in lieu of wedding gifts. She sent Mark a message on October 30 asking his advice about such organizations. Because of Mom's surgery on the 30th, he wasn't able to reply for a week. When he did, she wrote back almost immediately that her fiance had been killed in Oaxaca on October 31. Wrong place, wrong time. Having just been married ourselves, and having also been to protests supporting the people of Oaxaca in their nonviolent cries for justice and true democracy, and against the U.S. supported state-sponsored terrorism repressing them, this hit us hard. The activist's name was Elli Gauthier. Mark has her fiance's name--I'll look it up and post it soon. We'd appreciate your holding them and their families in the Light.

Our friend Kerry Appel, a coffee importer who works directly with indigenous communities in Mexico and provides fair trade payment for coffee, is fighting to hold onto his land in Southern Colorado. Kerry bought a piece of land with the goal of creating a permanent peace camp working for economic and social justice and human rights. But he was informed not long ago that Ft. Carson (named for Indian killer Kit Carson) wants to take his land in order to expand their wargames practice. The irony of this is not lost on Kerry, who, along with other land owners, is fighting the army's plans. Please keep him and their struggle in your thoughts.

My niece Oi Lin's mom recently had a heart attack and is recovering in Hemet, California. We'd appreciate your sending positive thoughts her way.

Mark's sister Jenn is really enjoying her job working with dogs at Dogtopia here in Denver. Sean continues his work in the music business and recently returned from a long stint working a music festival in Las Vegas. They head off to Portland for a week tomorrow.

We got to see our old friend Jill briefly last week during a visit to Colorado. She is hopefully moving back to Denver soon.

Some recommended viewing: Children of Men. We saw this one in the UK and thought if phenomenal. Has it been out yet in the US, or did it go straight to video? The Wind in the Barley, about the Irish independence struggle. Ken Loach directing. Won the Palm D'Or at Cannes. And if that's not enough to convince you, some Brit called it (resentfully) the most pro-IRA film ever made, and wants to know why Mr. Loach dislikes his homeland so much. Funny.

Got to see my old dear friend Imogene tonight. Imo recently moved to Longmont to live with and care for her aging parents. This was our first chance to get together post wedding, and it was a good visit. She's doing great, and it was really good to catch up.

Finally, some good news: my old friend Chris D'Amato, from Lancaster days, and his wife Grey just had their first child, a son, Peter. Mom, Dad, and son all appear to be doing great, and even sleeping occasionally. Also, my student from Ramallah, Nader Wahdan and his wonderful wife, Selwa Ramadan, also just had their first child. We are thrilled for them. It's always so good to see children being born to such wonderful parents.

Speaking of children and wonderful parents, Mark and I had a great time hanging out with Felix last week. But now we need some time with Camila. It's been too long, since we moved to mom's....

Tired now. Must to sleep. Love, Val

Mom

2006-11-15T23:42:00.000-07:00

Back from the Honeymoon and Crazier than Ever!

2006-11-09T10:24:00.000-07:00

Hi Everybody,

Please forgive the long silence. We have dreams of completing lots of gorgeous, photo and story-ridden wedding entries, and the same for our wonderful bike trip in Ireland. We also have dreams of getting thank you cards, complete with photos, out to all you wedding-goers some time before we celebrate our 1st anniversary. Dreams are good--especially if they foretell happy realities. We have faith. Your patience is deeply appreciated.

I know you'll be shocked to read that our lives have been a bit hectic since our return stateside on October 18th. Almost all of it's been good, but some of it's been hard.

On the Saturday after we returned stateside, we had a wonderful "second wedding" at the Mountain View Friends Meetinghouse in Denver. Although we weren't married "under the care" of Meeting, is was important to us that our vows be witnessed by my (our?) spiritual community. It was a wonderful evening, thanks to Judy Danielson, Eric Wright, Paula van Dusen, Danielle Short, and Rachel Moran. I'm not sure how many folks came--at least 50? We had a beautiful Meeting for Worship for Marriage by candlelight, with a deep, tear-drenched silence, and meaningful testimony, followed by a very yummy potluck summer and fellowship (complete with a gorgeous wedding cake from first-time cake-make Judy!), and then a singalong led by Eric. I was so much more relaxed than at our first wedding, and we were really grateful that some of our friends from Denver, not of the Meeting, were also able to attend and seemed to enjoy themselves.

The next day, Mark drove his mom and me 7 hours to Ouray, Colorado. Ouray is a town Marilyn has always loved, and as she was scheduled to have back surgery on Oct. 30, from which she knew she would be recovering for months, she wanted to do a little traveling beforehand. On the way, we were treated to radiant autumn Colorado blue skies and turning leaves, snow-dappled mountains, streams...all the wonders that make it such a privilege to live here. I just kept saying over and over to Mark, "I love this land." We stopped in Paonia at a little farm stand and tasted locally grown wine, gourmet raw goat cheese, and delicious organic produce. We bought some wine, pecan wildflower honey, and chokecherry syrup--a wild Western delicacy.

Ouray is a small town surrounded by mountains, and called "Alpine" by some. I've never understood why people have to compare anything in the Rockies to the Alps. I've seen the Alps. I've seen the Rockies. The Rockies are no pathetic backcountry cousin to the Alps. They're an extraordinary act of the Creator quite in their own right, and don't need European comparisons to be breathtaking and visit-worthy. Mom treated us to a few nights at a deluxe B&B with a hottub and plush beds and TV's. We had dinner out each night in town at a different yummy restaurant, returning to Denver on Tuesday. On the Monday, Mark and I drove to Dove Creek to look at some land for sale. It was a beautiful day, but our driving journey was quite long so we didn't get nearly as much time with Mom as we would have liked.

On our return to Denver, we began the process of moving our belongings from Danielle's basement into Mom's spare room, where we will live while we support her recovery, or as long as she can put up with us/till we find some land. With Mark's sister Jennifer we hosted a party for mom so her friends and family could wish her well before the surgery. The food, made by Jen, was of course fantastic, and the company equal to it.

The surgery itself, on Oct. 30, was 11 hours long. It was very a intense, rather dangerous surgery. Mom was quite worried, and Mark, Jen and I were quite worried. We were at the hospital with her 17 hours that day. Thankfully, she came through the surgery without major complications. Her recovery has been, by many of the nurses' and the surgeon's comments, remarkable. I continue to be amazed and in awe of mom--what an incredibly strong and brave woman she is.

The surgery was conducted to relieve pressure on nerves in her back, which have been compressed since she was nearly killed 26 years ago by a man with an MO of forcing women off the road and then raping them. Her car was so badly damaged, and she was so badly injured, the man left her for dead, but was later prosecuted thanks to mom's quick thinking, and her taking down his license plate. Her life has been influenced by the disabilities he inflicted on her to this day. Despite all this, mom has always led a very active life, even hiking with basic supplies on her back into the Jenin Refugee Camp following the massacre when she was due to have her fourth hip replacement and probably shouldn't have been walking up a flight of stairs. During the last six months, she has had tremendous pain and decreased capacity in her legs, so the point of the surgery was to reverse that with the hope that her strength and comfort will improve, and her ability to walk continue and improve well into her golden years.

Mark and Jenn are at the hospital with their mom for several hours a day each day, advocating for and with her vis-a-vis medical professionals (something sorely needed, all the time), and especially in the first few days, helping her with food, drink, movement, etc., and providing invaluable love, moral support, encouragement and humor. There have been a number of misunderstandings and mistakes which have caused Marilyn unnecessary pain and anxiety. Many of the professionals she's working with are very fine people, but it seems a symptom of the entire Medical Industrial Complex that they often don't know her body and its needs as well as she does, and aren't willing to listen to her or her family to the detriment of her care. Despite all this, Mom, ever the fighter, is in rehab, and continuing to recover.

I was at the hospital more the first week, but have cut back a lot as mom's been improving. Mark and I are fortunate to be able to continue to live with her when she comes home from the hospital.

She really appreciates visitors, cards, letters, and calls--they mean more than we can say. If you need info about visiting her, please email or call us.

In other news, we are moving forward with our dream of building a small, intentional, spiritual, self-sustaining, social-justice focused community on land here in Colorado. Try saying that five times fast!! We have begun the research process, are talking with realtors, web-surfing, and reading lots of books and guides. This weekend (Nov. 10-13) we are making our first major land-search trip. We are going down to the Walsenburg, La Veta, Trinidad, Gardner area (a large area) in southern Colorado, just west of I-25. We'll be staying in La Veta for two nights, and probably in Westcliff for a third. We have appointments lined up with realtors for three days. We're also getting together with the folks from our local community with whom we hope eventually to live on the land the weekend after Thanksgiving. We'll spend a few days up in a cabin together, discussing our individual and shared visions, hopes and dreams.

Mark's birthday is November 13, and his email address is dogbuckeye@yahoo.com. Please send him greetings and love! Marilyn's surgery and recovery has been emotionally very hard on her family as well as her, and your loving support would really mean a lot to him and Jen.

What else are we doing? Working on thank you notes and photographs. Meeting with our community. Attending demonstrations when we can. Zoning out at night when we're completely fried and watching old episodes of Reno 911 and the Office. I'm doing one afternoon a week of volunteer work for AFSC, helping with their immigrant rights program. Running errands and handling bills for mom. Biking everywhere, which is good, because I put on serious post-wedding-sconage pounds in Ireland. I'm taking classes in jewelry, soap, and toiletries making. Trying to see old friends. Getting caught up on the life left behind during the weddding planning and honeymoon. Today, I'm babysitting the incredible Felix for our dear friends Remy and Nancy. He's taking his morning nap at the moment, giving me a little time to write.

We're here in Denver for the next couple of months at least. I'm going home to see my family for a week after Christmas, and then I head to Johnson, VT for a month-long writing residency at the Vermont Studio Center. I'm trying to do what writing I can between our land search and time at the hospital. I'm currently (along with Nancy and another friend, Carleen) doing this crazy thing called "NaNoWriMo"which stands for National Novel Writing Month. It's completely mad. It's a "contest" (there is no competition and there is no prize but pride) which one enters with the goal of writing a 50,000 word novel between Nov. 1 and Nov. 30. Not surprisingly, I'm way behind. But it's really been a fun, liberating process, because the expectation is that one will write crap. One is encouraged to write crap, if need be, but WRITE! More than 50,000 people worldwide are participating, and there are local write-together evenings and meetings, as well as email-encouragement from the staff. I've started a brand-new novel, with brand-new characters, and I'm finding it very fun and liberating to write with my internal editor cranked down a few notches, if not off altogether.

There's always more to say, but Felix is awake, so I'd best run. Much, much love, and hopefully more soon.

Val

Val

Honeymoon: Cork to Cobh to Kinsale

2006-09-28T16:01:00.000-06:00

We landed in Cork to a brilliant sunset, seemingly boding well for cycling, yes? We had a lovely stay with a German expat named Marion, via Couchsurfing.com and met her Dubliner friend, Emma, and another couchsurfer from Australia, Amber. Late night chat and good food. Next morning the sun greeted us as we packed up and made our way into Cork, a vibrant sprawling town. We polished off some errands and some delicious lunch from the English Market (an indoor market of many vendors) and made haste to leave town due to some weather moving in.

Val at James Fort, Kinsale, County Cork, Ireland (edited)

We zipped 15 miles to Cobh (pronounced Cove) and though a bit damp and wind whipped, found an affordable B&B right on the harbor. A light dinner at Mimmo's restaurant and a walk along the harbor. Cobh was the main point of millions of Irish leave from the time before the British imposed-famine (1840s) until 1970. Today there is a decent museum we visited tracing the history.

Kinsale harbor near sunset

From Cobh we headed into a rainy gale 20 miles to Kinsale and the welcoming couchsurfing.com confines of Mary Minihane, a charming Irish woman who is a serious raw-foodist. After a day of beautiful though windy cycling, she fixed us up with tea and a light supper and tales of Ireland and raw foods. We finished the evening watching the light film "Michael Collins".

Village across from Kinsale harbor

That brings us to today, with a day off to explore the chic town of Kinsale full of boutiques and wine bars and such. At a bookstore we found a fine book on wild plants of Ireland which we bought for our kind host (our attempt to proselytize her raw food sensibilities). We took several walks, including out to James Fort, built in the late 1680s when former King James the 2nd mounted an uprising against the British in Ireland. It failed, unfortunately. Another walk found us into The Spanish Pub for a half-pint of Murphy's the local Guiness of sorts. Live music and laughs (and no smoke, forbidden in all pubs!). Hundreds of years ago the British navy destroyed a Spanish armada, the remnants found their way into Kinsale and never left. Part of the reason why folks in south are called "Black Irish".

Mark in front of James Fort

Manchester, England: Flush Blair Down the Disposal!

2006-09-25T04:31:00.000-06:00

Our first five days of honeymoon finds us in Manchester, England, visiting Val's longtime friend, Daniel Burton, she met (and had a crush on!) in Palestine, some 17 years ago. At a lively anti-war demonstration of about 50,000 people in Manchester, we heard the righteous rhetoric from George Galloway and others (at least 25% of we could not understand because of the accent), had a lengthy march around the city center, a 5-minute symbolic die-in, followed by, you guessed it, more speeches. We ducked out of the latter, wiggling our way over to a hip joint that served amazing rissoto with bison mozzerella. Here a sampling of photos..

Daniel, Val, Mark. Note the sign on the right of a hand pushing Tony Blair's head down a garbage disposal (called a 'disposer' here in England). George Galloway, kicked out of the Labour Party for calling Blair and Bush "Wolves" created a new party, 'Respect' of which he is the only member elected.

Val and Mark, center, at the symbolic die-in during the march. Note the chap next to Val looking up. He's taking in a brand new-high rise apartment building, the tallest in Europe, which has a hilarious fence like feature on top, said to blend the building and sky together!

Flags of Lebanon and something you probably won't see at a demo in Denver: a flag for Hezbollah! A huge turnout of Arabs and Muslims, many in traditional dress, lots of signs in solidarity with Palestine, Iraq and Lebanon. One flyer handed out said, "Israel, an army with a country".

Val and Mark and a peace sign from the local troublemaking Quakers. They had quite a turnout, several dozen marching from their main Meeting House, just a block from City Hall, the center of the anti-war rally.

John, Val and Mark. John is Daniel's partner, a lovely charming fellow and a self-admitted "defeated socialist" but very much in the hunt for a better world.

George Bush made an appearance, marketing imperial U.S.'s latest triumph.

Daniel and Val over the Bollion River. On a lighter note, we had a lovely 6-mile walk through the English countryside, visiting a few villages, a farm (homemade ice cream, cheese and eggs procured) and, of course, a pub.

Val and Mark, walking along a canal tow-path. Lots of blackberries along here, and stinging nettles! Canals were built at great cost ($ and human) in the 18th century and only used briefly because of the advent of rail lines. Several folks were fishing and a long flat enclosed tourist boat rambled along as we walked.

How to make a strawbale doghouse

2006-09-18T08:21:00.000-06:00

The weekend after our wedding we participated in a strawbale building workshop in Ft. Collins at the Sustainable Living Fair. When people found out we just were married they laughed at our supposed honeymoon choice.

Mostly finished strawbale doghouse with friendly earthen bone molded into the earthen plaster wall.

The goal of the 2-day workshop was to teach the basics of strawbale building: floor/footing, strawbale selection, resizing and shaping bales, stacking bales, plastering, roof and tightening bales, scoring plaster, and lime wash paint. Left out of the class due to time and location were how to make a foundation and insulate the roof.

Curtis, president of Eco-Builders of Boulder, demonstrates two means to stack and hold bales in place: metal rods with threads for nuts, and, bamboo poles.

We helped make two strawbale doghouses which were auctioned off at the end of the festival.

Strawbale is a great insulator because cold or warm air molecules have a hard time wiggling their way up and around and over tiny pieces of straw. In cool arid climates like Colorado strawbale is ideal for east and west facing walls, leaving the south wall for passive solar collection (via large windows). The north wall, which collects the least sun and the most cold wind, would be ideally built out of a material with greater thermal mass like adobe, cob or rocks. Thermal mass slowly transfers warm or cold air.

Floor footing of 2x4s with 3/4 plywood top. Threaded rods are placed strategically around the sides of the floor for the strawbales.

Val holding up underside of floor showing nuts tightened to hold the metal rods in place.

Metal rods now in place around the edges of the floor.

Our instructor made a small error by having the rods placed too close to the edge; ideally you'd want to center the rods more over where the strawbales will be placed.

Strawbales should be dense and consistent size. Ideally you want the largest straw packed tightly, instead of tiny pieces of straw that easily fall apart in a bale. Strawbales of good quality retail for about $2.50 for each bale. The doghouses (6' x 5') required about 12 bales each.

Raised floor/footing of 2x4s of the approximate width of strawbales.

This raised area was filled with loose straw. Normally the footing for a home would be filled with rock or styrofoam blocks to keep a water barrier from the straw. If snowmelt and rain water pools would well around straw, the whole of a wall would soak it up and you'd have mold, rot and worse. Because it was a doghouse, we were told, we'd cut this corner.

Val hammering top of stacked strawbales for density and tightness.

An instructor using a trimmer to carefully shape bales.

Unless you want curvy walls with some dubious structural integrity issues, having flat walls aids in the construction.

Stacked bales with the home for the dog in the middle. Note the metal rod sticking up on the right. Soon a 2x4 roof will be placed over the bales and rods and nuts affixed to tighten down the whole shindig.

Val resizing a corner that stuck out.

This only works on ends of bales. To avoid lumps and to help ease construction, areas where the bales are sticking out or bulging can be resized by carefully pulling out straw and then using a small 4" piece of bamboo and tightening down the loose baling twine. For side sections of bulging (in or out) strawbales, we used chicken wire stapled in, then filled in loose straw and used homemade nail clasps (from snipped barb-wire twisty-rods).

Threaded metal rods and twisty rods usually used in creating barb-wire cattle fences.

Slanted 2x4 in place. Note the metal rod sticking out with a nut tightened down over it.

Our plaster instructor beginning to use trowel and lime plaster on strawbale walls.

For one of the doghouses we used an earthen plaster first coat and a lime plaster second coat. Lime is caustic to the skin (can cause burns to exposed skin). We wore latex gloves (use good ones). Earthen is cheaper but more time consuming for companies paid by the hour. As it was, a thin wet earthen plaster coat was sprayed on the create more adhesion for the lime plaster. The earthen sprayed plaster needed an overnight to dry and set-up before the lime paster could be applied.

For the other doghouse we used an earthen plaster, which was funner because it could be shaped easily and it was not caustic (though the mix we used had sizable sharp pebbles -- better for cohesion -- which made us want to use latex gloves to shield our baby soft hands).

Wedding Thank You Photos

2006-09-10T18:02:00.000-06:00

We are indebted to the many many friends and family who made our wedding happen from months before, during and work after. The following is a small sample of these rock stars of our community.

Sean, Heather and Jen, caterers and companeros extraordinaire!

Danielle and David. In addition to teaching all of us to salsa, Danielle served as wedding coordinator par excellence and made Val's skirt and Camila's dress. David co-managed beverages with Imogene and taste tested our wine!

Mom (Marilyn) and Mark. Thanks to mom for all her moral and financial support, and for her beautiful sketches.

Brian (aka "BBBBBWOOOOOOOOOOOOD!") co-photographer, set-up and break-down specialist and non-stop all-around helper who we nearly totally exhausted!

Remy and son Felix. Paparazzo fantastico along with Bwood, Remy also played guitar and sang In this Heart during the ceremony.

More to come....

Bailando por Lago Sylvan

2006-09-10T14:18:00.000-06:00

Slow and Salsa Dancing!!!

Val and Mark, first dance, "Come Away With Me" by Norah Jones

Bob and Val

D'Ann and Lowell

Rebecca and Libby

Mikayla and Camila

Will and Mica

Danielle and David

Mark and Val learning the basic salsa steps from David

Nancy and Remy

Salsa Class

Sean and Val

Cleveland Family Reunion, Poker and More

2006-08-06T21:53:00.000-06:00

Our last stop on the Val and Mark family express was Cleveland. A big Tiedman reunion (Mark's father's mother's family), a Schneider/Clement poker game and a lovely visit with Aunt Karen & Uncle Brian and Karen's daughter Destiny. More narrative later, pictures for now...

Uncle Don with the big thumbs down, Jen, Mark, Ray, Cousin Jody, Uncle Gary, Sean

more poker fun!

Ray enjoying some hot wings between Uncle Don and Cousin Jody

Sean's sister Nicki

Second-Cousins at the Tiedman Reunion

First-Cousins at Tiedman reunion (names later...)

Group Photo at Tiedman Reunion

On to Youngstown and the Gabrelciks and the Legend of 'Baggo'

2006-08-02T21:42:00.000-06:00

Next stop on the family express found us sweating into Youngstown. There was quite the shin-dig at Kuk's home, BBQ, multiple thunderstorms and our first introduction to Baggo! More narrative later, pictures for now...

Missy (Val's niece) and Kuk (Val's brother)

Tim (Val's nephew) and his wife Debbie and their fun kids

Tony (val's nephew) and his wife Lori

Tony and Kuk playing a mean game of Baggo

Mark and a baggo launch

Missy and Val and baggo

Missy and Val

Val's Family and Friends in Pittsburgh

2006-07-25T21:18:00.000-06:00

We had a wonderful visit with Maryann & John, Tommy & Sandy, Gina & Earl, Uncle Pipe & Aunt Rosemarie, and Uncle Pete... in Pittsburgh and Van Voorhis. We also visited Val's friends Rachel & Ayman & Haytham. More narrative later, for now enjoy these pictures:

Uncle Pipe (George), Val and Aunt Rosemarie

Uncle Pete and Val

Gina and her son Earl

Baba and Gedo's Old Home in Van Voorhis

Walnut Trees in Front of Uncle Pipe & Aunt Rosemarie's home in Van Voorhis. A neighbor bet Uncle Pipe he couldn't grow walnut trees from a walnut seed. We ate some of the fruits of the bet.

Rachel, Val and Haytham

Haytham!

Wild Animals Choose Organic over Poison, Shouldn't Humans?

2006-07-16T15:11:00.000-06:00

(Joyfield Farm's amazing compost piles, and the amazing Val)

Oooh-weee, today was a scorcher. Bent-over, my skin covered in an unheavenly mix of deet and sunscreen, I spent 2 ½ hours picking weeds though careful to avoid the many tall thistles which will need to be shoveled out for certainty. Because of the destruction of the prairie, thistles, via Canada, are bedlam across the Midwest. Easily marching through mono-row crops of feed corn and soybeans, the thistle attempt to feast on the organic 7 acres here at Joyfield Farm. That reminds me, deer and raccoons love to eat the edible organic soybeans in Cliff and Arlene’s garden. What’s a bit odd about this is that for miles and miles there are endless Franken food-soybean fields. They’re not touched by our wild friends. We should take note of our wild friends.

So there I was, alone, picking weeds, feeling I needed a windshield wiper on my forehead, the salt of my sweat cascading down into my tender eyes. I could feel my body and spirit outstripping my comfort zone, my insides rationing water, muscles warm and intense, like fast running water down a stream. I wondered if this is the life for me and my community. Arlene and Cliff, along with six other adults and two kids, share 7 acres, of which about 3 acres is gardened. For half the year, the garden is the prime money-making operation for Arlene and Cliff. Interspersed during the garden months are stints helping with disaster relief, Christian Peacemaker Team projects and Brethren service projects. The winter is the same, minus the garden work. It appears to be a full and meaningful life. Even balanced.

Yanking up over-sized grasses, soft ground cherries and lambs quarters, I wonder if there is a sustainable way to have a large garden to provide for a community’s needs, without having the need to sell any of it for market, and not even need a cash income. All the community’s we’ve visited have bills, some more than others; Joyfield is on the low end for sure. Joyfield has various utilities: phone, electric, water. They have an old truck to maintain and insure. They buy local fresh food to supplement their garden. The garden has expenses, though they have no machines, except wheelbarrows, shovels, forks and muscles. They plant each spring from plants they let go to seed each year. Arlene and Cliff live simply, plain. It seems rather easy, sweat and all.

Ever heard of an organic farm where you show up to buy some produce and while you wait the farmers go out and pick your order? Or, how about phoning in an order and show up a half hour later and pick up freshly picked produce? That’s how Joyfield Farm operates. Except for their regular size refrigerator, there are no large coolers to store produce, so the earth is their best form of storage. While Arlene and Cliff were at the local farmer’s market in North Manchester, a couple showed up and asked if they could buy some squash. The previous afternoon, all the squash and zucchini were picked for market. Nonetheless, the couple, along with me and Val, traipsed through the 3 acres of gardens, exploring various plantings of squash and zucchini. We found a half-dozen worthy of harvesting, tossed in a garlic and a Vidalia sweet onion and called it a buck fifty.

Two of the communities we’ve visited (Agape and Guests and Strangers) were made up of just two people. A third (Earthknack) was a single family of five. We liked all three, though one factor that caused us concern, as well as the first two communities, was the need and desire for more community. Joyfield has a decent mix of two elders, four adults in their fifties, and a younger couple and their two children. This is a nice scale, both in terms of number and ages. Folks here home-schooled and shared responsibilities, while retaining a fair amount of autonomy. Everyone has their own vehicles and bicycles, as well as their own dwelling. While the elders help out in the garden and with other chores with Cliff and Arlene, I wish the rest of their community shared work and had more mutuality in their lives. Still, it’s impressive for it shows the way people’s lives change, intersecting sometimes and then at times orbiting a bit farther apart.

Apropos of nothing in particular, this farm has amazing compost! Actually, the way they make compost is amazing for its simplicity and grace. They take farm clippings and weeds and build an enclosed wall, maybe 10 feet long by 8 feet wide. As the wall goes up they add clippings into the middle. Repeat this until the whole edifice is 6 feet high. Wait a week, let the worms and bugs do their thing, and the whole contraption is back down to 3 feet high. Keep adding, etc.. After a season, you can take fresh rich compost starting from the bottom of the pile and mix it into your spring tilling. Cliff and Arlene have about a dozen compost piles as described. No mixing, no adding special stuff -- no way to screw it up! I love that!

Farm Work Can Be Fun -- at Joyfield!

2006-07-15T14:57:00.000-06:00

It’s 9:30 am. I’ve been up for about 4 hours. Today is market day, so Cliff, Arlene, Mark and I got up early, had a quick but hearty breakfast of oatmeal and fresh fruit, and got out into the fields to finish the harvest so C&A could leave for market by 7:30. Mark and I wanted to go to market, but I wanted to write more. Arlene and Cliff have been very kind about affording us as much time as we need to rest, walk to town to do internet work (10-12 miles roundtrip, so not a journey we’ll make often), or just hang out. But they work so hard, and so constantly, it’s hard to just chill and not join in the fun.

(Orange sunflowers dot the gardens at Joyfield)

And mostly it is fun. The work assigned to us here is nowhere near as difficult or daunting as the work at Guidestone Farm, where we interned last year. The workdays, at least for us, are far more forgiving. The gardens are lush and gorgeous, full of diverse plants and flowers, and lovingly cared for. The farm is surrounded by trees, some of them very old and large, and birds, deer, more groundhogs than the Kindys would prefer, and raccoons all live in the area and visit frequently. So far here we have weeded flower beds and veggie beds, picked peas, cleaned onions and garlic, prepped food for market, harvested some flowers and transplanted some broccoli. The weather has, mostly, been kind. It has been rather hot and humid the last few days, but yesterday there was a good breeze much of the day, and Cliff and Arlene encouraged Mark and me to nap during the hottest part of the day (they kept working).

This morning was astoundingly beautiful. The sun rises late here (6:30-ish) because in the summer Indiana is in the Eastern time zone. We woke to the farm layered in a misty gauze of fog, slowly diffused with light as the sun rose. Then the suns rays started breaking through trees like the traditional vision of God blessing a piece of land. The gardens are all lush from the rain (we’ve had 2 ½ inches in the past week), and the flowers are multi-hued and dazzling. Spider webs straight out of Charlotte’s Web decorate the rusting slide in the garden, and the shrubs beneath a giant cottonwood. For the first time since reading E.B. White’s classic as a child I could picture exactly what Lurvy saw when he came to Wilbur’s pen that first morning. “What if you walked up to one of these and it said, `Some Pig’?” I teased Mark. I guess `Some Slide’ or ‘Some Tree’ would be more likely.

(Baby Swallows nesting in the barn)

Last night as we bunched scallions a double rainbow formed in the East, over Rachel and Bob’s house. The Kindys share the seven acres of Joyfield Farm with Bob and Rachel Gross, longtime anti-death penalty activists and advocates, Cliff’s parents, and another family currently traveling who live in a yurt near the garden. Once a week someone hosts a farm supper and everyone eats together, such as last night when we went together to a going-away party for a couple leaving the area for seminary. But there are other times of togetherness, as well as plenty of privacy for the various couples/families. It feels a bit like a small village, and I imagine it felt like more of one when the Kindys’ and Gross’s children were growing up here.

The Gross’s and the younger Kindys’ homes are heated with wood. The Kindys are very attentive to water conservation, and actually haul their water from the Gross’s kitchen because a water filter is required and shared. Although electricity is used, it is used with an eye for conservation. The corn crib is extremely well-insulated; Cliff is much-experienced in construction, and built a passive-solar home with Bob for Bob’s folks a while back. He did much of the work on the house, so little by little we’ve been picking his and Arlene’s brains for wisdom and ideas. We’ll try to make notes of this and share as we’re able.

The Kindys live on between $6,000 and $10,000 a year, earned from selling their produce. They could earn more, but their time is important to them--time to do other of God’s work, to be with their family and friends, and to rest when needed. They intentionally stay below the taxable income level, but this requires they live very, very simply. They purchase only what they need, and mend, fix, and reuse as much as possible to avoid having to make purchases. There is no TV in their home. The radio is turned on occasionally so we can update ourselves on the horrors in Lebanon, get really depressed (at least I do) and then turn it off again. In the evenings we read, or visit. There are games available too should we wish to play. They own a battered farm-truck-of-a-pick-up, but are still trying to figure out how they could get their ton of weekly produce to market using bicycles and trailers (did I mention they are in their late 50s, look like they’re in their 40s, and seem to be far healthier, stronger, and more energetic than I am?).

When it’s soup supper night, Cliff (and we) go into town and have supper with the other folks for whom Arlene and the other women cook. Sunday is church and rest; this Sunday there is a special get-together at a lake nearby so we’ll probably get to meet lots of other cool people. I have told Cliff and Arlene that I have the impression everyone in Indiana is Brethren. They assure me this is not the case, and that I have in fact now met all the Brethren in Indiana. I’m unconvinced.

I’m going to end this now so I can go hang out my laundry and make some lunch for Arlene and Cliff before they get home. Love, Val

Joyfield Farm, Indiana

2006-07-11T16:32:00.000-06:00

I write from the kitchen table of Cliff and Arlene Kindy. Mark is reading ancient copies of Plain magazine, and Cliff is sat against the refrigerator, in front of the window to catch the breeze, reading the latest disturbing tome by Helen Caldicott. For a while, every so often, Cliff would share with us some random horror, like the fact that the U.S. can use a series of lasers to recreate the pressure and heat conditions at the center of the sun, thus creating nuclear fusion. Or the fact that, in contravention of numerous treaties, the U.S. has found a way to use a computer to simulate a plutonium trigger, thus facilitating ongoing testing and development of more and more deadly nuclear warheads. He tells me that, according to Dr. Helen, Plutonium is not the most deadly element. Something called Americium 241 is. “Americium, spelled like America?” I ask, writing it down, thinking that this horrific piece of trivia is something a peace activist should know.

“Uh-huh.”

But Cliff has stopped sharing stories with me now. Perhaps because I’m not giving him much response. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the stories, and it’s certainly not that I don’t care. I’m just not sure what an appropriate response is. There are words and phrase like “more deadly nuclear warheads” which just don’t make a great deal of sense to me. I was a child when I learned that the US and USSR already possessed sufficient nuclear capacity to destroy the world seven times over. I thought then and I think now that having developed the capacity to destroy the world once is insane, inexplicably hideous, beyond criminal, and shouldn‘t grown-ups of all people know better? “Why don’t we just take all the missiles and bury them on the moon?” twelve-year-old me asked.

“We could bury the technology,” my sage, leftist, ex-Marine 7th grade social studies teacher, Todd Behrens, taught me. “But we can’t bury the knowledge.”

“But just because you know how to build something doesn’t mean you have to, doesn’t mean you should. That’s just stupid.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.”

The tree frogs are chorusing aplenty. They’ve had a banner day; we all have. Mark’s and my knack for bringing rain with us hasn’t failed us in Indiana. Joyfield Farm received more than an inch today. Everyone is happy--they have needed the rain. No complaints of being “assaulted by another storm!” here. Cliff and Arlene make their living selling organic vegetables from their front porch and at farmer’s markets. We helped pick peas today, and do a few broccoli transplants; we spent most of the day trimming and cleaning garlic, putting it up in the barn to cure. We got wet and muddy and wet and muddy and it was all glorious and delicious and fine. It wasn’t unbearably hot and humid, and that is a blessing in July.

As we sat working together, with Cliff, Arlene, and Cliff’s father, Cliff told us stories from his work with Christian Peacemaker Teams (CPT), www.cpt.org. By the time we’d heard two of his stories, I was convinced that Cliff is a non-violent, Arab-philic Indiana Jones, and that Harrison Ford should redeem himself for all those ghastly Tom Clancy-ish roles by playing him in the movie. Indiana Kindy. He told us stories of adventurous walking for days through the conflict zone to mountain villages in Colombia, to visit a community facing impending massacre, so that he might take their story to the world, or at least the UN; a forced expulsion from Iraq in the days of Shock and Awe when he nearly lost his life in a car accident; another expulsion, this time from Palestine, by the Israeli immigration authorities, for his nonviolent activism. And we spoke of Tom Fox, softly, but with respect not remorse, who gave Quakers our first 21st century martyr when he was killed in March of this year by unknown persons, and his CPT colleagues, Harmeet, Jim and Norman. Cliff shared stories with us, gleaned from their debrief, of their days as hostages in Iraq.

Arlene, in between raising two healthy, happy daughters and keeping the farm going while Cliff is traipsing all over the world, has co-directed hurricane relief efforts for the Church of the Brethren, worked in Columbia with CPT, and co-runs a soup supper sponsored by a local food bank. Arlene’s most magnificent accomplishment in my opinion, though, is her faith: she has watched her husband walk into war zones over and over again, and rather than panic or get eaten alive with worry, she supports his leadings and work completely and keeps their family going in his absence. Cliff’s faith seems to be equally central to his balance and sanity. They are wonderfully joy-filled, kind, compassionate people, the Kindys. Clear on their leadings, without being doctrinaire, hard-working without being addicted to work, clear-seeing in their convictions yet deeply respectful of the differences in people’s gifts and struggles. We feel enormously privileged to have this time as guests in their home, partaking of their very generous hospitality (and Arlene’s fantastic cooking), to work and learn beside them.

With CPT partners across the country, Cliff is helping to develop a campaign to stop DU (depleted uranium) use and production. He humbly asks Mark’s and my advice, as well as that of other activists, Sox and Lisa, who come to volunteer on the farm (“Now how did you and Sox meet again?” “Oh, we were in jail together a while back.”). But as wise as he is to get as much information as possible, I sense there’s a subterfuge afoot here. Cliff isn’t some hotshot drama-dude who flits in and out of war zones for the photo-ops. He’s an organizer, and I remember in the back of my mind the advice he gave Mark and me about building our community: make sure all the members are invested from the get-go, co-creating the community, not coming in later to something you’ve already built. I realize, after marveling again that this accomplished experienced elder-in-work is asking the opinion of less-experienced, less-successful activists, that this is exactly what he’s doing. Both the fact that he has solicited our opinion, and that CPT really seems to have their act together and to be building an essential, well-thought-out campaign that maybe really could prove a turning point for the war, makes me feel like this is something I want to be a part of. I don’t know how, given Mark’s and my current path, but I want to. And then I realize what Cliff’s done, intentionally or no, and I have to chuckle myself. It is good, deeply good, to be among and learning from such gifted, wise, good people.

We are learning lots about organic gardening (there is always more to learn) and sustainable-building practices/living practices (I write from a converted drive-thru corn-crib, now a very well-insulated, lovely home). More on those soon. Love, Val

Shadows and Friends

2006-07-04T19:42:00.000-06:00

Each morning here at Strangers and Guests, save Tuesday when we have Bible Study, we take a short time for prayers before beginning our work day. Each morning I find something in the Psalms we read aloud together, or the sharing of wisdom from “The Rule of St. Benedict,” which Betsy and Brian follow as Benedictine oblates, that speaks to my condition.

(Afternoon Sky above Maloy, Iowa)

This morning in the Rule we were instructed to honor the differences we have among us, in terms of our capacities and needs, without grumbling. This idea is so radically anti-capitalist, it’s a wonder Benedictine monasteries haven’t been shut down throughout the Western world. The members of the community are instructed not to treat those who may be considered “greater” in society’s eyes with any more respect or deference than those considered “less.” More to the point, community members are instructed to give thanks if they are capable of giving or doing more, and to be humble and not self-satisfied if they can only give or do less.

(Old gas station in downtown Maloy, Iowa, population 25)

Throughout our stay here, I have frequently felt the need to nap. Whether from our travels, my occasional anemia, the warm, humid weather, or some other cause, I am frequently tired here, in a bone-deep sort of way. Of late, I have also really felt the need to take time for myself during the workday, away from the main house, to journal, write, and think in a quiet space. I write you now from this blessed space and time.

(Betsy Keenan saying hello to the momma goats and el gato)

What I really love about this wisdom, and am so grateful for in the philosophy of Catholic Workers, is this simple idea that you give what you can and you take what you need. We are not expected to perform, identically well, for identical workdays, each and every day, as though nothing else were going on in our lives. We are asked to work from love and desire, not from guilt, and this freedom to choose results, for me anyway, in a genuine love and desire, an honest participation in the work, rather than one filled with resentment. It also means sometimes I choose not to work, and I wrestle hard with my guilt, lack of self-worth, and workaholism in such moments. Choosing not to “work,“ and instead to write (which, of course, for a writer, is and should be considered work), I find myself immediately confronting very familiar demons. It is good, and quite empowering, to face them in such a way.

(Betsy and her old fashioned rag rug loom)

I am reminded of another time I felt such welcome, acceptance and freedom: in the village of La Realidad, Chiapas, Mexico. I was blessed with the opportunity, thanks to the Indigenous Women’s Network, AFSC, and the National Commission for Democracy in Mexico, to participate in a delegation to Zapatista-held territory in the late 90s. The quality and beauty of that journey would require several entries in itself. But in relation to the current topic, I realized there, in this village of Mayan people, eeking out a living with digging sticks and rough earth, suffering daily harassment and brutalization by the Mexican army, and resisting with such dignity the neoliberal variation on the five centuries-old theme of colonial subjugation, that I felt more free than I ever had in the United States. The reason was simple. In La Realidad, everyone gave what they could and took what they needed. As a result, there was enough, for everyone, without anyone feeling so overwhelmed and exhausted he or she couldn‘t continue. It wasn’t a wealthy existence, but what there was, was shared, and no one was expected to give beyond capacity, or accumulate wealth at others’ expense and suffering. I was invited to come live in the village, with the peace campers, and work on my novel. “Oh, I couldn’t live here and not work for the village,” I replied. “Of course, you’ll work here. We know that. We know that you’ll give whatever you can--we know that you couldn’t NOT do so. But that should still leave you time to write, and rest.”

(Vanna White and Franken-corn)

I didn’t take them up on the offer. I should have. I still don’t have that novel written.

This morning, I am also reminded of the following poem, a gift from our dear friends Dan and Kristina in Independence, MO. I dedicate it to survivors, and to Betsy and Brian, people of such kindness, who have shared so much with us.

Kindness
by Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrows the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

(Milkweed and Butterfly having a drink)

"Val, I'm not going to answer my phone when the caller ID says 'Strange Guest'!

2006-06-25T20:12:00.001-06:00

(Quotation from Val's sister Sam, during phone conversation today)

Guests and Strangers Catholic Worker Farm
Maloy, Iowa

(Mark and Brian, co-founder of Guests and Strangers CW Farm)

A two-hour morning bus ride from Kansas City plopped us off in the bucolic Iowa border town of Lamoni. The bus stop was the area Livestock Auction center and two Amish buggies were just leaving after seeing off some family traveling the bus. A high of 88 degrees inspired us to ride the 35 miles to Maloy sooner rather than later. Plus, there were no towns between Lamoni and Maloy.

Mark put the bikes together while Val sucked down a cup of farmer java, and noticed all the farmers observing the spectacle of us. We filled up all our water bottles and bought a 1/2 gallon of Gatorade for giggles (and to keep from dehydrating). The roads in rural Iowa are marvelous stretches of extremely quiet paved roads, more like 30-foot wide bike paths. Plus the few random souls driving past wave to us, almost always before we think to raise our hand in gesture.

As the hours piled on, so did the sun's rays. We found a random roadside picnic area and dined on every morsel of food we could gather in our pack. Just as we were running out of water, we found another random site: a large discount grocery store, E & S & B (Esther, Sam & Barbara), in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Of course it's owned by an Amish family that lives next door. The Amish around here are recent emigres, boosting the Ringgold County's population for the first time since the 1910 census. Land is super cheap, or at least it was until the rich summer home jet set from Chicago found out about it. As well, the Amish have unwittingly created a property value spike. Pushed out by higher property costs elsewhere in the Midwest, some Amish come to rural southwest Iowa scooping up 80-acre lots for usually under $750 an acre.

The Amish family at E & S & B didn't mind our delirious dehydrated invasion, sucking down bottles of tap water and buying up a dozen premium, though dated, foofy Luna power bars for 95 cents. That’s 95 cents TOTAL, not each.

Hot, stinky and sweaty we arrived in Maloy and found the Guests and Strangers Catholic Worker Farm amongst giant swaths of feed and ethanol corn (being grown across the street, and across Maloy). Alex, we met first, is a wayfaring stranger like us, vagabonding from community to farm to community. Betsy and Brian we met next, the founders of the community. They treated us to glasses of cool water and homemade hummus and discount crackers from E & S & B. We chatted for a long hour.

(Sunday dinner with community members, "guests and strangers": Veronica, Kathy, Wendell, Squeaky, Betsy, Brian, Alex and Don)

We've been here nearly a week and have found this place both an oasis and fine example of what we're seeking to create. Getting a chance to slow down in a beautiful quiet place, as well as meet people of such genuine integrity, has been a wonderful cool drink amongst our recent busy hot and dusty travels. We often laugh while telling folks whom we meet about our travels this year that all this coming and going is motivating us to make our vision of creating an intentional community happen soon, very soon.

The layout of Guests and Strangers is simple yet diverse. It is housed in a large farmhouse of 4 bedrooms and 1 bath, built in 1911, on four acres. Most of that acreage is for grazing the three momma dairy goats (which are milked twice a day) and five kids. About 1/2 acre of varied gardens along with splotches of berry patches and a mixed orchard provide quite a bit of food for a family of two and guests. A house next door is owned by Betsy's sister (currently residing in Buffalo, planning eventually to retire here), and used primarily for guests.

The town of Maloy was created in 1880 by the train running from Des Moines to Kansas City. Mostly Irish came (names like Warin, O'Connor and Shay fill the cemetery) built up the town that had a peak population of about 1,000. That was back a hundred years ago. Today the population hovers around 30. The passenger train service stopped running in the mid-70s, and the track was yanked out of the ground in the mid-80s. The market closed, along with the bank and barber shop.

About 20 years ago, the economics of the area suffered a further predictable capitalist trauma. While the hilly area around here was used primarily for grazing cattle, today it's almost all corn and giant hog factories. Corporations moved in, enticing small farmers with sweet deals and prophecies of big profits. Many took the bait and most perished. The few survivors gobbled up tons of land, under the auspices of large agribiz, got in debt with giant machines, and planted row after monotonous row of corn, mostly for animal feed. Now the ticket is ethanol, the supposed future savior of the peaking oil industry. It's all a mirage. The hills around here won't sustain monoculture corn plantings, the topsoil eroding away with each rain and wind gust.

Still there are the odd holdouts like Guests and Strangers.

(Solstice party bonfire. God on the right)

Remember we mentioned the super cheap prices of land and property? Twenty years ago Betsy and Brian bought the 4 acres and the large farm house for $12,500. Today it's appraised at $13,000. They pay about $200 a year in property taxes. The house next door that Betsy's sister bought some years ago she got for $3,500. Property has gone up since then. Don and Veronica, two extended members of the Guests & Strangers community, live a couple of hundred yards away, and recently bought 20 acres for $750 an acre.

In the mornings we have prayer time, followed by the mutual creation of the work list. A leisurely lunch is around Noon; someone usually volunteers to make something. Digesting the food, we also digest whatever is on our minds for a while after eating. We go back to afternoon work and chores and then eat a communal dinner around 6 or 6:30pm. Meanwhile, throughout the day, interspersed with work, folks take breaks, check email, take a nap, do a bit of reading. There's always something to do, but generally no big rush to get it done.

A joke Val heard at the Solstice party Guests and Strangers hosted last night, was a scene of folks at church. The minister preaches that heaven will be everyone's reward for their life on earth. Calling for everyone to raise their hand who wants to go to heaven, the whole parish raised in unison except one man, John. The minister, perplexed, asked John why he doesn't want to go to heaven. John replied, “Iowa is good enough for me.”

There are no mountain ranges here. No big rivers or lakes. For most non-Iowans we suspect Iowa is simply a place in between places. Where we are, it certainly feels rural. Birds are the biggest population we can see. There are lots of mini-forests, inter-mixed with natural prairie grasses and the factory fields of corn. The soil is some of the world's richest; coaxing vegetables to grow is not a problem. Lightening bugs greet us on our evening walks. Storm watching and rain gauging are big pastimes. The sunsets are surreally beautiful. “They’re like that all the time,” Betsy assures us.

We joked the last night, walking down to the town park while the sun was setting, as a low fog moved in, a storm hovered nearby, and the lightening bugs accompanied us as they do, “You’re trying to seduce us, Maloy.”

It’s working. Thirty people, rain, fertile land, and no Starbucks for 100 miles? There’s a reason Farmer John was satisfied.

Did Mark mention berries and cherries? Many of you know that Mark is half-bear, but never before has his inner nature of bearness surfaced so completely, requiring daily quantities of fresh berries. Guests and Strangers has not disappointed. Red and black raspberries, gooseberries, mulberries and Nanking cherries round out the current crop. We eat them raw, or in pies and tarts or the German staple called Rota Grutza, a thin pudding-like consistency made of cherries, berries and cornstarch.

(Solstice Party annual French-inspired bonfire with Alex, Squeaky and Brian playfully admiring)

Bonfire. Everybody loves a big fire, jokingly referred by Val as "White Man Fire". At the annual Solstice party last night, the afternoon of food, games, French peasant dancing, and more food, was capped off by a ritual giant bonfire, built by Brian. He explained that in France, to celebrate the Feast of John the Baptist (the Catholic church's attempt at coopting the pagan celebration of Solstice), folks gather at dark and light a giant carefully stacked pile of sticks. So many of the 75 folks who came out for the earlier festivities gathered around and quietly watched the tower ignite, shooting a massive flame a dozen feet high into the night sky. As the fire climbed lower, an accordion was played, then singing with guitars and shakers, and, alas, still more food and drink.

Politically, there is some really good, heartening, exciting work going on in Iowa. Courtesy of the big annual Solstice party, we got to meet quite the who’s who of Iowa’s activist community last night, including Ed Fallon, who campaign manager Jon Krieg (Val’s former AFSC colleague) introduced to Val as “State Blue Ribbon Accordion Player and Gubernatorial Candidate!” Despite his progressive politics (progressive enough to have a bunch of anarchists registering Democrat just so they can vote in the primaries), Ed managed to secure 26% of the vote. Jon thinks it was really his accordion-playing.

(Jon, Val and Patty at Solstice party in Maloy)

A local youth described his parents by saying “They’re world reknown, just by very few people.” Proving that the activist world really is too small (or that we really are all related), shortly after arriving here, we learned in conversation that Don (of Veronica and Don mentioned above) was Jon’s college roommate. Jon works in the Des Moines AFSC office. He and Val were long-distance colleagues during both her stints with the Denver office. During conversations with him and his partner Patty (who came down for the Solstice party, as did Ann Nafier, also of AFSC), she learned that he and Patty had lived at the Guests and Strangers farm for 3 months, and the Joyful Farm in Indiana for four months. Joyful Farm, home of Brethren activists Cliff and Arlene Kindy, is where we’re going in July!!

Jon and Ann filled our ears with the good tidings of great immigrant rights work going on in Iowa, from Alex and Squeaky (another young man who biked here to the farm) we learn of all the great Catholic Worker activism in Des Moines, and the ongoing fine work of Kathy Kelly and the Organization Formerly Known as Voices in the Wilderness in Chicago, and from Brian and Betsy we learn of the excellent anti-war organizing and civil liberties resistance among the Catholic and other peace communities here in the Midwest. The struggle is excitingly, beautifully alive, out here among the corn and fireflies and deer.

I like onions

2006-06-19T19:12:00.000-06:00

“I like onions. Now, I'm going to go slam my head into that wall.”--Skyler Pearson, aged 7.

(Grace, Skyler and Joe, finding some solace in the backyard swimming pool)

Thus Mark and I had the privilege of being introduced properly to the Pearson children: Skyler, his four-year-old sister Grace (who does not like onions, but who--like all good Quaker-Buddhists--is teaching herself karate), and 1 year-old brother Joe.

The thing that's really cool about seven-year-old boys is that they are both literal and intentional. They don't slam their heads against walls figuratively or because they're completely lacking in courage or creativity. They really do it. Because they want to. Because it's fun. Or because they're angry and frustrated. Eventually they stop. When it starts to hurt and they've gotten their pent-up energy/frustrations out. I really, really wish they were running the peace movement....

As I was introduced to Joe, born since I last saw Dan, I did a triple take. Had I not actually seen Joe's father standing in the same room as he, at the same time, I would have sworn my dear friend and former supervisor had somehow regressed 33 years in age and was now wordlessly demanding I hand him a Cheerio (admittedly atypical for Dan).

After rising at 4:50 am (Mike's friary, New Hampshire) to the miracle of freshly-brewed coffee (Blessings be upon you, now and always, Brother John), Mark and I flew to Kansas City, then hopped on our trusty two-wheeled companions and began cycling to the home of Dan and Kristina Pearson in Independence, MO. It was an interesting 42 miles. Initially, we had enormous, unused highways largely to ourselves (“Why is this road here?” Mark kept asking), making solitary use of the infrastructure of a city much larger than KC. This was followed by serene and empty country roads of a bucolic beauty the likes of which one hears about or sees in movies.

Unfortunately, this cycling bliss was interrupted, as we grew closer to downtown, by a short but rough stint on a hilly, busy, two-lane road which, somehow, mysteriously, attracted all the road rage in the metropolitan area. I (Val) had another of my infamous meltdowns. I began seriously questioning whether I have it in me to be a Quaker, while Mark gave me the best non-violence talk this side of Thich Nhat Hanh. It's amazing how a few white men flipping off women trying to turn right (for the crime of having slowed down to do so) or laying on their horns while passing Mark and me for the affront of not using petroleum, can lead me, in no time flat, to cursing out the entire Empire, from Vader on down, and wishing for the extinction—with a few notable exceptions—of melanin-challenged men.

In downtown KC we were treated to a warm welcome by a (notably melanin-challenged) bakery owner in the city marketplace, whose staff filled our water bottles, let us use their phone, and fed us well for two bucks. We also found a very cool Arab grocery, which sold dry molokhyia, something I've never seen in this country (“Do you make yours with lamb or chicken?” the proprietor asked me. “Uh, I don't really make it....”). The grocer was watching the World Cup and inexplicably rooting for the Americans.

Mark and I continued onward to Independence after lunch. Our route was very interesting (really, Kris, it wasn't that bad!). We traveled for a long while through a multi-ethnic section of town, on a road which resembled Colfax Avenue in Denver, maybe 10 years ago. Although there was no bike lane, cars were chill and courteous, mostly driven by Mexicanos and Central Americans. As we neared Independence, though, the road suddenly got really inappropriate for cyclists, so we made our way to Truman and got ourselves out into the lovely country areas on the eastern side of the city. Eventually, we ran into Kris and Skyler on their way home. They offered us a ride, and assured us we were quite close when we insisted on riding the last two miles. But then we got lost, and two miles turned into six, and Search Party Number Two was sent out. Oh, the shame! Fortunately, we were just about to pull into his driveway when we saw Dan!

We spent a lovely day and a half with Kris, Dan and the children, throughout which they insisted we do whatever we want and not feel obligated to do anything—such generous and caring hosts! Saturday night, Dan and Kris and I sat up late discussing spirituality and drinking wine, while Mark fell dead asleep. Kris and I then outlasted Dan and had some groovy time together going a little deeper into shared experiences of spirit. I was jazzed to learn we are sister-poets, and she and Dan turned me on to some wonderful work by Mary Oliver, Billy Collins, and Naomi Shihab Nye. Sunday morning I went to KC Meeting for Worship with Dan and Kris, and was lovingly introduced by Dan to the Friends of Penn Valley Meeting. Afterwards Dan had to continue a class for his Masters' Degree; the rest of us went home where the kids swam, and Mark and I computered, and later we had another yummy vegetarian feast thanks to Kris. In the evening, the Pearsons and I went for a little walk along a beautiful bike-walk-path. Actually, some of us walked. Skyler scootered, Grace bicycled (both did very well coming down a steep hill!), and Joe tolerated the paparrazzi.

It was good to see the family all doing so well. The Pearson children take the concept of adorable to pretty dangerously high levels, and they're as smart and healthy as they are cute. All seem much happier being closer to family (Dan and I became friends while he was my supervisor at AFSC; he and Kris and the children lived in Des Moines, near no one they knew, for a few hard years). Dan loves his new job, and expects to stay there a good long while. He is working for a Catholic child sponsorship organization, which allows him to do work that he really cares about and believes in, without traveling so much his children start asking “Daddy who?” I was inspired to learn that the organization is so community, rather than individual-oriented, and works to integrate community-development and strengthening in all that they do. Kris had been planning to return to school to get training in ASL interpretation when Joe blessed their household. She continues her awesome ministry as full-time mom.

The next morning Dan got up before the rooster to drive us to the bus station. We had a wonderful time, though the visit was too short. We hope we can see them all again very soon.

Watching Anchorman with Brother Mike in Manchester, and Other High Church Ministries

2006-06-13T19:23:00.000-06:00

Hi All,

Well, our Tour de Communities has definitely taken a turn for the cerebral. As I write, I'm watching three grizzly bears beat up on Ron Burgundy's newsteam, in a friary somewhere in Manchester, NH. "Anchorman" is just as silly and brilliant the third time as it was the first. Mark and Mike and I are happily howling. Enter Baxter the dog to negotiate with the bears. Yeah, it brings to mind not only Lassie but really bad John Wayne "Injuns", and yeah, I'm tired of bears always being the bad guys, but/because of that? it's still hysterical.

We met up with Mike yesterday at the Four Corners Store (the only store, or business of any kind) in Richmond, NH, at then end of the 86th steep climb of the day. We stopped in 8 miles short of Fitzwilliam, our planned rendezvous spot, after I had a complete meltdown two miles from Richmond: "Mark, I can't do another 10 miles of this!" New Hampshire's roads--busy, full of deadly potholes, and climb after killer climb--had taken a toll on my spirits and body. Mark graciously acquiesced.

The day began auspiciously enough. We left Sidehill Farm in Ashfield, Mass, where our dear friend and former sister-Guidestone-Farm-intern, Rebecca Lay, is working, around 10am. After 9 days of rain and clouds and wind, the sun rose glorious and much-welcomed over Ashfield. Our ride began with miles of gorgeous downhill stretches through Shelburne Falls (achingly picturesque) to Greenfield (where we stopped for BBQ tempeh and some yummy spinach and feta thingie). Occasional climbs were well-balanced by the lush, somewhat surreal greenery/scenery for miles, great shoulders and excellent pavement.

After Greenfield we headed north, circumventing Gill (a great route change suggested by Rebecca's colleague Becca) to Northfield, where our food-bike-tour of New England continued. At Mim's we partook of a decent vegetarian sandwich, followed by a huge and delectable ice cream cone at the town "creamy" (that's what they call them here).

Shortly after Northfield, as we were making good progress and feeling happily full of ice cream, we found ourselves in New Hampshire, on terrible pavement, a narrow, steep, winding climb along a beautiful creek, with lots of very fast drivers more or less missing us. One hair-raising exception to this, which had me cursing white men, capitalism, selfishness and the whole "Live Free or Die" mentality, involved a logging truck barrelling down a particularly steep bit, nearly hitting me close to the bottom when I had nowhere to go. We landed in Winchester, a town which brought to mind Pine Ridge, and Mark treated me to copious hugs, OJ, and Jojos. After that things got better...until Mark and I decided to exercise our Gottman Marriage Institute skills midway a particularly steep climb. Go Gottman! They must have taken many bike trips together.

After Mike met us, we began a lovely, tortuous car tour of the New Hampshire/Massachusetts border. Mind you, we weren't necessarily intending to take a tour of the border, but that was what we did, and I found that there are actually some really nice roads in New Hampshire, skirted with magical lakes and pretty clapboard houses straight out of a postcard. We rolled into Manchester around 8:15 and Mike took us to a hip local Mexican joint the Brothers frequent which had original and yummy vegetarian options.

We've felt well and truly welcomed here at the friary. Brother John created little signs to welcome us each to our (separate) bedrooms. Mike brings me coffee with milk, and makes me tuna sandwiches. And get this: They gave me my own BATHROOM! Complete with a bathtub AND shower! I told Mike, "You fellas really know how to treat a lady." "Yeah," he replied drily. "That's why we're all bitter and single."

This morning we lazed around a bit, reading, checking email, running errands and making phone calls. I've discovered "The Red Tent" in my room, so poor Mark and Mike are constantly having to wait for me while I catch up on decades of reading. The weather is warm and steamy, the sky beautiful blue with signs of rain clouds. We went to see the new Vince Vaughan/Jen Aniston flick, "The Break-Up", this afternoon and concluded that a) Jen and Vince needed the Gottman Institute and b) Jen really needs to eat some Krispy Kremes. Stat. For our point, we went out for delicious Vietnamese food.

Mike asked us yesterday if, after we were married, I was going to take Mark's name.

"Mark?" Mark asked.

I LOVE him.

We need to catch you all up on our trips to Agape Community (totally awesome, as opposed to "pretty awesome") and Sidehill (land of brave but muddy farmers, great beer, and a house that looks like a mushroom...even without the beer). But it's late, and we're fading. We're taking a road trip tomorrow, up to the White Mountains, for a little hiking, and lots of cable, and eating. If I'm lucky, we will not leave at 4 am. Wish me luck.

Love, Val

Greetings from Sidehill Farm!

2006-06-13T17:09:00.000-06:00

We easily could have spent more time at Agape, though we had plans to visit our Guidestone farmer friend, Rebecca, at her new farm of employ near Ashfield, Mass. A 25-mile ride re-tracing our steps back to Amherst had us riding in hard drizzle (or light rain, the latter word we try to avoid in conversation with bicycling). Amherst is a hip college town and the home of Bart's home-made ice cream, of which we naturally availed ourselves!

Mark, Rebecca & Val (Rebecca's cute trailer behind)

Cheerful, sunny Rebecca picked us up and we were off to a supper at the People's Pint, a locals' pub in Greenfield, Mass. Then off to her farm, aptly named Sidehill (the farm is—you guessed it—on the side of a hill!). In the dark we found our new home for the next three days: an authentic Mongolian yurt, called a ger (pronounced like 'gare'). Similar in mechanics to the yurt we lived in at Guidestone Farm, this yurt had an authentic low-door and the inside walls were neatly covered with traditional Mongolian and Kazakh felt rugs of beautiful designs.

Inside authentic Mongolian Ger

We slept well and woke up to Friday harvest day. However, with the record amounts of rain the northeast has been trying to soak up, Sidehill has been late in transplanting the vast array of veggies eager to get into outside soil. So lots of greens were gathered. Val and I literally laundered some salad mix (using a real dryer to spin the water out) and weighed out half-pound bags. Then we weeded spinach, dill and cilantro for a few hours--a bit muddy and tedious, but we loved hanging out with Rebecca.

In contrast to Guidestone, Sidehill workers share lunch together (we shared breakfast at Guidestone). You're on your own for dinner and breakfast, so Mark made Rebecca some nice breakies while we were there. Sidehill was started by Paul and Amy, a late-30s? Quaker couple, about a decade ago. They were all veggies until this year, when they began a raw dairy.

Strawbale 'Mushroom' Home of Sidehill owners Paul & Amy (note living roof)

They live in a beautiful, 20-foot radius strawbale house, which looks (intentionally) like a large mushroom that just grew in the forest. The roof is alive and growing, like the sunny-johns at Guidestone. They've only gotten running water quite recently, and now have a lovely two-sided, outdoor shower, overlooking the river below. Rebecca and her two intern-mates, Becca and Keith, share morning and evening milking chores with Paul and Amy. The whole operation is a bit more rustic than our Guidestone farming experience, and quite lovely. Plus the foliage and forest is dense, and wild feeling—like it has plans of retaking the land the second you're not paying attention--making us Westerners feel totally out of our element.

Becka, Keith and Rebecca with their Sidehill album cover 2006

Rebecca loves it, and seems happier than a lark, with her long-time friends hovering in nearby burgs, a short car or bike ride away. The Ashfield area is a stunner, all breathtaking, bucolic, hilly views of small farms and old homesteads. Like the other communities down the Connecticut river (the whole area is simply called 'The Valley') Ashfield, Shelburne Falls and Greenfield generally all live within some strange liberal-progressive geographical vortex. People care about the land, about their food, about their kids. It's fairly small-scale and the land is so nurturing.

A half-dozen miles downhill from Rebecca's Sidehill Farm, right in Shelburne Falls is Salmon Falls. In the late 1780s the Mohawks and Penobscots signed a treaty with the nascent U.S. Colonial government. Lots of fine legalese about fishing rights will be respected, etc... Likely one of the first treaties the U.S. intentionally deceived and betrayed, near the beginning of a line of hundreds of such broken treaties. Curiously, some local students created a documentary showing in Shelburne Falls about the indigenous people of the area, their history and relevance today. We weren't able to catch it but it's at least nice to know someone is conscious. But of course they are! It's the Valley!

Our Experiences at the Agape Community

2006-06-09T17:06:00.000-06:00

A spirited 35-mile bicycle jaunt from Northampton (after visiting Mark's friends Mike, Gerry and their two kids Devin and Ryan) brought us back into the semi-remote forests of central Massachusetts. Fifteen miles of the gorgeous Norwottuck rail trail (never more than a 2% grade) popped us out onto quiet side roads where you could still hear the birds and bees flying and buzzing along side of you as you rode (though we were just fast enough to out-cycle the mosquitoes). About a dozen miles on a generally kind state highway of meandering hills brought us to the surprisingly pretty town of Ware, Massachusetts, tucked away in a tight valley filled with church steeples and surrounded by hills of green. Another 7 or 8 miles of quiet, paved, farming and ranching roads brought us to the Agape Community.

Val, Brayton & Joe (garden behind them)

We arrived just as it began to rain for nearly two days straight, to a warm welcome from Brayton and Joe. Suzanne, Brayton, their daughter Teresa (in the summers), and their current year-long intern, Joe, make up the live-in community at Agape. Ahhh, we both felt, what a relief to have to relate to just three people --- Suzanne was out of town during our visit! We briefly helped Joe, a 20-something from Florida, with some garden work (The unusually mild winter this past year in Massachusetts was still brutal for Joe who feels that anything below 70-degrees is a challenge)! Then we retired for the day, with a few minutes rest and then a 30-minute evening prayer/meditation.

Agape is a lay Catholic community, very much like the Catholic Worker, whose lifeway I'm used to and can appreciate, located on 32-acres in a very remote section of central Massachusetts, 25 miles from Amherst. We stayed in a bedroom in one beautiful six-bedroom house was constructed 28 years ago by Suzanne, Brayton and their community. Another, much more energy conscious straw-bale / passive solar home, was built about a decade ago. The land also includes a quarter-acre garden plot, a wonderful hermitage up in the woods, and hardwood trees and wild animals roaming through.

Agape has all the elements we are looking for in community: shared spirituality, ecological sustainability and social justice activism. We were so deeply impressed as well with Brayton and Joe and Teresa as people (though we didn't get to visit with Teresa as much, her town-run-for-pie will ever be fondly remembered!). I think the thing which struck Val most was their extraordinary humility. Here we were, these two brash outsiders, coming into a life they've lived for years (or at least months), saying, “Have you tried this? What about that?” And our suggestions and ideas were listened to with such warmth and respect. The throughline of spirituality with the way in which visitors are treated, the way work is shared, the way vision is expressed and selves challenged, simply felt so right-on. Integrity is the word I keep coming back to. They struck us as people of just tremendous integrity.

Folks at Agape are involved with anti-war actions and witness. They hold regular retreats for college students to learn about the practical lessons of this matrix of community. Brayton and Suzanne teach local classes on their lifeway. And an excellent twice annual newsletter is sent out to supporters of Agape, providing thoughts on peak oil, U.S. foreign and domestic policy, other pressing matters of the day, through the lens of practical spiritual reflection.

Three times a day there is a prayer meditation service, before breakfast and lunch, and then after dinner just before bedtime. I especially loved the morning meditation to help me center my day. Doing this alone requires discipline I usually don't have and practicing prayer together is much more powerful and meaningful. Just the four of us together during prayer and meditation three times daily was simply refreshing and meaningfully rich. Short passages from the New Testament were read, time for personal reflection was given, and then there was sometimes a shared song with a guitar accompaniment.

Large 6-bedroom house built 25 years ago, garden in foreground

Our time there was very peaceful and refreshing to our spirits. We spent our second day cleaning up their basements (it was pouring rain outside) and doing some fix-it work on their bicycle fleet. [Note to bicycle owners everywhere: please store your bicycles inside a dry space to prevent rusting and corrosion.]

We prepared dinners and lunches together: very simple vegetarian fare, utilizing lots of greens from the garden and small greenhouse. We enjoyed lots of rich, deep conversation about community, politics, spirituality.

A fairly large community of people help build and sustain Agape. Prior to living on the land in community, Agape Community was an urban creation in Boston, formed of two families—Brayton and Suzanne, and another couple. When Brayton and Suzanne and others supporting their vision felt they really needed to be living in immediate relationship with the land, they amicably parted from the other couple. Since that time, they've had many temporary members of their community, but no one prepared to vow to living the life, day-in and day-out, as Brayton and Suzanne have. Still, their community is an essential part of all the outreach they do to the surrounding community, their ceremonies, celebrations, witness and mission.

In terms of sustainability and living rightly on the land, the people of Agape do try to tread lightly. They make a conscious effort to use as little as possible and live simply; the injustice inherent in the global economy is ever-present in their minds and actions. Their green efforts include, in addition to the strawbale passive-solar house, a diesel 'grease car' that is powered on vegetable oil obtained from a local eatery (Brayton actually apologized to us for driving as we hopped on our bikes to leave!). They heat their homes with wood from the land. The garden provides the bulk of their summer and fall food.

They did have a tv and vcr/dvd player that we utilized to watch a wonderful new documentary called “The Power of Community” about Cuba's recent history dealing with an imposed peak-oil situation. A gifted and highly-educated population aided by a mostly benevolent government have created stunning micro-economies where most people have a direct relationship with growing their own food (80% organic). Pesticides and fertilizers have been almost eliminated. Farmers are among the most respected professions now and they also make the most money! Walking and bicycling are back in action (Cubans were addicted to cars and buses). While the initial shock of a drastic reduction in foreign imports and subsidies (along with the illegal and cruel U.S. embargo against Cuba) were difficult for most Cubans, the resulting changes have been quite the blessing in disguise. Cuba is almost no longer dependent upon foreign countries. For our friends that love the city but yearn for an alternative-city-life, check this video out or go and check Cuba out.

The video was happily received at Agape because people in Cuba were clearly getting more in touch with the land, the food they eat and creating closer more intimate relationships. We had a marvelous time with them, learned a great deal, and will carry the spirit of their place and purpose and selves with us as we continue on our journey.

Our Experiences at the Sirius Community

2006-06-05T17:02:00.000-06:00

Sirius Community

Sirius Community has been going strong for over 25 years, a smaller model of a famous community in Scotland, called Findhorn. Basically an eco-village with limited shared spirituality, Sirius has successfully maintained a model of community, though it's not very intimate, at least from our perspective.

Size does matter. Findhorn community in Scotland, we were told, has hundreds of members and whole specialty areas, like a fishing village. The folks who started Sirius, however, wanted to create something much smaller and more intimate. They've got about 30 members and aren't looking for a whole lot more than that. Ironic for Val and I was that 30 people to us was quite large and not very intimate, as you will note below.

Like a residency cafeteria that offers almost unlimited housing options and spiritual leanings, Sirius attempts to be very diverse and tolerant of needs across the “simple-not simple” spectrum. There are a range of housing options, food/dining options, spiritual-involvement options, community-involvement options. There are “bare minimums” in terms of work and financial commitments which everyone is expected to meet, but beyond that there's a lot of “do your own thing” encouraged.

But we were saddened by how few members of the community took an interest in the various guests visiting for the weekend. Most of those we encountered were warm and kind, and the first person to greet us—Ernesto—was awesome. He went out of his way, though it wasn't his responsibility at the time, to welcome us and settle us in well. But then he went back to his life and responsibilities, and we were shuffled, more or less, from one person to another all weekend, with no real consistency and intimacy.

One unique feature to Sirius is that they offer public education and offer their community as a model for others to learn from, thus our visit. In fact, their primary shared “industry” is serving as an education and conference center. However, while our accommodations were neat and cozy (we had the privilege of having a door to our room) and included showers and access to laundry (you pay for), it is pretty costly for folks living on the margins or simply, like us. We did a work-trade, working for several hours on Saturday, in exchange for paying $25 each a night for two nights, or $100 for a two-day visit for both of us. This included meals. Without the work-trade it's $40 a night for each person. For the independent traveler, this is not a horrible deal. However, for $80, Val and I could get a private room in a basic motel, with a phone and TV with cable, and go out to eat for our three meals. We found the price exorbitant. They don't offer any sort of sliding scale.

Further, the person in charge of guest services (one of three paid jobs in the community) was either having a bad weekend or is just an angry person (he provided the only direct impoliteness we experienced). On what would have been our third night there, we asked if there was room to stay (we had been told originally that it would be no problem). A nice woman we had both enjoyed visiting with signed us up to spend another night. We would only have been there for two more meals (dinner and breakfast), and we were told there would be no dinner that night. We asked her if we could do a work trade to reduce costs for the night, and the guest services person told her no, we couldn't, because the Sirius staff were all off the next day, and that it would be $40 a night per person. When we told different people we had to leave because we couldn't afford it, they simply nodded. No sympathy, no, “Oh, well, how can we make this work?” Or even, “Gee, that's a bummer. Yeah, I wish we didn't have to charge so much, but we do, and this is why....” I found their reaction kind of appalling. The office was closed while Mark and were figuring out whether we could stay. We didn't even know where to find someone to tell them we were leaving.

One of the things that we found particularly alienating is the degree to which community relationships are mediated by money. And, the bottom line--as in, how the community works within the capitalist cash economy--is possibly the community's most disturbing feature: seemingly almost every transaction WITHIN the community that involves a practical necessity is dealt with on a NON-sliding-scale cash basis.

For instance, Sirius has several gardens that produce a fair amount of vegetables. However, every member of the community who wants to eat from the gardens, including those who work off their minimum monthly community hours (32) in the gardens, has to pay $25 a month for a vegetable share – the same amount paid by non-community members (who have no work requirement). While this may sound “fair” -- that everyone pays the same – we didn't understand why anyone in the community paid anything. If the gardens are maintained by community members then the only costs would be buying and maintaining equipment (minimal), water (unclear if it's even necessary in this part of Mass.) and seeds (unless you use seeds from last years seed offerings). With 30 community members at Sirius, each paying $25 a month for 6 months equals $4500 a year – which to us seems extremely exorbitant [ not sure that all members of Sirius are garden members].

The internal cash economy continues with rent. Everyone who lives at Sirius, regardless of whether he/she lives in an off-the-grid yurt, or a private house, pays rent (appropriate to the type of accommodation) in almost comparable amounts to what folks are paying in many cities. Each person also pays a $65 monthly membership/land use fee. Plus utilities. Plus plus plus. It seemed to us that to live at Sirius one must have access to a fair amount of income, independent of the community. We were told that about one-third of the members work outside the community, 1/3 have home-based businesses and 1/3 are stay at home parents or are independently wealthy.

What we still can't quite get our heads around is a) why is so much income required for Sirius to function and b) why can't the income generated from the education work be sufficient to provide for people's needs? It just seems that people's needs from an energy and comfort standpoint are very similar to what they would have were they not living in a rural community.

One aspect of community we are both focused on is shared spirituality. One of the things we really appreciated was that Sirius does practice daily meditations, and expects community members to resolved conflict from a spiritual basis. The community has done a great deal of work on the issues of communication and conflict resolution, and expects people to follow a stated and very mature path in resolving disputes, small and large. Sirius seems to have worked out a regular collective practice that works for members of the community, and shared meals and work days begin with a circle, hands held in silence or reflections offered, and announcements.

In meditation, however, we experienced, again, the cafeteria-style of pick-this, pick-that spirituality. During one 30-minute 'meditation for planetary healing' we were treated to an alleged Native American traditional song, a Buddhist mantra, a Sufi song, and an Islamic chant. One guest did ask afterwards what the source of the Native American song was and it turned out to be written by a white woman in Florida who apparently 'knows' about Native American people. Seemingly well-intentioned, but the cultural appropriation, no matter how supposedly respectfully done, was disappointing to say the least.

The lack of attendance at meditation was disappointing as well. The entire community is encouraged to attend (it is not compulsory). At each meditation we attended, there were no more than three members who showed up (and they led the service). We were told that most members, especially the younger set, did their own thing and only the weekly mandatory business meeting attracted the entire community.

The food was the highlight. All the food was vegetarian (though I'm not sure if that is a requirement) and each evening meal is prepared by a rotating chef who pays out of their pocket for anything they need. The food was delicious and generous. Everyone who didn't cook is required to clean up, and in anarchist fashion, people just jumped in where needed.

But again, very few community members share meals. A former member visiting for the weekend wondered aloud to a long-term member where everyone was at meal times. He was told that the younger set did their own thing (by younger we mean 20 and 30-somethings). What a bummer. Really made us sad and wondering about intergenerational politics/relationships.

Again, we both applauded Sirius for its ability to maintain itself for more than 25 years, and we were really struck by the gentleness, integrity, welcome, openness and commitment of some of the people whom we met. We certainly got a great deal out of our strawbale-claying experience. But on the whole, the operation struck us as a small, though important, step away from living in the city. It felt to us more like co-housing in the countryside than community. And the whole ala-carte menu, “protect everyone's individualism” to an extreme, made us yearn for something much more intimate.

Greetings from Northampton!

2006-06-05T09:18:00.000-06:00

(Mark, Gerry, Mike and Devin)

Mark and Val decided to make an unscheduled stop yesterday at Mike and Gerry's place in Northampton. Mike and Gerry are dear friends of Mark's who used to live in Denver, and once shared a house with Mark and Mica. Val got to meet them, and their insanely smart and handsome sons, Ryan and Devin, yesterday afternoon. We had hoped to have time to see Mike and Gerry during our time in New England, but things were so packed in we weren't sure it could happen. Fortunately, yesterday afternoon we realized we did have time, and should make more, so we left Sirius early and will go to Agape a day late.

We biked a glorious 17 miles from Sirius down to Amherst, across the Connecticut River, and over to Northampton, arriving around 6 last night, just as it started drizzling. The ride was extremely easy and fun. We basically coasted the first 5-8 miles, hardly peddaling at all as we came out of the hills into the river valley. As we passed through Amherst, we saw a Cultural Survival bazaar happening in town, presumably to raise money for Cultural Survival Quarterly which is based somewhere around here. Amherst is a very pretty, and we are guessing, VERY WEALTHY city.

After Amherst we jumped on this sweet railtrail, riding along enveloped in forest, catching glimpses of farmland between the trees now and again. The railtrail took us all the way to Northampton where we had a tiny bit of hairy city riding, before arriving at Mike and Gerry's to a splendid pasta dinner with very yummy wine (which Val at least enjoyed). We sat up talking and being treated to a dazzling singing performance by Ryan, aged 6, (already an impressive songwriter and stageman), as well as a financial and political breakdown of reality, courtesy of Devin, aged 8, that had me asking him if we could hire him as an executive director of a non-profit. Now.

(Mark, Devin, Ryan & Val)
The whole valley area around here is influenced politically, economically, and culturally by the plethora of small liberal arts colleges in the area: Smith, Amherst, Mount Holyoke, Hampshire, and UMass Amherst, yet there is still affordable housing and a working class feel to much of the towns. This may change, however, as "NOHO" gets "developed," and folks moving in from New York with lots of moolah start raising property values and taxes.

Mike and Gerry are so inspiring to be with! They are doing great things for the planet. In addition to raising thoughtful, intelligent, healthy and happy sons (Devin can articulate quite clearly why George W. Bush should be impeached, thanks), Mike is an alternative energy specialist bringing sane building options to the Valley, and Gerry was just hired by the Mayor of Springfield to head up that city's initiative to bring real affordable housing to the city and work to end homelessness.

We spent last night sleeping in a beautiful room which Mike and Gerry added on to their house which is heated by passive solar, sun streaming in French doors and windows. They're completely renovating a lovely 1913 house. Val asked Gerry last night if one could marry a shower, as she had fallen in love with theirs. Gerry informed her that, alas, their shower was already married.

We're making dinner tonight, leaving Mark and me with the only really important question at this point: What do six- and eight-year-old boys eat? Both parents told us we'll fail in any effort to please them and should just not worry, but I feel this is a challenge worth rising to. Even if we do fail.

More about the Sirius community soon...

We Got Spammed!

2006-06-05T09:15:00.000-06:00

Hi Everyone,

We got comment-spammed so we changed the settings on here hopefully to cut down on that. For now, though, to hide the rather rude comment I had to select the option of allowing no comments on our last post (the long one about Ben, Hilary, and Sirius). If you'd like to comment about that post, please do so here.

Love, Val (and Mark)

Late Night Food with Friends, Cycling in the Mist, Strawbaling at Sirius

2006-06-03T23:00:00.000-06:00

Hey you,

Do people in Boston normally eat late? Is it an East Coast thing? And I don't mean a little snack, I mean a full barn-burner of a meal: delicious pasta, a salad, a glass of wine, and dessert, of course. Now Val and I love to eat and we love our friends (but we don't eat our friends--anymore). Nearly every night during our lovely week-long visit of our Bostonian friends, Hilary Rantisi and Ben Scribner and Corinna Giorgi, we ate mouth-watering meals -- at 9pm, 10pm and even 11pm!

The funny for us is that on the plane ride out to Boston we both had just finished reading the primer for starting the South Beach diet (first two weeks is no pasta, flour, fruit, sugars and bad fats). We shook hands on starting the diet and then quickly had second-thoughts as we began our late-night delicious dining.

Hilary, Corinna and Ben are amazing cooks and we'll miss them for more than their culinary skills.

Hilary is an old friend Val met in Palestine, back in 1987, upon Val's first visit to Palestine. She and Val adopted each other then, and have been sisters ever since. Except for a short, amazing, 2002 visit at a random restaurant in a random town of Wisconsin which was precisely half-way between the Teaching Drum Outdoor School (where Val was working), and a town in southern Wisconsin where Hilary and her husband Paul were visiting Paul's sister (made possible by Lauranna's amazing half-state driving), the two had not seen each other in six years! Hilary had not met Mark before, but heartily approved of her soon to be bro-in-law-outlaw (I may be going out on a limb here, but I think the "my roots lie in the soil of Palestine" shirt may have had something to do with it--Val). Hilary now heads up the Middle East Initiative at Harvard's Kennedy School of Government, and Paul works as an educator and consultant for Bentley and College and Northeastern University. Both do a variety of great political activism and speaking on the Middle East in and around Boston in their non-existent spare time.

We met Ben about six or seven years ago, when he was an organizer with SEIU Local 105 and more than dabbled in radical activist circles. In the Fall of 2001, Ben joined us and Beth Daoud and Nadya Waziri for an activist tour of Palestine. Moving to Boston four years ago, Ben immediately fell in love with the city and a young woman from Italy, Corinna. They're both mainstays of a group that helps send people to Palestine and Israel to learn and help out the cause. Corinna is finishing her post-doc in microbiology at Brandeis University; Ben teaches at Emerson and Harvard and volunteers his time to Raven Books, a local alternative bookstore worth looking up.

Our visits with both (individually and together) were really rejuvenating. It was so great to see our dear friends' lives and meet some of the inspiring and fascinating members of their communities. Ben gave us a walking tour of Cambridge and bike tour of Boston which deserve an entry all of their own. To discuss politics deeply and with heart, to listen to all their great stories and revisit oldies but goodies of our own, and to connect with such good people we see far too rarely was a real joy and privilege.

Yesterday, June 2nd, we had a wondrous day taking a morning communter train from Boston to Fitchburg, Mass. Next we hopped on our new folding bicycles with luggage in tow and rode 50 miles to the Sirius Community. The forecast was for heavy downpours and flash flooding -- perfect for a long ride, yes! Well, it turned out to be near perfect in many ways. From Fitchburg we rode along Rt. 2A, which is the main street through the towns of Winchester, Templeton, Gardner, Athol and Orange. Generous shouder, good pavement and rivers and hills and lush foliage to keep your eyes occupied. The last stretch of 15 miles was a real hoot: up into the hills, very lush canopy, bubbling brooks, birds and a very quiet road that felt more like a 25 foot bike path. Wispy spray of a rain (called "soft weather" in Ireland) kept us moist and the mosquitos quiet.

Sirius Community is near Shutesbury, Massachusettes (about 10 miles East of Amherst). Compared to the bio-region of Denver and the Plains, this area feels like a dense jungle of moss, rocks and endless trees. Sirius is 90-acres of fairly level land, about 25 full-time member residents and several more members that live nearby. The lot of them are mostly White with a small dose of People of Color. It's a fairly technologically savvy community with computers (I'm typing on the internet via their wi-fi hook-up), electrical grid, plumbing, etc.. They do have solar panels, a large garden and orchard, composting toilets, passive solar and alternative/local design of their buildings. They're all vegetarian or vegan and eat only organic. They share spiritual time each day, meals, and work to maintain the community. They jointly operate a conference facility and many of the members have their own business or part-time job outside of Sirius.

While it rained incessantly all day, we spent several hours joining about a dozen other members and visitors learning about strawbale building design and applying endless handfuls of a clay/straw plaster mix to the strawbale walls (see Val below). Prior to this, Val and I used our Guidestone-acquired cob-mixing skills, dancing barefoot in a pile of clay and straw and water ("You call that dancing? Dance!!" Argentinian Ernesto called out to us when we weren't mixing vigorously enough. Yes, he really is named Ernesto, and he really is from Argentina, and yeah, if you squint, he kind of does vaguely resemble Che--very sweet man--welcomed us here warmly, though he wasn't on duty when we arrived--and reminds us both a bit of our dear friend Remy). Plus we had in-house DJ-Will spinning reggae tracks as we plastered (photo below), keeping it all mellow and fun.

Great vegetarian lunches and dinners we enjoyed, along with the 45 minute morning yoga (my back thanks me profusely) and 30 minute planetary healing meditation before lunch.

More about Sirius soon. For now, enjoy the pictures.

Love to you all, Mark and Val.

Mark, Hilary & Val--Memorial Day in Medford, MA

2006-06-03T20:08:00.000-06:00

Ben, Corinna, Val & Mark in Cambridge, MA, May 28, 2006

2006-06-03T20:06:00.000-06:00

Ben, Corinna, Val & Mark After Dinner at Hilary & Paul's on May 31

2006-06-03T20:03:00.000-06:00

Sirius' DJ-Will spinning Reggae at Strawbale Plastering Par Excellence

2006-06-03T19:29:00.000-06:00

Val plastering strawbale at Sirius

2006-06-03T18:59:00.000-06:00

Val and Mark at Multnomah Falls near Portland, Oregon

2006-06-03T18:49:00.000-06:00

"If It's Tuesday, This Must Be Belgium..."

2006-05-30T11:59:00.000-06:00

Hi everyone,

Here's the brief version of Val and Mark's summer schedule:

May 25: fly to Boston

May 25 - 28: Visit Ben Scribner and his partner, Corinna

May 28 - June 2: Visit Hilary Rantisi, long-time friend of Val's.

June 2 - 5: Bus and Bicycle to the Sirius community (http://www.siriuscommunity.org/welcome.html) near Shutesbury, MA, for a 3-day weekend visit.

June 5 - 8: Bicycle to the Agape Community (www.agapecommunity.org) near Ware, MA, for a 4 day visit.

June 8 - 12: Bicycle and carpool to former Guidestone Farmer, Rebecca Lay-Speisman at her new farm job near Ashfield, MA. Sleep, eat and garden! Oh yeah, raw milk too!

June 12 - 17: Bicycle and carpool to Mike Loerch, long-time friend of Mark. Mike lives in Manchester, NH.

June 17: Fly to Kansas CityJune 17 - 19: Visit Dan Pearson, AFSC friend of Val's. Bicycle around KC, find some BBQ tofu.

June 19 - July 4: Bus from KC to Lamoni, Iowa, Then bicycle to the Guests and Strangers Catholic Farm Community in Maloy, Iowa. http://directory.ic.org/records/?action=view&page=view&record_id=1713

We'll be there 2 weeks, meeting Betsy and Brian, their community and land.

July 4 - 5: Bicycle and train back to Denver.

July 5 - 10: Get a taste of the city again, see family and friends. Go to the wedding of Bassem and Saira, great people!

July 10: Fly to Chicago, bicycle/bus to train station, amtrak train to Elkhardt, Indiana, carpool to Joyful Farm community, near North Manchester, Indiana.

July 10 - 24: Visit with Cliff Kindy and other families at Joyful Farm community, garden, find shade.

July 25 - August 6: Travel to Pittsburgh and visit Val's elders and cousins; then travel to Youngstown to visit Val's brother and nieces and nephews; then travel to Cleveland for Mark's family reunion.

August 7: Travel back to Denver

August 7 - 12: Another layover in Denver.

August 12 - 16: Medicinal Herb Workshop at www.Earthknack.com in Crestone, Colorado.

August 17 - September 7: Back in Denver, preparations for wedding.

September 8 - 10: Wedding at Sylvan Lake State Park.

That is as far as we've gotten. We're planning on either creating an online blog or post notes on our travels and the people and communities we visit. You can always contact us via email or our voice mail number.

Love to you all, Val and Mark

Greetings from Boston!

2006-05-28T21:09:00.000-06:00

Hello All,

This is our virgin posting, from Medford, Massachusetts. Mark is getting ready for bed, and I just wanted to write a quick note to let you know we've finally created a blog! We will post more in future days about our adventures, big and small, on the Road to Community!

We arrived Thursday evening, and were met by our dear friend Ben Scribner. He and his gorgeously smart mate Corinna shared their warm hospitality, generous friendship, cool and interesting friends and exceedingly yummy food with us for three days. Corinna could rival Mark's sister Jen in an Iron Chef U.S. competition. We had good adventures with them which we will share in future posts. Now we're cosily ensconced in the home of Hilary Rantisi and Paul Beran. Hilary is my beloved Palestinian "little sister". We first met in her parents' home in Ramallah when she was 15 and I was 19; we've now known each other half my life! She has grown into an older and (slightly) more mature of the wondrous girl she was when we first met, but she has always been really old and really funny and young. Not so mature as to be boring. She is feeding us very well though she refuses to believe it. Paul, her charming and equally brilliant hubbie of four years, is, alas, in Cairo. We had a good but all too brief visit with him Friday night before he left to take 35 students to Egypt for an intro to the Arab world.

Mark is tired and wondering when I'm coming to bed, so I shall sign off now. More soon...Love, Val