Mexico, Chapter Two

I packed up my tent in the rain, writing down the e-mail addresses of new friends, and slid down the muddy trail to the road. A man with broad hands flipped my pack onto the roof of his his truck and cinched it down with some orange nylon cord. I stuffed myself into the back with 15 other unshowered passengers, slick from the rain.

At the airport in Villa Hermosa I argued in my pathetic Spanish with a security guard who would not let me pass through with two empty (and apparently very threatening) stainless steel water bottles. I brought them back to baggage check where I learned that checking an extra bag cost 60 US dollars-- nothing like a little frustration to kick my Spanish skills into high gear. 

My plane to Oaxaca was delayed five hours- it was New Years Eve and I had planned to spend it with  my soul-sister Rebecca, who was flying in from SF for 10 days of eating our way through the country. I met some guys from Denmark on the plane and we agreed to share a taxi to the center of the city. We had to walk a quarter mile in the dark to find this cab driver they had arranged to meet-up with to avoid paying the airport cab tax. I took a photo of the license plate before I got in the car. 

Five years ago, Rebecca and I we came up with this magical idea--The Devine Goddess Journey, which, in essence, is the delicious unravelling of our authentic wants, the delightful discovery of our ability to manifest, and the sorting through our bullshit to the core of what's really going on inside. No need to actually go anywhere for this journey, it's an internal party of sorts. 

So while we explored Oaxaca, tanned our butts on a nudie beach, and learned to make mole with a  little granny, the real excitement of this part of my adventure was in the honest moments with a best friend.

Paonia Hits the NY Times + My NIMBY Rant

Reading the Times aloud on Saturday mornings with hot tea in hand is hardly unusual, although the news rarely has anything to do with our lives here in our tiny, tucked away town. Until today. Today I squealed and screamed over every detail shared by the New York Times, as they covered the on-going ordeal over oil and gas leases issued on public lands immediately surrounding our homes. 

In December of 2011 roughly 30,000 acres of public lands were nominated for oil and gas development in the North-Fork Valley. Though the sale was deferred and some parcels were dropped, we're back at it again. The sale is now slated for Valentines Day.  

Organic produce floods this valley. Innumerable stars fill the dark sky. The undeveloped lanscape provides spectacular views and is home to Bald Eagles and elk. We drink water from our mountain, and if you leave for a bit you realize how good it tastes. Traffic is non-existant save for the occasional tractor on the highway. A system of trails where people run, hike, and bike weave around a small mountain just minutes from downtown. And, I haven't heard anyone complaining about the abundance of local wines. 

The parcels nominated for this sale will be governed on the basis of a Resource Management Plan that was written in the 80s. Don't even get me started here.....

And yet, I cringe to think myself some NIMBY'er. Conservation itself has always troubled me because it creates separation--we build National Parks to preserve our beautiful natural land marks, and yet this implies that humans are not a part of the natural landscape. We are separate.  

Development can exist..somewhere...but not here. We all rely on products and materials that are toxic to us. Perhaps we should live in the midsts of industry and development rather than cornering it off to dark and hidden places. We'd be way more likely to produce these things in a more environmentally friendly manner, or not produce crap at all, if the reality of these processes looked us square in the eye. It would be much harder to quietly poison our planet and ourselves. 

My friend Sara, an editor at High Country News recently wrote about NIMBYism.

If we continue to insist on living as we do now, maybe we need to see drill rigs from our kitchen windows  and hiking trails, even our school playgrounds. How else can we truly understand the costs of something we use unless we're confronted with them daily?  -Sara Gillman 

Paolo, another local writer, who like Sara published his thoughts on the whole NIMBY predicament, looks to our government for some accountability.

 NIMBY is the warning sign that tells us our system is broken. It tells us that some energy    companies choose to ignore their impacts, either because they believe the impacts are too  expensive to remedy, or because impacts are "externalities," unconnected to profits.  NIMBY tells us that our government bureaucrats haven't been paying attention to the public welfare.             --Paolo Bacigalupi

Public welfare encompasses so many things and it seems most prioritize the economy over the health of the environment and our fellow citizens. 

I'm really at a loss here. The issues run deep, and though I see the faulty reasoning, I can't think my way into a reasonable solution. Meanwhile, I look out my window and my heart aches with love for my home. 

Mexico, Chapter One

How quickly that churning feeling in my stomach can turn into boiling excitement, that angular brick in my throat can melt into honey, and the fear of not knowing transforms into effortless flow. Travelling reaffirms the goodness that comes with letting go, and while surrounded by all things foreign, I rediscover the partnership between acts of faith and grace.

I spent my first week in Mexico camping in the jungle near Palenque at a Gathering that drew people from around the world. We swam in the river, hiked, and sat around by camp fires exchanging our stories, our songs, and our cultures. 

I met a woman, Kristen, who homesteads with her family in the Yukon of Alaska. I've been particularly interested in this area since Eve Grace, a professor of political theory from my collegiate days, spilled tales of homesteading and killing bears as a child there. Kristen favors moose-hunting and gets her kids to school via dog-sled in the winter. 

An immediate sisterhood forms between women who share in the unique and often unintended consquences of an off-the-grid lifestyle. Immediate laughter ensues when realizing you both spend time out-smarting and celebrating the perdicaments of your life. Inevitable bonding occurs around things like,

-the frozen toilet seat in the outhouse

-the excitement of a sunny day-- the vacuum, the blender, and all things electric, can be used liberally

-the time needed to build a fire in order to heat water before taking a hot shower (and the way the pump always seems to break when your hair is all bubbles and suds)

-the various containers to pee into when trying to avoid exposing your bum to sub-zero conditions

-the way that winter is often the only time to travel because it's when plants and baby goats allow it

Being a woman, and wanting to feel like a woman while surrendering to this absolutely beautiful and sometimes all consuming lifestyle is a complicated matter. Meeting women from other parts of the world with shared experiences brings camaraderie to a part of my life that is somewhat isolating. And it reminded me of the friends I have at home. We pass our little homesteading secrets and catastrophes back and forth like treasures. 

Playing Catch-Up: December

Pictures guide the stories today. Here's a bit of December, before I took off for Mexico, in a nutshell.

1. I inhaled a piece of grated carrot up into my nasal cavity while eating a salad for lunch. It remained there for a week, during which I tried everything you could think of to get it out and developed a new stupid-human-trick. 
2. Temperature have dropped so low that the people of Paonia have been forced indoors only to post regular updates on Facebook about how cold it is outside. Who knew that such a small town was host to so many weather forecasters!? Before this era of bone-chilling cold (yeah, that's right, -14 degrees, farenheit), we used to walk outdoors and laugh at farm animals doing funny things. 
3. Hiking down Red Mt. with Ru and the gang.
4.  My friend Kale has a tipi up at 10,000 feet. We climb up there for a weekend retreat, cram eight people and five dogs into a tiny space and ski, giggle, relax, and eat. These weekends are magical. This trip was in honor of a dear, old friend, Sean, who left us a few years ago for grad school and to play music. 
5. With the whole freeze-thaw cycle, the hill that leads up to the land is like a Extreme Glacial Slip and Slide, complete with a steep drop-off down one side of the road. After I slid and crashed into the bank one morning, I started parking my car at the bottom of the hill. 

That's right, I snorted floss up my nose and pulled it out my mouth, inspiring the future generations of America in the process.

I was spreading the last of fall's leaves on the garden bed when I looked up to snap this photo. 

We make sure to keep Sean's feet warm when he comes so that he'll return again and again.  

Walking home from work. I've picked up some extra time to watch the sun descend each day. 

Out checking out the fresh tracks in the morning. Keeping my eye out for my mountain lion.

Low pressure system socked in on Lamborn

Morning chia seeds

Heading South of the Boarder

HellO little  creation of mine. I'm alone at a bar in Denver drinking a mescal cocktail called the Mexican Devil.  Soon I will cast aside my scarf and frosty breath in favor of flip flops and mangos.

In between working on travel plans and turning in grades for the end of the semester I've been neglecting you without regret. Climbing mountains and soaking in hot springs. Attending to the inevitable castrophes of my life. Slipping around on ice and snow in the car to the point where i refused to drive for a week and just walked or bummed rides.  And there's the piece of grated carrot that I somehow lodged in my nasal cavity for over a week.

And my silence will be prolonged further as I scurry south for the next few weeks in search of adventure.

Abrazos,
m 

Where I Talk About Composting Poop

Running into neighbors becomes less frequent as the days grow cold and short. 9 o'clock, which was once a time when most people wrapped up outdoor projects and headed in for dinner, is presently a non-negotiable bed time across the valley. Everyone in our little community seemed to be on the same page Sunday afternoon.  Between gathering manure and leaves for garden beds in preparation for their long winter sleep and soaking up the 60 degree weather that hardly points to any winter at all, we savored the now rare moment to catch up with one another.  

In most neighborhoods catching up includes hearing about the kids, the latest adventure, a new gardening technique, or a tidbit of gossip, but when I set down the wheel barrow to join in on a neighborly discussion, we talked about the ever exciting topic of poop. Everyone who lives on our mesa, Sin Agua, is off the grid and without a water tap. We all have composting toilets because they do not require any water. So, don't be surprised when you come to visit, because standing around talking about decomposing human doodie is totally normal.

Composting toilets are as variant as the people who build them. Most owners post user-friendly directions next to their john that explain the details of that particular toilet's temperament or they deliver a soliloquy on the subject when asked where the bathroom is located.  On the walls of an outhouse I used to frequent was a user manual stating that pee was not allowed in the pot as it formed a "messy slurry." Now, you've either gotta be a professional athlete or a master juggler to take a shit without letting a drop of liquid escape. 

Every few years we open the trap door that leads to heaps of composted poop. We transfer it to another barrel to allow it to further compost and decompose and surround these piles with straw bales to insulate them. Heat facilitates the break down of the poop. After its all composted we spread it on the fruit trees. We don't want to take any chances creating the next e.coli outbreak or the spreading of salmonella by mixing the compost into the soil where we grow our food.   

The only complaint I will offer on the matter....since our toilet lives in a little outhouse, sitting on a frozen toilet seat in the winter is a perverse, self-inflicted torture. Pooping is supposed to be relaxing!!  Soon enough you will see advertisements in Mother Earth for solar powered toilet seat warmers or squat toilets like the ones I used in India....Alas, I've spilled the beans on how I plan to make my  millions. Homesteaders beware!

Girl Seeks Hot Shower

When the earth tilts further from the sun’s warming rays, and just before the biting cold descends without hope of lifting till spring, I become somewhat of a nomad in search of a hot shower.

In the summer, the sun heats our water with the help of a large black barrel that sits atop the roof of Dev’s house. In the winter, copper tubing coiled around the wood burning stove stovepipe circulates water in and out of a holding tank, heating the water as it passes through the hot copper.  But in the fall, the sun’s powerful rays diminish so that the solar heated water grows tepid, yet the house remains too warm to justify building a fire. (Strawbale +Passive Solar= Totally Hot)

After cursing my way through a few cold showers I started to stash my soap, shampoo, and towel in the car. Following a run, a soak in the hot tub, or a visit to the brewery, I’d awkwardly invite myself to friend’s house for some old fashioned scrubbin'.

Generally speaking, I am as equally opposed to imposition as I am in favor of self-sufficiency, but my hot water dilemma puts me at odds with both. I can’t tell which is weirder--my aversion to asking for help or my habit of shower hopping.

Lucky for me, it finally got cold here last weekend. I emptied the solar hot water tank to prevent t from freezing and cracking. I pulled my onions from the ground. I put the garden to sleep and hauled two truckloads of firewood. I lit a fire in the stove and then, hopped into a steamy shower to wash the day’s filth and biting cold from my body.

First of the winter squash...my favorite.

Most common fire wood mishap...

Girls weekend to the San Juans included a white-out hike on the Bear Creek Trail.

And a hot beverage warm up! Can't express how grateful I am for amazing girlfriends who make you laugh, and laugh, and laugh.