evan's ant village log

Josh Huorn wrote:Thanks for sharing this with us Evan, if anyone would like to put some apples on the line and continue this discussion there's a new thread over here.

I don't know why, but it appears that I cannot comment on that thread. Not a big deal, but I thought there was enough worth adding that I'd mention that. I'm not going to talk politics in this thread (when I can stop myself )

Ron,

That thread is in the cider press. You have to have a certain number of apples to be able to post there. But the dangerous thing is that if you post there you might lose your apples. Hence the name: cider press.

It was great to meet you all! Let's share food and conversation again soon!

Thanks Jocelyn for posting that picture, and for saying I was articulate. You're too kind. I'm just glad I didn't stumble over my words too hard.

Thanks Josh for making a new thread to further discuss such highly charged topics. I just made my first post in the cider press there.

Jesse, we'd love to have y'all out for dinner, (rabbit stew perhaps?) and maybe after dinner games! I've been thinking a lot about your wisdom cards ever since and I hope you bring them along if you come to visit. Thanks again for a lovely evening!

Days 325-329 (part 1)

Jim and I kept drilling in the second hole hoping to maybe dodge the rocks or at least discover if there were rocks at the same depth, and sure enough, about twenty five feet down we hit rocks again. If anyone has any ideas or suggestions as to how to break and remove rocks from the bottom of such a hole, we'd be happy to hear your thoughts in the thread Jim created: Digging a well with an extendable post hole auger

A big doug fir was shading the greenhouse we put up, so I went ahead and cut it down and limbed it up. Then Sean helped me peel it. Thanks Sean.

I finished summarizing my notes from Vandana Shiva's lectures. It's yet another stream of consciousness filtered through my perception that accurately represents neither my own thoughts nor Dr. Shiva's, but a disjointed semi-coherent hybrid:

We Are All Seeds: Food Security and Environmental Sustainability

Vandana Shiva was introduced as a treehugger, a term that for her was literally true and that she has embraced. She talked about growing up in a forest by a river in India. The river used to look as clean as the river that now flows through Missoula, but not anymore, and the forest she played in as a child has since been cut down and turned into a commercial orchard.

She talked about her studies of quantum theory as breaking the illusion of separation. And she expressed solidarity with the people of Missoula in their struggle for water rights in resistance to eminent domain and the Carlisle (sic?) corporation.

GDP doesn't measure production that is part of a sustainable cycle of consumption, and so it leaves out peasant and family-based production.

Orwell was intuitive in describing the doublespeak of the future of 1984, as this was right around the time of the so-called "Green Revolution," which was neither green nor revolutionary.

A pesticide plant in Punjab leaked, killing thousands. Why is modern agriculture so violent? Chemical fertilizers, pesticides, and herbicides grew out of military technology designed to kill. After the war ended and it was difficult to justify continuing to use them on humans directly, they were marketed to farmers to use on their crops, and so the chemical companies were able to continue producing and selling these weapons of mass destruction.

Each of us has a choice. Will we be seeds that sprout and grow into a positive future for the world? Or will we be tools in the hands of those who are destroying the world?

Dr. Shiva traces the roots of the word "capitalism" to "caput" which today means "finished," but in ancient Italy meant "heads of cattle."

She talked about "primitive cultivars" and about the 29 rules of conservation designed to protect the sacred of nature.

Evolving from within leads to uniqueness. Being manipulated from outside leads to uniformity. Diversity leads to resilience. The idea that nature is inert leads to the idea that everything is static.

Intellectual property laws have flipped the pollution of genetic modification so that when their seeds pollinate and destroy heritage varieties, instead of being liable for pollution they sue the farmers for patent infringement. We must defend the freedom of the seed.

Autopoietic is contrasted with allopoietic. Autopoietic means self-creating, self-defining, self-learning, and self-evolving. Allopoietic means imposed uniformity, the suppression of diversity for a false stability.

Seeds are potential free beings. Self-organization is the intelligence built into life. Tools don't adapt. The pathological culture attempts to turn the tools that make the corporations money and subjugate nature into the new sacred.

The freedom to choose what to eat and what to grow is foundational and fundamental to our resilience and our self-evolution. We don't need a "job," a term that originated in the industrial revolution and meant "to cheat," we need meaningful work and a meaningful life.

Vandana Shiva talked about Gandhi's satyagraha, or force of truth, non-cooperation, and civil disobedience as steps that we may be forced to take as laws are enacted that restrict seed freedom. It is our duty to save and exchange seeds, even in violation of unjust laws. We can be seeds of true abundance, spreading prosperity and peace.

During the Q&A part at the end of the lecture, I stood in line nervously behind a mic and tried to gather my thoughts and word my own question, so I missed taking notes about her answers to other questions. And even after asking my question and returning to my seat, I was unable to focus enough to even take notes on her answer. I remember at least part of her answer as being that we should endeavor to educate ourselves on economic issues, but rather than attempt to summarize her answer from my spotty memory, I will instead conclude the summary of my notes with the question I asked, slightly reworded to subtract the occasional awkward stuttering fumble.

"As a radical permaculture activist and an aspiring free peasant, I felt inspired and encouraged by your speeches both tonight and this afternoon, especially your mention of Gandhi's satyagraha and civil disobedience. You mentioned earlier today that due to the degree to which tax money goes to subsidize chemical agriculture, the time might be nearing for a tax strike. What would you say are the prerequisites for such actions? What steps should we begin to take?"

The permies moderators request that discussion of such controversial topics be confined to the cider press. Josh created a thread there: Continuing the discussion of Dr. Vandana Shiva's presentation in Missoula

Days 325-329 (part 2)

Writers Weekend

For Writers Weekend,
we wrote prose and poetry,
just like this haiku.

We made a story prompt wheel out of cardboard that when spun would generate a random genre, setting, setting descriptor, character, and character descriptor.

Kai rolled a Proud Foreign King, in a Deserted State, in the Utopian genre. He wrote an amazing story loosely based on this strange prompt, and I hope he posts it here or somewhere online so y'all can read it, because it's sooo goood!

I rolled an Epic Quest, set on a Sweltering Mountain, featuring a Lonely Priestess. Below is the story I wrote based on this prompt:

Maleah Pele had always known that it was her destiny to be sacrificed to the mountain. It had to be done to appease the spirits who lived in its fiery depths. To be chosen for this task was a great honor, and one that she carried with grace and humility, along with the privileges of her position; the finest clothes, the largest house, the richest foods, the many servants at her beck and call.

The omnipresence of these servants ensured that she was never alone. They made certain that her purity was maintained.

Though she longed to feel the touch of a lover, she was grateful for the servants who watched over her constantly. She knew that if she was alone, if they allowed her even the most minimal privacy, she would succumb to her impure thoughts, and the fate of her village would be sealed in ash and brimstone.

Maleah stood now at the mouth of the volcano. The waves of heat passing over and through her body made her dizzy and light-headed. This was the moment she had waited for all her life. Her fate, her purpose, was to save her people by sacrificing herself, and yet she hesitated.

Even over the roar and hiss of the molten rock below she could hear the approaching footsteps of her servants slowly creeping up behind her. They would do for her now what she could not do for herself, as they had always done.

Just as they were almost upon her, she turned and saw them, three strong bodies, faces full of determination tempered with fear, and behind them the whole village stood watching. The servants rushed forward now to push Maleah to her destiny.

She ducked and leaned into their attack, flipping the first of them over her back and off the cliff. The second she kicked hard in the face, spraying broken teeth and blood onto the jagged rocks and sending her attacker to the ground in pain. But the third servant grabbed her, held her in a vice-like hug, and with desperate wild eyes, lurched toward the precipice.

They struggled, fell to their knees so close to the edge that their skin was singed and their clothes began to smoke. The servant she had kicked to the ground was rising now, dripping blood and curses even while staggering towards her, blind with rage.

Suddenly, the ground shook, the mountain rumbled, and the onlooking villagers cried out, scattering and fleeing in terror. The girl and her two servants were knocked back from the edge by a gust of hot wind, scraping their bare skin against rocks and separating them.

Maleah pulled herself to her feet, the earth quaking beneath her, and she ran downhill, stumbling and falling, but moving forward, down, away.

The servants did not give chase. They were running too, away from the column of black smoke now rising from the peak. Turning to look over her shoulder as she ran, Maleah thought she could see red and orange figures dancing in the dark cloud, the grotesque faces of angry spirits leering down at her. She kept running.

Somehow, finally, she reached the ocean. The cool water lapped against her bare legs as she ran out into the surf, salt stinging her cuts and burns. She knew that she could not outrun the ash, the hot darkness that even now was swallowing up her village, but she would rather drown in the sea than be consumed by the mountain. She dove forward into the waves, swimming with all her strength towards the endless horizon.

~~~~~

To be continued...

Days 325-329 (part 3)

Kai's such a badass. Besides writing wicked cool stories, he's also making lots of sweet Proenneke-esque hinges for gates. And he moved into a tent on Ava to leave more room in the Abbey for incoming gappers.

Sunflower Deeproot - Chapter 7

~~~~~~~~

"Tom," Daisy asked, "didn't Sunny tell you why he was leaving? You two were so close..."

Tom shrugged and replied, "Just that he didn't fit in here, you know, he was always such an awkward duck."

"I just wish I'd had a chance to say goodbye to him," Daisy sighed, "He always seemed so tongue-tied, but I didn't think he'd just skip town without saying anything. He didn't even leave a message for me?"

Tom looked down, as if the pattern of wood grain on the bench was suddenly very interesting, "Nope... nothing... Say, Daisy, you know Willigood's got that music box now, and there's to be a party there tonight, would you... uh..."

Daisy stood up suddenly, looking thoughtful, "Hmmph. I think I'll go to his house and see if he left behind any clues."

Tom stood up too, "Oh, okay... I'll go with you then."

As the two rounded a bend in the path and Sunny's house came into view it was immediately clear that something was wrong. The windows were all broken, and at first they thought it had been vandalized. But as they drew nearer it appeared as though the earthen roof of the house was almost a foot higher than normal, and even as they watched, clods of dirt rolled down and away from what seemed to be a new peak developing atop the formerly rounded roof.

Daisy gasped and grabbed Tom's hand as the creaking sound of wood under great stress gave way with a loud crack, and a dark green spike burst through the peak, sending sod and splinters flying. As they stood staring in disbelief, the spike erupted skyward, branches formed and grew outwards, gnarled roots crept through the open windows and doors, and an enormous tree covered in vicious spines grew out of the crumbling ruins that once was Sunny's house.

~~~

Oliver said little as they rode down the long curving switchbacks, making their way down from the wooded hills around Eastshire and out onto the scrubby rolling plains. At first Sunny had tried to make small talk with the merchant, but he had since given up and merely watched the vegetation slowly change as they passed through the landscape. It was all new to Sunny: the wide open sky stretching from horizon to horizon, the squat ochre shrubs that dotted the fields of beige and tan, the little herds of white sheep in the distance that seemed to float across the earth as the clouds floated across the sky.

It took three days to get down out of the familiar sloping woodland country and another five days to cross the plains. On the morning of the eighth day a wide shining river came into view, and on its shores huddled the round sod-roofed houses of the Nice Folk of Westshire. These familiar organic mounds were punctuated here and there by less familiar architectural forms. Presumably built by Tall Folk, boxy multi-story brick buildings with shingled roofs seemed to loom over the town, and to Sunny they seemed naked and obscene without berms and rooftop gardens.

He knew that Westshire was many times larger than Eastshire, but when they rolled into the market just after noon Sunny wasn't prepared for the teeming crowd of strangers that seemed to envelope and surround the carriage, many of them taller than Sunny by a head or two at least. Oliver seemed unphased as he drove on through the mob, and though some of the townsfolk seemed to be eyeing the carriage with interest or scrutiny, most seemed to just be trying to make their way across the busy street. A dozen or so other carriages were moving slowly through the crowd as well, or parked with their wares on display, clusters of potential customers congealed around them.

Oliver stopped and Sunny handed over his final payment and a tip before gathering up bags and suitcases and stepping out into the milling throng.

At first Sunny made little forward progress, attempting a measure of politeness and decency in his attempts to traverse the town square. But soon enough he just put his head down and pushed onward, and eventually he came to the edge, where the press of bodies was less dense, and there he stopped to take a cursory inventory of his belongings.

His recent experience as a robbery victim and the rumors he'd heard of pickpockets and thieves in the Westshire markets made him wary, but it appeared that he had made it through with his property intact. He patted the pouch of seeds in his breast pocket reassuringly.

He looked up and down the street, noting the variety of storefronts: butchery, bakery, clothing boutique, a strange shop built in the Tall Folk style that seemed to be selling mechanical gadgets and widgets, and a cozy-looking inn with morning glory vines growing down from the roof and framing the round door. Sunny made for this inviting entryway, reading the engraved wood sign on the way in: Hollow Hill Inn and Tavern.

As he closed the door behind him, effectively muting the din of the crowds outside, he heard the crackling sounds of a fire and the gentle murmur of conversation. As his eyes adjusted to the dim interior light, he made out the forms of a dozen or so patrons, sitting in groups of twos or threes at the bar or around low tables near the fireplace, and a lone barkeep eyeing him boredly. Sunny approached the bar, piled his suitcases up next to him, took a seat on a stool, and cleared his throat.

The barkeep just stared at him through dull eyes under heavy lids, and swished a filthy rag back and forth across the greasy surface of the bar, a futile gesture that only highlighted the unsanitary conditions of the establishment.

"Ahem... A pint of ale, if you'd please, good sir." Sunny intoned, "And I'd like to inquire as to whether you have any rooms available. I've been traveling for days with naught but a pile of luggage on which to sleep, and I am sorely desirous of a soft bed."

The barkeep filled a pint glass with frothy golden ale and slid it over to Sunny, who sipped it slowly and was pleasantly surprised by the mild and not too bitter taste. The barkeep seemed to wait until after Sunny had taken a few sips and not vomited them back up before replying, "Bed'll cost you fourteen pence a night."

Sunny took a long draw on his ale before responding in turn, determined not to let the barkeep know what he was thinking, namely that the price was higher than he had expected, and although not unreasonably so, he would need to find a cheaper place to stay after tonight. "I'll take it," Sunny said, feeling shrewd even as his upper lip glistened with a wet mustache of foamy ale.

~~~~~~~~

Days 325-329 (part 4)

Kai and Sean cut and hauled lots more poles for future fences.

Sharla and I built a little temporary paddock fence around the bottom of Anarcadeah to keep the ducks from eating all the seeds and fresh spring growth in the gardens, and hopefully to encourage them to work on sealing the pond down there.

Jocelyn treated us to yet another fabulous feast, this time featuring roasted chicken, fresh spinach, coleslaw, sauteed veggies, chickpeas, basmati and forbidden rice, and ginger garlic peanut sauce, plus cinnamon butter apples for dessert! Boy howdy, Jocelyn sure knows how to fix up a mighty fine feast! Thanks Jocelyn!

Day 330

Cut and split more firewood and stacked it in the greenhouse. It won't dry out as effectively while we're keeping the door and vents closed and trying to grow stuff in there, but maybe it'll add a little thermal mass and insulate against temperature swings. And eventually this summer when the greenhouse is too hot to keep closed up, the wood should dry out nicely and be ready to burn next winter. Maybe. We'll see if it turns out to be a horrible idea.

I planted some perennial seeds in the hugelberms. Many of them recommended cold-stratifying to various degrees, but I figured they can do that in the ground over the next few weeks. Again, we'll see how it goes.

Kai cut and wood-burned tons of tiny little labels for all the seeds and mixes he's going to experiment with frost-seeding. We'll see which ones do the best. My money's on the mustards.

Day 331

The morning after Kai and Sean threw out a bunch of seeds for the frost-seeding experiment, I woke up to a dusting of snow on the ground. Great timing! Hopefully the snow will help to protect the seeds from critters and the freeze-thaw cycle will drive the seeds into the ground.

The ducks have been mucking about in their puddle down there in Anarcadeah, hopefully making it increasingly pond-like.