nuggets, 07/03/12: happy july 4th

I've been laboring under a vague sense of unease lately. I think it all started after a visit to Frog Hollow Farm, where we spent most of a Sunday picking peaches and inhaling the warm earth.

I left the farm reluctantly and, since then, have been chafing under the growing conviction that, given a real choice, I'd flee (sub)urbia without a second thought. 

picnic in the orchard

It's not that I don't like people or I don't appreciate the benefits of living within walking distance to Trader Joe's and Target. Nor do I lack appreciation for "culture," diversity, and innovation. It's just that, when it comes to the stuff that matters, living close to the earth increasingly trumps being able to eat at a fancy restaurant, attending a world-class museum, or having five playgrounds within three miles.

apricots and peaches drying in the sun; the half-dried apricots were out of this world

My grandparents lived on self-sufficient farms which, after more than a decade of living here, I finally know would be called "homesteads"; that word has eluded me for many years because for a long time I failed to understand (and therefore appreciate) the enormity of what Western pioneers did.

chatting up Farmer Al, as he gets ready to take us on a tour of the farm

My grandparents kept chickens and (sometimes) pigs, occasionally a goat, and one grandfather for years cultivated silkworms, which he fed with the leaves of mulberry trees growing in his backyard; both sets of grandparents had big gardens in which everything from carrots to tomatoes to grapes to peppers to cucumbers to pumpkins to you-name-it grew; each house had cherry trees, apple trees, raspberry bushes, and melon patches. My grandparents sowed, watered, cultivated, and harvested; they canned and preserved for days on end. As far as I can remember, we rarely ate anything during the spring and summer that was not grown in our own family. In winter, the canned food probably kept us healthy, as there were very few fresh fruits and vegetables during the cold months under Communism. 

As I was growing up, I took all that for granted and never once imagined what life would be like without fresh food delivered weekly from our villages. I ate "with the seasons" and consumed unlimited quantities of fruits and vegetables, never once considering the cost--material or human--of what I ate. It is only now, at thirty-five, that a profound need to understand my grandparents' lives and an ever more urgent desire to recreate some of it makes me want to weep when I walk into Whole Foods. 

washing her hand on a micro sprinkler

It's little comfort that we purchase little fresh food at Whole Foods because most of our fruits and vegetables come from local farms through our CSAs. What I'd really like is to have that food growing in our backyard. Where I'd really like to get a salad or a tomato is right outside.

the farmer's house at the end of the path

So, I've been thinking and scheming, wondering how and when to attempt a radical life change that would bring us closer to the earth. I don't have time to "google," but I am vaguely aware that people around this country, far and few though they may be, are finding ways to live sustainable self-sufficient lives that require far more imagination and spirit than money or formal education. I'm also becoming convinced that most of the people around us, especially those donned in the garb of outward success, rarely have time to reflect--let alone work--on imbuing their lives with meaning. Vacuity abounds.

watching a ladybug

So, I am restless.

Incidentally, one of the most emailed articles in the New York Times this week, called "The Busy Trap," echoes many of my sentiments on what the author aptly terms the "histrionic exhaustion" of people in places like our lovely Silicon Valley. Go read the whole article, but here is just one good quote:

"Busyness serves as a kind of existential reassurance, a hedge against emptiness; obviously your life cannot possibly be silly or trivial or meaningless if you are so busy, completely booked, in demand every hour of the day."

While we try to keep our kids meaningfully engaged with the world without over-scheduling them, it helps to visit places like Frog Hollow Farm, where the pace of everything is palpably slower.

Even though Raya still won't eat fruit unless it is cut into minute pieces, we want both kids to know where their food grows, who grows it, and how it gets to us. We want them to know the difference between a green peach and a ripe peach. We'd like them to know that a fruit that has fallen on the ground is often sweeter than anything still hanging on the tree. (Yes, their mom demonstrated by eating at least a pound of peaches off the ground.)

Our visit to Frog Hollow was lovely on so many levels that it is hard to describe it without lapsing into cliches. Raya made fast friends with Farmer Al. Sava enjoyed picking his own box of fruit and doing a small treasure hunt set up by the farm. Both kids liked the idea of having a picnic in the orchard, and Raya didn't even mind having her diaper changed on a bed of hay.

We learned about the native-bee garden maintained by a UC scientist, and Sava ate not one but two fresh, authentic apricot popsicles.

native-bee garden

Unexpected bonus? A drive through the Altamont Pass Wind Farm on the way to Frog Hollow, which had all of us gaping in awe.

Truly spectacular, what the human mind has been able to imagine.

 The scale of the mills is hard to convey in photos.

And on the way back, an ice cream stop, since one child at least can now eat ice cream (and the other one pretends):

:::
(Grandparents, for your sake alone, I am allowing this post to run wild with photos...)

In other very important news: Sava completed two weeks of theater camp with Peninsula Youth Theater, and I'll admit that while this camp was not my idea, and I resented the stress it caused all of us more than once, including but not limited to early wake times, nights spent memorizing lines, a tired child, etc., in the end, it seemed to be all worth it. Clearly, my judgment is often flawed.

If someone had told me even two years ago that Sava would voluntarily enroll in a theater camp and would, despite stressing about it, enjoy being on stage and take pride in his accomplishment, I would not have believed it for a second. As his mother, and I am embarrassed to admit this.

He did wonderfully as Studebaker the Elf in "The Elves and the Shoemaker,"one of several summer Theater in the Park productions, and we all applauded him the whole way through. Sister was there to witness it, too, albeit grudgingly, as she couldn't forgive us for not letting her get on stage as well.

:::
During mornings of camp, Raya and I spent a lot of slow time together. It was wonderful to move through a string of days without any agenda other than lunch and nap, where unscheduled park play

and spontaneous mud baking sessions in the backyard had a chance of happening.

yup, that's dirt in water

Exhausting as her incessant talk can sometimes get, she is a hilarious, delightful, and most sweet kid. 

Her face is one of the most expressive I have ever met,

and her spirit one of the most determined.

In moments of weakness, I dread the trouble she is sure to give us.

In moments of optimism, I can't wait to see her grow.

Stanford Jazz Festival 

:::
Last but not least, a million photos from our outing this weekend. For the second time, we attempted a three-mile hike at Uvas Canyon. For the second time, it took us more than four hours to cover one mile.

This park has an astounding concentration of small waterfalls within a very small radius (i.e., above-mentioned one mile), and, impressively, the creek is quite full even on a very dry summer.

So, much fishing and wading was had in icy cold water, to which this mama's toes got used in about five minutes. Said mama is getting water shoes this weekend, because her bare feet suffered "much," as Raya would say, from the rocky bottom.

Sava assiduously collected big stones and sticks to build a "water house" for an unidentified animal, 

and no one fell into the water, despite multiple attempts.

When not playing in water, Raya "nursed" from her dad's belly button, where she still believes human milk originates,

and/or pretended to be a baby.

Speaking of nursing and such, under the heading of
Stuff They Say
she also still believes that nipples are called "buttons," of which no one in this household plans to disabuse her any time soon. So yesterday, while eating naked at the table, she remarked,
I have buttons! How could I have buttons on my tummy?
followed by
Mommy, can I touch your buttons?
Yes, precisely the reason we are not giving her the real word.

Today at dinner she also asked:
When I was a baby, did I use to be a girl or a boy?

A few days ago, when Rado went to pick her up from her nap, she greeted him:
Tati, I have a poop! There is poop in my diaper! There is poop on my pjs! There is poop on my sheets! But my friendies (her stuffed animals and dolls), they were not close to any of this poopiness!

Speaking of bowels, Sava woke us up with a piercing shriek at midnight a couple of nights ago. He apparently was suffering from a tummy ache, and when we made him go sit on the toilet to see if he needed to go, he reported:
There is no poop. It's like the poop is in the park and doesn't even want to come home.

I suppose I should be pleased to hear my progeny speaking in metaphors.

While Sava is generally a happy hiker, Raya is a royal pain in the behind when it comes to walking. She'll walk if there is something interesting along the trail, but if it's just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other in order to cover distance, whining is her first response. So, a lot of back carrying goes on even when we only cover a single mile.

She's always happy to shout out a greeting from her perch,

and she doesn't know it, but I love the sight of her chubby legs dangling behind Rado's back.

Best part of the Uvas Canyon "hike"? Throwing stones in the creek from every spot and angle imaginable.

Lots and lots of throwing stones.

 Somehow, it never gets old.

Oh, and the hysterical giggles in the car on the way to and fro,

with the two of them never failing to find something funny.

I know they probably won't remember much of all this, so I put in the photos as evidence of how well they used to get along.

Last little gem: teachers in my school are getting iPads, so tonight at dinner, I told Rado that "the iPads have arrived." Raya, eager, as always, to insert herself in every conversation:
Mommy, can I put the eye pads on my eye? 

Happy July 4th, everyone.