LifeLogue: Springtime in Patagonia

While I have been based in El Bolson for well over a year now, I missed last year's transition from Winter to Spring for a trip to the States.  I experienced the transition this year and it was moving.  It started and accelerated subtly, with rainy days petering out and giving way to sunny ones and then sunnier ones.  The first flowers were a few scattered periwinkles, then plum trees, narcissus, and then the willows and elders started to send out green shoots.  The wasps and bumble bees started to putter around and then the honey bees got to work.  The grass started growing faster and took on a more lively shade of green.  In a matter of several days all seemed to turn from something that isn't quite misery or drudgery but its not so great either to something more akin to hope and cheer.  The odor of flowers thrown around by the strong, cold winds.  Hummingbirds.  Less cool birds returning from Winter trips, making an unholy racket all night as they catch up on old times.  But that's fine that they make so much noise.

First and foremost I noticed the end to consistent and overnight frosts.  I could lift my head and see clearly out the window, free as it were of frozen condensation.  And I could get up and go to the kitchen without a sinking feeling that the water pipes had frozen.  Most importantly I could get out of bed earlier with a desire to do something other than sit by the stove and eat.  Like plant the first crops of the Spring, peas and fava beans.  And build a little box to plant Tomatos in, because they need to be inside still to guard from the occasional frost, like the one that came on the one night I forgot to bring them inside.  And they died.  But its ok because I'll just buy little plants this year and do better next time.

Nature's waking up and getting in gear is mirrored in my life.  I got my first paid job here, working on an extension to the house I was taking care of this winter.  The extension will be a large "winter garden" eating and sitting area.  I'm working with a great carpenter who runs in the same natural construction circle as I do.  We are doing the structure with round timber and will be installing a "living" roof covered in grass.  I am getting great first-hand construction experience and have been invited to work on coming jobs this summer which will include work with various forms of adobe walls and natural, clay-based finishes.

I have also resolved for the time being my living situation and been given the chance to realize my dream of building my house.  A friend of mine is lending me use of his land on the farm where I lived last summer.  The idea is that I will build a small house and have the right to make my home there at least for the next several years, but that in some future the house will remain for his use.  It's an unwritten arrangement between friends and is convenient for both of us.  I'm finalizing the designs, but it will be a circle about 15 feet in diameter with some combination of straw bale and adobe walls, a mini greenhouse built into one wall, a high-efficiency wood stove that heats an adobe bed, and a living, "reciprocal" roof.  While I'll have limited access to internet this summer, I plan to write extensively about the whole process, which in reality already began when we marked the site and start clearing out the invasive rose-hip bushes.

My plan is to set up camp on the building site in a yurt.  Yurts are the tents of mongolian nomads, but mine will be made by these guys.  I'm in the process of building an octagonal deck on which to put the yurt so it stays off wet ground and to give it a more homey feel inside.  The yurt will be about 17 ft in diameter with a wooden door and a chimney to allow for a wood-stove, so although it is easily transportable it's more like a cabin than a tent.  Having this base will allow me to approach the house-building with more comfort and less anxiety.  After living for almost two years in other people's homes, this private refuge will be welcome.

In addition to building my house and building other people's houses, I'll be working with a group of friends to host a huge sustainable living workshop called "Bioconstruyendo" in February of 2011.  In the months leading up to the workshop we'll be preparing to host an estimated 200 people for a week of courses on building, farming, and alternative energy. 

The other exciting project in my life is my violin.  I'm taking a course on instrument making with a local instrument maker and building my own violin.  So far I have glued together the boards for the top, cut out the form and begun to carve out the inside.  It looks kinda like a violin.  My plan is to chronicle the process, which I expect to take several more months, quite thoroughly, so I'll write about it another time.

That's the skinny for now.  If you are reading this I'd love to hear from you.

Winter in Patagonia: Motorcycle Diaries

I recently bought a motorcycle.  A 1993 Suzuki TS125.  For those of you that don't know motorcycles, its an "enduro" bike, which means it's a sort of street-legal motorcross bike.  I know, it's a step away from my professed goal of granola self-sufficiency, but I decided that, to really take advantage of this place, I need to be more mobile.  I'm going to classes on beekeeping, medicinal plants, and tai chi, starting a nursery with a group of friends, and even scored a small gardening job recently.  I need to be able to get around more easily to make all this work, and the bike consumes less than a car.  I must admit that I am hooked, so hopefully someone is working on the used cooking oil version.


Despite my enthusiasm for the two-wheeler, I am not quite a Hell's Angel yet...


For starters, most people would say that someone of my size needs a bigger bike.  Well, I looked at some bigger bikes and they scared the crap out of me.  This bike is fine, though.  Struggles on the steep hills, but the little engine that could always makes it up.


I had never driven a motorcycle before, so buying one inevitably led to the mildly embarrassing moment when the young mechanic offered me a test drive.  It spit and sputtered and stopped and screamed around the block under my mediocre management of pedal and throttle and clutch.  "You'll get it in no time, " he cleverly assured me.


A couple days later I stopped at a gas station to get an empanada.  When I walked out to the bike I realized I had neither my helmet nor my key.  I smiled sheepishly as I turned to find the cashier bringing them out to me.


I did get it, but over the next few days I made it scream and shut-off a fair amount, sometimes in the middle of what is thankfully light traffic.  One night in the rain I thought it was broken because every time I put it in first it shut off.  A little throttle was all I was missing, I realized as a friend got it going with no problems.


The first time I tried to take it up a big hill, the big hill that is an elemental part of the route between my house and the town, I stalled halfway up.  I cursed myself as I struggled in the freezing cold to start it without rolling down the hill or falling over.  That only happens occasionally now.  Almost never.


One day I had stopped by the side of the road to look at something and I lost my balance and the bike just fell over.  Thankfully I didn't fall and nobody was around to see.  Frantic only with embarrassment, I inefficiently struggled until the bike was upright again.  That was, to be clear, a one time occurrence on day 3 of ownership. 


Speaking of ownership, I'm not even really clear on my status.  I have the title and a bill saying I bought and paid for it, but I have no license plate and no registration and no insurance.  In short, I'm not sure that if I get stopped they won't just take it away from me.  Thankfully my area of circulation is limited and largely rural, police presence is near non-noticeable here, and I wear a helmet and have working lights.  People, and by people I mainly mean the guy who sold me the bike, say that lots of people here roll like that and that as long as I keep  between the lines I'll be ok.  So far so good.


The turn blinkers don't automatically turn off as they do in all cars I have driven, so I often drive all over town with a blinker on before realizing it.  They are also wired wrong so I have to think left to turn right and vice versa.


Temperatures hover around freezing here on most days, and with the wind rushing by it can be painful.  One morning I had to stop into a gas station and just go stand inside after only a few minutes of riding.  I couldn't even get my helmet off my fingers were so numb.  I realized my gloves were not enough, so I bought these handlebar covers that look like oversized cooking mittens.  For a while it really bothered me that I couldn't see my hands.  Not to mention that waving while driving is even more complicated than ever.


These struggles are behind me now, for the most part, and I'm on my way to being a true motorcycle man.

Winter in Patagonia: Bringin' the Heat

I’m spending the winter house-sitting outside of El Bolson.  The house is near to the farm I lived at all summer and shares the stunning landscape of the valley of the Rio Azul.  While life in the country is tranquil and beautiful, it is also a fair bit of work.

The biggest issue is heating.  Temperatures are regularly well below freezing and my house is not well-insulated, which means I have to blast one or more of the three wood stoves (one is a “Russian” masonry heater, one is a wood-fired cooking stove, and one a water-heating tank) to provide comfort.  Keeping these fires going requires lots of wood.  In April, we worked on cutting and piling a stock of firewood in the forest behind the house, but retrieving it requires a trip up a considerable incline with a wheelbarrow.  It takes less than five minutes to get up, but it’s a huffing five minutes of muddy or icy path, depending on the time of day.  I have a frustrating propensity to try and pile as much as possible into the wheelbarrow.  I then spend the downward trip stopping every few steps to pick up and repack what falls out.  I am starting to learn to moderate my cargo, but the gamble is tempting. 

I get the wood down and then I have to split it with the ax.  Usually pretty easy and a welcome meditation, but once every batch I bury the ax head in a knot and have to either break my back to bust it out by brute force or surgically open it up with a chisel and hammer.  I need to get this wood into the house, so I make several trips in and out, amassing stockpiles by each stove that give me great comfort in the moment despite the fact that I know they will later submit with terrifying ease and velocity to the flames. 

I made a mess bringing that wood in, so I need to sweep up.  As I sweep wood chips and dust teleport themselves from the dust pan to the place I just swept.  I have learned to accept a measure of rustic mess, but, as it is not my house, I feel compelled to strive for cleanliness always.

Starting the fires is a whole ‘nother task.  A cold chimney, result of said below-freezing temperatures, does not, what we in the fire-world like to call, “pull,” and thus a fire is prone to die until its pathway out is heated up.  Add to cold chimneys humid wood and prospects are less than ideal.  I persist and succeed and I have tricks and techniques, but every now and then, despite best intentions and preparations, I encounter a smoky, resistant bastard like the one I encountered this morning.  I burned dozens of grade-school homework sheets and filled the house with toxic smoke before my teary, burning eyes saw sustained flamery. 

I start to read, write, enjoy my breakfast, but every time I settle into my chair I realize that if I forget to keep putting logs in, I will lose the fire and all my invested time and lung cells, so I return dutifully to the beast and feed it what it wants.  Now I feel guilty because I went to all this trouble and burned all this wood to make an apocalyptically hot fire, one I am really proud of.  I am obliged to make cookies, which means I need to stop typing and make dough.

I finished the dough and put it in the oven, but a wood-fired oven generally heats unevenly and requires constant vigilance.  During vigilance, I cleaned up the mess I made cooking and residual messes from isolated incidents occurring over the past 24 hours.   

The sun is low in the sky and patches of crisp white frost persist anywhere there is shade.  I’m wearing holey sweat pants and morning grog.  I guess you could say I finished breakfast, but it was really an undefined event marked by stolen sips of tea and munches of bread during maintenance of fires and food and order.  I’m listening to the Beatles.  It is now 12:45 in the afternoon.  The goat is slowly transforming herself from farm animal to house pet, sleeping outside the front door and following me to get firewood just like the dogs.  She expresses indignation, fear, loneliness, confusion, insecurity, and mockery all at once.

One batch of cookies came out and I’m distracted by worrying about the next.  I have just swept and passed a damp mop around the house.  It is a beautiful day so I really need to go up and get more firewood.

Here is the view from the front steps of the house...

Updates from Granja Valle Pintado

Lack of access to internet and non-stop action on the farm have kept me away from the keyboard for quite some time, but I am going to attempt a brief update on all the highlights of the last two months.  I have some pictures up on Picasa at http://picasaweb.google.com/JSant27/GranjaVallePintadoMarch2010Update?feat=directlink

First off, for those of you wondering, the earthquake did no damage here, although some people outside of town reported feeling small tremors.  A couple years ago the volcano in Chaiten, further North of us in Argentina, erupted and covered Bolson in a layer of ash.  That volcano reportedly had a small eruption a couple days ago but no ash fell here.  Just goes to remind people that we are in a geologically active area.

The farm has been a full house since the new year began, with an average of over ten people living together.  Smooth community living requires lots of patience and careful planning, especially when there is no electricity, limited indoor space, and limited access to food and materials, but it always seems to work out and the atmosphere is one of sharing and learning and caring.  It is also an atmosphere of fiesta, so there are constant bonfires at night with everyone playing various instruments and drinking out of 5 L bottles of wine referred to as "Dama Juanas."  The people that come are a fairly diverse bunch--Americans, Canadians, Argentines, Colombians, from 18 to 43 in age, some hippies, and ex-banker, some college students, a beekeeper, girls, boys.

In January we had a special asado.  Some vegetarians wanted to experience this traditional Argentine barbecue, but they decided they would feel better going through the entire process, so we bought a live goat and butchered it ourselves.  We had a small ceremony prior to the slaughter in which we said thanks.  We sensed that the animal sensed what was happening as it relaxed under our tensed hands.  It bled from the jugular for several minutes. The gurgling and gasping and small seizures were unsettling but I was left feeling that we killed it in a conscientious way, far more humane than industrial slaughterhouse methods.  We skinned it and butchered it and tried to use all that we could, saving the skin to dry, eating the liver, brain, and heart, making blood sausage.  The meat was delicious and the experience was powerful.  For me its healthy to know and understand what happens before the food hits the plate.

We also caught a hare in a trap set to prevent it from eating the vegetables in the garden.  It was skinned, marinated, and cooked in a delicious stew.  Alex's cousins made a hat out of the skin.

I have gone on a couple overnight hikes.  One was to the summit of Mount Piltriquitron (mapuche for "hanging from the clouds), which affords 360 views of The Andes in Argentina and Chile, as well as the vast Argentine steppe.  We camped at a refugio the first night and summitted in the morning.  The other was to a refugio near a glacier called Hielo Azul, a 17 km hike from the farm.  Both refugios are stocked entirely by supplies carried on long, hard, steep trails, either by people or horses.  A crew of people live up there all summer to maintain it and receive guests, who pay to stay inside the refugio or camp outside.  There are bathrooms and food for purchase.

We poured a concrete floor in the community kitchen over the course of four days and finished it with natural paints and plant imprints.  The job involved carting at least 20 wheelbarrows of sand and the same of gravel up from the river.  Cement is a tough material to work with and I'm glad to have had this learning experience.  Pending jobs for the community kitchen include finishing the roof with a cement/earth mixture and finishing the walls with clay plasters and natural paints.

Every Wednesday we do harvests for the associates of the farm.  We get up early to get the vegetables before the sun hits, as sunlight sends sugars and nutrients into the roots and out of the leaves.  We separate, weigh, and rinse the vegetables and put together some killer baskets.  Recently we have been sending out things like kale, chard, rutabaga, carrots, onions, lettuce, parsley, tomatoes, squash, zucchini, basil, dried mint, homemade beer, elderberry wine, etc.  We have about 6 or 7 varieties of tomatoes and they are incredibly beautiful, by far the most impressive product of the garden.  We have harvested garlic and it is drying.

The summer has been peculiar in the sense that it has been rainy and cold more than it should be rainy and cold.  There are hot and sunny days but not as many as the locals expect.  This weather has led to reduced or tardy harvests for fruits, a big income producer for the region.  We did have a few weeks of beautiful raspberries from our bushes and are now enjoying the fruit of a gorgeous plum tree outside the kitchen.  I am time and again shocked at how cold it gets at night versus how hot it can get on a sunny day.  Makes dressing for work pretty difficult.  A couple weeks ago we had a killer frost overnight and lost all of the outside squash and much of the corn.  Such is the difficulty of farming in Patagonia.

We just started harvesting the rye and will soon begin with wheat.  A friend of Alex´s built a thresher that takes the plant in and sends out clean separated whole grain.  We still harvest the plants with a hand scythe so its a pretty labor intensive process.  Yesterday we did a process of making bread from the field to the table, hand milling freshly harvest grain and baking it in the brick oven.

Several weeks ago we joined with some local friends to collect seeds from natural plants for a project of re-greening the Argentine steppe and areas affected by fire or deforestation.  The idea is to fill clay balls with many different types of seeds and distribute the balls throughout the affected area.  The clay provides a contact point with the earth and over time the seeds that are most suited to develop will develop and start the process of re-greening.

I recently spent 10 days at a workshop on natural construction.  Over 100 people participated in various projects from solar water collectors to green roofs to different techniques for clay-mud walls to natural paints and plasters.  We built a geodesic dome (8 m diameter) out of pvc pipes that can be taken apart and put back together as a portable community ¨space.¨  I helped build a small structure that will serve as a seed bank using the technique of ¨super adobe.¨ The idea is, in a basic sense, sand bags full of packed earth layered on top of each other to form dome structures.  The dome is then covered with plaster and the result is an anti-seismic, cheap, and quick-to-build structure that uses primarily local materials.  Throughout the workshop there were chats on alternative energies, permaculture, and different aspects of natural construction.  Lots of great ideas and community links were created during the week and its likely that a group of people who organized the workshop will travel to other parts of South America to keep spreading the knowledge and furthering the idea of community work.

I recently had to leave Argentina to renew my visa, so I took a 2 day hike across the border to Chile.  On the second day I walked four hours to receive an entry stamp and exit stamp from Chile at the same moment, turned around and walked four hours back to Argentina, where I sat and watched the full moon come out over turquoise Lago Puelo.

We just finished hosting a five day workshop at the farm.  The workshop was led by Max Edelson, Alex's brother, and was dedicated to the construction of a high-efficiency heating stove.  The stove will be used for heating the community kitchen and for some cooking as well.  The stove channels fire through a series of tunnels that pass through a large bench which can be used as a heated bed or seating area.  The design allows wood to burn closer to a temperature needed for "true combustion," a reaction whose only byproducts are water and carbon dioxide.  This means less smoke pollution and more efficient usage of firewood..  The stove was constructed (its not totally done) over the course of five days by approximately 8 students led by Max and is made of adobe, refractory bricks, clay mortar, cement, and gigantic river rocks.  It has some iron pieces made by local metalworkers that are friends of the farm.  I was part of the kitchen team for the workshop, which meant cooking two meals and an afternoon snack for over 20 people each day.  Alex's mom, a trained chef and kitchen master, and Max's girlfriend Eva, also a master, were my partners in this endeavor and, while the kitchen was nonstop intensity, we had a blast and I learned a lot about cooking for groups.  In two days we host a workshop on clay plasters and paints so the madness will continue.

A neighbor asked me to take care of his house for a few days last week, so I got to sleep in a bed, use electricity, take hot showers (heated by firewood), use a full, indoor kitchen as well as a massive wood-fired brick oven for pizza.

I finished the massive novel Infinite Jest several weeks ago and loved it.  I have also finished Siddartha, The Revenge of Gaia, and am currently reading Sailing Around the World Alone, The Open Veins of Latin America, and bits and pieces of several books on permaculture, no-till agriculture, and natural building

I am happy here in Bolson and enjoying what is a continuing learning process.  I feel at home in the community and am thinking of staying through the winter if I can find a warm and comfortable house which needs caretaking.  Plans are to focus more seriously on practicing the guitar and singing, start learning some woodworking and traditional carpentry, keep learning natural building techniques, learn to weave, get into making cheese, and keep making beer.  Winter would be a time for beginning or continuing some of these projects, reading and planning for others, reflecting on what has been a busy summer, and starting to write more again.

Errata from Painted Valley Farm

I have now spent 53 days at Granja Valle Pintado and it feels as much like home as anything can to ol' itinerant me.

Night after night I slide into my sleeping bag liner into my sleeping bag under my blanket and don't worry about the the fact that I'm going to bed with feet the color of charcoal.  The morning wake up is always a little difficult and seems to come too early even though it's not that early.  I have moved out to my tent in a nest in the woods, which is tranquil and private compared to my former loft in the community kitchen.  The route to my tent, which in the morning gives me a hilltop view of the entire farm as sunlight creeps towards it, is also one of the preferred walking trails of the cow Rosa, which makes walking with my head down a necessity in terms of navigating the minefield of robust cakes she sets down wherever she pleases, wherever she pleases generally meaning in the middle of the already-too-narrow road I need to take to avoid being raked by thorny rosehip.  I'm used to cow manure now, though, and recognize it as a useful resource on the farm, but its easier to work with when its dry than when its squishing between your toes.

I wash my clothes every so often in buckets and have found that water left out in large plastic bottles all day gets warm enough for a great shower.  It's still preferable to go to the municipal gym in town, where a shower that used to be free is now less than a dollar.

The other day Jeremy and I were talking to this guy in town, and the guy looked down at Jeremy's battered, sandaled feet, then looked up at Jeremy, and, with a solemn, almost bitterly regretful tone one might hear in a conversation between two grizzled warriors discussing the casualties suffered in a particularly messy foreign conflict, said, "man...............your feet must get real fucked up out there."  His lips curled in in anticipation of forming the word "fucked" and then just whipped it out forcefully with a heavy emphasis on the "fu" sound.  I sliced my heel on some rocks in the river the other day and that's taken a while to heel, but my general biggest problem is thistle thorns as I walk barefoot around the garden.

Tao, our wonderful dog, kindly accompanied me to the river one day and, while I was stumbling into the icy rapids, stole one of my Croc sandals and then, on another day, another sandal before I realized it was her and not mysteriously rising water to blame.  She ripped up my Croc but I mended it with found items. I chastised the hell out of her but she just smiles and still steals peoples' footwear.  She also messes with the geese and the horse despite repeated admonishment.  On the positive side, she helps to run loose horses off our land, loves to play, and is generally a joy to have around.

Alex recently purchased several new chickens to increase our egg production.  One day after he brought them home we found one of the laying hens hanging from a nail on a post by her neck, apparently having fallen victim to some freak jumping accident.  To take advantage of the bad situation, we had to drain it, scald it, pluck it, and butcher it right then and there at 11 PM.  In the belly of the hen we found no fewer than 12 eggs at various stages of development.  We had chicken and rice stew the following day.  We then started to find eviscerated chicks in the coop and uncovered a sinister network of subterranean tunnels under the whole chicken complex.  Add to that the increasing incidence of local birds called Tero's being found deconstructed and strewn about the garden and its been a tough time for birds in these parts.

I have been fishing with an improvised reel, consisting of nothing more than a pvc pipe--design borrowed from a man met on a family trip to Alaska circa 1996.  I have not yet caught anything, but I have a great cast.

It has been great to see tangible progression on the farm.  The beer we made on my second day has been bottled and already tastes like beer, but needs a few more weeks to properly finish gasifying.  Radish seeds I planted exploded into bright red radishes the size of racquetballs (I was looking for something in between golf- and base-) and we have been harvesting them like crazy.  The beginning forms of tomatoes are sprouting and we will have solid zucchini in just a matter of days.  The pea plants are practically gushing crisp, sugary snap peas.  The goslings I met several weeks ago are adolescent GEESE.

Our one bee hive split into two hives and they stopped stinging us so much, but then one of the queens left and/or died and they started stinging us again.  One of the farm associates is a  bee cultivator and explained that bee venom contains two very powerful and beneficial proteins or something like that, and so now when I get stung I pretend I just got a shot at the doctor's office and say thanks and take a small but not excessive amount of comfort in the fact that the offending bee (or, in the mentioned metaphor, the doctor) is dying for having stung me.  Putting clay on the sting helps.

The Christmas season came and went without too much fanfare, the farm's isolation making dates something of an abstract concept.  We did have a lovely dinner and gift exchange at Pastor's house in town on Christmas Eve, however, and, the big kicker, a traditional Argentine asado out at the farm for my birthday.  A traditional asado consists of an entire lamb splayed out on an iron cross and slow cooked over a fire.  The tender, juicy meat was the best I have ever tasted and fed about 20 people.

It has been raining off and on for several days, but the system seems to have broken and sun is coming out in force just in time for the New Year, which also happens to coincide with a full moon.  In terms of the watering, which is my job, its a good thing we are about to line and fill and connect to 300 meters of tubing a 30,000 Liter spring-filled irrigation tank.

I am going to buy empanadas and take a shower.

Return to Patagonia: Down on the Farm

One month ago I arrived in Argentina, set to continue my journeys for as long as time and money and mind allow.  After a few days in Buenos Aires I headed back to El Bolson, situated along the 42nd parallel at the foot of the Andes.  Spring is in full swing with the sun shining hotter and longer and the greens growing greener than they did during my last stay, in Winter, but nights are still chilly and the surrounding peaks are still covered in snow.

I am currently staying at the Granja Valle Pintado (Painted Valley Farm) as a volunteer, working in exchange for food and shelter and knowledge.  My goal is to learn about sustainable living practices including farming, building, and community living.  We are three volunteers (two Americans and one Argentine) and the farm´s owner, Alex.  Alex is an American citizen but grew up in Indonesia and has lived for the past several years here in Argentina.  He and a group of several people from Argentina, Canada, Chile, and the US bought 20 acres in the wake of the peso collapse in 2001 with the goal of creating a small, self-sufficient community.  So far, the only one who lives permanently on the land is Alex.  He accepts volunteers during most of the year to help in advancing projects on the farm and to share his extensive knowledge about biodynamic agriculture.

He recently organized a community-supported agriculture program where people can pay the farm a regular contribution for a ¨share¨ of its produce: each week during harvest season each member receives a "basket" of the farm's goods.  CSA's have prospered in the US and can be found in every state (Manhattanites can even participate), but in Argentina the idea is still in its infancy.  The idea is to reunite people with local sources of food and rescue agriculture from large-scale production methods. Why? Because the methods used to produce, process, package, and transport the food we buy in supermarkets cast more than a shadow of doubt upon the quality and safety of that food.  Moreover, large-scale agriculture depends on an unsustainable exhaustion of natural resources and an unacceptable destruction of habitats for all living organisms.

We generally work from 9 to 8, with a healthy three hour siesta in the middle of the day.  The volunteers have one day and a half free each week and we use them to go into town (a 1 hour hike) or relax around the river.  Tasks we have been keeping busy with include weeding, watering, planting, transplanting from greenhouse to outside, applying mulch and compost, preparing earth for planting with a hoe, digging a 300 meter ditch for an irrigation pipe, putting in posts for a corral, caring for the chickens, making beer, grinding flour, making bread, and cooking meals.

Crops we have include carrots, rutabaga, kale, leeks, corn, garlic, onions, tomatoes, lettuce, cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, parsnip, bok choy, quinoa, wheat, corn, millet, flax, potatoes, radishes, beetroot, basil, chard, arugula, squash, zucchini, cilantro, parsley, oregano, mustard.  There are fruit trees such as apple, peach, plum, and cherry, but many of them are too young to give fruit yet.  Rose hip grows like a plague everywhere and, while its fruit is good for everything from jams to vinegar, will cut you kindly if you forget its thorns. We share the farm with the cow Rosa, the horse Volcan, the dog Tao, 16 chickens, a family of geese, and a hive of bees for making honey.  The bees are exceptionally aggressive: After 25 years with only one bee sting, I have been rewarded with no less than 7 over the past few weeks.

On a final note, I recently celebrated the one year anniversary off my being laid-off from JPMorgan.

after a day in the fields

   

Steps from home

view of the farm from a distance (greenhouse on right)

"associates" of the farm came out for the corn planting; here after lunch in the community kitchen (i sleep in a  loft in this building)

Travelogue: Pause

After 7 months in Latin America, I am back home in the States. I will be returning to Argentina at the end of October to continue working on organic farms in Patagonia and explore more of the continent, but the sojourn is at a temporary end. My trip back ended, fittingly, with one last adventure as I was sequestered at Miami immigration due to my appearance, which no longer matches any of my IDs  I don't think I look that suspicious, but judge for yourself after the jump.

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