Washington Young Farmers Coalition Pot-Luck

In Washington there are all types of rain. Most of the time it’s just a drizzle, but on Monday as my family and I drove out to attend the Washington Young Farmers Coalition Pot-Luck, it was raining.

The evergreens seemed to inhale the droplets and the clouds darkened to a charcoal grey as we traveled over the oily black road. My wife sat beside me on the verge of giddy, I wasn’t feeling quite so excited. A Young Farmers Coalition Pot-Luck is not exactly on my bucket-list. It’s kind of like a chamber of commerce mixer for hippies.

As we pulled into the antiquated church parking-lot a multi-colored Organic Valley bus pulled in behind us. Obviously having visited many of these events, the bus had the appearance of being painted by some bohemian artist right out of a 60s love fest.  Admittedly I was intrigued.

My patent leather loafers stepped out onto the wet gravel, blatantly out of place. The common at this event included dreadlocks, patchouli oil, and the ever present “Iron and Wine” full beard. My look sat firmly on the other end of the spectrum with Dockers and a classic black button down. The best way to segregate yourself is by the clothes that you choose to wear. Say what you will, we are judged by our choice of attire. I felt like a salesman amongst farmers, deeply out of place, and sort of ashamed.

Being a farmer, that’s something to be proud of. Farmers work hard. These people aren’t ultra wealthy, they aren’t selling their food to big chain grocery stores. These are the little farmers, the growers who sell those incredible tomatoes at the local farmers market. These are the farmers trying to do it right by using poly crop methods and avoiding pesticides. They are the revivalists of traditions many consider dead. These people are my heroes.

We wandered through the booths until our sweaters were soaked and our hair stuck to our heads. We traded some seeds to be planted in our balcony garden, and we stood on the outskirts of a world mysterious to us. We were left to wonder what these people’s lives are really like, and to secretly long for that life.

Farming is tangible. It’s a living thing that can be touched and nurtured. It’s a way of life that allows a person to feel. I envy these farmers. From the outside they appear to be a rag-tag bunch of hippies, but then… I like hippies.

One day maybe I’ll get the nerve to kick of my shinny black dress shoes, give up my corporate medical insurance, and walk away from a life that asks for too much and gives too little. One day maybe I’ll find the courage to grow my hair into dreads and spend my days working with my family on a farm. One day, I like to believe it will happen, one day.

The Young Farmers Coalition: www.washingtonyoungfarmers.org

 

Long Live Film

I miss film cameras. Every shot matters when you only have 24 pictures in a roll. I miss the complexity involved in threading the film and the thrill of picking up the developed photos at the drug store. It was like opening up a present you made yourself, a surprise present none the less. You had no idea which shots would turn out and which wouldn’t, that made it fun, and sometimes disappointing.

These days I can cram a thousand crappy shots on my iPhone without missing a beat. The Cannon SLR can blow through 15 shots in a matter of seconds. I now have hard drives, online storage, multiple CDs and DVDs loaded with memories, but they don’t seem to mean as much. These days you take a picture and you store it. No one goes through a thousand pictures on a trip down memory lane. Isn’t that sad? When I only had 24 shots, I thought long and hard about each one before I clicked the shutter, I cared about every single picture in a way that is lost in this digital age ours.

Things change and I totally get that, but I think there should be room made for the things that require patience and forethought. Our children are growing up in a world on-demand; don’t you think that’s sort of sad?

Discovering Georgio's Subs in Tumwater

First full day in Tumwater Washington and we are hungry, not just for food, but for the sites and sounds of a new place. Everything feels fresh, as if we're on vacation. Mount Rainier rises up as we take a hill and we all stop to gawk at what everyone else seems to take for granted. It's good be new.

Slipping through the trees and buildings of Tumwater like hunters in search of prey, or at least a nice place to eat, we come upon a newer addition to the small town, a glorious hole-in-the-wall type sub sandwich place called Georgio's. My wife groans, she was hoping for Japanese, but we have no idea where to find a Japanese place, so Italian subs will have to do. Her feelings change instantly as we enter the small shop. The main wall is made of chalk board. Colored chalk art created by both customers and local artists scroll along its green veneer. Neil Gaiman's Coraline is playing on the television, and toys from the 80's line small shelves. My wife notices a 3" Skeksi from The Dark Crystal haunting the counter top and she is sold on this place without even trying the food. Anyone who has a Skeksi in their possession, let alone on display, is worthy of some consideration in her book.

The menu is not typical, as expected. The bread is made fresh daily *YAY*. There are a few standard items, but the twists are refreshing; sandwiches with horseradish mayo or BBQ sauce in place of the old mayo and mustard fare are just the tip of the iceberg. The master chef, a high energy sort of dude with heavy gauge rings stretching his earlobes and tattoos decorating his arms, suggests which subs are the best of the best along with their traditional preparations. He is passionate about what he does, and I immediately like this guy.  For something really different my wife jumps on the Mohawk sub. The Mohawk is a roast beef sub on sourdough bread topped with warm chicken salad and served with au jus. It sounds odd but tastes AWESOME! She also snags a bowl of clam chowder which is wonderful. My daughter chows down on ham turkey and cheese with BBQ sauce, and I get a simple steak and cheese. Everything is amazing, but the Mohawk wins the day; hands down it is one of the best subs I have tasted in years.

The menu at Georgio's is worthy of, at the very least, a monthly visit. I have so many more subs that I must try there. The vibe is perfect. All and all it's a good first day in Tumwater. My belly is full, my senses are on overload, and the weather is pristine. Let's hope everyday is this good.

If you would like to visit Georgio's, here is the address.

Georgio's Subs

 

5765 Littlerock Rd SW
Tumwater, WA 98512

(360) 350-0255

Georgio's On Facebook

We aren't Homeless Yet

My family and I have decided to move ourselves from Bakersfield California, often referred to as the armpit of California, to Washington state. Just in case you don't know anything about Bakersfield, let me give you a few highlights. Let's begin on a high note, our air is not the worst in the country, thank god, that honor goes to Arvin California which happens to be less than 25 minutes outside of Bakersfield. Since we hold up in the same valley many people think Arvin is simply a suburb of Bakersfield, and I guess it sort of is.

Bakersfield is a veritable cornicopia of distinct and unusual aromas. What is that odor? You may wonder. Is it cow manure? No. Could it be one of the many local meth labs cooking up a new batch? No, it doesn't smell exactly like that either. Maybe it's the deadly H2s gas produced by the near constant drilling for oil, or maybe it's coming from one of the hundreds of oil pumping units which crank away happily 24 hours a day in every corner of this incredible place? That could be it, or it maybe it's simply a  cocktail of the three combined. I do love the smell of napalm in the morning.

The scenery here in Bakersfield is unique to say the least. There has never been what you might call a planning committee here per se. I mean not in the way that you would imagine at least. In its place we have a group of local officials paid off by the big oil companies to assure that the ugliest sights in the USA will be prominently displayed and enjoyed on even the most mundane drive to the grocery store.  If you love to see oil being pulled from the earth, or processed into whatever petroleum product that may be needed at the time, you really should visit Bakersfield.

More than anything else, apathy remains Bakersfield's true Achilles heel. Huge ugly signs line the streets here, and for the most part people seem okay with that. Believing that the earth is falling apart, or that we need to be proactive environmentally is an idea looked at with suspicion. Do you want the city to pick up your recycling? It's possible if you don't mind paying a yearly fee for the bin, but make sure you don't try and recycle those tin cans, or that kind of plastic. This city wants to make the world a better place, but only if they can make some money along the way. The general population seems to have an equal concern, they do a great job of recycling anything with CRV attached, and it pretty much stops there. Don't get me wrong, there's a handful of people who try here, (you know who you are) but by no means are they the majority.

And so here we are, on our way out, packing our things and heading to the great unknown state of Washington. We aren't homeless, not yet at least. We have procured a nice apartment for the family to live in. I don't exactly have a job, but I write for a couple places and I do get paid for it. I guess that's what it means to write professionally. The future is unknown at this time, anything could happen, but I believe that this will be a great adventure. I believe my children will experience new things, in new ways, and they will grow and become more interesting adults because of it. I also believe that we will finally after many years, have a chance to wake up in the morning and breath fresh clean air, and that, I am looking forward to.