There aren't many books I would say everyone should read. Often that's too much of a generalization. I adore To Kill a Mockingbird, it's a classic, etcetera - but I don't think there's much to be gained by forcing it upon everyone. I'd say the same for the poems of Emily Dickinson and Mary Oliver, the works of Virginia Woolf, and Howards End.

But everyone should read Eaarth, by Bill McKibben.

This book was passed on to me by my mom and I'm yet part way through it. For one, it's cleverly written. For two, it makes it absolutely, undeniably clear just how much we've altered the only planet we have. Global warming or global "weirding," as I once heard it called, can seem an abstract concept (especially when you step out your door at noon and it's 19 degrees Fahrenheit...as I did today). McKibben takes away all the vagueness, and it's a little scary, but we only have ourselves to blame.

And so I think that means we can work to fix it.

I lately came across a blog called the No Trash Project and am enjoying going through the archives. It chronicles the efforts of one lady who is trying to live a life that produces no waste. And while that may seem a simple statement, when you begin to think about it (think about what and how much you put in your trash can each day), it's an immense task. But she's up to it; she's doing it. Her weekly waste crate photographs I really like. She has one small (wooden) crate of throwaway things that is never pictured full.

In his book, McKibben makes the point of saying that we have altered the Earth to such a degree that it is a different planet than it once was (hence the title). Consequently, we have to live differently now. It was fortuitous that I found the No Trash Project when I did. It depicts a different way of living, going against the current.

So if you keep a reading list, you now have two things to add to it. I don't say this lightly: Read them soon!

favorite things: my new roots

Sarah Britton's blog My New Roots is probably my most favorite food blog ever. Sarah is trained as a holistic nutritionist and cooks in Copenhagen, making and photographing food that is the best it can be.  

Her banana bread (sans sugar, white flour, butter, and cow's milk) is my go-to recipe. The sweet potatoes and hummus she made brought together two of my favorite things. And she explained the extraordinariness of quinoa. 

A few days before December 25th, I made her date bars. No sugar, no baking even. They were my contribution to the family Christmas cookie platter and my Nana (who makes candies that are pure sugar) even liked them. 

Date bars

(from My New Roots)

for the filling: 
2 cups chopped dates

2 Tbsp water

½ – ¾ cup orange juice

zest of 1 orange

for the crust:
2 cups pecans or walnuts

1 cup raw oats, ground into flour

2 tsp ground cinnamon

4 Tbsp maple syrup

quick oats to sprinkle on top

1. Soak dates in water and orange juice for 30 to 60 minutes, depending on quickly they soften.

2. Coarsely grind nuts in a food processor. Add ground oats or oat flour and pulse to mix.

3. Add cinnamon first, then maple syrup one tablespoon at a time until the mixture holds together.

4. Lightly oil a 9-inch square pan or round cake pan with coconut or olive oil.

5. Press a little over half of the nut mixture into the bottom of the pan, reserving the rest for later.

6. Puree the date and orange juice mixture until it reaches a desired consistency. I left a few larger pieces of dates for texture, but you can blend them to a perfectly smooth texture too.

7. Crumble the remaining half of the crust mixture over the dates; press lightly with your hands of a spoon. Sprinkle some quick oats on top for garnish (this is optional, but looks nice).

8. Refrigerate. 

Variations: 
For the filling, using 2 cups dates, 3/4 cup water, and a tablespoon of fresh grated ginger. For the crust, use 1 1/2 tsp cinnamon, a large pinch cloves, a large pinch nutmeg. 

I also tried using 1 cup walnuts, 1/2 pecans, and 1/2 cup sunflower seeds. Consequently, I had to use more maple syrup and a little coconut oil to make the crust stick. 

Sarah recently also did a TEDtalk in Amsterdam. She's a pretty inspiring lady. 

first image by: sarah britton
second image by: me

Seeing: the farm (much changed) and tiny snowflakes falling.

Hearing: this lecture and the great gusts of wind outside.

Tasting: cough drops and honey. 

Smelling: chocolate chip cookies baking. 

Feeling: like it cannot possibly be Christmastime yet. Isn't still just October?

Seeing: the many things I want to knit.

Hearing: this song.

Tasting: this dish.
(But next time I'll use sweet potatoes.)

Smelling: clementines. 

Feeling: a chest cold coming on.

winter

This has never happened before: I am excited for winter.

Yesterday morning it snowed. Really, it rained and it snowed. But as I walked back to my dorm room after my 8am history class, proper snowflakes were coming down. By noon, a little had collected on the grassy areas, like powdered sugar on a coffee cake. And I was thrilled.

I am excited by the greyness of the sky and the air. I am excited by the cold wind.

Maybe I was more aware this year of the bounty and the burden of summer (because of my internship at the farm), and now because of that I am more grateful for the quietude and beautiful bareness of winter.

I recently read this quote by Andrew Wyeth and paid little attention to it. Then, when the weather turned colder, it came rushing back into my mind:

This morning I cut a couple of paper snowflakes. Perhaps I'll make some classic paper chain decorations this weekend. I'm already dreaming of the scarfs and hats and sweaters (maybe) I will knit (maybe because first I have to learn to knit). I'm excited to start listening to this record again; it sounds like winter to me. And I've started a pinboard collection, here, of wintery things. 

Come winter. I think this year you and I will get along.


painting by corey paker. 

change of season

And so summer has turned into fall. I was not the least bit sad to see it go.

I've never had any particular affection for fall, even though my birthday is in October. This year, though, I am relishing the change of season. The cooler weather means I can wear scarves and sweaters and boots, and sip warm tea in the afternoon, and the world is tinted gold. But it also seems like a mimicking of my feelings right now - I feel happy caught up in shifting seasons.

I am one month into the first semester of my second year at university. People ask if I still love it. Absolutely. More so than I ever did before. I love it when my head bubbles over with ideas and new information. (And, I must admit, I love the independence I have too.)

One of these new ideas: For a project recently, I've been interviewing local farmers. In my second interview with one farmer, I asked him why he got into farming. His reply stopped me in my tracks:

"I got into farming because there weren't too many things I could do for work that I thought could contribute to the kind of world that I wanted to exist in. And I couldn't find anything with farming that was compromising with what I thought was right. So. I got into farming. I was inspired by people who were self-sufficient and could grow their own food, you know, build their own buildings, fix their own stuff, and generate their own energy, and didn't rely on other people, didn't rely on institutions. Um...that's why I got into farm. I wanted to live close to the land and interact with the land. Because we live on a planet, and I wanted to take full advantage of getting to live on a planet. Like Earth – where you can grow stuff. And then, you know, reading different people, books, talking with different people. That's how I got into it. And I just thought: if you can grow your own food you don't really have to worry about anything. And if you're not worried about starving then you don't have to worry about anything, really. Course, there's always things to worry about – like, whatever. But I thought on a basic level if I could grow my own food I'd feel really secure. And it would be really empowering. And it is. I was right. It is really empowering."

My favorite line: "...we live on a planet, and I wanted to take full advantage of getting to live on a planet."

There will be more posts coming. In the month following the end of my internship I wasn't sure how to approach blogging in this space. Now I know. This my journal and in it I will explore living on a planet. I will take full advantage of getting to live on a planet.

interesting things, lately discovered

A few links to a few things that I've recently found interesting/inspiring/worth some careful consideration:

Greenhorns: a National Young Farmer's Coalition. 

Tamar Adler's story of how she came to be a cook and balancing that with her love of writing. 

Tracy Chevalier and a new way to look at paintings. 

I just found out you can freeze tomatoes. This was a revelation to me. 

You cannot beat the ending of Roman Holiday. You simply cannot. 

Andrew Wyeth's studio in Chadd's Ford, Pennsylvania is without a doubt a place anyone even remotely interested in his work should visit. It is a beautiful space. 

And a friend of mine recently told me about WWOOF: Worldwide Opportunities on Organic Farms. I was excited to see how many listings there are for farms in Maine. 

summer at last

Hello! Here is a something for you - wallpaper for your desktop - to celebrate summer being here at last. Click on it to make it larger and to download.

Though I've been off of school since the beginning of May, it really is just now starting to feel like summer to me. Maybe it was our trip to Canada that did it (I'll tell you all about that tomorrow). So this is what summer is like in my mind:

Tastes like: orange mint tea, steamed crabs, peaches, fish chowder, bread from here.

Sounds like: children playing outside at night, people on our porch, distant music from the carnival, thunderstorms, cicadas.


Feels like: wading in the cold ocean, going bare foot, long car rides.


Smells like: citronella, campfires, sea air, sunscreen.

Looks like: a bed of zinnias, the coast, sunshine on water, lightening bugs. 

the someday house

I've been trying to make my way through Gaston Bachelard's The Poetics of Space (it is, perhaps, somewhat over my head, being that it's French philosophy). In amongst all the references I didn't get and the wordiness and the gigantic concepts, I came across this paragraph:

These are a few pieces of my "someday house" - the little house I dream about.

And of course there is also an unruly garden wrapping all around the house. But I haven't yet found any images that make me think of it - the plan is all in my head. 

blue kitchen/purple dinning room/yellow beds/green door/dark wood/framed old letters