A Momentous Day in my Civic Adult Life

I still can't believe it happened. The United States elected a black president in a quick and undisputed election. I feel truly proud to be an American and to have been part of its democratic process. I sat in a friend's packed living room in Seattle listening to Obama's acceptance speech, occassionally taking my eyes off the TV screen to see my friends' eyes fill with tears. People were patriotically drinking red, white, and blue themed beer- Red Stripe, Blue Lebat, White Belgian ale, etc. We heard reports of celebration taking to the sreets of Capitol Hill, and so Lindsey and I headed up to see what it was all about. Businesses had promotions, bars had drink specials, and folks had been hanging out most of election day in nervous anticipation of the results. After the acceptance speech was over, crowds exited the bars en mass. I realized it was the first time in my life I had seen citizens take over the streets in joy instead of in protest. There was cheering, kissing, hugging, gleeful smiling, horns honking, countless high-fiving, and even some interpretive dancing. And while I'm very relieved and filled with hope for the future, I'm not so naive as to believe that electing Obama is a cure-all for anything. He is coming into office at a low point in U.S. history- an economic crisis, enormous debt, messy wars, and serious environmental concerns. Plus, he's a politician like any politician, and has his own set of campaign debts and allegiances. It will also depend a lot on who he appoints in his cabinet, if he sticks to people with "experience" who will conduct business as usual, or if he ventures out with some new people. I guess only time will tell. I could try to say more, but I'll leave that to some women who probably say it better. Here's a link to Amy Goodman's (of Democracy Now!) blog about the election. http://www.truthdig.com/report/item/20081105_unchaining_history/ And here's an open letter that Alice Walker wrote to Obama. Walker was the first black woman to win a Nobel Prize in literature, in the 1980's for The Color Purple. "Dear Brother President-elect, “You have no idea, really, how profound this moment is for us. Us being the black people of the Southern United States. You think you know, because you are thoughtful, and you have studied our history. But seeing you delivering the torch so many others carried, only to be brought down before igniting the flame of justice and of law, is almost more than the heart can bear. And yet, this observation is not intended to burden you, for you are of a different time, and, indeed, because of all the relay runners before you, this is a different America. It is really only to say: Well done. We knew, through all the generations, that you were with us, in us, the best of the spirit of Africa and the Americas. Knowing this, that you would actually appear, someday, was part of our strength. Seeing you take your rightful place, based solely on your wisdom, stamina and character, is a balm for the weary warriors of hope, that was previously only sung about. “I would advise you to remember that you did not create the disaster that the world is experiencing, and you alone are not responsible for bringing the world back to balance. A primary responsibility that you do have, however, is to cultivate happiness in your own life. To make a schedule that permits sufficient time of rest and play with your gorgeous wife and lovely daughters. Not to mention your brave and precious grandmother, who, of course, as we know, went on. We are used to seeing men in the White House soon become juiceless and as white-haired as the building; we notice their wives and children looking strained and stressed. They soon have smiles so lacking in joy that they remind us of scissors. This is no way to lead. Nor does your family deserve this fate. One way of thinking about all this is: It is so bad now that there is no excuse not to relax. From your happy, relaxed state, you can model real success, which is only what so many people in the world want. They may buy endless cars and houses and furs and gobble up all the attention and space they can manage, or barely manage, but this is because it is not clear to them yet that success is truly an inside job. That it is within the reach of everyone. “I would further advise you not to take on other people’s enemies. Most damage that others do us is out of fear, humiliation and pain. Those feelings occur in all of us, not just in those of us who profess a certain religious or racial devotion. We must, all of us, learn actually not to have enemies, but only confused adversaries who are ourselves in disguise. It is understood by all that you are the commander in chief of the United States and are sworn to protect our beloved country; this we understand, completely.” That is, he will soon be the commander in chief. “However, as my mother used to say, quoting a Bible with which I often fought, ‘hate the sin, but love the sinner.’ There must be no more crushing of whole communities, no more torture, no more dehumanizing as a means of ruling a people’s spirit. This has already happened to people of color, poor people, women, children. We see where this leads, where it has led. “A good model of how to ‘work with the enemy’ internally is presented by the Dalai Lama, in his endless caretaking of his soul as he confronts the Chinese government that invaded Tibet. Because, finally, it is the soul that must be preserved, if one is to remain a credible leader. All else might be lost; but when the soul dies, the connection to earth, to peoples, to animals, to rivers, to mountain ranges, purple and majestic, also dies. And your smile, with which we watch you do gracious battle with unjust characterizations, distortions and lies, is that expression of healthy self-worth, spirit and soul, that, kept happy and free and relaxed, can find an answering smile in all of us, lighting our way, and brightening the world. “We are the ones—we are the ones we have been waiting for.”

Bounty of the Season

This is absolutely my favorite time of year. There is still the feeling of life and abundance of late summer, but it's starting to slow into renewal and coziness. Every day reminds me of a being at a pumpkin patch as a child, standing in clean, thin air amid vibrant colors and drinking hot chocolate.

I have jumped into full-on fall mode, hauling firewood and wanting to preserve as much food as possible. I've been harvesting apples and pears and pressed them to make hard cider and perry. My roomate had a ton of tomatoes at all stages of ripeness, so we had a 2-day extravaganza of canning green tomato salsa, chutney, and red tomato sauce.

The Former Vegetarian in me Would be Shocked

Last weekend was the opening of deer hunting season, and I went on my first hunting trip. The former vegetarian in me didn't know what to make of it, but the current carnivore, and more importantly the local, seasonal, organic, foraging, self-reliant eater was excited. All in all it was a truly empowering experience. I didn't shoot anything, but was present for 2 kills, and mostly wanted to learn about tracking, field dressing, and skinning.

My step-dad and step-brother were gracious teachers, and extremely knowledgeable with their life-long hunting backgrounds. I think we both impressed each other- they to find that I (who they would call bookish) was such a brazen hiker and stealthy walker with keen awareness of my surroundings, and I (who would not necessarily call them environmentalists) to find that they are skilled naturalists and trackers. It was 2 worlds colliding in the best of ways.


I didn't know how I'd handle it all considering 1) I don't even kill spiders, and 2)I frequently faint at the sight of a small cut. Oddly enough, knowing that we were out there with the intention of killing changed my reaction to death. Upon seeing the first deer fall from a clean shot in the neck, I was filled with simultaneous horror and elation. "Yes, yes, yes! No, no, no!" said my heart. I said a prayer of thanks for the animal while a primal instinct to clean and preserve the meat set in. I was reminded that most basic parts of human survival are not bad or good, but a complex intertwining of sacrifice and vitality. Even childbirth, which is possibly the most miraculous gift in human existance, is wrought with pain and suffering. And the death of a loved one is sometimes the most profound celebration of life.

And so I watched carefully as my step-dad expertly gutted the animal, its still-warm insides steaming in the cold fall air. That was the absolute hardest part- the warmth of the body and the reminder of just how recently it died. I wanted to wait for the body to cool before handling it, so it would seem more lifeless, but they said No, the point is to cool the deer as quickly as possible by gutting and skinning it so the meat can start curing. We hung it in the garage, and they taught me to skin it, starting at the neck and working down. I skinned the whole thing myself, ending with a whole warm hide in my hands, feeling eerily proud.

A New Addition to the Family

After 9 months of excited anticipation, my sister Laura gave birth to a beautiful little girl on September 26. Welcome Emma Adalaide Smith! It was a hard 30-hour labor, and I give mad props to my sister for being such a brave mama, and to my bro-in-law Chuck for being such a supportive daddy.



She is about 4 hours old in this picture.



This picture is of the 5 generations of women in the family. I would like to point out that Emma is being held by her great-great-grandma, or her mom's mom's mom's mom. No joke.

Setting Sail

This week I head to Canada for a week-long sailing trip off the east coast of Vancouver island near Desolation Sound! I've been doing a lot of day sailing this summer on my sweetie's boat, but this will be my first extended trip. He has a 38 foot ketch, which means 2 masts and 4 sails, and I am just starting to get the hang of it.



There is nothing quite like approaching a place by water instead of land. I love anchoring in a new harbor and rowing to shore. Last week we spent a night in Bellingham Bay, off Boulevard Park. I lived in Bellingham for 6 years, and yet being there in a boat was a completely different view, different feeling.

More about the Yurt

I am sometimes met with blank stares when I mention I live in a yurt, so I want to tell you more about my little round home. Basically, a yurt is a portable, lattice-framed tent-like structure originally used by nomads in the steppes of Central Asia (thanks wikipedia). They are traditionally felt-covered, though modern American yurts use a waterproof canvas material. The word came to English from the Russian "yurta". Here is a photo of my yurt and the front yard.

My yurt is in a sunny clearing, whereas my property-mate Whitney lives in one next door in a nice shady spot.


You can see the wooden lattice on the inside and the various windows. It's been a dry, cozy spot for the summer. Mine is a Pacific Yurt and here's the website for more info: http://www.yurts.com/

Hitch-hiking

As a rule of thumb (hah!) I rarely hitch-hike, and never alone, but the San Juans are my exception. As I don't have a car, the roads are aweful for cycling, and public transportation is nearly nonexistant, I rely on hitching quite frequently out here. It is a pretty ingrained and accepted part of the island culture, to the point of having an official hitching post, like a bus stop!

It's been a great way to have conversations with random people that I would otherwise probably never have the chance to talk to as well as learn a lot of history. I've met business-owners, sailors, carpenters, musicians, travelers. Two days in a row I got picked up by two different men who moved out here years ago because they were hired to build staircases from beaches up to people's homes. Who would have thought? I've met residents of surrounding islands such as Waldron and Crane. I met a woman who grew up on the island and moved to L.A. as an adult and became a stripper. She had recently moved back to return to her literal and spiritual roots and become an artist. I've hitchhiked with a carful of children gleefully covered in strawberries and offering me some at the height of the season. I've hitch-hiked with a bucketful of seawater and 2 big dungeness crabs and no one batted an eyelash.

I've gotten to the point where I know some of the people who stop for me, but most the time of course I don't. You're always taking a risk, and in my experience not so much for safety as for social comfort. One time I got in a big fancy SUV with leather interior, carrying my big backpack, and between my hurry to get in and the tall seats... I slid right back out. The man driving looked at me in distain. He was middle-aged, wearing a woven Guatemala-type tunic, long blond hair, and tons of necklaces, driving one of the nicest cars I've seen on the island. I just couldn't connect with him, and our conversation was painfully awkward all the way to Deer Harbor on the other side of the island.

Of course, one golden rule is not hitching when you have a time limit. Expecting a car to stop because you have a schedule is setting yourself up for a bad or tense experience. I leave myself plenty of time, and so far have always had a quick, safe, and interesting ride.

Latte Art

Being a barista again has given me ample opportunity to practice my latte art. The leaves are intentional, but occasionally I get a surprise animal, like this eagle, or cat.





I have one Canadian customer with a dry sense of humor, and we agreed that all these leaves and animals are too cutesy. For him I do frowning faces, broken hearts, or skull and crossbones.

Playing Outside!

Here are some photos thus far of this fair San Juan summer. I am living with my friend Whitney (Osa) on a property where we each have our own yurt. This is the outdoor kitchen that we share.



A sunset kayaking trip.



Sailing on my sweetie's boat.



Starts I planted on the organic farm.



The garden I've been doing with Whitney in town.



Kids at Cascade Lake.



Bicycling in the morning mist.

Home Sweet Home

The rest of South America was a blur. I said goodbye to Beth in Valparaiso,Chile and headed to Argentina. Upon arrival in that lovely country, I was immediately kicking myself for not going there sooner. Argentina was everything that the other countries in South America weren't- organized, friendly, and with consistently good food. Well, maybe it's not fair to say the other countries weren't those things, but rather that the beauty and ease of traveling in Argentina really stood out. People stopped to chat all the time, happy to give advice or suggestions. I made friends with some artisans in a cooperative in Buenos Aires, and got a little lesson in silver-smithing. Of everywhere I have been in the last few months, I am really only drawn to go back to Argentina. I have more slang to pick up from their crazy dialect, artisans to learn from, yerba mate to drink, and malbecs to try. Otherwise, I am pretty happy to be home.

I didn't realize what a psychological effect this trip had on my sense of safety until I got back. I was on my guard against getting robbed or hurt or cheated every second of the day. It has been hard to unwind from that feeling. At restaurants here I nervously keep looking at my purse on the chair next to me; the other day when I didn't have my wallet, I assumed it was stolen when really I had just left it at home.

I am living on Orcas island for the summer, and being out here is slowly negating that sense that everyone is out to get me. It is the most nurturing and safe place I could imagine being right now. Among other things, I am really relishing not having to carry a bike lock...