County Fair Blue-Ribbon Winner!!

I found these photos the other day while cleaning our apartment for visitors. What can I say? I started my art career young! These are of me at age 4.

Malaria No More!

I've been researching malaria as I am working on getting funding for a malaria clinic at the school I worked at in Ghana two summers ago--Forever Young International Schools. One of the main reasons that students miss school there is because of malaria. It's been heartbreaking and insightful reading up on the disease. Did you know that about 20% (or 1 out of 5) of African children who die by the age of five will have died from malaria?!  One of the better articles I found on it is found on the National Geographic Magazine website "Stop a Global Killer."

If anyone's interested in finding out more about the project I'm working on, please feel free to ask.

A Love-Affair with Dirt

(You probably thought this was going to be about farming...but it isn't!)

A porcelain canister I threw on the wheel yesterday.

Sometimes I just like to get my hands in the dirt. Mud up to my elbows (or at least to my wrists). I had never thrown anything on the wheel up until a year and a half ago. I had had a roommate in college who had made her own dinnerware set and I made the goal to do the same. Only, after graduating from college, I had never lived in the same place for any real length of time, and filled my evenings with all sorts of things when I wasn't traveling...teaching English to immigrants, taking photography and Arabic classes, going to a religious study group, whatever.

Finally, after letting 10 years pass, I finally decided it was time. I found a studio down in the Sugar House neighborhood of Salt Lake, and I started going to an evening class once a week. My two teachers were fantastic--Jeff even still has a studio and teaches down there. The first month came and went, and my bowls could have been worse. Month after month passed. Slowly, the clay started to listen to what I was telling it with my hands, and maybe I started listening to it as well. I watched what everyone else was making, asked lots of questions.

I was so sad to leave the community I had found there. But I still get to make pots. And I get to teach pottery to my high school students (good thing I learned). I am working on my first complete matching dinnerware set, my brother is paying me to do it! And I'm trying out all sorts of new things.

There is just something so rewarding about throwing on the wheel...clay slipping through your fingers, mud flying onto your pants, the soft purr of the motor as the wheel turns round and round... The creative process is happening in a very tangible and in-the-moment way. There you are--creator--pushing this substance that came from the earth, and forming something beautiful and functional out of a lump of clay. You are looking, making decisions, problem-solving, and adding details. Then you get to decide whether you are going to celebrate the raw, fired clay or add a splash of color to the finished piece. Finally, it comes out of the kiln, still warm from the firing. And there it is!! Your touch, your influence upon Mother Earth.

View from the Window

Cock-a-doodle-dooohhh.....!!!!! Dark still blankets the early morning sky. But that doesn't stop the roosters that live below Jed and I on the first level of the barn. I pull the covers up to my chin as the biting cold air of Autumn starts rousing me more than really want to be at 5:30 in the morning. Jed should be getting out of bed within the next half-an-hour to start up our wood-burning stove. He'll come back to bed right after and let the fire take the chill off the morning before we both work out the cobwebs and get ready for the day. We live out in the country at the end of a dirt road in eastern Kansas. We've been here for about 3 months now.

I live in a barn. More accurately, I live in the upstairs loft apartment above a barn. The view from our little abode looks out over a pasture full of cows, goats, and Belgian draft horses--all grazing and playing. I swear, cows are the funniest to watch, all chasing each other like they are playing tag or something. And goats really like to jump over each other. The only light at night comes from a light post located in the yard of our neighbors and landlords to the east. The only noises come from the occasional goat ramming the barn wall (accompanied by a little shaking of the structure) and the inconsiderate roosters.

Six years ago I moved into another apartment at another significant mile-stone in my life. I had landed my first teaching job. I bought my first car. I bought my first cell phone (at the age of 26). And I loaded all my belongings and headed across the country--leaving Arizona behind to call Washington, D.C. home. Actually, I lived in Pentagon City, Virginia (which is actually in Arlington, but who's checking). The apartment was at the end of a long hallway on the seventh floor of an eleven-story apartment building, which was one building of three in the complex. Right out my southern facing living room window I could see Pentagon City Mall and a large shopping complex. Ann Taylor Loft. A running store. DSW! A Thai food restaurant. Harris Teeter's (a grocery store). An Irish pub. A French restaurant. Noodles & Company. Just to name a few. And to get to work, all I had to do was walk across the street, cross the outdoor plaza, walk down into the indoor mall and to the metro stop. At the other end, I would walk eight blocks to my school.

In the summer, local bands would play in the outdoor plaza. In the winter, there would be an outdoor skating rink set up and people would skate around and around in circle. And I could see it all happening right there from my window, seven floors below me and across the street. I don't remember hearing too much in that apartment, except in the couple of weeks of spring or fall when I could open my bedroom windows as I slept. The hum of cars to the north of our building--the 395 freeway going into D.C. and separating us from the Pentagon on the other side.

Six years ago I had no idea I would be living in the countryside (for the first time ever) or married to a farmer. The view from my window has changed. And I LOVE it!! (Most of the time ;)

Fall in the country...

Sunrise with the fog outside our apartment (we live in a barn).

Jed hanging Kerri's basil on a string in front of our stove to dry out.

Amy & Jed being confused.

Amy holding a baby goat who had almost died (Jed tricked me into holding it so that I would keep him company--I enjoyed it).

Golden, Petey, and Uncle Jeddie after a day of haying (picking up and loading hay?).

Amy catching Jed as he jumps from the hay stack. (Pete had already landed on the ground in the shadow all by himself!)

Amy stopping Jed from climbing back up the stack.

Amy & Jed being farmers (do you see the hay in our mouths--that make us legit).

Animal Farm

It was late Sunday morning. Jed headed out the door to feed the neighbor's dogs (we live in the loft apartment above the neighbor's barn). As he was about to pull the door closed behind him, he proudly said that I should watch because he had trained the three dogs to come running for their food. I almost stayed put on the couch reading my book. But I've learned that sometimes you have to do things to humor your spouse, so I got up and walked to the door just as Jed reached the bottom of the stairs leading off our balcony. He crossed the driveway and started to whistle sharply as he reached the barbed-wire fence. After repeating the whistle a couple of times, I saw the two dark gray dogs come bounding across the horses pasture. I sure was proud of my farmer husband. But then I noticed that right behind the two dogs was a very large brown cow running full speed toward Jed as well. What a sight! A moment later, Cloud, the white dog, appeared on the horizon, running. He made a beeline across the field, knowing that food was at the other side. Not to be left out, a herd of 10-12 goats came running in right behind Cloud. Watching the scene unfold below, I couldn't help laughing. I don't think Jed even knew that he had trained ALL of the farm animals.

Bobby

When I passed through the front yard and into the back I saw Bobby in the barn harnessed ready to work. He’s big. He weighs 2400 pounds. His body seemed to fill up the entire barn. His neck is thick as an oak tree, his body is as wide as a rhino’s, and his hooves weigh as much as anvils. Being around him feels more like being around an elephant than a horse. And all of that mass turns into heavy draft power when he works in harness.
So we unhook him from the tie-off rope and clip him into the farm implement called the disc. The farmer sits on a seat above the discs while the horse pulls both farmer and implement down the furrows. The discs are positioned in such a way that when Bobby pulls the discs cut into the earth leaving a loose bed of soil behind. Klaus, my mentor in horse driving, lets me ride the disc so I can feel how bumpy it is but he keeps a hold of the reins and drives Bobby on foot. Bobby not only pulls me and the disc but he also has a tremendous amount of drag created from the discs continually cutting into the soil. We go up hills, down hills, and through the garden beds and he does it with little noticeable effort. The work seemed easy to him. When we finish we unharness Bobby and let him out to pasture. Bobby and I became friends that day.
Bobby dies three days later.
Klaus told me over the phone that he died from colic. He did everything he could to nurse him back to health but nothing worked. His death didn’t make sense to me. An animal so massive seemed like it shouldn’t just die from a gastrointestinal problem, a blockage of some sort. As far as I was concerned he would have to eat a car tire in order to even begin being concerned about blockage. But I guess he too had an Achilles heel. Not even Bobby, a monster of an animal, could beat death.
Klaus told me a couple of days later that the loss of Bobby wasn’t like loosing a tractor. “When a tractor breaks down you might be frustrated that you just lost time and money but you lose something more when you lose a work horse. Bobby was my friend and work companion. His loss hurts.”
I guess with my desire to get away from everything mechanical and work more with the living world subjects me to the hard human experiences of losing a friend and having to make sense of death even when it seemed so distant.

Zion

This summer, Jed and I spent 3 days at Zion National Park with my family. The green shrubbery contrasted against the red and white sandstone cliffs was breathtaking. Layers of history written in those walls. The Creation does not get much better than the narrow canyons of the Southwest that inspire reverence.

The name Zion was given to the canyon carved by the Virgin River in southern Utah. The first white settlers of the LDS faith (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints) gave the name because it represents a place of perfect unity and beauty, a place to find safety and inspiration.

Zion is defined in sacred readings as “the pure in heart” and as becoming of “one heart, one mind.” The Bible mentions a place of worship and reverence (i.e. temple) built on Mount Zion. Zion was seen in the early Mormon days (and even now) as building the kingdom of God here upon the earth. Only it was talked of in a much more literal/physical sense in the early days. Nowadays, the interpretation of building Zion in the LDS church seems to be more about building community with the vision of becoming one and lifting each other up.

These various meanings may all sound somewhat disconnected. But I see a very real tie between where one’s heart is and the quality of relationships within your community. A handful of times I have felt the sense of real community in my life—where I knew I was accepted and loved, not just in spite of my sometimes awkward social skills or not-so-funny sense of humor, but because I am human. Embracing those that are similar as well as those you don’t always relate to is part of this creating community or “building of Zion” for me. It’s where everyone is valued and seen as able to contribute. I have found this where I worked before, ANASAZI. And in a small community called Boulder. And with my family on many lazy days as we sat around talking and laughing. But it is more than just that acceptance.

Zion is a place where we who are part of that community invite each other to do better, to be better, as we individually seek for greater learning and understanding. We want to see each other succeed and don’t feel threatened by others' successes. In becoming “one” we share each other’s burdens and joys. I want my Zion to be in my home as I support my husband in his dreams and goals. And the same for when we have children. And I want it to spread to my neighbors (which include my in-laws). I want to feel this way with those I meet at church or at my work. But I want my community to also include the greater human family whenever possible. I want to care about the child in Ghana who doesn’t have enough for her school lunch fee.

This is Zion for me. And as I build Zion, I want to create a place of safety and peace, of growth and learning, where everyone can contribute and feels valued.

Life in Kansas

Just wanted to share some of the experiences of life out in the country. We live a little less than half an hour drive from the towns north and south of us--Atchison (where I teach) and Leavenworth.

Picking blackberries. Mmmm!!

Dougie and Russell harvesting all the corn they could in their pockets and mine.

Golden digs for fun. Really.

My first time milking a goat.

The Maynard Family

The Stephensen Family

Jed and Darrell milking in the morning.

Our first cheese we made--Colby I think.

I became a farmer at forty below

I became a farmer at forty below zero.

Not the best temperature for growing plants but it was the perfect condition to grow the dream of becoming one. The 2008-2009 winter I spent dog mushing in Willow, Alaska with the Fiedler family. My dad, an Alaskan at heart, flew up to dog mush for the Christmas break. And what he carried in his suitcase would change my life forever. He brought with him a couple of Hobby Farm magazines to read on the long flight over.

Our first couple of days we spent dog mushing together but as the temperature dropped to minus forty and colder we could no longer take the dogs out for fear of frostbiting the dogs. So we stayed in the cabin watching movies and talking most of the day. We would read occasionally, so he showed me the couple of Hobby Farm magazines that he had brought. I took one and started reading. The articles fascinated me. I thought that farming was a dead end career: millions of dollars of debt with little return. But the articles talked about a different way of farming. They were farmers of innovation. Instead of selling wholesale they sold directly to the customer. Instead of using combines to harvest grains they just let their livestock loose on the fields and they did the harvesting for them. Some were even using horses as their main source of power and doing quite well. They weren’t just surviving, they were thriving. These farmers were showing up everywhere all over the country.

I couldn’t put the magazines down. My dad came to Alaska to dog mush but all I could talk about was farming. When he left I already had farm books ordered online. When they would come I would lose sleep at night because I would read them from cover-to-cover in one sitting. And through those books I became a farmer, a farmer at heart.

Dancing with Wendell Berry

Rushing home from work Friday afternoon, I called Jed to throw all of the clothes and toiletries I had laid out into the small duffel bag at the foot of the bed. I was excited for the weekend get-away with my husband. We were headed to The Land Institute's perennial "Prairie Festival" and I didn't want to miss the barn dance. The sun started setting as we left our camping site and headed to the Big Red Barn. Both old and young men, wearing beards and clean-shaven faces, with a handful in plaid and overalls, were all represented. The women wore their hair long and wild or bonnets with their locks tucked away. Some had jeans while others swung around in flowing skirts. Everyone jumped right in when the caller started barking orders: Find a partner. Dosado. Around your partner. Now Swing! I LOVED it!!

The Prairie Festival is a gathering held every year right in the middle of The Land Institute's fields of prairie out in Salina, Kansas (near the belly-button of the United States). This year's speakers featured Wendell Berry (who I did not see at the barn dance much to my disappointment), Wes Jackson, an ecological economist, an ecologist, an artist, and others. Jed and I went not knowing exactly what we would be gaining from the experience but drawn to it by both the work being done at "The Land" and the fact that Wendell Berry happens to be one of Jed's three favorite authors--the other two being dead (C.S. Lewis and Hugh Nibley). Even though I did not get to dance with Wendell, we both did get to shake his and and exchange a couple of words. He looks rather healthy for his age and has kind eyes. He has been said to be today's Thoreau: a poet, essayist, philosopher, naturalist, and advocate of the small family farmer, as well as farming himself.

A tone of concern for the environment and activism threaded its way through the discourses. But what I appreciated just as much was the hope that these powerhouses expressed when members of the audience voiced discouragement. The ecologist--Sandra Steingraber--communicated it eloquently when she said at times we have to be a hero to keep going on. We can choose to be the "good German" or part of the "French resistance", not knowing the end result of our efforts to be good stewards of Mother Earth.

I am more excited than ever to move forward with my husband in our farming endeavors. Just like our farm's name implies, it will be a sacred trust to work the land gently and with respect. I support Jed's vision of using work horses to tread lightly and try to be as sustainable and self-reliant as possible in our methods of farming.

And so the adventure begins...

In the late fall of 2006, Jed and I met one night when I gave him a ride as a favor to his brother. He laughed a loud, contagious laugh and gave me a big hug to greet me. I wore pigtails and was listening to a Bob Dylan CD in the car. Little did we know that our lives would change forever by that chance meeting.

Three and a half years later--after emails, phone calls, and visits from South America, California, Africa, Idaho, Alaska, Arizona, and Utah--we got married, took our independent dreams and are making them into ONE. With that came a move to Kansas. And here we are...Jed working with family to develop an organic farm and lifestyle, me teaching and making art, and both of us trying to build a little bit of ZION, and learning a lot along the way!