The Noble Death of a Lovely Chicken

A co-worker of mine, John, used to rent an apartment from a woman that ran a herd-share. A herd-share is like a farm-share, but instead of paying a membership fee or working a couple hours a week for a box of veggies, you pay a membership or work a couple hours for fresh, local meat, milk, eggs, and cheese. The herd consisted of dairy cows, meat cow, pigs, goats, and chickens, and members get a share of some of the highest quality food products from a small scale family operation. John helped out with the animals in return for the experience and delicious food and therefore is now skilled at slaughtering and butchering as well as caring for happy farm animals. As part of my internship at the organic farm, we sometimes participate in classes on the farm and John proposed a class on chickens for us. Several of the interns (including me) are vegetarians (but for different reasons) and while we were nervous about the class, we voted that it would be a very worthwhile experience. John's friend/old landlord recently decided to downsize her herd, and donated some of the older chickens to our class. We set a date for this past Thursday, and the class was on.

I said that the interns were vegetarians for different reasons. I believe that humans are omnivores and that it is natural for us to eat meat, I just don't agree with how meat is generally produced in this country. I think that the industrial food lots and slaughter houses that supply most of the meat found in the grocery stores are disgusting and cruel. I don't eat meat from those places because I do not want to support what their operations. My abstinence from mainstream meat is something of a boycott; every dollar counts and if enough people join in they will not be able to destroy the environment with huge waste ponds full of antibiotics and hormones while being incredibly cruel to animals. Meat like that is not happy meat. But, I personally feel that meat that I or a friend obtains by hunting is happy meat and livestock that is raised properly and organically is also happy meat. It is not enough for meat to be "organic," however, and I will not eat organic meat from Whole Foods; I really need to see the animal or it needs to come from someone that I really trust and I absolutely do not trust Whole Foods. The chickens from the herd-share meet all my criteria for happy meat and to actually slaughter and clean it myself made it even more authentically aligned with my values. I was excited for this experience and excited to eat happy chicken, but also a little nervous about killing the chicken with my own hands.

On the day of the class, John brought the chickens to the farm in the same dog crate that Gnasher sleeps in. The chickens had a bed of hay and a watering contraption in their crate. They were truly beautiful chickens: two roosters and five hens. I guess I was expecting them to be the fat white chickens that you see in chicken houses being exposed  in documentaries. These chickens were all different colors and looked strong and healthy.

We set up a large pot over a propane burner and put a ladder over saw horses to hang the chickens from and allow them to bleed out. John took a big rooster from the crate by grabbing it by its legs. Once it was upside down, it calmed down quickly. He used a slip knot to hang the chicken from the ladder and let it calm down for a couple more seconds. John showed us where on the neck to cut and had each of us feel the jaw bone to make sure we understood exactly where the cut needed to be made. John killed the first bird, explaining as he went along; he was was quick, careful, and respectful, and thanked the chicken with a kiss to the cheek before making the incision. When the blood was running into the bucket, there were several full body spasms with dramatic wing flapping, and then the chicken had passed. The chicken remained hanging over the bucket to allow the rest of the blood to drain out, and it was someone else's turn to choose a chicken.

My co-worker Nick went next, followed by Jess, and then it was my turn. I chose my chicken, a smallish female with lots of personality, and took her from the crate. When I was trying to catch her feet in the crate, she kept ducking away from me and cowering in the far back corner. When I finally caught her and pulled her out, she made a crying sound that was heartbreaking. As soon as I had her upside down she calmed right down and I hung her from her foot from the ladder. John handed me the knife and I found the spot right under the jaw bone where I needed to cut. I was nervous mostly because I was worried I would not be fast and swift and I would cause the poor hen to suffer. I made the first incision quickly and blood began rushing out of the wound. It was a little shocking how warm the blood was and a little disconcerting to be covered in fresh, warm blood. The second cut was a little more difficult to make, but I was able to do it and then I held her as she hung over the bucket and bled out. It is important to hold the bird as it dies so that it does not come free as it spasms and land on the ground. It was sad to feel the life drain out of the sweet bird that had just been so animated, but I knew she had lived a good life. 

 After each of us had carefully and thoughtfully killed a bird, it was time to de-feather them. We dunked the birds in 150F water with a bit of detergent for about 2 minutes. It was important to have the water at this temperature to avoid scalding the skin and the detergent was equally important to allow the water to get beyond the oil secreted by the birds oil gland and reach the follicle. As soon as I lifted my chicken from the hot water I began bushing the feathers off against their natural grain. Most of the small feathers came off so easily it was a bit surprising. The larger feathers in the wings and tail took a little more effort but came out easily enough. The difficult part was removing feathers that had broken close to the follicle, and there were quite a bit of these on her back as she was a popular hen with the roosters. Once we removed as many feathers as was really feasible, it was time to remove the organs.

The first step was the cut off the heads and feet. To cut off the head we cut the flesh around the neck and then twisted the neck at that point until the head popped off. Then I found the joint between the foot and the leg and cut there so I was only cutting cartilage rather than bone. The next step was to remove the oil glad at the top of the tail. Apparently if this is left intact, it will make a roast chicken taste quite funky. Next, we removed the crop from the neck region. It was then time to cut into the body cavity; I cut a slit into the abdomen very carefully and cut layer by layer to be sure not to cut into the any organs. Once the cut was open, I used my fingers to widen the incision and then reach inside and loosen the connections between the entrails and the side of the body cavity. I accidentally burst the gall bladder, but it wasn't a big deal because I was not planning on saving the organs, although the neon green color was a bit startling. Once all the insides were out, I cut out the rectum, peeled out the lungs, pulled out the trachea, and my chicken was ready to be rinsed and refrigerated. One of the coolest things in pulling out the organs was finding several eggs growing and being prepared for laying. I found one in the oviduct that was a full size egg, only soft. It was amazing to see this "conveyor belt" of eggs and have a first-hand understanding of how eggs are produced in the hen's body.

Once the chicken was rinsed, I double bagged it and put it on ice. We cleaned up the feathers and the insides and the blood. We put away the ladders, and the the buckets, and the petroleum burner. John told us that the chickens needed to be refrigerated for a couple days to allow rigor mortis to pass and to let the meat cure. I was a little disappointed not to eat it right away, but also relieved that I did not need to cook it immediately. because I was exhausted by an emotional day. 

I decided to roast the chicken on Sunday when I would have enough time to not feel rushed. I found a recipe: TheKitchn.com: Roasted Chicken and bought some potatoes, sweet potatoes, and some fresh sage, thyme, and oregano. I already had the lemon, olive oil, onions, garlic, and carrots the recipe calls for. Roasting a chicken was surprisingly easy. It took about 20 minutes to prepare, 1 hour 10 minutes to roast, and then 10 minutes to carve and serve. It was probably the most delicious thing I have ever cooked and took so little effort (at least for the cooking part). I completely understand why people do not want to eat vegetarian. My husband and I are both looking forward to when we have an opportunity like this again. 

Also, Gnasher was a VERY happy pup, having consumed lots of chicken; that lucky pup!

Battle of the Broccoli

My CSA pick-up day is Monday, so when Sunday rolls around only the least preferred veggies are left in the crisper. The best things are consumed on Monday and yesterday was a perfect example: we ate all the goat cheese and bok choy as soon as we got it. The spinach and mushrooms will get used on a pizza tomorrow. I have a feeling the eggplants are going to get left in the fridge until the end of the week this week. Not because there is anything wrong with eggplant, but we have eaten a lot of eggplant in the last couple weeks. Last week, the broccoli was the rejected one. So, on Sunday night it was time to eat the broccoli; if it got left until Monday when all the fresh food arrived, it would probably end up forgotten, and I really hate wasting food. 

When I eat out, I love broccoli in dishes, but when I make it at home it is generally lack luster, boring, and usually under or over cooked. I especially love garlic broccoli and tofu at our favorite Chinese restaurant, Fan Tang. And so, I decided to make Chinese style garlic broccoli and tofu over white rice. I found a recipe from About.com Vegetarian Food that claimed it would only take 20 minutes and looked incredibly simple, and we had all the ingredients already. The recipe certainly looked like a winner, so I decided to try it. I did change it up some, however. I used: 

1 onion
5 large cloves garlic
enough olive oil to saute the onions, garlic, and broccoli
the florets of three heads of broccoli
1/2 of a block of extra firm organic sprouted tofu (not pressed, sprouted tofu is much denser than regular tofu)
2 Tablespoons of minced fresh ginger
a lot of cayenne pepper (I like things spicy)
3 tbsp of corn starch
1/4 cup soy sauce
1 cup water

The recipe took longer than 20 minutes, probably because I obsessively clean my rice and am not a super fast vegetable chopper, but it turned out delicious. I almost feel silly for ordering this dish at Chinese restaurants my entire life and never even trying to make it at home before. The sauce is literally the same sauce you receive when ordering this out! There were no left overs...

This recipe used all the florets of my broccoli, but I was left with the stems, which looked like way too much edible food to chuck in the countertop compost container. So, I stuck them in the fridge and looked for recipes that used the broccoli stems. I found one that had a very similar feel to the first but used the stems instead: www.kalynskitchen.com "spicy stir fried broccoli stems recipe". I thought it would be fun to follow in the footsteps of my battle of the beets piece and again compare the performance of the bottom and the top of a plant in a similar recipe. But, I also realized that the beet experiment left me eating so many quinoa beet patties in a week that I am downright sick of them. 

Instead of cooking the broccoli stems in a spicy stir-fry, I cooked them with some other veggies and tempeh. First, I sauteed a white onion and 4 large garlic cloves in coconut oil with a dash of sesame oil. Next, I added sliced summer squash, sliced broccoli stems and cubed tempeh and cooked over medium heat. When the squash was soft I added chile powder and cayenne pepper and chopped green peppers and stirred well. Then I laid bok choy on top of the other veggies and waited until it wilted before stirring it in, cooking for several more minutes and then serving. This turned out well, but the bok choy was the star of the show.

These two recipes were so different that I am not sure I can declare a true winner. The florets did a great job holding a lot of the delicious garlic sauce and the sliced stem added some needed crunch to its own recipe. I think it may be a draw: brocolli stems and florets are both pretty awesome.  

2nd is the best

This morning, Jamie, our friend Alex, and I drove down to Belen to visit Skydive NM again. There was a special event at the drop zone and the club had hired a C47 or a DC3 (same thing) so that a large group of licensed skydivers could all jump at the same time. Alex was interested in jumping civilian style from a large plane, Jamie has a broken foot, and I was planning on performing my second IAD jump and completing category A, stepping a little closer to becoming a licensed skydiver myself. Now that I have visited the DZ a couple times,I am beginning to get a better understanding of sky diving culture; there is a lot of waiting around, but it is totally worth it! Unfortunately for Jamie, his whole day was waiting around, but I think that he enjoys chatting with all the skydivers and being a part of the club-like atmosphere that definitely pervades the hangers and office at the DZ.

Last time I jumped, my FJC (first jump course) instructor, Shamus, told me to give him a heads up when I was ready to do my next jump. I sent him a text earlier this week, asking if Sunday would work. He replied by letting me know about the big plane coming in, and advised me to come at about 8 so that there would be instructors available. Jamie, Alex, and I should up a little after 8. Alex signed up for the first jump load on the C47, everyone teased Jamie about breaking his foot playing frisbee instead of skydiving, and no one knew I was planning on doing my second jump that morning. But, that was totally ok; JC, an instructor, paired me up with an instructor named Jimmy while he prepped students that would be completing their first jump. Jimmy reviewed some of the basics with me and quizzed me on the sequence of events in the jump and some emergency procedures. We practiced climbing out of a parked plane again and I got strung up in the hanging harness to practice checking my canopy. The first time that I practiced cutting away and pulling my reserve, I fumbled for my cutaway handle and I asked to repeat the skill, making sure that I would be able to respond in an emergency. I was also a little rusty remembering all the new facts I had learned 3 weeks before, but after about an hour and a half, I was ready to jump again.

The DZ was kind of a mess with all the excitement of the special large plane. There were way more people than I had seen there before and everyone was buzzing about formations and tricks they were planning for the big group drop. There was even a 16 person formation being planned. Because of this, it took a while to get student gear together for me and for the other student and I to get into the Cessna that would be taking us to our jump altitudes. The jump would have a slightly different plan this time. Alan (who would be on the radio helping me direct to the landing area) would jump first at 4000', then I would jump at 5500', and finally Kristen (a more advanced student) and JC would jump from about 10,000'. I was a little bummed that Rudi would not be on the radio for me again, but Alan was clear and safe, as well. After Alan left the aircraft, I knew I would be next and expected to feel nervousness deep in my belly, but it did not come. Instead of being nervous and scared, I was excited and as we got closer and closer to the time to open the door for me, I just got more and more excited. Apparently I wore my emotions on my face, because JC told Jamie afterwards that my smile got bigger and bigger as it got closer to jump time.

Finally, it was time to go. JC told me to put my feet out and stop, I heard him say "I have your pilot chute," I responded "you have my pilot chute!," and he told me to "climb out." It was much easier to climb out on my second jump and sliding my hands out towards the wing and stepping off the wheel to a hanging position did not scare me numb as it had previously. Then JC said "go." I hesitated a second and then let go, looking up at JC and the plane the whole time. I held eye contact and body position, and even remembered to count out 4 seconds before checking my canopy. I remember the entire exit, unlike last time which was an adrenaline fueled blur. I think being more present and aware made the experience more fun, even though the adrenaline rush of the first jump was incredible in its own way. My canopy opened fine, I did a controllability check, and located the landing zone. Again, I had trouble determining the winds and planning my own landing pattern, but Alan talked me down, and I landed softly on my feet. I remembered to stow my brakes and daisy chain my risers and stuff the slider through the last loop of the daisy chain. I wasn't shaking uncontrollably, and I was fully able to perform these tasks and then gather up my chute and walk to the van.

I was advanced to category B after debriefing my jump and again, I cannot wait for my next jump, although for a different reason this time. Last solo jump, the rush of doing something so surreal and terrifying was overwhelming and amazing and I was looking forward to that feeling again. Now that I have gained a little more confidence and control of my physiological response, I want to perform. I want to practice, and become really skilled at skydiving. I am really looking forward to free falling with Jamie, when his foot is healed, of course.

Here I am with Alan (my landing coach) and the small Cessna we jump from.

Gnasher perching on Jamie, bringing a smile despite the big black boot.

Battle of the Beets

Last Friday, a friend gave me a bunch of beets with the greens still attached. I had been planning to make homemade veggie patties for two potlucks I was attending over the weekend, and knowing that beets are a common ingredient in veggie burgers, I searched recipes making use of the gifted beets. I found a recipe from the blog foodydoody that used the beets and recipe from The New York Times Recipes for Health that utilized the beet greens. Two different recipes with two different parts of a beet plant: I decided it would be fun to make both and compare the two.

The NYtimes recipe included: Beet Greens, Rainbow Quinoa, Carrots, Onions, Fresh Ginger, Garlic, Cumin, Lemon Juice, Chick Peas, an Egg, salt, pepper, and olive oil. 

The beet greens needed to be steamed, the onion, carrot, garlic, and ginger were sauteed, and the egg, chick peas, and lemon juice were pureed. These ingredients were mixed with the cooked quinoa, salt, pepper, and cumin, and then cooked. The mixture was rather crumbly, so rather than forming little patties, I scooped up a big spoonful and rounded the edges before dropping it into hot oil in a frying pan. When one side was fried, I flipped the patty onto a baking sheet and baked them for 12 minutes. The whole process took about 1.5 hours including cooking the quinoa. Also, the recipe sites that it yields 4-6 patties. I made 22 modest sized patties by following the recipe.

My patties did not look as good as the ones in the picture below. They were a little misshapen and crumbly even after baking, but they tasted amazing and were a huge hit at  both potlucks. We did not reheat them and ate them without bread or fixings. They were that good that they stood alone and were good at room temperature!

The foodydoody recipe included: Roasted Beets, Quinoa, Onion, Garlic, Smoked Paprika, Salt, Pepper, White, Northern Beans, an Egg, Lemon Juice. 

Roasting the beets took over an hour, but the rest of the prep was the same as the first recipe. The onions and garlic were sauteed and the white northern beans were pureed with the egg and lemon juice. The smoked paprika tasted and smelled amazing and gave the recipe a nice BBQ flavor, but the beets were very beety and really dominated the taste. The mashed roasted beets helped hold the patties together before cooking, but these patties were just as crumbly after cooking. I have been eating these patties over salad, and have been having trouble finishing all the leftovers. 

The winner of the battle of the beets: Beet Greens and Quinoa Veggie Patties! 

Yoga Bootcamp

Last week, I woke up at 4:15am from Tuesday to Sunday. I brushed my teeth, got dressed, packed my things for the day, and arrived at the yoga studio at 5am. I handed in my journal, which included everything I ate the day before, how much water I drank, and how much sleep I got the night before, to my teacher who closely scrutinized the data. After our journals were appraised, we all sat down on our mats for a brief discussion. The instructor asked how we were doing with the diet (no refined sugar or flour, at least one salad a day, vegetarian) and asked us to share with the whole group things she had read in our journal. We would discuss our assignment for the present day and then get down to about an hour of asana practice (yoga poses and flow). Except for Wednesday morning, when we practiced deep and sustained stretches or yin yoga, we worked on a warming vinyasa flow sequence; we practiced the same flow sequence several times in one class and the same flow each class so that we could build strength and stability in the poses in the sequence.

Anyone that knows me, knows that I am absolutely not a morning person. I truly require 8 hours of sleep to be functional and I value sleep above most other things. I love to nap, and I take long naps on weekends and short naps on weekdays. When I am tired, I am grouchy, impatient, and sometimes mean. So, why would I subject myself to something that I knew would make me miserable? Well, I didn't reaaally choose to participate. The weeklong workshop was offered to me as a gift wrapped up in a compliment. Nishtha, the owner of the studio where I teach yoga, called me and asked me to participate as a gift, citing that she had really enjoyed my company at a recent event at the studio and would like to have me participate. I had been meaning to wake up 30 minutes earlier to practice asana before work for weeks, but consistently press snooze until the very latest I can get away with. I really believe that yoga in the morning would relieve some of the low back and hip pain that I feel while farming all day, and thought that the bootcamp might be the perfect way to kickstart my morning yoga practice. So, I said yes to Nishtha's offer, quite enthusiastically in fact.

Honestly, I can barely remember last week. My alarm went off at 4:15 am and I popped out of bed, terrified of oversleeping. My dozing puppy would open one eye, look at me, and roll over in the other direction, continuing to sleep without the bathroom light interrupting his slumber. I grabbed my lunch and breakfast, made tea, and headed out the 24hour gate because the gate closest to my house was not even open that early. While practicing at the studio, my vritti (internal dialog) was all over the place and very negative. I thought mean things about myself, my practice, my teacher, and my classmates. I left in a hurry, uninterested in speaking to the other participants, and eager to get to the parking lot at the farm so that I could sleep in my backseat for 20 minutes before the work-day started. When I woke again at 6:56am, all I could think about was the next time I could nap. I stayed focused on staying awake until lunch, ate in a hurry, and slept for 30 more minutes in the backseat; I even brought a pillow with me. Tuesday and Wednesday evening I taught yoga, Thursday night I had some girlfriends over for dinner, and Friday night I went to a power vinyasa class at Grassroots Yoga before eating dinner with another girlfriend. Saturday's bootcamp was the most difficult of the week. I actually fell asleep in several poses, including standing poses, I swear! I left class at 7:10 am (2hr classes on the weekend), went home, and slept for 4 hours. After my nap, I felt much better; I went shopping and made veggie and quinoa patties for a potluck birthday party that evening and potluck breakfast after the last day of bootcamp the following morning. As I was falling asleep Saturday night, I was planning how I could skip the breakfast and sleep before I taught yoga at 10am.

On Sunday morning, I was still thinking about how I could get out of attending the breakfast pot-luck as I got dressed and headed to the last class. During class, I felt better than I expected, and after class I was hungry! I walked to breakfast with Nishtha and the event was surprisingly pleasant. Having some sleep, and completing something quite hard for me with a group of other people struggling in their own way, made reminiscing on the experience and talking about other yoga and life topics very fun and enjoyable. The coffee might have helped, too. I left the breakfast early to teach Sunday morning yoga and taught one of the best classes I have ever taught. Was it the hard work, self discipline, and abundance of yoga in my life that week, or was it just a good class? I don't know, but with boot camp having come to a close, I felt accomplished and happy and looking forward to future yoga challenges.

So now it is Tuesday, two days after the completion of yoga bootcamp. Have I continued to wake up at 4:15am and shun refined sugar and flour? Not really. I did several sun salutations before work on Monday, but I had non-dairy soy ice cream Monday night. Today, I stayed away from the frozen desert, but I didn't wake up to do any practice this morning (with the excuse that I was teaching a class this evening). Has bootcamp changed my life? Probably not. But, I do think that I will be more aware of my food choices in the next couple weeks and maybe beyond. And, I will keep working on building a morning yoga practice a little bit at a time.

The Atlantic Ocean, My Love

I grew up on the eastern end of Long Island and have spent most of the summer days of the first 25 years of my life enjoying the Atlantic Ocean. I have memories that date back to kindergarten of my mother bringing me to the ocean and trying to keep me from adventuring too deep into the unforgiving waves. She implemented the "belly-button rule," which implored me to stay shallower than my belly-button unless she was accompanying me deeper. I would spend the day trying to sneak deeper without her noticing me and screaming "Meg! You are going to have a time-out" at the top of her lungs, alternating with begging her to take me deeper. When we went in together, we would dive under the breaking waves and then tread water floating up and down with the incoming waves. Occasionally, I would accidentally catch one and get tumbled and scraped against the sandy bottom before emerging from the water gasping for air. Secretly, I loved when this happened, even if it was terrifying.

As I got older, I was allowed to swim by myself and I learned to catch the waves on purpose. When a wave would suck me up and drop me over its falls swirling me in the white water, I now knew to let my body relax and to let the water move me at its will, trusting that eventually I would be able to steal a breath and then the wave would release me from its grip. I absolutely loved this sensation and throughout middle school and the beginning of high school, my mom would drive me and my siblings and friends to Cupsogue, the county beach in Westhampton, almost everyday. This beach was about 30 minutes from our house and at the end of Dune Road, the only road that travels the barrier island that protects the shores of Eastern Long Island. The speed limits are tight and well enforced on this road, but it is not possible to drive quickly, anyways; the road is lined with impressive mansions of all shapes and styles with shiny cars that I never saw in my own neighborhood, and most people driving this road were looking intently at the houses and cars trying to imagine the fabulous people that lived inside and what their lives could possibly be like. Everyone in my family had a favorite house and it felt like we had some special ownership over those houses; as we drove, my mom would call out "there is Meg's house! There is Pat's!" This part of the day was fun in its own way, but I always felt impatient and excited about arriving at the beach. On holidays it was particularly painful as the road would be backed up all the way to the bridge and it could take hours to get to the beach! When we finally arrived, I would spend the days body-surfing and walking down the beach admiring the backsides of the ostentatious houses I had observed on the way there.

When I was finally able to drive myself to the beach, I stopped going to the county beach in Westhampton and started going to Ponquogue in Hampton Bays. This beach was across the street from the bridge to the barrier island, so it was much easier to access as it did not require a drive down a long stretch of Dune Road. I would buy a non-residents season pass for $200, because I lived in the next town over, and make sure that I got my money's worth. Going to the beach became a social adventure, with my classmates hanging out at a cluster of towels near the volleyball net. It was important to be present as often as possible to be established as part of the beach crew, but I really just loved the ocean, even as a shallow and superficial teenager. 

In college, I learned to surf while studying abroad in Ecuador. The trip was during J-term and I arrived back home to a frosty New York. I absolutely could not wait for the spring to spring so I could get in the ocean and start surfing at home. As soon as the trees started to bud and the days became a bit warmer, I went to the surf shop and bought my first surfboard and wet suit. As a beginner, there were not many days that the Atlantic ocean allowed me to practice. Many days the waves were big, daunting, and downright terrifying and others the water was perfectly flat, but there were a couple here and there when I was able to get in with my board and practice surfing. Playing in the waves with a large fiberglass board attached to your ankle is much scarier than diving and swimming freely. When I would fall and get tumbled by a wave, the board would drag behind me and pull me backwards, keeping me underwater longer and making it more difficult to steal some air from the surface. Sometimes the board would come over the wave and hit me on the head or the fins would scratch some part of my body. But, when I caught a wave, stood up, and rode it all the way to the shore, all the abuse and anxiety were forgotten and I was so elated it is barely possible to explain in words. Here, a whole new way to love the ocean. 

Last weekend, I flew to Florida to spend time with Jamie while he is training there. The hotel where he is living looks directly over the Atlantic Ocean. When I woke up the first morning, I looked over the balcony at the familiar waves crashing on the unfamiliar beach and felt all the love I have always known for the ocean, but later when I was laying on the beach reading my novel, I had an odd mix of emotions. Reading novels at the beach once made up a very large proportion of my existence, and here I was feeling like a tourist, out of place, at the ocean. That afternoon the sky was overcast and it was quite windy; I was chilled and the ocean was windblown, choppy, and less than inviting, so I stayed dry on the beach. The feeling of visitor, non-native, even intruder, lingered until the following day when the wind died down a bit, the water smoothed out, and I went swimming in the ocean. All the familiar feelings of elation, excitement, fear, and joy that I feel when diving through and catching waves, tumbling towards the beach came rushing back and I felt like I was home. Sometimes I wonder at how a natural formation like a body of water can make me so very happy, but seeing that the Atlantic has been one of the most constant, reliable and long-term sources of joy in my life, it shouldn't be much of an enigma. Now, I am back in Albuquerque, enjoying the crisp, dry desert air and the beautiful views of the impressive mountains, but still thinking about the next time I can visit the sweet, lovely Atlantic Ocean. 

Dog Shaming

My new internet addiction is dog-shaming.com. Dog owners take pictures of their pups after they perform some misdeed, write a confession for the dog, and post it on this site to "shame" them. Here is an example:



Obviously, Gnasher deserves a spot on this website, but it is hard to decide what to shame him for...
Some potential shame for Gnasher:
"I ate the straps of mom's Patagonia messenger bag"
"I ate mom's $40 smartwool compression socks the same day she bought them"
"I have consumed at least one sock out of every pair of smartwool socks mom owns as well as any fancy running socks she buys"
"I ate the straps of mom's havaianas flip flops the same day they arrived in the mail from Zappos"
"I tried to eat a shark jaw mom uses for teaching, but it hurt my mouth and I was only able to half destroy it"
"I pull books off the bookshelf and eat them"
"I pulled dads rainbow flip-flops under the closet door and ate 1/4 of each shoe. Dad still wears them"
"I pull plants in the back yard, bring them inside and shred them, making 'salad' for my parents"
"I shred paper that is left within my reach"
"I eat stuffed animals and then my poop is multi-colored fabric"
"I jumped up on the table and knocked a full bowl of cereal onto the carpet"
"I peed in my parents bed when dad asked me if I wanted to go out to pee"
"I eat holes in the fleece blanket on my parents bed"
"I ate a $5 bill"

Sky Ninja!

Yesterday, I jumped out of an airplane by myself for the very first time. Years ago, I did two tandem jumps with an experienced skydiver strapped to my back, but this was a completely different experience. This weekend, I went to a four hour course on Friday night and then had 3 more hours of instruction on Sunday morning before exiting the airplane alone and flying my canopy to the ground. I did have some help, however. This first solo jump was what is called an IAD or instructor assisted deployment. My instructor pulled out my pilot shoot before I jumped so it was trailing behind me and pulling out my main canopy as soon as I exited the aircraft. This ensured that the rip cord would be pulled even in all the excitement and adrenaline of my very first solo jump. In addition, another instructor was on radio and started helping me complete my landing pattern as soon as he saw I had control of my canopy. He instructed me to turn left and right and to "flare" or break when it was time. Obviously, I survived the experience since I am writing about it now, but I don't think surviving adequately describes how it felt. When I reached the ground I was smiling and shaking and so happy that I could barely gather up my chute and carry it to the van to return to the airport and debrief my jump.

One of the instructors recorded me exiting the airplane, for which I am so thankful because I can barely remember the seconds after letting go of the plane. To make the exit, I put my feet out on a step over the wheels of the plane. At this point the strength of the wind outside the plane became a little intimidating and I was not sure if I would be able to climb out the rest of the way, but I put my hands on the strut that connects the wing of the small plane to its body and slid my hands out further towards the wing. As my hands slid towards the wing, I stepped off the little step and was hanging from the strut flying with the airplane. My instructor said "go," and I said "should I let go?" He responded "yes" and I asked again, "Should I yet go now?" He said "yes," again, and I took a deep breath and let go. I remembered to keep looking up at the plane and I arched instinctively, but I did not count as I had practiced, "Arch one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand, four one-thousand, check canopy." I was falling, slipping away from the plane and then my canopy opened. As soon as I heard it start opening I watched it unfolding and inflating and took note that it was "there and square." I completed my controllability check by turning left, then right, and then braking. As soon as this was complete, Rudi, my instructor, began talking to me on my radio and giving me commands. At this point, I was so completely ecstatic; I kept looking around with a huge grin on my face telling myself, "this is really my life right now, I am really experiencing this." I looked all around and picked out the Sandias in the distance and found the landing area below. Soon, too soon, it was time to think about my landing. I tried to read the windsocks and determine the proper landing pattern, but Rudi beat me to it and I just followed his instructions. I landed off mark, but safely and softly. Once I was on the ground, I was shaking like a leaf and so happy and proud that I had not backed down and that I was able to allow myself to experience something so special. About 10 minutes later, when I had collected my chute and made it to the van, all I could think about was when I could jump next.

I will do a jump just like this one more time, and then I will jump from double the height with two instructors by my side and perform a true free fall before deploying my parachute. Eventually, hopefully, I will be able to jump completely alone and do fancy tricks like backflips!

Gnasher wishes he could jump, too.

Reflections on a long weekend

It has been a couple days since the long labor day weekend has come to a close and I am still feeling a little sad that the weekend is gone and past. Jamie's parents flew to Albuquerque from Washington D.C. on Friday evening and they visited our house for the first time. They brought gifts from Jamie's grandfather: a handmade table made of cherrywood that Jamie's grandfather cut on his land in upstate New York. The table is beautiful and it really reminded me how much beauty and utility humans are able to produce if they just make the effort. Then we were off to the casita we rented in Santa Fe. Despite living in Albuquerque for a little over a year, I really haven't spent much time in Santa Fe; most of the time I have spent in the area were Salam Academy field trips! So, together as a family, we set out to discover Santa Fe as tourists.

On Saturday morning we slept in a little bit and then walked to the Santa Fe farmer's market and craft fair. The farmers market was huge! I could not believe how many small organic farms were in attendance. I was particularly interested in a Montessori school that had adapted farming and selling produce and other products into their curriculum. The students learn to grow plants and do all the labor involved in producing food. They harvest the food and bring it to market and use the money they make to buy seeds, plants, and materials for the next year. The students learn biology, botany, horticulture, finance, budgeting, carpentry, mathematics, and the value of hard work while living healthy and spending time outside. It is a model for schools that is growing in popularity and I think could really improve the educational system as it currently exists. Learning about this school made me miss teaching and look forward to my next teaching opportunity!

On Sunday, Jamie, his dad, and I went with a guide to the Pecos River to learn how to fly fish. The guide used thin colored string and wound it around very small hooks in such a way that they perfectly resembled different species of flies and their larvae. There is one fly that floats and one that sinks at the end of each fishing line. The line is cast out about 20 ft and the floating "fly" floats by with the current of the river. The caster carefully watches the floating fly and if it jerks and is pulled underwater, the fisher pulls the rod up and back to "hook" the fish. At first, I could not jerk the rod back quick enough and while Jamie was catching lots of fish, I was not. But, eventually, with lots of coaching, I was able to catch many fish. We caught rainbow trout and brown trout. The brown trout are usually smaller and are a brownish gold color with pink spots. The rainbow trout are an iridescent pink and green. The fish are truly beautiful and are smarter than you would expect. They watch the flies go by and often observe the fly and choose not to eat it. When they do eat it, they instantly spit it out when they taste the metal, which is why it is so important to pull the rod quickly, or you will lose the fish. We released all the fish that we caught and there were not any fatalities, just a fun day trying to take advantage of evolution and use our faculties to trick another species while enjoying the great outdoors. And, great are the outdoors near Santa Fe. It was beyond lovely to be up to my knees in cool rushing river water. I often found myself neglecting the fishing and simply observing the fish and the water, the trees and the rocks. The air is cooler and crisper there and I couldn't help but sit and smile in the warm sunshine.

Monday was the end of our little vacation and upon waking we needed to pack up the car and move out of our casita. But first, Jamie and I walked to the N.Y. Deli and they actually had bagels that brought back the sweet taste of home. Bagels and coffee were a great way to start the day, but the day only got better from there. We drove with a very full car, lots of bags, 4 people, Gnasher, and his crate, to the Santa Fe ski basin and hiked a trail named Aspen Vista. It was a lot cooler at that altitude and the ecosystem was completely different. Grasses, low shrubs, and Aspen trees dominated. Aspens are all interconnected by their root systems and some people believe that large Aspen groves are actually the largest living organism. The trail was a bit steep and Jamie's parents were not used to the altitude so we took t nice and slow. Gnasher does not take things slow and he found another dog to spring up and down the mountain with. He exhausted himself and slept like a baby while we drove from Santa Fe up the back of the Sandias on the Turquoise Trail. We hiked to the spot Jamie and I got married last year and had some snacks and watched the sunset to celebrate our one year wedding anniversary.

Tuesday brought me back to the farm fields, but I did teach yoga on Tuesday night at Nishtha Yoga where I earned my teacher certification. I am now teaching at the studio every Tuesday evening! It is challenging and rewarding at the same time. At the beginning of class, I am always nervous and excited at the same time and at the end I know I am one class better at teaching. Every class is an adventure!

How was your long weekend? What have you learned this week?

Science Fair Workshop

I hope you have all been thinking about your science fair projects all summer and have a project picked out by now! All the Salam Academy students did a fabulous job at the fair last year, and I hope you are planning to work just as hard this year and hopefully even more will go to states! 

The UNM STEM program hosts an annual Student Research Workshop for middle school students at the ASK Academy in Rio Rancho. The workshop will help you develop a winning project, provide ideas, tips, and materials, and there will be fun activities and lunch and snacks. It is a fabulous resource for you if you are interested in winning at regionals and states. Seats at the workshop are limited, so register as soon as possible. 

The link to register for the workshop and read more about what it will provide is here: STEM Student Research Workshop

Also, I am available for private tutoring and science project advising. If anyone is interested, please email me: maggi.mars@gmail.com