A day with Turnip Claus

The farm team went on a field trip last week to Bob Due's Terraced Gardens Farm in New Tazewell. Despite the steady drizzle all day, we got a great tour of his farm and crammed as much of his knowledge into our young heads as possible.

Bob showing off his power harrow that he uses to prepare his terraces for planting. He custom built the T-shaped handle attachment as a way to move his many tractor accessories. In the background you can see the structure that functions as his primary living quarters. Built it himself, of course.

Bob uses metal conduit hoops to support his row covers. He built a custom pipe-bender to shape the conduit himself.

Because most of his property is on rolling hillsides, he had to devise a terracing system to prevent erosion and make the land workable and sustainable.

Bob uses breathable fabric called Agribon as row covers to protect his plants in cold weather. This is a variety of miniature cabbage that should be available at the Market Square Farmer's Market, come May.

While most gardeners abhor weeds and struggle to keep them out of their beds, Bob doesn't mind letting shallow-rooted weeds create a layer of living mulch over some of his crops. Bok choy in the foreground, carrots in the background.

Bob is famous at the Farmer's Market for his turnips (last year's farm team dubbed him "Turnip Claus"), and this is a turnip that he let grow to the size of a bowling ball before chopping it open with an ax for us to see. Didn't look very tasty.

Bob is 69, and as spry as any 20-year-old; bounding up hills, lugging haybales around the farm, and living sustainably on his own at the farm. Pretty damn inspiring. Go visit his stand next time you're at the Farmer's Market, and treat yourself to some of his delicious produce. You won't regret it.

don't do it yourself (sometimes)

In a culture that's increasingly dominated by a Do-It-Yourself spirit (which I am not condemning in any way), I think it's important to sit back sometimes and give the admiration that is due to master craftsmen, who make the decision to devote their lives to becoming a true expert in their field. If you're like me, then you struggle with wanting to be a jack-of-all-trades (and consequently a master of none), so I have a deep respect for these master craftsmen and women who sacrifice basic aptitude in myriad fields for true excellence in one.

Another burden falls on those who try to portray this level of excellence for the rest of us to appreciate. It takes another kind of master to capture and condense a lifetime (or many lifetimes) of experience and skill into a series of photos or a short video. I want to share a couple videos and photos that have overcome this obstacle and give us a glimpse of the life and work of master craftsmen.

The making of a classic Globe-Trotter suitcase:



The American Craftsman Project: This is a breathtaking series of photographs documenting a variety of American craftsmen.
http://americancraftsmanproject.com/

The making of an Alfred Dunhill Tradition Case:



Rick Hearne, a fine hardwoods dealer, talks about showing off the beauty of rare wood.
http://woodtreks.com/rick-hearne-never-tires-of-hidden-beauty-in-rare-logs/231/
The WoodTreks site features a huge selection of great videos on all things woodworking.

native son

The land of my youth, my "home" (or as close to one as I can put my finger on), is on the brink of political upheaval. Not revolution, I think the Senegalese people are too sensible for that, but you can only withstand injustice for so long before even the most sensible of us snaps and starts throwing rocks.

I see all my peers posting their prayers for Senegal, I hear the updates of, "Demonstrations downtown. Our neighborhood is quiet, for now," and I don't know how to respond. How I'm supposed to feel.

Certainly I'm concerned for the well-being of family and friends, and the well-being of the Senegalese people on principle, but for some reason their plight finds no emotional purchase in my conscience. Is it because I've been desensitized by images of bloodied corpses in Benghazi, or sobering death tolls in Cairo and Damascus?

But even still, this is my homeland; why don't the reports of tear gas and dead protesters still up anything more than mild concern? Today I found myself idly browsing flight times and prices to Dakar, and brushing up on photojournalist protocol.

But that's not gonna happen.

I think.

shifting

the tectonic plates are murmuring.
might be nothing, but just in case,
i hope i'm not standing over a fault line.

an object in motion

The first of Newton's laws may be a tad more transcendent than he had intended. Anytime I travel, it seems to stir up more wanderlust.

I recently got back from visiting old friends for the holidays. I've spent the past four Christmases with them, and one of the things I always look forward to is the way they've been able to preserve memories from our time in Senegal so well. I don't know if it's just when I'm there, but the nostalgia is downright tangible.

The inherent problem with this nostalgia is that dredging up all those memories of adventure and internationality bring on an ache for movement and change. Every time I had to re-explain what it is I'm doing in Knoxville and what my plans are for next year/the future, I become less and less excited about the prospect of putting down roots here. Being with those people and completely cut off from my community in Knoxville gave me the freedom to dream about infinite possible alternative futures, set in exotic locales and punctuated by transience.

But those longings dissipated just as quickly as they came on as soon as I rolled back into Knoxville. What had felt like a jail cell slowly closing became a warm blanket enfolding me. But still, in the back of my mind, there's a slight itch in my feet.

Wanderlust, inspired by travel.

Permanence, inspired by stability.

 
 

the flying dead.

As I it in an uncomfortable plastic chair at Gate L6A, catching up on season 2 of The Walking Dead, I begin to notice a disturbing resemblance between the reanimated corpses on the screen and my current state. Same blank stare, same determined forward motion, same lack of normal human interaction. Hopefully I don't end up with a crossbow bolt through the eye though.


Is anybody else a travel zombie or is it just me?

As soon as I set foot in an airport, travelling alone, some part of my humanity is checked along with my bags, to be collected upon arrival. Here comes my social skills, rolling down the baggage carousel.

There's something about being in the purgatory of travel; neither here nor there. It's like your soul is un-tethered for a brief time, with no anchor of familiarity, no home. Now, I've done my share of travelling, but even though I can get through security in one pass and know that moving walkways are for rookies, I still seem to float above it all, never letting my guard down, never risking the vulnerability of genuine humanity.

I hear lots of people talk about how they get into deep, life-changing discussions with their seat-neighbor every time they fly or take a bus, but that just never happens for me. Granted, I don't actively try to engage them in conversation, but that's typically because they're reading or sleeping or tending to their annoying children.

Here's the thing. As annoying as the security checkpoints or the hard seats are, it's the people that are friction. Without engaging anyone, I can glide effortlessly from gate to gate, seat to seat, but at the end of the day, those are wasted hours. The only thing I have to show for it is a couple hundred miles, same as the inanimate object that carried me there.

Maybe humanity is friction; the things that slow you down, the things that take a little effort, a little intention.

braaaaains....

a hell of a thing.

You should probably go watch this exclusive premiere while it's still up.

Ed's Story - Part 1

A story about hope. Can't wait for the next 6 parts.