knee deep in the compost heap

One week. I am completely exhausted but happy. It shouldn't amaze me so much how something so simple as doing what makes you happy, heck, makes you happy. There are highs and lows; working with ice and snow can really be a challenge, but then you go feed the pigs and they somehow cheer you right up. I don't really know where to begin, how to summarize my first week as an apprentice here. Busy. That's the short version. I've been learning so many new things every day, and every day is a challenge.

Yesterday I used an old-fashioned tortilla press and don't think I can ever go back to rolling with a little plastic glass (much as I loved those times Nat!) Physically it's challenging, the sitting on my ass for two years did me no good and I can feel it. Moving 50lbs at a time, and those times are often, is tough now but I grow stronger each day. Today I found a new love-splitting wood. Never in my life did I picture myself swinging a large, sharp, metal object into the air, much less enjoying it! This morning my boss Dominic asked if Josh (the other current apprentice here, he started a couple months ago) had yet taught me "the zen of wood-splitting." My usual awkward laugh and familiar stomach lurch of fear of the unknown followed and then we moved through the motions of another day on the farm.

Soon after climbing out of the compost heap (I had to bury some old livers and manage the top level) it was time to test my "zen." The ax seemed to weigh a ton and flop like a fish in my hands. After a quick lesson and a few awkward swings something switched; with each hard whack and beautiful sound of wood splitting I got better and understood the correct stance and technique. Any tension and all the usual uncertainty that comes with beginning something new floated further and further away each time I aimed and followed through a perfect split. Completely awesome. Any day that ends with you having an entirely new skill set and the accompanying confidence it instills is a great day. Tomorrow's challenge may not end with such glory, but becoming capable of doing what I once thought I could not is what I must remember in times when the work is most difficult. Well don't I sound like a little know-it-all, sorry. A little feeling of bad-assery comes after splitting wood, forgive me.

So where to go from here? I want to talk about all the other new skills I'm acquiring, and the incredible animals that test me. Milking? Premium example of practice makes perfect. Mimi is a forgiving lass and seems to just smile knowingly as I wear myself out pleading the gift of milk out of her. But each morning my hands understand the motion better and I remain patient. Driving steers? I had no idea I would be learning to drive working oxen, but it's true. A former apprentice keeps his two young and beautiful steers here and trains both them and us a couple days a week. I've always had great difficulty in directing animals (or people for that matter), as I really prefer to be told what to do. Horses have always sensed my lack of confidence and take advantage and the steers are no different. So learning to direct steers may teach me a few things in other aspects of my life as well.

All the animals here are great, maybe I'll try to feature different ones each time I write. Just want to make a quick note though on how much I freaking love pigs! They are just so wonderful, smart, hilarious, oh I just love them and will write more on them soon. The number one animal, and man, in my life remains my dear Bu. The other cats haven't quite warmed to him yet, but hopefully soon. He's happy anyhow and, as I always knew, he thrives outdoors. Galloping around the farm like a gazelle, it's adorable. We both have trouble with the cold, and spooning at night is a must. I know it's ridiculous but I don't care.

I'll post pictures soon of the lovely cabin, I really miss my mud hut, but I'm definitely loving my living situation here as well. Let's see, what else? Food? No worries, I'm eating very well. And I must soon post on the glories of lard. We have such a ridiculous misconception of and hatred for this most amazing cooking aid. I've also had a fair amount of venison this week, not bad. Also on the food subject, when not feeding, mucking, moving, watering or otherwise for the animals that feed us here, or dealing with all the weather that makes this process evermore difficult, we're inside planning for planting!

We only plant about an acre, but jeez it takes a lot of planning. Inventorying seed, going over successes and failures from previous years, discussing what we want to plant, mapping beds, calculating what, where, how far apart and when all these things will be planted and harvested, and soon - ordering seed! One farmer I know said when a seed catalog came in her husband started flipping through it with glee and exclaimed, "it's like porn!" And now I understand his excitement. Um, ok this was way random but I thought I ought to post an update. I am very well and hope you all are too. I seriously need to get to bed, its only 8:15 but I'm dead tired and we have another long day tomorrow. Much love to all and send me updates!

here i go

So after bidding goodbye to my dear family in Washington Saturday, January 2^nd, I flew back to California and spent an evening with my uncle’s family and my Nana. Though it was a quick visit it was wonderful. Sunday Morning my Aunt Laura drove me all the way back to Ojai and we went for a beautiful ride in part of the Ojai Valley Land Conservancy (the land I worked to protect as an intern the summer before Peace Corps) with my mom. Her business is going well by the way and I highly recommend going for a ride in Ojai if you need a breather! It was so beautiful and I still can’t fully comprehend why I’m so intent on moving so far away yet again. And then my whirlwind two days-before-moving-to-the-east-coast began.

That night I randomly bumped into Ms. Anaise, my old high school English teacher who truly opened my eyes and helped me to develop the way in which we put our thoughts to paper-writing (not to mention the time she saved my life! I stopped breathing, hey, it happens). She invited me to come speak to her current students about my experience, and possibly inspire some kids to think about Peace Corps as an option in their futures. Though nervous, I just couldn’t resist. I managed to run all my errands on Monday so that I could spend Tuesday speaking to her students.

It was SO weird to step into Ventura High School as a true adult. Getting a visitors pass made me feel supremely old. Late for class and shaky, I made it and spent four periods talking to juniors. I must take a moment to thank them immensely for their interest and sweet comments (they got extra credit for reading my blog, and for that I must apologize, it can be dry). They were full of questions about everything from the Peace Corps application process to living in a mud house, Moroccan cuisine to living in a Muslim country, how we party there to gender roles and relationships. It was awesome, and I truly hope they enjoyed my answers as much as I enjoyed their questions. Particularly as an RPCV, sharing our experiences is Peace Corps goal 3: “Helping promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans” and I hope to do it again.

After that delightful day in school I finally headed to the beach. I’d driven by it numerous times, but shamefully, hadn’t stepped foot on the sand or in the water since returning to America! I know, I can hardly believe it myself. Leaving my shoes in the car, I walked out onto the terrain I know best. The sand was cool as it was nearly sunset and only the fear of hypothermia kept me from completely diving into the water. The Pacific in January is freezing! I plopped down and let the calm set in of being so at home next to the water. Whenever I allow myself the time to sit there I am refreshed. It still amazes me how oblivious so many Californians are of the incredible beauty that surrounds them on a daily basis. Is that why I’m moving away? To get away from the lack of appreciation? No, its not like there will be more in Massachusetts. I know my standards are impossibly high, but I aim for them nonetheless. I pondered my decision to leave yet again in those moments on the beach, and while I cant express any real conclusions, I remain wholeheartedly committed to my choice. Something in me is saying go, and so I follow. My instincts are right far more often than my reason, so it’s quite reasonable to trust them.

After a stressful night of packing while trying to let my mom sleep, we headed out to breakfast with my grandparents and sister Michelle before Mom, Bu and I headed to the airport. After a sweet goodbye I dove into the insanity that is LAX and after over two hours of security made it onto my flight just in time. The tranquilizers for Buggid worked like a charm this time and one layover and plane change later I was in Indiana.

From the top of possibly the slowest and longest escalator in the world I spotted the pink figure of joy that is my best friend/roomate/heterosexual soul-mate/other half/etc. Ashley. I squealed just a bit as I tried desperately not to scream and when I finally got off that damn escalator we all but knocked each other over. I have to admit I was a bit nervous about our reunion. People change, our lives had taken such different paths, two years was a long time, yada yada, but holy moley, you’d think not a week had gone by. Though vastly changed as people, our friendship is exactly as it was-completely delightful. I can’t begin to express how happy I’ve been this week with her. I’m just all smiles.

Even covered in snow, she’s given me a fabulous tour of Bloomington and her grand campus of IU, the recycling center, etc., we even went wine tasting and I’m a convert! I’m the one that hates wine, but apparently shitty Moroccan wine really isn’t the way to go. On the way home with a bottle of Oliver I realized aloud, “Ashley, maybe I’m not a cheap date anymore.” Of course I still am tolerance-wise as was shown a couple nights later. She somehow coerced me into watching stoopid football with her wonderful friends before going out to the Hairbangers Ball. It was amazing, we (me in particular) got completely smashed and danced like there was no tomorrow to awesome 80’s covers. Wow.

Today was the first day of classes and I was lucky enough to attend one class with her, Art, Craft and Technology in Subsaharan Africa. It was wonderful and I deeply miss living in Africa. I appreciate even more today how happy I am to not be in school anymore. It was cool, and odd, to be on a real, working campus again and hang out with grad students, and see how happy and thriving Ashley is there, and how happy and thriving I am to not be there. It’s good to know these things about ourselves, and to accept them.

I’m just waiting for her to come home now for tonight, my last night. We’re having Chinese delivered, popping open that bottle of wine, watching movies, doing henna and relaxing. Tomorrow Bu and I fly to New Hampshire, have a wonderful evening at the Coes’s, and Thursday I drive to Sheffield and life at Moon in the Pond Farm begins. Bismillah farming!

the next big move

So long 2009, onto a bright new year, inshallah. I've been trying to write for ages but it's all been coming out too whiny, lame, or just disorganized (but I guess that's not really new). This past month has been very busy; full of positive happenings but also great difficulty. Readjustment sucks (picture me as the scrooge), and I just haven't been able to work through it all with much grace, except on the farm. This time with family has been wonderful to reconnect- my mom, my grandparents, my brother and sister, Bill, some friends from way back when, Linsey from the Peace Corps, my dad and Gail and my other two sisters, and the list goes on.

But I could not be more ready to get to work. The work I've been planning to do for over a year now. After a wonderful visit to the Northeast, I have taken a full year apprenticeship position at Moon in the Pond Farm in Sheffield, Massachusetts. I am enormously eager to begin. And I'm leaving it at that for now. There is so much more to tell about this decision, how I came to it, what we do in these cold months (because yes, farming is a year-round job) but you're just going to have to wait until I get everything all worked out in my own darn head first. I'm in Washington now, I'll be back down to California on the 2^nd, I leave the 6^th for Indiana, have a few days with my Ashley, and then on January 13^th I move to Massachusetts. I wish you all a wonderful new year; let's make it a good one!

back on American soil

I told you all I'd be a basket case. My body is back on American soil, but my heart still lingers in Morocco. How can it be the wettest week of my life when the sky has only been clear and beautiful? When the water is falling from my face.

It's been the most painful week of my life; insanely busy, full of tragedy, some great highs and deep lows. I had some of the best meals, last tea dates, and introduced the new volunteer (I hate calling her my "replacement") to Ait Hamza and tried so hard find a way to say goodbye without it hurting so much. Well that proved to be impossible. On top of it all, the evening of November 16^th, while sitting at one of my favorite families house for the last time, Natalie and I got news from Peace Corps that So Youn Kim, a fellow PCV, had passed away. I had only met her once, and it was horribly shocking and terrible to hear one of our peers had passed away. I don't have any details except that it was an unexpected illness and left her no time. My heart goes out to her family for I can't even imagine their pain. When Natalie and I told the family we were sitting with they were deeply saddened as well and voiced many phrases having to do with God helping her parents.

In such a family-oriented society, Moroccans are always asking about our families and how we can possibly spend so much time away from them. I have spent over two years in Morocco without my family, so when So Youn passed away, they understood that her parents had not seen her for some time before it. It was just so awful, and I had no idea how to deal with it on top of the emotional rollercoaster I was already on. Natalie and I headed back to my house and we tried to keep things light while I packed my bags and spent my last night in Ait Hamza.

The next morning we headed to my host families house where I was given nearly two kilos of homemade shabakia and a beautiful pillow before heading to my favorite woman's house, Khalti Khshu's. I kept my composure at her house, and she accompanied us to the Cooperative. We took some pictures, made promises of reunion, and then I made it through approximately three goodbyes before I totally lost it and became a heaving ball of tears. The women fell into the same shape and I felt like my heart was being completely torn open. I could hardly look at half of them, and just hope they know how much I love them.

(last moments at Cooperative Atma)

My mom and sister accompanied me back to my house and I continued to weep as I said goodbye to my mud abode and went to wait on the road for transport. Normally getting a ride out of Ait Hamza takes no more than ten minutes, but this morning, when I needed it most, it took nearly an hour. With the help of Natalie and Emily (the new PCV), I managed to mail a giant package in Ifrane, and get into Azrou in one piece. My transport luck only worsened that day as the bus I planned to take to Rabat was full, so another PCV and I had to pay nearly double and take taxis the whole way, it was awful.

(my ma and me)

The next morning, Wednesday, November 18^th, my entire staj met at the Peace Corps office for our "72hour checkout". COS (Close of Service) is normally a sad and exciting time, but this morning we were all quite solemn. With the unexpected loss of So Youn, our wonderful Country Director, David Lillie, kept the meeting simple and talked about plans for her memorial service a couple days later. Many PCVs began to arrive that day and the next for the service and general volunteer support, including one of my best friends, Moira. Though I wish it were under more positive circumstances, it was great to see her again. She's one of those people who makes me happy every time I see her.

(this is our dear Moira here)

On Thursday I finished all my medical stuff and Natalie arrived with my baby boy. Around midnight Casey flew back from Cairo, and by morning we were all together again. After some last signatures, around 2pm I stamped out and became an RPCV (which stands for Returned Peace Corps Volunteer, not Retired a my mom thought). All wobbly, we headed back to the hotel and had a nice time at a big restaurant with most of my staj. Lots of hugs and goodbyes, none of it seeming very real, and completely drunk after one beer, we went to bed around midnight to prepare for the long trip ahead.

(stamping out)

(Qasiminu d Naimanu)

Not going to the Memorial service for So Youn Saturday morning was a difficult decision, but it went very well and I hope everyone is grieving and healing as best possible. Instead Nat, Casey, Bu and I kept our plan to head down to Essouira for our good friend's birthday and my last night in Morocco. I felt like a real adult as I rented a car and we headed south. Essa was beautiful and keeping all the pain and tragedies at arm's length, we had a fine evening of dancing, music and drinking. It was wonderful until late in the evening the awesomeness of my friends got to be too much for me and I hid away with the water works flowing again. But Casey and Nat are just too wonderful; they found me, we hugged, soon curled up on ponjes and I fell into a short but comfortable sleep knowing my best friends were near. Sunday we explored Essa a bit, ate some good food, and bid goodbye in the afternoon and began the long drive back to Casablanca for my late flight out.

(Casey and I in the Essa medina)

(us)

I had the idea somehow that saying goodbye to my American friends would be less painful than my Moroccan friends because I was sure to see them again sooner, oh how very wrong I was et again. I don't think either was more painful than the other, and I really thought there was no moisture left in my entire body for tears, but in that darn airport, having to say goodbye to the two people I love most in Morocco, it all became real and this time my heart, already torn open, was now being pulled completely out of my chest. I have made so many incredible friendships in Morocco, and will hold onto them, but knowing we will never live alongside one another as we did there, ever again, is what hurts most. I'll never come into my ferno room with a big pile of yummy food to Casey and Natalie's happy, waiting faces. So, snotty and soaked, and with the deepest hugs ever, I went through the most difficult goodbye of my life. I did want to see my family stateside, but I couldn't want to see America less. After they left I crumpled, tried to calm Bu as the tranquilizers took effect, and wept until I somehow managed to make it on the plane.

Completely exhausted by grief and lack of real rest, I slept through most of my flight to Rome, and the next to Paris. I even slept the first seven of my 11 hour flight from Paris to LA. Bu did so well most of the way, it wasn't til the last ten minutes, as we began our decent into LA that he finally lost it and emptied his entire bladder in his carrier and onto my lap. Reeking of cat piss, depressed and exhausted, I got through customs in about a minute and spotted a gigantic figure crossing the street outside. I couldn't believe it was my brother, but sure enough it was. He grew at least a foot since I left, my god. Being probably the worst version of myself I greeted him and mom with deep hugs and we spent the next couple hours in the welcoming traffic of LA.

We went to my grandparent's house for a bit, and I had some amazing broccoli despite my terrible plane-food stomach cramps and then headed off to Costco. Costco is certainly not the first place of business I felt comfortable entering upon return to the states, but it was as good a time as any to get on my mom's family plan and a new phone. I have absolutely no idea how to use the thing. My favorite and only fancy aspect of my beloved Moroccan phone was a flashlight on the top. In my opinion, a phone needs nothing more. The phone I have now was free with the plan, but comes with all sorts of shit I'll never need or want and opens up into a whole other computer like gadget I don't understand. Ugh.

Feeling worse by the moment, passing billboards and so many white people and so much concrete, we finally arrived at my mom's new place. I got Bu settled in and soon headed to bed with the awful ache of change. Like some huge beak-up, this awful ache you feel will never subside, of being back in this world that you had left so long ago, been completely changed, and never wanted to return to. The ache of not wanting to get used to it all again, of not wanting to become tolerant of the American way of life I so despise. I've got to get back to the soil soon, and I will.

Jet-lag woke me up around 4am because it was noon in Morocco and I felt like smiling may forever be impossible. A few hours later mom and I got up, got the horses ready and took off for a ride downtown. It was the best way to spend my first morning back. It was a fine, crisp morning. I looked around at the beautiful mountains surrounding Ojai and my eyes welled with tears as the first thing I thought was, "I gotta get Nat and Casey over this weekend to go hiking". My heart wrenched again and I felt sick. But on a horse, surrounded by beauty, and alongside the woman that gave me life, I really could not complain.

We arrived at the sweet little downtown coffee shop and mom held the horses while I went in. The cute young girl behind the counter couldn't possibly understand how insane I felt holding a $20 bill and about to make my first purchase in America. Eyes wide, I managed to order (in English it felt so weird) and fumbled with the change like a three year-old. It was a delightful breakfast. I ordered a small mocha, but it was the size of a soup bowl in Morocco, and a cheese-ridden bagel with cream cheese on top. I tried to not feel guilty for enjoying it.

We hopped back on the horses, and as we rode back home I felt an shwiya bit of comfort and faith that I might one day feel ok here. Now I'm hiding out in the house and chattin with Bu in Tamazight because I miss speaking it aleady. I'm organizing my trip next week to Massachusetts and this afternoon I'll see my sister and practice driving in America. I love you all; can't wait to see everyone at Thanksgiving, others sometime soon and my beloved ones in Morocco, know that I miss you like lost limbs already.

Things I’ll Miss

5 days left in Ait Hamza, 11 in Morocco. So sad and nervous, but also excited for what is to come. The contradicting feelings are forming the worst emotional soup. Bubbling and burning but inshallah it will come out alright. Reverse culture shock is going to be a bitch. There's no other way to put it. However, prospects are looking good, and if all goes well I'll be spending my first season back as intended-in the dirt. Of course these jobs entail far more than dirt, but it's the start. After not even a full week at home, I'll be flying to the northeast for interviews. I'm hoping I can articulate my desire to farm despite all the English I've lost. Nervousness spans all right now. My question is, what does one wear to a farming apprenticeship position interview?

The past couple months, among my many list pilings, I've made some about Morocco. Here, in no particular order, I share Things I'll Miss, which FAR outnumber the Things I Won't Miss. Enjoy.

The greetings; the confusing kissing, the hand to ones heart, the no-less-than 6 ways you must ask how the other is doing

Time with Khalti Khshu, time with all the ladies really

Chickens roaming everywhere

The light switches

Sitting on the ground and FOB squatting

Waiting for sheep and goat herds to pass

Hanging laundry on the roof

Donkey brays

The Turkish toilet

My kitchen floor

Swings inside my house

My bamboo ceiling which allows for hanging such things as swings

Our mountains

Time for reading

Time for thinking

Wool jellabas

The 3am drummer boy during Ramadan

The Boojlood

The hammam

Being congratulated for learning Tamazight rather than Arabic

My aquarium painted house

The buta bomb that is my oven

Couscous

Sleep over's

Men riding donkeys with their feet hitting the ground

Cracking my own walnuts and almonds

My inferno

Living without a fridge, or microwave; actually, living with only one kitchen appliance which needs electricity-a blender

My wonderfully depleted anxiety

Living among Muslims

Reusing jars (though I will keep this up)

All the many delicious fried breads

Couchsurfers and the side of Morocco they are able to experience here

Reading Arabic even though I don't know the meaning

The call to prayer

Paying with cash and never getting receipts

Eating chicken mere hours after slaughter, same goes for sheep and goat

People who don't waste because they can't afford to, if only we could all be so aware

Living in the Middle Atlas

Teaching Moroccans how to use ziplocks, and learning how silly and unnecessary they are

Baking for the cooperative and them enjoying it

The sound of the taska (the handheld beater for weaving)

Words in Tamaight and Arabic that don't exist in English

Kneading dough for bread

hiking

Fresh olive oil sold in soda bottles

Living somewhere where I can leave a passed out cat behind the counter at a café, come back hours later to pick it up and everyone is fine

TRUST

Eating in the cyber

The few moments at dusk when the mountains turn pink

Being Neddia

My guard dog Harry

Being able to tell by sight how fresh the bread I'm about to eat is

Homemade butter

Children's home-made toys; milk carton purses, oil bottle string instruments and scrap metal cars

My host mom's pitch

Dogs on roofs (they are also far less dangerous this way)

Excitement over red-ball cheese

Casey's tooth brushing complexities

Women walking cows on leashes

God phrases

My sitemate Natalie

Telling them how much I've walfed and don't want to return to crazy America, and being called miskina (poor thing)

walf

I am finding it so hard to stop myself from doing what is most painful - thinking in endings. Oh my goodness, this is my last full moon in Morocco, this is the second to last time I'll hamam, this is the last time I'll have tea at so-n-so's house. I'm cracking. I'm frozen and numb with fear of leaving and the missing. I'm crazy busy wrapping up the life I've built here. I'm scrambling to organize the life there is to begin in the states.

Mostly I'm sad. So overwhelmingly sad to leave a place and people I love so much. It's such an impossible to remedy pain too, for I don't want to stay, or leave. I hate limbo and that's where I am. Changes, ugh. A good amount of the sadness comes from knowing I'll never be able to be right here again. Everything will be different when I leave. When I return it will be just as a visitor. I won't ever live here, with these people, at this age, ever again. I hate change and yet I'm someone who willingly walks into impermanence. Like "expiration dating" (Casey's term), I hate it! Arg!

I don't mean to whine, but I am. I've walfed. Walf is the verb in Tamazight "to get used to", and I have been hearing it every day lately. They have walfed to me, I have walfed to them, oh transitions. I don't want to apologize for the very different person I am returning to America, for it's a far more focused, happy and balanced person, but I am sorry if I offend. If I'm un-relatable and complainy, or sad and withholding. Who knows. I'll walf back to the states, but it's going to take some time.

I have 12 days left in Ait Hamza and I can't comprehend this.

shoof gr taddartinu

Here's a little video i took of the lovely mud house i've made my home these past two years. I apologize for the very poor lighting, but you get the idea. I leave Morocco one month from today and am still scared shitless. I fall more and more in love with this place as i come closer and closer to leaving it. It hurts. And it's going to hurt more.