Roots

Almost a week ago we arrived at New Life Gardens in Grand Junction, CO, to begin our WWOOFing experience. WWOOF USA: WorldWide Opportunities for Organic Farming, in the US. WWOOF is a web-based network where farmers meet travelers, the first seeking a labor force and the latter seeking experience, room and board, knowledge, what have you. Beth is the owner of New Life Gardens and our host and mentor. Thus far, my experience with Beth has been an exchange of my open ears, willing hands, fresh eyes and ideas for delicious meals, a well of knowledge, unwavering trust and a place to lay our tent, to say nothing of the farming experience itself.

Beth has a vision for her garden: a place for healing, open to the community, full of color and light and light and healing herbs; a coy pond, a swing, a variety of vegetables so vast that she does not know what to do with it all; honeybees, clover paths, and places to sit and rest in the shade of tall trees. The amazing part is that most of what I've mentioned is already here, cultivated and cared for by Beth and volunteers, day in and day out. Every day, folks in good spirits walk through the beautiful chaos of "rows" of plants, caring for them with the blissful ease that is doing something you love.

On my first morning at the garden, Tyler joined Beth in the kitchen making homemade biscuits and omelets with vegetables from the garden (Every meal has vegetables from the garden), while I joined Paige, the other Paige/WWOOFer, in the strawberry patch. While she tore up vine weeds, throwing them on the ground to dry up and join the dirt ("Organic matter matters most."), I worked my way through the strawberry plants looking for long stems of what I learned to be young roots. I would cut these stems close to the mother plant and set them aside. After a tasty and welcoming breakfast, we all returned to work. And so would be our days, beginning with the rising sun, sprinkled with fresh meals, mint tea, good conversation and quality alone time.

The next day I rooted the strawberries-- that is, I cut down the long stems so that the roots of the plant could sit nicely in its nook of a seedling tray. Beth and I watered the trays, and so they sit in the small greenhouse among their young and tropical neighbors. Beth told me that she'd always done strawberries the wrong way, choosing the biggest and sweetest strawberries to root for the next year's patch. But this year, she now knows that the biggest strawberries don't make for the best starters. The trick is to root the young generations--the outgrowths of the mother plant--for these will produce sweeter fruit.

Over the next few days, as I dug and dug and dug the hole for the coy pond, braided garlic, hoed an irrigation stream into the lawn, cooked meals, ate honey-soaked bee wax, talked about healing herbs and dreams, and thought about all the possibilities that sit before me, I realized it is fitting that my first experience on the garden was preparing strawberry roots. I have learned from Beth and her garden that life is variety, that life takes time and there is no rushing nature, and the best fruit comes from experience and strong roots. As I braided the green and brown scapes of garlic, I thought about my roots in a new way. While I am not taking root in any one place, I am cultivating the roots that will help me grow, creating a lifestyle as vibrant and fruitful as the garden that inspires me.

From Denver to Grand Junction

I began my latest journey a few days ago, as the wheels of Montana (my so-called airplane) lifted off San Francisco International's runway. My flight would take me to Denver, CO where I would meet my boyfriend, Tyler, and his loving and efficient travel-companion-father. I arrived late in the night and was greeted with the freckly smile I missed and love. That same grinning boy brought us to a stinky, dirty extended-stay hotel (He booked it luck-of-the-draw style) but I didn't mind. (I told him I wanted us to stay in shit-holes together, but for him to get me the best. He laughed knowing that I was mostly serious.) Anyway I liked our beginning, as it marked the start of all kinds of living. In just five days we've stayed in two motels, one fancy Sheraton and one tent--the one that will be our pop-up home for the months to come.

On the first morning, the three of us searched for The Grubbery to have breakfast. In the middle of an industrial park, we found our meal. After hearty pancakes and omelets, we walked through prairie dog paradise-- Tyler's first dream of the west: realized. Then we said our goodbyes to Mr. Miller at the airport topped with circus tents (my guess is they're for cooling).

We checked into our hotel and took over the parking lot so we could organize the car-- our other summer home. The streets of Denver that night were full of musicians and artists performing for tourists who did not like the rain. We returned downtown the next day for the Pride festival, which was full of people: happy, friendly people. And I wouldn't attribute that just to the event-- Colorado seems to me one of the friendliest places on earth (Look out, Walt). We left Denver after getting the chance to walk through the art district, which was full of Westword Music Festival-goers, young people and friendly "hello's"; I'll fast-forward through our long search for a campsite (short version: naive to think we could check-in to a campground on the weekend in one of the most desired outdoor areas in the country? yes.) and skip to our arrival at Idaho Springs, CO, where the gold rush began. We had iced mochas and a chat with the woman running the small town's museum (She came from Medina, NY and never went back).

Sylvan Lake State Park sits in the center of White Water National Forest, suitably named after the flowing rivers that weave through the mountains. We arrived at Sylvan Lake on Sunday night and set up our campsite, and we brought only the food we could eat in two days. Our first dinner was a potato mash: 8 red potatoes, one cup of greek yogurt, olive oil, garlic, and the greens of our rainbow carrots. We wrapped the potatoes in foil and baked them over fire, then mashed everything together in my cast iron skillet. I might dare to say they were the best mashed potatoes I've ever chewed. 

Sunday morning we hiked through the greenest mountains I've ever seen. Everywhere I looked was green, save the dirt path that led us along the river and the blue sky above. When we weren't climbing up and down along the mountainside, a beaten dirt path led us through a sea of grass that swayed in the wind and glistened in the sun. The rocks that lined the ice-cold river made a perfect spot for lunch: half of an avocado sandwich, half of a ChocolateP.B.&BlackberryJ. with almonds.