By Camille, on May 1st, 2011
 I live in a neighborhood with nine cats and ten people. We’re expecting two more of each. The cats have interesting names like Kome (Japanese for rice), Snouth or Snelf and Ickle Bickle. They have figured out how to live together by staking out territories. The people have thrown in with each other, are collectively increasing their resilience to economic collapse and are only catty on occasion. A couple of weeks ago we got out and planted 4,000 crowns of asparagus with the help of our extended community. Last week we all sat down on and discussed ways to keep water flowing in the event we lose our power from the grid.
We also share our moist, green habitat with some thirty species of birds, ranging in size from Blue Heron and Turkey Vulture to Hummingbird and in color from Cardinal to Bluebird to Goldfinch. Our sky is filled with dozens of songs ranging from Chickadee to Wood Thrush to Barred Owl. In the morning, I hear two geese moving into their day and a rooster from a few houses over.
In the mammal department, we have deer, fox, possum, rabbit and dogs across the street. We’ve not seen signs of bear, although will swear we spotted bear scat in the woods outside of Oilseed.
I once observed a fox calmly scratching fleas on the main path through the woods before it noticed me and ambled off. On another day, a Barred Owl swooped down closer and watched me for a minute. When I took a step forward, it turned and flew back to its original perch. Jason had an encounter with what may have been the same owl a week ago in which they had a dialog, the owl making a clicking sound none of us have ever heard before and both vocalizing the characteristic “You allll”.
 The deer get hunted and hit by cars but still number enough to require vegetable gardens be surrounded by seven feet of fence. Sam harvested at least two road kill deer last Fall. One he hit and the other he saw get hit. If (when) the world economy does collapse, the neighbors are prepared to augment their protein intake with venison. Road kill is local food in the same way free food found in dumpsters is.
The road to Pittsboro from Moncure is a vulture smorgasbord, offering every flavor carcass imaginable. We tootle down this road kill buffet an average of ten times a week and have seen everything from deer to chicken. There’s a chicken plant on up the road and sometimes they lose one to the asphalt god.
Until Friday, nothing has been killed on our piece of property by the road; the stretch of grass and asphalt I’m watching Bob mow from the window behind my monitor. Both Bob and I saw the dead squirrel alongside our ditch as we pulled into the driveway after work but we got caught up in potluck preparations and forgot to go out and drag it off.
The next morning, while checking my email I saw a Turkey Vulture swoop down closer than I’d ever seen one and land on that squirrel. “We should drag that off.” I said, hoping the ‘we’ part wouldn’t turn out to be me. “No doubt the vultures will carry it off.” was Bob’s sensible answer.
And then this morning, Garth told us he saw Ickle Bickle dragging a large, grey carcass, alarming him for a moment when he suspected it might be Kome. Which made our day because Bob didn’t have to mow around a pile of squirrel. I’m always amazed at how everything always seems to get taken care of by one of us around here.
By Camille, on March 29th, 2011
 I just sort of fiddle-fart and shamble around a notion, eyeballing it, speculating on it, and then cough up some sort or musing -- mostly mental phlegm – onto the keyboard and hit the send button. Sometimes without even showing the common courtesy of using spell check or even rereading it. Which makes me either an arrogant old prick or just a slob. Probably both. Joe Bageant, author of “Deer Hunting With Jesus” and newly released “Rainbow Pie” and pundit extraordinaire, died Saturday March 26 after a four month bout with cancer. I feel like my voice is gone.
All my life I’ve been an idealist, quick to spot the wrongs in our world and strive to set them right. In the 60′s the most blatant sin was the Vietnam War. I threw myself wholeheartedly into the throng of protesters, hoping our collective voices would put an end to the carnage.
Thirty years later, the spread of easily shared information via the world wide web including endless venues for online protest, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the many wrongs in our world today. There isn’t just one cause, there are dozens. Which one will I pick this week and how much difference will it make when we are all are railing about separate issues?
I once asked my idealistic cousin Tommy who is ten years older than I, “Where in the world do we (idealists) go to fit in?” His answer: “There is no place in the world for idealists.”
My father was an idealist. He lost his shot at tenure at Monmouth College in 1969 when he helped stage a protest in which his students pelted a General onstage with marshmallows. He was asked to turn in his resignation and soon found that no other college in either New Jersey or New York would hire him after what he’d done.
Dad ultimately moved my mother and us six kids to a place he described as the “Armpit of the Universe” and even though I suffered at the hands of my new school mates who didn’t understand my clothes and accent, I was beamingly proud of what he’d done.
My husband, Bob has always followed his heart on political matters, quitting a lucrative job after being admonished by his superior for joining a protest rally. He was working at Tecnetics, a company that made power supplies for cruise missiles, and had gotten his picture in the newspaper marching in protest of Gulf War I.
Bob is now an educator who isn’t afraid to bring the truth to light for his students and show them where to go to express their indignation. It’s been said that you marry either your mother or your father and I see that I married a man who isn’t afraid to stand up for his ideals.
Of late, social networking has brought to light a bizillion causes, all clamoring for my involvement. Pretty much everything is either corrupt or broken; from GMO’s to War, to Wall Street, to our justice system, to Corporate Rights, to Election Reform, to Food Bills, to Education and Health Care.
So many causes, so little time to protest. Confused and dis-empowered I look back on the Viet Nam protests with nostalgia. I find myself missing the focus of that movement, mourning our collective lack of focus and pissed off that things have gotten much worse. That’s where pundits like Bageant stepped in and gave voice to my outrage.
Bob and I have read the copy of “Deer Hunting With Jesus” that lives at our local library and our copy of “Rainbow Pie” is on order. Meanwhile, I’ll be mining Bageant’s many splendid essays for great quotes like these.
Liberal activism is sort of like sending a rabbit to sell wolves on the benefits of veganism.
The slaves are free to elect their masters, and that is enough to satisfy most folks in the land of the free. That, along with 100-plus cable channels to keep us entertained inside the cage. We know we are powerless, but better the devil you know than evil socialism, where you are not allowed to take out a second mortgage on your cage.
Workers in industrialized nations are so busy begging for jobs and wages enough to keep them in meaningless commodities and gadgets (which only shift more money to corporations) they cannot see the forest for the trees.
In the corporately managed theater state, it’s not whether a thing is true that matters, but how it sounds and looks and what you call it. Call end of life counseling a “death panel,” and you’ve just turned mercy and choice into one more Great Satan.
Lies for the sake of generating emotion enough to destroy reason have been a mainstay of American politics from the beginning.
So why did American liberals believe Obama would bring home the healthcare bacon? Because they live in an ideological cupcake land. It’s a big neighborhood, a very special place where “Your vote is important,” and “by electing the right candidate, you can change our beloved nation.
Appearing cheerful is vital in a society where all of life is monitored by an employer, a credit rating bureau or the media’s projection of the world, and mediated by the financialization of life’s every aspect.
A potato is just a potato until people sweating over belt lines and giant fryers turn it into Tater Tots.
Just as we started ballyhooing the triumph of America Consumer Capitalism over Communism, the world’s ecology started backing up like a redneck septic tank.Cultural ignorance dictates that the best way to stop foreign terrorists flying into the country is by humiliating American citizens flying out of the country. Go ahead, grope me, X-ray my dick and for god sake don’t let anyone bring a large bottle of shampoo on board. In an obedient, authority worshiping police state, physical insult and surveillance are proof of safety.
Unfortunately, Americans get laughed off the map for being overly human these days, dubbed emotional pussies, part of the Kumbaya crowd, unrealistic utopians — and if you are sincerely human enough, get your ass kicked by the system.
By Camille, on February 20th, 2011
I hate to say that things haven’t changed much since the Democrats got back in office. We still have Afghanistan, Iraq, GMO’s, the Patriot Act, Guantanamo and mountaintop removal. Oil, Coal, and Big Ag are still heavily subsidized. The small farmers are struggling, the renewable energy sector is hanging on by their fingernails, the middle class has all but disappeared, health care is a joke and there’s talk of doing away with social security.
 In 2004, the presidential race involved two white guys who went to the same privileged university. Some of us thought we had a choice even if it looked like a choice between bad and worst. Voters were led to believe that Bush and Kerry stood on fundamentally different platforms when in fact, they were both committed to supporting the best interests of the rich.
To me, it looked like a clear choice between vanilla and vanilla. Bob and I knew that whichever guy got to sit in the oval office, things weren’t going to change much. We voted for Ralph Nader and left the country to prevent our tax dollars from going to war.
In 2008, the voting public was led to believe that this time their choice would matter. For the first time in American history, a black man was running for president. And a well-spoken man he was, wooing liberals with promises of change and hope they could believe in. A groundswell of euphoric support ensued and Barak Obama took office.
Two years later, that change has not happened. The new administration left Guantanamo untouched and sent another 30,000 troops to Afhanistan. Under Obama’s watch, the FDA has approved genetically modified salmon, sugar beets and alfalfa. With HR 3200, the 50 million citizens without health insurance were handed to the for profit health insurance companies on a silver platter after the public option was removed. And he signed a Patriot Act extension with no reforms.
At this point in the political evolution of the United States of America, the country is run by the money makers, the CEO’s of corporations. Politicians, especially those at the top, are not much more than figureheads. It’s a two party system in which both parties support the 10% who control 80% of the wealth in this country.
Many of us thought a vote for Obama would be a vote for change. Come to find out it was really just a vote for chocolate over vanilla, breeding a whole new generation of disenfranchised voters.
By Camille, on January 23rd, 2011
It’s another cold morning, and Garth and I are walking across the frozen lawn to Edible Earthscapes, the farm next door. The birds seem impervious to the temperature. Garth carries a baggie of home made peanut brittle. I’ve come along to see the look on Haruka’s face when he hands her the sweet treat.
Jason and Haruka grew the big, fat Virginia peanuts over the summer. Shelled by Bob, Amy and Garth, they are full of sunshine and energy, protein and fat and have flavor to die for. The peanut brittle came out perfect – golden, airy and scrumptious. Haruka’s face glows with a smile that warms the air between us. My day is already complete and it’s only 10am.
 Heading back to the house, I pass through the green house. The air in here is tropical – warm, moist and alive. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, savoring the vibrant aroma of plants, sweat and soil. I’m transported. The world glows golden on the other side of my eyelids. This is bliss.
Hours later I return to the greenhouse to find everyone hard at work. Brussel sprouts, Swiss chard and Butterhead lettuce are fluorescent in the late afternoon sun. The speakers pour music into the humid air. Haruka is planting seeds into trays.
Jason, Amy and Garth are building a bed. With broad forks and rakes, they break up the soil, rake it smooth and cover it with mulch. No petroleum based fertilizers are being used here. No pesticides. Again, the rich smell lifts me from my world of to do lists and deadlines into the real world. And when I step outside again, I recognize life all around me in what had seemed to be a frozen, dead landscape.
We share the bounty produced by Jason and Haruka’s hard work through our CSA boxes. In addition to greens, peanuts and dozens of other vegetables, they also grow rice and beans, which really excites me. Complete protein, right next door! In terms of self reliance, beans and rice is a huge accomplishment.
Garth has been accepted as an apprentice and Amy plans on volunteering in exchange for learning the secrets of growing organic food. Their labor will feed us in the months to come.
If the world economy were balanced, farmers would earn more money than bankers, politicians, investors and accountants. Instead, the folks who grow our food next door are working for peanuts.
By Camille, on January 8th, 2011
It’s so hard to be good. One day I get a perfect score with my To Do list while getting a poor grade on my Personal Well Being list, the next day I balance the two to perfection but score poorly on my Self Reliance list by burning too many BTUs of fossil fuel. Some days I floss. Some days I don’t. Ditto with drink, drive, stay balanced, get caught up and over eat.
I’m within a day of finishing Eckhart Tolle’s “The Power of Now” and looking forward to checking it off my To Do list. I’m jazzed to be armed with some cool new tools of self-awareness but worried that I’m still not very good at being fully present. At the same time, I know I should be ignoring my “egoic mind” which whispers to me of competitive edges.
 It’s winter in North Carolina. To northerners, this sounds lovely, so close to the Keys and all. Our pals on Maui feel for us and are taking the opportunity to finagle us back to the islands. Meanwhile, the people we left behind in Belize and Nicaragua get excited by the thought of tiny white crystals falling from the sky and only wish they could see snow one time.
At first blush, winter here seems cold. Sometimes very cold. And brown and dead. Just like it was for us in Colorado and Virginia. And dark with its shortened days.
If I take winter one day at a time, I find that many of winter’s days are golden. Bright, blue sky, single jacket wearing weather. Dry and clean and perfect for long, rustling walks through the woods, spotting details formerly obscured by lush undergrowth.
There are days when quick trips to the compost pile turn leisurely as I contemplate the mystery of avian nesting routines. On those days I find myself standing beneath the red tips, mesmerized by the music of dozens of tiny peeping voices.
These golden days of winter are good days for hanging laundry and raking leaves. Good days for trimming otherwise untamable vines and hammering replacement staples into fence posts. Good days for sitting on the porch with the sun on my forehead. Good days for being good.
By Camille, on December 24th, 2010
 Another day. A day a lot like yesterday. Cold and still, until I notice the busy birds flitting around the yard. Not as gray as yesterday. Not as windy. They sky is bluer, too.
It’s Christmas Eve. Or Holiday Eve, if you will. Bob and I have a little preparing to do for the big holiday tomorrow. I’ve already begun by moving the Tofurky roast from freezer to refrigerator.
I’m planning to make gingered molasses cookies this morning and if they turn out well, I’ll take some to Fred and Reda next door. I promised Jason and Haruka I’d bring a chocolate beet cake to Christmas dinner tomorrow. Bob will roast the tofu and seitan beast and I’ll make gravy.
We dressed up the front porch with new lights and sparkly garlands cast off by an unknown person. Spot is wearing a red holiday bow in anticipation of meeting many new visitors to Trouts Farm on the first day of 2011. Our second annual Hoppin’ John New Year’s Day Party is bound to draw some new faces.
Bob bought two cases of champagne and we’ve been amassing a supply of bottled orange juice. I bought six pounds of organic black eyed peas, and rice and corn meal and checked our deep freeze to make sure we have enough greens to go with the Hoppin John and corn bread. We’ll have plenty of cleaning and cooking to do next week in preparation for our big party.
But today is a quiet day. A good day to reflect upon our good fortune. We moved into this house the day after Christmas last year, joining a neighborhood of great people. We traded garden harvests with Fred and Reda all summer. Big bags of sweet corn and peppers came across the fence in exchange for potatoes and carrots.
Most Tuesdays we picked up a big box of freshly harvested produce from Jason and Haruka at Edible Earthscapes. Beans and rice! Butterhead lettuce, arugula, tomatoes, edamame, carrots, beets, daikon, shishito peppers, garlic, white and sweet potatoes – the list goes on and on. Nearly every Thursday evening, we shared a meal with anywhere from two to twenty neighbors and friends. Spot’s scrapbook has grown to eight pages, one new face at a time.
The list of activities we enjoyed over the past year without having to drive anywhere is impressive. There was a trail crawl and numerous games of disc golf and badminton thanks to Lyle and Tami. We plugged mushroom logs, participated in work parties, harvested mushrooms in the woods and cleared trails together. Tami and I occasionally walk through the woods to work at each other’s homes.
We are also fortunate to be connected to the larger community in meaningful ways through Bob’s work with Central Carolina Community College and my work with The Abundance Foundation. Our roles, both professionally and personally are to put positive energy into promoting local food and renewable energy. Our work connects us to a diverse group of like-minded people and puts us in the path of the growing stream of people drawn here to learn how to create community resilience. Our ultimate, collective reward is watching local self reliance bloom and grow.
January 1, 2011 will be an extraordinary day. Perhaps even a spectacular day. Our home will be filled with old and new friends and co-workers. The synergy will make our heads spin. As will the mimosas. And then the next day will just be another day.
By Camille, on November 27th, 2010
After I finished writing ” Reining in my Brain – Part I ” I walked next door and asked Haruka if she was experiencing a lack of concentration, a feeling of being out of control or an inability to experience a sense of closure at the end of the day. Her answer was “No.” Her mind was at ease.
 Like me, Haruka uses her computer, but in measured doses at specific times of her day. I tend to have my browser open all day and it tugs at my concentration, whispering, “You might be missing something important – you better check.” So I find myself checking my email a dozen times a day and it feels like my computer is using me, not the other way around.
Haruka admitted she was having trouble staying focused a month ago. Now that the rice is harvested and they are in between CSA sessions, their life is down to a dull roar. “But, there are still plenty of things you could be stressing over,” I suggested “your parents are coming to visit next week and you are starting up your winter CSA next month.” “That’s true,” she laughed, “but today, all I have to do is clean the house.”
Haruka said that both she and Jason have been a lot calmer since reading a certain book. She went in the other room and returned with a copy of Eckhart Tolle’s “The Power of Now” and lent it to me.
I began reading “The Power of Now” that evening. The author begins by encouraging his readers to observe the chatter of their minds with the goal of separating themselves from that chatter. The monologue of the brain is not who we are, he points out.
 Be present as the watcher of your mind — of your thoughts and emotions as well as your reactions in various situations. Be at least as interested in your reactions as in the situation or person that causes you to react. Notice also how often your attention is in the past or future.
Don’t judge or analyze what you observe. Watch the thought, feel the emotion, observe the reaction. Don’t make a personal problem out of them. You will then feel something more powerful than any of those things that you observe: the still, observing presence itself behind the content of your mind, the silent watcher. – Eckhart Tolle
I started listening to my mental chatter. What I heard was, “I should have done this,” and “I need to do that,” or “I can’t believe they didn’t do whatever,” often drowning out thoughts like “Wow, look at that color,” or “I love that smell,” or “This feels great!” I began noticing how hard my mind was working to keep me from being present. I began to feel more control.
About this time, I decided to turn off my computer before dinner so I wouldn’t be tempted to chase my mouse down the Facebook/Email/Newsfeed rabbit hole until 10:00pm. My anxiety levels decreased a little more.
That next weekend, Tami sponsored my registration in a non-violent communication workshop. Instructor Jesse Wiens of Zenvc had us begin by listening to what our minds were saying. Next he asked us to notice our feelings and finally, our needs. In a number of exercises, we learned different ways to connect with ourselves and each other in a non-judgmental, non-violent way. It was powerful to realize that every one of us have the same needs, fears and distractions.
It’s been about a month since I decided to look for answers and I’m pleased with everything that I’ve found. I feel much calmer, more in control, better able to concentrate. In a word, happier!
It helps that I have very few work deadlines at the moment, but I could be obsessing over end of year reporting, file archiving and the Spring workshop schedule and I’m not. I’ve got a new outlook, and am developing new tools. I now feel secure that if I find my mind jumping into the future, I know how to rein it back in.
By Camille, on November 21st, 2010
 On the one hand I want to say, “I’m too old for this shit!” and on the other, I have to say, “Well, at least I’m not an insecure teenager to boot!”
Yep, it’s another pimple in a long line of pimples stretching back oh, about 5 years. Back to the end of the monthly curse and the beginning of acne and hot flashes.
This latest was quite a whopper. So big and painful that for a couple of days I was afraid I was hatching a boil. Fortunately, it wasn’t and it will pass and if I’m lucky won’t leave a scar. At least I’m not insecure…
By Camille, on October 31st, 2010
This is a departure from my usual writing style. I can’t seem to focus on a story or topic but I feel the urge to write, so I’m just going to write what pops into my head.
I’m working on our Trouts Farm Latest Photo Album for October this morning and looking out our office window at the bird feeder hanging from the remaining poplar. There are piles of lumber between the house and the bird feeder and a large step van parked over to the left, in front of goldfish pond.
Our neighbors Lyle and Arlo came over yesterday and toppled the other poplar. They cut the tree into logs which Bob moved to the back yard while I was next door selling vegetables with Maggie at Edible Earthscapes’ Inaugural Rice Sale.
The organically grown Koshihikari rice that Jason and Haruka grew represents all that is right with our local community. Every step involved community support and collaboration, from the ninety-some people who volunteered to dig rice paddies, to the RAFI grant, to the weeks of harvesting, threshing and dehulling. This beautiful and highly nutritious short grain, brown rice represents food security in every sense of the word.
 
Pretty soon, Stan and Tim will arrive to do some more work on our house. They are rebuilding our front porch and putting a new roof on that porch and the house. It’s all a little chaotic, but in a good way. Winter is breathing heavily on the other side of the door. The winds of change can be unsettling, but we’re doing our best to keep it together.
 We had our first light frost two nights ago which had Bob scrambling in the twilight after work to cover up our gardens. Both Jason and Lyle had banana trees to dig up and bring inside. Any day now, we’ll have to run an extension cord from the house to the well so our water doesn’t freeze.
So there’s a lot going on. But that doesn’t quite explain why I’m feeling so out of control. I think there’s more going on here. I think my inability to concentrate is more than symptomatic of the change in weather. I’m worried that even after the overhead construction project is complete, I will still be unable to string a complete round of thought together into something readable.
Worse, I’m noticing that I’ve lost the ability to feel a sense of closure at the end of the day. My days just seem to run together in an endless stream of undone To Do List items and I want it to stop. I want to be done or at least ‘done enough’ at the end of my day.
I’m not alone. Bob has the same concerns as do most of the people I’ve mentioned this problem to. We used to be able to concentrate and now it all seems to run together. Kind of like the muddy color we’d get when we were kids and got our water colors all mixed together.
To a person, we don’t remember feeling this way ten or fifteen years ago. As far as we can remember, we didn’t feel this anxious, this over-taxed, this challenged and spread out. But then, I don’t trust my brain like I used to. Still, we are inclined to conclude that while some of these feelings are understandably seasonal, most of it is due to the increase of communication technology in our lives.
Thirteen years ago I didn’t own a computer. I worked when I was at work and only at work. I wasn’t writing emails to my co-workers after dinner. I didn’t open my browser every morning before brushing my teeth or making the bed.
Ten years ago, Bob and I had yet to buy our first cell phones. Our phone was hooked to the wall. We couldn’t talk on the phone when we were outside unless we passed the cord through an open window or door. I never found myself reining a horse with my left hand while talking on my phone with my right. We certainly never talked on the phone while driving.
But here’s the part I have trouble understanding. Even when I walk away from my desk without my phone, my mind is racing. I often wake up with the nagging fear that there are things I’ve forgotten and stuff I won’t be able to get done. I don’t know how I can blame my computer and phone for my inability to concentrate.
At the library the other day, I enjoyed a good discussion about this phenomenon with my friend Molly. I had gone in to post a flier and spotted a copy of Nicholas Carr’s “The Shallows – What the internet is doing to our brains.” So I checked it out and found out that Molly is suffering from the same sense of unease and is pretty sure she didn’t feel this way ten years ago. I’m hoping Carr will shed some light on my growing sense of unease, my inability to focus. These words from the front dust cover flap look promising:
The Internet encourages the rapid, distracted sampling of small bits of information from many sources. Its ethic is that of the industrialist, an ethic of speed and efficiency, of optimized production and consumption – and now the Net is remaking us in its own image.
My neighbor Haruka spends most of her day outside working in the fields. She doesn’t drive or carry a cell phone but she does use her computer a fair amount. I wonder if she is feeling is as overwhelmed as I am.
After I finish posting this blog, I’m going to walk next door and ask my friend what she thinks. I’m sure she’ll have some good advice. And even if she doesn’t, just laughing together in the sunshine will make me feel like I have a better handle on things.
By Camille, on October 17th, 2010
 The other day, I pulled open my vegetable drawers and saw: two bags of greens, half an onion, garlic, a pile of sweet peppers, cilantro, basil, some sweet potatoes, a couple of eggplants, carrots, green beans and okra. Only one word came to mind, Curry!
I had an hour until dinner, so I got right to work. First, I pulled a container of chick peas from the freezer. I chopped the onion and garlic and began sauteing them in olive oil in a big pot. I started some water boiling for brown rice and turned the oven on to 350 degrees.
While the garlic and onion sizzled away, I chopped the okra into 1/4 inch rounds, tossed it with olive oil, minced garlic, and a light mixture of corn meal, onion powder, salt and pepper. I put the okra into a 9″ x 13″ pan and set it in the oven for 45 minutes.
Next, I went to my cupboard and got a can of coconut milk and one of tomatoes. I cut the carrots, green beans and sweet potatoes into bite-sized pieces and added them to the curry pot. I added the coconut milk, tomatoes and two cups of veggie broth.
I started rinsing and chopping the greens. First, I removed the stems, chopped them and threw them into the curry pot. Then I stacked the greens on the cutting board and sliced them into thin strips about 2 inches long and put them aside.
When the curry came to a boil, I added the peppers (in big pieces) and the chick peas and turned the pot down to simmer. Then I added one tablespoon each of curry powder, cumin and cinnamon and some salt and cayenne. I checked the okra and flipped it with a spatula.
As soon as the carrots and potatoes were fork tender, I turned off the heat, added 1/2 a cup of peanut butter, adjusted the seasoning and stirred in the greens. I sliced the basil and cilantro into thin strips to use as garnish. By now the the rice was done, so I opened a can of sweet peaches that we’d put up in July, pulled the crispy roasted okra from the oven and got out the peanuts.
Then we sat down to one of our favorite meals. We scooped some rice into a bowl, sprinkled it with basil and cilantro, ladled thick, rich curry on top and garnished with okra, peaches and peanuts.
Curry is the perfect fall meal! It feeds a lot of people so we trotted the leftovers out for a potluck later in the week. And it freezes very well for those times when we don’t have a potluck lined up.
When you find yourself with a mish mash of fresh vegetables, don’t worry – just make curry!
|
About Us Bob and Camille found each other in 1990 and soon recognized each other as soul mates. They joined forces, got married, wrote a mission statement and jumped off the corporate treadmill.
Seventeen years later, after living in Colorado, Virginia, Belize, China, Guam, Oahu, Maui, Nicaragua and Texas they did a stage dive into a community of farmers and fuel makers in rural North Carolina and settled in.
Jesus! The Missing Years… Plastic Farm Animals is undergoing reconstruction due to a catastrophic mistake made by our former ISP, who shall remain nameless. Stay tuned as we laboriously upload, one by one, more than 170 missing posts from 2004, 2005, 2006 and 2007.
|
I live in a neighborhood with nine cats and ten people. We’re expecting two more of each. The cats have interesting names like Kome (Japanese for rice), Snouth or Snelf and Ickle Bickle. They have figured out how to live together by staking out territories. The people have thrown in with each other, are collectively increasing their resilience to economic collapse and are only catty on occasion. A couple of weeks ago we got out and planted 4,000 crowns of asparagus with the help of our extended community. Last week we all sat down on and discussed ways to keep water flowing in the event we lose our power from the grid.
The deer get hunted and hit by cars but still number enough to require vegetable gardens be surrounded by seven feet of fence. Sam harvested at least two road kill deer last Fall. One he hit and the other he saw get hit. If (when) the world economy does collapse, the neighbors are prepared to augment their protein intake with venison. Road kill is local food in the same way free food found in dumpsters is.
