Humboldt Green

Phil and I quit our jobs in August, cut loose, and hit the road - indefinitely. The plan was to go for as long as we could and then see what happened. Without much forethought as to where we might end up, we broke down in the notorious Humboldt County, therefore marking the final stop on our epic road trip.

In a place renowned for its green, we had a hard time establishing ourselves as more than just transients brought to Humboldt for the harvest. I've mentioned before that we had to get creative, but I never imagined that we would struggle quite as much as we did. After Thanksgiving, Phil landed a part-time job at a local coffee shop, a fancy little place that makes incredible coffee, pastries, bread, and desserts. Lucky for us, Phil gets to bring home all of these delicious treats at the end of each day. However, I'm a little ashamed to admit how much chocolate cake sustained us over the last month!

Phil seems to have found his ideal job, but I, on the other hand, have struggled to find the same for me. As a self-proclaimed Craigslist troller, I have spent the last few months refreshing, refreshing, and further refreshing the job posting web pages in hopes of discovering a job listing that diversifies from "becoming a surrogate mother" or some generic internet rep. It has been more than a little trying, because on top of my attention paid to Craigslist, I have asked friends and acquaintances about prospective jobs, eyeballed shop windows for "help wanted" signs, opened local papers, patrolled Monster.com and numerous other job sites, looked for volunteer opportunities, and researched local non-profits - I got creative. Finally, a little over a week ago, I saw an ad for job at a local outdoors store and I dropped off my resume that day. When they called me to schedule an interview, I literally jumped for joy, made sounds that were part wild animal/part 16-year-old girl, and felt a gigantic wave of relief. My interview lasted ten minutes and by the time I had walked the two blocks home, I received a call offering me the job. It was a Christmas miracle.

Marking the last day of...adventure, Phil and I spent today drinking mimosas and sitting in the fleeting afternoon sunshine. I officially start working tomorrow, though the past four months - since my last 9 to 5 - have been anything but a vacation.

It has been an incredible experience getting to where we are now and though we are still anywhere from being stable, we are finding our footing. I know I said that this is the last day of "adventure", but that couldn't be any further from the truth. If I have learned anything since the time we left Santa Fe, it is that this world is magical and refuses to conform to plans. Phil and I are incredibly thankful to be here in Humboldt, but even more thankful to be making the kind of green you can take to the bank! Here's to Humboldt, a job, and a new set of adventures.

Christmas: I Lost Sight of What Was Important

Potted Christmas tree - an idea I'm actually really into...

Christmas Eve: Phil and I are outside of the bank. We had wanted to deposit his paycheck, so we could buy delicious things to eat on Christmas day. But, the bank is closed and no deposit is made. When we return home, I see that my mom has made a financial contribution to my bank account for Christmas. Still determined to make our Christmas plans a reality, I put the paycheck issue behind us, and we set off to the grocery store to get our supplies.

At the check-out counter, I enter the wrong pin. (Guess it's been awhile since I last used my New Mexico bank card...) Flustered, I try a different pin - in a packed store - with everyone waiting. It's not correct. We abandon the groceries, promising to return. We walk the four blocks back to the house and check the account. I was using the wrong card! We go to the ATM; I withdraw cash; we return to the grocery store; we wait in line again; our groceries are successfully purchased.

Because we are far away from home during the holidays this year, the only thing I was counting on was being able to fix a special meal with Phil. During a time when the most important things are tradition or some semblance of festivities, I had a plan to bake and cook; I wanted to make the day a little magical. Phil brushed off the elaborate shopping trip as soon as we hit resistance, making corny comments about us and love and things too gushy to repeat. I, on the other hand, felt disappointment - which transformed into agitation, stress, and frustration.

I had lost sight of what was important. Phil told me that the reason the cashier had been short with us was because many people go to the grocery store on Christmas Eve, can't pay for their groceries, back up lines trying every payment method available, and then leave (promising to return), but without the money or the intention to make it back for the perishable items left sitting at the register. When things began to be stressful, I asked myself if I could be happy even if we ended up abandoning "Christmas food". It's true that we could have just returned home and put together ingredients - that we already had - for a different, still delicious meal. And, yes, I could have been okay with that, but I didn't want to have to be. I had gotten so tied up in an idea of what I needed for Christmas, but in actual fact, all I needed was what I already have: a roof over my head; love in my heart.

We didn't have a big Christmas filled with stacks of presents and family pouring in from around the country, but we had a really wonderful day together. We baked family-recipe-cookies, made crab cakes for breakfast, and cooked a bubbling, aromatic pot of cioppino, an Italian seafood soup - filled to the brim with crab, fish, and shrimp. It really was incredible. We were so thankful that we were able to have the meal that we had planned on, but it wasn't what really mattered. What matters is that I have someone who lends me strength, is my support through hard times, kisses my face when I worry, and makes me feel loved and happy, no matter the day. I am grateful for what I have and I was reminded of how lavish that truly is. I hope everyone, regardless of location or financial standing, had a holiday filled with love and happiness. Merry Christmas.

Trolls Versus Travelers

This week Phil and I attended a holiday party hosted by Phil's employer. Doesn't that sound so formal? It certainly felt like the most sophisticated gathering we have been a part of in a long time as we have been rank with the smell of campfire and, for awhile now, considered "dressing up" as changing out of flannel.

The night felt holiday party appropriate as there was a bite to the air, though no hint of snow in the California town. Feelings of anticipation quickened our stride down quiet streets; hands clasped and seeing our breath in front of us, we were eager to arrive at the festive gathering. As we approached the community center, the rhythm and energy of an Americana band serenaded employees and their guests into the hall. The room swirled with the smell of spices, warm bread, and merriment. At the drink table, donning holiday colors and intriguing beverages, stout paper cups of beer were poured and wine bottles uncorked, motivating folks to relax and enjoy the evening together - even if at a work sponsored event.

Phil had been making jokes all day about trying not to get too weird at the holiday party - to avoid any situation where, the following day, making eye contact with co-workers would be awkward. (Apparently things had been a little less than sober the year before, due to the mixing of strong margaritas.) The table we found ourselves joining seemed to be heedful of that possibility, so, taking it easy, they sparked civil conversation with modest voices.

However, one topic, that instigated a great level of discussion, pertained to the large transient population of Humboldt County. As newcomers to the region, seeing so many people sleeping in vans and cars, under bridges, and in the forest, for us, was shocking. I mean, we were doing the same thing, so it was a nice surprise to find a community where that was okay. But, it was shocking to see how many people there were.

Upon seeing the amount of people choosing alternative accommodations, I decided that I had underestimated the harvest. Harvest time in Humboldt means green - it doesn't take rocket science to put it together. However, it turns out that harvest time or not, Arcata is transient-people friendly, therefore making the presence of "traveler types" a part of everyday life for residents.  People in Humboldt have different opinions about these folks, as you can imagine, and as was expressed to us at the holiday party.

I get it. I know how easy it is write people off - to think, "in some places, pan-handling can make you more than 20k a year", or "why don't they just get a job?" It is easy to label people as bums, deadbeats, hobos or some other term used to categorize people with a "certain look". It's harder to consider what connects you to those people. It is more uncomfortable to recognize the small scope of decisions or choices that separate your life from those you see on the street.

It was funny to be sitting at a dinner party discussing homelessness, when at the end of October, Phil and I faced the possibility of abandoning the car and the prospect of selling the possessions we couldn't carry. We have heard people say that when they first met us, we looked different. That's true! We were sleeping in our car. We were stressed out and hadn't showered in awhile. We were transients.

"But, you are different," they say after hearing us joke about what we were doing.
"Yeah, we were traveling."
Another friend offered the distinction: "Those people are trolls."

Trolls versus travelers. Where do you draw the line? Does the distinction come from those attracting attention or asking for money versus those who keep to themselves? Is it because some people are looking for work and some people are looking for handouts? Is it due to people being in the same spot each day hoping for more versus moving from location to location chasing opportunity? Is it a mindset? Is it your background? Is it your future?

Not too long ago we were uncertain as to where we were going to sleep each night. In fact, that happened each night for about a month. We got to know how dire our situation was and how close we were getting to being more transient than traveler. We experienced the feeling of being watched in grocery stores. I remember being informed that bathrooms were for "customers only" and I had I insisted that I was a customer...or planned to buy something at least. We knew as we put on more layers of clothing and waited for closing time that we looked homeless. We were homeless. I felt that line blur and I believe that it doesn't take much.

Some are travelers. Some are trolls. Some people are here for the harvest. Some people don't have anywhere else to go. Some people choose this. Some people have a myriad of choices made for them. I know that in a town that is transient-people friendly, the harassment felt when entering a grocery store can be exhausting and the shouts of downtrodden people on the square can feel like noise pollution, but when Phil and I came to Humboldt County, we couldn't believe our luck ending up in this place.

As we enjoyed our holiday feast and sipped on beverages, joking about the moral imperative to drain both kegs with Phil's co-workers, I recognized the gallimaufry of choices that landed us at that table. I also felt the weight of our past that could have resulted in a vastly different reality. Perhaps the issue isn't so much about trolls versus travelers as it is connection - humanity instead of distance and isolation. After a wonderful evening shared with new friends, warm with holiday spirits and residual laughter, we put on more layers of clothing, and headed...home.

Connect The Dots Last

We wandered, we WWOOFed, and we ended up in Arcata. Now, 1,414 miles away from Santa Fe, NM, we are beginning to wonder what is next.

Phil and I embarked on the journey with the dream of traveling...just traveling. Setting off, our grandiose scheme looked like a connect the dots image and involved exploration of South America. So, when we ended up closer to Canada than Chile, I was a little uncertain. I hadn't anticipated really moving anywhere until "Bessie", the name of Phil's car (a '95 Nissan SX), broke down yet again, thus warranting a third visit to the mechanic in a month. With financial stress and coastal fog looming over us as we walked aimlessly around the picturesque community of Arcata - waiting for Bessie's diagnosis - we decided that we had better not push it and that Arcata might not be the worst place to be stuck.

Luckily, there are wonderful people here and a mindset that we share. This makes it easier to stay in Arcata, but doesn't change the fact that we had grown accustomed to being the vibrant travelers who were wandering, aimless, and so flexible that we just had to point to a map to find the next stop. Now, finding the "next stop" is more metaphorical than physical and is unfolding differently for the two of us.

Phil is on his game. He loves the fact that he's in Humboldt County, is applying to Humboldt State University (due to this mutually shared passion to be angsty and write about it), and finds the outdoor community and liberal thinkers a refreshing change of pace. It is exciting to see him finding his way and even more wonderful that he found a job at a fancy-pants-cafe where he can wield barista skills until his heart's content.

I'm a little different; I never anticipated moving to northern California. I saw myself stopping through to see "what's good" before globe trotting in some foreign place - certainly not paying rent and looking for a job. Yet, I really like Arcata; it reminds me of Flagstaff in a lot of ways, a place where I spent four amazing years during college. In fact, I reread a poem I wrote about Flagstaff and the feelings inspired seemed so applicable to Arcata. That should be a comfort, shouldn't it? If I have found a place similar to a place I once loved, shouldn't I be happy? Instead, I am restless. I have a concern that I have done this step already. I worry that there isn't anything here that can help me grow and that this isn't the place where I will find my passion.

As I trolled Craigslist, looking for potential work/job opportunities, I felt the frustration of the process and the restlessness of my spirit growing. Then, I realized that I was getting down on myself unnecessarily. Didn't I just write a post about having to be creative in new settings? In fact, Phil and I made it all the way out here and found our footing only when we started investigating different ways to make ends meet. It was critical that we got creative. What we found was that sometimes the answer isn't straightforward, but looks more like a connection that develops as an inroad, or an opportunity that comes from an alternative pursuit. The two of us learned to be creative when fixing Bessie left us without the funds necessary to put down a deposit and move into a place, finding that without the ingredients for A + B = C, we needed a new recipe. And, that's where I am again.

I thought that I could just be an aimless traveller, out exploring without any of the "hard stuff", but interestingly enough, I am being challenged in an new way. I am now trying to find something that I can be passionate about and inspired by, even if it doesn't have a familiar shape. Though our original plan involved points in South America, perhaps the new dots (made possible only by being in Arcata) will create a more beautiful or interesting image than I ever could have imagined. Too often we try to be so rigid with our outline, that we forget about the opportunity to color.

We may have ended up here due to Bessie, but perhaps it is a blessing. Though stuck, I'm still wandering. Though traditionally about dots and lines, I'm picking up colors and metaphorically searching for my next stop. Connect the dots last.

We Were Ostracized On a Farm

For people with romantic notions of working alongside farmers, the organization, Worldwide Opportunities on Organic Farms or Willing Workers on Organic Farms (both effectively consolidated to the more widely recognizable acronym: WWOOF), allows that dream to be actualized. Phil and I had talked to friends who had participated in the farming network and had raved about their experiences all over the world. In fact, a friend quite literally did rave in South America when her WWOOFing experience landed her in a cooperative living space in need of laborers for a transcendental music event. Right on!

Though most WWOOFers (the folks seeking volunteer opportunities) must rely on e-mail correspondence with a prospective farm, we were already in Arcata and had the chance to meet with our host face-to-face. As we heard about the location, history with WWOOFers, emphasis on education, and the hope of involving the community with their subsistence farming initiatives, we were totally enthused. The farm had great reviews and the farmer, who was to host us, seemed very likable and laid back. However, a few days later when we arrived at the farm, the demeanor had completely changed and we began to wonder what WWOOFing was really like. 

Week one: enter farm host part deux. Let's call our host's partner/other half/wife, Fake-Smile-Foodie. Fake-Smile-Foodie is one of those new age moms who loves the fact that around her there is a farm with animals and vegetables that she can eat and feel like she is self-sustaining/better than everyone else who doesn't do that. Fake-Smile-Foodie made it very clear, through condescending and snappy communication with the two of us, that we were "the help". There was no warm and fuzzy Couchsurfing.org feeling of "what's mine is yours". It was very much like, "Over there is your space...outdoor toilet, hose to use as a shower, and teepee...and this is ours. We will text message you if we need anything." They spoke about us, in front of us, as though we weren't there and then forced us to sit ringside for marital passive aggressive conversations. As it can be inferred, it was bristly and awkward, but despite the tension, we brushed it off, presuming that the family had had a hard time with previous WWOOFers. 

That was week one. Though uncertain about the situation we had walked into, we were thankful to have accommodation for the month. So, we decided we would stick it out and just keep being our positive, hard working selves.

Week two: the energy shifted. To our pleasant surprise, we didn't have to interact with Fake-Smile-Foodie who was off being a good new age hippie and attending Amma's visit to San Francisco*; instead, we were spoken to in a more cordial way, praised for all of our hard work, and even encouraged to stay for the whole season or longer. 

Week three: the grandmother explains the steps for feeding the animals and then leaves the farm. The farmer, who works in Arcata, is faced with a gigantic work obligation and leaves the farm as well. All the kids are with their other parents (due to the business of divorces and new marriages)...also not on the farm. Fake-Smile-Foodie may have still been with Amma or may not have ever gone, either way, she's also not on the farm. Who is left on the farm? Phil and I...and a whole mess of animals.

Week four: Phil and I are still the only ones on the farm. 

Despite being abandoned at the homestead, we did continue to get text messages from the farmer, giving us daily tasks and maintaining communication, but we didn't know where anyone else really was or when they would be coming back. Happy with the solace, however, we did everything on our own schedule: lounging around every morning, cooking elaborate meals (Phil makes incredible Eggs Benedict), working leisurely (yet productively) for five hours, and then ending the day by building a fire in the teepee, playing cards, reading, and enjoying the beautiful location we were in. We even hosted another WWOOFer! Hah!

Salmon Cake Eggs Benedict. With hollandaise sauce. Amazing.

With the farmer stuck at a desk in Arcata, the duty of picking up weekly groceries fell on Fake-Smile-Foodie who, though stopping back at the farm periodically, neglected to complete the task. Finally, after "spending time with friends" and a week and a half late with food, Fake-Smile-Foodie returned with three out of seven of our necessary groceries (I do not include a partially consumed carton of milk as a full grocery item.), and some requests of her own: Phil and I were to clean, organize, and set up for a party she was hosting on Thanksgiving. What's more, Fake-Smile-Foodie requested that we not have fires in the teepee for the next two nights since she really needed firewood for the sweat lodge at the party. 

Frustration bubbled. We took our loaf of bread, carton of eggs, peanut butter, and almost empty milk jug back to our modest kitchen space, still lacking in dish soap and compensation. Recognizing that the sunset comes with the promise of freezing temperatures, we headed to the river to collect our own firewood to heat our canvass house, and to discuss our plans for leaving. 

It was such a bummer being a "hippie slave" and we couldn't understand why our experience had been so isolating and unwelcoming. The following day, as we packed our belongings, feeling cheated, I began looking through their guestbook, curious to read about the experiences of previous WWOOFers. To my surprise, the book was filled with incredible stories of collective family meals, collaborative work efforts, inclusive trips, and activities that made travelers feel as if they were part of the family. However, the family we had joined was not the family being addressed. The family we were hosted by was family part deux - an almost completely different set up, with new family members (Fake-Smile-Foodie), beliefs, and ideals for the homestead. At one time, it seems that the farm operated with collective involvement and really was a place where people were taken in like family; people had incredible experiences there and stayed for months. Unfortunately, the situation we entered was disjointed and unsupportive. 

The farmer came back from town, after almost two weeks, looking disheveled and exhausted. Though we tried to sympathize with his situation (running a subsistence farm, working to develop educational programs in the community, being employed as a "fish doctor", and balancing being a family man), it was an awkward reunion. We were ostracized on a farm! We had learned a fair amount about plants and animal husbandry, but we spent the majority of time by ourselves, therefore altering the "educational foundation" of the experience. We learned more about supporting each other than what makes optimal soil conditions; love and communication instead of pruning strategies. In a family without collective support, Phil and I filled the gap. We were the ones planting the cover crop before the rain and picking vegetables before they rotted in the garden, but we were the only ones. With the farmer juggling various commitments, including a time sensitive agricultural lifestyle, without our help during this last month, well, I don't know what they would have done - perhaps they would have had to support each other. 

I struggled to write this post, because it was such a conflicting experience. Though beautiful, the farm was neglected; though inspiring, equally discouraging. Phil and I had respect for the farmer and were motivated by his vision for the land, but were met with curt, ungracious treatment from the whole family. Though we observed good and honest values stemming from a seemingly like-minded ideology, we interacted with very difficult people (made evident by my unkind introduction of "Fake-Smile-Foodie"). I struggled with the post, because I want to be angry, but compassionate; empathetic, but self-respecting. There was definitely a lot going on beneath the surface and we just happened to be caught in the middle of it. Perhaps, we were the outlet. Driving through the mountain valley, away from the farm we had called home for a month, feeling saddened by their situation, we were hopeful that they might find a method to navigate the chaos of their lives and restore the experience that was once a reality. Maybe they will find a way to evolve their new family dynamics into something that is beneficial for the farm and WWOOFers alike. Phil and I still believe that WWOOFing is an incredible opportunity for people to get a unique introduction to organic farming, but for our first time WWOOFing, Phil quipped that the acronym more correctly stands for the time when "We Were Ostracized On a Farm". We arrived with almost no preconceptions, eager to learn the requirements of subsistence agriculture, yet, the lessons we walked away from the experience with had less to do with plants and more to do with people. We may not have had the farming experience that we planned on (South American rave, please?), but we did learn something. None of it is possible without support. 



*Amma is widely known guru, often referred to as the "Hugging Saint".