Ok, so I'm a week late. Last week was the Summer Solstice, and the frenetic activities that occupy the longer days of summer have proven to be a false economy. Posting has taken a step back as the added burdens of garden weeding, fruit picking, mowing and such have stepped up as we have been preparing for freezing, canning and drying the upcoming harvests. Though our garden is still dismal owing to the thin covering of heavy soil (is that an oxymoron?), and the depredations of the deer, squirrels and ground hogs. Family, neighbors and local farmers seem thus far to be having a decent year, though. Hopefully their excess will be available to help carry us through until our little plots mature and are strong enough to provide.

Often, while struggling to finish some long task at the end of an even longer day, I look up to realize that, although the sky is still light enough to see, it is long past the kids' bedtime and I haven't even cooked supper yet. I know it is summer, but proper sleep is a commodity that we are often short on as a society, and I try to keep their schedules regular.

But back to the solstice. Growing up it was a regular part of our family routine to observe the position of the sunset each evening at supper. Our table was in the western part of the house, and the fact that, by happy coincidence, our barn ran almost directly north and south, so it was easy to mark the progress of the sun as it progressed on it yearly cycle. It was as much a matter of conversation as the weather, and a part of our internal clocks. Precision was less important than the act of observation, the act of appreciation.

Our observatory was the product of years of living and watching, and a certain amount of osmosis. We just kind of absorbed the positions and related meaning. We drew encouragement in the dark days of February to note the sun had moved toward a certain point on the barn roof and spring was surely coming. Similarly, even though the days were long and beautiful, we were reminded to get the harvest ready and prepare for winter as the sun began its trek back south. Without realizing it, we were in tune with the seasons more surely than we could be if the calendar was our only regulator. Though this is just one of the cycles we are all influenced by, often too little thought or credit is given.

In the years since I left home, I have always, to some degree, paid attention to the the position of the sun. Depending on the specifics of my location, it has either been the sunset, or the more traditional sunrise. Sometimes I have simply taken note of the positions as the year progressed, making improvised observatories such as our "barn roof observatory", and sometimes I have taken a bit more time and built simple observatories.

One year I planted my green beans and pole according to my previous year's observations. I dubbed this creation "Beanhenge". Other years I have stacked rocks, adjusting for precision throughout the year, only to find myself changing homes before my creation was complete.
Since moving to this current home, I have not yet had time to actually build a formal structure. Happily a combination and a few coincidences have handed me a ready made observatory.

My desk sits beside the massive stone chimney that heats our winters (and helps hold the cool in the summer), and windows wrap around me to both the south and the east. On the morning of June 21, when viewed from here the sun seems to rise between the two tall poplars that shelter my outdoor cooking area. Next December, I know if I sit here, it will rise over the very back edge of the outhouse. Once during a particularly dark year (of mood), when I first noticed this, I dubbed my "creation" with the slightly disrespectful moniker of "Sh*thenge" and the name has since stuck.

I believe everyone should be just a bit more aware of the workings of the world, and so I propose you make your own stone henge. It can be as easy as picking a spot to observe either the sunrise or sunset, and occasionally noting the difference, or it can be as complicated as getting a compass, and marking the various points from a central observation point, then making daily observations and markings. Here are some cool activities that can make it a part of your family's routine, and maybe create a tradition and a re-connection with the natural world. http://fun.familyeducation.com/outdoor-games/winter/35028.html
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Here is a bit more on the raw milk controversy. It seem s what is at stake here is more related to individual rights than public safety. No one is for stopping the pasteurization of milk on the greater scale, simply for the right to buy and sell a healthy alternative if one so chooses. Although I am a bit stretched for time right now while getting my little bit of the world in order, I am starting another, more informational blog which is currently at http://rawmilkunderground.blogspot.com/ . Please stop by and check it out.

This morning my son and I are trying to replant the entire garden that has been destroyed by the deer. The deer here are a mixed blessing; venison is an important part of the local diet, and a part of the beauty of the local landscape. They are fewer here lately, some say due to recent changes in the game laws. I don't know. Just a few years ago there were so many deer they were a danger when driving and even a nuisance to be fenced out of your garden. Not it seems they too have joined in the flight to suburbia. To their detriment. By moving among the masses they have attracted the attention of the media.

"Hazardous and out of control," the headlines read. And so, for whatever the reasons, the game laws changed. I don't pretend to understand the bigger plan, but since hunting doesn't take place in suburbia, but rather out here in the hustings, the result I have seen is fewer deer in local freezers and on local tables, while deer seem unchecked in the more populous areas.

The increase in hunting and hunters flows outward from suburbia. "Sport Hunters", Folks who often do not like, much less eat venison, none the less feel the yearly urge to brag about the deer they got. Recently, talk about the size of "the rack" have been giving way to tales of the numbers of doe or the several tags the intrepid hunters were able to fill out and thus prove their prowess. Many of these deer are wasted, a few perhaps given away. The ones that do make it into a freezer are still often discarded. Much meat will sit unused until next year when it must be thrown out to make room for the next deer.

A few years ago, when I first moved here, the winding mile or so of road up over the top of my mountain might have had two or three cars of hunters on opening day of buck season. Everyone had a reasonable amount of meat and the braggadocio of the size of the rack was often answered with "you don't eat the antlers". Though deer were more common, we had, really, less trouble avoiding the nuisance aspects. Perhaps we were just more used to it. The last several seasons, I have counted over two dozen cars, with several hunters each on the same road on opening day. Most of theses cars are not even local, but out-of-towners coming to "the mountains" for a little fun. This is on a road that gets fewer than a dozen cars every day.

Which brings me back to my current day. Lately I have been watching a (very) few doe in the evenings, only one of which seems to have a fawn with her. Thus, far in the season, my garden has been relatively untouched, and I suppose I have been a little lax in its defense. After all, I reasoned, there is plenty of food for the deer to browse, and if I share a little, it will mean more meat this winter.

This morning as I make my rounds, coffee in hand, I see my entire garden has been decimated. Stems devoid of leaves where my tomato plants lived, basil, uprooted and devoured, only the woody root ball remaining. Where my lovely rows of peppers with their promise of colors and flavors only tiny footprints and piles of pellet-like scat. Radishes, lettuce, everything but the onions gone.

Once, I might have been more philosophical about the loss, balancing the disappointment in vegetables with the promise of meat. Now, I'm not so sure. The young does and the sole fawn stand a greater chance of ending up in a suburban landfill. It is little wonder many of the daughters of the suburban sportsmen forgo meat as a social statement, considering the current trend of disrespect for all of our food sources, animals, plants, even the soil.

As my son, an early riser goes to the house to stir his sister and we all begin the process of salvaging, replanting, strengthening our barriers, I wonder. Is there a parable in all of this?

I hope America always has the resources to recover these losses.

Thank goodness for CSA.

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I grew up in the country. Being self sufficient, at least to some degree was a way of life not a lifestyle choice. As our ancestors did, we grew, foraged, or raised much of our own food. But we were not stuck in the stone age. We embraced mechanization to the extent that it helped, though not for the sake of technology or keeping up with the neighbors. For a time we even tried chemicals and fertilizers, though after watching yields spike up then creep down, and watching the tilth of the soil become more and more dependent upon them, we abandoned them without so much as a junkie's remorse.

Like many kids, I grew up and thought that abandoning the rural lifestyle for the glamorous, materialistic city lifestyle would be more exciting. And it was. But it was not healthy, and like all things unhealthy, it was not sustainable. After the madness of a corporate day, a miserable commute, and all the problems that follow from making a living not a life, I quit. Cold turkey.

I bought a restaurant in my old home town, and for a while it was great. But still, things weren't as they should be. I worked round the clock and seldom left the store. Still that was not the problem. I never minded working, I loved the work anyway, and besides any dairy farmer will tell you he seldom gets time off. But where was the connection to sanity I sought?

I started a garden and began to preserve the excess. I canned, I froze, I dehydrated. I fermented, I pickled, I vacuum sealed. I worked fresh stuff into my menu. And I found that the production of the ingredients was at least as satisfying as cooking them, and certainly more than selling to folks who maybe were just too busy to notice any difference. I became healthier, both in body and in spirit. I began to notice the taste of everyday life. My purposes were more important, more honorable than chasing the excitement. But I found that those who were addicted to the lifestyle no longer wanted to be a part of my life. Like any addict, I had to decide, did I want to hang with the addicts or go on and try to improve myself. Did I make the right choice? Its too subjective to tell, I suppose. But more and better thing have happened to me that would never have happened had I ignored the urge to "go clean", and forgo the "lifestyle". I still love the excitement of the city, but in a newer, fresher way. Of course, to some extent, I suppose, I am still a consumer, but in a less self destructive, and hopefully more thoughtful way.

Perhaps our society is following a similar path. Perhaps we are, as a culture, experiencing much the same transformation. Perhaps the popularity of gardening and the resurgence of more natural lifestyles are a reflection of a society that is ready to mature, to "go back home". It is unfortunate that many individuals may have forgotten the methods and the paths of going back, but as long as there are folks trying to remember, maybe we all can go home.

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