I was in Gardenia again today, at my girlfriend's grandmother's house... Overjoyed that the big persimmon tree I'd visited last month was virtually untouched! Closer to ripe on the tree, nearly all of the Fuyu's have turned a vibrant orange. I climbed on the fence and picked an entire bag's full.
To my joy, the grass in grandma's back yard is quite healthy soil. Though it is mostly populated by a very boring grass, many "weeds" have rooted themselves in. There were nicely sized dandelions everywhere! So, I made my point to pick only a few leaves off of each plant I saw, making sure not to kill any one of them off.
On the way back to my girlfriend's house, we stopped at the local avocado tree, and picked what is nearly the last of the previous year's avocados, making sure to leave this year's for last. The family that owns the property upon which the tree resides does not mind so much, because I climb into the high branches where they don't really go. I'm thinking of bringing them a bag or two of fruit tree fertilizer to enhance next year's crop as a thank you gift.
The thing I consider most about harvesting food is what we do to the organism. I am a vegetarian because I don't particularly enjoy slaughtering living beings, when such a thing is not required. Though perhaps they do not share the same form of consciousness with humanity, I am observant of an animal's desire to live according to its instincts, and its capacity for suffering. We may try to separate ourselves from the element of death, by turning a blind eye to the slaughterhouses, but in walking away from our ancestors' more pastoral approach to animal husbandry, to the more modern factory agriculture, we have taken away the most precious liberties of any living being.
Similarly, I consider the life of the planet earth, and the ecosystem at large. Is it not in the best interest of all things living to maintain an equilibrium with one-another? Even the predators at the top of the food chain (excluding us misbehaved humans) are necessary, lest their prey population explode and overtake their food source. Nature balances deficiencies and excesses over gradual periods of time, yet sometimes the most extreme results of imbalances (ie. extinction) become the inevitability.
This is all a very round-about way of suggesting that we should be conscious of what we take from the earth. I enjoy very much, the harvesting of fruit from the tree, because it serves the tree's best interest. But does harvesting a plant or killing an animal serve its best interest? Probably not, and though we must eat, and manifesting death to promote our own lives is the nature of things as presented to us, we must be considerate of this process. To honor our food sources is to protect them, and to minimize the waste and destruction that result from them.
Modern agricultural practices are the precise antithesis of honoring the hand that feeds you. Monoculture, conventional (I prefer the term "artificial") farming, feedlot operations, and the like are all very devastating to the environment. It is a system in which the input required to grow and harvest, combined with the environmental degradation, outweighs the life-sustaining benefits we reap from them. In other words, it's a losing game in the long-run.
So, the beautiful and bitter dandelion greens I find along my way do not die at my hand. I shall only pluck a few leaves from each. Certainly, death is at my feeding hand, but I will always be considerate of my kill, regardless of the level of consciousness possessed by my sustenance in its life. This is how it must be, because I care about the whole, as much as any individual part of it.
ft.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Harvest
I have hardly been here to blog, lately! Well, for good reason. Summer is turning to fall, and there is so much to harvest, hanging on the trees right now...
I think that I unfortunately shall bore you with a light inventory of what has been in store, over the past few weeks.
First of all, pomegranates! There are so many, and I had no idea! In fact, most of the trees I've found would stay full until the insects devoured every last one of them. I know this, because of my formal policy of asking politely to pick, before I take. I generally get permission from the pomegranate tree's owners. And see, what they say is, "oh yes, take as many as you want. They're so difficult to pick out, that I just don't bother."
Hrum!? Don't bother? Man, people in this society... It's such a wonderful fruit. Tasty, rich and wholesome, and very versatile! You can eat it alone, put it over a salad, stir fry, or tons of other things! It is very adaptable. And really, it's not even that hard to pick apart! You do a few and get good at it. Just cut it open, and then fill a bowl with water. Pick it apart in water (it's easier, for whatever reason), and run it through a strainer. Done! Five minutes of your life wasted. You know, they're two for six dollars at the market right now! Insane. Best price you'll find them for at the farmer's market is a dollar each, and that's at the end of the season. Right now they're two a pop.
So, I have literally gone through dozens, already. My source trees aren't even half empty. I just keep finding more, and more, and more. Pretty soon I'm going to have to open up my own booth at a farmer's market and sell the ones I can't eat, just so the damn things won't go to waste!
So anyway, that brings me onto other good things. Last week, I revisited an old fig tree that I became acquainted with about three years ago. I missed the last two years' harvests, but was determined to go back this year. It is a mission fig tree, which is probably the sweetest and best harvest of all the types I see in the valley. This tree towers probably a good thirty feet in the air, yet has the appearance of a big bush, rather than a tree. Its diameter is quite substantial too, though I couldn't make a number out of it. So, that being said, this old and firmly rooted fig tree produces the largest figs I have ever seen in my life. They actually rip themselves open by the shear water weight inside them! They are amazing. I put about ten into a blender with some kefir for a smoothie the other day. So good! They're not the sweetest, but it's because of their size, and the fact that the tree isn't nurtured as good as it could be.
That's actually the problem with most fig trees in the valley. If people knew what gold they were sitting on top of, they'd water them at least, maybe give them a little food to help push along the production of the fruit, and bam! They'd have amazing fruit on the tree. See, we don't pay attention to what's right in front of our noses half the time. Strange values we have in this society.
Taking care of a fruit tree is not like taking care of a garden. You don't have to till the soil. You don't have to weed it. You don't have to even water or fertilize it more than once and awhile. It's a really easy thing! Once it's up and running, you've just got to give it a little TLC every now and then. But people just don't care about them, and it's strange to me.
Finally, I must report on some other pickings. I discovered a handful of Jujube trees in the valley! Three in one yard, which are again, ROTTING ON THE TREE, along with a pomegranate, pear, and some other fruit tree I couldn't identify. The owner wouldn't let us go in the yard because of his dog, but there were so many hanging over the side of the fence that we were able to fill my entire bag with poms and jujus without even putting a dent on those branches. I'll go back to harvest more on Friday, probably.
And for the first time in my life, I've tasted the fibrous goodness of a guava, in all its natural glory (the only other time I've tasted such a thing is in those silly sugar-loaded, pasteurized super-market fruit juices) and fell in love! I nabbed about four or so, because they're only just now getting ripe. It looks like I'll be able to visit the trees again when they get riper, and hopefully the owners will be happy to have me clean up their trees for them.
In Gardenia, where some of my lady's family resides, there is a large Asian population. I like the neighborhoods there, although I don't think I would want to live in that neck of the woods. I suspect that when the original Asian families moved into those neighborhoods, they brought with them fuyu persimmons, because there are several sprawled throughout the backyards. I am thrilled by this, because I have good reason to go out there and pick them. Although they tend to be only around $2.50/lb at the farmers markets, they are quite abundant on trees (as much as a typical apple tree), and they are just getting ripe now.
Anyway, I can't keep rambling on about all of this. I am just overjoyed in harvest right now. I hope that you and I can some day share these beautiful things of nature together.
Love,
ft.
I think that I unfortunately shall bore you with a light inventory of what has been in store, over the past few weeks.
First of all, pomegranates! There are so many, and I had no idea! In fact, most of the trees I've found would stay full until the insects devoured every last one of them. I know this, because of my formal policy of asking politely to pick, before I take. I generally get permission from the pomegranate tree's owners. And see, what they say is, "oh yes, take as many as you want. They're so difficult to pick out, that I just don't bother."
Hrum!? Don't bother? Man, people in this society... It's such a wonderful fruit. Tasty, rich and wholesome, and very versatile! You can eat it alone, put it over a salad, stir fry, or tons of other things! It is very adaptable. And really, it's not even that hard to pick apart! You do a few and get good at it. Just cut it open, and then fill a bowl with water. Pick it apart in water (it's easier, for whatever reason), and run it through a strainer. Done! Five minutes of your life wasted. You know, they're two for six dollars at the market right now! Insane. Best price you'll find them for at the farmer's market is a dollar each, and that's at the end of the season. Right now they're two a pop.
So, I have literally gone through dozens, already. My source trees aren't even half empty. I just keep finding more, and more, and more. Pretty soon I'm going to have to open up my own booth at a farmer's market and sell the ones I can't eat, just so the damn things won't go to waste!
So anyway, that brings me onto other good things. Last week, I revisited an old fig tree that I became acquainted with about three years ago. I missed the last two years' harvests, but was determined to go back this year. It is a mission fig tree, which is probably the sweetest and best harvest of all the types I see in the valley. This tree towers probably a good thirty feet in the air, yet has the appearance of a big bush, rather than a tree. Its diameter is quite substantial too, though I couldn't make a number out of it. So, that being said, this old and firmly rooted fig tree produces the largest figs I have ever seen in my life. They actually rip themselves open by the shear water weight inside them! They are amazing. I put about ten into a blender with some kefir for a smoothie the other day. So good! They're not the sweetest, but it's because of their size, and the fact that the tree isn't nurtured as good as it could be.
That's actually the problem with most fig trees in the valley. If people knew what gold they were sitting on top of, they'd water them at least, maybe give them a little food to help push along the production of the fruit, and bam! They'd have amazing fruit on the tree. See, we don't pay attention to what's right in front of our noses half the time. Strange values we have in this society.
Taking care of a fruit tree is not like taking care of a garden. You don't have to till the soil. You don't have to weed it. You don't have to even water or fertilize it more than once and awhile. It's a really easy thing! Once it's up and running, you've just got to give it a little TLC every now and then. But people just don't care about them, and it's strange to me.
Finally, I must report on some other pickings. I discovered a handful of Jujube trees in the valley! Three in one yard, which are again, ROTTING ON THE TREE, along with a pomegranate, pear, and some other fruit tree I couldn't identify. The owner wouldn't let us go in the yard because of his dog, but there were so many hanging over the side of the fence that we were able to fill my entire bag with poms and jujus without even putting a dent on those branches. I'll go back to harvest more on Friday, probably.
And for the first time in my life, I've tasted the fibrous goodness of a guava, in all its natural glory (the only other time I've tasted such a thing is in those silly sugar-loaded, pasteurized super-market fruit juices) and fell in love! I nabbed about four or so, because they're only just now getting ripe. It looks like I'll be able to visit the trees again when they get riper, and hopefully the owners will be happy to have me clean up their trees for them.
In Gardenia, where some of my lady's family resides, there is a large Asian population. I like the neighborhoods there, although I don't think I would want to live in that neck of the woods. I suspect that when the original Asian families moved into those neighborhoods, they brought with them fuyu persimmons, because there are several sprawled throughout the backyards. I am thrilled by this, because I have good reason to go out there and pick them. Although they tend to be only around $2.50/lb at the farmers markets, they are quite abundant on trees (as much as a typical apple tree), and they are just getting ripe now.
Anyway, I can't keep rambling on about all of this. I am just overjoyed in harvest right now. I hope that you and I can some day share these beautiful things of nature together.
Love,
ft.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
A taste of the glory
I just tasted the best avocado of my life tonight. It was one that just ripened off the tree we hijacked the other day. I passed by it again today, and I decided to knock on our neighbor's front door to ask if I may pick it legitimately, tomorrow. They greeted us kindly, and when I asked if I could pick a few, they humorously replied, "pick more than a few!" Abundance is a beautiful thing, when it comes to nature.
I look forward to this week, when I shall go to the house of my good friend to pick the largest Valencia orange tree I have ever seen in my life. We shall drink orange juice like Jesus drank wine.
ft.
I look forward to this week, when I shall go to the house of my good friend to pick the largest Valencia orange tree I have ever seen in my life. We shall drink orange juice like Jesus drank wine.
ft.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Trespassing
I am most certainly bold enough to go into your backyard when you are not home, when you are not looking, or when you are sleeping, to take the unpicked fruit from your tree. Mostly, it is because I do not feel guilty for taking what you have by default, thrown away.
That being said, I do recognize that trespassing on someone's property has a bit stronger of an implication than simply plucking fruit off a tree that is technically not one's own.
So I do not tread lightly when I do so. And I will say, for the record, that in nearly all cases, I knock on the front door to ask permission to pluck fruit, first.
In many cases, things happen just like so- I knock on the door. Someone answers. I pop the question. They oblige me. I harvest.
But many times, the situation is just not ideal. Take last night, for instance. It is after two in the morning. I am returning home with my woman. I realize that we are close to an alley full of citrus, and we are out at home. So, we take a quick detour and pass through the aforementioned alley. The first tree we spy has already been plucked from the alley, so the only fruit left accessible, without going over the particularly steep fence of the home, is accessible only from the roof of the back-house. So, we parallel park the vehicle against the wall and turn the tire out. I climb between the tire and the wall, up to the roof of the vehicle, from where I can climb onto the roof. I managed to pick about a dozen ripe Valencia oranges, which we juiced today.
Or here is another situation, which was three days ago. We're walking through a neighborhood in Lakewood (a suburb of Long Beach) and come across a house with an avocado tree (!!! There are almost no fruit bearing trees in this neighborhood, so I was astonished) with every branch bending from the weight of unpicked avocados! Of course, all the fruit had been picked from reachable heights by the sidewalk. So, I go to the door, and knock. I wait a moment and ring the doorbell, for good measure. No answer. So, I go back to the wall by the tree, climb the wall, climb the tree, and pick something between ten and twenty avocados. Big bastards, too! I have them stuffed in a paper bag with some apples right now, waiting for them to get ripe.
So, as it goes, I am a trespasser. It's fun climbing a tree at two in the morning, or sneaking around on a roof. I know that my actions have the potential to get me arrested, but that won't stop me from eating fruit from the tree. Perhaps it seems ridiculous to do these things from a well behaved of view, yet society at large is a bit ridiculous sometimes, from mine. I guess we're tit for tat. =)
ft.
That being said, I do recognize that trespassing on someone's property has a bit stronger of an implication than simply plucking fruit off a tree that is technically not one's own.
So I do not tread lightly when I do so. And I will say, for the record, that in nearly all cases, I knock on the front door to ask permission to pluck fruit, first.
In many cases, things happen just like so- I knock on the door. Someone answers. I pop the question. They oblige me. I harvest.
But many times, the situation is just not ideal. Take last night, for instance. It is after two in the morning. I am returning home with my woman. I realize that we are close to an alley full of citrus, and we are out at home. So, we take a quick detour and pass through the aforementioned alley. The first tree we spy has already been plucked from the alley, so the only fruit left accessible, without going over the particularly steep fence of the home, is accessible only from the roof of the back-house. So, we parallel park the vehicle against the wall and turn the tire out. I climb between the tire and the wall, up to the roof of the vehicle, from where I can climb onto the roof. I managed to pick about a dozen ripe Valencia oranges, which we juiced today.
Or here is another situation, which was three days ago. We're walking through a neighborhood in Lakewood (a suburb of Long Beach) and come across a house with an avocado tree (!!! There are almost no fruit bearing trees in this neighborhood, so I was astonished) with every branch bending from the weight of unpicked avocados! Of course, all the fruit had been picked from reachable heights by the sidewalk. So, I go to the door, and knock. I wait a moment and ring the doorbell, for good measure. No answer. So, I go back to the wall by the tree, climb the wall, climb the tree, and pick something between ten and twenty avocados. Big bastards, too! I have them stuffed in a paper bag with some apples right now, waiting for them to get ripe.
So, as it goes, I am a trespasser. It's fun climbing a tree at two in the morning, or sneaking around on a roof. I know that my actions have the potential to get me arrested, but that won't stop me from eating fruit from the tree. Perhaps it seems ridiculous to do these things from a well behaved of view, yet society at large is a bit ridiculous sometimes, from mine. I guess we're tit for tat. =)
ft.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Golden Gate Park
There was a point, last week, when I was traveling around some of the northern parts of the beautiful state of California. I found myself uncommittedly wandering through San Francisco for a bit of time, and I had been spending an early morning with an old friend. We stopped by a farmer's market, where I found some of the best heirloom tomatoes ever, and a few pieces of fruit to snack on, before lunch. He then had to go to work, so I tagged along that far, to where the free shuttle took him to the UC Hospital which he caters for.
I'd asked him whereabouts we were, and what might strike my interest within walking distance (although pretty much everything in San Francisco is walking distance, by my standards), and he mentioned Golden Gate Park. My brain lit up immediately, as I'd heard so many great things about the large swath of public land. So, I saw him off, and made myself a cup of tea (I usually keep my tea leaves with me when I travel) with a generous contribution of hot water from Starbucks (they don't charge you for a cup of hot water, it's really nice when you're on the road), and sat down to ponder my day for a little before I walked down to the park.
Golden Gate Park was just a little north of the UCSF Medical Center, so I walked that way, and a bit west. Arriving at the park, I felt very satisfied by it's expanse. I could tell that the end of the park was not visible to me, and that it would take a good number of hours to travel it all, so I made my way in a roundabout fashion, walking all the trails.
Now, I will say that it is remarkable how many drunk homeless folk one can encounter in this park near the hour of 10am. One of them was quite friendly, and I think if he were not so inebriated he would have taken a better shot at harassing me for some money. We instead ended up talking for about five minutes. I did my best to understand my transient friend, though he was roughly incoherent throughout the majority of his mumbling. Down the path, another gentleman asked me to walk into the bushes with him, and when I asked him what for, he expressed his desire to sell me some pot. He was overtly disappointed by my response.
After a little bit of distance from those characters, I found myself on some quiet trails. There were a handful of gray squirrels frolicking about. I entertained myself by watching one pick apart a pine cone for the seeds inside. There were a handful of beautiful birds that I could not identify, lofting and playing above me. Further down the trails, a hummingbird came into my sight. I estimated it to be hovering somewhere around 120 feet above me, and a bit in front of me. It did something that was particularly interesting which was, from its highest point of flight, would dive-bomb straight down into a tree where I could not see it, and then immediately return to hover where it had previously been situated. It performed this ritual half a dozen times or so, before it flew off to do something else.
Anyway, in my walking, I saw several trails that were off the beaten path, per se. So I took one at random, and went deep into a more forested area of the park. I was pleased to find a peaceful place with an old fallen tree, that made for a great place to sit and think. I pondered perhaps to read the book by Tom Brown Jr. that a friend had given me. It was about that time that I looked to my left, and noticed the massive black-berry tree, bursting out of the flora, in the sunlight. This was a particularly exciting discovery, as it is the season for berries. I was also pleased to observe that, since this was far off the regular trails, there would be no concerns about pesticides or any other kinds of chemical sprays. There were observably dozens of ripe berries, amidst the thorny bush.
Unfortunately, I was not particularly well equipped to be fumbling around the thorns of the briar, and so I had to accept the fact that the thorns were going to be carving me out a bit, in trade for taking their fruit. I tried for the first bit of my harvesting to pluck only the berries that were not buried in the deeper parts of the briar, but after having eaten a few and realizing how good they were, I came to accept that I would have to go deeper into the bush. I managed to avoid getting cut to pieces, but my calves did suffer a bit for my belly.
I walked around more of the back-trails, discovering bum-nests and other black berry trees. I found a serviceable can-opener deep in one of the briars, and opted to take it home with me, since it was certainly not in a place that someone had intended to store it for later use. In the end, I covered about a half-mile of back trails, and took home about a pound of sweet black berries.
I'd asked him whereabouts we were, and what might strike my interest within walking distance (although pretty much everything in San Francisco is walking distance, by my standards), and he mentioned Golden Gate Park. My brain lit up immediately, as I'd heard so many great things about the large swath of public land. So, I saw him off, and made myself a cup of tea (I usually keep my tea leaves with me when I travel) with a generous contribution of hot water from Starbucks (they don't charge you for a cup of hot water, it's really nice when you're on the road), and sat down to ponder my day for a little before I walked down to the park.
Golden Gate Park was just a little north of the UCSF Medical Center, so I walked that way, and a bit west. Arriving at the park, I felt very satisfied by it's expanse. I could tell that the end of the park was not visible to me, and that it would take a good number of hours to travel it all, so I made my way in a roundabout fashion, walking all the trails.
Now, I will say that it is remarkable how many drunk homeless folk one can encounter in this park near the hour of 10am. One of them was quite friendly, and I think if he were not so inebriated he would have taken a better shot at harassing me for some money. We instead ended up talking for about five minutes. I did my best to understand my transient friend, though he was roughly incoherent throughout the majority of his mumbling. Down the path, another gentleman asked me to walk into the bushes with him, and when I asked him what for, he expressed his desire to sell me some pot. He was overtly disappointed by my response.
After a little bit of distance from those characters, I found myself on some quiet trails. There were a handful of gray squirrels frolicking about. I entertained myself by watching one pick apart a pine cone for the seeds inside. There were a handful of beautiful birds that I could not identify, lofting and playing above me. Further down the trails, a hummingbird came into my sight. I estimated it to be hovering somewhere around 120 feet above me, and a bit in front of me. It did something that was particularly interesting which was, from its highest point of flight, would dive-bomb straight down into a tree where I could not see it, and then immediately return to hover where it had previously been situated. It performed this ritual half a dozen times or so, before it flew off to do something else.
Anyway, in my walking, I saw several trails that were off the beaten path, per se. So I took one at random, and went deep into a more forested area of the park. I was pleased to find a peaceful place with an old fallen tree, that made for a great place to sit and think. I pondered perhaps to read the book by Tom Brown Jr. that a friend had given me. It was about that time that I looked to my left, and noticed the massive black-berry tree, bursting out of the flora, in the sunlight. This was a particularly exciting discovery, as it is the season for berries. I was also pleased to observe that, since this was far off the regular trails, there would be no concerns about pesticides or any other kinds of chemical sprays. There were observably dozens of ripe berries, amidst the thorny bush.
Unfortunately, I was not particularly well equipped to be fumbling around the thorns of the briar, and so I had to accept the fact that the thorns were going to be carving me out a bit, in trade for taking their fruit. I tried for the first bit of my harvesting to pluck only the berries that were not buried in the deeper parts of the briar, but after having eaten a few and realizing how good they were, I came to accept that I would have to go deeper into the bush. I managed to avoid getting cut to pieces, but my calves did suffer a bit for my belly.
I walked around more of the back-trails, discovering bum-nests and other black berry trees. I found a serviceable can-opener deep in one of the briars, and opted to take it home with me, since it was certainly not in a place that someone had intended to store it for later use. In the end, I covered about a half-mile of back trails, and took home about a pound of sweet black berries.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Community
I have heard that time is the currency of life. But I prefer to think of friendship as the currency of life, and time as the currency of friendship. What good is my life, spent alone? And what good are friends, if you do not share your time with them to experience this world together?
My friends are my community. Yet, I believe that when we typically discuss community, we think of neighbors. But, in Los Angeles, oftentimes neighbors do not know one another. We silently observe one-another in passing, hardly glancing to meet each-others' eyes. Eye contact is brief, and "Hello" comes as a surprise. We move into a new residence and we know that nobody will knock on the door to introduce themselves as "the guy that lives across the street from you."
See, I don't think that what I'm talking about is that strange to someone that has grown up in this city, or perhaps another big one like it. But I grew up in a town of about three-thousand people, and well, your neighbors want to know you in small towns like that. I remember Mrs. Henkel, who came over to pray with my family for my father's health and well being before he went in for back surgery. I remember our neighbors behind us, and also the ones across the street, because I played with their kids, who were close to my age. I remember my neighbors and I trying to figure out which neighbor baked the brownies for us that they anonymously left on our doorstep, as part of a holiday tradition in that area. It wasn't so weird or uncomfortable that everyone was nosy and in your business, because it is actually nice when people care about who you are and what you are doing.
But people in the city, for all I can see (and this is my generalization of city-folk), want you to stay out of their business. Privacy is more important than God to us. We have gated communities. The walls are built too high to see yards. We keep our blinds closed tight, and tint our windows. And it's not because we fear the sun, but because we fear each-other. We think, "Who is going to rob me today, while I am away?"
Yet, it is not unwarranted. Most people I know who have iPods and cars have at some point had their window smashed out for their iPod to be taken. Every bike I have ever owned has been stolen, save for the one I currently possess (which was purchased to replace the last one that got yanked). There are many thieves amongst us. There are many people that have little, who are willing and unafraid to take from one who has more. There are fewer jobs than people, and there are stronger vices than virtues. We have a lot working against us in this society, and so we all lose a little bit because of it.
What saddens me though, is that for the minority of dishonest folk that are out there, we wall ourselves in from everyone.I wish that fear was not such a strong element in how we relate to one-another in this society. It saddens me that, when I knocked on a neighbor's door the other day, a scared old woman answered suspiciously, and was even more suspect when I asked if I may pick her orange tree. She refused my request, and yet it was not because the oranges were to be eaten. It was because she was afraid of the idea of me, and whatever she thought I was. Needless to say, I went around the alley later on, climbed up on one of the city's garbage containers, and picked a satisfying amount of a particularly sweet navel orange from her tree.
Let's get back to what I was beginning to say about community, though. My friends are my community... that's what I was saying. And this is true. The people with whom I share my life's experience are ones that I consider friends. Some are near, some far. Some I only interact with online, due to geographical circumstances. Some I see infrequently, some often. Some I see too often. But my friends are the reflection of myself, which I see through my interactions with them. My essence is defined by those whom I share my company with. Take this blog, for instance. I would not be a fig thief, were it not for being perceived as such. I can call myself whatever I want and live in my little fantasy lala world, but it is the nature of being perceived by the other that manifests self-awareness.
And so, it is natural that on some level, my values will be shared with those whom I keep my company. There are several friends that I have, who appreciate the fruits of nature as I do, and are eager as I am to pluck the sweet and tender morsels of life from the trees and bushes that inhabit this valley. Similarly, there are friends of mine that are glad to have me over, so that they may share with me in their overabundant harvest of goodness, from what may be growing in their yards.
Though I may label myself one such thing or another, I am no one thing. A fig thief I may be at times. But a lover of good friends and good conversations is someone I may be at others. The majority of my oranges in this past month have come from such friends as I have mentioned above. I have had the pick of the sweetest and juiciest Valencia oranges that have never made it to a market, thanks to these people. And when I cut open the bunch of them in half, press them onto my citrus juicer (the little star-shaped protrusion with a grate and trough surrounding it) and make myself a fresh cup of orange juice in the morning, I remember how good it is to have friendship, and to have community.
I do not particularly wish to be a thief. I decide my actions in this life, but I do not decide what I am, really. So whatever I may be to someone else, so I become. Though the nature of things in this world is often different than what we perceive and label them as. We often label and define the world around us as a matter of simplifying truth. To get at the root of truth is perhaps complicated, but to whittle it down into simpler concepts makes for a digestible reality.
Anyway, on another note, I have spotted about half a dozen fig trees and pomegranate trees in the alleyways that lie east of my home. I am excited for them to ripen, because they are sufficiently large perennials to produce a wealth of sweet fruits. I also walked into Whole Foods the other day, and saw about twelve ounces of freshly picked figmeat on sale for $4.99, and balked at the price. I should pay no such price for such a thing, when there are more figs than can be picked by a dozen people within walking distance from my house. We'll see if the neighbors let me in their back yards when I ask...
-ft
My friends are my community. Yet, I believe that when we typically discuss community, we think of neighbors. But, in Los Angeles, oftentimes neighbors do not know one another. We silently observe one-another in passing, hardly glancing to meet each-others' eyes. Eye contact is brief, and "Hello" comes as a surprise. We move into a new residence and we know that nobody will knock on the door to introduce themselves as "the guy that lives across the street from you."
See, I don't think that what I'm talking about is that strange to someone that has grown up in this city, or perhaps another big one like it. But I grew up in a town of about three-thousand people, and well, your neighbors want to know you in small towns like that. I remember Mrs. Henkel, who came over to pray with my family for my father's health and well being before he went in for back surgery. I remember our neighbors behind us, and also the ones across the street, because I played with their kids, who were close to my age. I remember my neighbors and I trying to figure out which neighbor baked the brownies for us that they anonymously left on our doorstep, as part of a holiday tradition in that area. It wasn't so weird or uncomfortable that everyone was nosy and in your business, because it is actually nice when people care about who you are and what you are doing.
But people in the city, for all I can see (and this is my generalization of city-folk), want you to stay out of their business. Privacy is more important than God to us. We have gated communities. The walls are built too high to see yards. We keep our blinds closed tight, and tint our windows. And it's not because we fear the sun, but because we fear each-other. We think, "Who is going to rob me today, while I am away?"
Yet, it is not unwarranted. Most people I know who have iPods and cars have at some point had their window smashed out for their iPod to be taken. Every bike I have ever owned has been stolen, save for the one I currently possess (which was purchased to replace the last one that got yanked). There are many thieves amongst us. There are many people that have little, who are willing and unafraid to take from one who has more. There are fewer jobs than people, and there are stronger vices than virtues. We have a lot working against us in this society, and so we all lose a little bit because of it.
What saddens me though, is that for the minority of dishonest folk that are out there, we wall ourselves in from everyone.I wish that fear was not such a strong element in how we relate to one-another in this society. It saddens me that, when I knocked on a neighbor's door the other day, a scared old woman answered suspiciously, and was even more suspect when I asked if I may pick her orange tree. She refused my request, and yet it was not because the oranges were to be eaten. It was because she was afraid of the idea of me, and whatever she thought I was. Needless to say, I went around the alley later on, climbed up on one of the city's garbage containers, and picked a satisfying amount of a particularly sweet navel orange from her tree.
Let's get back to what I was beginning to say about community, though. My friends are my community... that's what I was saying. And this is true. The people with whom I share my life's experience are ones that I consider friends. Some are near, some far. Some I only interact with online, due to geographical circumstances. Some I see infrequently, some often. Some I see too often. But my friends are the reflection of myself, which I see through my interactions with them. My essence is defined by those whom I share my company with. Take this blog, for instance. I would not be a fig thief, were it not for being perceived as such. I can call myself whatever I want and live in my little fantasy lala world, but it is the nature of being perceived by the other that manifests self-awareness.
And so, it is natural that on some level, my values will be shared with those whom I keep my company. There are several friends that I have, who appreciate the fruits of nature as I do, and are eager as I am to pluck the sweet and tender morsels of life from the trees and bushes that inhabit this valley. Similarly, there are friends of mine that are glad to have me over, so that they may share with me in their overabundant harvest of goodness, from what may be growing in their yards.
Though I may label myself one such thing or another, I am no one thing. A fig thief I may be at times. But a lover of good friends and good conversations is someone I may be at others. The majority of my oranges in this past month have come from such friends as I have mentioned above. I have had the pick of the sweetest and juiciest Valencia oranges that have never made it to a market, thanks to these people. And when I cut open the bunch of them in half, press them onto my citrus juicer (the little star-shaped protrusion with a grate and trough surrounding it) and make myself a fresh cup of orange juice in the morning, I remember how good it is to have friendship, and to have community.
I do not particularly wish to be a thief. I decide my actions in this life, but I do not decide what I am, really. So whatever I may be to someone else, so I become. Though the nature of things in this world is often different than what we perceive and label them as. We often label and define the world around us as a matter of simplifying truth. To get at the root of truth is perhaps complicated, but to whittle it down into simpler concepts makes for a digestible reality.
Anyway, on another note, I have spotted about half a dozen fig trees and pomegranate trees in the alleyways that lie east of my home. I am excited for them to ripen, because they are sufficiently large perennials to produce a wealth of sweet fruits. I also walked into Whole Foods the other day, and saw about twelve ounces of freshly picked figmeat on sale for $4.99, and balked at the price. I should pay no such price for such a thing, when there are more figs than can be picked by a dozen people within walking distance from my house. We'll see if the neighbors let me in their back yards when I ask...
-ft
Monday, June 21, 2010
Greeting, Declaration of Intent
I am a second generation Los Angelean. I was born here at the beginning of the 80's, but grew up in a small town in Arizona. I moved back on my own accord, six years ago. I am a poor man, and more or less always have been. I work for food, and I work for simple pleasures, and have never required much of life, beyond my desires to be healthy and happy.
For most of these past six years, I have lived within the San Fernando Valley. A place that is allegedly incorporated into the greater Los Angeles area, but is clearly not Los Angeles. We are ultimately a desert. A well irrigated desert, but a desert, nonetheless. I can tell, because I grew up in the middle of nowhere in Arizona, in a location that was quite discernably desert. And so, like a child can sense its mother, I can feel the nature of this land, and what it is, when you strip away the development, the infastructure, the irrigation, and the civilization.
Yet, it is quite a different desert from my dry Arizona home. I can smell the ocean when I step outside. I live in a desert valley that is separated from the vast Pacific, only by one small range of the Santa Monica mountains.
The people of this valley are not people who believe they live in a desert. Desert people recognize the frailty of life. Not just the life of the desert, but their own lives. They recognize that one is connected to the other. Just as the succulent cactus, which expends its every biological resource into saving what little water it can gather from the soil (and then its remaining resources on discouraging would-be predators from consuming it, along with its nourishing water reserve), we make great effort to conserve the limited life-giving resources that the earth provides. Water is scarce, and mustn't be wasted. And so is our agriculture, which is limited by the water which we may feed it. Our shelter is vital to protect us from the searing desert heat, and the desolate cold of the uninsulated night. The people of the desert have reverence for the delicate fringe which life exists upon.
The people of this once desert valley are different. They are ones that believe they live in a vast metropolis of endless ameneties; A proverbial Mecca which yeilds the fruit of all wants and desires. We are a people of decadence, and we fail to honor our inherent connectedness to our place on the earth. There is not a consideration for the resources required to procure all the things we consume, be it food, water, clothing, or objects of our entertainment and desire. We consume without regard for the toll it takes on others, or the environment. Our hand meets the trash compactor without consideration for whether or not we have been wasteful with our resources. We dispose with impunity, because it is easier to do so, than to come up with methods for reusing our so-called "trash". We thrive on the convenience of "recycling", without recognizing the fact that it is inferior and comparitively wasteful in comparison to reducing the usage of things that are not required for our well-being and happiness. And so, it is without reverence for life that we exist. We waste and pollute our environment, but the true refuse of our existence is our spirit.
My life in this valley has been an awakening to this desolate spiritual existence. All the electrical devices plugged into my residence simply drain energy from the grid, and endlessly spill it out into the ether, whether or not I am using them. My faucets dump water that just goes straight into the drain, to join the polluted sewage that spills into the ocean. My food wastes meet the dumpster with no unique destination to become compost, and simply are piled into the collection of hazardous and non-decomposing synthetic wastes of modern civilization, to be buried and forgotten about for as many centuries as possible. My life has been a life of waste. This has been my equation to existence. My subconscious self-worth is as polluted as the soil I reside upon.
I have wished for a new awakening in my existence. An awakening to the true value of my life, and of all life. I wish to once again have reverence for the earth. I wish to be conscious of what I consume, of what I am, and of the fact that these two things are inherently connected.
I wish not to use my resources without a deliberate and meaningful intent. I wish not to be a manufacturer of polluted refuse, but a recycler of life. I find myself fighting an impossible battle on one front, but walking a delicate, slow, and empowering path on another.
I could talk to you about water, or plastic, or energy, or oil, or so many things that are a part of this life path I have embarked upon. But I will hold my tongue for now, in regards to so many topics, so that I may confess but one thing: I am a fig thief.
I steal figs, but not just figs. I steal oranges and lemons. I steal pomegranettes, peaches, apples, grapefruits, avocados, and anything else I can get my hands on. Do I steal them from the market? No! I steal them from you. I come to your property when you are not home. I walk through your alley and find your trees, full of fruit, which you do not pick. I hop your fences and fill my bags. You call me a thief because the man-made laws that all of us silently agree upon as reality dictate that these trees upon your property are yours to possess, grow, and harvest. But the law that exists in my heart dares call you the criminal, because the trees upon your so-called property remain unharvested, year after year, as rotted fruit from seasons past remain dessicated and dangling, while we import fruits of the very same nature across the oceans from Asia, South America, and Austrailia.
But allow me to digress for one moment to make my point clear. If you really cared about the fruits of your soil, I would probably not take them from you. I might come to your front door and ask you if I may share in your harvest. I would even pick them for you, only to take a few for myself. I would never raid your vegetable garden. I have as much reverence for you as you have for yourself. I am a thief only insomuch as you are a fool.
This is my confession. I will tell you the honest truth about what I steal from you, because I am not dishonored by my actions. I hope that it is clear to you that "thief" in this sense is a psuedo-honorary title that means only to mockingly suggest a myth-figure such as Robbin Hood. I steal from your decadent existence to feed myself and my friends, because we do not view the world in such a way as we have the resources to waste.
Fig season is near. The pomegranates are growing as well. The citrus are full and waiting to be plucked as we speak. There is much to harvest, and much to anticipate. This beautiful land bears fruit through all the seasons, and there is none who should hunger for such things here, nor should such things even find their way to our markets by way of trains and ships. If we all shared with one-another, as a community, there would be enough to go around. But until then, I will steal your fruit.
ft.
For most of these past six years, I have lived within the San Fernando Valley. A place that is allegedly incorporated into the greater Los Angeles area, but is clearly not Los Angeles. We are ultimately a desert. A well irrigated desert, but a desert, nonetheless. I can tell, because I grew up in the middle of nowhere in Arizona, in a location that was quite discernably desert. And so, like a child can sense its mother, I can feel the nature of this land, and what it is, when you strip away the development, the infastructure, the irrigation, and the civilization.
Yet, it is quite a different desert from my dry Arizona home. I can smell the ocean when I step outside. I live in a desert valley that is separated from the vast Pacific, only by one small range of the Santa Monica mountains.
The people of this valley are not people who believe they live in a desert. Desert people recognize the frailty of life. Not just the life of the desert, but their own lives. They recognize that one is connected to the other. Just as the succulent cactus, which expends its every biological resource into saving what little water it can gather from the soil (and then its remaining resources on discouraging would-be predators from consuming it, along with its nourishing water reserve), we make great effort to conserve the limited life-giving resources that the earth provides. Water is scarce, and mustn't be wasted. And so is our agriculture, which is limited by the water which we may feed it. Our shelter is vital to protect us from the searing desert heat, and the desolate cold of the uninsulated night. The people of the desert have reverence for the delicate fringe which life exists upon.
The people of this once desert valley are different. They are ones that believe they live in a vast metropolis of endless ameneties; A proverbial Mecca which yeilds the fruit of all wants and desires. We are a people of decadence, and we fail to honor our inherent connectedness to our place on the earth. There is not a consideration for the resources required to procure all the things we consume, be it food, water, clothing, or objects of our entertainment and desire. We consume without regard for the toll it takes on others, or the environment. Our hand meets the trash compactor without consideration for whether or not we have been wasteful with our resources. We dispose with impunity, because it is easier to do so, than to come up with methods for reusing our so-called "trash". We thrive on the convenience of "recycling", without recognizing the fact that it is inferior and comparitively wasteful in comparison to reducing the usage of things that are not required for our well-being and happiness. And so, it is without reverence for life that we exist. We waste and pollute our environment, but the true refuse of our existence is our spirit.
My life in this valley has been an awakening to this desolate spiritual existence. All the electrical devices plugged into my residence simply drain energy from the grid, and endlessly spill it out into the ether, whether or not I am using them. My faucets dump water that just goes straight into the drain, to join the polluted sewage that spills into the ocean. My food wastes meet the dumpster with no unique destination to become compost, and simply are piled into the collection of hazardous and non-decomposing synthetic wastes of modern civilization, to be buried and forgotten about for as many centuries as possible. My life has been a life of waste. This has been my equation to existence. My subconscious self-worth is as polluted as the soil I reside upon.
I have wished for a new awakening in my existence. An awakening to the true value of my life, and of all life. I wish to once again have reverence for the earth. I wish to be conscious of what I consume, of what I am, and of the fact that these two things are inherently connected.
I wish not to use my resources without a deliberate and meaningful intent. I wish not to be a manufacturer of polluted refuse, but a recycler of life. I find myself fighting an impossible battle on one front, but walking a delicate, slow, and empowering path on another.
I could talk to you about water, or plastic, or energy, or oil, or so many things that are a part of this life path I have embarked upon. But I will hold my tongue for now, in regards to so many topics, so that I may confess but one thing: I am a fig thief.
I steal figs, but not just figs. I steal oranges and lemons. I steal pomegranettes, peaches, apples, grapefruits, avocados, and anything else I can get my hands on. Do I steal them from the market? No! I steal them from you. I come to your property when you are not home. I walk through your alley and find your trees, full of fruit, which you do not pick. I hop your fences and fill my bags. You call me a thief because the man-made laws that all of us silently agree upon as reality dictate that these trees upon your property are yours to possess, grow, and harvest. But the law that exists in my heart dares call you the criminal, because the trees upon your so-called property remain unharvested, year after year, as rotted fruit from seasons past remain dessicated and dangling, while we import fruits of the very same nature across the oceans from Asia, South America, and Austrailia.
But allow me to digress for one moment to make my point clear. If you really cared about the fruits of your soil, I would probably not take them from you. I might come to your front door and ask you if I may share in your harvest. I would even pick them for you, only to take a few for myself. I would never raid your vegetable garden. I have as much reverence for you as you have for yourself. I am a thief only insomuch as you are a fool.
This is my confession. I will tell you the honest truth about what I steal from you, because I am not dishonored by my actions. I hope that it is clear to you that "thief" in this sense is a psuedo-honorary title that means only to mockingly suggest a myth-figure such as Robbin Hood. I steal from your decadent existence to feed myself and my friends, because we do not view the world in such a way as we have the resources to waste.
Fig season is near. The pomegranates are growing as well. The citrus are full and waiting to be plucked as we speak. There is much to harvest, and much to anticipate. This beautiful land bears fruit through all the seasons, and there is none who should hunger for such things here, nor should such things even find their way to our markets by way of trains and ships. If we all shared with one-another, as a community, there would be enough to go around. But until then, I will steal your fruit.
ft.
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