Building a Weir

Read full Weir Chapter here.
" Looking at his handiwork, Taran felt a stirring of pride for the first time since leaving Craddoc's valley. But with it came a vague restiveness. "By rights," he told Gurgi, "I should be more than happy to dwell here all my life. I've found peace and friendship - and a kind of hope, as well. It's eased my heart like balm on a wound." He hesitated. "Yet, somehow Llonio's way is not mine. A spur drives me to seek more than what Small Avren brings. What I seek, I do not know. But, alas, I know it is not here."
He spoke then with Llonio and regretfully told him he must take up his journeying again. This time, sensing Taran's decision firmly made, Llonio did not urge him to stay, and they bade each other farewell.
"And yet," Taran said, as he swung astride Melynlas, "alas, you never told me the secret of your luck."
"Secret?" replied Llonio. "Have you not already guessed? Why my luck's no greater than yours or any man's. You need only sharpen your eyes to see your luck when it comes, and sharpen your wits to use what falls into your hands."
Taran gave Melynlas rein, and with Gurgi at his side rode slowly from the banks of Small Avren. As he turned to wave a last farewell, he heard Llonio calling after him, "Trust your luck, Taran Wanderer. but don't forget to put out your nets!"

I am a very visual person. Very. So while the concept of using Lloyd Alexander's Prydain Chronicles chapter "The Weir" as a lifestyle foundation makes fabulous logical and practical sense to me, it wasn't until I could see the picture that I felt anchored into the plan.

One early morning before work, in that slippery time between sleeping and waking, I could feel the great rush of time and energy flowing past me. Not a slow, gentle flowing but light speed - like when the Star Trek Enterprise goes into warp speed and all the star specks become streaming luminescent lines, so many it almost looks like a solid bank of light, and the feeling of speed is undeniable. Yet, I was still, calm. "Oh," I thought, "just like Llonio's farm near the river."

We are all in the flow of time, culture, nature - there's no getting around reality. But how we are here is a choice. We've chosen to be apart from the rush - not by dropping out or falling behind, no longer by trying to get out in front and lead. We've chosen just to be still. To say, "We have enough, we've found the end of the rainbow and it really was in our home all along." Just like Llonio, we recognize the great and small treasures flowing all around us, some of it wholly unacknowledged for its value. But our Weir, our traps, have been pretty accidental. It's exciting to work within a context that's more than just "Not Mainstream". With a framework to build from, we can be intentional, purposeful - feel proactive rather than buffeted about by the random winds of fortune. Like Jeff asked "Have we checked our traps today? Do we recognize what's become available?"

So how do we set a trap on purpose? One way is the CASA Individual Development Account Jeff has almost completed. The IDA is an incredible program - check it out and see if you can access it in your community. We will be utilizing Jeff's IDA to build a Pastured Poultry operation. As our Llonio luck would have it, the Oregon legislature passed HB2872 last year allowing on-farm processing and sales of up to 1000 birds per year. We are so proud of the chicken Jeff produces.

I am especially excited for the education module of Lucky Farm Chicken. Pasture rehabilitation is a phenomenal benefit of moving the portable chicken coops to fresh pasture every day. We lease 10 acres from a wonderful family who purchased hillside land 40 years ago, put in a house and a small barn/workshop and great fences. The fields have never been abused but neither have the been intensively managed in atleast the last decade. Jeff, in classic I-love-this-guy-so-much form, has calculated a detailed program for renewing the fertility and integrity of the soil. When he first started describing the feed to meat and waste conversion as it relates to manure distribution, I remembered the powerful documentary "The Power of Community: How Cuba Survived Peak Oil." The film explores Cuba post Soviet Union:

"When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1990, Cuba’s economy went into a tailspin. With imports of oil cut by more than half and food imports cut by 80 percent, people were desperate. This fascinating and empowering film shows how communities pulled together, created solutions, and ultimately thrived in spite of their decreased dependence on imported energy."

I saw this film in 2007 and was deeply impressed by the impact decades of petro-chemical fertilizers had on Cuba's ability to feed itself. In short, the soil was dead. Without regular, recurring application of the fertilizers, nothing would grow. Do you know who saved the day? Composters and their worms. Scientists and farmers and regular people who knew that to bring life back to the soil, massive infusions of natural fertilizers must be gathered, cured, and worked into the dirt. It wasn't easy and it wasn't tidy but it was incredibly effective. What's more, healthy soil is self-sustaining. Talk about a Weir to gather treasures, the soil has always been such!

Learning a Different Way

. When Taran then spoke of seeking pasture for the sheep, Llonio nodded briskly.
"Why, here shall they stay, and my thanks to you." he exclaimed. "There's no grazing fresher and sweeter, and no sheepfold safer. We've seen to that and labored since the first thaw to make it so."
. "But I fear they may crowd your own flock," Taran said, though he admired Llonio's pastureland and the stoutly built enclosure, and would have been well content to leave the sheep with him.
. "My flock?" Llonio answered, laughing. "I had none until this moment! Though we've been hoping and waiting and the children have been talking of little else. A lucky wind it was that brought you to us. Gowein, my wife, needs wool to clothe our young ones. Now we'll have fleece and to spare."
. "Wait, wait," put in Taran, altogether baffled, "do you mean you cleared a pasture and built a sheepfold without having any sheep at all? I don't understand. That was work in vain--"
. "Was it now?" asked Llonio, winking shrewdly. "If I hadn't, would you be offering me a fine flock in the first place; and in the second, would I have the place to keep them? Is that not so?"
. "But you couldn't have known," Taran began.
. "Ah, ah," Llonio chuckled, "why, look you, I knew that with any kind of luck a flock of sheep was bound to come along one day. Everything else does!"

My mind loves the idea of this idea. I slide right up to it, circle round, peer over the paddock fence and can almost imagine myself behaving this way. But not quite. I've got 45 years of practice chasing the next step. You know - get good grades so you can get into a good college, get that Degree so you can get a good job, work diligently so you can retire, yada yada yada.....

The idea of being still, polishing the tools and resources I've already gained seems so, well, lazy. If you aren't chasing the next step, the bigger better thing, aren't you just settling? But when I take stock of my skills, what I know and what I can do, I'm glad to see my favorite things: permaculture, herbal medicine, physical fitness, clothing design, food preservation and powerful nutrition. I am also overwhelmed by how much I still have to learn and to do within these areas. Permaculture truly isn't real if it's still sitting on a bookshelf and the green medicine chest does no good if I've never taught my family how to use the herbs when I'm too ill to help myself. I could indeed spend a lifetime deepening my understanding and honing my crafts, both for myself and to share with others.

Conventional wisdom says this would all be great if I could somehow make a living at it. And just like that, I lose sight of the idea and am off chasing a new business plan. That path is a well-traveled Express Lane with no outlets for many many miles. I'm getting better at pulling over to check the map sooner rather than later but it still requires a stiff discipline.

Recently though, I've learned a new trick. The map reference I'm using isn't the end goal but rather my home point. Stated in terms of Llonio and Taran, I try not to chase all over the countryside after a flock of sheep. Jeff placed this in perfect context when he shared with me his thoughts about a new book reviewed in a NY Times article by Jane Brody. The book, "30 Lessons for Living" (Hudson Street Press) offers advice from more than 1,000 older Americans from different economic, educational and occupational strata who were interviewed as part of the ongoing Cornell Legacy Projects. Brody writes:

"ON HAPPINESS Almost to a person, the elders viewed happiness as a choice, not the result of how life treats you. A 75-year-old man said, “You are not responsible for all the things that happen to you, but you are completely in control of your attitude and your reactions to them.” An 84-year-old said, “Adopt a policy of being joyful.”

Jeff felt that Llonio had that attitude and could make lemonade from lemons. He was also patient and very creative. Stuff would come his way which most people wouldn't even realize was passing so closely because they would be too busy working to acquire new things - off chasing a flock of sheep. Like the elders, Llonio recognized that the stream was always moving, always bringing stuff with it. He couldn't choose what life brought him, but he did recognize that it was something. He just needed to be good at trapping those offerings and eventually the accumulated resources could indeed make something quite extraordinary.

Jeff, impressed by Llonio's humility in learning to see what life offered him, is also inspired by his diligence in trapping it. Scraps from others' lives are treasured finds. So when Taran showed up, the trap had been set. Not in a deceitful manner as in getting something for nothing, but with a joyful curiosity and patience for what life brings and where it takes us.

I in turn was impressed, inspired, and soothed by Jeff's sweet call to action, "Who knows what will come our way today. Do we have the vision to see it and have we set the trap to bring it into our lives?"

What the River Brought Us

Read the full Weir Chapter text here.

" "How then," Taran exclaimed, feeling perplexed as he had ever been, "do you count on baskets and nets to bring you what you need?" He looked at the man in astonishment.
"That I do," replied Llonio, laughing goodnaturedly. "my holding is small; I work it as best as I can. For the rest - why, look you, if I know one thing, it's this; Life's a matter of luck. Trust it, and a man's bound to find what he seeks, one day or the next."
"Perhaps so," Taran admitted, "but what if it takes longer than that? Or never comes at all?
"Be that as it may," answered Llonio, grinning. "If I fret over tomorrow, I'll have little joy today."
So saying, he clambered nimbly onto the weir, which Taran now saw was made not to bar the flow of water but to strain and sift the current. Balancing atop this odd construction, seeming more cranelike than ever as he bobbed up and down, bending to poke and pry among the osiers, Llonio soon gave a glad cry and waved excitedly.
Taran hurriedly picked his way across the dam to join him. His face fell, however, when he reached Llonio's side. What had caused the man's joyful shout was no more than a discarded horse bridle.
"Alas," said Taran, disappointed, "there's little use in that. The bit's missing and the rein's worn through."
"So be it, so be it," replied Llonio. "That's what Small Avren's brought us today, and it will serve, one way or another." He slung the dripping bridle over his shoulder, scrambled from the dam, and with Taran following him set off with long strides through the grove of trees fringing the river."

So..... what has the river brought the Mathias family this week? A reminder that we can indeed rely on what we know, what we can learn, and what we can create to help ourselves.

A couple weeks after I wrecked our beautiful truck, I developed a horrible rash on virtually every bit of skin I possess. Like the worst chicken pox stories you've ever heard, I itched from my toes to my ears. The rash however, did not present with a typical, diagnosable pattern. It wasn't chicken pox or topical dermatitis from an external allergen. We could identify nothing that I'd done differently in my diet or environment that could have caused the reaction. And, as any little kid can tell you, all the messy oatmeal baths and chalky lotions only help the grown-ups who are trying to make you feel better feel better. Allergy medication did finally make the itch sensation bearable but it never eliminated it nor did it remove the odd thickening and texturization of my skin.

After two weeks of the torture, I began focusing on supporting my liver and cleansing the blood with lots of raw beet salad, nettle tea, and clay baths. It made my heart and mind feel better to be doing something. I'd reached the conclusion that my body was trying to process the residual toxins from the stress of the crash and dealing with the insurance company as well as the chemicals in the pain medication and dissolvable sutures. In addition, this was the last month of the year - 4th quarter for an accounting and payroll firm. I added a supplement specifically for my adrenal glands, put my back to the load, and pushed on.

Christmas arrived with a wonderful gift from Jeff's parents: DVD's from the Great Courses company. We watched some lectures from the Mysteries of the Microscopic World course, including a fabulous lecture on the 1918 Flu. A few days later, we switched to the Stress and Your Body DVD because I couldn't watch the subsequent microscopic worm lectures - they made me itch so bad I couldn't stay in the same room!!!

The river swept the banks, whispering soothing sounds and brought us the lecture titled "The Nuts and Bolts of the Stress Response". And I remembered. Jeff and I had studied the 1918 flu from the book Herbs and Influenza by Kathy Abascal while on Vashon Island where she makes her home. Wikipedia does an admirable job providing a synopsis of the Pandemic, drawing heavily on John M. Barry's noted text The Great Influenza: The Epic Story of the Greatest Plague in History. The website states:

"Most victims were healthy young adults, in contrast to most influenza outbreaks, which predominantly affect juvenile, elderly, or weakened patients...Tissue samples from frozen victims were used to reproduce the virus for study. This research concluded, among other things, that the virus kills through a cytokine storm (overreaction of the body's immune system), which perhaps explains its unusually severe nature and the concentrated age profile of its victims. The strong immune system reactions of young adults ravaged the body, whereas the weaker immune systems of children and middle-aged adults resulted in fewer deaths."

In his Great Courses lecture, Stanford University Professor Robert Sapolsky showed a similar response of the autonomic nervous system to chronic psychological stress. Our body's stress response systems simply doesn't turn off - it continues to trigger and complete fight-or-flight mechanisms even after the acute physical threat has ceased. My nervous system was in overdrive, and I had been shoveling coal in the firebox. It was one of those "D'oh" moments.

In the next days, I continued supporting the cleansing work of my liver but stopped focusing on the adrenal response. Instead of slathering my skin with creams meant to combat an allergen, I took hot baths and then, with the skin soft and pores open, I massaged in St. John's Wort oil. We'd gathered the flower last Summer in the edge zone between our farm and the wilderness forest and infused them in organic olive oil. In addition, I began taking the California Poppy tincture we made our first Summer here to help soothe my frazzled system. Four days later, I've mostly stopped itching. My skin is returning to normal and I've regained emotional equilibrium.

It's tough. I told Jeff that the height of an itching disease is a terrible time to start looking for a cure to the itch. It's almost impossible to think of anything but the itch. All I could manage was the top two or three items on the Priority List and then I was simply incapable of focus. This meant that I could go to work and function as an accountant but I was pretty detached from my coworkers and friends there. I could make birthday cakes and holiday dinners but I would have greatly preferred to be in the tub coated with clay than enjoying the celebration with my lovely family. That's no fun.

Not itching is much better. Not itching because I understood the imbalance and had the knowledge and resources at hand to restore health to my weary system ---- that's priceless.