About six weeks ago we were at a common meal and one of my neighbors who I don't know very well came up to me and asked me if I would officiate at her wedding. I was taken aback, since she isn't in the usual category of people who ask me this question. Maybe 15 years ago one of our old workers asked me to be the master of ceremonies at her wedding (the couple had already been married by a justice of the peace, so this was less stressful than it might have been). Then my lifelong friend Laura Cooper called me about three weeks before her wedding and asked me to step in, as her first choice had fallen through. This was a real one and I had to work hard on the plane ride to Seattle to write my part. And then almost two years ago my sister Anna asked me to officiate, another real one, and that one was super easy. There is nothing easier than writing a marriage homily for someone you know and love. My first three experiences as the officiant all went very well because of my relationship to the wedding couples.
I wasn't at all sure why my neighbor was asking me, and I said so. She had asked our neighbor Kenyon, who does seem perfect as an officiant in every possible way, and he had pointed her to me. I didn't know what to say, except that we would need to get to know each other a little better if I was really going to do this. So we met twice, making appointments for Saturday afternoons (I was late both times, forgetting once and getting distracted by the arrival of pigs the second time), and I asked the couple to tell me their story. They have a 9 month old baby who was born with lots of health complications (resolving well) and they have been through a lot together already, even though they have known each other for less than two years.
This couple was married in a courthouse a year ago, so the pressure was not so terrible -- we wouldn't really be able to mess it up. The extended families of the new parents were completely involved in the planning and execution of the event. The bride's family is French, cooks delicious and amazing French food, and the groom's family has many talents as well. I was not involved at all in the planning or preparation for this party. I just had to be ready at 3:00 on Sunday with my part written. Actually, I had to be ready for the rehearsal at 5:00 the day before. There were lots and lots of people with opinions, and I got to overrule everyone and make one major change in the plans -- and they listened to me because I was the officiant. Their plan was to have everyone sitting at tables that were already set, and have the wedding happening in the middle of the tent on the dance floor. I nixed that. I said all the people had to be close around us in chairs and the people could move their own chairs back to the tables afterwards. This was not a cabaret, this was a wedding. I was, of course, right.
I had learned from Laura's husband Stuart, the ship's pilot, that a wedding should be rehearsed until the blocking is completely memorized. We should not rely on our brains on the wedding day. Before Laura's wedding, at Stuart's insistence, we did five run-throughs of the ceremony (without speaking any of the words). This paid off because we had to move the event indoors at the last minute, cramming ourselves into a space that was meant for the reception, not the ceremony, and since we were all so rehearsed, it went perfectly. So, we rehearsed the sequence on Saturday evening until everyone could do it without vocal instructions.
On Sunday morning I had to sort tomatoes for the Takoma Park load, help them load up, pick flowers for the wedding, set up the CSA for the 130 customers who would be very confused if the room was not as they expect it to be every Sunday and then I had to figure out what I wanted to wear in the middle of an August afternoon for an outdoor wedding.
I don't know if this is the family culture or what, but there was no wedding party in evidence at 3 PM. People were arriving slowly, and gravitating toward the Common House with the air conditioning and the food. I sat in the tent and waited for something to happen. Sophie's uncle was setting up the sound system so we practiced with the microphones. We waited. After about half an hour I started to wonder what was going on. By 3:45 we were ready to roll.
Everything went beautifully. It was a real wedding. I was not nervous at all (how times have changed) and I felt like we were all doing something meaningful and homemade and serious. The bride was beautiful. The flowers were lovely. My words were right. Despite my repeated requests for a copy of their vows, they had never produced them for me, so right in the middle of the ceremony, after the I Do part, I asked them if they had anything they wanted to say. Chris did a nice job of speaking from the heart, and Sophie pulled a crumpled piece of paper from somewhere in her dress. It was perfect.
At the end of the day, after a choir rehearsal that I could barely stay awake for, I was completely wilted. I was so glad I was not part of the crew that had to clean up after the wedding. I have been there on multiple occasions, and I know now to appreciate the times when that is not my job.
The title of this post refers to the role of farmers and ship captains as people who marry and bury people. We do it all.
Monday, August 29, 2016
Thursday, August 25, 2016
Dew
I imagine that there are lots of people who never know if there is dew on the grass in the morning. Sometimes there is and sometimes there isn't, and it makes a big difference in my work experience in the earliest moments of the day.
Way back in the olden days when we used to pick corn every morning -- just after dawn -- we generally expected a heavy dew. This was before the invention of all those waterproof fabrics, and we probably would not have had them anyway. Heck, most of us don't wear waterproof clothing even now. It's too expensive and too hot. Anyway, we wore long sleeved turtlenecks and blue jeans, and sometimes we even wrapped our faces in a bandana. Without dew, that was a lot of clothing. But we were plunging into a field of corn, usually taller than we were, and every leaf was coated with water. We were soaked from head to toe within a few minutes. It kept us cool after the day began to warm up, and corn picking only took a few hours at the most. By the time we were finished, the leaves were dry and could slice the skin on our cheeks and necks if we didn't keep our heads down and protect our faces by carrying the basket of corn out on our shoulders.
So on the rare day when the temperature did not drop enough in the night to get to the dew point, we would arrive in the field to find a scratchy, unpleasant task ahead of us. We hated those days. Then we had to grit our teeth (holding our bandana in our teeth so it would stay up) and sweat.
Nowadays, there are no full body experiences like that at dawn. I pick flowers once a week just as the colors emerge and it reminds me of those early morning corn picks. The zinnias are as tall as I am, and the dew soaks into my clothes. I used to calculate how much money the flowers were worth per hour, and I think it was competitive with sweet corn. Not as athletic, certainly, and much more solitary, but the tendrils of fog just above the ground and the dripping leaves and the sun just coming over the trees bring back those soggy first moments, decades ago.
And I still feel cheated when it is dry at 6 AM. Cheated and hot. This morning was one of those dewless dawns when you have about 12 minutes before you start to sweat. I do wonder how many people even know about the range of moisture that is possible in those first minutes. I am guessing the native Americans had about 25 words to describe the various levels of dew. I could certainly use more. Late August and into September -- that's when there is the most dew.
We are into real dew season now. It is thick with memories and associations -- my father when he was alive and strong, my mother when she had a long black braid and she wore white dress shirts to pick corn, my sisters and brother when they were part of the daily work, the crew in 1980, Jon when he first arrived, and so many mornings in the 1990s when I went alone to Loudoun to pick, when I was the only cornpicker left.
Way back in the olden days when we used to pick corn every morning -- just after dawn -- we generally expected a heavy dew. This was before the invention of all those waterproof fabrics, and we probably would not have had them anyway. Heck, most of us don't wear waterproof clothing even now. It's too expensive and too hot. Anyway, we wore long sleeved turtlenecks and blue jeans, and sometimes we even wrapped our faces in a bandana. Without dew, that was a lot of clothing. But we were plunging into a field of corn, usually taller than we were, and every leaf was coated with water. We were soaked from head to toe within a few minutes. It kept us cool after the day began to warm up, and corn picking only took a few hours at the most. By the time we were finished, the leaves were dry and could slice the skin on our cheeks and necks if we didn't keep our heads down and protect our faces by carrying the basket of corn out on our shoulders.
So on the rare day when the temperature did not drop enough in the night to get to the dew point, we would arrive in the field to find a scratchy, unpleasant task ahead of us. We hated those days. Then we had to grit our teeth (holding our bandana in our teeth so it would stay up) and sweat.
Nowadays, there are no full body experiences like that at dawn. I pick flowers once a week just as the colors emerge and it reminds me of those early morning corn picks. The zinnias are as tall as I am, and the dew soaks into my clothes. I used to calculate how much money the flowers were worth per hour, and I think it was competitive with sweet corn. Not as athletic, certainly, and much more solitary, but the tendrils of fog just above the ground and the dripping leaves and the sun just coming over the trees bring back those soggy first moments, decades ago.
And I still feel cheated when it is dry at 6 AM. Cheated and hot. This morning was one of those dewless dawns when you have about 12 minutes before you start to sweat. I do wonder how many people even know about the range of moisture that is possible in those first minutes. I am guessing the native Americans had about 25 words to describe the various levels of dew. I could certainly use more. Late August and into September -- that's when there is the most dew.
We are into real dew season now. It is thick with memories and associations -- my father when he was alive and strong, my mother when she had a long black braid and she wore white dress shirts to pick corn, my sisters and brother when they were part of the daily work, the crew in 1980, Jon when he first arrived, and so many mornings in the 1990s when I went alone to Loudoun to pick, when I was the only cornpicker left.
Saturday, August 13, 2016
TV In the Living Room
Every four years, Jon gets to bring the TV downstairs to the living room so he can watch the Olympics. He loves the Olympics. So our house is a destination for TV watchers for two weeks.
The scene at this moment: a crowd is waiting to watch Michael Phelps swim his last race. On one couch is Peio (from Spain), Julia (from Berlin and Lexington), Stephen (from Virginia). Next to them is Benjamin's good friend Mike from Boston. Alissa and David (from Australia) share a chair. Benjamin and Yael (from Israel) share a spot on the other couch, with Anna and Rebecca rounding out the front row. Jon and I are in the back row. Rebecca is doing all the google research, every time there is a question, and she fills in lots of other back story in between. There is lots of commentary and conjecture and joking, but everyone is focused on the events.
Outside there is swampy, heavy heat -- if you go outside, it feels like you are walking into a hot, wet pillow. Thank goodness for air conditioning. We are oblivious tonight, talking about Simone Biles and Michael Phelps and Katy Ledecky. We are enjoying our role as comfortable, scarcely educated armchair commentators.
Both the U.S. men and the women just won their relays. We take satisfaction in being part of the American cheering squad.
Tomorrow about half of this crowd will be loading up for market and some of them will be doing school work. And I will be outside for most of the day, as wet as the swimmers, but without the benefit of all that athleticism.
The scene at this moment: a crowd is waiting to watch Michael Phelps swim his last race. On one couch is Peio (from Spain), Julia (from Berlin and Lexington), Stephen (from Virginia). Next to them is Benjamin's good friend Mike from Boston. Alissa and David (from Australia) share a chair. Benjamin and Yael (from Israel) share a spot on the other couch, with Anna and Rebecca rounding out the front row. Jon and I are in the back row. Rebecca is doing all the google research, every time there is a question, and she fills in lots of other back story in between. There is lots of commentary and conjecture and joking, but everyone is focused on the events.
Outside there is swampy, heavy heat -- if you go outside, it feels like you are walking into a hot, wet pillow. Thank goodness for air conditioning. We are oblivious tonight, talking about Simone Biles and Michael Phelps and Katy Ledecky. We are enjoying our role as comfortable, scarcely educated armchair commentators.
Both the U.S. men and the women just won their relays. We take satisfaction in being part of the American cheering squad.
Tomorrow about half of this crowd will be loading up for market and some of them will be doing school work. And I will be outside for most of the day, as wet as the swimmers, but without the benefit of all that athleticism.
Saturday, August 6, 2016
Mellow Monday
Last Monday I realized I didn't have to work all day -- things were under control and I could consider taking a day off. When we were envisioning the season, months ago, Carrie and I said we were going to take real days off. I would take Mondays and she would take Thursdays. My Mondays would be non-farm days with all kinds of choices. Her Thursdays would be devoted to Zoey, her baby. It has not happened that way for either of us. Part of the reason is that because she has a baby, sometimes this means that one of us needs to be available to cover for the other so one of us can get something done. Not all day, but at odd times when the babysitter is gone for the day. Sometimes we just need to keep farming, one way or another. I am technically not the babysitter in any way, but if I really want Carrie to get out there and plant beets before the rain, and it is 5 PM, then the simplest thing is for me to take Zoey and let Carrie work. This is not a burden for me, as Zoey is a pleasure and I like having a baby to play with.
But back to Monday. It was the only day that I might be able to spend some time with Benjamin. He has been visiting for a while, but I don't see him much since he is working on projects or hanging out with a friend who was here for a week, and he hasn't been in the fields. We are not a family that intentionally spends time together except at dinnertime. We seem to assume we will see each other enough just by being in the same house.
So, I came in from morning meeting, where I had said I didn't want any jobs for myself, and I announced to Benjamin that we could do something, go somewhere, if we wanted, and so could Jon. After a moment of surprise, Benjamin got on the computer and looked around for activities that would match our needs. He decided we should go to the Library of Congress.
Of course we layered some errands onto the trip, so there were several stops to make before we got into DC. Benjamin was jammed into the tiny back seat of the truck because the air conditioner doesn't work in our car -- so he was grousing about the temperature (too cold) and the lack of space (justified).
The Library of Congress is historically interesting, the building is recently renovated, with paintings and sculptures and literary quotations all around the walls and ceiling. It was built in the late 1800s. There were some exhibits to wander through. We looked at some maps, learned about a journalist/activist Jacob Riis and his mission to show everyone how the other half lives (in tenements) in the late nineteenth century. The three of us have some practice at going through historical museums together. This one was pretty lightweight. We saw the Gutenberg Bible but it didn't come with a lot of background information.
Anyway, after not very long we were finished with being amongst a bunch of tourists. Benjamin wanted to get into the Reading Room so he could touch some books.
We crossed the street and he and Jon went into the Madison Building to get the proper documentation to be allowed into the Reading Room. I sat outside with Benjamin's camera which uses real film -- he didn't want to send it through another X-ray machine. They got their identity cards, but by then we had lost momentum and we were hot and ready for lunch.
There is a restaurant that has been on Jon's list for a while, a fast casual place created and owned by Jose Andres. We didn't know much about it, but it's called Beefsteak and it is a vegetarian restaurant. So we drove to Tenleytown and got lunch. You choose from a big variety of pre-chopped vegetables, they steam them, you choose a sauce and a grain. After we had eaten most of our bowl of healthy vegetables, we began the critique. Benjamin didn't like the lack of a flavor theme. They give no direction about how to make something coherent. You get to make all the choices and they don't necessarily go together. We like sauces and flavors and this place was missing a flavor path. So it was not a success. Also, to my picky taste in vegetables, these were nothing special. I feel like they were sort of supermarket quality vegetables. Whatever.
Our last errand was picking up seven bags of chicken feed from Nick Maravell in Potomac. He grows certified organic grain and is also the father of Benjamin's past girlfriend (who is lovely and we all still love her), so when we just dropped by unannounced, Nick's wife whose-name-I-cannot-remember was gracious and gave us a tour of her brand new art studio. That may have been the highlight of the day. She has a spacious, beautiful building where she can paint and store all her materials and keep her paintings in a safe environment. New buildings fascinate all of us, so we took a long look at all the choices she made. Lots of big windows and light colored wood and a big deck and so much storage space.
At the end of the day, Benjamin's assessment was that we had not learned anything. Well, he learned how to get a card so he can go into the Library of Congress Reading Room anytime in the next two years. He learned not to go to Beefsteak again. But it wasn't like one of the days we spent in Spain, that's for sure. It did feel familiar and nice to be wandering around together but we are spoiled by our international venues. The next time we have a day to spend with just the three of us, we will probably be in a foreign country, and the food will be better.
But back to Monday. It was the only day that I might be able to spend some time with Benjamin. He has been visiting for a while, but I don't see him much since he is working on projects or hanging out with a friend who was here for a week, and he hasn't been in the fields. We are not a family that intentionally spends time together except at dinnertime. We seem to assume we will see each other enough just by being in the same house.
So, I came in from morning meeting, where I had said I didn't want any jobs for myself, and I announced to Benjamin that we could do something, go somewhere, if we wanted, and so could Jon. After a moment of surprise, Benjamin got on the computer and looked around for activities that would match our needs. He decided we should go to the Library of Congress.
Of course we layered some errands onto the trip, so there were several stops to make before we got into DC. Benjamin was jammed into the tiny back seat of the truck because the air conditioner doesn't work in our car -- so he was grousing about the temperature (too cold) and the lack of space (justified).
The Library of Congress is historically interesting, the building is recently renovated, with paintings and sculptures and literary quotations all around the walls and ceiling. It was built in the late 1800s. There were some exhibits to wander through. We looked at some maps, learned about a journalist/activist Jacob Riis and his mission to show everyone how the other half lives (in tenements) in the late nineteenth century. The three of us have some practice at going through historical museums together. This one was pretty lightweight. We saw the Gutenberg Bible but it didn't come with a lot of background information.
Anyway, after not very long we were finished with being amongst a bunch of tourists. Benjamin wanted to get into the Reading Room so he could touch some books.
We crossed the street and he and Jon went into the Madison Building to get the proper documentation to be allowed into the Reading Room. I sat outside with Benjamin's camera which uses real film -- he didn't want to send it through another X-ray machine. They got their identity cards, but by then we had lost momentum and we were hot and ready for lunch.
There is a restaurant that has been on Jon's list for a while, a fast casual place created and owned by Jose Andres. We didn't know much about it, but it's called Beefsteak and it is a vegetarian restaurant. So we drove to Tenleytown and got lunch. You choose from a big variety of pre-chopped vegetables, they steam them, you choose a sauce and a grain. After we had eaten most of our bowl of healthy vegetables, we began the critique. Benjamin didn't like the lack of a flavor theme. They give no direction about how to make something coherent. You get to make all the choices and they don't necessarily go together. We like sauces and flavors and this place was missing a flavor path. So it was not a success. Also, to my picky taste in vegetables, these were nothing special. I feel like they were sort of supermarket quality vegetables. Whatever.
Our last errand was picking up seven bags of chicken feed from Nick Maravell in Potomac. He grows certified organic grain and is also the father of Benjamin's past girlfriend (who is lovely and we all still love her), so when we just dropped by unannounced, Nick's wife whose-name-I-cannot-remember was gracious and gave us a tour of her brand new art studio. That may have been the highlight of the day. She has a spacious, beautiful building where she can paint and store all her materials and keep her paintings in a safe environment. New buildings fascinate all of us, so we took a long look at all the choices she made. Lots of big windows and light colored wood and a big deck and so much storage space.
At the end of the day, Benjamin's assessment was that we had not learned anything. Well, he learned how to get a card so he can go into the Library of Congress Reading Room anytime in the next two years. He learned not to go to Beefsteak again. But it wasn't like one of the days we spent in Spain, that's for sure. It did feel familiar and nice to be wandering around together but we are spoiled by our international venues. The next time we have a day to spend with just the three of us, we will probably be in a foreign country, and the food will be better.
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