lyrical credit to mr. delaurell. expressing the joy shared by us all today.
and i suppose i would rather find happiness in a broken horn than a warm gun – but we had our fair share of little miss sunshine moments today as the horn in the wagon decided to toot whenever she pleased.
for instance, when the wagon was stuck in the mud. and her tires spun. beep beep. beep beep. and when the tractor – who decided to help out our dear wagon – her tires did spin too. beep beep. beep beep. and when our farm truck – who decided to help out our dear john and our dear wagon – her tires did spin as well. beep beep. beep beep.
that’s one wagon. one tractor. one truck. all stuck in the mud. and 6-or-so young strappin’ lads and one not-so-fair lady out a-pushin’ and a-gruntin’ to no avail. until mister lone star propane in his big texas-sized truck hauled us all out to happiness.
this horn also had a tendency to spark and smoke while attempting to manuever the wagon. this is not happiness. so we discovered some texas-sized tools. and dismantled it. and discontinued the buzzer that decided never to quiet itself.
so is a day in the life of a wagoneer.
when not mucking it up in the mucky muck, i’ve busied myself with pandering to politicos and brown-nosing to bureaucrats. it’s bad for my soul. but must be done to be street legal, legit.
thankfully, the rest of our hearts are renewed daily with little wagon triumphs: when she starts. when her tail-lights work. when her oil is filtered. we laugh and hoot and holler. and then go eat lunch in our woodstove-warmed nook. delighted by feasts of greens and beans and ‘maters. while the wind from the north descends into december, nipping at our noses. and we set our sights on the road ahead.
blessings. and God’s good graces to us all. hallelujah.
(to order your Texas organic pecans for all your holiday pie-baking needs: WHRI Organic Pecans – yum!)
Alright, folks. You know what time it is. That’s right, I’m talking ’bout Fall. Autumn. Thanksgiving. And along with this season comes weather change, naked trees, eating Turkey, increased fireplace activity, and so on. This post is concerning the “and so on”. Today, I am bringing you a knowledge nugget so rich you’ll need to dilute it with water or at least bite it off in small chunks at a time. We’re talking about how you can get pecans off the tree and into your mouth. Anyone can do it and everyone should. In case you don’t know how to do this, I’m going to tell you…coming straight at you in two dimensions! So sit back in your swivel office chair, keep your finger on the scroll button, and turn up or down your internet radio to an appropriate level.
Ok. First thing you need to do is find a native pecan grove or plant an orchard. After you plant, wait 15-20 years until the trees are old enough to start producing. You’ll have a lot of free time in between, so you might want to find a way to pass the time…like a part-time job or build a canoe or something. Next, you’ll need to go out on a crisp fall day when it’s dry and a little windy. Take a hearty work crew with you that is excited about life and can’t wait to strain their bodies for cheap/free.
It wouldn’t hurt to do some pecan yoga beforehand. This is good for even the limberest of the limber. It doesn’t do much for the body. It’s mostly a good way to procrastinate from having to get to work.
Spread out your vinyl tarps around the base of the tree. Make sure you get the real thick kind that are heavy and awkward to carry. Watch out for fire ant hills, armadillo holes, and irrigation pipes.
So you’ve got your tree, you’ve got your tarps in place, now you’re ready to shake.
So go ahead and jump on the tractor and…oh wait. You’re tractor is missing a bolt, the hydrolics aren’t working, or just won’t start for some reason. You better figure out how to fix this.
Ok, you’ve jimmy-rigged some solution to the tractor, now you’re ready to shake! Back up the tractor with the shaker implement up to the tree.
You’ve locked on with the jaws of the shaker…now rev up the RPM’s, engage the PTO, and let ‘er rip!
Whew! what a shake! The wind will hopefully have blown most of the leaves off into the wild blue yonder and your precious pecans should have fallen into the open arms of your tarp….along with hordes of sticks and twigs and caterpillars. Now, pull the tarps to the next tree in the row and repeat the process.
The tarps will get progressively heavier as you go. This is OK. This means you’re bringing home the bacon. It might ruin your knees and back, but just think of all those pecans you’ll be swimming in later!
After the load gets too heavy, and the crew is starting to lose moral, call for a “tarp dump”. This is a technical term in the pecan production industry which means you take the tarps and dump the contents in the back of the trailer. (Take note, this by far the worst part of the job. If you can get past this, consider yourself a trooper, and don’t feel guilty about the next slice of greasy pizza you eat.) After the tarp dump, stand back and say to yourself, “oh yeah”.
Now, some of you might be thinking: “Cool. I’ve got pecans out of the tree. Let’s eat!” Hold your horses, just one minute. You’ve only done half the job! You’ve got pecans, but you’ve also got leaves and sticks and twigs and caterpillars. If you want to eat those, then go ahead and call it a day. But if your stomach can’t handle all that stuff, read on. Take your load up to the barn and unload it on a tarp and start shoveling it into the sorting machine.
Have one person pull the big sticks and twigs out of the hopper so they don’t clog up the machine because this makes you really frustrated when this happens.
As the trash gets blown away, the good pecans will pass through and fall onto the conveyor belt. Now you feel like Lucille Ball as you sort the good and bad pecans. Throw out all the bad ones and let the good ones fall into the bucket at the end of the belt. Don’t put any in your mouth because the shell tastes gross.
When you’ve sorted through the whole load, check out all those glorious pecans! Whoa mamma!
Now take the pecans that you’ve sorted out that still have the green husks on them and stomp on them. It helps if you have some sort of traditional folk music that sounds like a march…or maybe some salsa music…or maybe swing. I don’t know. I’ve never actually done it to music, but it seems like it would be a good idea while you stomp and twist the husk off of the pecans.
Once the green ones have been sufficiently stomped, sort through them again, and then bag ‘em up!
Now take your thousands of pounds to a sheller, wait a week, pick them up, and enjoy! It’s really that simple! However, if some of you out there are just too busy to spend 8 hours a day for 2-3 months harvesting pecans, I do have a much simpler solution for you. I have actually already done all of this and have plenty of pecans ready and waiting for human consumption! All you have to do is call up World Hunger Relief, and we’ll gladly share our bounty with you for a great price! Our pecans are Organic, taste better than anything you’ll find at the store, and are usually a little cheaper. I know it’s hard to believe. Check out our website (worldhungerrelief.org) and click on “Organic Pecans” on the right side for all the information you’ll need to get your hands on these taste-tastic treats.
the map we're following from texas to florida. and back again
and we’re headed to florida. the second week of december. upwards of 15 of us will be making the trek along the southern coast to end our journey in fort myers, florida, for the echo agricultural conference – attended annually for dialog and demonstration of alternative technologies in the wonderful world of farming.
typically this conference draws the research-based and mission-minded farmer folk. but these year we’re gonna spice things up with our ragtag group of cohorts. and maybe a rabbit for vermicompost (and cuteness). and maybe a bucket toilet. and maybe a solar oven. but most certainly some songs and a baptist hymnal or two – for panhandling purposes in between the occasional dumpster dive for discards.
along the road we hope to meet other mad farmer types. thus we’re stopping in jackson, mississippi for some dairy cows and their keeper as well as in hotlanta, georgia for some good ol’ urban agriculture-ness. and perhaps a visit to another farm with free-range rabbits and mushroom cultivation. but the sky’s the limit – and we’d like to meet new friends. particularly in the lovely lands of mississippi, georgia, louisiana, alabama, or florida.
but before all that we have to finish w.v.o. conversion. vehicle inspection, registration, title transfer. installation of the crazy bed-table. and the addition of pillows, blankets and people. in the process of such essential non-sense, we might be thwarting some governmental bureaucracy – but for God’s sake. so please pray for our continued construction, conversion, and creativity – and eventually safety as we prepare to hit the road. God willing . . .
(pardon the excessive references to c.s. lewis, tolkien or children’s literature in general)
rehearsal.
we are quite possibly nerds. o yes. sometimes barefooted. sometimes mudbooted. we gather and sing songs of peace love and wild mountain thyme. we sing out loud. we sing off-key. we laugh. and stomp. we are mandolin, banjo, ukelele, a coupla geetars, and an upright bass. we are tapping toes and clapping hands. backup singers and bootstompers. (o and sometimes the glockenspiel makes a debut). basically, our version of paradise. when we’re not whistlin’ while we’re workin’ or whittlin’ – we while away those misplaced days . . .
acting like some group of ragtag happy hippies. but we're only acting.
at fall farm day. this little place we like to call the farm. this home away from wherever it is we call home. it’s the reason we’re all mad farmers. it’s the reason our families are frustrated with us. it’s the reason we are brothers and sisters. (even if we live in kentucky, michigan, california, mississippi, senegal, ghana, new york and yes – even in the grand ol’ country of texas.)
World Hunger Relief, Autumn Farm Day, November 2009 from Chris P. Jones on Vimeo. (if you have the patience, we sing a happy little song at the end of this film about our home-on-the-farm).
a longtime coming, the bus is now able to harvest rainwater. you may ask yourself – why “harvest” rainwater? in short, most of us are dependent on water imported and sterilized to meet our daily needs- costing us costs billions of dollars in public tax money and household utility bills.
however, you may also be asking yourself – how on earth does a sane person harvest rainwater onboard a school bus? and thus, i may reply . . .
1. rainwater runs off of roof. collected via pvc gutter.
2. rainwater channeled into storage via the plywood panel window. ( yes. ghetto. we know. it’s how we roll.)
3. rainwater now officially inside the wagon. when barrel is full, we shut gate valve to prevent overflow.
4. rainwater is collected from gutters on both sides o’ the bus, with corresponding gate valves.
5. rainwater is the collected in a 55-gallon barrel. the first 15-minutes-or-so is collected in the flush pipe, to avoid collection of debris-ed water.
6. not developed, but we shall have a hand pump to extract water from barrel for use.
while our wagon-water system may seem a bit ghetto, we encourage everyone to harvest at home. collected rainwater can be used to water your plants, flush your toilet, or purified for drinking (sand filtering, sun-light distilling, boiling). don’t be fooled by folks who say you must purchase a $100-some catchment system. do it yerself. stick a bucket in yer yard. or design a more complex system. or if you’re in texas, read through the texas manual on rainwater harvesting.
See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.20 The wild animals honor me, the jackals and the owls, because I provide water in the desert and streams in the wasteland, to give drink to my people, my chosen,21 the people I formed for myself that they may proclaim my praise.
~ isaiah 43:19-21
turkey.
turkeys are peculiar creatures. at the farm, we have the joy of herding the little ladies out to pasture on a daily basis where they happily feed on sunlight, grass and farm-fresh air. until thanksgiving rolls around.
rather than raising beautiful heritage breeds, we rely on the good graces of cargill, who graciously grace us with 100-odd turkey chicklings (poults), as well as donating their bedding and supplemental feed. thank you corporate kindness.
papa ghana: turkey man of the year 2008.
rodeo wrangler: turkey man of the year 2009
enough of my pastoral ponderings . . . and back to down and dirty farm life (note the farmers in charge of the farm’s turkeys!). this morning, herdsman raymond mcgee/mcginnis small gathered and guided our friendly fowl to their pasture plot. like the dumb domesticated beasts that we all are, they were soon distracted (probably by some shiny object) and thundered full-speed in my general direction. if you’ve never seen a turkey run/waddle-at-full-speed, they rev their engines like turbo jets prepared for take-off but remain ground-bound due to their bountiful bosoms.
well, in their great rush, only lovely lady got her dinosaur feet stuck in a mud puddle. and flap as she might – her flappage was all in vain (turkeys are suckers for pathetic deaths). i hopped the fence just as her scrawny neck went limp and her beady head turned blue. so i said a prayer – asked the great herdsman to carry her to the processing house for final rites. after a cup of coffee.
2. hang bird.
1. sharpen knife.
3. slit throat. (those americorps members can do everything!)
4. skin and eviscerate.
i am grateful to know the sunlight and air that nurture our food to life. to know the green pasture and garden soil that feed us. and to share the bounty with each other over a bonfire. rather than view death as the end, we see new life. i suppose there’s a parable in there somewhere.
rather than think too much, we give thanks. and dream up new possibilities for something that could so easily have been discarded. i guess that’s what the dream’s all about. let’s not waste it.
old grandma turkey-hands and tobey.
to be a woman farmer is a beautiful and powerful thing. to rise before dawn to milk goats and haul hay. as the rain spits at my face and the mud sucks at my boots.
this is to be a farmer. to fry (uncertified) no-till summer squash and bake befuddling blue cornbread for noonday meal. to crack (certified) organic orchard pecans with friends and read aloud facts on wild foraging – as she patches her poor tattered work pants, as he stitches his squirrel skin knife sheath, as they strum guitar and mandolin and sing stories of life. this is to be a farmer.
but to be a woman farmer – this is a beautiful and powerful thing. to smell of rosemary and dirt. and to take on life’s daily labors of love in a hand-me-down skirt and some loved-beyond-repair boots.
here at the farm where we wagoneers live, we have daily interactions with kids. both the goat variety and the human variety. this rambling in particular is in reference to the latter. a number of us work with schools in the area – and constantly frustrated as our thoughts on expanding the definition of education comes in conflict with government bureaucracy and dollar signs. however, we press forward and get the kids in the garden and out under the great blue sky to observe God at work. glad to know we are not the only mad farmers subverting the minds of small children. (parents beware.)
i – the raggedy one – am also honored to be subverting the mind of college students from my alma mater – invited back to speak to young minds contemplating Christ-like revolution and community organizing upon emergence into the “real world.” we are a sheltered bunch of kids from john-deere-farmland, usa – running around in our blue-eyed, blond-haired scandanavian-ness with names like lars and kari. our stories are broadcast weekly thanks to garrison keillor. we are not a people of revolution – per se – but we’ve got farming in our bones. now to shake things up in the gmo‘d motherland in mad farmer fury. i’ll also be attending the community food security coalition conference in des moines and appreciating fall and all the autumnal glory of changing leaves, crisp apples, sweater-wearing and primitive friends who live in the forest. all before i begin my stint working for the government (sigh!) trying to be love God and love neighbor from inside the belly of the beast.
meanwhile, a fellow farmer and wagoneer is heading to philadelphia for the gathering around the un-hewn stone. rather than discussions about government policy and gardening, the gathering will discuss edible foraging, roadkill scavenging, loomweaving, and primal parenting. somehow the Lord allows us to speak and be heard amidst all whom call themselves lovers of the Way.
all in all – God is beautiful. and we are all brothers and sisters. so let’s love each other. and love the Lord. and be like the fox who makes more tracks than necessary, some in the wrong direction.
. . .
“It will take money from our state and federal governments, and advocacy by our leaders, to change course on a ship this big. It won’t be easy, because it can’t happen just by lecturing kids on nutrition, or putting salad bars in cafeterias. Edible Education is…a way of making sure that children grow up feeling the soil with their own fingers, harvesting its bounty in the American sunshine, and watching their own hands make the kind of beautiful, inexpensive food that can nourish the body and the spirit. Only then will the next generations of Americans know that we don’t just vote in the ballot box, we vote for the kind of world we want every time we choose what to eat.”
- Alice Waters in her 2008 book “Edible Schoolyard: A Universal Idea”
as we pitter along our course of transformation, ideas and wanderings arise. as of late, some of us wagoneers have found ourselves in a place far away from where we’ve ever been before.
the hunt.
our pecan orchard here at the farm has been begging other creatures to partake in its bounty. naturally. but with our pecans being the only certified organic products we offer, we must be diligent in our efforts of protecting them. so. thus began our trip to the orchard with a few guns. now i’ve never been a gun man. well. i’ve always been pretty opposed to them. recently i’ve met some good folks with kind hearts toward our brothers and sisters of the wild but also use firearms in their pursuit of food and clothing. primitive. i know.
so we’ve brought home a couple squirrels one of which we cooked over the fire. who knew squirrel tasted like chicken. (itreallydid) it was pretty fuflfilling to feel so connected with something we had just taken the life of. i know here on the farm we do kill a good amount of chickens and turkeys but somehow i feel using a gun makes the lifetaking a bit more surprising.
so. as true wastenotwagoneers it would be irresponsible to not use as much of the animal as possible. so i’ve begun to do some drying and tanning of skins and hides. it is so so gratifying. i feel like a woodsman. in the best possible way.
also i learned my grandpa used to do things like this. this kind of thing runs in the blood. i’m sure of it.
rabbit skin i dried
hunters and gatherers (sweepers)
september 30. common grounds. 1123 s. 8th street. waco, texas. 8:30pm.
sing a song. hum along. clap your hands. rejoice. as the motorgarden madman sings his stuff. and tells tall tales. and us young dreamers set our sails.
(our dream is an honest one
we think our legs are ready to run
so we’ll fly fast and free
away from this flock of greed
and then we’ll sneak back in
and we’ll show all our friends
and pray that He will provide again
Amen)
bethel
lucas
neal
motorgardenmadman
