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Play That Song Again | On Technology and Music: It’s The Drug, Not the Needle

BY ERIK CHRISTENSEN
October 3, 2014

Back in the summer of 1978 (a GREAT year for music, according to your trusty correspondent here) I spent a great deal of time riding around in an old Ford F-150 pickup. My girlfriend’s brother had rigged up two six-inch Delco speakers in the roof, one directly over the head of the driver, the other over the head of the passenger. My girlfriend sat in the middle as he drove us two 15-year-old, non-licensed teenagers around our small California town.

Along with the exposed wires, road noise and AM-only radio in the dashboard, he had horrible, horrible taste in music. He was kind of a big, scary guy, and he was driving, so I never had the guts to point it out. But every once in a while, some magic would happen. In his wave of his Top 40 dreck and bad dance music, something clear and resonant shone through—maybe some early Fleetwood Mac or The Emotions singing “Best of My Love.”

Doesn’t take much to make me happy
And make me smile with glee
Never, never will I feel discouraged
‘Cause our love’s no mystery

Album Cover for The Emotions “Best of My Love” (image provided by the author)

I don’t remember much about that time—I think the truck was two-tone green and white, and I vaguely remember those times with my girlfriend. I’m not even sure of her brother’s name—Robert, I think. Richard? No, Robert. Must have been Robert—but I can still sing those lyrics and feel the sound from those tinny speakers right above my head. The sound quality was pretty weak, but it was delivered—as all good music is—from right overhead to the base of my spine.

Did music ever sound any better than it did at age 15? Catchy bubblegum music, R&B horns, windows down and the open invitation to sing along?

Whoa-oo, you’ve got the best of my love….

This got me thinking: all the advances in technology, all the changes in musical format, and all the gear I’ve bought…and I still seem to be chasing the feeling of that cheesy music through that lo-fi system in a noisy pickup truck. Without being one of those vinyl record fetishists, or the guy at the party in the tweed jacket who talks about low frequency MHz in his all-tube, hand-made German stereo receiver, I do appreciate good sounding music reproduction.

But…

As they say in certain circles, it’s not the delivery system, it’s the content. It’s the drug, not the needle. Where do the lines of music and technology cross? Examples?

One of my dearest possessions is a clear cassette tape, with my faded scrawl on both sides: “Bruce Springsteen, Live at The Agora, Cleveland, 8/9/78.” Taped off an FM radio broadcast on a cheap stereo, that’s the music I always return to—the stuff that epitomizes everything I love about music and poetry.

Tommy Lee Jones in the sci-fi comedy “Men In Black”—when looking at a table full of new information technology gadgets—said, “Well, looks like I have to buy “The White Album” again.”

Tommy Lee Jones (right) with Will Smith in a scene fro the sci-fi comedy “Men In Black” (image provided by the author)

I get it. I have—and I’m embarrassed enough to wish it wasn’t true—28,302 songs on my iPod. In my lifetime, I think I’ve bought “My Aim Is True” on vinyl, cassette and CD.

Comedian Patton Oswalt does a wonderful comedy bit about how you wouldn’t need to travel very far back in time to freak people out with your music technology; he travels back in time from 2009 and talks to himself from 1999.

“Wow, that’s my old Walkman! OK, take the cassette out, snap it in half, and that’s how big the device is you’ll use to listen to music.”

“How many songs does it hold?”

“EVERY SONG YOU’VE EVER HEARD OR EVER WILL BE WRITTEN!”

“Whoa, those must cost, like, a million dollars, right?”

“Shoot, no, they’re cheap; they GIVE these things away.”

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Want the definition of a perfect day? When the newfangled “Compact Discs” came out in the late ‘80s, one of my first purchases was The Beatles “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.” My college roommate, good friend and fellow music nerd Eric spent a long afternoon in my parent’s living room listening to “Sgt. Pepper’s” (on crystal clear CD!) all the way through—first through one speaker, then moving the “balance” button all the way over and listening again through the other speaker. In those early days of asymmetrical music mixes and mono recordings, you might have all the vocals on one side and the instruments on the other. Throw in all the sound effects and production gimmicks on that record, and it seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

Album Cover for The Beatles “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” (image provided by the author)

But again, the gimmick was new, clear sound; we didn’t listen to Molly Hatchet, INXS, or .38 Special—or any other terrible 80s band. The attraction was the classic album that we both grew up with and held so dear. A new, better format was just icing on the cake. Does the technology really matter, or is it the feeling the music itself brings?

I’ll let my older brother have the last word: In the rolling hills and shade tree autumn that is life in California’s Napa Valley, we stopped by to visit a close family friend who was about halfway done building his dream house. Our friend Roger had finished the roof and exterior walls; we found him inside, sitting down on a stack of sheetrock that had yet to be put up on the framed-in interior walls. The walls were to be done after he had finished the electrical wiring—heating, centrally controlled lights and a state of the art, speakers-in-every-room, satellite radio-equipped sound system.

Roger was tired, covered in sawdust, and a tangle of electrical wiring and relay switches was strewn across the unfinished floorboards. He was, admittedly, sick of reading plans and splicing wires, so he was drinking a beer and listening to an old Hank Williams song on a small Sony cassette boombox. The haunting, minimalist country twang echoed around the empty space and unfinished cement foundation. Afternoon sunlight filtered in through uncovered window frames.

“It’s never really gonna get any better than this, is it?” my brother joked, looking around at the thousands of dollars of sound gear. “Beer, Hank Williams, cassette deck…do you really need any of this other stuff?”

Erik Christensen teaches at Oak Harbor High School, writes songs and poetry and longs for the days of making cassette mix-tapes.

Erik Christensen Band plays at Mo’s Pub in Langley on Oct. 22, Blooms Winery in Bayview on Nov. 16 and Front Street Grill in Coupeville on Dec. 3. He also plays with the Jacobs Road band; info can be found at www.jacobsrd.com.

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WLM stories and blogs are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. Linking is permitted. To request permission to use or reprint content from this site, email info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

October 3, 2014
Sirithiri | The Garry Oak and DjangoFest’s Tcha Limberger

BY SIRI BARDARSON
September 26, 2014

There is a floor-to-ceiling window that runs the length of the pool up here in Oak Harbor and, just outside, there is a huge oak tree. Out of the foggy left eye of my swim goggles, I glance up at it and then away with each breath and stroke I take down the lap lane. A few days ago, the giant tree was backlit by a summer dawn. Now, it is a dark profile in the early morning.

Garry Oak leaves. (illustration by Siri Bardarson)

Fall is here.

Natural time is the big, round, chrome gauge on my instrument panel of life. Time and life on this earth—the spinning of the planet with its huge system of environment and ecology of species—drives the transition of seasons with remarkable power and character.

I love the reliability, the unstoppable march and the confident nature of the seasons. It is a comfort and, at the same time, in some corner of my consciousness, it is oddly daunting—like being pregnant with the realization that you are just along for the ride. My anxiety about what I am doing, my creative life, creates a rub and chatters like the brittle leaves in the wind.

I don’t know what I am, but the big oak tree outside the window knows what it is.

The Garry Oak trees in Oak Harbor are magnificent. Did you know they are indigenous to our area and thrive on drought and simple soil? They are host and habitat to many species of flora and fauna and they thrive on natural disturbances such as fire. A 300-year-old oak tree is impervious to the welcome fire that clears away the understory and the competing rabble that devours the oak’s meager resources.

One block over from my new place in Oak Harbor, there is a park with an oak forest. When I visited Bulgaria last year, we took a walk every day in an oak forest. Those woods are so different from the ones I know here in the Northwest. Oak trees have strong, straight-up and-down, black trunks and are the perfect setting for archetypal fairy tales and all kinds of imagination.

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Djangofest is a local harbinger of fall. There is a ton of virtuosic ability at Djangofest—the stuff that one achieves by tenacious application—a lot of hot dog players, playing fast. These versions of the manouche genre are very disconnected from the music. Technical virtuosity is not the same as talent, although both can have the same level of ability.

I made the ticket splurge to see Tcha Limberger after a chance listen to him at the final concert of last year’s fest. Hearing him play might be as close as I ever get to the manouche or gypsy jazz genre.

Limberger’s artistry defies definition. The word “talent” is insufficient. It’s like calling the 300-year-old Garry Oak a tree. Whether Tcha sings, plays the guitar, the violin or the clarinet, you can’t separate this person from the music that he plays. The performance was absolutely mesmerizing—the gypsy feel, swaying and swerving and bulging rhythmically outside of time. It was campfire opera on LSD filled with deep passions that were both religious and vernacular. His music was infused with the whole world, attached to the deep history of a people but alive with the current season of now and creative freedom. It had soul. Yes, it had soul.

And is there anything more inspiring than art with soul?

When I was in Bulgaria last year, I heard these sounds, although I didn’t intentionally hear any music. But the landscape had a sound—the religion, the hardship, the nature and the culture. I didn’t understand any of it specifically, but I experienced a kind of cosmic fellowship.

The magnificent Garry Oak tree will always be exactly what it is—welded to the cycle, the only subtle changes made haphazardly by evolution. But we, as creative individuals, inhabitants of the same world as the oak, we have different opportunities and challenges: to put the old and the new together in a new way and find the soul.

What a place to be—the soulful place, the beautiful world and its soulful song. The place where the very old and the very new merge.

The leaves are going to fall from the Garry Oak and my tan feet and hands and sunny hair will disappear under layers of wool. I will listen, play and sing more music and write more words and love life even more strongly.

Grab a sweater and come with me.

Siri Bardarson is a musician who writes a lot. She is ecstatically happy when she makes stuff!

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CLICK HERE to read more entertaining and informative WLM stories and blogs.

WLM stories and blogs are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. Linking is permitted. To request permission to use or reprint content from this site, email info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

September 26, 2014
The New Kid on the Block | Another Beautiful Day on Whidbey

BY LES McCARTHY
September 24, 2014

“Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.”
— Pablo Picasso.

I am a sucker for quotes. They wake me up. They make me think, encourage me to do and to see things I normally would not.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” Very insightful, Plato. And very true.

Sometimes beauty is easy for all of us to behold, for all of us to spot: a wondrous piece of art in a gallery window, a statue in a courtyard, an exquisite gem. But, beauty is also more subtle and lies hidden in plain sight, in what is commonplace.

Art and beauty—all around us, in so many forms. Everyday life.

Eight years ago my husband lost his battle with cancer. His passing changed my outlook on life. Look for the beauty in all things. Life is short. Appreciate!

Sometimes, though, I forget to keep those things in mind as I get bogged down with the mundane chores of home and life. I forget to look around me and appreciate the beauty of each day…the art that is found all around me. I forget to dust off my soul.

Uncle Ben (Ben Franklin, to all of you unrelated) said, “One today is worth two tomorrows.”

Those words came to mind as I was contemplating my weekend options: do housework or go off and tool around Whidbey. Whidbey won. Today is worth two tomorrows! Thanks, Uncle Ben for the nudge I needed to go explore and to keep in perspective what is important.

And, thanks to Pablo and Plato for reminding me that “dusting” isn’t just needed on table tops—souls need it, too. And that beauty is all around me—I just need to behold.

And, so, I ventured forth—another day in Paradise. Another beautiful day on Whidbey.

A week earlier I was out and about looking for a llama farm and was lost and—thanks to my no-GPS sense of direction—ended up (luckily) at the Comforts of Whidbey winery in Langley. I arrived late in the afternoon, while owners Rita and Carl Comfort and their sons were pressing grapes. The process was fascinating and their property was gorgeous. They all were so friendly and gracious in explaining things to me and, in conversation, ended up inviting me to join in their upcoming community harvest. Yay! The best day of getting lost—ever!

Grapes. (photo by Les McCarthy)

So, this past Saturday morning found me breathing in the subtle winey smell of their acreage. As I looked over the landscape, with the Passage off in the distance, I wondered if there was anything more beautiful than a fog-shrouded vineyard. Or more specifically, this fog-shrouded vineyard. The sky was heavy and the surrounding colors popped with intensity, making the perfectly-perfect rows of spring-green grape leaves, slender tendrils waving in the breeze and blushing reddish grapes hanging heavily on the vines—simply breathtaking.

And there it was…art in everyday life. Beauty all around me. And my dusting began.

After a brief tutorial, my fellow harvesters and I set off down the rows, buckets and clippers in hand. The fruit was mostly concentrated on the bottom sections of the vines and hung down in tight, heavy bunches. Snip, snip! The rhythm was dance-like as each picture-perfect bunch was snipped off the vine and tossed into a nearby bucket.

Grapes… (photo by Les McCarthy)

Scores of bees hummed around us as we continued down the rows, one person on either side of the vine, snipping and chatting, oohing and ahhing as the buckets filled. The vines were full, vibrantly green; the grapes—the fruiting berries of the vines—were plentiful and orbital with a juicy heft to each bunch. We took photos of the grapes, each bunch prettier than the next, each bucket more gorgeous than the last.

But it wasn’t just the rows upon rows of vines or the succulent fruit hanging from them—almost sensual in their feel, as one harvester commented—it was the community spirit, the tinkle of laughter that punctuated the free-flowing conversations; it was the giving back and going forward, the camaraderie, the rush of trying something new. It truly was a beautiful experience. The dusting continued.

And more grapes. (photo by Les McCarthy)

I wanted to stay and finish out the afternoon but I’d promised myself I’d go watch the South Whidbey Cross Country Invitational—perhaps an odd thing to do since I didn’t know anyone on the 38 teams…but my kids used to run “cc” in high school and it was one of those nostalgic things I was needing to do. The autumnal pull was strong and it was the perfect day for a meet.

And, again, beauty—all around me—from the cloudless blue skies and colorful tents that dotted the fields (looking like small hot air balloons ready for takeoff) to the lush vegetation of the race course with its early fall hint of yellow and red speckles, and the palpable community spirit of all the attendees. I watched the kids race by, with tears in my eyes, remembering those long-gone days and I marveled in the runners’ agility, strength and youth. They were as fluid as a running stream—an undulating synchronization of muscle, sweat, and determination.

More soul dusting…

After the race I meandered back towards home, winding my way down forested and prairied roads, ending up back in Langley. I stopped in some of the art galleries and shops and then sat awhile, listening to the various Django jam sessions happening here and there. The musicians were talented, the music was lively and the instruments were beautiful. What a lovely and fabulous way to end my afternoon. Art all around me.

If art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life, then consider Whidbey a gigantic washing machine! Art in its many forms, beauty abounding, grapes and galleries, motion and memories and a bit of gypsy jazz. My soul was renewed and dust-free. Thanks, Whidbey, for another beautiful day!

If you want to experience the fun and beauty of grape harvesting first-hand, Comforts of Whidbey winery could use more help this next Saturday, Sept. 27. Email Rita or Carl at: comfortsofwhidbey@gmail.com.

Les McCarthy is an author, tutor, life coach and an IPPY bronze medalist for her yearly health and nutrition calendars. She is a recent transplant to the island and is busy loving every glorious moment along with tending to the needs of her voracious local deer and slugs on a daily basis.

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CLICK HERE to read more entertaining and informative WLM stories and blogs.

WLM stories and blogs are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. Linking is permitted. To request permission to use or reprint content from this site, email info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

September 24, 2014
Pigment, Perspective, and Pandas | What Day Is It Anyway?

BY ANNE BELOV
Sept. 18, 2014

There are so many different “Special Day” designations that it’s hard to keep them all straight.

For instance, this Saturday, Sept. 20, is International Red Panda Day (who knew?) a day to celebrate those cute little critters that sort of look like red-headed raccoons and are no relation whatsoever to Giant Pandas.

On Sept. 19, it’s Talk Like a Pirate Day, yaar, me hearties! which will be celebrated with much hilarity over at The Panda Chronicles with the piratical adventures of Mr. Wu.

But of all the days that one can celebrate, one of my favorites has just passed. It is International Dot Day, which was inspired by the Peter Reynolds book, “The Dot.” The whole point of Dot Day is to inspire creativity, and to make your mark on the world in some creative fashion. Schools and their students the world over commemorate the day with painting, singing and any other creative activity they can think of.

My contribution to the 2014 Dot Day Celebration — Anne Belov

I’ve talked before about how important making art was to me as I was growing up, and how so many school districts have slashed their art, music and drama budgets to keep the lights turned on, and the taxpayers…um, less unhappy than they already are.

But, it turns out that letting your mind go out to play is one of the best things you can do to help you learn the hard stuff—like math and science.

The process in “writing” my wordless picture book, Pandamorphosis, was a long one, and without giving myself the permission to let my mind wander, experimenting, writing, re-writing, sketching and scribbling, the book would never have come to be. I’ll be giving a presentation at 11 a.m. this Friday (Sept. 19) at the Freeland Branch of the Sno-Isle Library to talk about the inspiration and the process of writing this book.

I was lucky to grow up in an era that included art, music and drama as part of a public school education. I applaud and appreciate the efforts of the folks who have made creativity a viral phenomenon in the world. You can see the “dots” that thousands of illustrators and writers have created over at the Celebridots website. (Um…including mine!)

Maybe next year on Sept. 15, there will be Dot Day celebrations here too.

Anne Belov paints, writes, makes prints, and is the founder of The Institute for Contemporary Panda Satire. You can find her paintings at the Rob Schouten Gallery, her cartoons on The Panda Chronicles, and her new book here. Find her regularly at Thank Blog It’s Friday here at WLM.

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CLICK HERE to read more entertaining and informative WLM stories and blogs.

WLM stories and blogs are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. Linking is permitted. To request permission to use or reprint content from this site, email info@whidbeylifemagazine.org.

September 19, 2014
The Chief Milkmaid | ‘The worst day farming is better than the best day at work’

Elizabeth Wheat of Skyroot Farm, located in Clinton, offers produce at Bayview Farmers Market and CSA boxes. (photo by Vicky Brown)

BY VICKY BROWN
September 12, 2014

There is an old saying that the worst day fishing is better than the best day at work.

The farmers I know are the hardest working people I’ve ever met. Still, I feel like most of them would agree the worst days of farming are better than the best day at work.

There is something in a farmer’s soul. Working the land seems to be more of a calling than a job.

I had the pleasure of taking a local farmer—Elizabeth Wheat of Skyroot Farm—away from her farming duties for two hours in the middle of a late summer afternoon.

We took time to stroll the farm. She pointed out the crops they were growing, told me the plans they have, and painted a picture of her vision for the future of the land.

Elizabeth explained to me the less traditional structure of their Skyroot Farm.  It’s run by three individuals, as partners on property owned by a fourth partner. Each of the three brings unique talents and experience to the farm.

Elizabeth has been tending Skyroot farm for three years; her two partners Anna Petersons and Arwen Norman joined the farm this season. (More on the three Skyroot farmers here).

Elizabeth was just getting off the tractor when I arrived. She graciously volunteered to answer my questions and give me a tour.

While we walked and talked Arwen was busy tending the last starts of the season in the greenhouse.

Lettuce, transplants, more lettuce, onions Arwen has started. The plants in this photo are part of the Autumn CSA and Farmers Market bounty.   (photo by Vicky Brown)

Anna was busy transplanting for fall crops. Some of the plants she transplanted during my trip are already showing up in CSA boxes.

I tried to start with an easy question. I learned quickly, there are no easy answers… except: “YES! We still have room in our CSA.”

VB: Do you consider yourself a farmer?

EW: I definitely grow food. Where I grew up* being a farmer was not something that was celebrated, it was a job that you did when you couldn’t find something else to do. Here, especially on the West Coast, it is something you can do and say with a lot of pride “I’m a farmer.”

I feel like that is part of what is changing in society, but there was a long time in history in America where I don’t feel you could say you were a farmer with that same sense of pride or know that people would receive that information with the same kind of pride and interest and excitement that people do now. I think that is very special.

I’m happy to call myself a farmer and I hope I live up to the word.

* VB note: Elizabeth grew up in Upstate New York. While she grew up with farming as a part of her life, mostly the acreage they lived on was leased to other ‘real’ farmers. They did manage some crops, including strawberries. However, her real pull into farming happened when she came to the West Coast and took a job as a science teacher. She was assigned a two-acre farm to manage with her students and, she says, she was hooked. In her next position she was the impetus behind creating the student farm.

Anna prepares the fertile soil for the starts, so they can grow into the healthy produce we get to enjoy.   (photo by Vicky Brown)

VB: How has your farming evolved?

EW: When we first got the tractor I said “this is great tool for use in mowing, and I will never, NEVER allow the tractor to be in our fields.” What was I thinking?

I had wanted to push the fertility using bio-intensive farming on a small scale. But when you’re trying to grow a business and you’re starting without the fertility, the biggest shifts were using wider spacing between plants, more active use of mulch, a lot of composting, using more cover crops and earlier in the season.

Our biggest evolution has been in the use of tools, including the tractor with a tiller. Not double digging beds by hand. Trying not to kill ourselves or being exhausted at the end of the day, every day. I still would love to jettison the tractor from our fields—maybe not double digging everything by my own hand—but maybe replacing with oxen or draft power.

I still hope for the future of our farm to be a full system, including animals and vegetables, composting, using the land.

VB: What is your business?

EW: A big part of our business is our CSA which goes into Seattle and has on-farm pickup. We also sell at the Bayview Farmers Market on Saturdays. Right now we don’t do any other markets or pursue wholesale accounts—not that it won’t change.

“Our CSA this week included basil, arugula, tomatoes, carrots, zucchini, lettuce, cucumbers.” (photo by Vicky Brown)

VB: What do you do to support your farming habit?

EW: I work (sometimes part-time, often more than full-time) as a professor at UW, which is great, but it impacts my availability for the information transfer needed with the new farm team members. There was a big download of information that didn’t happen as smoothly as it could have this spring.

We live on the farm with my family and our farm partners.

We have tried to expand our CSA.*

At the end of the day, really, none of us are going to be supported in the way we ought to be supported for the work we are doing, partly because we are embedded in a food system that doesn’t really work for small farmers. We are trying to make a living doing something that our economic system isn’t built to be able to support.

*VB note: Skyroot still has openings in their fall CSA! It has already started, but you can get in right now for the next 11 weeks for $308! The last box is Thanksgiving week. Imagine that local, lovely dinner.

VB: How does farming impact your relationships?

EW: I am making conscious and intentional choices about how I spend my time. At the end of every day I want to feel proud about those choices and I don’t want to feel caught in an impossible situation where I can’t give enough to any one of the parts of my life that I have. That’s my goal.

VB: How can consumers/community members support you best?

EW: I feel really helped by the community when people tell me they had our lettuce and it was part of a really meaningful dinner. I am not trying to be “best” or “better than” other farmers but I want to do things really well and not be in competition. I care about how we grow and I appreciate a really heartfelt, deep and quick thank you for that.

I feel like [a way] the community could really rally to help people like me is to help make it possible for us to buy land. The price of land is too expensive and you can’t pay a mortgage and run a farm, or at least it is very difficult. If people really want to help, then let’s start a community land trust. Let’s start putting this farmland in a trust so that the food shed of South Whidbey Island is secure.*

We have an incredible productive landscape now, but the more farmland gets carved up, the harder it is to make a living or afford the land.

Whidbey Island is full of people who do a good job doing good in the world. If we could band together and get a land trust to protect more farmland and make it available for new farmers, I think that would be good.

*VB note: I am especially interested in this as part of a solution to both Whidbey’s food security and ability to keep incredible families in our community. Is anyone else interested in this? Are we having this conversation anywhere yet? If yes, where? If not, let’s start it!

VB: What is the best experience you’ve ever had farming… THE moment?

Last year we had a party and it was during the biggest storm we had last year. It was a terrible day, it was windy and stormy. It was a killer party, 70 people were here. There was a break in the rain and I came out to the back of the farm and Annie* was out in the strawberry beds with a gaggle of four years olds—12 kids just running through the strawberries picking and eating them. I didn’t even know Annie knew there were strawberries there. What she is learning is really special.

*VB notes: Annie is Elizabeth’s amazing daughter, who happens to be sporting a pretty purple cast right now and is a big fan of my goat cheese.

VB: What is the worst experience you’ve had farming?

The worst experiences have all come from trying to do too much and not saying no.

Every time bad things have happened it is because I haven’t been generous enough with space or generous enough with time. Trying to fit too many things into a day, trying to fit too many plants in a row.

VB: If someone could only buy one product from Skyroot Farm, what should they get?

EW: Anna has been doing a great job with our Salad Mix and our cucumbers are pretty special. Our lettuce is fantastic.

VB: What would be the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back that would make you give up farming?

EW: If it didn’t feed my soul anymore. If I wasn’t excited when I get out of bed anymore.

VB note: This is the common theme I have found with farmers. Not one I have met does it for the money, or because they love the long hours or the challenges that range from weather to government to neighbors to fickle markets, but because it feeds their soul. Farmers are the most passionate, optimistic people I have met. Even after two hours of being pelted with questions, Elizabeth was still animated and excited talking about Skyroot Farm.

Elizabeth’s excitement for farming is contagious. If you think you aren’t interested in farming, I challenge you to have a conversation with her about it. You may find that farming is the most fun, interesting, curious, fantastic thing ever.

Come see Skyroot Farm at Bayview Farmers Market and sign up for their Autumn CSA. You can connect with them through their website if you can’t get to market.

Even after being so generous with her time, Elizabeth offered me a bonus, a recipe featuring their green beans and garlic, both available right now:

Green Beans – A la Tracy Joy Miller*

*note – this is my favorite way to eat green beans!

1 lb green beans
1 cup walnuts
3 – 4 cloves of minced garlic
1 – 2 Tbsp soy sauce or tamar

Rinse and prepare the green beans—cut off the tops, but otherwise leave the beans whole. Place the beans in boiling water for 5 minutes. Remove the beans—in a heated skillet, add a bit of oil. Place the green beans and garlic in the skillet. Stir, add walnuts and Soy Sauce. When the garlic is cooked, serve! This is a terrific dish—we’ve eaten lots of it in the last few weeks!

Vicky Brown, Chief Milkmaid at the Little Brown Farm, puts her passions on the page writing about food, agriculture and the tender web of community.

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CLICK HERE to read more entertaining and informative WLM stories and blogs.

WLM stories and blogs are copyrighted and all rights are reserved. Linking is permitted. To request permission to use or reprint content from this site, email info@whidbeylifemagazine.org

September 12, 2014
The New Kid on the Block | Welcome to Whidbey

Even the mats say “Welcome” here! (photo by author)

BY LES McCARTHY
Whidbey Life Magazine Contributor
September 11, 2014

Welcome!

This one word brings warmth to my heart and nourishment to my soul. It’s sweet, lovely, calming and brings with it acceptance and a verbal embrace. What a powerful word!

I arrived on the island a mere two months ago, and almost everywhere I’ve gone and almost everyone I’ve spoken with has said, “Welcome!” or—even better—“Welcome HOME!”.

I am home. I started this journey of searching for my Utopia seven years ago and I’ve come full circle. For the past 35 years I knew in my heart that I wanted to be up in the NW (somewhere) but thought I should “look around” a bit. So, I did. And, after looking at hundreds of towns and countless properties in nine other states, as I crossed over the bridge at Deception Pass onto Whidbey, I knew I’d found it. Utopia at last!

Welcome home!

You’ve probably seen me: I’m the one walking along the wooded paths and prairies, on the beaches with the dog, or sitting on a bench overlooking the Saratoga Passage, mouth agape, like a large-mouthed bass, in awe of the natural beauty that surrounds me. I cannot fully grasp the reality that I live here! It is so breathtakingly beautiful!

A sandwich at P.S.Suiss in the Langley Village (photo by the author)

I am the non-artist/non-farmer strolling along the store fronts and markets of Langley, Bayview and Coupeville soaking up the charm, totally astounded and delighted at all the creative gifts that are shared by our neighbors, whether they are art pieces, musical renditions or farm bounty…in whatever form. I am the one sitting at the bistro, enjoying every mouthful of something that I wouldn’t even dream of making—let alone, know how, and I am the one breathing in the sweat and craft at the Shakespeare festival—again, amazed by the passion, joy and spirit of those who live here—nearby.

Since I’ve been on the island I’ve managed to do more than I expected outside the house and less inside the house—with the sole reasoning being there is always so much to do here! I felt an urgency to pack as much into my days as I could—abandoning my business duties and all things related to moving in and getting settled.

And then I realized … I don’t have to LEAVE here! I’m not on vacation! I can do ALL of these things at my leisure because I LIVE here! It’s like a fabulous field trip—every day—if I want to partake!

I wake up wondering—where do I go today? What shall I do? I’ve made a bulletin board of all things possible to see and do each week/month (thank you Drew’s List for the info!). My house is near three wineries—which tour today? Which musical venue—there are so many; how do I decide? Which art gallery—do I go to Greenbank Farm or do I go to town? Or do I go antiquing or do I feel like seeing the alpaca and fiber farms?

Salad Turnips from Bayview Market (photo by the author)

I go where the winds blow me and along the way I’ll pick up a blended latte and I’ll stop at a farm stand or farmer’s market and pick up a beautiful bouquet of flowers or a fresh bunch of creamy-white turnips so beautifully bulbous I want to eat them raw! (And I can because they are for salads!)

As I drive north on 525, I pass meadows where sweet grasses perfume the air and mountains tower in the distance. I come around a bend (Penn Cove) and there before me, below bluebird skies, sailboats dot the sparkling blue waters. The scene is so perfectly perfect I want to cry.

It seems to be human nature to become complacent as we settle into our lives and jobs and homes and, with time, we tend to take where we live and those around us for granted … even a little. But, since I’ve been on the island, I’ve met transplants and islanders and no one really seems to be following that course! Everyone seems as enchanted and amazed as I am about being here, whether they’ve been here for 38 years or eight weeks, like me!

I’m finding that my neighbors and townspeople are helpful, friendly, community-minded and welcoming! Not to mention insanely creative and talented—on so many levels! My neighbors are varied in their talents and lifestyles and yet there is a commonality, as well. On my block are musicians and farmers and business owners and retirees with vast histories of lives well-lived and contributions too numerous to know about over just one glass of wine. These people are engaging and engaged!

Top of the meadow looking east over Greenbank Farm (photo by the author)

Being the new kid on the block (literally) and coming from Chicago (last two years) and Denver (34 years before that) this is all new to me! I haven’t experienced this anywhere else. Chicago is a nice place to visit; Denver is a fabulous place to live…but here? This place is vibrant! This place is alive! This place is different.

This place is something special.

So, whether you’ve been here all your life or you’re a newbie like me—enjoy this island! Thank you, to those who have lived here before me, for your contributions of talent and time, energy and goodness that make this place so special. I plan to join you in your involvement—whatever that may be—and I whole-heartedly accept your Welcome.

And to those of you—newer on the island than myself…Welcome Home!

Les McCarthy is an author, tutor, life coach and in IPPY bronze medalist for her yearly health and nutrition calendars. She is a recent transplant to the island and is busy loving every glorious moment along with tending to the needs of her voracious local deer and slugs on a daily basis.

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September 10, 2014
Creativity Cafe’ | Fall Cleaning: Are You Enough?

BY DEB LUND
August 29, 2014

You can taste it, can’t you? Fall…

I’m much more of a fall cleaner than a spring cleaner. Fall is a time of letting go, reflecting, preparing, renewing. For me, besides the bags and boxes heading to our amazing Whidbey thrift stores, that means recommitting as a writer, writing teacher, and creativity coach.

If only this adventure could happen without visits from Miss Midge, my inner critic (who’s tough as a tractor and built like a fridge).

Our conversations go something like this…

On WRITING:

Me: This fall, I’ll read through notes from my agent and tackle another round of revisions on my upper middle grade novel.

Midge: You’ve worked on that for years. It will never be good enough!

Me: I can’t wait to get going on that adult magical-realism novel. It’s the project that’s really calling to me.

Midge: It’s an okay idea, but you don’t have enough of what it takes to make it work.

Me: I need to start more picture books.

Midge: Don’t you already have enough that aren’t going anywhere?

About WRITING TEACHING:

Me: I’m looking forward to the conferences I’ll be presenting at this fall.

Midge: How will you possibly have enough time to prepare?

Me: The writing classes I have planned for “Write in the Park” will be so much fun!

Midge: You won’t have enough writing time if you’re busy helping everyone else.

Me: Maybe I should design another online continuing education course for teachers.

Midge: Don’t you have enough to do? You’ll never manage it all.

And CREATIVITY COACHING:

Me: Seeing the growth in my creativity-coaching clients really feeds me.

Midge: But does it feed them enough?

Me: The Fiction Magic online group should be interesting.

Midge: If you have enough to say to them.

Me: When I really listen and trust that the right words will appear, my clients’ insights often appear as if by magic.

Midge: Yes, their insights, not yours. You think that’s enough?

ENOUGH ALREADY!

I’m already enough.

You’re already enough.

Did you hear me? You. Are. Enough.

What would you be or do if you knew you were enough? Smart enough, talented enough, creative enough, good enough? I’ll say it once more…

YOU ARE ENOUGH!

Make your list. Recommit to your own projects and paths. That’s who you are, and that’s enough.

If you can’t help it, listen again to the old tapes from your own inner critic, but then bag and box them up and clear them out. It’s fall. Let go, prepare, recommit.

You can taste it, can’t you? Is that taste enough to get you going on some fall cleaning? I hope so, because I’ve already said…

Enough.

Deb Lund is an author, creativity coach, and writing teacher. Stop by at www.deblund.com to learn more about her. We could say more about her here—the great card deck she made for writers, the classes she’ll be teaching at South Whidbey State Park, or how she can help you overcome your own Miss Midges, but this is enough. It’s even enough that she didn’t have time to send any photos to go with this blog post because she’s celebrating her 25^th anniversary.

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August 29, 2014
In Search of Truth and Beauty | Resting in the Nest of Impermanence

BY JONI TAKANIKOS
August 22, 2014

In these last days of summer my mind is often caught in a daydream. And although September is now close enough for us to hear its whisper of classrooms filled with summer endings and schoolbooks opening to the pages of fall, somehow the yellowed grass of summer begs for a kind of semi-permanence, held fast by our skin and bones.

Photo by Joni Takanikos

I long to be held adrift in this calm, steady, and soft breeze of a summer day fully inhabited, with no thought of the fall to come. I admit that I am presently intoxicated by the waft of Stargazer Lily scent that lingers throughout the house, while just outside the deep purple perfume of blackberries on the vines sweetens the air. The blackberries always ripen in perfect time to the last days of summer, so ripe they drop into my open palm without a touch…and then straight onto my tongue as they are too delicate for a bowl.

Photo by Loredana

Last night I was at a small dinner party for six. It was held by a dear friend who was hosting her parents as well as a visiting friend from Italy. My friend lived in Italy for a few years, and made some lovely and lifelong friends among the locals. She also learned how to make wonderful pasta and other dishes, but that is another story.

Their beautiful and erudite friend, Loredana, (she speaks four languages fluently), brought with her some homemade Italian type pretzels, taralli, made from flour, salt, white wine and fennel. While we sat conversing and eating this ambrosia of a pretzel, she talked of her experience here over the last few weeks. She said that her eyes had developed a certain restfulness that she believed was brought on by the particulars of our Pacific Northwest landscape. The variety of green hues, water, sky, and mountains gave the eyes a sense of peace that could be held in her gaze.

This strikes me as such a lovely translation of the inherent beauty of our island, interpreted through the lips of this visitor to our shores. It is a reminder of how this beauty that surrounds us can inhabit our skin and bones, and live fully through our senses, and be held deep in our gaze, marking the space of a long and lingering summer daydream.

A Moonscape East of the Mountains

People want to be beautiful,

beautiful as the sky,

And the full moon flying through

The forest of trees.

Elusive beauty we are driven toward,

Like a train on a rail,

Past rivers, oceans,

Tracks laid through pure solid rock,

Our hearts and bodies wide as the sky,

Flying across fields of waving summer grasses,

Rising over endless tides,

To be born with eyes that see Beauty

Even in the blinding dark.

— Joni Takanikos, July 2014

On Whidbey Island there are many methods of stretching the canvas over a glorious summer day. Carl Magnuson and Kimmer Morris are curating a month-long celebration this August of art, music, movement, poetry and everything above, below and in between. It is called Burning Whidboy and an art show and events are continuing through the end of August.

Burning Whidboy: a place, an event, a state of mind. 625 Edgecliff Drive, Langley, WA 98260. Check their calendar at http://tinyurl.com/lzx4eh8

Joni Takanikos inhabits the sacred circus tent of dreams that encircle and entwine her life. She performs her music and poetry in venues here, there and everywhere, and is, oh so happy, teaching yoga at Half Moon Yoga Studio in Langley, WA.

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August 22, 2014
The Chief Milkmaid | Barn Raising on the Prairie

BY VICKY BROWN
August 20, 2014

Saturday evening I had the privilege of attending “The Whale Wins on the Prairie” at Willowood Farm, a fundraising dinner for the Friends of Ebey’s.

Marilyn Sherman Clay volunteered her time and her gorgeous jewel toned goblet and vintage napkins. (photo by Audra Mulkern)

I was excited to go because one of my friends and fellow farmers, Georgie Smith, was hosting the event at the remarkable historic Willowood Farm on Ebey’s Prairie.

The Historic Smith Barn was built in 1880 using mortise and tenon joints. (photo by Audra Mulkern)

I was thrilled to go because the renowned Chef Renee Erickson was orchestrating the cuisine.

Short ribs from 3 Sisters with peaches, grilled to melt-in-your-mouth perfection (photo by Audra Mulkern)

I was anxious to go because many of our Little Brown Farm dairy products would be served to many people who have never tried our goods.

I was nervous to go because I felt I didn’t fit in. I felt I was an outsider, a farmer dining with guests who donated $200 a plate, some driving vehicles worth more than our barn.

When I arrived early I was set at ease; Georgie was still in farm clothes, still doing chores. There were crews bustling about, preparing for the meal service, grilling the food to be served, chilling the wines, setting the stage. Guests would arrive in less than an hour and Georgie, with a delightful smudge of fertile soil on her nose, was still feeding her very old horse.

Georgie Smith on Willowood Farm (photo by Vicky Brown)

As she went to prepare to welcome the guests, I got to wander the farm with which I’m so blissfully familiar—enjoying the farm dogs and the sweeping vistas.

A group of volunteers from the Coupeville Lions arrived and began traffic and parking coordination. Their friendly faces and joy at being a supporting part of such an event was contagious.

Dave Fish, Hugh Hedges and Jim Colligan represent part of the Coupeville Lions team that volunteered. (photo by Vicky Brown)

From the parking lot we went on a tour of the delightfully marked fields.

Adam Kendrick, Willowood Farm Field Manager explain the beneficial plant row. (photo by Vicky Brown)

The tour I was on was led by the passionate and knowledgeable Adam Kendrick, Willowood’s field manager.

Historic Smith homestead (photo by Vicky Brown)

It ended with a stop in front of the Willowood’s farmstead home. The family home where Georgie grew up and her parents, Renee and Bill Smith live, was built in 1896.

Georgie tells us why we are here. (photo by Audra Mulkern)

In front of the rose garden and the white picket fence, Georgie spoke to us. She explained the connection of the Prairie and her family, dating back 5 generations. Listening to Georgie’s words, watching guests hanging on her every syllable, seeing the pride in her parents’ faces I realized this was so much more than a fundraiser, or a fine dinner, or even a community gathering. I was witnessing the Smith family’s very personal and tender love letter to Whidbey Island.

Georgie Smith held our attention. (photo by Audra Mulkern)

As Georgie’s voice cracked and she wiped away the uninvited tears, we listened with humility and gratitude. We laughed as she told the stories of a mean old Aunt who MADE people take off their shoes before entering her home (that is what earned her the nickname “mean”). She took us back, inviting us to imagine Ebey’s Prairie any time within the last 120 years, reminding us that except for the power lines and the cell phones a community gathering would have looked much the same.

Historic Smith Barn built in 1880, worth preserving (photo by Audra Mulkern)

I missed several of the hors d’oeuvres being served; I was too distracted by the realization that I was at a barn raising. Not the kind that may have raised the Historic Smith Barn in 1880, but the 2014 style. In reality Friends of Ebey’s is more about maintaining the historic buildings and protecting and educating about the Prairie than raising barns. However, it was the same as I imagine the barn-raising families felt when they watched the good work they did go into use and then feasted after the work.

I certainly wasn’t alone feeling the connection of the evening. “Aside from the amazing food,” Sarah Richards of Lavender Wind Farm said, “one of the best parts was sitting with previously unknown people and leaving with new friends.”

New friendships being forged (photos by Audra Mulkern)

Every seat was full and the atmosphere was as joyful as I imagine the meal at the end of the barn-raising in 1880. Music filled the barn as Nathaniel Talbot entertained, adding the perfect note to complete the delightful atmosphere.

Nathaniel Talbot kept us entertained. (photo by Audra Mulkern)

This love letter could not be complete with just Georgie’s poignant speech. It took many other committed people that feel the same way to make it more of a symphony than a letter.

I am so grateful to photographer Audra Mulkern who donated her time, skill and images.

Chef Renee Erickson puts the finishing touches on the squash course. (photo by Audra Mulkern)

Chef Renee Erickson, who donated her time, orchestrated the most divine and most local meal I’ve ever had prepared for me.

Chef Jay Guerrero finishes up the short ribs. (photo by Audra Mulkern)

Renee’s remarkable team, including the Chef de Cuisine at Boat Street Cafe, Jay Guerrero.

The Coupeville Lions, who successfully kept all the paint on the right cars and the vehicles out of the fields of the produce.

Ebey’s Prairie neighbors who helped Georgie to prepare for this wonderful event with equipment and time.

So many farmers and purveyors including: 3 Sisters, Penn Cove Shellfish, Rosehip Farm, bayleaf, Lavender Wind Farm, Little Brown Farm, Ebb Tide Produce, Mile Post 19 and of course Willowood Farm—that provided the ingredients for the meal and the wine for the delightful pairings.

A delightful group of servers. You may recognize your friends and neighbors. They kept us all entertained, well fed and served delicious food with their whole hearts. (photo by Audra Mulkern)

Finally, to the group responsible for the coordination of so many moving parts to pull this memorable night together—the Friends of Ebey’s.

Friends of Ebey’s (photo by Audra Mulkern)

If you were unable to attend this dinner, I encourage you to support them however you can. You can donate right from their website or mail in a check. This unique, fertile and exquisite land is worth protecting. The families that are maintaining it are hard-working, dedicated stewards. The community that lives or visits here could not be the same without it. Ebey’s Prairie is truly one of Whidbey’s crowning jewels. I hope you will come, visit and let the symphony of love letters surround you.

Authors note: For those of you who were hoping for a play by play of the incredible meal, I’m sorry. It was simply too good. I tried writing that blog (including some of the pics above and more), but it simply felt mean to show you what you missed. The food, as expected, was divine. I was introduced to agretti – and ooh, I like it!

The menu Renee Erickson put together for the evening (photo by Vicky Brown)

Here is the menu… and you can get instructions for preparation of some of the items in Renee Erickson’s new book: “A Boat, a Whale & a Walrus: Menus and Stories.”

Chioggia beet borani, Little Brown Farm goat cheese, dill (photo by Audra Mulkern)

Radishes with green goddess (photo by Audra Mulkern)

Fresh oysters, snail butter (photo by Audra Mulkern)

Whidbey Island Winery Rosato (photo by Audra Mulkern)

More bites coming to delighted guests (photo by Audra Mulkern)

Rockwell bean & Penn Cove mussel salad, agretti, dill, summer tomatoes & yogurt (photo by Audra Mulkern)

Grill toasted bread with Little Brown Farm Ugly Butter finished with Jacobsen salt (photo by Audra Mulkern)

Pork fat potatoes with muscatel vinegar, fennel & dill (photo by Audra Mulkern)

Grilled & fresh summer squash, toasted garlic, red onion, green coriander vinaigrette, grated Batch 75 (Little Brown Farm aged goat cheese) (photo by Audra Mulkern)

3 Sisters short ribs with roasted garlic & peach mostarda butter, grilled peaches & mustard greens. (photo by Audra Mulkern)

Sugared fresh rhubarb, blueberries, crème fraiche & cookies. (photo by Audra Mulkern)

I hope you will get to enjoy some of Renee Erickson’s fabulous culinary treats at one of her restaurants. Soon you’ll be able to buy her cookbook and recreate some of the flavors at home. So many of the ingredients for this meal were sourced from Whidbey, you can get most of them at Coupeville and Bayview Farmers Markets or even at bayleaf in Coupeville or 3 Sisters shop all week long.

Vicky Brown, Chief Milkmaid at the Little Brown Farm, puts her passions on the page writing about food, agriculture and the tender web of community.

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August 20, 2014
Minding the Sky | Blackberries and other local jewels at Hedgebrook

BY JUDITH WALCUTT
Aug. 8, 2014

The plums of Honeymoon Bay are ripening; the blackberries are on the way to dropping in handfuls from the weight of their juices warmed by the sun. Summer is almost past her prime—but not quite.

A few hot days in a row made us thirsty for swimming and sunning and lolling about; they have fostered an urge to stretch the few really spectacular moments we have left in the season and make them last as long as possible. Optimistically, there are three more weeks of August and then three more potentially gorgeous ones in September, until the official Last Day of Summer sets behind the Olympics.

Homemade jam and homemade biscuit equals one teaspoon paradise. (Photo by Judith Walcutt)

Many of those days are the most beautiful of the year. How will we spend them? Personally, I’ll be harvesting as many berries as possible from here on out, in order to capture this gasp of blue and golden skies in a jar of jam to evoke their warmth when winter comes. I’ll be sending a few of those jars out to friends who need a touch of island flavor to remember their fruitful times hereabouts.

Last year, I made enough jam to feed a substantial alumnae gathering at Hedgebrook, celebrating 25 years of women writing on the land and making their voices heard around the world. It felt appropriate to take fruit from the literal garden there (an abundance of plums were on hand) and make an offering to those who had become the metaphorical bounty of that place, that garden, that kitchen table. I felt honored to be among them and to feel the nourishment again of the radical hospitality that is the way of the place.

The author at her last cottage. (Photo by David Ossman)

My residency there comes back in a flash and all I want to do is move into a cottage again (or maybe just the pump house?) on a full time, permanent basis. I am not the only alumna who feels the same desire. But in the wisdom that comes with practiced restraint, I find that moving on, so that others can move in, is the right-minded action. Besides, there are other ways to stay connected there. Instead of a stowaway resident, I have become one of many volunteers who does what she can to help—from volunteering in the garden, which is fun, to reading submissions for residencies, which is hard.

For all those who have wondered how Hedgebrook residents are chosen or those who have not applied, conjecturing that surely everyone there is already famous, published, or practically perfect in every way, just like Mary Poppins—I’m here to dish the truth. Some are and some aren’t.

First of all, there is an application process (available online at https://www.hedgebrook.org/newsdetails.php?id=123) and it is not intimidating. Space for answers is limited, so a person must condense her thoughts to the essence—which is a good exercise! The questions are important ones to consider and write about, if you really want to be there and be part of the Hedgebrook community afterwards. A writing sample of no more than 10 pages is required. Teams of alumnae (in pairs) around the country read a portion of all the applications.

Authors Nancy Pearl and Karen Outen: Alumnae residents sharing the fruits of Hedgebrook. (Photo by Judith Walcutt)

Last year, I read around 200 applications out of the total number of over 1,500. We were allowed to advance roughly 10 percent of those to the second round of readers, and another 10 percent to the third round consisting of writers, educators, agents, literary managers and editors, as well as alumnae. From these finalists, 40 residencies were awarded. This year the process has been tweaked so that pairs of readers—from all over the world—will read flights of 30 applications at a time online. The selections of those readers will be read by a triad of readers who then nominate finalists for another team of readers. By the end of the process, those selected for residencies will have been read by 10 different pairs of eyes. The process is built to ensure integrity.

The name of the applicant is kept as anonymous as possible from the readers. If you happen to recognize someone’s work as someone you know personally, you are ethically obliged to turn that one back to be read by someone else.

It is as fair as it can be and those accepted for residence are as varied as they come.

Some writers are published, in the middle of their careers, and need a space to get new work started. Some writers are brand new and mothers of three, in need of respite from daily life to have a clear thought, let alone get anything down on paper.

Some writers have lived long, fruitful lives and are just now putting down the details of their gathered experiences, needing just that one place of refuge in which to get it done. Some are completely unknown to anyone, but their writing sample is so utterly knocked-out, fabulously unique in perspective, they must be given encouragement to go on with the work. Every case is different, but ultimately rests on the writing.

As an application reader, I can assure you, I read all of every application I am given. My teammate and I read them separately from each other and then we get together and compare notes. We agonize; we weep; we beat our chests in dithyrambic cries and, finally, we decide who of all these very worthy writers we can recommend for advancement.

It is torture. Why? Because there is so much good writing being done by women in so many places, under so many different conditions, that we mourn the ones we must put aside, if only for now.

Hedgebrook ripens writers with radical hospitality. (Photo by Judith Walcutt)

And that’s the good news of it: so much really good writing is being done by women now—we can’t decide among these riches. It seems to us a promising sign of the times and for the future of women writers globally whose rising voices can and will be heard.

To those who have applied or are thinking of applying to Hedgebrook — the deadline is Wednesday, Sept. 3 — please hear this now: we readers know your heart is in our hands and we are handling it with care. If you do not get a “yes” your first year of applying, we say this collectively: Apply again! Joyous perseverance matters! And every year, a different current of writing rolls in the door that changes the feeling of the reading process for all.

If you have a yen to be part of Hedgebrook no matter what, please look at the events listed on the website—literary salons, master classes, the annual writers gathering, Vortext—these are all ways and means of being part of what Hedgebrook stands for in the community of women writers worldwide—a refuge, a place to become a writer within, and a home to grow good writers from the fertile garden on the land and the magic woods behind it.

And speaking of growing good writers, Hedgebrook is co-sponsoring—with Young Women Empowered—a summer camp for young women writers from Aug. 26 to Aug. 31 at Whidbey Institute. If you know a young woman between the ages of 14 and 18 who could benefit from such an experience, check here for further details.

There are still a few participant places open with scholarship aid available. If you are an adult who wants to be around some young writers writing—the energy boost is tremendous—you may want to volunteer at the camp. They need some help with meal prep which provides a great opportunity to work with the team. Call Hedgebrook for details: 360-321-4786.

If you have never been to Hedgebrook and want to see the land itself, come to the annual open house from 1 to 4 p.m. on Saturday, Sept. 13 and experience some radical hospitality first hand. And by all means, peruse the website https://www.hedgebrook.org to find out what events, workshops, and opportunities are coming up to bring yourself or some you know to a new threshold of the writing life.

Judith Walcutt is a writer living on Whidbey Island, who makes jam as a spiritual practice.

Honeymoon Bay Blackberry Jam

Island blackberries: Jewels on the vine! (Photo by Judith Walcutt)

4 cups fruit
3 cups sugar (or less, since blackberries are naturally pectin rich)
1 tablespoon lemon juice
4 strips of lemon peel

Mash berries in 2-quart sauce pan. Add warmed sugar after fruit comes to a roiling boil, stirring in slowly. Add lemon juice and lemon peel. Turn heat down to low and let cook with top off on the back burner, remembering to stir when the fruit reaches a boil. This will happen several times as the fruit reaches the jam state. Continue boiling and stirring and cooling, boiling, stirring, and cooling—until the fruit is glossy and begins to have pull at the bottom of the pan.

I sometimes let my pan cool overnight before putting up, so I can see how set it actually is. If it’s really set, I reheat on low while I prep my jars. BTW: Lemon peel will be transparent around the edges when the jam is nearly ready. When you dip a spoon in the pot and the fruit stays on rather than dripping off—you are done!

For canning instructions, consult the box of canning jars. It is easier than you think!

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August 8, 2014