March Madness

Seeing this title, I'm sure you are all surprised that I would dedicate an entire blog post to college sports, and you'd be right. I'm no sports fanatic...I enjoy watching sports sometimes, but let's face it: I am not a sports buff. So, this post is about a different kind of March Madness.

March is what I like to call the "bi-polar" month. It's the month when all of us are inflicted with Spring fever; where we thrill at the sight of any green peering through the melting snow. Spring is on its way; there's no mistaking it. The days and nights are warmer, the birds are singing their beautiful melodies, squirrels and chipmunks are skittering about excitedly, and the green is indeed expanding its territory over the once prominent blanket of snow.

Regardless of the sure signs of Spring however, none of us really settle into Spring in March in New York...there's no point. Spring in New York comes in stages. One day it'll look and feel like we should dig into the ground and plant things, and the next day we have to shovel ourselves out.

Now, because it's March, this snow is totally bearable. Spring is on its way; we won't see much more of it, so we might as well enjoy it! The best snow hikes always happen in March. Although I will admit, one of our latest March hikes was almost unbearable because the snow was so wet...I almost didn't make it out of there!

In March, Brian and I always feel an incredible amount of restlessness. We've been still all winter. We hike whenever possible, but the bulk of our time is spent reading. Cabin fever is just as strong as Spring fever these days, and the only way to cure it is to get outside and do something.

The other day, Brian's dad mentioned that he needed to split some wood. He was surprised when Brian and I jumped at the chance to help. This was exactly what we needed! There is really nothing better than working outside. So on Saturday, we bundled up a little, cleared a spot in the snow, and split wood. It was so invigorating!

(Doesn't Brian look like such a country guy. Oh don't worry, I have my very own red plaid barn coat that I was sporting that day...I just didn't get in front of the camera)

We could have gone on a hike to ease the cabin fever, but to tell you the truth, it wouldn't have helped nearly as much. There's something about working that really makes you feel better; especially if you're working outside. This might sound totally weird, but that's what Brian and I love. We enjoy working in the garden as much, and perhaps more, than hiking. In the Lord of the Rings, when they are describing hobbits, they say that the hobbits "had a love for things that grow", or something like that. I guess we're just like hobbits in that way. We really love to see things grow, and we love to help them along the way. In fact, this summer, on our little cement slab of a back patio, Brian and I are going to grow: pumpkins, beans, tomatoes, zucchini, yellow squash, lettuce, beets, cucumbers, and a bunch of herbs. I'm so excited, I can taste them already.

There's no real point in getting so excited yet though. I can't even plant them for at least another month. So in the meantime, Brian and I are busying ourselves looking for work to do. This weekend, I think we're going to make a cold frame so that I can plant in early April, then maybe we'll start ripping out last year's fencing, then maybe we can take out those trees in Brian's parent's yard so we can expand the garden...and then who knows? I can't wait to get my hands dirty everyday. I guess we've decided to live by Calvin's life motto: "I say, if your knees aren't green by the end of the day, you ought to seriously re-examine your life.” Sounds like a good mantra to me.

A Healthy Food Culture

I've been thinking about food a lot lately. Why? Because for the past 9 years of my life, I've been obsessed with it. Now, I'm not talking about being obsessed with loving food...I'm talking about being obsessed with hating it. Like almost every other woman in the world, I was obsessed with avoiding, loathing, and disdaining food...especially if it tasted really good. The reason? Because my attitude about food was that it was a necessary evil. I have to eat to stay alive, but in the process of staying alive, I can't help but gain weight.

I'm no skinny-minny. My brothers called me "Sturdy" growing up. I'm still not sure if they meant that to be a compliment, but regardless of their intention, I didn't take it that way. I never really liked my body much, but it didn't really bother me until I went to college. No offense to BYU or anything, but if you've got problems with body image, it's really the worst place in the world. Seeing all of those skinny beautiful people gave me reason to really begin a silent attitude of self-loathing. I went vegan, worked out and danced like a crazy person, and constantly watched everything I was eating. It did nothing for my size; not only that, it did nothing for my body image. When my body has been in better shape, I've still hated it. I used to think those anorexic girls who thought they were fat at 83 pounds were crazy, but it looks like I wasn't that different from them. No matter what I looked like, I hated myself. This kind of attitude is unhealthy.

I've done some reading (In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan - highly recommended), a lot of thinking, and even more praying, an I've come to a new ideology about food. It is based around having a healthy food culture. Here it is:

Staying healthy is the least important reason to eat. Eating is for identity, for social opportunities, for expression, and for enjoyment. In the book I mentioned, he talks a lot about guilt. We have a serious problem with guilt. We guilt ourselves out of enjoying things. I watched a movie that talked about it too, called "Eat, Pray, Love" (loved it!). This movie talked about it too. Check out this awesome clip. Like she says in the clip, it's not healthy to always feel guilty; to remember each night every little thing we ate and guilt-trip ourselves about everything (I've even felt bad about eating broccoli before).

From here out, I'm going to have a healthy food culture, and if that means I'll have a "muffin top", then that's OK. I look good. Brian loves the way I look, and so should I. Instead of focusing on self-deprivation, I'm going to treat myself. Now, I don't plan to binge on crap food or anything. That's not at all what I mean. I want to be healthy for my future and for my present. I'm happier when I feel healthier. And besides, eating like that is gluttony. If you're eating so much that you can't actually appreciate each bite, you've gone too far. It's about health and pleasure. If you're not really enjoying it, there's no reason to eat it. You see what I mean by a healthy food culture? Food should be a wonderful part of my life; not a necessary evil! I remember someone once saying that they wished food didn't taste...that it was just tasteless. Then no one would over-eat, and we'd all be skinny. As much as I totally see where that's coming from, that would be horrible! Food is a wonderful, beautiful part of life, and I'm determined to enjoy it.

Feeding yourself is loving yourself. Besides, being skinnier doesn't make people like you more. They'll like you if they're going to, regardless of your size. A lot of the people I know met their future spouse when they were in the worst shape of their life. When I was engaged to Brian, I was really out of shape, and you know what? He didn't care. Not only that, he didn't notice. I complained about my belly almost non-stop, and it was the complaining that got on his nerves. He wanted me to see myself like he sees me. I realize that's probably impossible, but the basic idea is right. I needed to learn to love myself, and to see myself as a beautiful daughter of God. Not only that...as a beautiful, sexy, desirable woman. There's a reason why men are attracted to confident women. The complaining only shows insecurity. Confidence attracts them because when you feel beautiful, you look beautiful.

Ever wonder why every bride looks beautiful? It's because in that moment, she feels beautiful. She feels desirable, and she feels confident. That confidence is beauty. When I think this, I feel such a sense of relief. It's a lot of pressure to carry around so much self-loathing, guilt, and deprivation. Those feelings have only ever led me to hate myself, binge, and then hate myself more because I binged. Also, depriving myself of something only made it more attractive, rendering it impossible to resist. It's a never-ending cycle. Feeling hungry isn't healthy. Feeling stuffed isn't the greatest, but feeling satisfied is good, and depriving myself of satisfaction is unhealthy.

I have a beautiful, healthy body. I am blessed to have that. And feeling that way only makes it more true. Like she says in the clip, I'm through with the guilt. So that's it: a healthy food culture. That's the ticket. Forget everything else.

The Hobbit Hole

Brian and I live in a small basement apartment, and since we're both relatively short, our friends lovingly refer to our underground dwelling as the "hobbit hole", which I find pretty appropriate. I remember when we checked out of our apartment in Provo and said goodbye to Utah, I honestly thought that I would never rent again. The plan was to buy a piece of land as soon as possible and live on it for the rest of our lives. We felt ready to settle down.

I was set on this plan...and I wouldn't accept anything else. But then, as always, life didn't quite go as I planned. It took me about 6 months to find a job, and car trouble dwindled our savings to literally nothing. Once I started working, we had not a penny, and we started saving as much as we could. Brian's parents were kind enough to allow us to live with them (they loved it), but after a little over a year of that, we were ready to have our own place again. So, we found the hobbit hole, a mere 3 miles from Brian's parents. They take care of our dog until we can find an affordable place that allows a dog, and we adopted our little Maggie May. I think dogs and cats go together anyway, so we were happy to have her.

As time is going by, I'm realizing that I wasn't ready to settle down. Now don't get me wrong, it's not the settling down that's the problem. I'm still extremely eager to plant roots and live in the same place for the rest of my life. It's choosing where that's the problem. I've fallen in love with and decided to move to several places over the past year and a half, so it's clear I'm not quite sure where it is exactly that I'm supposed to go. So, we're going to let the Lord decide. He's in charge anyway, and since He's been trying to teach me since childhood that I need not to plan, I'm trying my best to let him take charge. Wherever Brian gets a job will be the place we settle down. Or maybe we'll go straight to Binghamton for Grad school and rent there until he's got his masters...who knows? The open slate is kind of fun, albeit difficult for the extreme planner that I am. I like to have something solid to stand on. But then I realize that I do have something solid to stand on. I have a loving Father in Heaven who knows what's best for me, and an extremely supportive husband who deals with my impatience.
Although I was a little overzealous to have my own kitchen again, I was bummed to be renting when we moved into our apartment. I had planned to be a landowner by now remember, so I felt a little let down. As time has gone by however, I feel more and more at home in our little place. It's really become home to me. Brian has an uncanny ability to make any space cozy and homey, so I love coming home to our little apartment. It may not be my permanent home, but it's home sweet home now, and I love it.

Fall Harvest

Yearly, my family has a tradition of picking fruit around the countryside. We harvest apples, pears, peaches, anything else we can find, and my favorite: grapes. Now these aren't just any grapes...these are concord grapes, wonderful, intoxicating concord grapes. I really don't think anyone can understand what I mean until they walk between two rows of ripe concord grapes, stop, close their eyes, and take in the sweetness. It is beyond words. Somehow, my parents became acquainted with a vineyard owner by Keuka lake. This family would allow us to come and pick grapes for the same price they charged Welch's (around 11 cents a pound). Being the food storers that we were, we would pick hundreds, and probably thousands of pounds yearly.

I have incredibly fond memories of walking through the rows of grapes, dressed in a work jacket too big for me, carefully picking big, beautiful bunches of ripe purple-blue grapes. We weren't just picking, of course. Each year I ate enough to make myself sick. We would pile up each box as high as it could go, somehow get all of the grapes to fit in our two cars, climb onto the back of the car, and ride over to the vineyard owner's barn. He would pull out an old, rickety scale, and he and Dad would carefully weigh each box, tallying up the final bill. While they did this, us kids (me and my little brothers, primarily) would run around in the barn playing "lava" as we climbed on the huge grape-picking tractors.

Then, with the bounty piled up in the cars, we would squeeze in and head home, another wonderful year of grape picking over. The harvest lasted for about a week each year though, and while Mom made grape pie filling and grape juice, we ate as much as we could. I remember bringing some grapes to school for lunch one day. One of the girls in my class asked to try a grape...she took one taste of it, and spit it out. She couldn't believe I actually ate grapes with seeds in them. I couldn't believe she didn't think it was the most splendid thing she had ever tasted. To each his own, I guess.

A few days ago, I realized we hadn't gone grape picking this year yet... and it was late in the year. The family we picked grapes from growing up is changing hands, and the tradition of picking there yearly is coming to an end. In desperation, I called up every u-pick place in the fingerlakes region, and everyone had the same response to my question: "picked clean through!" It looks like there won't be any grape picking this year. Sad day. Luckily, I have enough grape pie filling for the coming year, so we'll survive. Next year, I'm getting on it early. One NY fall without grapes is quite enough.

Maybe I will...

Well, it's been over a year since this blog was created. I was convinced in a moment of weakness to keep a blog in order to keep in touch with friends from out west. It made sense at the time...

Somehow, when you move across the Mississippi, you all of a sudden live light years away from the west of the US. For some reason, when you live Denver or west of that, everything is so connected...it's no big deal to travel to LA, Cannon Beach, the Grand Canyon, etc. But when you live in NY, all of a sudden you are too far to visit. Brian and I have been trying to decide where we want to road trip to next, and we realized sadly that we live just as close (and perhaps closer) to Florida than we do to Denver (one of our favorite places to visit)...sad day. And now I begin to wonder when we will ever get back West. The longer I'm here, the more grounded and settled we become.

Now don't get me wrong. I love it here. I've never felt so at home and comfortable as I do in NY. When I was in High School, I couldn't wait to get out west and discover all of the landscape of the west. And I did. I travelled so much when I lived out there. There is just so much natural diversity, it's incredible. But pretty much as soon as I moved out west, I felt a longing for the quiet rural solitude of the East. There are more people to be sure, but somehow it is more spread out. I missed going to sleep to crickets and frogs. I missed the dew on the grass in the morning and the landscape dotted with silos and barns, running around barefoot, and growing things. I missed the dramatic spectacle of a field of fireflies. I missed the running streams and creeks the most. I'm a country girl at heart, and living in cities out west never took that away from me.

Now that I live in the East, and I am so far away from all of the friends and family that I hold so dear, I'm beginning to see how hard it is to stay in contact. Friends that made life bearable when it was rough, friends that were literally there for me when no one else was. Friends that understood and loved me even though we were so different (Rosa & Stephanie of course), and friends that I wish I met years before I did (Kenny and the Rowes). I feel so far away from the friends I used to talk to every day.

So maybe I will write on this blog. I happen to be on a computer for more time every day than I would ever choose, so why not? Maybe there are a few Western friends that will actually read this. Who knows? At any rate, I feel the need to write, and perhaps connect myself to friends now long lost. Someday I will probably not feel the need to write, but for now I think I need it. After all, it's not like we write for everyone else, or atleast I don't. I write for me.