24 hours with the Chinook Barbarians

We just pulled out of the driveway and are heading for the coast, going north to Lincoln City, Butter heavier than when we arrived.  Some of our hippie Christmas gifts include elderberry wine, elderberry port, blackberry moonshine, lotion made with an assortment of flowers, dried and fresh toothache flowers that stimulate salivation (and other mucus membranes, ooh la la), dried persimmons, pesto, and many more friends than when we arrived - all of whom I hope will be in my life for a very long time. 

Hobo Lee drew a lovely map to his friend’s farm house and suggested we visit since we’d be in the hood. At first, I felt hesitant to go for a visit since we’d planned to drive to Lincoln City to visit with my girlfriend, and didn’t want to stay too long when we finally decided to go.  That hesitation disappeared when our beautiful farm hostess greeted us at the car and immediately guided us to the river for a quick dip, which after “fighting traffic” on the drive, brought a much needed sense of relief and coolness.  We joined her sweetheart who was already swimming, and Pepper, the farm dog.  They invited us to a potluck at the Magical Forest Farm, owned by a collective where 11 people currently reside.  They grow food for themselves, preserve it using various methods, and somehow make enough money doing who knows what in order to purchase what they cannot provide for themselves.  Many of them make beers, moonshine, but most of all, the make nice wine—elderberry, apple, dandelion, and even good ol’ grape. 

Upon arrival, we took a lovely walk over the grounds skirting along a well-maintained garden filled with zucchini, an assorted mix of greens, beans, peppers, and tomatoes, which our guide called small relative to hers.  Even with people who are so connected to their food, to the land on which it is grown, to each other and nature, there is dialect of war—mine is bigger than yours.  Competition, I suppose, can be healthy, but like the innate preference for sugar and fat, consumption is evolutionarily adaptive, so must be competition.  Perhaps it increases motivation.  Or, perhaps it’s just a function of the individualistic economic structures we’ve built in this country.  Something to PSYCHinfo…

The garden is where I met a really amazing woman, who, oddly enough, looks so much like me plus 25-30 years.  She arrived on the land sort of by chance 41 years ago, married a lovely man, and has been living happily ever since.  We talked about the root of our social dilemmas being our disconnection from the land and food, the premise of my book, about the influx of youth coming back to the land, some of whom have difficulty letting go of their city lives.  You see this in the form of monster trucks and unnecessary toys, essentially bringing mass consumption from the city to the forest.  We talked about how and why things, material or consumable goods, have come to be what we seek for happiness.  Shopping therapy – we’ve all done it. The problem with this as a long-term strategy for happiness, however, is that it brings fleeting happiness, temporary, and it’s certainly not financially sustainable.  We’ll always be trying to get the next fix of dopamine (with a smack on the bend of my arm), and it’s going to cost us.

At dinner, one of the nice hippies told me about a mushroom growing down the driveway, and eagerly guided me over to his find. Having seen nothing of its kind, I immediately thought “shaggy parasol.”  From out in the forest, a man shouted, Agaricus Augustos.  It smelled of anise, had chocolate brown gills and spores, and a yellow-staining shingled cap with a smooth yellow-staining stem.  What a beauty.  I couldn’t wait to show Andre.  This began our foray for its friends, but no others were found, so we walked back to the party just in time for dessert—chocolate cake frosted with chocolate icing and sprinkled the edible flowers, two berry pies, banana bread, and more wine.  The musicians were still playing, kids were running around like a wild pack of dogs, and every conversation sounded full and deep.

We went home and headed straight for bed, having kept the farmers up past their usual bedtime. In the morning, the heat of the sun forced us to rush out of the bus, so I started in on preparing breakfast—frittata with fresh eggs, potatoes from Herbie, onion, garlic, and greens from Johan, and shredded cheddar cheese from Ram. Andre toasted some fresh, dense bread that our hosts got as a trade and loaded it with jam I made from rescued blueberries and Valencia orange slices foraged from campus, and we rang the bell to signify to the farmers that food was ready.  I love feeding people, especially when my efforts are appreciated, and even more especially when I’ve got such fresh ingredients.

This brings us back to the start of my story, hippie Christmas.  I can’t wait to try the moonshine.