Where have I been? You’ve wondered, admit it. You probably thought I’d jetted off to a sunny and exotic destination, like St. Martin or Dominica. I wish.
Truth be told, I’ve been distracted by the promise of Spring. I’ve been submersed in plans for a garden, plans for a vineyard, plans for new books and new web sites and new blogs. In other words, I’ve been thinking about a new life, my own personal renewal. And it is this renewal that keeps me rooted in the promise of Spring.
This past week, Christians commemorated Ash Wednesday (Ash Monday if you’re a Maronite), the 40 day period in which we are directed to contemplate death: ours and Christ’s, the latter which brings with it the promise of everlasting life, meaning death isn’t really about dying but rather about being born into something new, something wonderful, something that resembles Spring, as viewed from Four Cedars Farms smack dab in the middle of February.
Some might say a journey through life is nothing more than a journey toward death. The adage that the only certainties in life are death and taxes is wrong. (If you don’t believe me, ask Ron Paul.) The only certainty in life is death; it’s the final stop on the journey. Fini.
But wait. If death is permanent, how do you account for tulips, bud break, snow melt, and tax refunds? How does a lamb slaughtered for Passover find new purpose as a family’s feast! How do you account for Easter … the Resurrection?
This is the promise of Spring: we can die to old habits, unreliable processes, stagnation, boredom, other people’s expectations, unrealistic expectations we place on ourselves, and we can begin life anew just as those stark trees along the property line now bending under the pressure of our latest Alberta Clipper will begin bursting forth with new life in … more or less ... 40 days.
Spring. It’s worth contemplating.
09 February 2008
03 February 2008
One foot forward or two feet back?
I find myself drawn toward two worlds, two disparate and seemingly incongruent transformations of my transitional self. It was my two “super weekend” activities that brought this internal conflict to the fifty yard line of my consciousness.
First, I’m deep into a book on the American relationship to food, and farming, titled “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle.” It was thoroughly researched and beautifully written by Barbara Kingsolver, her husband Steven Hopp, and their college-age daughter Camille. Their third-grader Lily contributed to the text too, but she wasn’t old enough to sign a book contract, so her name doesn’t appear on the cover.
The trio explains in vivid flavor how far we’ve drifted from our whole food roots without realizing that we’ve sacrificed taste and nutrition in our quest to slap fast, cheap meals in front of our busy families. The book is an eye opener to be sure and although I’m not even halfway finished, I’m ready to forever forgo grocery stores and restaurants in favor of cultivating and raising all the items destined for my freezer and pantry. It’s a decidedly nineteenth century way of thinking about eating, and it’s growing in its appeal. Fast.
Then again, on Saturday I attended a marketing seminar that prompted me to carry everything I’d ever been taught about public relations, media relations, and publishing out back to the dumpster. I should forget about big publishing, forget about agents, forget about newspaper book reviews, forget about radio, forget about Barnes & Nobles, forget about Oprah. Yes, you heard me.
So how’s a writer to sell books? The internet, of course; but it’s about much more than simply having a web site with a shopping cart. It’s about buzz, baby. It’s about web sites with and a blog of purpose, it’s about commenting and video and podcasts and teleclasses and zeitgeist and keywords and spiders and ezines and social networking and squidoo and optimization and rss and being a filter and being a resource and giving away content and reciprocal linking. It’s about being savvy and wired and totally twenty-first century.
And it’s totally appealing, like the commercials that pitch the convenient foods that everyone today eats, the same food that has caused our children to become the first generation ever to have a shorter life expectancy that the generation that preceded it.
The dilemma of my Super Sunday isn’t will the Patriots beat the spread or which commercials will emerge as the most creative and memorable. The dilemma today is: do I step with both feet into an agricultural life that rejects modern food production in favor of activities that most people believe belong to a bygone era? Or, do I accept what the agricultural industrial complex has dictated as “acceptable food choices,” resign myself to a sedentary future (which probably includes diabetes, heart disease and pharmaceuticals) so I can master the all the internet tricks that will likely net me increased business?
Or, can I do both?
http://www.animalvegetablemiracle.com/
First, I’m deep into a book on the American relationship to food, and farming, titled “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle.” It was thoroughly researched and beautifully written by Barbara Kingsolver, her husband Steven Hopp, and their college-age daughter Camille. Their third-grader Lily contributed to the text too, but she wasn’t old enough to sign a book contract, so her name doesn’t appear on the cover.
The trio explains in vivid flavor how far we’ve drifted from our whole food roots without realizing that we’ve sacrificed taste and nutrition in our quest to slap fast, cheap meals in front of our busy families. The book is an eye opener to be sure and although I’m not even halfway finished, I’m ready to forever forgo grocery stores and restaurants in favor of cultivating and raising all the items destined for my freezer and pantry. It’s a decidedly nineteenth century way of thinking about eating, and it’s growing in its appeal. Fast.
Then again, on Saturday I attended a marketing seminar that prompted me to carry everything I’d ever been taught about public relations, media relations, and publishing out back to the dumpster. I should forget about big publishing, forget about agents, forget about newspaper book reviews, forget about radio, forget about Barnes & Nobles, forget about Oprah. Yes, you heard me.
So how’s a writer to sell books? The internet, of course; but it’s about much more than simply having a web site with a shopping cart. It’s about buzz, baby. It’s about web sites with and a blog of purpose, it’s about commenting and video and podcasts and teleclasses and zeitgeist and keywords and spiders and ezines and social networking and squidoo and optimization and rss and being a filter and being a resource and giving away content and reciprocal linking. It’s about being savvy and wired and totally twenty-first century.
And it’s totally appealing, like the commercials that pitch the convenient foods that everyone today eats, the same food that has caused our children to become the first generation ever to have a shorter life expectancy that the generation that preceded it.
The dilemma of my Super Sunday isn’t will the Patriots beat the spread or which commercials will emerge as the most creative and memorable. The dilemma today is: do I step with both feet into an agricultural life that rejects modern food production in favor of activities that most people believe belong to a bygone era? Or, do I accept what the agricultural industrial complex has dictated as “acceptable food choices,” resign myself to a sedentary future (which probably includes diabetes, heart disease and pharmaceuticals) so I can master the all the internet tricks that will likely net me increased business?
Or, can I do both?
http://www.animalvegetablemiracle.com/
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