No aversion

 I get questions about hermitary cookery.

There might not be much to tell; I'll try.

There are as many ways to cook and eat as there are people. Some ways are just "I'll eat whatever they parachute into this refugee camp" or "well, I sure hope I get to eat in the rapidly approaching afterlife." In other words, eating, let alone cooking, is a privilege in the world, more so, perhaps, than when foraged food was all there was to be had.

So, I'm conflicted about what may appear to be showing off. On the other hand, mindful eating can be an exercise in responsible behavior. I do think that my solitary routine, now established, is less wasteful, more nutritious, and healthier than before. While that may not do much for the world, it does something. Dogen tells us a little is a lot in Buddhist practice. You never know where a given small yet sincere practice will take you, but usually not to anyplace those around you will regard as a hindrance. Taking proper care of yourself takes care of others in many ways, often unforeseen.

Dogen wrote a small treatise, the title of which can be loosely translated "Instructions for the Monastery Head Cook (Tenzo)," which was/is intended as a guide to ethically feeding, in effect, a commune. 

Also the position tends to be a rotating one. Everyone has already been told to tough it out if you prove to be untalented, and by gosh they had better be thankful for it. So it's great that I, an untalented cook with only one patron, don't at all mind most of my mistakes. If it's truly inedible, just apologize to it with a gassho and add it to the compost.

In my movements and attitude, to the extent possible for me, I follow the "Instructions to the Tenzo. "

Here's the kitchen. The hut is nine feet wide. Most daily use items fit along a six foot section of one wall. Some supplies and less frequently used items are stored under or above the sewing table, alongside the opposite wall. Indoor plants and a basin and ewer share the space, along with baskets of fabric and sundries.

You can see I'm a pack rat, dating back to days of actual rather than currently simulated poverty. Everything here is hand-me-downs. I think that matters in the case of an attached hermitary, because I'm duplicating equipment already available in the kitchen of the household. But that kitchen, in a 1950s starter bungalow, is also tiny and the other family members have their own dietary requirements. We stay out of one another's hair, so to speak.

The hut has one wall outlet with its own circuit breaker, good for up to twenty amps, which enforces attentive power usage. The tiny fridge is on all the time, so the kettle and microwave and rice cooker and space heater can be used in twos but not in threes or fours. This enforces some discipline and thinking ahead, especially in winter.

As homesteaders/nomads, we used to cook on a smallish wood stove, the top of which enforced a similar discipline: a pot of water for washing dishes might take up half the surface and a Dutch oven with beans or bread in it taking up the other half. We inverted their lids and set bowls of whatever on them to simmer. My current efforts reflect the frugality of those years.

Back in the day

I forage very locally, mostly on this one city lot.

We don't use herbicides or pesticides, so I safely wander around the yard, then the garden. What draws my interest? In season, chicory, dandelions, nipplewort, narrow leaf plantain, crimson clover, deadnettle, cat’s ears, blackberry leaves, fir or spruce needles, money plant, parlsey, sage, rosemary, thyme, Bigleaf maple flowers, willow leaves, herb Robert, and crop foliage such as kale, chard, beet greens, squash blossoms and leaves, pea and bean foliage, corn silk, and the like.

Out of season, many of these are not as bitter as some foraging websites will tell you, and if worst comes to worst, for the pot I steam first and reserve the bitter stock to give to my house plants or garden.

Often the yard is so productive I don't even make it into the garden. That's the maritime Pacific Northwest for you.

I bring my treasures into the hut and decide how they will be used. My cookery revolves around making tea (tisane) first. If what I gathered appeals to me as tea only, I put that in the tea strainer, set the strainer in a cup, run the kettle and pour boiling water over the foliage. It won't make much color in the cup unless there is something like beet greens, or I've dried the foliage, or I'm adding green tea or perhaps Darjeeling. That's fine. Minimalists need not be nutrition maximalists, let alone flavor maximalists, except perhaps if they can afford some loose-packed Darjeeling.

This tea is to have when Zooming with the sangha, or a friend, or while reading, or just watching the moon cross the window.

Next, I notice it's meal time. Some things that we all like to eat raw, I have to eat only a little of or not at all, so I do tend to focus on the steamer.

The little Aroma rice steamer, which is the heart of the hermitary kitchen, was handed down because it forgot its time limit for making rice. So I have to keep an eye on it for that cycle. I may use that for rice, or lentils, or root vegs, but I don't need a lot, and I'm not a fan of the coating on the metal liner you're supposed to cook in. My porcelain eating bowl fits inside the liner. So I put an inch of water from the pitcher (rain water, if it's fresh) inside the liner and set the bowl in that. 

I'm also not fond of the plastic steamer basket that came with the appliance, so that added to my interest in learning to cook in various ways in the bowl.

I then cut up any root vegs I'm using, including skins if possible, or pour in the rice or lentils, and add water, salt, spices as needed. Set on Rice or sometimes twice on Steam. Udon I find I can make on Steam (5 minutes), though the consistency might not be to everyone's taste. Summer vegs such as zucchini should wait out the first five minutes and then be thrown in, chopped. Density is my guide here.

Meanwhile, if I'm adding greens, I have options. I might use what's in the strainer, if it's not anything I really shouldn't try to eat (for example, willow bark). Or I may choose to roll up some dandelion and chicory leaves with onion greens in a leaf of collard or kale and chop small, then check to see if the carbs are done, then turn off the rice steamer, pop in the greens (and maybe small tomatoes and such), and close the lid for some residual-heat cooking.

The bowl will be a little hot to fish out of the liner with my fingers, as there's little room along the sides, so I grab the bowl with a handy pair of side-cutting pliers and set it on a coaster. Here I may add more seasoning or soy sauce as desired. I pour some water in a cup and keep it handy, or if the broth is palatable, I'll use that, and sit down and eat.

This can be a wet way to eat, so I often pour off the liquids to drink. This is a matter of taste; in Japan folks eat the solids, then drink liquids from the bowl as a chaser. Great! I have to spend a lot of time in my zero gravity chair and pretty much only eat there, so draining the bowl first saves me trouble with wet chin and fabric.

I mostly rotate four "recipes" based on rice, then potatoes, then lentils, then noodles, through the two daily meals and there is my week. For snacks there might be a deadfall apple or whatever comes my way.

I used to do a lot more drying of fruits and foliage than needed for the winters and now mostly just set aside some of my foraging to dry on a hardware-cloth shelf in the "greenhouse," or chop it all up to stuff into an ice cube tray, maybe with a bit of olive oil, for itinerant use.

Aside from this routine, I grind mixed grains in the Corona once a year and jar it up for the occasional breakfast with apple butter, and if I have extra fruit or root vegs on hand I may get out the small graniteware water bath canner and make preserves or pickled vegs to use over the winter, in very small jars.

 
The herb Robert and willow are part of my efforts to treat leukemia. 

I wouldn't ask anyone to try to duplicate my diet, but I do encourage experimentation for those interested in simplifying. This kind of food prep and eating is adaptable to many situations, especially for anyone living alone in a small space. Also it is a very portable way to eat, though maybe not as Spartan as this: Cooking Without a Kitchen: The Coffeemaker Cookbook

By not unnecessarily frequenting restaurants and supermarkets, it is possible to simplify quite a lot. Some foods are becoming scarce and I like to think I am leaving it on the shelves for someone else. 

I think the complexity of our civilization has a lot of inflicted suffering to live down. Courtesy shows there is a commons of the heart.  🙏

-- shonin 

If you only have wild grasses with which to make a broth, do not disdain them ... Where there is no attachment, there can be no aversion. -- Dogen

Sounds pretty good

Grasping, in the Buddhist sense, has two forms: grasping for something, as in consumerism, which is the sort of thing we usually think of when we use the term "greed," but also aversion -- seeking another outcome than the one currently presenting itself to us as likely, unless we intervene in some way. I think of Kurt Lewin's approach/avoidance theory here.

That which we feel will benefit us or those whom we value (provide negentropy, mainly), we approach; that which we feel will harm us (speed up our entropy), we avoid. We also tend to evaluate our coping mechanisms and decide if they are up to the approach or avoidance task; and we may also decide whether approach or avoiding is the right choice in such an instance.

When the author of the Xin Xin Ming advises we have no preferences, this may be simply a shorthand way of recommending Buddha's Middle Way.

Where there are no preferences, there is wu-wei. Less is more, here.

Consider a practice of restraint. What might such a practice entail (without, of course, straying into extreme asceticism)?

Perhaps I might realize I do not need air travel, or, indeed much in the way of travel and tourism at all. Also, I might not need to subject myself to television commercials and all the forms of advertising. Perhaps I do not need sports fandom, fashion, or events at crowded venues. Perhaps I decide I do not need pesticides, herbicides, and complex household chemicals and beauty products. Expensive furniture may be unnecessary, along with shelter with a very large footprint. Perhaps I can get along without a large lawn, a riding lawnmower, gasoline-powered tools, "natural" gas. One winter coat might suffice, rather than, say, five. And I hardly need a motorboat or jet ski.

It can be a useful exercise to go to the big box store with a clipboard (perhaps several times, to avoid raising the eyebrows of employees) and make a list of all the things we do not need. It might be a very long list; or we could simply say with Socrates, “How many things I can do without!” He was famous for his simplicity of lifestyle, as was Diogenes who took up abode in an abandoned jar and is said to have tossed away his cup on realizing he could drink well enough from his hands. 

This accords with what is told of Xu You, an ancient Chinese hermit who drank from his hands and, when offered a drinking gourd, used it once, hung it on a tree, and walked away. That story is referenced in hundreds of works by poets and essayists of simplicity, from Tao Yuanming to Chomei.

Xu You lived long enough ago that it's clear Buddha has no corner on simplicity, yet Buddha's (and many in his wake) take on it has a certain ring to it. Look at the rules in the Vinaya to get a sense of what he regarded as necessary to a fulfilling life ... not many possessions, eh? Three robes and three bowls, or maybe just one, and pillow your head on your arm. Mind you, nights are relatively warm in India, but still. There's some kind of principle here.

As a teenager, I had some sense that freedom consisted in freedom from possessions as well as freedom from being possessed, and was known to "run away" from home (with tacit permission, leaving a note of duration and location) and live for days at a time in the woods with some jerky, a hatchet and some matches. 

I was fascinated by this kind of reductionism, and upon discovering Thoreau, read my copy until it disintegrated, and have never been without one since.

Yet Buddhist advice on simplicity goes far beyond Thoreau. Aside from having only a tiny cabin with fireplace cookery and one table and two chairs (one for the visitor) and a bean patch, Buddhist literature extols the simplicity of sitting very still, eyes half closed, "non thinking." Such practice is, at least while one is doing it, the ultimate in poverty -- it does without the radio and television and cell phone, does without even food and drink and "did I pay the taxes" for the duration of the sit, and can serve as a baseline for kindness, compassion, shared joy, and equanimity, none of which require one to own a single thing. 

Practice leads to practical applications of that which has been practiced, as a rule. What you have not needed during shikantaza, zazenkai or sesshin you may not need ever. There are limits to this, of course. To live, eat food ("not too much, mostly plants," as Michael Pollan says), drink clean water (who needs sugary pop, really?) and breathe clean air if you can get it. The rest as applicable.

We had here in Eugene back in the last century a well-to-do man, Charles Gray, who, after donating his way out of the embarrassment of money, lived for a number of years on what he called the World Equity Budget, which was the average income of humans -- which was low enough that to do this in Eugene confined him to a rented room, cooking on a hot plate, and getting about on a bicycle (with a bike trailer as needed). It was, he said, the happiest time of his life. 

If everyone did it, ... "Gracious, that would be wonderful. It would all be green. There would still be fish in the sea; there would be trees on the mountains." [Source]

I'm not him; he devoted much of a lifetime to the standard he set for himself, whereas I was that poor by choice maybe from age twenty-one to about thirty at most. I'm seventy-six now, living on a fixed income, but by World Equity Budget standards it's certainly easy street. Philanthropy helps, but I feel in my diseased bones that simple is better; maybe it's time for me to try more of less again.

Fish and trees; sounds pretty good.

  --shonin

The practice of a true person

My favorite Zen text is Tenzo Kyokun, Dogen's Instructions for the (Monastery) Cook.

Here is a passage to which I have returned multiple times: 

When you take care of things, do not see with your common eyes, do not think with your common sentiments. Pick a single blade of grass and erect a sanctuary for the jewel king; enter a single atom and turn the great wheel of the teaching. So even when you are making a broth of coarse greens, do not arouse an attitude of distaste or dismissal. Even when you are making a high-quality cream soup, do not arouse an attitude of rapture or dancing for joy. If you already have no attachments, how could you have any disgust? Therefore, although you may encounter inferior ingredients, do not be at all negligent; although you may come across delicacies, be all the more diligent. Never alter your state of mind based on materials. People who change their mind according to ingredients, or adjust their speech to [the status of] whoever they are talking to, are not people of the Way. -- Dogen's Pure Standards for the Zen Community : A Translation of the Eihei Shingi ed./tr. Leighton and Okumura

When we make a judgment or show a preference, we impose a delusion on what's right in front of us, ignoring the co-dependent arising of all things. Buddhist ethics is training in thusness; that which is before us, rather than that which we wish is there or wish not there.

We can cover much, if not all, of the precepts by means of a single term: "honesty." Honest living simply precludes stealing, lying, misusing, murdering, willfully injuring, gossiping, disparaging, and disrespecting. Buddha spelled out these things because training in honesty is hard.

Dogen points out that the stakes are quite high. Though he continually refers to "just sitting" as the entire Buddhist project, he explicitly sets a high bar for the behavior that gives "just sitting" a chance to even happen: "People who... adjust their speech to whoever they are talking to, are not people of the Way."

As for the attitude while preparing food, the essential point is deeply to arouse genuine mind and respectful mind without making judgments about the ingredients' fineness or coarseness....  Although they create relationship to buddha, [donations that are] abundant but lacking [in heart] are not as good as those that are small but sincere. This is the practice of a [true] person.

We might try being honest to our vegetables and see if it doesn't feel a bit like training in "right doing." 😄 

-- shonin

Bodhisatttva activity

 

The sangha's current assigned reading includes Living by Vow by Shohaku Okamura. It's an exegesis of some of the chants used in Western zendos. He addresses the concerns of those, especially newcomers, grappling with what seems to be an inordinate amount of ritual in Zen ("I thought this was going to be liberating").

His choice of a key word is "vow," which he explains is not a complete translation of the Chinese and Japanese word(s), which connote something more like "resolve." "I resolve to ...." One does not fail if one does not achieve 100% of what has been undertaken, or perhaps even if one does not achieve any of it. Scale and certainty are perhaps less important in Mahayana Buddhism than sincerity and a willingness to try things.

The activities that are recommended to try are simple enough: "do not do bad things; do good things; serve all beings." What's emphasized there is not personal "salvation" but service to the community. Ultimately the community is everyone ("all beings"); but a sangha comes together to practice service. Student barbers practice on one another for a reason. 

To light the candles on the altar in a prescribed manner brings some order out of chaos and provides an opportunity for a kind of gracious mindfulness, but also for offering the gift of light. As we learn to work within the rules of our practice, we free ourselves up to concentrate on the contentless content of our practice -- the place where freedom begins to emerge without an overdose of self-regard.

Ritual is everywhere, I think. Aside from being a Zen nun I'm also a member of the Society of Friends, North Pacific Yearly Meeting affiliated. This flavor of Quakerism has no liturgy, no creed, and no professional clergy. Yet when one comes to Meeting for Worship, one knows what to expect -- greet the greeter, walk slowly in, settle down in the silence, wait in silence for an hour together, listen to any testimony that arises. The clerk or an appointed closer says "good morning, Friends" and shakes hands with those nearby, the handshake spreads round the room, and there are announcements. All this is nothing if not ritualistic, yet it clearly expedites the central concern -- the sitting together in worshipful silence, from which springs the Meeting's service to the wider community.

At the moment, this is taking place virtually, in online Meetings, but you get the drift.

Most cyclical religious (and humanistic!) activity, I think, has this function: to season service with wisdom before offering to the world. It is a dance, and we may call it sacred.

Gardening, to me, is such a sacred dance. 

My writing about the garden is an effort to produce dance notation. It chronicles seasons and strategies, up and downs -- a life, mine, but also a microcosm of the life of society. I'm active in a cyclical way, performing annual tasks: seeding flats, building up beds, spreading compost, setting out plants, irrigating, harvesting, putting the beds to bed. The aim is to find the wisest ways to do food hyperlocally, and impart what has been found. Sharing the ritual of constructing a bean trellis from willow growth, it is hoped, serves as an instance of bodhisattva activity.

-- shonin

Every act of kindness, no matter how small, provides space for good things to happen. -- Sensei Alex Kakuyo

 

Resiliency

This repost from the old blog is not about economic inequity, nor does it explicitly predict societal collapse. Its purpose here is to recommend commons resiliency over authoritarian efficiency, as expressed in life choices. Applicable anytime, methinks.

Let's assume that you are urban and have work. Big assumption right now, I know. If you're running out of unemployment, it might be time to think about making some work (a livelihood). Grab a copy of Small Time Operator and start selling something you can make or do. Because rule one in spending less than your income is have an income. Even if you're a vegetarian selling hot dogs.

Aside from disasters (and you've done your minimum preps for those, right?), debt is likely to be your big issue. It's what's holding you back from heading for the country, if that's what you wanted, or from living the "American Dream," whatever that is. A shortage of disposable income and freedom because of, you know, the student loan, the car loan, the mortgage, and the credit cards. And you're not as happy as you thought you were going to be.

There are lots of strategies for debt reduction. Seek and ye shall find. We've used doubled mortgage payments ourselves, effectively. To make such things work, though, the first thing to do is bring outgo below income. Bring frivolous outgo to a halt and you are on your way.

"Voluntary simplicity" is touted as a proper response to modern malaise, but common sense suggests this is what people talk about when they're afraid to take the real plunge and go for the gold: voluntary poverty. Maybe it's anything but voluntary, letting that word "poverty" slip in there, but if your goal is to rise up from slavery (and debt is exactly that), it can be necessary to redirect our pride.

In the reality we've been brought up to -- validated not by our own good sense but by a lifetime barrage of television and other advertising -- we're supposed to aspire to "more" -- a shinier house, a shinier car, bigger and brassier parties, endless gadgets, and smarter and smarter phones, all of which we're dumber and dumber to get in hock for. The trick is to voluntarily take pride in, not these ultimately empty and unsatisfactory acquisitions, but the opposite: de-acquisition.

If there are more than one of you, it might take a very, very serious "family meeting" to all get on the same page, but it can be very focusing to open the meeting with, "here's one thousand dollars a month we can count on for the time being; how do we get by on nine hundred?" (I know; but bear with me here; I'm just old.)

Maybe your line in the sand is three times that, or more. Goodness knows, a buck is not a buck anymore. But that's going to get worse, so ... well, here's a story.

When I had my mid-life crisis in the 90s, I moved (with family permission) temporarily to town for over a year. They depended on my income, so I got a budget of four hundred a month (in 1998 dollars). Here's how it was done.

First, we did research on rent. The best deal (cheapest housing) was, as it happened, two blocks from my university library job. It was what is known as a quad: a room with a vanity sink corner, sharing, from a tiny common hallway, a bathroom and kitchen with three other such rooms. They are intended for students who can't afford an apartment but don't want to live in the dorms. With heat, electric and dumpster fees, a set of shelves, a bed, two chairs, and a table, it was under three hundred a month. 

 

So I moved in.

 

I took along a bicycle with a rear rack and basket. I had found the bike, a decent old ten-speed that still knew where six of its speeds were, leaning against a driveway fence with a sign taped to it: "Free. Take me." Best bike I ever had. With it I brought along my bike helmet, cable, padlock, and key.

 

 

On the bike I rode to the discount grocery store, stopping to top up the air pressure in the old leaky tires at a filling station along the way.

Inside the store I grabbed a shopping cart and sought out a twenty-pound bag of quick oats, twenty-pound sack of white beans, another sack, same size, of long-grain rice, a  sack of yellow onions, a five pound bag of russety Idaho potatoes, a can of salt, and a family-sized jar of Italian seasoning. I also splurged for  a head of Chinese cabbage.

You might think all this would not go home on the bike in one trip, but it can.

I now had more than a month's food, purchased for under fifty dollars, rolling home beside me as I gripped the handlebars.

Sure, people looked at me funny. So? In most places, it's how you roll.

Back at the apartment I set up the steamer on the "dining room" table, near the wall, and loaded it with water. This was a little Sunbeam with a forty-five minute timer -- much better ones are available, but as Goodwill steamers go, it was not bad. Its plastic rice dish was long gone, but I could put a cup of rice or beans or diced potatoes and dandelion greens in one of the bowls, add the appropriate amount of water and some salt and Italian spices, set the timer, and, by and by, take out the bowl and there was dinner -- or breakfast, or lunch.

Waitaminnit! says the careful reader. Surely that was not breakfast!

Why not? And without coffee or tea, usually. Didn't miss them at all.

Reader: But you couldn't --

Yes, I could. For months on end. I lost a little weight, but in my case, that was a good thing. None of this required refrigerating, if managed carefully, and though I was charged for it, I never haunted the communal kitchen, which was a howling disaster area non-maintained by my three student roomies, who by the way I never met. There was no need to go there.

 I should mention our town seems to have a good supply of unattended cherry, apple, pear, plum, and Asian pear trees and no end of blackberries, dandelions, lamb's quarters and such free for the picking, for all of which the bike basket came in handy. And over time I got to learn how to ask grocers what they were about to throw out. When company came, I felt I was in a position to be generous.

Reader: And the rest of your time -- ?

No problem. I slept, or bathed, or ate, or thought, or went for walks or bike rides. Of course, if you are at all like me, it helps immensely to do this sort of thing in a college town. A college town has, in effect, a functional commons. I went to town meetings, galleries, museums, free concerts, free plays, and lectures. I read many books; all those on hand several times and all I could carry back from the library. I spent long evenings in that library, which closed in those days at eleven p.m. (it was only two blocks from home, remember). I had access there to not only books but music, DVDs if I wanted them (I didn't), magazines, newspapers, and of course the Internet. I worked on my volunteer project, at my own desk after my colleagues had gone home for the day, and produced first drafts of several books. I was also in school (full-time employees could take classes for next to nothing), and when I could I would take the bus out to the country and do a stint of parenting and farm upkeep.

Reader [weakly]: On -- on $400 a month?

Yes, with change left over. I am telling you this because if you have a bit of luck (I had no major illnesses back then), you can probably live on less than you may currently think you will need, and perhaps even find yourself happy.

Anyways, here are some lifeways resources, in case there's anything I've come across that may be of use to you in the times we're heading into. You be good to yourselves.

 

Use edges and value the marginal

About leaves that generally get stripped and tossed away.

1. Go out to where either your greens have made a whole lot of big side foliage you don't use at table, or have gone to seed producing volunteers (volunteer chard shown), and gather about forty leaves.

2. Stuff your Excelsior or Excalibur or solar dehydrator with them, or just lay them out in the sun. 

3. When they're brittle, fish them out and strip dry matter from midribs. Clean up and crumble to desired consistency. 

4. Dry can (bake) in jars and open to use as needed. Good for up to five years in our experience.

Kale, collards, chard, beets, spinach, cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, dandelions, false dandelions, lamb's quarters, turnip, arugula, garlic, onions, young bean leaves or knotweed leaves, chicory, plantain, nettles, maple and lilac flowers, nasturtiums, kohlrabi, lettuce, and tatsoi, along with herbs to taste can all be included in this. The more variety, the better nutrition, and they all taste about the same in this form.

You could live a long time, comparatively speaking, if shut in by a pandemic, for example, on just five pounds of dried veggie crumbly and a hundred pounds of rice. (Be sure you have also secured a supply of water.)

You could, with a little acquired knowledge and some persistence, do this entirely with foraged weeds even if you have no garden.

Use in breads, soups, frittatas, quiches, on meats, on potatoes, in eggs, power drinks, hot cereals, salads, wilted salads, stir fries, etc. Also can be added to feeds such as poultry feeds.

Caveat: spinach, chard and amaranths contain a lot of oxalic acid and so there are those who should not consume them in quantity.

After twenty years of nights beneath the moon 
and the clouds to find myself old is hard
crows come looking for food at the altar
monks return with empty begging bowls
others work the waves for shrimp and clams
I swing a hoe in the mountains
when Solomon’s seal is gone there is still pine pollen 
and one square inch free of care

  -- Stonehouse (tr. Red Pine)

(To be continued)

Use and value renewable resources and services

"Use and value renewable resources and services"

My first thought when contemplating this principle was the adage: "reduce, renew, reuse, repurpose, recycle." And you do see some of that here: at 2. the harvest/forage bag has been made from a conference tote bag by snipping the handles at one end and sewing them to each other to make a shoulder strap, while at 3. the compost bins are made from pallets and the mailbox is repurposed as a rain-proof hand tool bin.

But it also means to let the earth gift you with things you may use and then return to the earth.

1. Perennials give and grow back, just as trees offer fruit and nuts and then offer them again.

2. Annuals provide fruit and veg but also seed, so that they may come again.

3. "Wastes" become compost gold. Water goes onto the soil, then out to the sea, becomes clouds, returns as rain and snow.

4. Our straw comes from local wheat farmers, and the following year comes from local wheat farmers again. The trellises are made from shoots from hazel, maple, ash, knotweed, and even Oregon grape, all growing on the premises, and renewing from the land cyclically. "Services," indeed. As these become soil and become food for us and the other creatures here, we make some small return via the composting potty and the kitchen "waste" bucket.

There's really no such thing as waste -- the continental plates will subduct all. What there is is spoilage -- hastened entropy, making the things you have used into things that are (in the nearer term than geologic processes) harmful or unusable for others. 

On a grand scale, the Pacific Garbage Patch would be an example of such spoilage, or the Love Canal, or whatever has been touched by the Tar Sands or nuclear industries. Closer to home, lead paint, indiscriminate herbicide usage, or motoring to the store with a V-8 engine to buy cigarettes, say. 

Watch what happens to the stream of gifts from the Earth you sample. Where do the beanpoles go? The apple cores? The old fence boards? 

Respect the cycle.

Simplicity and non-violence are obviously closely related. The optimal pattern of consumption, producing a high degree of human satisfaction by means of a relatively low rate of consumption, allows people to live without great pressure and strain and to fulfill the primary injunction of Buddhist teaching: “Cease to do evil; try to do good.” As physical resources are everywhere limited, people satisfying their needs by means of a modest use of resources are obviously less likely to be at each other’s throats than people depending upon a high rate of use. Equally, people who live in highly self-sufficient local communities are less likely to get involved in large-scale violence than people whose existence depends on world-wide systems of trade.

  -- E. F. Schumacher, "Buddhist Economics" in Small is Beautiful

(To be continued)

Obtain a yield

1. Tomatoes, squash, eggplant, apple butter. People may not care for most of your home canning, but they will eat your apple butter.

2. Duck eggs and chicken eggs resting on a foraged bench. 

3. Greens being harvested for fresh consumption, for poultry, and for dehydration for later use by both humans and poultry. 

4. A persistent weed, Japanese knotweed, being collected for food, fodder, mulch, compost, trellising poles, bee hotels, and kindling.

These are subsistence yields. Stony Run Farm is really just a suburban-style lot in a country setting, but we do ask it to convert sunshine and compost for us into veggies. We try to stay within our fertility budget -- if we were to sell crops, we'd have to buy something to fertilize with. Commerce has the long term disadvantage that it leaks energy at every station of rach product -- speeding up entropy for all. We're idealists, but we've made an effort to participate as little as we reasonably might, and we feel good about our choice.

It’s the same as the people that teach poetry and the people that teach all of the arts in Japan, where it’s based on this idea that you come to the place where there’s no qualities and no thought and you’re one with everything, and if you’re studying pottery, of course it makes you a better person, it’s a good thing… with natural farming you become a better more joyful person, but you’re also providing for your own livelihood, you’re growing what you need to eat and you’re in partnership with other forms of life.

 -- Larry Korn

(To be continued)

Focus, focus!

 

Action, to be correct action, must spring from focus. If we react mainly to provocation, or take action aimlessly, our contribution will be correspondingly small. If we visualize a worthwhile project, and concentrate on it day and night, our impact will be the greater.

First we ascertain that our vision is "worthwhile." Then, whether we mean to create a one-acre food forest or manage a great nation's food system, we must focus on the task at hand and give it our all.

We can see, as we work through these principles, how each of them is a facet of a single principle. It becomes clear to us that right desire and right focus are practically the same. Right focus and right avocation, or livelihood, are also the same. The path is described as having eight parts so that we can absorb the lesson in manageable chunks.

Dogen uses the words "die sitting, die standing" to indicate the urgency we should bring to taking our path seriously. That doesn't mean don't have a sense of fun or play. It does mean not frittering away our minds endlessly on secondary, illusive matters -- a major trap for us in these times. 

Benefit others, which simultaneously gives abundant benefit to the self.

-- Dogen, Tenzo Kyokun, tr. Leighton and Okumura

(To be continued) 

Permaculture ethics and principles in the light of Buddhism

"Earth care" is right action. Preventing soil loss, water pollution, excess atmospheric carbon, and radiological contamination are examples.

"People care" is right action. Active listening, feeding with good food, offering clean water, assisting with shelter and teaching right action are examples.

"Fair share" is right action. Living within one's means -- and finding small means sufficient opening up possibilities for others -- are examples.

These actions may be carried out in all of life, for example, within nature, architecturally, through responsible choice and use of tools, in teaching, in health care, in gift and exchange, in coming together on governance (the mutual determination of right action).

Grassroots Garden, Food for Lane County, Eugene, Oregon, USA

"Observation," as noted in the preceding post/note, is right action.

"Obtaining energy" in an ethical way (without destroying the life or livelihood of others, and without excess) is right action.

"Obtaining a yield" -- primary production (forestry, agriculture, manufacturing) in an ethical way for your livelihood (without destroying the life or livelihood of others, and without excess) is right action.

"Self-regulation" (evaluating and redirecting one's actions. Also: accepting criticism) is right action.

"Choosing to reduce, reuse, recycle, repurpose, and renew" -- over the opposites of these -- is right action.

"Eschewing wastefulness", which is closely related to the preceding principle, is right action.

"Designing from patterns to details" -- close observation and imitation of natural cycles -- is right action.

"Integrating rather than segregating processes" -- closely related to the three preceding principles -- is right action. Incorporating a chicken moat into the homestead protects the garden from the hens and from the insects and mollusks the hens eat, for example.

"Using small and slow solutions" -- mulch rather than a tractor where a mulch will do -- is right action.

"Honoring diversity in all things" -- human and in nature (which comes to the same thing) -- is right action. Consider, for example, the resiliency of mutually respected vibrant culture and the resiliency of a food forest or polycultural vegetable garden.

"Using edges and valuing the marginal" is right action. This is related to honoring diversity; from the edges in society come imagination and innovation; from the edges in the landscape come wildlife and species interaction, preventing outsized populations of "undesirable" species without chemical invention among other benefits.

"Using and responding to change" is right action. Πάντα ῥεῖ καὶ οὐδὲν μένει

All things flow. Ride the river of life.  

Unhesitatingly [the head of the farmyard] takes the lead in heavy physical labor. He cultivates the soil, sows seeds for vegetable crops, irrigates the fields when necessary, and thereby provides a steady supply of fresh vegetables and so on to the kitchen hall throughout the year.

-- Baizhang Monastic Regulations

(To be continued)