This post took forever to finish itself for publication. I started it in September and am just now releasing it. In the last few months, I noticed just how wonderful and beautiful my home is. My rural hometown Sequim, luscious Washington state, the house I grew up in, the spacious yard complete with a huge garden and chicken coop.... I never fully appreciated it until recently. The trees, the water, the mountains... and the FARMS. I love farms. I have some theories about what opened my eyes to this awakened appreciation: discovering the wisdom of the Mary Jane's Farm franchise and lifestyle, Sequim Irrigation Festival Royalty, and - ironically - thinking/dreaming about the future.
About a year ago, I discovered a magazine called MaryJane'sFarm. I fell in love with it from the beginning. It is unlike any other magazine: it includes advice, inspiration, literary essays, recipes, DIY instructions, stories, news, how-tos, ideas, and spotlight features for real-life Farmgirls, all as part of a heartfelt celebration of simple living and womanhood. It values the creative pleasures of farming, crafting, community, cooking, sewing, reading, baking, blogging, gardening, quilting, writing, scrapbooking, and decorating. I have tried to quell my habit of compulsive magazine buying upon my realizing that books exist for knowledge, whereas magazines exist for consumption. But alas, MaryJane'sFarm is the one "magazine" that is unique above all the rest because of its certain genuineness and warmth. Mary Jane is a real person, not just an idea, and she really does have a farm: in Moscow, Idaho to be exact. In addition to editing her own magazine, she runs a "Sisterhood" organization where members can complete tasks to better their lives and earn badges, much like an adult version of girl scouts. She truly believes in the womanly dignity of being self-sufficient and including natural humble beauty in everything one does. So, in a way, I wouldn't really classify MaryJane'sFarm as a magazine so much as a way of life. It doesn't adhere to the mainstream magazine formula ideologies and Weltanschauung of consumerism and cheap convenience.
I didn't think the rural farm lifestyle was near me, nor did I think that lifestyle was for me. I thought of "farmers" as dirty overall-wearing hicks. Not me. But I looked up from this magazine and noticed the big garden and chickens in my backyard, the neighbor's goats, the horses down the road, the hay fields that surround my house, the cows across the road. The historic farmhouse down one way of the road and a historic railroad bridge over a river down the other, and the famous irrigation ditch streaming all the way down the road. There is and has always been inspiration in my own backyard, and MaryJane'sFarm opened my eyes to that. Reading this charming and inspirational magazine, I will admit that I felt a little ashamed that I wasn't as self-sufficient or backwoods-y as the cowgirl-y women featured. But over time the concept grew on me. I even found myself wanting my own mini farm. Me! Who knew?
My childhood was a contrasting binary of urban and rural juxtapositions. In kindergarten I wanted to be a farmer when I grew up because I loved growing gardens and I loved animals. I had my own plot of my family's garden where I loved growing vegetables and flowers. I even gave names to all my flowers, which were a rainbow of six different colors. But when I was a little older I was easily enticed by the glamour and fast exciting tempo of city life. When I took trips to Seattle and Victoria, Canada I was dazzled by the massive glimmering skyscrapers and the strange street performers. Big, sparkly cities are preached as being run by and centered around an energetic elan vital. I was convinced that when I was twenty and my sister was eighteen, we would move to New York and play guitar and sing on the street so we could get "discovered" and be popstars. There was always something going on: an embodiment of a culture that complies to instant gratification. It isn't like that in Sequim. Third through fifth grade I wanted to be a popstar or fashion designer, starstruck by Hannah Montana and Lisa Frank. I don't repudiate those thoughts or wishes; they are a part of me. I have always been very girly, and remain so today. I hated boring, ugly things and believed everything should be pretty and touched by beauty. Sixth grade was a turning point, a changing time. Different parts of my brain awakened, and I started viewing the world with a more realistic, structured, aware, intentional fascination with an air of naive, unrealistic permanence. When I started learning more about the world, I learned of all the problems in it: poverty, crime, pollution, consumerism.... and noticed that urban environments are concentrated epitomes of all these problems. I went to Seattle again and suddenly there was a fake, dirty vibe about the city. The street performers were not fasinating, exciting characters, musicians and entertainers anymore: they were poor homeless people laid off of work, trying to scrap together some money from the tourists. The big city is a phony pseudoutopia, swindling innocent dreamers. It is a guided site: glorious and promising on the outside, but dark, lonely and betraying on the inside.
One day I was feeling fatigued, so I went outside for a few minutes for some "nature therapy." The last apple on my tree so high that I could not reach it from the ground. The thing about nature and the homemade lifestyle is that it forces one to be creative. This tree was very small when I first planted it as a little girl; this year she outgrew me. I climbed the rope ladder up to the second story of the nearby old playhouse my brother and sister used to play in when we were little. I gingerly stepped across the roof and plucked the fruit. I bit into the sweet juicy thing, still perched on the old roof. This view was so interesting. I pivoted to face the opposite direction of the tree, looking down over my family's large garden. I went into the house to get my book, A Place of My Own by Micheal Pollan. Then I returned to the roof. I was drawn to that place in space; the surroundings and views fed off of each other to create the optimal serenity and coziness. A Place of My Own is all about appreciation for space and architecture, and it has helped stir a dream in me to build a "place of my own" for myself with my own two hands. Pollan didn't hire someone to build this for him because the reason he built it was to vacate from the abstract "world of words" in his writing career, and experience something in the physical world, through the construction of a building.
I read part of this book aloud to Dad when we were driving to Olympia to tour The Evergreen State College. Not being a big reader himself (that's where I got my difficulty with reading), he seemed disconnected, intimidated by the sophisticated philosophy, and even regarded Pollan as foolish for getting into something where he hadn't the slightest idea what he was doing. Here, and in many other instances, I dismissed my parents as not understanding and lacking ambition. But looking out over my yard on this roof, I remember my father built this playhouse, the greenhouse, patio pergola on which we grow grapes, the tool shed, and the chicken coop with his own two hands, a hammer, imagination, dreams, and ambition. My exploring and learning of the world led me back home.
At some point I accidentally dropped my bookmark and it fell off the roof, so I carefully climbed down the garden trellis, got it, and climbed back up. It gave me a confident, powerful feeling. I got here and could go back.
I never realized how amazing the life my parents have made for me is. If I were to pick somewhere to live, Sequim might be a place where I would live by choice. One day I was out and about in the town, and instead of coming home, I kept driving. It occurred to me that I have grown up in this small area, and yet there are so many spaces that are unfamiliar to me. For example, I was driving with my dad to a berry farm once and we passed a piece of property that was hosting a garage sale, and we checked it out. The yard was a fenced in space filled with chickens, ducks, geese, and sheep, all wondering around sharing the same pasture. I explained to Dad that that is the kind of yard I want to have someday. But that's what I mean - that place offers inspiration and connection, and yet I never knew that property was there.
Another example isdowntown Sequim, which is ironic. How did I miss that? One would think I would be familiar with the most Sequim-y part of Sequim. In the heart of Sequim lies amazing small businesses, many of which don't sell a certain type of merchandise, but rather categorize their product by theme or decor. "Over the Fence" is a garden + patio, furniture, bath + utility, home accents + decor, and kitchen shop. "Heather Creek" sells found objects, up-cycled furniture, and fragrances for body & home, and all of it is displayed in French Country inspired decor. "Red Rooster Grocery" is a small organic grocery. "Doodlebugs" is a small scrapbooking and craft store. And my favorite, "Fieldnotes," the name of which inspired the title of this blog, sells decorations, stationary, clothing, books, and dreams. :) It is pathetic that everyone knows where Walmart is but no one knows where any of these gems are.
Now, every once and a while, I will take that out-on-a-limb turn out of the blue. I did that again the other day. I drive down the winding road passing the creamery and old Dungeness School House to Nash's Farm Store, and while I love that road, I always drive it. There is a road, Taylor Ranch, off of that one that sparked my interest, and one day I went down it. I saw where it took me. I got lost in my own small town! I loved it. The thing with that is that you are only lost for a short while, and if you keep driving you will end up in a familiar place. This road took me passed beautiful farms, to which I thought, "I never knew how much food we produce right here," and wondered why any Sequimite would shop at a big supermarket when we have such a bounty already. I even ended up at the beach at some point.... Then I turned back around and it took me passed a dairy farm. Then I became ecstatic when I recognized the property with all the farm animals living together in the front yard, and I freaked out as I took in as much as I could. I saw chickens, and goats. They had goats too. Then it took me down the main road that goes right through downtown Sequim. My favorite shop and this blog's namesake, "Fieldnotes," and I freaked out yet again when I saw newly placed dazzling Christmas lights around the window. In the dim evening light, it was such a special sight. Then I realized that the people in the car next to me were staring at me, undoubtedly judging me. It is such a shame that most people in this world don't notice and appreciate the little things in life, and now I am the odd girl in traffic gawking at some lights on a store window.
On a similar adventure, I turned left onto a road that I didn't know where it lead. I freaked out when drove past Five Acre School, a preschool and private elementary and middle school, where I attended preschool years and years ago!! I was so excited! I kept driving along the road that looks over a small valley of cow pasture, and it was so special. My home is so small yet so big.
As a Sequim Irrigation Festival Princess, I travel all over the state to be in parades. I noticed how shitty other towns are compared to Sequim. Sequim is a retirement community and about 51% of the population is over 55 years old. Growing up, most of my peers hated Sequim because it is boring. Oh, and because of lavender.
See, Sequim is famous for having lavender farms. Every year we host the Lavender Festival in July. Most Sequimites I talk to about it said they hate lavender. They either hate the smell or are allergic to it. But I love lavender: the color, the smell, the taste, the look.... And I love all the farms! And the festival is so much fun! I love being a tourist in my own town. The local restaurants jump on board and serve lavender dishes. The farms have activities like tours, cooking demonstrations and entertainment, and the park and street is filled with tent vendors selling food and handmade finds.
One of my last parades was in Leavenworth. That is such a charming town. It is themed - yes, themed, the whole city - Bavarian. The buildings and everything. German-esque. On the journey out there, we passed through forest. I decided that I either want to live in a small house in the suburbs or a big house in the middle of nowhere. The other girls were talking about this, and the queen said she feels like it would be scary living in a desert place like this. That's the initial response, but not without reason: one might be lonely living in such a segregated place. But I thought about it, and asked the question I've been asking a lot lately, "why not?" The queen said you would be far from schools. But I an going to homeschool my future kids. Then the royalty mom said "what if you forgot bread and milk at the store? Then you'd have to travel miles to go back!" But again I discredited that conflict: I would make my own bread, and I would have goats or something to milk. When every objection to living here didn't apply to me, I realized that it wouldn't be boring or inconvenient to live in a place like this. It would be nice. I pictured it: an picturesque estate, a huge garden, chickens of course, some goats, sheep, a small orchard.... It was lovely.
Last Saturday I went with my dad to a class that he teaches. He is a conservationist and that day he lead his class through a rain garden that was a project of the conservation district. I realized how little I knew about my parents' careers and I regret not soaking up more of it through my childhood. Afterwards, the class migrated to a property in Gardiner, where the owner, Paul Gautschi, toured us through his garden teaching us that how to succeed in gardening is by imitating nature. This was an incredible experience and I felt so elevated and empowered for the rest of the weekend.
I love Gardiner. I first learned of this unincorporated community neighboring Sequim when my ballet studio regularly held class in a facility there in eighth grade. My teacher would meet us after school and we would carpool out to a cabin among luscious trees about 20 minutes outside Sequim. The building didn't have indoor heating but we lit the fireplace before class sometimes in the winter. Gardiner is a beautiful, enchanting place. And apparently my parents have owned land there since before I was born that I didn't know about until a few years ago. I want to go to that property sometime and just hang out. Sit in the grass, climb in the trees, explore. Experience.
It wasn't until my grandfather passed away that I learned how incredible of a person his wife is. Diane is not my biological grandmother: my real grandma died when my mother was eight, so I never knew her. But my grandfather remarried to Diane, and I consider her my grandmother. She is an inspirational lady to whom I look up with awe: she has a PhD and taught as a university professor of classic literature, frequently traveling to Greece to do exchange teaching programs. Not only is my grandma accomplished in the professional world, which is exceptional for a woman of her time, but she still stays true to the domestic arts! She is an experienced quilter and quilts by hand. When she retired, she bought an abundance of animals and now geese, rabbits, sheep, chickens, dogs, cats and pretty much everything else are being raised in her backyard. I want to go spend spring break with her this year so I could help take care of her animals and so she could teach me how to sew and quilt, and so she could mentor me and pass on her wisdom.
Before this year, I spent a lot of time dreaming about an idyllic adult life for the future: a small sufficient house, a mini-farm, four homeschooled kids, and a tall red-headed husband. I was living in the future and the past because my present was so unbearable. I had the mindset of "Once I have this, then I will be happy (or I will be able to accomplish this or I will be healthy or whatever)." But after my rebirth after junior year, I realized since then that life is an accumulation of sub-stories overlapping each other, constantly in flux and never frozen in a snapshot of one perfect time. So until one lives in the present, she will never be truly happy because that utopian moment is never going to come. Then I looked around and noticed all the beauty and life and resources that were around me all along.
I have made some lifestyle changes because of this realization. I made making dinner every Monday a goal of mine. It occurred to me that despite growing up with a huge garden in my yard, I don't know the plants or how to harvest or prepare them. So I am determined to pack a childhood of learning into this last year I will spend living on this property. I spent last Saturday helping my dad in the yard: I put on my work shoes and jeans, braided my hair in the iconic Mary Jane Butters long side braid and borrowed one of Dad's sweatshirts and planted garlic, dug up yard turf to make room for mulch, pruned asparagus and artichokes plants, learned how to use a drill and unscrewed some nails in the greenhouse.