April 2015
I am taking a class that my daddy teaches on Natural Landscaping. Everything I'm interested in lead me back home. Whenever I ventured to where I wanted to go, I ended up back where I started: home! Whatever I learned and whatever I am interested in, at least as a career, I learned after the fact that my parents have been doing this the whole time!!
I am in this class because I found out that my dad hates lawns too! I, through my own thinking, figured out that a yard (or any land for that matter) should be productive, not consumptive. A lawn requires so much of the land owner's energy, resources, and time to maintain. In contrast, one could have a garden or landscape to produce food, beauty, or habitat. (Can you tell I'm into horticulture?)
My dad actually teaches a class all about how to reduce the size of your lawn. He suggested that I take it, and I agreed without hesitation.
It seems strange and backwards to disappear into school everyday of my childhood to learn a bunch of irrelevant things when I don't even know what my parents do during the day. I don't know what's going on in my parents' lives, but I know the quadratic formula. I don't know my parents' passions and beliefs and how they want to better the world through their service to the community in their jobs, but I know all about the Oregon Trail. *Frustration with the American education system and the way children are brought up now*
I knew their jobs had something to do with nature, but that was about it. My mom is obsessed with birds and I've always found that annoying.
The apple does not fall far from the tree.
My dad told me a story about what life was like when I was very young. He and Mom were in Michigan in graduate school. Once both had finished their Master's degrees, my dad wanted to continue his education because he wanted to be a professor. I never thought about this before, but my dad LOVES college. He was raised on a dairy farm with four older brothers and a younger half-sister, and none of them went to college. My dad was the first person to go to college in his family. And go to college he did! He almost completed his PhD and was going to teach college! But... then he looked around at all of this professors, and none of them had families or hobbies. They didn't have time for themselves or others. They didn't even have time for their students! All they ever did was research. My dad, with a two-year-old (me) and an infant (my sister), decided he didn't want that lifestyle. So he dropped out of school and he and my mom moved back to Washington. They love their life now, where they live in a beautiful place (my mom hated Michigan) with jobs in their field they are passionate about, and that also allow them to have a life outside of it - my dad can do the things he loves, like garden, cook and play basketball; and he also has time to be present in my and my siblings' lives.
Why didn't he ever tell me that story before?! I feel like I would have been more grateful for my life had I known that. I never realized it but I have a relatively awesome life. What if my dad had chosen that path? My life would be a whole lot different. I'm telling you, I've been asleep my whole life and am just now waking up.
My parents were around for my childhood. They were very involved in my life. They came to my dance recitals, band concerts, royalty parades, etc. to support me and be a part of my life. They know me and my life, but I don't know theirs. I don't know what life was like before I was born; I don't even know what their life is like now!
Various journaling, philosophy, analysis, and essay scraps of a college student
Showing posts with label Dad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dad. Show all posts
The Value of the Liberal Arts
January 2015
Lately I have been working on an essay for a scholarship contest about the value of the liberal arts. I have invested more time on it than I thought I would, learning the history of liberal arts, how it traces back to Ancient Greece when Plato outlined the basics of the liberal arts curriculum and how it's purpose was to make democracy plausible. I've read last year's winning essays to see what they are looking for. As a writer, I need to find balance between what I want to say and what people what to hear. I also read my best friend's essay on the value of the liberal arts, which he is not going to submit because he is not going to a liberal arts school (and his essay is ten pages--the word limit is five hundred--but that's Mikaele for you). I also read an essay by Todd Gitlin that he referenced heavily in Mikaele's essay, and it was so inspirational I read the entire thing. But more on that later. I've also emailed my Grandma for help, who, before she retired, was a college professor of the classics and Greek language. I emailed her the rough draft today so she can review it. And I made an appointment at Peninsula College with the Writing Lab so it can be reviewed there by a professor. I spent approximately three hours working on it today, as the deadline is two days from now. Here is my draft as of now:
Lately I have been working on an essay for a scholarship contest about the value of the liberal arts. I have invested more time on it than I thought I would, learning the history of liberal arts, how it traces back to Ancient Greece when Plato outlined the basics of the liberal arts curriculum and how it's purpose was to make democracy plausible. I've read last year's winning essays to see what they are looking for. As a writer, I need to find balance between what I want to say and what people what to hear. I also read my best friend's essay on the value of the liberal arts, which he is not going to submit because he is not going to a liberal arts school (and his essay is ten pages--the word limit is five hundred--but that's Mikaele for you). I also read an essay by Todd Gitlin that he referenced heavily in Mikaele's essay, and it was so inspirational I read the entire thing. But more on that later. I've also emailed my Grandma for help, who, before she retired, was a college professor of the classics and Greek language. I emailed her the rough draft today so she can review it. And I made an appointment at Peninsula College with the Writing Lab so it can be reviewed there by a professor. I spent approximately three hours working on it today, as the deadline is two days from now. Here is my draft as of now:
There are three potential purposes for education: preparation for professional life, civic life, and personal life. The former increasingly takes precedence in our society over the two latter; most students are conditioned to believe that the single object of matriculating is to eventually secure decent employment. However, until climbing the socioeconomic ladder became the ultimate goal, education meant much more. In the case of liberal arts, the purpose of education is to allow a free person to actively participate in government; produce a well-rounded, cultured citizen capable of complex thinking; and live a meaningful and productive life.
Our current education system contrasts that of the Ancient Greeks, where the liberal arts originated—not surprising considering Ancient Greece produced the greatest thinkers of all time and is the only society with a government comparable to the great American democracy. Plato outlined this curriculum: the seven liberal arts, in classical antiquity, worked together to create a basis for education. Essentially, one learns how to learn.
The original intent of a liberal arts education is to create a population that would make democracy plausible. Each individual shall to be an informed, virtuous citizen capable of actively participating in public debate, serving on juries, defending oneself in court, and electing qualified representatives. We, as members of a free nation, are obligated to contribute to our country through public forum. Intelligence is worthless without the ability to exercise it. Without articulation and rhetoric, ideas remain quiescent. Society is propelled by the minds who communicate effectively. Moreover, not only do the leaders of society require the ability to think on a higher plane of thought, but—perhaps even more importantly—a free person needs to effectively govern himself. Otherwise, power may be corrupted when individuals cannot keep their politicians in check.
With this in mind, the liberal arts are now perhaps more relevant than ever. The world today is, in the words of Todd Gitlin, a glut of saturated information and images, much of it meaningless and redundant in the form of cheap culture from television or other media. American lifestyle is high-velocity, constantly in flux when the human condition prescribes a more stationary existence.
This is where the liberal arts come in: productive citizens needn’t be fed even more information only so they can merely regurgitate it back to their successors; they need the tools with which to process this information. Even if a student has a superior ability to recall facts, the need to do so becomes obsolete when the phenomenon “The Google Effect” lets the internet do that with far greater speed and accuracy. In a culture concentrated with information, the ability to think critically is threatened because an unhealthy reliance on outside thinking is imposed. Knowledge is only the first tier of Bloom’s Taxonomy: information alone does not make us more intelligent as intelligence is not measured by the amount known but rather the extent to which we are able to comprehend, apply, analyze, synthesize, and evaluate this information.
A liberal arts education can even—contrary to popular belief—be the right choice in regard to the assumed main purpose of higher education: to get a good job. Indeed, employers now look for communication, analytical, management, and problem solving skills—all of which are found in a liberal arts degree. The average American has six to ten jobs in her life; a liberal arts education is the most adaptable. In addition—though we seem to somehow place seriousness on the STEM subjects and careers in those areas, deeming them “real” jobs—we don’t know what kind of jobs will be the highest paying or in the highest demand in the future; the job market is constantly adapting to new inventions, technologies and lifestyles.
Finally, politics and careers aside, on a personal level, education can help one achieve a better sense of self. A liberal arts degree is the most effective in this regard because it teaches the student to find the material’s relevance to their own life, and by exposing her to different subjects and points of view, makes her a more well-rounded being. Many people with a degree don’t end up applying it to a job, but it helped them in the long run because it exposed them to new environments and challenged them.
So yeah, I hate word limits. The word limit is five hundred and mine is over seven hundred. This essay is comparable to my personal statement. That was the most challenging piece of writing I've ever been faced with, as I have seventeen years of content to condense into a little over a single-spaced page.
My favorite concept in this subject is the theory Gitlin proposes about the liberal arts being increasingly important in an age of "info glut." In writing this essay, I noticed myself looking around more at the world around me as I did normal day-to-day things. I recalled that I am living in a upon watching television and questioned this practice; likewise, I realized that some of my research I did on this topic led me to petty entertainment-based magazine-style websites. "As a student of the liberal arts," I declared, "I have the ability to process information and distinguish between reliable sources and otherwise." Then I promptly went to Peninsula College's research database to look for more credible, scholarly articles. I haven't even started my liberal arts post-secondary education and I'm already benefiting from it!
One thing that may be a stretch is my analysis of the relevance and worth of recipes. Yes, cooking recipes, like from cookbooks and pinterest. In essence, recipes are a ready-made formula for preparing food that is supposed to make the lives of cooks easier. I venture to argue that recipes do not make life easier, and even hamper the process of truly learning how to cook. Following a recipe does not mean you know how to cook; it means you know how to follow a list of directions. First of all, most "recipes" are just a combination of different foods arranged in a certain way, and anyone could have thought to put avocados and tomatoes on a slab of bread or to put cabbage and carrots on some greens in a salad. Also, many recipes include ingredients that are not in season at the same times of the year, and often times will contain ingredients that either the cook does not like to eat or currently have in the kitchen. Often, the cook will have to go to the grocery store and buy ingredients for something they saw in a magazine instead of creating something of her own out of the ingredients already in her fridge. Recipes, in fact, are inconvenient and irrelevant. They ignore the enormous complexity of the question "what do I eat?" The true process of cooking involves chemistry to some extent: learning what makes the bread rise, or what combination of ingredients make a cake qualify as a cake, or how to boil something without burning it are examples of the kinds of things cooks need to know but aren't included in recipes. If they know these basic essentials, though, they can make all their own "recipes." Same could be said for DIY projects: they rely on outside thinking instead of being creative and resourceful with what one already has. I looked up vegan cake the other day and found a normal cake recipe only with vegan butter, presented by The Minimalist Baker. I could have thought of that! What I was really looking for was a different definition of cake: how to imitate the texture, taste and chemistry in a completely alternative way. After all, what makes a cake, a cake? You know, after going through a baking phase when I was thirteen where I made a different cake every weekend, I still don't know the answer to that. A lot of the ingredients and processes are a blur in my mind because I was blindly following a recipe, not completely engaged and aware of the process.
This phenomenon is new to our generation: when my dad taught me how to make oatmeal, I would insist on writing down the "recipe" because I wanted to be completely organized. He said there was no recipe; he throws in the spices and sweeteners he has on hand and adjusts the amounts to how many servings he's making. He seldom uses measuring cups. My mother says using measuring tools is imperative only when baking because amounts need to be exact lest they disrupt the chemistry of the product. That's the information I need to know.
Likewise, older cookbooks have a different approach than newer ones. My grandmother's cookbook has a simple lay out of all the recipes: the dry ingredients are grouped together and the wet ingredients are grouped together, and then you add the two groups. This is essentially what baking is, finding that out after weeks of experience with a more modern, unnecessarily complicated cookbook that contains long lists of ingredients and blurbs of instructions that occupy large amounts of space on the page. In addition, this cookbook includes pages on different ways to make cake (the Double-Quick Method or the Simplified Creaming Method?) which truly teaches HOW to cook. It also has a different way of presenting recipes: for some, there is a "Key" recipe that serves as the basic version, and then there are instructions for modifying it for variations on that recipe. For example, there is a basic Chiffon cake, and then a chocolate chip, maple pecan, butterscotch, spice, orange, holiday fruit, peppermint chip, cherry-nut, bit o' walnut, mahogany, and banana variation that uses the same recipe using added special ingredients, and changing certain things like omitting or decreasing certain other ingredients, using a different pan, adjusting bake time or temperature, etc. The older way takes into account the big picture of the process, and newer doesn't distinguish between the main ingredients like pasta and the minuscule ones like salt. The reader doesn't understand that what she is making is essentially pasta with spices, until she makes it: what she sees is several ingredients that include pasta and spices listed on a page in front of her. Now if only she had a liberal arts education, she could make sense of it....
A truth I've learned through this process of writing my essay about the liberal arts is that much of the information we receive is not asked for. We didn't know we needed it until it was glittered in our faces. I looked up vegan lunch ideas today and some of them were things like an avocado on toast. I've already been doing that! But it looks so glamorous in the photo in the "Oh She Glows" blog article... and yet so simple and normal in real life. This stirs two responses in me: one, condemnation of the media and disdain for its deceitfulness; and two, a newly awoken appreciation for how beautiful real life is.
Money Hardships
December 2014
Recently I had a dispute with my parents. Thanksgiving just passed and that means it is officially Christmas season, and I wanted to inform them of my gift boundaries. Instead of making a wish list like my sister and mom do, I gave a slide show presentation of a "Gift Proposal" laying out all the things I wanted and why I believe these are reasonable requests, reminding them that I have always been a rather abstemious spender.
I was not expecting my father to react the way he did (I think it has something to do with the fact that I stood in front of the television when the Cougs were playing the Huskies). I had proposed my idea for a senior trip: the Mind-Body Restoration Retreat in New York this summer. I spent like six slides on this gift, explaining how it would benefit me, which I believe it would immensely. I am completely confident that I was mature and responsible about it and that my request was perfectly reasonable. But they apparently didn't.
They gave me the whole speech about how they didn't get any help from their parents when they were my age and they had to pay for college all by themselves. They have always "lived below their means." Completely contradicting that, my mother also gave me the speech about how if I truly wanted to do something I have financial support from my parents.
I am not asking for stupid unnecessary things. Half the things on my wish list are books (a thing of which most of my peers cringe at the mention). I also asked for a bicycle (I've been using my mom's bike for the time being) and a laptop for college next year. They should be so grateful that I am not only willing to ride a bicycle, but I want to. My sister on the other hand hasn't ridden a bicycle since fifth grade and refuses to, and my brother sits in the recliner playing video games 24/7. My dad said he already gives me a lot, like a car. But he fails to see that the car is not a luxury; it is a convenience, and moreover, a convenience for them. Not me. If we didn't have the extra car for me to drive, the only difference would be that they would have to drive me everywhere and pick up and drop off Hilary and Erik where I otherwise would have. My dad pointed out that I would take the bus if I didn't have a car, as if that is a threat. I've wanted to start taking the bus for a long time but it's overwhelming for a small-town local to try to navigate the transit system, and MY DAD discouraged me from taking the bus because its a lot "easier" just to drive 25 minutes to Port Angeles twice a week for class.
I don't know what else they want me to give up. I did everything right. I wrote a poem about this phenomenon once. I am not going to be miserable like they were just so it can be fair to them. I left this conversation feeling drained and guilty. I really thought they were going to embrace my ideas. I feel like my parents should be extremely grateful that they scored on such a nonmaterialistic of a millennial as their daughter, but I never feel appreciated. For example, my dad is always bitching about how I leave the cutting board out or I spill a drop of egg on the stove, but he should be SO LUCKY that I actually have an interest in real cooking and am committed to my health when most people my age don't know what a tablespoon is.
I am learning about arguments and persuasion in my English 101 class, which spends a great deal of attention to rhetoric. There are three ways to argue, one of them being the Rogerian method. This has three steps: explain both sides objectively, find mutual values shared between both parties, and then find a compromise that suits everyone involved. My dad tends to argue in a different way: dogmatically and proudly.
I announced that I would stop eating out in order to save money. My goal with this was to show them how determined I am and that I am willing to make sacrifices for this senior trip. But they weren't impressed. My dad twisted my words, saying "so since you're not grateful for getting breakfast in Port Angeles before class sometimes, you don't want to do that anymore?"
If there is one thing I have learned so far about people, its that LOVE HEALS. So instead of fighting them, I have vowed to make some changes to my life. I have decided to cut myself off from spending to allow my bank account to grow. I said I would pay for the plane ticket and lodging accommodations--which is approximately $600--as long as they pay for tuition.
Things keep interfering with my plan though. It's just my luck that this happens during the beginning of Christmas season . My sister told me she wants us and our brother to pool our money and get some get some gifts for our parents this year. I reluctantly told her I am not spending money anymore. I will probably write them a decorative letter in lieu of a store-bought gift (I have started doing that: I wrote one to Red Rooster Grocery staff and to my brother for his birthday). Also, the other day I got my first speeding ticket ever. So that means I'm down $113. And if that wasn't enough, Wen automatically billed me and my bank account went under, charging me $30. So I'm starting at -$90.
The worst part of all of this is that my mother told me not to spend any more money, as if I am notorious for frivolously spending money. I already made it clear that I am insisting on not spending any more money. I don't need her to tell me that.
Recently I had a dispute with my parents. Thanksgiving just passed and that means it is officially Christmas season, and I wanted to inform them of my gift boundaries. Instead of making a wish list like my sister and mom do, I gave a slide show presentation of a "Gift Proposal" laying out all the things I wanted and why I believe these are reasonable requests, reminding them that I have always been a rather abstemious spender.
I was not expecting my father to react the way he did (I think it has something to do with the fact that I stood in front of the television when the Cougs were playing the Huskies). I had proposed my idea for a senior trip: the Mind-Body Restoration Retreat in New York this summer. I spent like six slides on this gift, explaining how it would benefit me, which I believe it would immensely. I am completely confident that I was mature and responsible about it and that my request was perfectly reasonable. But they apparently didn't.
They gave me the whole speech about how they didn't get any help from their parents when they were my age and they had to pay for college all by themselves. They have always "lived below their means." Completely contradicting that, my mother also gave me the speech about how if I truly wanted to do something I have financial support from my parents.
I am not asking for stupid unnecessary things. Half the things on my wish list are books (a thing of which most of my peers cringe at the mention). I also asked for a bicycle (I've been using my mom's bike for the time being) and a laptop for college next year. They should be so grateful that I am not only willing to ride a bicycle, but I want to. My sister on the other hand hasn't ridden a bicycle since fifth grade and refuses to, and my brother sits in the recliner playing video games 24/7. My dad said he already gives me a lot, like a car. But he fails to see that the car is not a luxury; it is a convenience, and moreover, a convenience for them. Not me. If we didn't have the extra car for me to drive, the only difference would be that they would have to drive me everywhere and pick up and drop off Hilary and Erik where I otherwise would have. My dad pointed out that I would take the bus if I didn't have a car, as if that is a threat. I've wanted to start taking the bus for a long time but it's overwhelming for a small-town local to try to navigate the transit system, and MY DAD discouraged me from taking the bus because its a lot "easier" just to drive 25 minutes to Port Angeles twice a week for class.
I don't know what else they want me to give up. I did everything right. I wrote a poem about this phenomenon once. I am not going to be miserable like they were just so it can be fair to them. I left this conversation feeling drained and guilty. I really thought they were going to embrace my ideas. I feel like my parents should be extremely grateful that they scored on such a nonmaterialistic of a millennial as their daughter, but I never feel appreciated. For example, my dad is always bitching about how I leave the cutting board out or I spill a drop of egg on the stove, but he should be SO LUCKY that I actually have an interest in real cooking and am committed to my health when most people my age don't know what a tablespoon is.
I am learning about arguments and persuasion in my English 101 class, which spends a great deal of attention to rhetoric. There are three ways to argue, one of them being the Rogerian method. This has three steps: explain both sides objectively, find mutual values shared between both parties, and then find a compromise that suits everyone involved. My dad tends to argue in a different way: dogmatically and proudly.
I announced that I would stop eating out in order to save money. My goal with this was to show them how determined I am and that I am willing to make sacrifices for this senior trip. But they weren't impressed. My dad twisted my words, saying "so since you're not grateful for getting breakfast in Port Angeles before class sometimes, you don't want to do that anymore?"
If there is one thing I have learned so far about people, its that LOVE HEALS. So instead of fighting them, I have vowed to make some changes to my life. I have decided to cut myself off from spending to allow my bank account to grow. I said I would pay for the plane ticket and lodging accommodations--which is approximately $600--as long as they pay for tuition.
Things keep interfering with my plan though. It's just my luck that this happens during the beginning of Christmas season . My sister told me she wants us and our brother to pool our money and get some get some gifts for our parents this year. I reluctantly told her I am not spending money anymore. I will probably write them a decorative letter in lieu of a store-bought gift (I have started doing that: I wrote one to Red Rooster Grocery staff and to my brother for his birthday). Also, the other day I got my first speeding ticket ever. So that means I'm down $113. And if that wasn't enough, Wen automatically billed me and my bank account went under, charging me $30. So I'm starting at -$90.
The worst part of all of this is that my mother told me not to spend any more money, as if I am notorious for frivolously spending money. I already made it clear that I am insisting on not spending any more money. I don't need her to tell me that.
A Saturday Well Lived
November 2014
Two Saturdays ago, I went on an adventure with my Dad. We went to the Lazy J Tree Farm to buy a crate of apples, and we got some leeks while we were there. My dad is friends with the farmer who owns Lazy J, Steve. He was his first boss when he moved here, and he said he was around the age of one of his older brothers so they formed a special bond and have been friends ever since. Every year we go to Lazy J to self-cut our Christmas Tree and my favorite memory was getting hot apple cider in the barn afterwards. We asked Steve if we could see his cabin. Steve had started building this cabin on his property when he was about my age but put it on the back burner when other things came up in his life. And now, forty years later, he picked up where he left off.
This cabin was incredible. I have gained an interest in architecture lately, being especially fascinated by the Tiny House Movement. I've been reading A Place of My Own by my favorite author, Micheal Pollan. I've already been obsessing on floor plans and things, and even have a rough sketch of what I want in Tiny House. It's the way to go for college students because it is a financially sound option, and there need only be enough space for one person. My goal is to have it built by the time I'm a junior in college.
Steve could totally help me build my Tiny House. He obviously knows a lot about construction, and so does my dad. They can help me so much. So could my friend Lynley and her husband who are building a Tiny House right now and will be ready to move in by February(http://agnewtinyhouse.blogspot.com/) . I realized lately that this whole time during my senior year, I have been networking, but I didn't know it. I read that word on collegeboard.org once and it felt overwhelming. But it is fun! It's actually kind of easy, maintaining connections that could be beneficial to me in the future.
After Lazy J, Dad and I went to Nash's Farm Store, Dunguness Valley Creamery, and the Sunny Farms Store. That night he made potato and leek soup with the ingredients we bought. While I was relaxing on the couch, he handed me some mail. One was a brochure from Whitman College, my former dream college until I realized that none of their majors were appealing to me (and I didn't want to drown in student dept from a private school for the rest of my life). But the other content of the mail pile was a package from The Evergreen State College. I don't think my dad realized that this was probably my letter telling me if I'd gotten in or not because I've been so bombarded with mail from colleges for the last several months that we don't really give mail a second look anymore. But my heart was pounding as I opened this bulky envelope. I've thought about it a lot and I know Evergreen is the perfect place for me. Every aspect is perfect: the academics, the learning philosophy, the location, the price, the size.... I even wrote an extensive blog page (Me in 3064 Words) about it after an overwhelming and terrifying tour of campus last summer.
Evergreen has a 96% acceptance rate, and I'm an honors student with a long list of extracurricular accomplishments (and the admissions recruiter, Erin, loves me; no big deal), so I had no doubt that I was going to be accepted. I just wanted to be able to have that comfort and security of knowing for sure where I am going to be in a year from now.
The first word I read on the letter was "congratulations," and I just started balling.
The words that followed went something like "It is my honor to offer you admission to The Evergreen State College!" At the end it said "I hope you choose to accept this offer of admission." For once, someone wants me, instead of just putting up with my presence. So far most people are indifferent if they don't hate me, and there are few who actually want me. I also read that they want to award me with a $600 academic achievement scholarship. And that's before applying for financial aid.
I took a few moments to read and cry happily, and then my dad came in the room and I stood up and pranced around to him while saying, "I'm going to Evergreen!" Then I hugged him, and I can't remember the last time I hugged my dad like that.
That was a good day. Yeah, I would say that was a day well lived.
Two Saturdays ago, I went on an adventure with my Dad. We went to the Lazy J Tree Farm to buy a crate of apples, and we got some leeks while we were there. My dad is friends with the farmer who owns Lazy J, Steve. He was his first boss when he moved here, and he said he was around the age of one of his older brothers so they formed a special bond and have been friends ever since. Every year we go to Lazy J to self-cut our Christmas Tree and my favorite memory was getting hot apple cider in the barn afterwards. We asked Steve if we could see his cabin. Steve had started building this cabin on his property when he was about my age but put it on the back burner when other things came up in his life. And now, forty years later, he picked up where he left off.
This cabin was incredible. I have gained an interest in architecture lately, being especially fascinated by the Tiny House Movement. I've been reading A Place of My Own by my favorite author, Micheal Pollan. I've already been obsessing on floor plans and things, and even have a rough sketch of what I want in Tiny House. It's the way to go for college students because it is a financially sound option, and there need only be enough space for one person. My goal is to have it built by the time I'm a junior in college.
Steve could totally help me build my Tiny House. He obviously knows a lot about construction, and so does my dad. They can help me so much. So could my friend Lynley and her husband who are building a Tiny House right now and will be ready to move in by February(http://agnewtinyhouse.blogspot.com/) . I realized lately that this whole time during my senior year, I have been networking, but I didn't know it. I read that word on collegeboard.org once and it felt overwhelming. But it is fun! It's actually kind of easy, maintaining connections that could be beneficial to me in the future.
After Lazy J, Dad and I went to Nash's Farm Store, Dunguness Valley Creamery, and the Sunny Farms Store. That night he made potato and leek soup with the ingredients we bought. While I was relaxing on the couch, he handed me some mail. One was a brochure from Whitman College, my former dream college until I realized that none of their majors were appealing to me (and I didn't want to drown in student dept from a private school for the rest of my life). But the other content of the mail pile was a package from The Evergreen State College. I don't think my dad realized that this was probably my letter telling me if I'd gotten in or not because I've been so bombarded with mail from colleges for the last several months that we don't really give mail a second look anymore. But my heart was pounding as I opened this bulky envelope. I've thought about it a lot and I know Evergreen is the perfect place for me. Every aspect is perfect: the academics, the learning philosophy, the location, the price, the size.... I even wrote an extensive blog page (Me in 3064 Words) about it after an overwhelming and terrifying tour of campus last summer.
Evergreen has a 96% acceptance rate, and I'm an honors student with a long list of extracurricular accomplishments (and the admissions recruiter, Erin, loves me; no big deal), so I had no doubt that I was going to be accepted. I just wanted to be able to have that comfort and security of knowing for sure where I am going to be in a year from now.
The first word I read on the letter was "congratulations," and I just started balling.
The words that followed went something like "It is my honor to offer you admission to The Evergreen State College!" At the end it said "I hope you choose to accept this offer of admission." For once, someone wants me, instead of just putting up with my presence. So far most people are indifferent if they don't hate me, and there are few who actually want me. I also read that they want to award me with a $600 academic achievement scholarship. And that's before applying for financial aid.
I took a few moments to read and cry happily, and then my dad came in the room and I stood up and pranced around to him while saying, "I'm going to Evergreen!" Then I hugged him, and I can't remember the last time I hugged my dad like that.
That was a good day. Yeah, I would say that was a day well lived.
I Love Sequim, Washington
September-November 2014
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.
There have been many a country song written about this
phenomenon, like Taylor Swift's unreleased song "Drive All Night." Or the song "Going Away" by Meg and Dia.
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.
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.
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