What I love most about this sunflower is that it chose a life apart from a neat little row in a delineated box.

I was just thinking about how anxiety and joy are really the same vibrant energy. The difference being that one is experienced through a filter of fear and the other trust. Hmm, trust. Read an excellent Goethe quote recently, “As soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live.”

Speaking of energy, mine has been focused on other matters. I guess this is when the “urban” of urban farming stands out. I’ve been on a bit of a journey for a few months now. It has had my urban farming in flux. I’ve had less vegetable growing, more rabbit keeping (Which is going exceedingly well. They will be part of the Outstanding in the Field event coming up) and lots of reading and painting. Oh yeah, I paint. I love painting natural forms. Though I have not been immersed in the garden exactly, my window over looks a verdant garden that is the love child of Stefani. The angle of the light in the yard is such that each dawn and dusk a golden light engulfs the space. It is truly gorgeous. It’s the inspiration for my current mural. I’ve only just started and its not farming related but what the heck, I’m going to share.

Dipak says the “colors are calming, but beware of the snake.” I say that even in calm beauty rests the most powerful and frightful truths…and I love each and every one of them.

I know nothing. Its all trial and error. Lots of trial. Lots of error.

I believe we create our own suffering when we strive to attain the perishables, pleasure and happiness. When they occur its lovely. It’s a hot day outside followed by playing in a cool river. It’s a buoyant conversation with a person crossing your path. It’s the blink of a season that sour cherries are in the markets. Point is its momentary.

Yet even once the pleasurable moment has passed, vitality remains. Looking to the garden, once the plants are harvested the real potential and vitality is in the soil. The essential foundation for nourishment is dirt. I love the truth, optimism, and hope of that.

An empty bed may look dismal but in fact it is just preparation for a bountiful season.

Both success and failure are hard judgments to measure. They have a tendency to fold in on themselves, churning until they lose their discreet value. Over time what was a failure may be your greatest success and your once highly valued success, a limitation. Eventually, both success and failure just become a fertile mix from which life emerges. In the garden we often call this rich mix “shit.” And in the garden, shit happens, we get shit done, in fact we welcome shit by the truck loads in order to ensure sweet fruit.

After a month of major transitions, identity theft and general confusion, I am reveling in the wonder of lots of shit right now.

That said, lets check in on a few things.

The rabbits:

Of a litter of ten, two were lost within the first 24 hours. An additional little guy didn’t make it at week three. However, the remaining 7 bunnies are growing well. They’ve been weaned naturally and Lisa and Virgil are in good health.

Lord of Rabbit Death: 3; Esperanza: 9

The gorgeous 7′ tall fava bean plants: This year the favas were towering, almost ominously. I was dreaming of a significant fava bean harvest. Fava bean puree on crostini accompanied by white wine on a hot day. Then, the aphids hit. Not being in the garden on a daily basis left my plants to the merciless appetite of the bugs. They obliterated the plants leaving only shriveled black pods behind.

Aphids: 1; Esperanza: 0

However, I forgot, yeah forgot, that I had planted loads of green garlic and was joyed when I harvested them and realized I was now in possession of a delicious heap of fresh green garlic.

Lost crop: 0; Esperanza: 1

I also never mentioned that I attempted to smoke my own bacon. The initial stages worked out well.

Of all the things that could go wrong, I over salted (way over salted) during the curing. So while the meat did not go bad, it was not edible. Even my garbage tummy cat, Rosa, turned her nose to it. In fact, she ran.

Destroyer of Meat: 1; Esperanza: 0

However, quick culinary recovery was appreciated with a stunningly good Chocolate Stout Cake. The triple layer suggested adds a nice dramatic height to the cake.

Culinary Collapse: 0; Esperanza : 1

Lastly, farm cat Fred took a mighty dump on my bed but I got this stupid picture of his righteous feline self:

Fred: 1; Esperanza: 1

Woohoo! That’s 6 for disaster and 12 for me. I win!!

This year the family was a bit spread out for the holidays. However, I was determined to make a gingerbread something for Christmas. In the past we had gingerbread  house competitions but it ended in tears for some. Since it was my non-baking brothers coming over for the holiday, we tried our hands at a group project. This led to the creation of a Gingerbread Guillotine. Morbid as it is, it was quite a cheery project.

In light of having recently watched Chef Samin and Novella break down a bird, and a recent article on the Pizzaiolo Restaurant chicken coop, I bring you the following video on how another chef gets their chicken:

Its like 1000°F outside today (1000 Bay Area degrees = anything over 80°F). I fear using my shovel on my hard sunbaked dirt may spark and set my weedy dry garden ablaze. Today kept me indoors typing on my thesis and only running out in the morning to make sure there was enough moisture available for the fauna and flora back there. Well, that and admiring the new Pardon My Hindi images adorning the chicken coop. One must keep an eye out for PHM images of the Bollywood film queen, Asha Parekh, they tend to creep up in the most unlikely places.

I’ll be heading out in a few to spread more PMH love at the Eat Real Festival that kicks off today in Oakland. More on that later…

I eat the earth with my eyes.

Fat green babies swell from flowers. I think I heard them laughing. They will soon be warty pumpkins free of self-doubt. Knowing their own beauty, they will offer their sweetness and tenderness with pride.

Honeybees capture a dancer’s grace between hard work and moving as if they are slowly gliding on long waves of heat.

Onions impatiently push themselves out of the ground. Might they grow legs and march to my dinner table?

A hummingbird’s wing brushed a curl in my hair today perhaps mistaking it for a wild branch to rest on.

This, and more, I stuff myself with as if it were my last meal for a long time.

Created with Admarket’s flickrSLiDR.
Back from Spain and lamenting that I was unable to stuff Jamon Serrano and Pata Negra in my suitcase. I had no idea what to expect from the kitchens of Spain, especially outside big cosmopolitan centers like Barcelona. I hardly have to mention that the food was amazing in Barcelona. You don’t really need to know anything about Spanish food to find culinary delights there. We were directed to a few gems by our host, Sergi (places which were incidentally also suggested in Lonely Plant. I love Lonely Planet). These included Tapas 24 where we enjoyed rabo de toro, un buger con foi, gambas a la plancha and a bikini with black truffle. We also tried Tantarantara where we had a crazy hash of patatas, more foi and eggs- life was good with that alone but we went further and had duck. Our last night we splurged on a smaller restaurant called O’ Gracia which specialized in more traditional Catalan cuisine like arroz negro and rabbit.

My main staple through the trip remained my late morning café con leche and “Pantomaca,” bread with garlic and tomato rubbed on it and, if it was a hungry day, ham Serrano and cheese (Manchego, a cheese as common to them as Cheddar is to us).

I have returned deeply inspired by Spanish food. I love that it is rustic and simple in many ways but relies on well-crafted ingredients. I wish I had the time and contacts to learn the craft of some of these foods. For now, I will have to rely on books and experimentation in my kitchen.

Note: These great photos from Tapas 24 are by “joone!” on Flickr.