Tag: climate change

Where do we go from here?

~ Crystal Sands ~ 6 Comments

I think we have to keep doing what we have been doing–only extra.

It has taken me a bit to get to where I felt I had something to say. I have been worried about the 2024 presidential election for some time, and well, it didn’t go as I had hoped. It’s not like I think Democrats have all of the answers; in fact, they disappoint me most of the time, but I have gradually learned that my standards for what a government should and should not do are different than most Americans’ standards. I have been coming to terms with that lesson in the most profound way the last couple of weeks.

Most importantly, I think, I have been coming to terms what we can do in order to get by during tough times. If you are a person who thinks the economy is going to be great under the upcoming President’s policies, then this blog is not for you, and I will just say you have no idea how much I hope you are right. But if you are a reader who listens to the economists and who understands who works in the American agricultural system, you might be pretty worried about what the future holds economically, not to mention socially. Please read on.

I am gravely concerned.

I deeply understand that Americans were frustrated and worn from high prices for groceries and other goods, (Interestingly, we did not feel the inflation on groceries as much as others because we grow so much of our own food and live by a buy-it-once system that I will talk about later.) but two things that will absolutely make things worse is deporting our agricultural work force and tariffs. Every economist I know or have read says so. Obviously, there is no point arguing that I think this is a mistake. The deed is done. America has spoken. We have to accept that these things are likely to happen–and we have to prepare.

I think we are going to be looking at some very high prices for groceries, even more so than we are experiencing now. Things may get better for a time, but the economist I spoke to said it won’t last long, if at all.

And climate change isn’t going anywhere. Natural disasters are going to continue to destroy crops at alarming rates. If deportations happen, losing 40% of our agricultural work force is going to do a number on grocery prices. On top of this, I worry about bird flu. We have already seen outbreaks in the U.S. impact the prices of food. These outbreaks are not going to magically go away. In fact, according to scientists, bird flu outbreaks are likely to get more common because of climate change, and we are starting to see cases of it jumping to humans.

In the coming weeks and months, I plan to start sharing more–and more specifically–about what we already do to be self sufficient on our homestead–and what I am learning as well. I have much to learn, and I will share what I find out. In the immediate, it is also important to look to your community. What resources can you share? How can you work together? We are going to need each other.

I watched a video made by a woman who lives in an area of North Carolina devastated by Hurricane Helene. They had no running water, no electricity, no internet, no cell phone service, and no roads. She said, when the outside influences were gone, people came together. She said everyone organized, shared food and generators, and helped the elderly and children. She said MAGA people were working side by side with people on the far left. When the outside world was no longer influencing people, they came together. This is in us. I hope we can all find it.

I think it is also important to start assessing. What skills do you have? What skills do you want to develop? What resources can you share with others? What do you need to buy before tariffs are implemented?

And, of course, hopefully, I am wrong about all of this, and things are going to be okay. If that’s the case, in the coming weeks and months, the things I share with you will help us all save more money, make our households more inflation-proof, take greater advantage of the resources we have, and avoid processed foods, which are just terrible for us and our children.

I am going to make a promise to write every day for the next year. The journal is also coming back in the Spring with a focus on education more than ever. This is how I am going to keep my hope alive. Please share with me what you are doing to be prepared and remain hopeful.

photo credit: Elaine Casap, Unsplash

I miss Luna–and other updates

~ Crystal Sands ~ 3 Comments

Tomorrow will mark the two week anniversary of Luna returning to the flock. We had to keep the bully duck separated for a week, but Mean Girl has now returned to the flock as well. Our plan worked, and Mean Girl is no longer Mean Girl and is now just Carmelita again. Luna is getting along very well, though, I swear, in all of the snow and ice here yesterday, I think she looked at me with a certain kind of longing for her warm fire and Back cello suites.

Still, she is doing very well overall. The other ducks will not let me touch them unless they need some kind of help, but every night, when I deliver the bowl of peas at bedtime, I just touch Luna all over her little feathers and tell her I love her so much. She lets me. And that’s the extent of our relationship now. I can’t stop missing her, and I am definitely changed for the better by my experience with her. This summer, I’m going to make our son play some Bach on his cello outside on the deck where she can hear. I want to see if she remembers.

In other news, the ducks and chickens are laying in full force. I have been too worn out to try to sell eggs, even to most of our regular customers, so I think right now we have about 10 dozen eggs in the house–and that’s with our son eating many, many eggs every day. He loves fresh eggs. It’s a good thing he lives on a chicken farm.

Look at these beautiful duck eggs. That striped one is the little miracle Luna left for us the last night she was in the house. I did pretty well keeping her out of the light, and she only laid an egg about twice per week. I guess her “ink” was doing funny things. What a treasure!

We have had some terrible weather the last couple of days. Everything was all spring like, and I was ready for it. Then, we got snow and then more snow and wind and rain and ice and then some more snow. Ron and I spent all of yesterday shoveling trying to keep the ducks comfortable and trying to stay ahead of the ice. We did pretty well overall, but still, this morning, I had to use warm water to open the doors on the chicken coop and shed with the straw.

I told Ron this morning that I had never seen anything quite like this morning, but then I realized I remember saying that last year when we had the -50 degrees with the wind chill and that this is what climate change is all about–a whole bunch of “I have never seen anything like this before.”

Speaking of climate change, I actually went back to really writing this week. I have been in a drought for a long time. I have much to write in the blog, but I spent last week working on an article about climate change in Maine that will be published next month. The article was interesting to research, and I learned so much. It also felt good to be back to work in that way. When I was really struggling with COVID, I made a bunch of deals with myself and the universe that, if I could just get better, I was going to focus my energy on things I love much more. I am happy to be back to writing.

I sure miss Luna though.

2023: A Farmer-ish Reflection

~ Crystal Sands ~ 3 Comments

It feels like this year has been a year of transition in so many ways. I have always been a planner and always had a plan. Since I was about 8 or 9 years old, I have been planning my future and always taking steps to make the next thing possible, but this year, I changed–or at least am in the process of changing–and I am not sure at all what the next thing is. I think I’m just going to have to learn to live in a space of uncertainty. Maybe, in some ways, we all are.

In our years of homesteading, we thought we had learned pretty well how to adapt to climate change. We learned to expect unusual heat and drought, but this year gave us a summer of cold rain. Everything in the garden was stunted for months. Some things rotted in the ground. But we persisted. After carrot seeds were washed away by rain in our first planting and then carrot seedlings were eaten by slugs in other plantings, we planted them a total of four times and got the best crop of carrots we ever had. We learned a new rule: plant carrots late because a hard frost makes them better. Of course, this year, Nature also emphasized that we will never know when that first frost will come. This year, it came Halloween night. The “usual” is mid September.

And, while we were dealing with the cold and wet, the rest of the world was dealing with a heat like no other. In 2023, it seemed that most everyone came to understand that we are dealing with climate change, that it’s coming faster and harder than most of us thought, and that our world leaders are willing to do little more than put band-aids on the problem. At the Climate Change Convention in Dubai in December, a record number of lobbyists from fossil fuel industries were in attendance, and while world leaders reached some consensus about the problems associated with climate change and the need to reduce fossil fuels, few specific plans were made. The scientists I know were devastated by the amazing level of inaction given the year our planet had just had. I even read one article written by a climate scientist that said it’s time to just start trying to deal with this mentally in whatever way we can because we are in for trying times.

I realize this is not the best thing to read on the last day of the year, but maybe there is good in understanding this reality. Humans are smart and adaptive. It’s just time to be as smart and adaptive as we possibly can. The humans in charge aren’t going to help us. We are going to have to be more self sufficient and help each other, and the latter is maybe one of the most important lessons I came to understand this year. I don’t know what that looks like. I don’t know for sure how we are supposed to help each other, but I am hopeful we will figure it out.

In further uncertainty, this year, I had a bit of a health scare. In March, after watching some trauma in a darn television program, my body forced me to come to terms with some trauma from my past–that stuff you block out and hope it goes away can sometimes rear it’s ugly head, I guess. For 8 days, I had a migraine so severe I could barely open my eyes, and I couldn’t move my neck and right shoulder. During those days, especially toward the end when I wondered how long this pain might go on, I started making promises to myself to change my life, to deal with my trauma and to make changes in my life to cut down on stress. I made a promise to myself to treasure time with my loved ones more.

It was during that time that I decided I was going to have to let go of Farmer-ish journal, at least for now. I have this hope that, one day, the journal will come back, and in the mean time, I plan to keep blogging and to find a way to share farming and nature writing from others. I just don’t know what that looks like yet. Not having a plan is pretty scary to me, but I am working hard to learn to go with the flow more. Maybe that’s kind of an oxymoron though, isn’t it? How does one “work hard” to “go with the flow”? We’ll see if I can figure it out.

Right now, finding my flow seems especially challenging because I feel two flows–one toward a path of greater self sufficiency because I see challenging times ahead and another toward my son’s hopes and dreams as a musician. At times, these two paths conflict so much that I am not sure which direction to go. I have to believe that balance and progress is possible in both areas, however, because this feels like my path. I do have to admit though that there is a lot I just don’t know about how to move forward, so I am also trying to learn to just be still and listen to the universe more.

In all of it, 2023 was a fantastic year. We got the best carrots ever, as I mentioned before, but there were many other wonderful experiences and moments of profound learning. I learned how to make rhubarb jelly and to better understand how my brothers deal with their trauma. I learned to trust my son’s skills as both a cellist and a professional in the world when I watched him walk in for the first day of his first job playing in an orchestra pit for a musical. I became closer to Ron and came to more deeply understand him for the treasure he is. I learned that, when it comes to selling organic, humanely-raised eggs, there is nothing to do but take a loss and be thankful chicken poop makes great garden compost. I learned that, sometimes, you just get really lucky when it comes to hatching baby chicks. I still can’t believe all six of Petty’s babies were girls!

I kept my resolution to learn the cello. I am still learning and taking lessons and making progress. I met an amazing chicken lady who lives in Maine but is originally from Costa Rica, and I met a bee whisperer who lives in Maine but is originally from Poland. The last time we went and stocked up on honey, we had a fantastic conversation about observing chickens and bees and what we can learn from them. When Ron and I were leaving, the bee whisperer gave me a hug that I understood to be a hug that said “thank you for understanding me.” I did my best to hug back with a hug that said, “no, thank you. It’s hard to find my people.”

I made homemade vanilla. I made my daughter a beautiful quilt. I learned how to can pears. I learned how to make apple butter. I tried to grow into a better human. It’s been a good year on our little homestead, despite some challenges. It’s been a good year of life, despite some challenges.

That’s how life is though, isn’t it? The challenges and uncertainties are a part of being alive. Finding joy in the process is a part of learning to thrive.

I wish you a beautiful New Year’s Eve and a Happy New Year. Today, Ron and I celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary. He got me a gift for the first time in 14 years. I didn’t get him anything, so I am going to make some special bread.

photo credit: Annie Spratt, Unsplash

Slow and Steady (or Gardening without Sunshine)

~ Crystal Sands ~ 2 Comments

It has continued to be a gray, rainy summer here in Maine. We have had a few breaks and nothing like we saw where it rained all of June. Still, it’s been wet and gray most of the time.

Some foods in the garden have done well. The greens have been amazing. They have done so well that Ron just kept planting them over and over, so we could keep eating salads. The green beans also did well. The beets finally did something, and after so much carrot drama, we are now eating carrots. In fact, every single night, we eat from our garden, and I am thankful for the beautiful food full of good nutrition.

But I’m a little worried about the last things to finish every year–things like the corn and the tomatoes. Our tomatoes have struggled extra this year because of a horn worm outbreak. We found 21 of those very hungry caterpillars, and two plants were pretty much just gone. Those horn worms are so hard to see. It’s like they wear invisibility cloaks. Somehow, they match both the stems and the leaves from the tomatoes perfectly.

On top of the horn worm buffet, our tomatoes are lingering green because we just are not getting very much sun. This morning, I woke up and couldn’t believe how dark it was outside. Hopefully, the tomatoes will ripen. We depend on them heavily for sauce and soups.

The corn is another worry. Ron has a corn patch, and I planted my own corn in a three-sisters garden. I am seeing tassels, which is very exciting, but oh my goodness, we need some sunshine.

I’m crossing my fingers for a warm September. It’s possible. Two years ago, we didn’t get our first frost until after Halloween. Of course, last year, we had a frost in mid September.

In the meantime, we are eating well from the garden. It has been a “slow food” summer for sure and a year to learn extra patience about growing food in times of climate change. We spent years learning how to grow food in drought and hot summers. There has been a bit of a learning curve this year.

I would love to know how your gardens are doing. Where are you, and what has this summer been like for you?

I’m an old bear.

~ Crystal Sands ~ 4 Comments

Right now is like a farmer-Crystal dream come true. All the berries we grow–strawberries, raspberries, and blueberries–are ripe at the same time! This never happens. I don’t even understand how it happened, but it has been a very strange year, as they all are these days, I suppose. Anyway, I am well aware that is probably not a good sign that things are this out of rhythm in the grand scheme of things but am in my own kind of heaven having all of these berries at once.

Of course, the strawberries are winding down, but they are still producing a lot of small berries. Today, when I got home from taking our son to music camp, Ron told me we had to pick blueberries. I was like, “You mean raspberries?” But he meant blueberries. They are gorgeous too. So gorgeous!

All of these berries are so gorgeous that I actually hurt myself today. I got greedy.

I have been having a few health struggles again in the last week. I am trying to figure it out, but having an autoimmune disease is all very confusing to me still. I pushed my body a little too far and really hurt my back picking strawberries. The berries are tiny, and there are hundreds. It’s tedious picking but so worth it because those little berries have had some sun here at the end of the season and are packed with flavor. I saw a beautiful berry patch in the far part of the extra-large raised bed and pulled a muscle in my neck.

I was so mad at myself. I know I can’t reach the far parts of the beds and have to get Ron or our son to reach them, but I got carried away because of the beautiful berries. I’m greedy for sure.

Later, Ron went outside to pick blueberries while I sat on the couch and watched television. This is something I never do, and it felt weird. I was also curious about these blueberries are that were supposedly ripe so early, so I ended up back outside with the plan to just watch Ron pick blueberries.

But then I saw them! Oh, readers, they were like dream blueberries. All of this rain has done them justice. We have eight bushes, and I have certainly never seen such an amazing year of blueberries. We may try to put up the nets. I am not sure though. I like to share a little with the birds. I guess it will depend upon how much the birds are willing to share with us.

Seeing those beautiful blueberries glisten in the raindrops made me forget myself again. I grabbed a quart basket from Ron and just kind of lunged at the berries. I winced in pain. I forgot how much my neck hurt. I whimpered.

“I’m like an old bear, grumbling around but needing to get to my berries” I said to Ron. “There’s nothing better to me than these berries.” I reminded Ron of my reoccurring dreams about bears, like that was evidence I was, indeed, really a bear.

“You are a bear,” he said. “And you grew up without your berries, but here you are now, in Maine with all of these berries.”

He was smiling at me so big but with worry behind the smile. My health struggles scare him. I have to get better. I am certain the berries are going to help.

Purple Cauliflower

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

It’s been a wild year with the weather, which means the garden is off to a bit of a bumpy start. I have had to plant carrots three times now. I had to replant once when heavy rains came and washed away the seeds. We knew rain was coming, but it was way heavier than expected. I had to replant the second time because of flea beetles. Those things are vicious.

The greens are doing great. We eat them every single night now, but other things are stunted by weeks of cold, rainy weather. The radishes, for example, just haven’t had enough sunshine.

Thankfully, we have the greens and the rhubarb, and we have this beautiful purple cauliflower coming. Doesn’t that just look like the most beautiful plant? I am so thankful Ron is growing these. I love the beautiful purple color, and I have never eaten purple cauliflower. Isn’t that going to be a treat?

I would love to hear how your gardens are doing. We had one day last week where the high temp was 94 degrees. In two days, the high was 49 degrees, and we had to light a fire in the wood stove. I just talked to a friend in the south, and she is having to cover her garden thanks to cold temperatures like she has never seen in a southern summer.

It’s a challenge right now for sure. I am thankful for the skills we have though. We learn something every time we have to pivot, adjust, adapt, and figure out how to grow food in the midst of some pretty volatile climate action.

At least we have this beautiful purple cauliflower coming.

Rhubarb, Climate, and Fertility

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

Day 9 of 21

I can’t believe Ruby is already on day 9. I had better get to the feed store and get some chick starter feed for her babies. They will be here before we know it. Of course, we only have three eggs developing, so I hope we have babies soon. Ruby is definitely devoted, so we should have at least a couple of babies hatch.

Ruby is doing well, though getting thinner. I did figure out that I can get her to eat cut-up grapes, which helps with her hydration. She’s so cute sitting in her dog crate, so focused. I’m excited for her to have babies.

I also cut up rhubarb for the first time today and made muffins. It’s so great to have rhubarb again. It’s been slower this year than in years past. I think because it’s been cooler. Everything is growing more slowly than in the past five years or so for sure, but I am very thankful for the cooler weather.

Last year, at the end of that miserable summer with all that heat and no rain, I told Ron it would sure be nice if we could get a break from all of this climate change and have just a summer every now and then that was more normal. I am hoping the universe said, “wish granted.” I mean, I hope so.

And I’ve been thinking all day about the poor fertility with our hatching eggs. It’s a bit of a surprise to me because I see Rooster and Dvorak being pretty busy out there. But I looked closely today to try to see if I could discern a little more about what is going on.

This is what I learned: Rooster is polite and old. Dvorak is fairly polite, which is fantastic for a young rooster. He’s really a great rooster overall and won’t bother the ladies too much if they tell him know. Every now and then, he gets determined, but overall, he doesn’t harass the hens. I am so grateful for him.

I also learned a bit more about the Salmon Faverolles. They are very quirky chickens. They are sweet but also aloof, like very unusually so for a chicken. In fact, I have never seen an aloof chicken (at least not to this level, as chickens are usually fairly high strung), but all four of the Faverolles are this way. I need to write more about them, as I have some stories. But the main thing I learned from candling these eggs and studying the flock today is that the Faverolles are not allowing Rooster or Dvorak to mate with them. That’s very interesting. It’s not usual at all.

Green Day

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

Day 349 of 365

Today is Earth Day. I love Earth Day. Of course I wish Earth Day was every day, but we’re a long way from that, I’m afraid. Still, I am thankful that some of us are aware and trying to do things to help the dire situation we find ourselves in. I have had some people point out to me that events like Earth Day tend to focus more on the things individuals can do to help the planet, but the big changes needed will need to come from the government level. We need big things to happen. We need regulation and support and some money at the global level to help make shifts in our global economies happen more quickly and less painfully. I get this.

However, trying to do things myself, at the individual level, at least makes me feel useful, and that seems important too.

I grew up in a throw-away culture. It was a bigger-is-better culture. It was a consumerism-is-a-fun-activity kind of culture. I threw away food. I bought way too many things made of plastic. I was not nearly careful enough with water conservation. It has taken me decades to shed some of this thinking and these habits, and I still wish to do better.

Every Earth Day, I try make one little goal I can meet in the year to do better and make my footprint on this beautiful planet a little smaller. My goal for this year is to set up a clothes line in our yard and use it to dry our clothes in the spring, summer, and fall. I have always been hesitant on this issue because my autism makes me really sensitive to textures in my clothing. Line-dried clothing always felt “crunchy” to me, but I researched it and am hopeful there are solutions. I will have to write more and let you know if what I read about works.

In the meantime, I am just thankful for such a beautiful place to live. Maine is such a magnificent state. I love our trees. I recently researched an article I wrote for a local magazine about Maine’s forests, and I learned that Maine is the most forested state in the U.S. and these forests sequester nearly 70% of the carbon emissions from our state. How wonderful is that?

Wherever you are, I hope there is beautiful nature somewhere near you and you get to enjoy it often. And here’s a picture of some of Ron’s beautiful organic seedlings that he is “hardening off” before they go into the garden. Aren’t these beautiful babies?

Happy Earth Day!

Why Eggs Are So Expensive Right Now–and What You Can Do About It

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

Day 240 of 365

Everyone is talking about it. My friends and family send pictures of eggs with expensive price tags. Eggs have been so cheap in recent years that people are shocked by how expensive they are right now. Prices vary by area, but as of December 2022, egg prices had jumped over 49 percent. It looks like the prices may continue to rise in the coming months. On top of the rising prices, I have read reports of egg rationing in some areas of the U.S., much like what has happened in the UK in recent years.

What is going on? Though rising costs of feed and supplies for farming are factors, avian flu or bird flu is mainly to blame.

Avian Flu Hits the United States

Avian flu has historically been relatively rare in the United Sates. There have certainly been outbreaks, but last year was a big one. Last year, anyone with chickens was highly aware of a deadly outbreak of bird flu in the U.S. Even here in Maine, a state that had been fortunate in terms of avian flu outbreaks in the past, there were enough cases of avian flu that chicken farmers throughout the state were encouraged to enclose their flocks, something that is not an easy task for most small farmers. While most of the cases here in Maine were near bodies of water, it was a serious scare for everyone in our state.

But Maine’s cases were few compared to what was happening in other states in 2022. According to recent data from the United States Department of Agriculture, an estimated 57.8 million birds were affected by avian flu last year. I don’t know if everyone else was paying attention to the chicken news, but it was devastating to read about the cases impacting large farms where millions of birds had to be destroyed. Sadly, they were often destroyed in some of the most inhumane ways. It was like a tragedy that just kept building upon the previous tragedy. Now, months later, consumers are feeling the effects of a year of epic loss.

The United Kingdom As Warning

As a chicken farmer, I have been following the outbreak of avian flu in the United Kingdom fairly closely because the stories have been worrisome for years–year after year of outbreak, flocks destroyed, required indoor lockdown for all flocks. These are things we are not used to here in the U.S, but scientists have been warning for years that the U.S. could be in for a taste of what has happened in the U.K. Year after year of outbreaks has led to significant changes in the way poultry are kept in many parts of the U.K., and even that is not enough. 2022 was a record year for avian flu in the U.K. According to reports from late last year, egg rationing was necessary in some grocery stores.

Bird Flu and Climate Change

You may be wondering why we are seeing such record numbers of avian flu cases, and some scientists point to climate change. At the very least, researchers know for sure that climate change impacts avian flu cases amongst wild birds. And this year’s epic outbreak of avian flu was directly related to wild bird contact with commercial and backyard flocks. Experts were not seeing cases spread from flock to flock. It was being spread by wild birds, who are often immune to the symptoms.

Climate change impacts migratory patterns–what birds come into contact with what other birds and when. On top of this, warmer temperatures impact transmission. According to a report from Arizona State University, researchers at several universities in the U.S. warned in 2019 that “a shift in the global climate could lead to a shift in migratory patterns, leading to the reassortment of these viral strains and increasing the chances of a new, threatening strain emerging. Higher temperatures are also typically more conducive to viral transmission and pathogenicity.”

What You Can Do

I have always been a supporter of buying local eggs from your local chicken keepers, and now is a good time to connect to someone locally who sells eggs. Even chicken farmers and homesteaders with small flocks will often have extra eggs to sell during the spring and summer months. Of course, these small chicken farmers are also being impacted by the cost of feed and supples, but if you are looking for delicious eggs at a fair price, now is the time to connect with your local chicken lady.

In addition to saving money, you will be buying fresher eggs that taste better and may even be more nutritious than the eggs you get a the grocery store. You will also be able to experience the beauty and diversity of eggs from a small farm or homestead. You will find eggs in all shapes and sizes and in a variety of beautiful colors from blue to green to chocolate and cream.

And, if you are ambitious and have been thinking about getting chickens anyway, it’s something to consider. Of course, right now, building a coop and buying expensive food may not be the best option if you are looking to save money; however, in the long run, you will be more self sufficient and prepared. And, more and more, cities across the country are allowing backyard flocks.

What the Future Holds

Because there is a connection between climate change and avian flu, as a chicken farmer, I have concerns about the future. The U.S. has been fortunate, but scientists have been warning that we may not always be so fortunate. This last year has been cause for serious concern. In an article from NPR early last year, Jonathan Runstadler, an influenza researcher at Tufts University said, “It’s somewhat surprising how widespread it is already in North America.” He continued. “It’s clearly able to persist and transmit from year to year in parts of Asia, Europe, Africa, and I don’t think we should be surprised if that’s going to be the case here.”

If we do see repeated years of avian flu, it could mean that eggs will be more difficult to get, even from a local chicken farmer, as smaller farmers most likely do not have the facilities to keep chickens in lockdown–or at least not very many chickens. If we had to lock down our chickens, for example, we would have to keep fewer chickens, which means we would have eggs for our family and a couple other families, but we would not be able to sell eggs on the scale that we do now. We would also have some very sad chickens who would lose their freedom to come and go as they please.

For now, however, I try to be hopeful, hopeful that we will not see a repeat of 2022 in 2023. And, for now, it’s going to be a really good year to buy eggs from your local chicken farmer.

Apples: Part III

~ Crystal Sands ~ 4 Comments

Day 147 of 365

“Foraged Apples, Sweet and Sour” by KierinSight, Unsplash

Just as I was starting to understand that I wanted to change my life, to live more connectedly to nature, to get close to my food, I met a colleague who worked in the grants office at the university where I was teaching, and she understood me as others had not yet been able to. I treasured her. One day, I arrived for a meeting, and she had a gift for me—a bag of organic apples from a farm near where she lived in New York state. I held those apples with such love and admiration, and my gratefulness to this person ran so deep. I am a person who is deeply grateful for gifts. It seems so wonderful that someone thinks of me to give me anything. But organic apples! What gift in the world could I have loved more? 

Apples and I keep having these “run-ins” of sorts, so I have to write just a little bit more. Plus, there’s something about a trilogy, I think. I have been thinking about why I love apples so much all week. I realize, after a week of pondering apples, they represent hope to me. 

Apples are special, not in their sweetness and beauty, but in their sweetness, beauty, and durability. After all, strawberries are so sweet and beautiful, as are raspberries, and so many other beautiful fruits from the harvests here in Maine. But apples. Apples can last. You don’t even have to freeze a good storage apple like a Granny Smith or a Liberty. Even the ever-so-sweet Honeycrisp stores well. You just wrap them in newspapers and put them in a basket in the basement, and those apples will feed you for months. How generous of them to be so sweet and so sturdy.

The events of my life so far have shown me that sturdiness is important. I have this feeling it’s going to be even more important as life goes on. 

Climate change is already making our lives harder, and it feels like things are really just getting started. Still, there is some acceptance I notice in myself that I didn’t have before. Because I work with people in the sciences on their dissertations, I have noticed a shift in the rhetoric about climate change in the last year or so. 

For a while, there were the warnings: “Listen up, climate change is going to happen if we don’t do something right now.” Then, the rhetoric got really unusual. Scientists were angry, yelling, desperate to get our attention, something not common at all in academic writing: “Listen here! This is serious! We’re not even kidding!” Of course, it seems the course was set. Now, there is a shift toward a kind of acceptance: “Okay, so this is happening. Let’s help humanity figure out how to adjust, migrate, adapt, survive.” 

Somehow, though I would have thought this place of acceptance would feel more hopeless to me, it feels more hopeful. Maybe it’s that the reality of it cannot be avoided, but it seems like more and more, the people I know—and not just the scientists—are looking for ways to adapt, which often involves learning how to live more in harmony with Nature. The farmers I talk to are nothing short of heroic to me, but they are determined. And, in seeing this, I find solace—and hope. 

The state of affairs with the apple exemplifies what smart people can do when they have to. When Michael Pollan published The Botany of Desire in 2001, he expressed deep concern for the state of the apple. We had farmed the diversity right out of the apple, and lack of diversity within any species is dangerous for that species. If everyone is the same, it doesn’t take much to wipe everyone out. Strength is diversity. Isn’t it interesting that this seems to be a truth humans struggle so greatly to learn? 

But true it is, and, thankfully, people like Michael Pollan raised awareness about the apple. Then, more people started doing something about it. Farmers started to work hard to preserve heirloom varieties of apples. Small farmers and individuals got involved and started working to ensure more apples varieties were cultivated. And consumers helped too. They showed they were open to different and interesting varieties of apples. 

I used to only buy my apples at chain grocery stores. I remember a time, not that long ago, when I bought apples at the grocery store, I really had just three or four varieties to choose from—Red Delicious, Granny Smith, and a something yellow, maybe a Gala, maybe a Golden Delicious. Today, even at the chains, I see at least seven or eight varieties, sometimes more in apple season. And so many people now shop from small farms and at farmers markets. In John Forti’s speech at the Common Ground Fair last month, he said that, in the last decade or so, the number of farmers markets in the United States has grown from the hundreds to the thousands–and the growth continues. 

Historians and farmers continue to work together to preserve heirloom apples. The work on this here in my adopted home state of Maine is remarkable. Maine treasures its heirloom apples. I recently discovered a map of heirloom orchards here in Maine and hope to visit one this year. How fantastic would it be to try a Sundance, a Zestar, or a Cox Orange Pippin apple? And there is a whole movement toward cider apples and a market for hard cider. We don’t want to lose this diversity, so we work to keep them going for future generations. 

And if we can work together to ensure future generations have heirloom apples, we can work together to figure out ways to adapt to climate change. Hopefully, right? 

Apples are such a gift, such a reminder that nature is magnificent, sturdy, that humans can be magnificent, and that life can be so sweet, even if we have to be a little sturdy to ensure we can enjoy it. 

I wanted to conclude my apple trilogy with a quote shared with me by a dear friend, one who sees through my wall of protection so well that I decided to just go ahead and take it down. It’s a quote by Louise Erdrich, from her novel, The Painted Drum, which I have yet to read but is on my list for this coming Winter. When you read this quote, I am certain it will be on your list too because it’s full of truths about life, love, loss–and apples. 

Think of this quote. Go to the apple orchard. Pick the apples. Eat them. Remember to love them. Remember to love. 

“Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and being alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You have to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes too near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself that you tasted as many as you could.”