I went to the Organic Grower's School yesterday, at UNC Asheville. It was a big conference for bearded 20-something hippies, organic farmers in overalls, middle aged women in clogs and fleece vests and craft fair jewelry, and me. To give you an idea of the classes offered,
you can check out the schedule here. I went to "Why Primitive Skills?" and "Canning Jams" and "Gluten-Free Cooking: A Restorative Approach" and "Growing an Herb Tea Garden." I learned a ton in all of them, but for now I'm just going to tell you about the primitive skills class, because it was the most inspiring, and most philosophical, and also the coolest because we met in a lean-to outdoors while it rained.
Our instructor's last name was Bogwalker. I have no idea if that is her given name, but I am guessing it is not. Doesn't really matter though, because it's a cool name and it made me think of the Marsh-wiggles in the Narnia books. We huddled in the wooden lean-to, and listened as Natalie talked to us about why it's important to learn things like how to make tools by hand, and how to make vessels and clothing and shelter. Unlike some people in the primitivist/anti-civ camp, she wasn't dogmatic or judgmental, and freely admitted that she picked and chose what things worked for her lifestyle and wouldn't judge anyone for doing the same. She brought some accoutrement to show and tell... some baskets she had made, animal skin clothing, pots and spoons made from clay and bone. It was quite the collection.
Among the things we talked about that especially resonated with me was (bear with the crunchy jargon) the idea that we, as modern people, have forgotten how to "be in our bodies." I know, gag, right? And I think if I'd heard her say that a month or two ago I'd probably have rolled my eyes and said, yeah, whatever. But since I've started running barefoot, I've been continually amazed at how easy it feels, and at how little I have any desire to ever run in big clunky shoes again. Not just because I like being able to feel the actual ground on my skin, but because the whole mechanics of running is easier - I don't think about my stride, I haven't felt shin splints starting (knock on wood) like I always did eventually when running in shoes, and I can go longer without feeling so winded because I'm not working as hard to move forward. It made me think how readily we assume that the newest technology foisted upon us by our culture is automatically an improvement, and that we couldn't do "X" without it, whether "it" is high-tech running shoes, or high-tech nutrition in our food, or iphones, or truly ridiculous things like individually wrapped prunes. And we become so dependent on whatever it is, that we can't possibly imagine functioning without it; running without shoes? That can't be good for you! Nevermind that humans have been around for 2 million years and high-tech sneakers have been around for maybe 40 years. (She also pointed out that agriculture has been around maybe 10,000 years...a very short period of time evolutionarily. I might write about this later, given the effect that wheat has on my joints.)
Another thing she talked about that I thought was dead on was the fact that, in today's culture, it is entirely possible to live by yourself without interacting face-to-face with other people. We can work from home, buy our goods from home, drive alone in our cars, communicate online, exercise in front of a DVD and fill all of our basic needs without every needing anyone else. She contrasted this with 'primitive' or 'traditional' cultures where the sense of community is much stronger because people actually depend on one another for survival. I guess it just made me think a little about what we've sacrificed in the name of convenience and independence. And about whether the American ideal of individualism is really all that ideal.
She also talked about collecting and eating roadkill. I think I draw the line there. "These modern primitivists," she said, talking about her friends, "tend to pick up roadkill, and I haven't done too much of that lately, cause I've had more hunted animals in my life lately." Neato. She tans her own deer hides and makes buckskin clothing, but apparently she gets her hides from butchers who process deer for hunters. I guess a lot of hunters want the jerky but not the hide. Then she went on to talk about what would happen if "suddenly the petroleum infrastructure broke down..." and about how she'd be out trying to find tools and supplies that already existed, rather than scrounging in the woods for a piece of flint to make a blade from. I liked her.
The other workshops were very cool too. The gluten-free class was less a cooking class and more a class about food and nutrition, which I've become very interested in lately out of necessity. I am all inspired to try fermenting things at home now, like kefir and sauerkraut. I love the idea of living foods. The two women who taught the class also talked about raw milk ("bought from an undisclosed source"). After class, I overheard one of them giving some contact information to a man: "You can tell them I sent you, but just make sure you say you want the milk for pet food. You want it for your dog, or something." Evidently raw dairy is legal in NC but only for animal consumption. Kind of like how glass pipes and bongs are legal as long as they're sold for use with tobacco only. It's a funny country we live in, sometimes.
Five bucks! The farmer who sold it to me promised it would produce continually until about June, or whenever it starts getting really hot. Then, he said, it sends out daughter plants! So I buy one plant for five bucks, get all its strawberries, plus the little baby plants it'll make. All I do is win.
Second success: pork! Specifically, Carolina-style pulled pork. I used this recipe, and a three-pound Boston butt roast I had in the freezer from Windy Hill Farms.
I covered the pork with its dry rub on Thursday night, Saran-ed it and left it in the fridge until this morning. I took it out, let it rest an hour, seared it, and threw it in a low oven for the long haul. So, while I graded students' work, ate a leisurely lunch (reading Omnivore's Dilemma), and took a nap in the grass outside my apartment, my pork cooked slowly into a mass of soft, flavorful shreds of meat. It was beyond falling-off-the-bone. The whole thing was so tender the bone actually fell out of the meat, and not the other way around.
Gorgeous. Generously doused in vinegar-based bbq sauce....mmm.
