After an impulse purchase of Clarice Lispector’s Too Much Life at Laguardia Airport awaiting a flight to Denver, I find myself going through the strange motions of free time. A few moments this summer I have been gifted this, worry-free blissful empty space to do anything. It is the act of not thinking about what I should do with this time that makes it what it is. It comes as fast as it goes. A blessing.

I have been blessed with a car that I have named Magda, inspired by a woman I met this summer who has nothing to do with my car, but it felt fitting. In search of a name, I was given one.

This bright blue Honda Fit has whipped me back and forth from the city, to Rhinebeck, Stone Ridge, Massachusetts, Wegmans, Syracuse, the water, to work when my collection of bikes have all broken down on me. I have mastered the art of replacing the inner tube thanks to Tompkins Bike Walk, a volunteer run bike shop that teaches you how to fix your bikes for free.

On July 1st, Magda carried me through the mountains of Western Mass where I got chased and thrown by a baby thunderstorm that would not let me go. I watched the sky go black and felt the wind pushing me off the road as the heaviest rain I have ever experienced beat down on me. I have had a thing with thunderstorms for a while now, even in the safety of a building I feel a pounding in my chest.

This experience taught me a little something about how I deal with stress and fear when I’m alone. I start talking to myself very loudly and monotonously. “Stay in your lane, wake up, slow down.” I called my dad as the only time I could see the lines on the road were when lighting struck, thankfully every three seconds, but that in itself made me fear my safety. I think my instinct to call came from not wanting to do this alone, strange for someone who has done a lot alone in the past couple years. He tracked the storm on my route and watched as it passed me and then turned around and followed me the entirety of what came to be a five hour drive after dark. Note to self: don’t start a long drive after work after 7pm, and buy glasses. The night astigmatism has gotten ahold of me.

As scared as I was, my mind was blank. If anything, I felt more like a witness than an active participant in this journey. I came out of the experience seeing storms in a new light. Beautiful, alive, epic. This has been helpful considering the abundance of storms that have happened this summer. I have watched my plants drown and boom back in the span of a day.

I think this thunderstorm was an omen and a lesson tangled into one. Something was off about the day, but it felt important. They don’t scare me as much anymore, but I don’t know if that is necessarily a good thing.

Last night as I ignored my previous advice of not driving at night, Magda and I wove through the Catskills headed towards my mom and Mark’s place. I have done this drive many times before, as a passenger and behind the wheel, but this was a completely new route. Maybe it was because of the light, purple with the last of the sun, I was somewhere completely different. The landscape that I have grown so familiar with throughout my childhood was eerily new. It looked like New Zealand at times, the road winding with the river, crossing bridges religiously. I sat at the edge of my seat with my heart in my throat. I was seeing for the first time.

I keep having dreams featuring the people I know I will see the next day, in anticipation. I dreamt of Aidan the day before he came to visit, of Osk and Claire, my mom and Mark. I’ve said this before, but I will again. I take my dreams very seriously, as a truth. Sometimes I don’t know what I should be paying attention to, but I’m paying attention.

Yesterday, Shabana and I spent our day on the farm trimming hundreds and hundreds of garlic heads. After a week of heavy rain, there is not much field work one can do. Our weeds tease us from the depths of muddy soil. For a while we exchanged words, thinking about home, the nearing school year, the people in our lives. Eventually we reached a comfortable silence that I don’t think I have experience with anyone in a very long time. All you could hear for hours was the shedding of garlic skin.

It’s funny, the day before, I was doing this same action with a work-share volunteer. After harvesting pole beans in the rain, we went down to the lean-to to trim and clean the garlic. Close to two thousand heads awaited us. There were moments of silence and just rain. On the other hand, there were openings, those initial moments on the cusp of a new friendship where you start sharing the things you don’t usually share. This is my favorite thing. I can’t help but wonder if it is the result of me asking so many questions. People have a tendency to open up around me. We stood there, garlic in hand, peeling away at each other.

8/2

I am now leaving Denver, a very short trip in order to return back to my beautiful farm. I am more than a few pages into the Lispector book. There is something very moving, compelling, and real about the way she writes. She describes the human experience in the best way one can, relatably.

Before I disappear again into the school realm, I wanted to share some things/moments/people that am grateful for this summer.

Cedar. Oh boy I am so happy to have had the privilege to spend so much time with this good egg. We’ve started a tradition of sorts over this summer. Every Monday evening we run, we make dinner together (usually accompanied by a baked good), and we write. In the safety of a mason jar in the living room of 504, Cedar and I each wrote a series of prompts that every Monday we unveil and respond. Perhaps this is a summer tradition, maybe it will survive beyond that. We haven’t shared the responses with one another, but when we answer all of them, then comes the big reveal. Cedar has been open to the most fun and strange experiences and has been such a joy to be around. It has been an extra special summer. Next week we bike Canandaigua!

Margot. We started this summer together living a block away from one another, with the hopes that maybe next year she too will move into Whitby. Our jobs have woven together in funny ways, long days in the sun, a shared understanding of exhaustion. We met playing frisbee together in high school, and now here we are. Margot has great insights, an incredible laugh, and a beautiful soul. I really admire the way she approaches her friendships, with uninterrupted attention and care. I wish to be as good of a friend as Margot.

Alis. Now where do I begin. There are not many words I can use to describe this person in my life other than very very special. It has been a while since I have met someone who understands me as deeply as Alis. I don’t think there is a single thing I can’t say to her. I feel seen and heard. I think I see her very clearly too. Thank you Alis.

Frisbee. If I were to categorize this summer beyond the extent of my farming, it would be frisbee. Two times a week I play with UFO, a summer team in Ithaca, and then I also play on a summer league team every Thursday. This has been a wonderful way to dive deeper into a sport that I have played for quite some time now, but also to meet people in the greater Ithaca area that I might otherwise not have gotten to know. For some strange reason there are two econ professors on my summer league team. Stuff like that.

Whitby. My home. I don’t know how long I will be here, but I know that it will be for some time. I’ve always wanted a place with a good porch and a good kitchen. This co-op swings out of the ballpark in both categories. Most importantly, however, is the people that I live with. It is not yet the full crew of the school year, but the summer has had its own lovely cast of characters. I feel that I have a home, not just a place to live. This is important to me considering that I have had to say goodbye to a few homes this year.

Dilmun CSA Workshare. What a crew. Every Wednesday, ten awesome people come and help at Dilmun. I am proud to be their almighty boss, but I am also grateful to call them my friends. We’ve started having dinner together after work, I will miss them dearly when the CSA is over in a couple of weeks.

And of course, Dilmun. This is the best job I have ever had, and it may be the best job I will ever have. It is a privilege to run this farm with my co-managers and Ryan. If you ever come to Ithaca, visit this gem of a place.

Summer in a summary of photographs:

8/8

I’ve revisited an old poem I wrote last summer and turned it into a song, an old habit when I lack inspiration. It almost feels like stealing from myself. Nonetheless, the writing continues and becomes new again, different even.

The poem/song asks an important question about what it means to live the life you want to live. It asks what it means to be in control of the choices you make, committing to yourself, being true to others.

My decisions have led me here, my truths have followed.

Who is setting the pace, to your own life, now?

Thank you,

Mash

1. Some day in December, 2025

It’s been almost 7 months. Feels like I’ve gone back in time in some ways, thrown back into the ever moving current of work, school, routine, “the set path.” Where did the time go? The year removed? Well that’s just it isn’t it? Time is a funny thing. It’s as though I never left, you could say, outside looking in. But as time goes by, I begin to realize that I am changed. Good things, as I’ve been told, take time.

I don’t feel like retelling today. It wouldn’t be accurate to my message now. I will say, however, that I came here with a lot of love. Many summer storms worth. In the first few weeks it rained so hard there were rivers on the sidewalk, rolling down the perpetual slope, into the jaws of the gorges. I felt love washing my feet.

2. 5/27/2026 Commute

I bought a bus ticket home yesterday morning, got in last night, and go back up to Ithaca at 5pm. This is the fastest I’ve ever gone through this motion, and probably the first time I’ve made the trip in the middle of the week.

My frustration with the medical industry persists. In Ithaca, finding a lump bigger than a golf ball in your chest in May doesn’t get you an appointment until August, unless you first get seen in NYC for a total of two minutes, get told by a nurse that there’s an imaging center around the corner, but you can’t get seen until Wednesday two weeks from today, all while you’re working 40 hour work weeks managing a farm in Ithaca and can’t afford to make mid-week trips, so you then get a referral from the NYC nurse for an imaging center in Ithaca which also can’t see you for several weeks but at least you don’t gotta leave the farm to get there, of course it will require you to take time off though cause the appointment is right in the middle of the work day, but hey all you can do is pray that it ain’t cancer (the likelihood is incredibly low).

I walk it off because it’s been a while since I’ve had a medical scare and even longer since I’ve cried in a hospital. All you can do is walk the bridges, somehow do parkour around an endless maze of tourists, and wait to get a phone call from the hospital about receiving a faxed copy of your referral because they said they would call once they got it, but of course they never call you.

Ithaca has made me walk slower, but it’s also made me happier.

I walked by a big white building near the financial district in Manhattan that was boarded up with a line of festive people waiting outside. I didn’t really know if they were celebrating or waiting for their work place to somehow lose the boards and open up until I saw the piles of confetti laid out on the sidewalk and flowers being sold at the end of the street. Weather’s getting warmer, people are getting married.

3. 5/26 Strawberry Picker Poem

You tread so lightly when it’s not safe to believe
And you’re listening when no one else is
listening

Not really looking for a way out
Looking for a way in
Hands in the dirt
It’s a form of giving

Lending an ear
Can’t be living in fear of doing it all
Of doing anything at all
You say you’re happy I’m here

Lay a kiss on my forehead
Like an angel watching over me
Tell me my shouting sounds like singing
I don’t want to die
You tell me I won’t die
I’m still here

Good thing you ain’t going too far away
Maybe I’ll come visit
You care so much about these people in your life
Holding joy and pain
I don’t believe in no god
and I don’t do no praying
But if I did
You’d be on my mind
and in my heart

Keep doing your strawberry picking
Good thing you ain’t going too far 
away

4. Boiling Water

It's the midnight call
It's the letter left on the table
It's the kitchen floor
It's the water waiting to boil
It's the foot in the doorway
It's the hand of a stranger
It's a back turned to face you
It's the sun in your eyes
It's the quiet of a night
Feel it changing
All around you

5. Ever expanding Ithaca Summer Bucket List

• Go to Ultimate Pickup

• Join Summer League (complete)

• Play with UFO

• Dilmun dinner!

• Go camping

• Swim spots with Julia

• Find best ice cream

• Make/record music with Silas

• Train for the August 30th Half Marathon (10 miles a couple days ago!)

• Dye Hair (complete)

• Write poetry (in progress)

• Keep farm journal consistent (in progress)

• Learn slacklining

• Finish first clemency packet (in progress)

• Roof picnic/board game

• Become farmer ripped (in progress…)

• Bike to frosty cow

• to be continued…

6. Excavator (Vaguely Familiar Ithaca Song)

In the sky 
Birds like little motor engines 
Flying in every direction 
Floating floating 

I’m floating
On the edge of in between 
I’m undoing everything
Going going

Im going
Backwards through a storm
Through every single revolving door
Spinning spinning

I’m spinning
I’m hanging upside down
I can see so much better now
I know that you know that

I’m solo
A fallen tree acting as a bridge 
Time will tell me
It is what it is 
Moving moving

I’m moving 
Like those birds in the sky
Untethered to this life
I see wings and powerlines
Trains go by 

What a thing to be alive 

An excavator digging a hole
How deep do you wanna go
There is only so much one can know 

7. Excerpt from the Dilmun farm journal (5/18 first full day managing Dilmun)

“Alliums, strawberries, brassicas are transplant priorities for the week. Alliums and strawberries won’t be harvested till much later in the season. Not early CSA crops so need to balance planting these with the CSA crops like greens/direct seeded. Contact Daniel about Ecuadorian seed for the raised beds. Check the germination of the basil in the greenhouse. Prospera is doing well, but the rest of the basil is uneven. Check germination of the flowers, may need more basil and flowers. Order of importance: UTV training, BCS training, defensive driving training, prep beds for alliums, strawberries, and brassicas (till, fert, harrow, plant, work backwards). Finalize crop map. Direct seeded crops: radishes, lettuce mix, arugula, could be harvested a month from now. Prioritize these along with brassicas and alliums. CSA starts end of June. Newsletter? How do we maintain, value in consistency, challenge is summer/spring/fall distinctions. Campus groups? For strawberries: power harrow, lay drip tape, landscape fabric, make holes, plant…harvest. Perhaps make a spreadsheet for tracking (can it be maintained?). Make general systems for planting process - how does it differ per crop (chart?), make a framework similar to harvest records. We must REFINE our systems, currently have 3-4 systems. Comes down to transplanted versus seeded. Make a general reference? Don’t know how to do the process until you actually do it, but don’t want to have to ask what to do next for every crop. Alliums: no mulch, transplanted. Strawberries: mulched and transplanted. What are the new records we can create? Manager sides of things: need a production “how to” in the google drive. List of direct seeded. List of transplanted. Permaculture thought process. Make a mock-up on the whiteboard.

Sheep: Polypay-Dorset cross, they’re all purpose on the farm. Silvopasture with our pawpaw grove! 6 mature sheep on the farm, using electronet. They breed seasonally, wool gets pelletized for trees. Mature sheep eat differently, more dry matter. Hopefully same sheep will be grazing at Dilmun every time. They will stay together since they have a hierarchy established. Pregnant ewes are more subject to complication. Will be back no sooner than 9 weeks due to parasites, cycles of internal parasites. Electric fence connected to boat battery, take note of important signage on fence. Sheep used for vegetation management, silvopasture. No goats because goats like to climb and pick at bark. These sheep are usually grazing the solar sights.

Reinvent what is already working. Till sod, maybe use for fall brassicas and extend pioneer garden area for brassicas.

Notes for tomorrow: combine radish with arugula, mix in one bed, go tighter for greens and radishes. 2 rows for 2 beds for beets. 2 rows for 2 beds of carrots. Label radishes when you run out of one variety. One bed: 1 row radish, 1 row arugula, 1 row turnip. For beets: 15 seeds per foot, 25ft of golden, 25ft of Chioggoia, 25ft of reds. 3 rows of spicy lettuces. 2 rows lettuce, 1 row spinach.”

8. Vaguely Familiar

I’m in a band again. I don’t really know how to describe the start of it even though I’ve had to do so many times. It feels like happenstance. You meet people, find out they’re musical, become friends, create together, etc.

I met Bridget online before coming to Cornell, something music related, similar tastes. We happened to befriend a set of twins without realizing that we’d end up becoming better friends with each other. She plays bass, and the guitar, and mandolin, and sings. She may be the funniest person I have ever met, in a way that is so thoughtful even though it comes naturally to her. Bridget makes me laugh so easily, and she makes me feel seen. It’s been a while since I’ve had a friend like her live so close to me. I wanna know her brain. She doesn’t like peanut butter or bananas or the smell of the mist from Beebe Lake, but at least the mist makes rainbows. “Bananas don’t make rainbows.” She’s from St. Louis, Missouri, has a twin brother, roller skates, is a fantastic craftsman, has survived a serious tornado, and is a route setter for rock climbing just to name a few things.

I met Miles at a frisbee practice during our orientation week, but I would say our friendship began at the bottom of the slope at a frisbee party. We decided to pull a prank to convince everyone that him and his roommate were identical twins (they look nothing alike). It worked on a good handful of people, including a twin. We walked up the slope back to our dorms when I found out he plays upright bass. We ended up going to a jazz event later in the month and he played in front of everyone and blew me away. He’s always smiling to the point where his frisbee nickname is Smiles. He ran 60 miles at the Beebe Backyard ultrathon in November, and the next morning I ran into him in the dining hall saying his legs didn’t hurt. Every now and then I catch him running distances I can’t even begin to imagine. Miles likes corners, is classically trained on piano, REALLY likes Maine, and pulls off a full black suit well.

Mira I also met online, but had heard about through the grapevine of mutual friends. She was studying abroad when we first corresponded about her fiddle playing. Little did I know that Mira was Miles’ sister and I had been talking to them separately about joining a band at the same time. Mira did not know she was in a band with her brother until she came back from abroad the following semester. Mira has a laugh you can recognize from a mile away. She has a car named Muddy after getting it stuck in the mud by the hazelnut trees at Dilmun. Mira loves soil, is an exceptional rock climber, is good at making good friends, and feeds us apples quite often. She is a good listener and cares so deeply. Mira and Miles are from Seattle.

I desperately turned around in one of my classes asking if anyone knew a banjo player, and very luckily someone responded saying that a banjo player worked for her a previous summer. That is how I met Silas. He is the sauce of our attempt at a bluegrass/folk band. Silas is always on time, is always hungry, is a serious member of a serious acapella group, and likes to collect things for his wall. He is a crazy beatboxer, a lover of experimental electronic music, and has been playing banjo since he was 4 or in 4th grade (I can’t remember or I’m completely off). He is from New Haven Connecticut.

We are vaguely familiar. Bridget came up with the name, same way she comes up with a lot of things, by thinking out loud. We practice every week in Lincoln 107. We plan to sleep there one night. We are bandmates, but more importantly they are my good friends that I am grateful to have happened upon. A good return to the band world and an even better return to friendship (being solo for a while can do numbers on a person).

These were some name contenders:

• oriole

• oracle

• Sand dollar quintet

• Banjo project

• Absentee

• sparrow

• hyacinth

• on the porch (outside)

• Screen door

• Skunk cabbage

• Porch swing

• Straw man

• earl grey

• Drunken Angel

• Drop dead gorges

9. Learning, Laughing, Loving, LLMs…BAHHH

Who knew that my return to organized education would be met with an A.I. revolution (or at least the process of one). If I’ve learned anything at all, it is that your education is what you make of it. A lot of people have chosen to replace not only their education, but their socialization, with A.I. I’ve said it many times and I’ll say it again. People have forgotten how to ask questions, how to be curious, how to listen. My time at Cornell so far has been incredibly fruitful, and simultaneously pretty disappointing. I wanna meet people who care, I want to argue, I want to be challenged. I am missing depth, and this is something I have struggled with many times with people, and have been criticized of. I tend to go too deep, but it’s who I am and I don’t think this part of me requires changing. I’ve had a handful of great teachers so far, and far too many mediocre ones. This seems to be the case in most places.

10. General updates of what life has looked like

First semester classes: Russian for Heritage Speakers, Game Theory, Religious and Ecological Sustainability, Writing about Local Nature, and Intro to Global Development.

Second semester classes: Food systems and sustainable development, Social Entrepreneurship through Anabel’s Grocery, Latinx Memoir, Environment through Development, History of US Education.

Favorites: Game Theory, Russian, Religious and Ecological Sustainability, and Social Entrepreneurship through Anabel’s Grocery.

Next Semester classes: Soil Science, Just Food, The Art and Technology of the Organ, Ways of Knowing: Indigenous and Place-Based Ecological Knowledge, Boxing, FoodCycle: Systems Thinking Toward Circular Economy for Organic Resources, and Poetry Writing (I have to drop 2 classes).

Work + Clubs: I am managing Dilmun Hill Student Farm, work started in March and goes until December, I am an operations coordinator for Anabel’s Grocery, am writing Clemency Packets for incarcerated individuals through the NYC law firm Appellate Advocates, and am an audio engineer for the Cornell Media Guild (Electric Buffalo Records). I play ultimate frisbee with the Thorny Roses, am part of the Fanclub Collective (DIY music organizer), make free dinner for folks through Food Not Bombs and lead meditations at Fallen Tree Meditation center every Saturday morning.

I just moved into the Prospect of Whitby, one of the eight cooperative houses on campus. I am the food stew for new semester meaning I organize the meal plan, clean the fridges, and do the grocery shopping. I am an officer of the house for the summer meaning that I make sure things run smoothly as folks move in and out. It is so beautiful here.

In other words, I am incredibly busy. Yes oftentimes I spend more time on my extracurriculars than on my classes and I have zero regrets. I love the stuff I am part of, the work I am doing is real and has real impact, more than some of the classes I am taking. A few times I have felt overwhelmed and have definitely taken on too much, but I am squeezing the juices of this special experience and soaking it up like a sponge (the sponge part was an incredible piece of advice from someone I love).

As a result of the busy, I have been distant from home. I don’t call my family as much as I should, and haven’t kept in touch with many friends. I think this is ok, but it is something I carry on from my gap year. A strange kind of loneliness, where the people who used to know you so well can’t even begin to grasp your life because you yourself have changed so much. Yes I am part of all these things and they know that, but they don’t really know what my life is like. Most of the time it’s because I am too tired to explain, or I really don’t know how to describe it. How do I capture a day that never ends. I attempt this with this newsletter.

Loved ones: I am happy and I am exhausted.

11. Ending song

One bird two trees
One land one sea
Flying over me
Two birds one stone
No stars just drones
One land no home
Flying over me
Fly over me

• In nature, among friends, making music, asking questions.

52. Any sauce?

• I’ve collected two sauces on the road. One is a manuka smoked chipotle hot sauce acquired in Christchurch NZ. So so so good. The other is a plum miso dressing from Tokyo that I gifted to Arlo, and we tried it together on some yams. 10/10.

53. Describe the state of your soul as an object.

• A big wooden spoon.

54. Practices to protect your peace.

• Long walks, especially during the changing light. Sometimes accompanied by music or a call to a friend, meditation.

55. Describe the quintessential Kiwi.

• Self sufficient. Lack of shoes.

56. Someone’s words that have moved you.

• I was asking a lot of questions to my peers in the first half of my farm experience in Fujieda, to the point where they started saying that I was unusual. This is where my beliefs about the lack of question-asking was really cemented. During some of our field work, one of my peers turned to me and said that he had been writing about me in his journal, thinking about why I ask the questions I do. He told me that he was trying to figure me out, and he sort of started to go on this long tangent. Eventually he said, “What I’m trying to say is that I think that you’re brilliant.” I’m not great at taking compliments and I definitely didn’t know what to say in response, but it was a special moment and I still think about him quite often. That entire group exchanged many words that moved me.

57. How much do you think about the past vs. present vs. future?

• As someone who is quite reminiscent and reflective, I’ve spent a lot of my life thinking about the past. I find it hard to think about the future sometimes, especially since it is something that is ever changing, not definite. Before my gap year, I was definitely stressing about my future, trying to figure myself out. Having been quite present over this past year, my fears about my future have shed. I have faith in myself, and I’m excited for these next steps because I don’t really know what they will look like. I had one moment when I was in Hiroshima, and I read about the possibility of an asteroid hitting earth, a bizarre thing to randomly read on your own, and I think that was the first time in a while where I felt fear of death, of ends. That had me thinking about the future and the past simultaneously. I remember talking to my dad on the way to school in middle school, and he brought up the point that we should live every moment like it is our last. That has stuck with me.

58. If you designed a class, what would it look like?

• Mostly, if not entirely, discussion based. A class on question asking, on argument, conflict, resolve, listening, storytelling…anything that allows us to see the humanity of each other more clearly. Question bias. I am currently in a class that is called Religion and Ecology, but my teacher refers to it as “how to live a delicious life.” I want to teach a class like that.

59. Any mentors?

• Shoutout to Chad Hollingsworth. He is the reason I have been able to make music the way I have been, having gifted me my first audio interface, microphone, and dj deck. I have so much respect and admiration for him, he really is a role model for me and someone I look up to in this life. I’ve noticed that most, if not all of my mentors, have been men. Something to think about.

60. Do you find farming to be a creative practice?

• It has to be. It is a practice that relies on the state of the world, something that is not set in stone. It needs to be adaptive and creative if we want to sustain ourselves without depleting the world of its resources. I’ve also never seen a place as colorful as a farm.

61. What is your favorite new word and why?

• Clairvoyant. I listened to a song recently that went by this title, I enjoyed the song. It also makes me think of Claire, who funny enough, probably is clairvoyant. Also, Phenology, study of change as described to me by two birders I recently befriended.

62. Any place/practice specific vocabulary floating in your conversations?

• When I was in Portland, my friend Izzie and her friend Oliver would often use the word “ant” or “ew” in a conversation, which I just thought was the silliest thing. “Ant” refers to when you do something that is a little embarrassing, or when you look a little foolish. “Ew” is used opposite of its definition, meaning if something is amazing or beautiful, you would respond “ew” in an enthusiastic way.

63. Describe the natural landscape of NZ as a surrealist painting.

• Any Doctor Suess book.

64. Anything really meaningful gifted to you?

• Arlo carved me a wooden spoon with a moth on it upon my return home, and a big wooden spoon for my sendoff. It is very special to me. Tessa and Louise framed the album release show poster they made me and wrote one of the kindest notes anyone has ever shared with me. Aidan has sent me off to school with bedding, a cd player, and many other little goodies. I am so lucky to have the people I do in my life.

65. How do you feel the distance from home most, as you lay at eve or morn across the ocean?

• When in Japan, the language barrier definitely made the distance more apparent since it was more difficult to strike up a conversation with a stranger. New things often act as a reminder that one is far from home. The unfamiliar.

66. Taken any fantastic walks?

• I’ve been walking the Manhattan bridge a lot this summer, especially at night. I love walking over water in the dark because you can imagine that it is not water, but actually nothing at all. How often do we get to imagine nothing? I've definitely pushed myself to walk more over these past few months, especially in new places. To be honest, all the walks have been fantastic. I love walking.

  

67. What are the most pertinent questions you are asking yourself and others consistently?

• Lately a question I’ve been asking people I feel myself becoming closer to is “is there something that you are unwilling to talk about?” In some ways, it is an attempt to avoid crossing boundaries or lines. On the other hand, I believe that we should be crossing more lines with the people around us. No one owes you comfort. I’ve been asking people questions about their values, what brings them joy, and if they’ve had a recent disagreement. Questions like these have helped me gauge people better than most ice breakers. I’ve been asking myself about the roots of my bias, about why I make certain assumptions, why I don’t take more risks. Anytime I feel hesitant, I try and figure out what is stopping me.

68. How have your values changes? As a bird

• My time is important. There are many moments where I have forgotten this, and I have gone to do stuff that I didn’t need or want to do, where I’ve been around people I didn’t want to be around. My time is important and I need to start treating it as such. I’ve got a lot to do, the people pleasing can be thrown on the back burner. I think I have often prioritized other people’s feelings, but I am now more committed to being confrontational, to listening to my intuition, trusting myself. A bird, in flight. I had a moment with a bird this time last year that was a paradigm shift for me. It was in that moment that I realized a lot of these things. I will be true to my values.

69. Found new shades of green?

• green like you’ve never seen

  

70. Have you found it more challenging to keep in touch on the road?

• I have answered this in a previous newsletter, and I think that my answer remains mostly the same. I am very good at keeping in touch, and sometimes I believe that I should be less inclined to do so because I always enjoy my in person relationships more than my online ones. I did enjoy writing letters on the road because I didn’t have a return address. It was just a way to let people know that they are on my mind without expecting anything in return.

71. Anything magical happen? Would you consider it god?

• I had many moments where I felt absolutely in tune with the world around me, and I would say that I have become increasingly spiritual over the past year, but I wouldn’t call it god. My intuition has been at an all time high, and the coincidences are almost concerning. I’ll be thinking of a sentence and someone will say it, I’ll think of an object and then someone will be carrying it. Random entanglement.

72. Describe your largest challenges or conflicts? How have you managed them?

• My inability to contain my frustration. I get very easily frustrated, especially with my mom and it is something I feel really guilty about. I am trying to do better, but sometimes it feels like I become a different person. A much worse person than I consider myself to be. It will take an effort of active rewiring for me to manage this and it is a commitment I need to make. I am making it.

73. New thoughts on music/ ways of appreciating art?

• Appreciating art or music doesn’t mean liking it. It is an act of respect to give your attention to a work of art, even if your opinions on the piece are mixed. To be heard and seen is a gift in itself.

74. How have you encountered religion/spirituality while traveling?

• Yes, big big yes. Growing up, people would ask me if I was a spiritual person and I would always respond, “no, I’m not religious.” What an actual gift it has been to my life to begin to understand spirituality outside of the context of religion. My life is scattered with omens good and bad, to a ridiculous extent almost where it feels like I have a superpower. Maybe it is because I have spent so much time this past year feeding my soul, that my spirit has become stronger. When I see myself as a person interconnected with a greater whole, everything feels profound. If I find myself in a situation that lacks genuineness, I reevaluate my time and energy. In a world where we are capable of such genuine connection and intimacy, why do we waste our energy on things and people that leave us feeling depleted? I have met so many people this year who are tapped into something bigger than themselves, and as a result have a beautiful comfortable confidence about them. I have been so privileged to have encountered them, befriend them, and learn from them.

75. After crossing, how are new thoughts flowing about the ocean?

• I’ve never been a big water person, and have felt a lot of hesitancy towards the ocean. But yes, after crossing it a few times this past year, my feelings have changed. It is the thing that not only acts as a physical barrier between people around the world, but it is the sauce that holds us in place as one planet. We are all looking at the same water, just calling it different things.

76. Do you know who you are?

• The bird calls, do you hear it call?

77. Do you believe you have a purpose or duty?

• Yes. I don’t believe that we are born with a set purpose, but it is our life mission to pick up pieces that will eventually compose a purpose. As of right now, I see that my purpose is to lead with love, to find modes of connection between people in community, and to build and nourish the connections and communities I find myself in.

78. You think it’s more satisfying to drink or eat?

• I like to eat more, but I’d argue that feeding a thirst is more satisfying than hunger. There is nothing that quite feels like drinking water when you are dehydrated.

79. How does your body align with your identity?

• Most of the time those things feel pretty unaligned, and maybe it is in that dissonance that I find that I am most myself. On the threshold between places, in a door frame. I am not trying to be any which way. Just trying to be, and my body doesn’t have a choice in the matter. I see it more as a vessel for who I am rather than what makes me what I am.

80. Can you get behind the idea that the earth is itself on organism?

• Yes. We are individuals that compose greater wholes that in turn compose greater wholes, composing greater wholes.

81. How would you define tribalism? You think it’s a part of human nature?

• The only time that that word has truly stuck with me was at a classmate of mine’s mom’s memorial service. I remember her friends talking about how together they found and formed their “tribe.” That was the only time I remember feeling alright about the word, but otherwise, I have difficulty connecting to it. I don’t necessarily know how it differs from community except for the fact that tribal is perhaps more inherent. Still, I’m not sitting with the word well.

82. How has your mind changed about travel this year? How do you plan to travel in the future?

• I’ve thought about what it means to be intentional when we travel. Why are we seeing places solely as visitors when in the end it is these places and people we encounter that compose the greater whole that we are all a part of. I used to think that going to a place empty handed was the way to go, but now I see a lot of value in doing research about the place and culture I plan on traveling to. That doesn’t mean going there like you know everything. In my opinion, it is most important to travel being open minded and lowering expectations completely.

83. How does the physical distance feel between you and home?

• Not that big. I don’t think I ever fully comprehended just how far away I was. If anything, traveling the way I did made me feel that the world was smaller than it was.

84. Best new words you’ve learned? Any slang?

• Whakapapa pronounced fakapapa. This is a Maori word that essentially means “where are you from.” It doesn’t just mean your immediate family, or place of origin, but your entire lineage, your ancestors. It cements your place as a person of the world, as a part of your community, your iwi (tribe) and how that is simultaneously entangled with the natural world. It is the foundation of a substantial amount of Maori practices, principles, and values.

85. Last great fruit you ate? Describe the experience.

• A plum. Cornell has been giving us a lot of plums and peaches which I am a big appreciator of. It is the act of eating a plum that made me question my answer to question 28.

86. Had any really strong reads of people?

• I’ve started to pay closer attention to the feeling I get when I meet a new person and know that they will be a part of my life for a long time. I don’t know how to truly describe the feeling, and maybe I can refer to it as a social sensitivity, or being in tune with the spirit. There is something that happens when I meet people, before we share conversation, where I just know that we are connected. Is that considered a read of someone? I’d say so.

87. What is a farm?

• A place for growth.

88. What connections are you drawing to local flora?

• NZ was especially important in this regard. I encountered an endless amount of flora there that I probably will not encounter again unless I go back. Every organism is so fragile and unique to the point where I feel that I am a complete hindrance to the natural environment, a feeling that I shouldn’t be there to see it. It was one of the few times where I didn’t know how to connect to what I was seeing, even though I know there is a connection there.

89. New bird unlocked??

90. Any times you’ve gotten lost?

• Many times, especially on my walks. I never encountered the feeling of being lost though. I felt secure in not knowing where I was except for maybe in the train stations in Tokyo. I get lost in order to familiarize myself with new places. I think I could do this practice at home as well.

91. Met any liars?

• This question has been on my mind ever since I first read it. It is ominous and freaks me out a little bit. I’m sure I’ve met liars on the road, I’m actually certain that I have met more liars than not. I have lied too. Liar feels like an intense word though. There are people who have lied. Then there are liars. Maybe I’m not so certain I have met people who can be defined as liars. Maybe I didn’t realize it. More liars in the US than in NZ though Ill tell you that. Less liars in Japan, but I wouldn’t necessarily call my interactions entirely truthful. In Japan I would often have interactions where people would underplay the truth, maybe out of respect.

92. Compare the train systems of the US, NZ, and Japan.

• I sadly did not take a single train in NZ because they were renovating the train lines throughout the country the entire time I was there. The difference between trains in the US and Japan can’t even be put into words. I mean do I even have to say it. I did not encounter a single delayed train in Japan, and it was shocking to the point where I would get on the wrong train because mine was arriving a minute later. Even with all its issues, the subway is home, and was my first real introduction to trains. For that I am grateful. Nonetheless, I love trains, so even with their drastic differences, I’ve appreciated all the trains I have encountered throughout my life. Taking a bullet train was like taking a drug though.

93. Any people’s faces as expressive as they are in NYC?

• Yes, but I have noticed that it is the people I have met who have lacked facial expression that I have felt more intrigued by. Maybe because it is so different from home. Sometimes I question if people find me untrustworthy because my face is so expressive. Am I exaggerating, too revealing? I digress.

94. How do your feet feel?

• Strong feet not so strong after all. I am writing this with a sprained ankle.

95. What’s feeling good on your skin?

• sunlight. rain. skin.

96. Describe some new goals you have made.

• To confront unapologetically and to stop trying to palatalize myself in order to be understood.

97. Recount a time someone told you about their dream.

• Someone once told me that I take a really deep breath when I am about to recall a dream. I thought this was very observant. Not answering the question, but just a nice side note. I remember Alex, my cousin’s boyfriend, recently telling us a nightmare he had upstate where Mich got attacked by a bird and he started crying. You could see the emotion in his eyes when he retold the dream. You could tell that it must have felt so real.

98. Do you think you would have liked growing up where you are?

• This definitely would have been a better question to answer while on the road since I am back home now haha. I think I would have loved to grow up in New Zealand, what a beautiful place, isolated, yet so appreciative of the connective tissue that is community. If I hadn’t had the experience of living in NYC, maybe I would enjoy growing up in Japan, but coming there with the experiences I have had, I don’t think I would have enjoyed it as much. It is quite a restrictive place, so I think I would have a harder time finding my flow. Also, not the best place for a queer person. Claire and I often talk about how similar Portland and Brooklyn are to each other. I wonder how different I would be if I grew up in the PNW.

99. What would you name your farm?

• Poto Farm. When in NZ, my dad, Claire, Natasha, and I were talking about how there are no words that describe someone giving you drink. There is feeding for food, “I fed you.” But not a singular word for drink that makes sense. I guess there is “I hydrated you, I nourished you.” Not great. So we did some research and found that the latin word “to drink” is poto. “I poto you.” I like it, so I think I would name my farm just that. Poto. If not that, maybe Arkadash farms. It is the turkish word for friend, and I met a really wonderful dog that went by that name in New Plymouth, NZ.

100. What is the position your body likes most? Your mind? Your soul?

• I very much enjoy stretching my chest, shoulders, and back by locking my hands together behind my back and pushing them away. I am a bit of a hunchback, so any movement that counteracts that feels like a necessary stretch, and release. My mind and body share a love of movement, and the act of walking often supplements my thinking process. I need to move in order to be able to understand how my mind is working, or why it is working the way it is. My soul likes being a sardine cushioned alongside other sardine souls. It feels best when I am amongst things I love, whether that be people or places or the practice of doing a hobby. I am slowly figuring out the ways in which my mind, body, and soul nourish each other. I could think about it like permaculture haha, through sustainability, self-sufficiency, and resilience (the three main attributes of permaculture).

This concludes the series of newsletters that have supplemented my gap year. I am at school now, back to a routine of some sort, but ultimately on a new adventure yet again. This is the official end of the gap as I know it. What a pleasure it has been to write. Thank you for reading along. Until next time in new forms.

In flight,

Mash

I am of the belief that we live in a question deprived society. We don’t ask enough questions to our loved ones, to strangers, to ourselves. It has been one of my biggest goals this year to ask more questions, and I can wholeheartedly say that it has changed my life. To know you is to love you, as they say. I’m sure there will be more reflection on this as I begin to answer the following questions posed to me.

(As always, my reflection is written over a long period of time, some of these I have answered months ago, some right here right now. My favorite dance move is the time shuffle if you couldn’t already tell).

Here it goes:

1. What do your dreams tell you about your life?

   • I see my dreams as an extension of my intuition. This often leads me to take my dreams very seriously. I’ve had dreams that have predicted events in my life, that have shown me people I have not yet met, that have reflected my emotional state, that reveal things about myself or others that I had no clue about. I think that dreams are a collection of everything we see, hear, and pick up along the way, as well as every thought and feeling. No wonder they can be so powerful. Sometimes when I dream about people, my thoughts about them in the real world completely shift. I’ve felt love for people I didn’t know well, uncertainties about friends, etc. I think, if anything, my dreams reflect my sensitivity, and show me that I am someone who feels deeply. I go about my life feeling deeply.

2. Describe your relationship with your hair.

   • Silly. I’ve experimented with my hair so much throughout my life, and used to joke that it was my defining feature. How can my defining feature be something that is ever changing? I don’t know. I always knew I wanted to shave my head, and after participating in shaving a friend’s head in Ithaca two years ago, I knew that it was something I wanted to be done as a celebration. Also three of the five folks who participated in shaving the head, ended up shaving their heads shortly after. I became the fourth haha. I came close to shaving my head twice before I left for Oregon. The first being the day after a breakup and Aidan offered his buzzing services, but in that moment I felt that I needed the comfort of my hair. The next was a few weeks later in Rhinebeck amongst friends and family, but I only ended up cutting the sides of my head. Finally I got to Oregon, and a few days later, Claire and I set out on a mission on their porch, and my hair was gone, given to the bird’s nest perched on a nearby tree. Now I am back to the length when I started my gap year, but my appearance feels so different. In summary, my relationship with my hair is complicated and silly, but I am not as attached to it as I once was, and I prefer it that way. It is just hair after all.

3. Why seek change?

   • We gotta get used to not being used to anything. In this life, nothing owes you comfort.

4. What does community mean to you?

   • Community is having a place to turn, a place to fall. To me, it means everything. It makes me think of that one Big Thief lyric, “one peculiar organism aren’t we all together?” If there is one thing I want, it is to live amongst meaningful community. I am grateful to say that I have found many forms of community throughout my life, and I am proud of myself for helping build and preserve them. There is community everywhere, and in everyone, you just have to figure out how to play your part. It means support, it means responsibility, it means leading with love!

5. How do you understand the PNW, before you have arrived, and what do you expect to change about these perceptions?

   • I had never been to the PNW before August 24, and all I really heard about it was how green it was. I knew that my Mom’s parents lived there for a few years, and that her dog is buried there under a tree. Most of my information came from Claire, who would occasionally send me photos of the forest that is their backyard. Also, I am a Twin Peaks fanatic, so that planted an image in my mind of where I was going. I had a very good feeling about heading in that direction. You can imagine what it is like to know a place, but you don’t really know how until you’re there. I don’t think I had any opinions about the place that I expected to change, but over the course of a few months, I found myself gaining familiarity. It is a very palpable form of change. I fell in love with that part of the country, and can imagine myself living there one day.

6. Is there any item you plan on leaving on the road?

   • I brought UPS package stickers with me and a bunch of sharpies. I planted a couple of tags in the Auckland area, but didn’t go beyond that. It felt more disruptive than it does when I do so back home. I thought about leaving behind a few books that I brought and bought along the way, but for some reason I have a very deep attachment to my books, especially the ones I annotate. This is not an item exactly, but I did leave many poems and cards for the new people I encountered. One of my biggest values is expressing gratitude, and I love doing it.

7. Imagine an interaction of you meeting one of your parents when they were your age.

   • I sometimes wonder if I would be friends with my parents if they were people I met by chance, if they were my age. Claire and I spoke about how disorienting it is that we are brought into this world by two strangers who have lived a whole life before us, and we may never know what that life was like. We get to know our parents almost like we are getting to know new people. Can we ever fully know someone? I know that doesn’t exactly answer the prompt, I’m rambling. I imagine that if I met them when they were my age, I would have a better understanding of why they are the way they are. I am 19 now. My parents got married when they were 19. They moved to the other side of the world at 19. They were refugees at 19. My parents grew up in what feels like a different universe, and here I am throwing myself around the world by choice. We have had very different experiences when it comes to leaving home, but I think we would have bonded over the concept of letting go.

8. What’s your favorite way to cook a potato?

   • I grew up with Russian fried potatoes, which are basically very thinly sliced potatoes cooked in a pan with onions and mushrooms. So good, so nostalgic. I also love sweet potato shakshuka, and that has been a really fun way to play around with potato texture (thank you Aidan and Ottolenghi for putting me on).

9. Tell a tale of your first encounter with sleep.

   • I am assuming this is in regards to the gap year, so my first encounter with sleep was in West Linn Oregon, in Claire’s beautiful home. I don’t think I slept so well the first few nights, adjusting to a new place. I remember waking up and seeing that Claire’s cat Scout had brought a baby mouse into the living room. This house became a home base in a lot of ways, and I do miss it. I remember having some strange dreams the first few nights. I remember the way the room would slowly light up a quiet gray as the sun rose on rainy days which there were many. I remember the smell of my sleep, cold in a refreshing way. Like snow. One of my first memories ever regards a moment of sleep. My crib was in the corner of my room in Brooklyn, and I remember my grandma walked in to check on me. For some reason I could see myself in this memory, as if I was watching my grandma from behind, walking towards me. Maybe it was a dream. I don’t think I was even one year old yet. The light was similar to that quiet gray. It is like that right now as I write.

10. How is your body feeling on the road? Are you giving to it in new ways?

    • Even though I have been moving from place to place quite frequently, I find that I am walking much less than I did being in the city. I guess this speaks to the car centricity of the world. Movement also changes when where you live is where you work, so I’m not technically commuting to the farm, I’m living on it. I started practicing yoga more frequently, especially while in the PNW, but it was eventually a habit forgotten. I feel my body changing, and I feel myself becoming stronger, but I am also feeling the strain on my knees and back doing this kind of labor. If anything, it has made me want to give to my body more. I’m reconnecting with running, I think there is beauty in finding your pace, and maybe this is also a reflection on my mental state. I feel more at peace doing one thing for a long time. Who’s setting the pace?

11. Do you see your theory of the United States changing as you progress?

    • Yes 100%. I’ve mentioned this before, but I honestly don’t remember the last time that the idea of the united states being a united free place, has actually reflected how it is. Part of me started to normalize the idiocy. What is happening, however, is not normal!! Being on the outside for a few months has also allowed me to reflect on what it means to be a citizen. I see how other places function, their highs and lows, and I think about what can be done back home to make it better. There is a lot that is possible.

12. Outside or inside?

    • Outside, even though I tend to be a homebody at times. I am happier when I am out in the world.

13. How do flowers act as a symbol in your life, if they do?

    • I’m not sure they do. I can see them as symbols of rebirth, change, etc. but, I don’t spend too much time thinking about them. Marigolds and Eryngium are my favorite. I’ve been surrounded by many orchids recently.

14. Describe someone, as a portrait, that you have met recently.

    • Van Nguyen. Long black hair. Kind face, quiet voice, expressive through her empathy. Photographer’s eyes, always looking, witnessing.

15. Are you cooking at all? How have kitchens moved throughout your life?

    • Yes! People never tell you how hard it is to adapt to an ever changing kitchen. Over the course of this year I have used a kitchen on a bus, a kitchen in an old boarding school, kitchens with endless flies, kitchens with no windows, kitchens big and small. The kitchen changes everything. Even so, I have cooked on the road more than I have ever done so at home and it is a fun thing. I remember on the last farm in NZ, our hosts required their woofers to cook at least one recipe from home. I made borscht, and Claire made the best bread buns of my entire life.

16. Are you working at learning anything?

    • Patience. I think the more comfortable I get around people, the more impatient I become. That is not a quality I want to hold onto because with impatience comes frustration, my least favorite emotion. How am I working on this? Maybe through practicing meditation. It has helped me find peace of mind.

17. In what terms are you measuring time recently?

    • Most recently it has been a countdown to the release of my album. Now that that is over, it is the countdown to school. The days left, people left to see, projects completed, things accomplished. Hellos and goodbyes.

18. What trees have you been meeting? Any community with TREES?

    • Endless trees. What a beautiful assortment of trees I’ve encountered along the way. Personally, identifying trees has been one of the most grounding things. They help me locate where I am, and find similarities between places. The trees in Port Angeles Washington look a lot like the trees in Durham North Carolina.

19. What are you findin’ flowing?

    • My mind has been in a truly consistent flow these past few months. I am finding less mental blocks/obstacles, feeling more present and apprective. Music has helped with this.

20. Do you have any struggle changing your mind?

    • Sometimes I worry that my mind changes too easily. I am easily convinced, an easy believer, but I also know that I follow my values, and those haven’t changed for a while.

21. Have you encountered any new definitions of love? Acquired any?

    • Something that was very interesting to me during most of my travels was how much of a fly on the wall I was. I stayed with several families, and instead of getting treated like an outsider, it was as if I wasn’t there. This allowed me to witness so many interesting and complex family dynamics that I never would have experienced otherwise. This opened up a lot of new definitions and kinds of love to me, especially since “unconditional” familial love is not something we often get to see outside of our own families. This meant watching arguments, tension, resolve, respect, all constantly unfolding. Many families, specifically the parents, demonstrated a kind of love that if I ever have children, I will definitely keep note of. A lot of it was about balance. How can we manage a farm, a family, a business, a life? It has made me develop a much greater appreciation for familial love. I really appreciated how often I saw kids fully embraced by their parents for being themselves, no matter how strange. Farm kids get a lot of freedom.

22. Consciousness, what does it mean to you?

    • An individual awareness, both subtle and obvious, that is in sync with the greater whole. It is what connects us to each other, sometimes purposefully, often unintentionally. Even though I describe it as something individual, it often feels like it is operating outside of ourselves. Dreams…

23. Tell about a new friend you made.

    • I was talking with a few friends from high school about how it’s been really interesting to watch them develop these new circles in college that have expanded their understandings of themselves. They bring up the point that they’re excited to see what circles I enter since I have not yet had my college experience. But in some ways I believe that I have also had this experience, just in a different way. I have made a lot of deep and meaningful friendships with people throughout the year, most of which I have already described to y’all, but I will again. Alex and Eliza, two of Claire’s friends whom we stayed with in Seattle a few times already, and am now proud to call friends of my own, are truly some of the most loving, hilarious, and generous people I have ever met. It brought me so much joy to see Claire around them, because they just seemed so fully themselves. Alex and Eliza reminded me a lot of my cousin Michelle, and my dear friend Aidan, and I hope they will all meet one day. Something else I really loved about becoming friends with them is this beautiful ability they have to laugh, especially when things are hard. They have such good laughs.

24. Encounter any strange creatures?

    • There was a spider larger than my face that watched over me when I used the bathroom at the farm in Fujieda. I don’t know if our relationship was out of fear or love.

25. Do you know what your name means? Does it hold any meaning for you?

    • I’ve looked it up a few times, and I think that Maria means “star of the sea.” Aidan used to call me Poseidon because of this, a nickname I still cannot accept. Masha is the nickname for Maria in Russian, but it sounds quite similar to the Persian “Mahsa” which means moon-like. My cousin and I often joke that we are moon-like because we have such round faces. In the end, I don’t know if these meanings hold any significance to me, but the name itself does. I feel very very connected to the name Masha just because I think it captures me very well. I wonder if we grow into our names, or they grow around us?

26. Met any good music on your travels?

    • Yes, especially in New Zealand. My first days in Auckland, I went down the rabbit hole of Kiwi indie rock which included The Chills, The Verlaines, 3Ds, Nocturnal Projections, The Jean Paul Sartre Experience, and so on. I don’t necessarily know if those all can be defined by one genre, but that is just to give you an idea.

27. What have you come to cherish most deeply about your travels?

    • Movement and the comfort of solitude. I’ve really come to appreciate being a stranger.

28. What has been surprising you lately?

    • The coincidences I’ve been encountering. It has been happening to a certain frequency that I am beginning to question my belief of fate, faith, spirituality.

29. Have you encountered any new perspectives that you resonated with? Any that you didn’t?

    • On the subject of fate, one day during some tea field work, Juni and I started talking about fate. She is a firm believer that fate exists, and that things fall into place, or happen as they’re meant to happen. I, on the other hand, have been very skeptical about fate, which is a little strange considering my strong thoughts on entanglement and soulmates. Juni would often talk about fate in association with astrology, also something I have often steered away from. I am not entirely against the idea that we are shaped by the time, place, day we were born, but I also don’t believe that it is set in stone. I think we are able to change. In fact, I think we are always changing. On an interesting note, I was recently speaking to Oscar, one of Aidan’s previous roommates, whose farm work is largely dependent on astrology, and it works! I guess I never really thought about it as a science. Harvest and growth seasons can be linked to moon and celestial cycles. I guess this is something that goes back hundreds of years, the practice is ancient.

30. Depict the color of this season of your life.

    

31. What have you learned thus far about farming? Do you feel passionate about a specific side of ag?

    • Sustainable organic farming all the way. I don’t know if I can write about everything that I have learned, that maybe deserves its own essay. I will say that it is not as romantic as people paint it to be, but it is also addictive.

32. What makes a good traveler? A good travel partner?

    • A blend of spontaneity and planning, openness and willingness, lack of judgement. Someone willing to move, to explore, to step outside of comfort, seek discomfort. Someone willing to give as much as they are to take. A good travel partner is someone you can share comfortable silence with, there will be a lot of it and it is important. A good travel partner is also someone who pushes you to try new things and is open about their feeling, communication is key. I think one of the most important things is the ability to do as many things together as you would apart. Understanding that alone time is important, you shouldn’t be relying on the other to have a good time.

33. Have you been feeling any new emotions lately?

    • Peace.

34. Who’s was the last smile that you noticed?

    • It’s been a while since a gap year smile, so I’d say most recently probably Harris’ roommate Maeve. A new friend with a very kind face, many great smiles.

35. Is the air or sky different than it used to be?

    • For me personally, yes. For the world, also yes.

36. How do you feel about the word “nature?”

    • To me it doesn’t embody the extent of what it is. I don’t like how the word is often used as an excuse, or an absolute.

37. Does time always have the same speed? Has your sense of the ways days pass changed?

    • Time is working weird, always. I’ve stopped seeing it as a necessarily linear thing. I find myself getting caught in the loops of memory and daydreams, moments where I feel I am quite literally no longer there in the present. How strange is it that the world in front of you can just disappear when you are caught in a line of thought. Every day I feel that I am time traveling forwards, backwards, upside down. However, at my album release show, I don’t think I have ever felt more present in my life. I was just fully there, experiencing time like it wanted me to.

38. What’s the difference between soul and spirit?

    • I’ve been thinking a lot about this question especially since I have been trying to find my personal best definitions for both. I think that soul is the essence of who you are, while spirit is other people’s interpretation of your soul, perhaps how the soul is seen in a greater context.

39. What do you know about the soil?

    • It’s eroding, disappearing, dying. We are losing the soil we use to grow our food faster than we know. I also know that having your skin touch the soil makes you happier. May we learn to love and protect it.

40. Any birds?

    • 

41. Do you feel protection?

    • I feel supported mostly. But lately, I’ve been running into a lot of coincidences, omens, alignments, to the extent that it doesn’t feel like an accident. In the case of entanglement, shared wavelengths, crossed paths, I feel that I am being looked out for. By what, I don’t know. Something is causing me to believe that we are a lot more connected than we think we are.

42. How has your sense of home changed?

    • Home is people. Home is memory. It is no longer a physical place, or at least not in the singular sense. I remember when saying goodbye to my mom’s apartment in DUMBO in December, we all shared our favorite memories from the place. Those memories are home, more than the place that houses them.

43. Describe your relationship with Claire.

    • As an introvert, I often get incredibly drained being around people for long periods of time. This could also be because I haven’t often found comfort in being fully my own around others. However, when I am around Claire, it is like a breath of fresh air. We understand each other so well to the point where there is probably a big portion of our time together that has just looked like silence. I think Claire said it best in an essay they wrote about our time at Kenyon. “We are hungry together and quiet together and loud together and sleepy together. Our other friends joke about the ways we seem to communicate without talking and they laugh when we go back to the dorm early to listen to our favorite songs.” This was after only having spent less than two weeks together. It was immediate. I do believe in soulmates, and yes I do think Claire is mine.

44. If life after death exists, what does it look like?

    • I think we are constantly surrounded by the living and the dead reimagined. The clothes you wear, the floor beneath you, the hair on your head. It is all energy from those that came before you, and those who will come after.

45. What do you miss most?

    • After returning home, I began working at a tea house in Soho. It felt like I was thrown into a capitalist powerhouse where the most important thing was making as much money as possible, as quickly as possible. I was reminded of the restaurant I worked at last summer where I felt like I was wasting away trying to develop a better understanding of the food industry. These work experiences contradicted almost everything that I learned and experienced while working on farms. I miss doing work that was difficult, but I knew was important and necessary. Working at the tea house, I felt as though I was just feeding into this instagramable matcha trend, versus when I was working on the tea farm in Japan and I saw the process of actually making a cup of tea, the back breaking (literally) work behind it all. I miss being a stranger, a student, a witness. I know I can have this experience back home, but it’s not the same as being in a completely new place. However, I’m sure I will continue to find myself in those circumstances throughout my life.

46. What are the major differences between farms you’ve worked at/lived?

    • Money. This is a big one. In this industry, the amount of money a farm has dramatically changes their productivity, a farmer’s ability to rest, to sustain themselves, to live. However, money doesn’t necessarily dictate one’s dedication, or ability. I worked with a lot of dedicated, intelligent, and passionate people this year, and in no way was this dependent on money. I think what money did affect was how this dedication and intellect could be used and directed. To be a farmer is exhausting, and I think it holds a greater toll on those who don’t have the ability to replace or add to their physical bodies with tools.

47. Have you met anyone new who you want to keep in touch with?

    • Many people. I’ve kept in touch with most of my hosts. There also might be a chance that I see some of my farm pals from Japan because they are visiting NYC in september, the same weekend I am back for a Sebadoh concert. Two people that I really really hope to cross paths with again is Stephanie from Germany and Juni from Australia. The friendships I built with them often weigh heavy on my mind.

48. Recent time you spontaneously got ice cream?

    • There have been a recent few times where I’ve done so alone, but I always feel worse afterwards. A spontaneous iced cream is better with friends. Any time I’ve gone to visit my friend Harris at his vegan iced cream shop has been spontaneous and splendid.

49. Serene sunsets. Are they different?

    • Are there troubled sunsets? I guess the vivid ones can be considered to be more chaotic. I’d say the serene ones reflect the mornings more, an end awaiting beginning. I am a fan of the moment the sun becomes hidden behind the horizon. Just a sky revealing what is no longer there.

50. How has the US road centricity impacted you?

    • It has made me a bigger walker. I am such a huge fan of trains, but even trains are bound to a track, bound to rails, a road. So now, I’ve been walking everywhere. There are less rules for the pedestrian, more doors open, more hidden gems.

I am hoping the next 50 will come shortly, but seeing how writing this has taken me several months….I don’t know. I leave for school on Sunday, the journey continues, questions to be asked, questions to be answered. All the best for now. Ask a question today.

Sun dances on the wing
A log slowly dismembered by fire
Heat tearing every joint, meat from the bone
Painfully
Gracefully
I gotta go

Goodbye to gentle waters
Tall grasses hiding nothing but tall grasses

Goodbye fragile ground
I have learned how to tip toe

Goodbye blue mountains 
Oceans of roots fractalizing

It’s all in the tree shadows
Forgiveness, a train window

Goodbye Goodbye 

I gotta go

“Have you ever been in love?”

This was the first question directed at me by Jenny and Maureen’s sister of the Fareham Collective on our way to the watering hole for a night dip. I sat in the back of the only automatic car on the property, a rickety red vehicle caked by dust from the sandy road, as Jenny and her sister tried to figure out the lyrics from that one movie, Moonstruck. I stared out the window trying to spot either a Kererū or a Pukeko, having no actual clue what either of them looked like.

This was my second time going for a night swim with Jenny, who would walk into the water with all her clothes on, and get back into the car, unphased by her seat soaking her right up. She was free spirited. One day she asked me whether or not I thought that a conversation I overheard her have with a stranger was superficial. The night of the first swim she told me to drive because she wanted to look for birds. She was exhausted, caring for her 44 year old daughter Jess who has down syndrome, dementia, and early onset alzheimer’s. Jenny’s sister came to visit in order to help out, as everyone passing through is mostly doing. Everyone helping out everyone helping out helping everyone out.

I didn’t know how to answer the question for it caught me quite off guard, and at that point I genuinely did not know the answer. I am constantly reminded of hearing about how love when you’re young isn’t real and shouldn’t be taken seriously, so I don’t really know how to approach this. It feels so real in the moment, easier in retrospect. I think I’ve been in love, I can recall moments where I felt more than I could say. I can’t help but feel silly about it now, but I do believe we should take our experiences as kids more seriously. We too can love.

When I have overwhelming feelings, my throat starts to close up. I try to look for music that can say it better than I can. Sometimes a song reveals feelings I didn’t know I had. This could be the reason behind why I tend to better remember the music that I listened to while in a period of “love.”

I don’t know the country I am returning to. I, however, have a feeling that I am not alone in thinking that this American chaos is far from unfamiliar. When is the last time US the country was aligned with US the idea?

Now more than ever, I want to be a teacher.

The fareham collective is composed of Jenny and Maureen, Jenny’s husband Sam, Jenny’s daughter Jess, Maureen’s daughter Emma, Emma’s daughters Dylan and (I forgot the name of the sister), long term woofer David, a family of four who are part of the co-housing agreement, and anyone who ends up passing through, whether it be a family of 16 staying for a wedding, or a man named Michael who works on the railroad. There were many relationships and dynamics to balance, projects started in every corner. A thin line of chaos and quiet. Every morning I would be assigned to work with a different person, but majority of the time I spent working with either David or Sam.

Sam is a 76 year old Kiwi from the Wairarapa region, and is what I like to call a “traditional” farmer. Though he does farm organically, he does not utilize practices like permaculture, and tends to organize his crops pretty monoculturally. He also works under the pretense that the Earth is meant to serve humans, its resources to be used up, conquered. This was interesting to witness just in the way that Sam composed himself. He has a strong belief in karma and reincarnation, and from the outside could be considered your ordinary hippie. The hippie balanced with conquering the Earth’s resources made for an interesting personality.

“Not to be rude, but have you taken drugs?”

Sam asked me this once while working in his greenhouse. This led to an interesting conversation about his experience on LSD and his long lost friends who dealt along the way. We talked about Johnny Cash and War on Drugs, Black Sabbath and Leonard Cohen. Once outside of the room I stayed in, we serenaded each other using one of Sam’s three guitars with songs we had written over the years. Michael listened in.

With Sam I worked on various projects which included harvesting buckets of tomatoes, watering squash, weeding around the herb garden, sifting through dirt to make planting soil, planting beetroot, zucchini, leeks, spring onion, cauliflower, lawn mowing, and some tidying of wood planks, tarps, and metal sheets that had been taken from the original roof of the house. Once while we were working on the herb garden, Sam spoke to me about sheep shearing (something he has done since he was very young) and said that apparently men who shear sheep develop larger breasts from leaning forward and then he proceeded to take his shirt off and ask me if he had boobs. Weird guy, but he had a good heart.

David is a middle aged man from Bristol who has been woofing in Featherston for eight years already, having left and come back to the fareham collective three times. He says he will leave again when the time is right and not come back.

I had my cards read for the first time by David where it was revealed that I was an androgynous young figure with a curiosity and inclination towards fire, that I would face a familial obstacle in the near future, etc etc. Nothing that surprising. He told me I was too young to have a reading done, but did it anyways just for fun. It was an interesting experience, especially in terms of listening to David describe what it means to him and how he got into it. Together we spoke about music, community, his wooden flute, and permaculture. Unlike Sam, David is a permaculture enthusiast, which tends to lead to a lot of conflict between the two of them. There just already seems to be tension between them being the only men of the house.

With David I pruned blackberry bushes, collected and trimmed branches, lawn mowed, and weeded his permaculture garden. He told me about a project he worked on at the nearby lakes where he proposed the idea of introducing mycelium with rotten wood along the water line in order to reduce the number of droughts and increase the number of native trees that are able to survive along the lake. Gosh, long sentence, but you get the point. Mycelium root systems are hollow and carry water so they are good in terms of retaining moisture.

I cooked dinner for everyone for three nights which I greatly enjoyed. The house is essentially vegan so I made borscht, mushrooms, tofu stir fry, and a vegan curry. My cheffing has exponentially increased during this gap year, and I am so glad about that especially since I am gaining experience in working with food as a whole.

I had one quite scary experience at this place. One day I was working with David and we were looking for an axe that Sam had lost. At the time, there had been a man coming to the property every day to power wash the walls. He would pull up in his blue pick up truck with his giant bullmastiff dog. I would occasionally hear the dog bark who was always chained up to the side of the truck while the man worked. While looking for the axe, I followed David around the house, past the truck. David went by and no noise from the dog. As I walked by, the dog started barking very loudly and started to go after me. All I can clearly remember is saying “Oh my god” over and over again before realizing that I have to back up really quickly because the dog was about to bite my arm. You’re not supposed to run from a dog that’s chasing you, but I had no choice unless I wanted to punch it in the face. Thankfully, the dog was chained, and I was able to get back in time. I felt its breath and saliva on my arm. I stood, recentered myself, took deep breaths, and cried for the first time in a while. I am now currently working on getting over a new fear of dogs.

The day soon came for me to leave, and I was picked up from Fareham by David Tripp, who had already picked up Noah and Akinobu (my work buddies for the next week). Off to Martinborough/Carterton (wairarapa region) we went. David is a doctor, but has made it his life mission to reintroduce native trees to lands decimated by cattle and sheep. He and his wife Helen bought their property, Gilead, as a sanctuary for people to come together, and ultimately help take care of their trees.

At Gilead I was accompanied by Noah and Akinobu, as well as Zdenek and Stephanie, and eventually David and Helen’s daughter, Esther, who shared her father’s love for trees and had been working in the jungles of Australia for the past few months. Noah isn’t a woofer, but a friend from Wellington who met David at church, he is my age. Akinobu (23) is from Shizuoka Japan (the prefecture where I will be farming in April) and had been traveling around New Zealand for about six months before heading back to Japan to start his job. I will hopefully meet up with him when I make my way to Japan. Stephanie (25) is from Munich Germany and has been in New Zealand for over a year. She and I became good friends and I hope to see her again and possibly backpack through Europe together. Zdenek (64) is from Czech Republic and had woofed in New Zealand 23 years ago, and has come back on his world tour. A very kind person with interesting stories, who worked as a PE and social science teacher, and prior to that was in the Czech army. Apparently before it was a website, WWOOF was a book that people would write reviews in about different places, often using a frowny face to signify a farm being a bit evil.

I started having pretty intense nightmares ever since coming to New Zealand. My first night at Gilead I was shaking so hard that I woke myself up. I don’t remember the last time I had a dream state so intense. Unlike some previous experiences however, these dreams completely contrasted what took place in real life.

The way we form faces within shadows, the way things take shape in the dark.

The time at Gilead was really special, and being amongst other helping hands from all corners of the world definitely contributed to that. Also, Helen is one of the best chefs I have ever encountered so we were completely spoiled with good food. The work we did was extremely meaningful, and everyone involved had their hearts in the right places.

Together we carried buckets of water to feed the baby trees, and we weeded around each individual tree for which there were hundreds. After weeding around the trees, we scattered wool around the base which helps to preserve moisture.

On my last night, we sat on the floor of the dining room joking about New York slang and how different all of our lives were. Aki, Stephanie, and I went around in a circle saying the same word in German, Japanese, and Russian, paying attention to the stark contrast between them. A lot of laughs were exchanged.

Esther drove me back down to Wellington from Gilead, and we shared very good conversation about what it means to be a solo traveler. Esther, who has been traveling for the past 10 years or so, spoke about how she rarely likes to plan her trips, they usually end up unraveling in a beautiful way. She is about to take off to the Philippines where she is hoping to find more tree work. Her and David have a enormous vocabulary when it comes to plants, it is awesome to witness. One day David took us to a native tree conservation park, and would stop every few minutes or so to pull out weeds and talk about all the different species that existed around us. Oh to meet passionate people!

I spent a night in Wellington before taking flight down south to Queenstown where I would meet Claire, my dad, and Natasha. A wonderful reunion. For a week we climbed mountains, ate good food, explored new places, witnessed with fresh eyes together. I had a strange interaction with someone in Wellington whom I had met the first time I was there which left me feeling really out of place. It was nice to be able to see family and friends afterwards as a sort of regrounding.

It was interesting to pay attention to how my thought patterns changed once I was no longer alone. I noticed that I became self conscious again, not necessarily in an insecure way, but just more aware that I was being perceived by people who knew me well. My dad and Natasha told me I had changed. I wonder how so, and if those changes will fade once I go home, or if my inherent fabric has shifted? I guess that is not really for me to say. Sure I can feel that something is different, but I don’t know how to describe it.

Claire and I fell right back into place. It’s almost as if we didn’t spend several months apart since our last adventure. That was comforting to know that we are aligned in that way. When we are together, we are like one person, sharing footsteps.

It wasn’t until meeting up with these guys did I realize just how tired I was. I had spent the past month moving from farm to farm, getting used to new social settings, new tasks, new environments. It all went by so quickly. New experiences were packed like sardines. It was nice to have a moment of not having to think about my next move. All until it was time to think about the next move again.

Claire and I headed to my final farm in New Zealand, and their first farm in New Zealand. The Food Farm is located in a small town right outside of Amberley called Broomfield, about an hour north of Christchurch. It is run by the extraordinary Nick and Angela who are just the most wonderful people. I feel that I have learned so much from them, even in just a couple short weeks.

I miss New Zealand a lot. I am currently writing this in Sydney Australia, and in less than 24 hours I will be on a 10 hour flight to Tokyo. Crazy how we can just move around like that. Flipping through cities like portal hopping universes. I will be joining my Mom and Mark in a place completely unfamiliar to us all. I almost wonder if I am seeing my parents too soon. Have I been away for long enough to sync back to what’s familiar? I am looking forward to it, but I can’t help but wonder if I have fulfilled the commitment I made to myself to be alone. I thought this when seeing my dad as well. Was it too soon?

As soon as Claire and I arrived at the Food Farm we both expressed how it was our ideal farm situation. It is a permaculturist’s dream. The farm is split up into zones, each with a different purpose. Walking around you will encounter fruit trees, the three sisters, an abundance of veggies and flowers, and most importantly…Jake. Jake is the muscovy duck of the property, and if you’ve never heard of such a creature, you’re in for a real treat. He doesn’t quack, but he huffs and hisses. Late at night he will hide under some of the trees by the door and you’ll be walking the pitch black and all you can hear is something hissing at you. It is genius. He reminds me of my dog Mishka maybe just because I feel connected to them though my SOUL, and the funny noises.

It is hard for me to say exactly what went on here in a way that conveys the pure joy that was this experience. Claire and I talked about how different the feeling was compared to that of farming in the US. It is safer here.

It is interesting to reflect back on those months in the PNW. In the moment, we let a lot wash over us. Weird experiences, strange conversation, sketchy people. A fragile state between dangerous and just different. Now, looking back, Claire and I talked about how shocking everything that we experienced actually was. Sure, I’ve been able to write a bit about it here, but I don’t think I am able to actually capture those months. It is something that Claire and I will forever share between us, and that is special, but also scary. Amongst those shared times, we had very different experiences, so it is interesting to talk about how we’ve been affected, and what that means going forward. A private experience.

We’ve recited the stories of our crazy adventures a million times, always getting a laugh out of it from a listener tinted with concern. We laugh too, but I wonder if it’s our way of moving through it. Or I wonder if it is pushing us away from it feeling so personal. I think I am only beginning to get at how I’ve been affected - I think I require a bit more time to understand. Maybe that is all part of the change.

I am at the Sydney airport, and rain is only running down one of the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the runway. The world pulses and blurs behind the engine of a plane. Heat distortion. There is a KFC next to a PappaRich. I lost my sunscreen to security. My cameras have gone through the system a bunch, and every time I have less and less hope for the film stuck inside. That’s all part of the fun isn’t it?

In Broomfield, we got up with the sun. We divided our morning tasks, no particular reason for the way we did it. Claire and I are pretty agreeable haha. I was on feeding ducks and baby chicken duty, watering the back portion of the house, the occasional egg collection, and creating the grain mixture. Claire fed the chickens, disposed of the compost, watered the front of the house, and collected eggs. Other then that, our daily work varied a lot. Some days we collected tomatoes to make passada, gherkins to be pickled, painted an outhouse, weeded the gardens, collected grapes, pears, peaches, beans, corn, squash, etc, dehydrated strawberries and naishis, fed the cows, and whatever else that needed to be done. I have become the pickling pro, give me a crock and some spices, and I’ve got all your pickle needs.

Claire came into the house with a bucket of beans and threaded through them with a needle. It was relaxing to observe, the care that goes into britching. A little bit of appalachia in the good ol en zed.

Something that I have really been trying to keep up with on the road is running, an attempt to preserve movement. When I was training for the half marathon a few years ago, it was very difficult for me to get into the groove, and to be honest I never ran more than six miles before the race. I had a weird mental state, focused on the pain, just wanted to get it over with. I am really happy to say that that has dramatically changed. Though it’s rare, I’ve started to experience what people call runner’s high, and I really look forward to moving my body in this way. While in Broomfield I ran a total of 58 km, one of those being a 19km run, the first time running a distance of that sort since 2022. It felt good, and to be honest, it was accidental. I didn’t plan for it, I just listened to my feet, my body. I saw a man hanging in a bucket from a helicopter in the sky.

During our free time, Claire and I went biking to the beach, made a zine, rested. I’m very happy I got to experience this time with them. Our gap year together has come to an end since I am off to Japan, and they are off to Hawaii. I feel sadness over this ending, and I don’t think I have fully processed it. Funny to think that we met in Ohio at a writing camp just a couple of years ago and here we are now, traveling the world, doing what we said we would do.

Hold on to those you love, even if they’re oceans and mountains away.

On a half day, we headed to the North Canterbury Festival of Food and Wine, and had a wondrous, but overwhelming time wandering the woods during three different concerts happening simultaneously, the music bleeding all over the place.

It’s interesting to see the different pipelines in which food goes, the purposes it serves. I’ve seen it serve local communities, singular families, grocery stores, animals. All of this existing as a finite thing, within a confused system. Our food source is not endless. Easy access to the grocery store make us forget this. Living in a city makes it easy to forget this. Before this year, I had spent very little time working with food production. My life has shifted now, and I have come to understand just how fragile our food systems are. I think food systems are a necessary part of one’s education, and should be a required part of any curriculum. One day there will be no choice in the matter.

My relationship with food is strange and I am working on it because I think it is very easy for things to go sideways. I love food, and I think my cooking journey has had a good impact on how I go about food. I still go through ups and downs because I think food culture especially in the US is so screwed up. When did everyone become OBSESSED with protein?!?!?!?

Angela was a great person to talk about food systems with as she is part of one of, if not, the largest food distribution program in New Zealand. She’s also helped start several farmers markets, including the first one located in Amberley. Claire and I told her about how none of the farmers we have worked with have expressed enthusiasm towards these markets, and there was a sense of surprise coming from Angela, but she was very understanding. She said that these markets should be approached in a way that favors the producer rather than the consumer. The markets should only be selling produce, not trinkets and souvenirs. They should only be open for a few hours in the morning on weekends. When the market is founded in necessity, not aesthetic, it plays a part in attracting a consistent following, rather than becoming a tourist attraction. She acknowledged that it is not a perfect system, and that a lot of the issues encountered at the farmers market are outside of the market’s control. She brought up the question of whether it’s better to not have them at all or does it prove to be valuable in a community? Things to think about.

Everything is wrapped in plastic here. Rows of sterilized produce of the earth. When did we become so afraid of dirt? I feel off walking through the grocery stores in Japan. You see three tomatoes individually wrapped, and then wrapped again all together, perfectly red, perfectly round. Having spent the past few months farm hopping, this type of presentation is a little disturbing to me. Sure it’s aesthetically pleasing, but I don’t know if I want to eat something that looks untouchable.

The trains are magnificent like horses. I watch the orange neon through the window, the whoosh of a parallel passing. Bullet trains like real bullets piercing through the flesh between point a and point b. I see Mt. Fuji, like a cloud.

In Sydney I took the streets yet again to feel a new country with my feet. People get up so early here, and on the first day I felt like I was in an oven because it was so hot. I went into the ocean, letting myself get swept and tossed. I don’t know if I will ever be comfortable in bodies of water, it is an unusual sensation for my skin, weightlessness. Even so, I am not searching for comfort.

I started reading Room to Dream by David Lynch, and started listening to The Savage Detectives by Bolaño. I have a feeling that by the end of this year I will have read all of Bolaño’s work. To me he is a mastermind, and I love unraveling his spiderwebs of creation.

I went to go see Picnic at Hanging Rock as a play at the Sydney Opera House, it was very different from the movie, but of course shared that horrific eeriness. I genuinely felt scared at times, especially because they were able to make the room pitch black, and a gutteral soundtrack was playing in the background.

I paid a visit to a few museums, walked from Bondi to the city center and back, and rode the ferry a few times. Sydney feels like hundreds of different worlds in itself. Every step contrasted the last. A bird, flying. A train, passing. I cannot even begin to imagine what the rest of Australia is like.

I noticed something about myself upon entering Australia. It turned out that I needed a visa to enter the country from New Zealand which I had not researched prior. All of a sudden I found myself in a moment of stress and panic. My hands were shaking trying to fill out the necessary forms, and I was upset at myself, the system, everything around me. It wasn’t until a few moments later that I realized that I needed to calm down. I was shocked by how I had initially reacted in that moment of stress. It signaled to me that I need to work on my breathing and slowing down when the unexpected happens. It is ok to take a step back. I was mad at myself after that for a moment. I thought that I had the ability to work things out calmly, but it is a muscle still developing. It was indeed a funny scene though. Imagine seeing someone sprawled out on the airport floor trying to organize all their documents. That was me for a good ten minutes.

I am in Kyoto, officially one week into my two month stay in Japan. I feel further from home here in many ways, the distance, the time, the language, the culture, but it is also the closest I have been to going home in a while. It is a strange sensation to see things wrap up in this way. Things are coming to an end, yet so much is going to happen while I am here. It’s only been a week, but it has felt like weeks. I managed to get us on the wrong train which took us 40km in the wrong direction, and that same night we ended up in a high school teacher turned chef’s bar, with only two other people. The language barrier is a big one, but even so we have found ways to communicate. It has made me more confident about my place in the world. Or at least confident in my ability to find my place in the world.

I am a flying thing.

I landed in Auckland on a particularly foggy day where cloud cover revealed green mountain ranges right before the wheels met the ground. It was on the verge of maybe too close to the mountains, but hey, I am still here, alive and more than well, mountains beyond mountains.

Greeted with rain, greeted with green, greeted with the fastest moving customs line I have ever seen. Maybe I should have declared that the shoes on my feet were encased with a crust of dirt and life found in the PNW, but they inspected my soles and said I could go. I gotta go.

My flight from LA to Auckland took approximately 13 hours, seven or so of which I was asleep for. The couple next to me was from Wisconsin, coming to New Zealand for bird-watching. They told me to look up.

I had the pleasure of spending a few days with my family in California before departure, meeting my newest cousin for the first time. It is so special to see the early development of personality. I am lucky to have witnessed a lot of these developments in the kids who have lived on the farms I’ve worked on over the past few months, as well as my young family members. Brings up the nature vs. nurture argument, one where my allegiance often switches sides.

My mom drove me to the airport, and on the way we stopped at In ‘N Out, both of our firsts, a strange experience that reminded me of the writing style of Don DeLillo. Fluorescent lighting, funny uniforms, a drive thru line that reached the highway, people unphased. We ate and shared a teary-eyed goodbye, a good one indeed.

Over my three and a half days in Auckland, I walked a total of 80 km, letting my feet become my eyes, becoming familiar with new soil. This has become a pattern in my travel thus far, I walk a lot in new places, let myself get lost in order to remember my surroundings well. I almost immediately got my bearings as I discovered the many city parks, and of course, the beautifully interwoven spider web of trees and roots. New Zealand is the place for tree huggers.

The first couple of days were quite rainy, so I restrained myself from doing any extraneous climbs, and decided to find some book stores and museums, looked at the nature, the waterfront. I happened upon the Auckland Art Gallery by accident as a city wide fire alarm went off, sending everyone outside into the pouring rain. The cafe I was reading in happened to be across the street from the gallery, and so once the alarm was silenced, I spent the new few hours enamored by a truly fantastic selection of local and international work. I don’t think I have ever gone to a museum and read every description, but I was so happy to do so here because I was struck. I was in the right mood, whatever that might mean.

I don’t feel the distance, the 18 time zones, the oceans and continents between. I am writing from the future, from a different season, in a country that has a population smaller than the city I grew up in. I don’t feel out of place at all. I am content, solo, free. Someone next to me is speaking Polish, and I understand the sounds, not the meaning. There are a lot of new sounds here too, birds like baby pianos, wind flutes, soft spoken voices. The kiwi accent has a similar intonation to that of someone from Brazil, and there is such ease in their switching between words in English and Te Reo (the Māori language). The people in front of me are arguing about how bad people are at driving here. I am in Wellington, the capitol, but not for long.

Once again, forget chronology - these newsletters often take me a week or so, sometimes a few hours, sometimes I just forget to write, and that leads to long and difficult reads for you all. You’re very welcome.

I ended up joining that conversation, between a man from eastern Poland and a man from Belgium who has a Polish last name meaning swallow. We spoke of birds, experimental theater, and the slaughter of lambs in Brussels.

Once the weather settled and the city revealed itself under the sun, I decided to walk from Waitematā to Manukau (coast to coast) which took me over volcanoes, monuments, through suburbs, beginning and ending with bodies of water. I got into a real rhythm to the point where I wasn’t even thinking anymore, I just walked and looked and listened. There was one point when I reached One Tree Hill and I saw a man sitting in a bunch of weeds while reaching his book. His hair was long and black, the scene was majestic. Part of me wanted to approach him with my camera and ask him if I could capture the scene. I decided to let him keep his peace.

I was alone for most of this walk, meaning that I only ran into two people at the very end who were doing the same hike. Most of the time I didn’t really see any people at all. Tourists scattered at the view points, empty neighborhoods in between. Maybe it’s because it was the summer holidays, or maybe there are just not that many people.

1/22/25 - Just finished walking from coast to coast and the sun is strong. I am confusing the bend of a branch for the underbelly of a bird. I am hearing the endless pulse of bugs buzzing and birds, the hum of a highway and the static of a wave. The power lines go through the water here, I am almost expecting a train to pass through beneath. It is so beautiful here. I’ve reached the beach but something is stopping me from going in. Maybe I’m just waiting for tomorrow. Aren’t we always doing that?

I’ve been thinking about pedestrian politics. I assume it is customary to walk on the left side of the street since cars drive on the left side here. For the most part it is true, but sometimes I have no choice but to be shifted back to the American road rules because people won’t budge. This, however, is not unique to New Zealand. So often do we experience those sidewalk dances, trying to read someone’s feet or their hips, and we get caught in this glitch of movement, repeated and rigid. One day someone is going to get stuck in time and space because they and their passerby are unable to commit to a direction. Isn’t that why we have unspoken rules about which side of the street we walk on? So we can escape the loop? I’ve been on the brink many times. What is custom?

I have mostly taken the position of silent observer while staying at hostels. I tell myself it is because I am shy or that people have already found their groups. To be frank, I don’t really know why. Maybe I just genuinely enjoy watching, my subway habits precede me. It is comfortable to be quiet. I am hoping to test myself more as the days go on. Some people I was sharing a room with said that in city hostels, people tend to be more reserved because they are more likely to be passing through, rather than staying for longer periods of time. This is true, during my four nights at an Auckland hostel, I was the only constant, my roomates changed every day.

My introductions have changed. I am not a student, I don’t currently live in any one place, I don’t participate in many of the things I used to. Still, I don’t feel fully right telling people that I am a farmer. I am not. I help on farms, but I’m no farmer. Hello, my name is Masha, I am from New York, and I’m a farmer. Gah. Weird how we are always constantly categorizing. Hello, my name is Masha, and that is about all I know.

Being alone on the road, I find myself exclaiming a lot more visceral emotion out loud. When I see something beautiful, I gasp loudly. When I do something hard, I exhale sharply. I like this inability to control our reactions to the world. It’s genuine. The breath never lies.

Two rosella parrots shine like rubies in the city bush, a rainbow so natural. I gasp.

After a fulfilling feeding of Auckland mountainous terrain to the feet, I decided to venture to the shores and beaches of its coasts, another 20 km roundtrip. My calloused feet, full. I leaned my things against a stone wall and quickly entered the crystal blue, head underwater, face first emerges, eyes closed, sun strong, dry skin. A mother watched me the whole time while holding her kid. I wondered why. I felt a little self conscious. I wondered why I felt a little self conscious.

The time came for me to go. I hopped on a bus that would take me to Hamilton further south, where I would then transfer to another bus and reach my destination of New Plymouth, a small but lively town on the western coast. There, my first wwoofing hosts in New Zealand would pick me up, and my farmer not farmer life resumes.

1/24/25 - On the bus to Hamilton, listening to Cowboy Graves by Bolaño. I want to write like him.

I am thinking about my walk after calling dad and how I thought that the man walking ahead of me was going to hurt me. Now that I think about it, maybe he kept looking back at me because he thought I was going to hurt him.

Pines among palms among veins.

I like to imagine my life with people I’ve never met. The woman smoking in front of me in Albert Park, the girl knitting in front of the hostel, the Dubliner I briefly spoke to in the elevator. I don’t know why I’m shyer here. I have nothing to lose. Maybe it’s because I know I’m foreign. I’m thinking about that scene in White Noise where Jack talks about his daughter being a pure observer, nothing like a travel reporter. I wonder how I am.

I just saw a Trump 2024 flag along the highway to Hamilton.

I’m thinking about the orange seated trains as I sit on this bus, touching knees with a stranger.

A solo cow in the field, its shape reflected in the sky in the form of a storm cloud. Birds here are built with tilted heads, beaks pointed down. Planes fly in the way you’d expect birds to fly. Birds fly in a way you wouldn’t expect birds to fly.

Kāhu Glen (hawk valley), is a feijoa (pronounced FEY-joe-ah) orchard run by Matt and Melissa Low along with their kids James (11) and Emily (6). Though feijoas are the main focus, they also own cattle, chickens, and sheep, and grow their own courgettes (zucchini), tomatoes, aubergines (eggplant), peppers, apples, avocados, passionfruit, potatoes, blueberries, currants, strawberries, peas, and lots more. Feijoas are native to Brazil, Argentina, Paraguay, Uruguay and Colombia, but I’ve never heard of them before coming to New Zealand where they are quite popular. One of my favorite things was the bay leaf tree on the property - I’ve never seen one before, but bay leaves are quite essential to the cooking in my life.

I’ve had to get used to some of the different names for things. For example, no one knows what a sweet potato is. A kūmara, on the other hand… (pronounced koom-are-ah).

The Lows are also quite the kiwi celebrities since they are one of the first families in New Zealand to build a house out of hemp. You can read about this here:

• https://ourwayoflife.co.nz/build-house-hemp/

Matt is a civil engineer who helped build one of the airport terminals in New Zealand, and grew up in Invercargill (pronounced in-fah-car-go, the southernmost and westernmost city in NZ) on his dad’s sheep farm. Melissa is a primary school teacher who grew up in New Plymouth, but was born in Scotland where most of her family is from, hence the dual origin name for the farm.

1/25/25 - First day of work on the farm today, feeling my tired body. I’m also coming back to that wwoofer feeling that I’m not doing enough. The work continues even when I stop, I am unsettled by this. Today I learned how to make a lasagna garden spread meaning that I know how to healthily plant some produce. Bottom layer you spruce up your old soil, then you add ash and egg shells on top. This ash may include some chicken bones. Then you add hay and cardboard on top, and finally some manure and more hay. A layered cake of 60% carbon (your brown goods) and I think the rest is your nitrogen source (the greens the grass the poo). I pruned some of the tomato plants and feijoa trees. I tied peppers to sticks so that they grow up not sideways. Matt showed me around the property, all the tasks that I would be doing over the next few days. Pruning feijoas, digging up a water pipe, weeding, mulch and wool around a tree, etc.

Reading. I’ve been doing lots of it, or I guess listening to books, because when I get into it, and have the time, I really get into it. So far in 2025 I have read Cowboy Graves by Bolaño, Normal People by Sally Rooney, and The Twilight Zone by Nona Fernandez. I am almost finished with White Noise by Don DeLillo, and I’ve started reading One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Angst by Helen Cixous, and I am about to start reading My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante, Urban Aotearoa : the Future for Our Cities by David Batchelor, and Someone Who Will Love You in All Your Damaged Glory: Stories by Raphael Bob-Waksberg. There is so much to read out there, sad that many pages are left untouched.

Here are some lines from White Noise that I really like:

• “I am the false character that follows the name around” (20).

• “The smell of pantries, the sense of empty afternoons, the feel of things as they rained across our skin, things as facts and passions, the feel of pain, loss disappointment, breathless delight. In these night recitations we create a space between things as we felt them at the time and as we speak them now” (34).

• “It was the time of year, the time of day, for a small insistent sadness to pass into the texture of things” (66).

• “The art of getting ahead in New York was based on learning how to express dissatisfaction in an interesting way” (77).

• “…some dreamed emotion that accompanies the dreamer out of sleep” (149).

• “I’d like to lose interest in myself” (177).

1/27/25 - I dug up some swamp lily, weedeated the scotch thistle and dock in the neighbor’s yard. All of that took 4 hours. I think I can dig up the water pipe in the chicken coop. I believe.

A few days into my stay in New Plymouth, my second host cancelled on me. Part of me was sad that I wouldn’t get to have that experience, but another part of me was very happy to get more time in with the Low family. I really started to feel integrated into the day to day life, I was learning so much by just watching them be together as a family. I never felt like they were putting on a show.

On a clear day in the the Taranaki region, Melissa offered to take me to complete the Pouākai Crossing, a hike that can range from 1-3 days. At six or so in the morning, I packed my sack, stuffed it with a rain jacket, a water bottle, and some cucumber from the garden, and Melissa and I headed to the trailhead, a half hour drive away. We parted ways, and I started my journey in the lower brambles of the Taranaki forest. The first hour was essentially just steep uphill and I was immediately drenched in sweat. I was told there would be parts where one could fill up their water if anything, but I still tried to remain very cautious about how much I was consuming. This is good because I ended up spilling half of my water bottle on some rocks and there was no place to get more water.

After an hour passed, the trees began to thin, and I started to see the first signs of blue sky. The sun was past golden, white light began to make itself known. What really shocked me was the amount of people, probably 40 years older than me, who were running the trail. Made me feel out of shape haha.

At first sight of Mt. Taranaki, I gasped, and I cried. This was about one and a half hours into the hike. The wind was picking up and I could see some rain clouds making their way, but were soon broken by the rocky landscape.

The hike took me a total of 6 hours, about 25 km and 1100 meters in elevation. It felt good, it felt so good. I have never done something of this sort before, let alone while solo. It felt good.

I did one other hike during my stay in New Plymouth, and this was on a mountain range to the left of Taranaki if you are looking with the Pacific on your left. Less severe, but for some reason felt a lot more strenuous. I had to climb some rocks at the end which was a little worrisome, but I felt on top of the world, on top of the fog. On the way down I did fall a couple of times after slipping on some wet branches, nothing serious, but I have started to notice my knees weaken. How does one strengthen their knees?

At the start of the trail, there was a forest of california redwoods which was quite shocking. According to Redwoods Treewalk, “they were planted on the outskirts of Rotorua at the beginning of the 20th century as part of a programme to assess the viability of exotic trees for commercial forestry in New Zealand,” and they grew much faster in the area than in California because of the climate.

I am so lucky.

I don’t really know what to say but that. Maybe that is all I have to say. Life is good right now, it is exciting, and I’ve noticed that there is no longer a strong voice in my head. Sometimes there is literally no voice. I am a blank slate, grateful for every single moment. Wow. Future Masha, please remember this feeling.

After working a few extra hours to get some time off to explore, I went to the Govett-Brewster Art Gallery, also known as the Len Lye Center in New Plymouth. There was a short documentary showing about Len Lye, and I highly recommend for you to look this man up if you don’t know his work. I was pleasantly surprised by what I saw, and he reminded me of the Brian Eno of film and sculpture in terms of his childlike wonder in the body of an elderly man.

One of the great things about my time with Matt and Melissa is the amount of people that they introduced me to. I felt myself begin to familiarize with a different way of life, or at least a very small fraction of it. Those I spoke with said that their love of New Zealand lies in the comfort a life there provides. It’s slow and people are kind.

Then I encountered something that sounds just a little bit too familiar. Many of the people I spoke to, especially white kiwis, had an issue with how immigration was “ruining” the fabric of the country in the sense that people were losing trust in each other, in their neighbors. Interesting how the people who are descendants of immigrants tend to have the biggest issues immigration. What is Kiwi culture?

Even though New Zealand considers itself to be “progressive”, I found its progressiveness to be similar to that of the states. It’s a spoken forwardness, but not one that is actually brought to fruition

I think that my generation is full of nihilists. Not in the sense that they believe that nothing matters, but in the fact that there is a lot of talking about what is wrong with the world, and rarely is anyone actually doing anything about it. I think that the lack of action comes from people researching issues and discovering that to ‘fix’ them, requires really hard work. If everything requires hard work, than what is the point, and people care, but not enough. That is the nihilism I am getting at. I see it everywhere, I see it in myself. It is easy to talk, easy to argue, and so hard to do. From that emerges a certain arrogance. Maybe this is beyond just my generation, but it is something that my generation denies. At least as individuals. I don’t think it is necessarily because there is something wrong with people. We have been given a world with an abundance of challenges. In the end, it is about how we approach those challenges, if at all. I am curious if others have thoughts on this, different words to describe it? Are we helpless in changing the world to a better one? In a world that is always changing, do we have the power to direct that flow?

After labeling some feijoa apple juice, I said goodbye to Kāhu Glen on February 5th and headed to Wellington with a pit stop in Palmerston North. On February 8th I will head to Featherston, an hour north of Wellington, to my next woofing spot: The Fareham Collective.

As much as I loved Auckland, my thoughts completely changed when I reached the capital. Wellington is bustling with creativity and energy, situated at the southernmost point of the north island. Unlike Auckland, it seemed more lively, more activity was happening, everything felt closer together, people included.

On one of my Wellington walks, I happened upon a bookstore where I encountered one of the most well versed book lovers I have ever met. We talked about Clarice Lispector and Borges and Hélène Cixous and I honestly think this man’s book collection is larger than some public libraries. We could have spoken for hours and I probably would have really loved that.

During my short stay, I got my hands on a bike a decided to bike the coast of the Wellington region which was about 40km and it was epic. I felt the wind in my hair and smelled the ocean and felt free as can be.

Movement. It is so valuable and so often do we take this for granted.

I need music that moves with me. I need music that moves me.

I need to move.

I’ve started paying attention to fliers a lot more on the road. I saw a poster for a play called Private Lives that was showing across the street from my hostel. I decided to dress up and take myself out. The theater was packed with older folk, and I ended up having a lovely conversation with an older woman who was from a town about an hour north. She told me how she always used to do these day trips to Wellington with her partner where they would go to a restaurant, a gallery, and then a play. Her partner recently passed away and she promised herself that she would keep to the tradition, even if it meant doing it solo. I admired this, and told her so. We shared many good conversations between scenes. The kindness of strangers. I never got her name.

Another “flier” I saw was a whiteboard advertising a poetry and dance workshop being held in a community art center open to the public. Why not? On my last night I went, and spent time with a group of six or seven other people, just moving how we pleased. It was so unlike any creative workshop I experienced in the US. I was surprised by how many men made up the group, this is rare. Truck drivers, and writers, and self described revolutionaries. For an hour and a half we listened to the poetry of a woman named Eliza who instructed us to find a flow to her words. Barefoot in a small room, that is just what we did. Strange experience, but I am glad that I did it.

Afterwards I went to a dj set at a place called Valhalla, Wellington's only dedicated alternative music venue. This was my first experience of the sort. Strangers in a bar, under pink light, chrome balloons, foam sculptures. I don’t think I enjoyed it. Most of the audience seemed to be friends with the young performers. They kept taking out their phones to film, or jumping on the stage to single themselves out as “part of the inner circle.” There were also just not that many people so these acts were emphasized. I danced and shut my eyes, but the music just wasn’t that good. I am maybe not at the point where I can go to these things solo. Everything was a little too digitized and humbug. A concert is a different story. The bond between audience members is in the name of the music, no one is showing off.

I walked the streets of Wellington at around midnight after this experience. I saw figures illuminated by the neon signs of closed stores, bands of friends trying to figure out their friday night plans, drinkers, loners, travelers. Streets buzzing, the next street over completely desolate. It was time to go.

I am now in Featherston, already having spent a week or so here with a community of artists and teachers, several branches of family composing an 18th century home with a deep history. There are currently 20 or so people living in this place at the moment. I will save the story for next time, I am not yet ready to move.

In two days time I will be at Gilead Farm in Carterton, and shortly after that I will be reunited with Claire in Queenstown, as well as my dad and his partner Natasha. I am thankful for the time I got solo, and I am excited for this next chapter with more sets of eyes, and more pairs of feet.

Thank you.

Music in my rotation, old and new:

Returning to a road that has exit signs at every bend. Returning to moments of routine having forgotten what it means to exist in repetition. Returning to the strange, beginning with distance, and ending with the feeling you’re not as alone as you once thought. Returning to the train yard, the orange seat, the dim light, the reflection. Returning only to depart and return and depart again. Finding peace in goodbye, and leaving fear for the moment. Returning to the security of strangers, letting go of fears in friends. Discovering boundaries, recovering self respect. Returning to forgiveness, forgive, become forgiving, not knowing how to forget. Jumping everyday, teaching others to do the same. Returning to tradition, and new patterns that will one day be returned to. Spending every moment like loose change, jump into the new phase, returning to the last page, onto the next.

Time is working weird, as I like to say. Being home has felt like eternity. I experienced shift upon emotional shift, until all of a sudden I am packing my bags to go to the other side of the planet for 5 months, while simultaneously saying goodbye forever to the homes in which I grew up in. As hard as it is to let go of my childhood spaces, I gotta go.

This intermission has brought me a very intense feeling of gratitude for the people in my life, the people who compose home, the train tracks sprawled throughout the city, the places worth remembering. Memory in time and space. I feel gratitude for my sensitivity, through the blessings and the curses it brings. I am grateful for the silence of snow. I am happy to have caught the cold before disappearing to the summer that is the southern hemisphere.

I spent New Years at my childhood home for the last time. I was with Michelle, Sasha, Maddie, and Alex, friends and family alike, all with different memories in this home. We reflected on our favorite moments there, it was personally very difficult to pick one having spent my entire life there. I realize that the goodness of those moments rely more on the people I shared them with than the actual place. Memories in time, not space. Maybe it is hard to reflect on the space while still being attached to it. I’m sure the following months will bring me a new kind of perspective. There is something so special about having a home base.

It was hard at first, the first few days of my initial return. I felt a kind of loneliness that was very similar to the one that I felt when I was leaving to Oregon. Both weeks were filled with aimless wandering, trying to reground myself in the places I had spent a lot of time in. I am realizing now that maybe this was a pointless practice. There is no getting back what I once experienced. No need to recreate, just create. I think part of the loneliness was also the fact that many of my people weren’t home. I strongly believe that I would be happy anywhere in the world if I was with my buddies.

A few days into my return, I made my way up to Ithaca to see Aidan and I witnessed the remnants of something beautiful. The night before I arrived, Aidan, his roomates, and a few friends prepared an eight course meal for eight strangers (not strangers to the hosts, but to each other). There was a buzz of warmth and excitement in the house of Avalon (the home of Aidan, Logan, Oskar, and Nicole). Friendly faces made their way in and out of this home like a breeze, so elegantly, but always noticeably present. I felt myself being pulled outside of this weird dark hole, and once again feel excitement for the now and the future. It was during this trip that I performed my songs for faces old and new, took a dip in the wintery waters of the Cayuga, discovered the joys of savory oatmeal and caramelized pumpkin seeds, found community in a series of couches, and drove the one and only minivan that housed so many of my formative memories from the past few years. Ithaca was truly a turning point for me in my brief period of sadness. (And yes, I got my driver’s license, whoop whoop!)

I finally cemented my love for trains onto my body forever. I got a tattoo of the view from a train window. Elongated shapes, powerlines, birds on a wire. The art was done by a former Cornell student, I guess it all cycles back in the end.

“Getting used to not being used to anything.” I said this to Aidan on the porch of Avalon the night before we drove back to the city from Ithaca. My friends, I think we have found our new slogan for chapter 2.

The following days became warmer as I started creating new routines, all founded in a little bit of uncertainty and spontaneity. My aimless wandering led to continued wondering, witnessing.

There are two songs that I listened to a lot on my walks and I think have genuinely changed my life forever. I will share my favorite parts from them below:

Soul by Songs: Ohia

• “I tell all my friends
  That I'm bound for heaven
  And if it ain't so
  You can't blame me for living
  I know what it's like
  And it's worth this misfortune
  I know what it's like on the other side”

• “I love what I know about passion
  I love what I know about mercy
  I love what I know about patience
  I love what I know about soul

  And I know you”

A Kiss by Twain

• “taking longer than I need to figure myself out

  finding out i'm better off alone

  this could be the happiness that people talk about

  this could be what they mean by home”

• “I love my self so deeply now I finally can forgive

  my self for thinking I could do no wrong

  I can't live another day beneath such guilt and shame

  even though I know I have done wrong”

• “no one said it would be easy

  but come to think of it

  no one said it has to be hard”

Sometimes a person is just touched by something greater than themselves, and they are gifted the power to write something beyond their individual human experience. Jason Molina and Mat Davidson were given that gift. These songs shake me to my core.

As always, this newsletter is created over a series of days so if you are searching for chronology, I am sorry you will not find that here.

I have surprised myself over this break with the amount of movies I have gone out to see. I am not a huge movie guy, but I do love the way that the Angelika shakes when the trains pass through Broadway Lafayette. I remember watching Queer and I was on the rightmost side of the theater, and I would put my hand against the wall to feel it move. It reminds me of one Autumn Rhythm show that happened a few years ago where I was standing right next to the PA and I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall. I could feel everything. Both moments I cried. (If you couldn’t tell by now I am a very big crier, and I am not ashamed, I wrote a whole song about it haha).

I just found out that David Lynch died. I am on the plane to LA from NYC, and somehow even while being many many miles up in the air, the news has reached me. I don’t think I have ever cried over a celebrity death except for Dolores O'Riordan of the Cranberries, and now Lynch. I wasn’t expecting such an unbearable sadness to wash over me. But here I am, crying on a plane next to a stranger who is probably wondering what the hell is going on. I remember reading an essay by David Foster Wallace on David Lynch back in my freshman year, and then revisiting that essay while on farm #4 and watching Blue Velvet. My dear cousin Michelle, the biggest superfan of Lynch I have ever met, introduced me to his work I don’t even remember how long ago at this point. It’s funny to me the amount of memories I have associated with David Lynch. I remember trying to put my dad onto Twin Peaks and making him sit down with me every time I was over at his house to watch. I remember watching Fire Walk With Me with Leon this past summer. I remember beginning to watch the third season of Twin Peaks with my mom and mark and all of us being confused because we hadn’t watched the previous in a while. I remember Sam lending me his copy of Lynch on Lynch and me gifting him Catching the Big Fish. I remember listening to his music before I entered my 6th grade music class with my flute in hand. I remember my cousin telling me about the rotting tree. I remember always telling myself I would never add stickers to my instruments, except I succumbed and added “fire walk with me” to the back of my guitar, a phrase that has no doubt deeply influenced my music (which is always about fire and trains). He has had an otherworldly influence on so many people, and is one of the few who was always wholeheartedly authentically been himself. Thank you Mr. Lynch.

As emotional as I am, I want to highlight some moments of joy that I experienced being home because I feel like people don’t talk about joy enough. The moments include:

• Making a mud pie with Tessa and Louise after a day of snow, and then gathering on a single rotting tree stump to talk about what has been on our minds.

• Going to a dance performance with Arlo, and getting surprised at the end that we too would have to dance (It was terrifying, but very fun). We walked the bridge home that night which I am always a fan of.

• Going to a concert alone for the first time and seeing LCD Soundsystem perform while being in the front row, and completely losing my voice. I met some wonderful people that night, and ended up going to another concert almost a month later with Olive (one of the people I met).

• Making breakfast with Chelsea, the southern classic of shrimp and grits.

• Walking through Ithaca with Maeve, a new friendship that I am very excited to see grow over the next few years.

• Discovering the light up pumpkin tree with Tessa and Louise, and then going to see Yo La Tengo with Tessa and her family. Fred Armisen was on drums.

• Watching Eno with Leon and experiencing the strangest wave of events in a little Ukrainian restaurant at the end of a fluorescent lit hallway. There was something in the air, I don’t remember a single conversation, but I remember us both constantly spacing out and maybe laughing out of fear?

• Going on a hike upstate with Michelle and Alex and falling down at least five times because Blundstones aren’t built for snow.

• Polar Plunge! Sash and I couldn’t participate because of our twin surgeries, but we got to witness Michelle and Alex transform into two very happy cold blobs.

• Showing Mich Green-Wood cemetery and expressing how grateful we are to be sharing a lifetime.

• Recording vocals for 400 bench.

• Going to a David Berman memoriam performance with Ashton and Zephyr, and perhaps meeting the most eclectic group of people ever gathered in a room.

• key lime pie. that is all I’ll say.

• going climbing with Kayo and successfully failing and winning all at the same time.

• Snow

• Leading a poetry workshop at Bard on the art of movement.

• Making a beautiful meal for my friends from middle school and elementary school.

• Going to North Carolina with my dad to celebrate the end of this year and visit family. The concept of unconditional love has always been crazy to me, but I am grateful for the unconditional support of my family.

• Spending time with Odin. This always brings me joy.

• Venturing out to New Jersey with my mom and sister to get beat up by old ladies and eat some very good food.

• Sneaking into the Guggenheim to see Louise :)

• Spending time with Miguel and Milo, trainspotting to colombian food. a good combination

• Ryder trade, a book for a book + music MACHINES.

• Making tags with Konstantina and jumping on my favorite roof.

• There are so many more and that is so wonderful to know that in such a brief period of time, I was able to experience so many moments of joy. It is definitely fuel for the journey ahead. Thank you for everything.

What is ahead? Well, tomorrow night I fly out to Auckland and land two days later thanks to a 13 hour flight and the 18 time zones I will be flipping through. I am solo for now, and I don’t know how long I will be, but hopefully Claire and I will join again in the near future. Sending love out to my buddy roaming the Portland streets.

I am staying in Auckland for four days, and then I will be taking a bus down to New Plymouth where I will be helping out on two different farms. In early February I will trek down to Wellington for a night, and then head a little north to the Featherston area to help renovate a home, and work on another farm. I will then go back down to Wellington and most likely fly out to Queenstown where I will meet my dad and we will explore the glorious mountains of the southern island together. I will go back up to Amberley which is an hour north of Christchurch and finish my NZ excursion by working on a food education farm for a few weeks.

On March 15th I will fly out to Sydney, Australia where I will explore on my own for a bit, staying with some family friends, until my departure to Japan where I will be until May 17th. There I will be working on a tea farm for a month in Shizuoka. I will turn 19 in a place unfamiliar, surrounded by people I don’t yet know. At the end of my stay I plan to hike the Kumano Kodo trail over five days.

What can I say. I am so so so excited for what’s to come. It will be a true test of my character at times, and my ability to persevere alone in completely new environments. I am excited to learn and to meet people and witness new things. I am a little scared and that is ok. I hope that I will find the time to write, but I also have a feeling that I maybe will not have so much time to write. I will come back with stories to tell.

This chapter ends for now, but I hold it dear to my heart.

Some goals:

• be intentional

• ask many questions

• be open to change, always

• no expectations

• jump

Thank you, until next time. Even miles away, don’t be afraid to reach out.

In flight,

Mash.

P.S. here are some moments for visual memory:

Feel free to add some music to this playlist of my many long flights ahead:

I’m coming home tomorrow.

Upon my arrival I know that my time will again feel short. A second departure awaits for me in January. One that feels incredibly uncertain right now. I’ve been having dreams about it. Claire and I arrive at the airport and we don’t know where we are and then we find each other in different bodies of water, only our backs visible. We both are wearing the hats we made. The water is the darkest blue, and deep. I am a bird now. I watch those in the water descend. I fly away.

I’m very excited to be back in Brooklyn, but every now and then I fear that it is not the home that it once was. That I will be looking at where I grew up with something in my eye. Or maybe with eyes unobscured. Being away has cleared some things up for me, especially about what is important to me. I think that that will make it not feel the same as it once did, and yet simultaneously, I think that we have been slowly growing apart from each other for a while anyways. But, it is a non physical distance that I haven’t fully come to accept yet.

It is hard to let go of what we love.

2.

Omen.

I love this word. I am mystified by this word. I am maybe a little scared of the word. And I see it everywhere. I remember, a couple years ago I walked into an empty movie theater in Kingston, NY, and it was already dark outside. I remember walking past the bathrooms where the “w” for the women’s restroom had fallen.

Omen. Omen. Omen.

This wasn’t the first experience like it. My dad and I used to joke that the amount of times that I had heard or seen the word omen was in itself, an omen.

I think that dreams are, in a way, omens. The way they combine our thoughts with what we see, do, feel, all to sometimes end up predicting an event that happens the following day. They are predictive by nature.

Omen.

When Claire and I first met in Gambier, OH, during the summer of 2023, we decided to start a shared dream journal together. This was inspired by one of our instructors at Kenyon—a man who writes dreams for a living (shoutout Mathias Svalina). Since then, we have written over 100 dreams in a notes folder, and it has become one of the many ways that we keep in touch from opposite coasts. Even now, sleeping in the same bed, tent, living room, bus, etc. we have kept up the tradition. I’ll include some excerpts of the latest from both of us, below:

• “A cat was licking my ear

  It felt real

  I tried to shoo it away

  It kept getting more aggressive 

  So I punched it in the face

  In the background I was falling in love somewhere”

• “…i was a man then

  returning home to a room full of people

  a drawer full of birds”

• “Under orange light

  Pre storm (…)

  You seem possessed like you were in a cult

  Every few minutes you would grab scissors to maniacally cut the hair in front of your face

  You asked for help in moments of clarity

  I was unable to”

• “…in between myself and the wall there is a mirror

  i am flattened by it.

  turned upside down and inside out.

  everything looks blue

  even my freckles,

  even my teeth.”

All that to say, maybe our dreams were trying to warn us.

We arrived in Bandon, OR on the night of October 20. Claire’s friend, Clare the circus artist, very generously gave us a ride. Five hours beneath Portland, streets quickly turned to highways, mountain passes, snakes on the coast.

In the dark, we could only begin to makeout the shapes of bogs and trucks and warehouses. We all made jokes in passing about how creepy looking everything was, that if anything, we could always head back to Portland with Clare the next morning.

Omen.

We retraced our steps in daylight after leaving Bandon. I kept noticing people every few miles on the side of the road, lighting their trash on fire. Smoke settled on the farmlands and industrial plants like fog.

One of the first conversations we had with the host at Black Moon Farms, he told us that “every farm has a death pit” aka a place where farmers discard compostable trash, that is not always “trash.”

Every farm has a death pit.

I tried to think back to the so called “death pits” I have encountered over the past few months. Some farmers choose to tell you where it is, and some don’t. Mokey’s was in their kitchen, bone broth and unmarketable produce, the occasional bone found among tomatillos. KC’s was in the forest, the deer’s body under wood and human excrement, garden fuel. Paul’s in compost bins and burn piles.

The last farm never revealed where their death pit was to us so all I’ll say is don’t go looking for death pits in Bandon, they might be in your cranberries.

I found a dead frog in the cranberries the day before we left.

Omen.

Our task as woofers on this farm was cranberry sorting. We sorted thousands of pounds of cranberries. You may wonder, “Masha, what does it mean to sort cranberries?” Well, it is just that. It is standing in a box under fluorescent LEDs, picking through bins upon bins of cranberries, throwing away any that are soft or cracked or discolored. It is very simple and straightforward work, one where you are very easily able to think about everything, but the task you were doing.

This was difficult at first, I felt like I was wasting my time, not learning anything from endless sorting. It took a few days for me to get into a flow, especially a mental one. It helped that I started to become more friendly with the people I was working with (The host and another woofer). We would talk about the possibility of female popes in history, the productivity of rhythm, books, music, etc. Sometimes we would just listen to our own music, podcasts, or audiobooks. There I realized that one can only do meaningful work when they feel they have purpose, when they feel they are helping. Getting to know the people I was working for made me think that even though the sorting was “boring,” at least I was being helpful to someone who was running their business alone. I learned about the importance of doing this kind of work, finding patience (something that I have been strongly trying to work on). This work-friendship continued to build, and we all saw something in doing our best to help each other. Until we didn’t.

To help pass the time while sorting I began listening to 2666 by Roberto Bolaño. This book is split into five parts, the common theme being violence against women. I had to stop listening at part four: The Part About the Crimes.

Omen.

It is hard to accept the fact that I gained something valuable from bad people. I will not give them that credit. I didn’t know they were bad, until I knew they were bad. This growth was internal, but it is the external that pushed me in new ways. If it weren’t for the events that occurred towards the end of our stay, I think I would have been very sad to leave this place. Part of me was still sad, but in a more rageful way. I often find that my anger comes hand in hand with sadness.

This is a story of betrayal. To quote my previous newsletter; “I just wake up feeling like I’ve lost something. Sometimes betrayed.”

Omen.

Maybe our dreams were trying to warn us.

3.

I went to Big Sur today and I stood in front of waves 10x my size. I felt it in my chest when they crashed down, like a fist drumming. California is so different from Oregon. It’s almost European, but in the most American way possible.

There was a gift shop on the side of the road selling mussels in tin cans alongside Yerba Mates and nut butter chocolate. Oh how California.

4.

I am on the plane home, mountain ranges dusted with snow and pink from the setting sun below me. What a strange wonderful privilege it is to see the world from here. My heart is racing a little bit.

I am remembering a poem that Maria and I wrote together in 10th grade about my band’s first indoor concert, but it was more about the DIY scene as a whole, the freeing experience of it as you’re growing up. I remember I lost my hearing for the first time at that concert and I cried as soon as I got off the stage. It was at an arcade bar called Wonderville.

A repeating phrase throughout this poem was “the world looks so small from up here,” even though it maybe should have been that the world looks so small from down there. Humans have this wonderful ability to zoom in and zoom out. We are in this constant in between of feeling small and seeing our lives as something so enormous.

A few weeks ago Maria sent a video compilation they had made out of footage they collected from that hectic crazy band year. I feel so strange about that time of my life. It was so special, it made my world feel so small, it made me feel too important while also being meaningless. I am thankful, rollercoaster and all.

5.

After abandoning Bandon, Claire and I tried to plan out what we could do with our extra time. There is no time like the present, especially after a scary experience, to do things that make you feel like a kid.

Claire taught me how to roller skate, we went down to Salem again to visit Phoebe and pick up my hat that they so beautifully mended, we went to Phoebe’s brothers play, up to Seattle to visit friends and explore, saw Rocky Horror, made hats, explored, cried, and laughed before having to part ways from each other.

I am very grateful for Claire for introducing me to the people in their life and showing me the many experiences that make up their PNW living.

Seattle was such a heartwarming adventure this time around. We went back to stay with Alex and Eliza, and we made a wonderful friendsgiving dinner at their home. Kayo joined us along with a buddy of Alex’s and some of Eliza’s and Claire’s friends from UU. I keep the new friendships I made during this trip close to my heart.

6.

We flew over central park and the bridges. The landscape immediately turned so bright and it made me wonder how many people were awake at that hour. Even so, the lights are always on in this city, except for when the sun rises.

We flew over Grand Army and Prospect Park. I unexpectedly started crying. I’ve never been gone for so long, but it wasn’t a long time at all. I don’t know how I’m going to last across the world for almost half a year. I will anyways.

My cousin told me that Prospect Park was on fire a few weeks ago. I have a hard time imagining that.

7.

Do I want to be a farmer? I don’t think I have gotten any closer to answering that. It is the sacrifice of a body to fuel a body. Maybe it makes me weak to think that I would be incapable of doing that for a lifetime, but maybe I find purpose in helping through other ways. I think I could be a teacher. I’m just saying things at this point, I don’t know where my life is leading me.

I am reminded of a hunt I witnessed a couple of years ago. An old lion killed a wildebeest, and together they breathed their last breaths.

“the giver takes, the taker gives”

8.

I couldn’t stop moving today. Walking around my neighborhood, I felt like I was in a simulation. Like I was experiencing the world a half step behind, or through a middle ground.

I walked home from my cousin’s apartment tonight, and the streetlamps made the rain look like snow. It almost could have been, it was so cold. I couldn’t stop moving and I couldn’t stop thinking.

I wondered if the longer people are in a place, the easier it is to not pay attention.

I wondered if people notice that in some parts of the city, the pavement sparkles, and that if you have headphones on while passing the bus, you can feel it in your whole body like someone has fallen down next to you.

I wondered how many planes flew over my head while I was walking down Flatbush, but couldn’t see because the clouds were so dense.

I wondered what would happen if someone attacked me on the street. Would I know what to do?

I wondered why I felt so invincible.

I wondered if people would think that I had changed, or not at all.

I wondered if I was too old for my skin, and if thinking that made me insufferable.

I wondered why.

9.

I don’t want to forget what it means to be a kid.

There is snow on the side of the road. And we climb. There is snow in the trees. And we climb. There is snow in the air, under our feet, in our mouths. We drive up the mountain, blinded. And we climb.

After harvesting buckets of purple and green cabbage, the four of us, me, Claire, Shaz (the long term woofer from Ohio at Total Eclipse Farm, age 60?), and Caelie (new woofer from Hutchinson, Kansas, arrived three days before we left, age 23) drove up towards Mt. Hood, on a day where any place above 5000 ft. elevation would be blanketed in snow. It is the middle of October. I have never seen snow this time of year, but yet again, I’ve never been to Oregon before.

We arrived at Total Eclipse Farm in Mount Hood Parkdale on October 7th at around 8:15pm. The drive was dark, the Columbia River ever so slightly reflecting the glow of the waxing crescent moon, yellow, a tree line defined every now and then. As we turned onto 4390 Leasure Drive, Shaz greeted us with a firm handshake, her gray hair styled in the most intense mullet I have ever encountered, and one that I would come to find so perfectly her. She’s lived on this farm for the past three years. When asked why she chose to stay for so long, she said, “I fell in love with the mountain, I fell in love.” Sure enough, we would wake to her beloved mountain standing in the backyard the next morning, in awe.

The farm, a total of 20 acres, is owned by Paul and Julie Hansen, two surgeons (Paul retired) who split their time between here and Portland. Though we maybe spent a total of 4 days with Paul and 1 with Julie, they carried a warmth about them that is hard to describe. They are hardworking people, deeply in love, and admirably independent. It was a beautiful thing to witness their relationship, one that felt healthy and genuine.

We enjoyed most of our time alongside Shaz, 15 chickens, a horse named Lexi, her emotional support goat, and eventually Caelie (Chilly our dawggg). Shaz served in the navy for 20 years before breaking her back, retiring, and beginning her woofing journey, one that she hopes has come to an end in Parkdale. She became the pillar of our experience, our fearless leader over the next 11 days. She had a hilarious relationship with the chickens which often involved throwing shoes and sticks at them, honking, “are you LOST ladies??” and at one point, there was an egg on her pillow.

I am going to attempt to keep this newsletter on the shorter side, and for good reason. This farm experience was, to put it plainly, uneventful. I say good reason because we have had our fair share of hectic chaotic adventure, and it is nice to be able to slow down for a moment and not feel trampled. That is not to say that chaotic adventure is always bad. I learned a lot and am better off because of it.

Our tasks varied between harvesting strawberries, beets, lettuce, carrots, strawberries, tomatoes, cabbage, leeks, and more strawberries. There were a total of 6 plots, 2 of which were brimming with some of the best tasting strawberries I have ever tried. Total Eclipse Farm is part of the Gorge Farmer Collective which is essentially a farmer-owned and operated online marketplace (started in 2020) that allows farmers to sell/deliver what they have at hand, rather than stressing to grow hundreds of pounds of produce every week. Some of our work involved packaging and dropping off produce for the collective. It is also important to consider that this was the end of the harvest season so we were doing a lot of “breakdown.” This meant taking staples out of irrigation tape, composting plants that were goners due to frost, unscrewing the wooden dividers, moving metal fencing, etc.

We also participated in food prep and did a good amount of cooking which counted towards our hours. We made a giant pot of borscht which was made up solely of veggies from the garden. We also cheffed some turkey barley soup, strawberry shortcake, enchiladas, and too many jars of marinara to count. I am very pro cheffing it up for your friends WITH your friends. When I get back home, I hope to make and share many meals with my loved ones, a practice that I surprisingly wasn’t doing a lot of before I left.

On our own time, Claire and I explored the beautiful wilderness of Mt.Hood, its surround. We went on a hike almost every day, catching up before the rainy season really caught on. However, I’m sure even if the rain came, we would still hit the woods (which it did, and so did we). Our first hike might have been my favorite, Umbrella Falls to Picnic Rock, except we never found Picnic Rock and instead enjoyed a delicious lunch on the mountain side.

On the hike, we climbed one of those pillars that carry ski lifts which has always been an item on my bucket list. Those things are taller than you would expect! That same night, we saw the northern lights which happens to be another thing I’ve always wanted to witness.

At the beginning of our farm journeys, Claire and I decorated each others notebooks, and my favorite thing that they added was a cutout from a Nat Geo magazine that says “witness”. Every time I wish to write, I first am reminded to WITNESS. After all, that is what so much of writing is. David Foster Wallace writes a little about this in his essay, “E Unibus Pluram: television and U.S. fiction.” He puts it in a more humorous way than I could so I’ll use his words over mine:

“Fiction writers as a species tend to be oglers. They tend to lurk and to stare. They are born watchers. They are viewers. They are the ones on the subway about whose nonchalant stare there is something creepy, somehow (…) Fiction writers watch other humans sort of the way gapers slow down for car wrecks: they covet a vision of themselves as witnesses” (1).

He goes on to say how these born watchers, dislike being watched. I, however, think that in non fiction writing at least, which I guess I am sort of doing now, being watched as the witness is a major part of the process. I don’t particularly enjoy being watched, but we aren’t able to go invisible, might as well embrace that. He made me miss people watching on the subway, and the funny/scary things that happen as a result of being an “ogler.”

Witnessing the northern lights was a magical experience. At 9pm pst, Tucker Zimmerman released his album with Big Thief called Dance of Love. Knowing that the lights would be passing through, Claire and I took our earbuds outside to the field where hay is grown on the farm, listened and looked. I highly recommend checking out this album if you haven’t. It is silly and deep and embodies the worries and highlights of life very well. We danced in the moonlight, skipped, and rolled. We couldn’t see the red sky until after the album was through, but I think the timing was great for our attention, may have been too overwhelming otherwise. One of my favorite songs off the record is called “Leave It On the Porch Outside.”

The lights were definitely a lot clearer through the phone’s lens, but to the bare eye it was wonderful in its own way. It felt as though there was something in my eye, that something was messing with my vision, a pulsing. We watched as red lines glowed dimly in the sky, like a ghost. It made me return to this idea of spirituality and god. If there is a god, it is in nature pulsating, a red sky, inviting.

In poetry club last year, one of the freshman members slipped a note in my pocket at the end of a meeting. On it, it read:

“Worship, the poor-man’s therapy…and yet so effective. The ceiling is damned. Wood creaks, emitting that nose-tickling smell. That old woman kneels. Why would G-d want his creation on her frail knees? Her face contorts. What is the line between popular fantasy and the holy book, this woman’s devotion?”

I have carried this in my wallet since I received it, and it is one of my favorite things I have ever read. I feel most spiritual when I am moving, when I dance, when I listen. This poem has touched me deeply. My knees will meet the soil to dig, not out of obedience.

I miss that club, but it is in great hands, and I am excited to visit. All the love to Ashton, Zephyr, Marti, and Zoe!

I have always felt strangely uncomfortable around religion, or at least organized religion. I don’t like the business of it all, the “worship”, eyes glazed, the untouchable. At the same time, I am drawn by the way that it moves people, the devotion, the music. Claire and their family are Unitarian Universalists which is a religion that doesn’t exactly feel like a religion. It preaches community, love, finding spirituality in people, places, experiences rather than an unseen man in the sky. It teaches values as most religions do, but as an open door rather than a burden. Claire and I have talked about it several times and I am grateful for their openness in answering my curiosities about it. I am very hesitant towards religion, but love to see how it plays a role in other people’s lives. I might go to a UU service back home just to see how it works in action.

Claire shared a movie with me called I Saw the TV Glow. We watched it together one night and it was deeply disturbing. I have heard very mixed reviews about it, but I personally loved it, I just don’t know if I would be able to watch it again. I started crying at what felt like 15 minutes into the movie. At times I wondered if the movie was too on the nose. I’d love to talk more about it, so if you have seen it, give me a ring!

Odin gave me a call the other day and I would just like to say that that right there is an incredible human being whom I love very much! Odin is currently on a tiny one street island in Indonesia learning how to become a dive master, collecting data on different species of coral and fish, and meeting people from all over the world. We had a very important conversation back in 10th grade when we hardly knew each other, and it is such a wonderful thing to see how we’ve changed and grown since that point. Though a lot has happened since that E Houston walk we shared, Odin’s heart remains kind and true! All the love to you my friend.

Something I have started to notice over my travels is my need to be in walkable places. Boy am I lucky to have grown up taking trains and walking bridges. In order to go on all these hikes and go into town, we had to be driven, trips that would on average take 30 minutes or more. I am grateful for the independence I had in my movement growing up. Highway cities are against our nature as wanderers! The drive feels like a burden on the driver, when all we want to do is explore. My dream city is a walkable one.

Shaz took us into the town of Hood River for a few hours on one of our first days and we got to explore one of the few walkable areas in our vicinity. Even with that said, the highway runs through Hood River.

We witnessed some very bizarre things in Hood River on our second to last day in the area. I will list them here in no particular order:

• a carrot covered in glitter inside of a tree

• a man throwing axes in the woods

• a dog on a triangular roof

I have also started to gain an obsession with horses, or at least the word “horse.” People spend so much time exploring the curiosity of what’s “out there,” and ignore the crazy alien creatures that gather all around us. Horses are crazy. Why don’t we talk about them more?

I wrote a poem, or at least the beginnings of one, called “Horseangel.” I am captured by this phrase for god knows what reason. I am inclined to do something musical with it. I have a vision.

I also discovered this artist by the name of Kiki Smith. It is not often that I am enraptured by visual art, but her work captivates me completely. She is a genius and I hope to one day meet her and see her work in person.

Some of the other hikes we did included the Hood River Pipeline Trail, Laurance Lake High Ridge Trail, Indian Creek Trail, Mirror Lake Loop Trail, Tamanawas Falls Trail, Horsetail Falls trail, and a wandering on Miller Road by the farm which was mostly following the highway. All were so different from each other, but all beautiful hiking experiences. Claire and I shared many a good conversation.

I have been considering revisiting my inquiry project more and more upon my return from this part of the gap year. I think there is so much that I could add to what I have written after actually experiencing these farms firsthand, especially right before the election. The politics of farming is vast, and has been interesting to see how each of the farms we have been to have been so independent in thought from each other. The look of a farmer is not so black and white, but at times it can be. Also, every farmer that I have spoken to thus far hates farmer’s markets. Who would have known.

There was a terrible fire in the Hood River area in 2017 known as the Eagle Creek Fire, and it was very shocking to see how the land has been impacted since then. On the day we left, me, Claire, and their dad went on a hike through dead woods. The trees are still covered in ash, their bark feels like styrofoam, soft and rubbery. I can’t even begin to imagine what the life of the person who started the fire is like. He was 15 when it happened. He idiotically threw a firework into the woods, causing a fire that burned 48,000 acres of land. I don’t know if I could live with myself after doing that, how do we forgive ourselves after something like that? Can we? Arlo put it well in a text conversation we shared:

“That’s got to be a strange place to walk around. A lot of souls in the air. A lot of them angry at a stupid kid.”

I can’t help but feel bad for this kid. I want to cry for him.

I’ve been thinking about loss lately. It comes to life in my dreams, but I don’t remember most of my dreams, I just wake up feeling like I’ve lost something. Sometimes betrayed. Even writing this now makes me tear up for no particular reason. I am disturbed by my ability to feel things deeply without understanding where the feelings come from. I think I miss home, but I am also beginning to have some anxieties about going back. I am remembering people that I only began to get to know. It is sad that circumstances cut off the potential for us to fully get to know each other. It makes me sad that we are often left on the brink of knowing someone. We often live whole lives without really KNOWING anyone. Part of me says that it’s exciting to always be discovering new things about people. Another part of me just feels sad that we are put in these situations. Like most, I crave connection.

What is the difference between loss and letting go?

I’ve also been thinking about waste. Such a big part of the food and farming business is waste. Things are always getting thrown out, strawberries rot, leeks unsold, surplus to no advantage. Working in service over the summer showed me this clearly. Food is always being thrown out, refused, redone. Wasted. I don’t know why waste and loss connect in my brain. They do. We don’t see the action of throwing something out as losing it. Why not? Wasteful…lossful…full…blah.

My hands continue to change. My pointer fingers have developed a crust, my calluses are like city layouts. Gridded. They always look dirty, I swear I scrub them clean.

Well there goes my brevity…

After leaving Total Eclipse Farm, Claire and I headed back to Portland for a couple days. The night before our fourth farm departure, we went to a Haley Heynderickx concert which was magical. I had been listening to a lot of her music before I left home so it felt particularly meaningful. She played her new album that she is releasing on November 1st. Y’all should be excited. I consider her song “Seed of a Seed” to be part of the soundtrack for my year thus far.

“If I get lucky
Maybe a simple life
If I get lucky
Maybe some free time

No, if we don't know better
If we don't know better
Well, did my parents' parents know better?
No, but they tried”

I am writing this from farm #4 after my first full day of work. Cranberry sorting galore. Apparently there are no bog spiders here. Apparently, it is a MYTH. I am a mile from the ocean, and I am closer to California than I am to Portland. This is the finale of my PNW world tour. Not yet over, but no longer the beginning.

#21 - Have you encountered any new definitions of love? Acquired any?

I would like to think that I’m always gathering new ways to love. In reality, I think I’m finding old love in new places. The things I see, the music I hear, everything reminds me of people and the things I love. Love of association I guess.

It was my grandfather’s 80th birthday the other day and a lot of my family is gathered to celebrate in North Carolina right now. Though I am not there, I love witnessing that love from a far. There is no love quite like grandparents’ love. I love being told that I look like my grandparents.

I don’t know if I am finding new definitions, maybe I am just becoming more appreciative of the love that I receive in my life. I think sometimes I have taken that for granted.

I dedicate this newsletter to my beautiful grandparents. I love you.

and I end with some big thief lyrics:

“"I'm afraid of getting older", that's what I learned to say
'Cause society has given me the words to think that way
The message spins and spirals, "Don't get saggy, don't get grey"
But the soft and lovely silvers are now falling on my shoulder
My mother and my grandma, my great-grandmother too
They wrinkle like the river, sweeten like the dew
And as silver as the rainbow scales that shimmer purple blue
How can beauty that is living be anything but true?
So let gravity be my sculptor, let the wind do my hair
Let me dance in front of people without a care
Let me be naked alone with nobody there
Or with mismatched socks and shoes and stuff stuffed in my underwear”

#I7 : In what terms are you measuring time, recently?

I started answering this question thinking that I wasn’t really measuring time at all. I haven’t checked the calendar once in the past month, it doesn’t really matter to me whether it is a Monday or a Friday, and I don’t wear a watch. So maybe I haven’t been exactly measuring it, but I have definitely been witnessing and feeling its passing. Fall has swung slowly, but surely over the PNW. Fears of frost eliminating harvest arise. My hair is longer now. My body looks different, feels different. I have gained familiarity with new places, new people, practices, ideas. It’s only been two weeks since the last letter, but it has felt like a year. Maybe that is a measurement. I just feel that so many of these things just happen, and I’m there to see them happen. I’m not counting down the days.

So, where do I begin to describe this two week year? I don’t think I have been able to successfully describe the experience to anybody who has asked yet, so let this just be another attempt.

On September 15th, Claire and I headed on the amtrak from Vancouver, WA to Seattle, WA (little over 3 hour trip). It was a retracing of steps. The train passed through Centralia and there was almost the urge to hop off, to go back to the routine of those weeks before. But of course, onwards and upwards and inwards and outwards we must go.

On the train I started reading a book that Claire’s dad gave me called The Good Rain by Timothy Egan. It is about the author’s journey through the PNW, alongside descriptions of the geographic and social histories of the area. I have greatly enjoyed reading it thus far because actually being in and experiencing the places I’m reading about gives new meaning to my wandering. I am particularly drawn to Egan’s language, something that often bridges on poetic, while simultaneously being informative. I would argue that it is difficult to describe the PNW without being poetic. Some of my favorite phrases from the book so far have been:

• “traffic noise gradually recedes and the full throated sounds of marsh creatures gain” (130)

• “I will fight no more forever” (121)

• “The rain proved stronger than the faith, and so Catholicism did not penetrate the forests of the Northwest for many years” (113)

• “Turning their backs to the sea brought instant starvation” (111)

• “Mountains have been waiting, even in ancient worlds, for cycles” (41)

• “the truth of a place is never found on first glance, or even third” (38)

Upon arrival in Seattle, my first time there, we were picked up by Claire’s wonderful friend, Nurse Eliza Luna Durkee-Neuman. Eliza lives with her roomate and childhood friend, Alex, in the beautiful neighborhood of Beacon Hill where there are many purple doors and sidewalks enveloped in green. It was really cool to see how Seattle is a city bound by its landscape compared to that of NYC which feels so separate from its northern regions. The nature of Washington is inescapable, even in its biggest city. On a sunny day, its mountain ridges poke the horizon proudly.

During our brief one night stay on Eliza’s floor, we walked around downtown, tried to sneak onto a ghost tour, had a wonderful home cooked meal, and bleached Claire’s head. Did you know that Seattle has a bunch of underground tunnels because after the “Great Seattle Fire” many streets were rebuilt 1-2 stories higher. The underground is closed off to the public, but we found our way around…(thank you Francis).

The next morning, Eliza dropped us off by the ferry to Bainbridge Island where we would embark on our next series of adventures. From the ferry, we got on the colorful Strait Shot bus which took us to Port Angeles (PA) two hours away, where our new host, KC, picked us up. We walked along the water with KC and his 4 year old daughter, Lorelai before heading to Joyce where they live. Mt. Baker stood staring at us in all its glory, the Canadian border across the water, basking.

Something that I noticed while passing through different towns in the PNW is the greater attention towards the native populations in the area. All town signs and street names are paired with their indigenous names, something that is almost completely ignored on the east coast. There is a beautiful mural in PA dedicated to the Elwha, also known as the Strong People, or Nəxʷsƛ̕áy̕əm. Though these acknowledgements are small compared to the grave history of native erasure in the US, it was more than I have ever witnessed before.

The Good Rain also brings a lot of emphasis on how farming and agriculture was used as a tool to colonize. Forcing native people to give up hunting and gathering and turn their primary focus to the soil was a big contributor to the deaths of so many. This has been an interesting thing to grapple with. You don’t really hear about any of this often in this country. It has made me think about my practice of farming differently, one that requires a bit more reflection.

One of the first things I noticed about KC is that he speaks to Lorelai solely in Spanish, a language that he picked up from his Dad’s girlfriend. Though he has a strong american accent, his Spanish is practically fluent. Later, we would discover that he also speaks to his goats only in Spanish.

Within the first half hour of our meeting, KC began to share very peculiar particles from his life. He told us the story of how he found out about WWOOF when he hitchhiked into Spain with a friend of his. He got tired of getting arrested for being a strange looking ginger, so was happy to find a family that offered shelter, but not food. He had gotten very comfortable with dumpster diving. He told us about his upbringing in his dad’s hippie commune, and how he fell in love with goats by taking them into the woods when he studied calculus. This man’s life is jaw dropping in so many ways, the more I found out, the less I felt I knew him.

KC is a part time chemistry teacher at the local college, and also occasionally teaches at Lorelai’s cooperative preschool. Alana, his wife and our other host, is the director of nursing at the local medical school. Alana also has a lovely 10 year old daughter named Lianna who lives with them as well. We were almost immediately welcomed into their home and everyday life, which was a very different shift from Coffee Creek.

At Coffee Creek I felt like I needed to earn that openness, to be welcomed into Mokey’s home was a big deal for me. I enjoyed working for it, because in the end I knew that the respect was real. At Cabras y Flores, KC’s homestead, their home was our home. I have mixed feelings about that, I felt as though that sense of trust came too easily.

Our living situation over the next few weeks was a wooden metal structure that would shelter our tent from the rain. There was an outdoor toilet and shower, but we were also free to use the indoor amenities before 8pm. Cabras y Flores was located on Farrington road, about half an hour drive from PA. The home was centered in a lush forest, between a giant garden and three goat pens. It was foggy every morning, moth man esque.

I am assuming most of you know what the concept of moth man means to me, but if not I will describe it briefly here. I am not referring to the giant furry moth creature from West Virginia, but the feeling that one gets from being in liminal spaces, foggy quiet, streetlamps at night, the overlooked. Moth man, Moss Man, Mosh Man. It’s more than just that, but those are the essential bits. I have a moth man poem from several years ago that does a better job, so if you’re curious, I can share it.

Besides the 10 goats all named after greek mythological figures, we were also joined by about 10 chickens, 10 ducks, a livestock guard dog named Basil, a tick eating Cavalier named Tillie, and a six toed cat named Aspen. Basil is the most interesting and beautiful looking dog I have ever met, bright yellow eyes. Aspen is the most affectionate and people loving cat I have ever met (maybe tied with Claire’s cat Scout). His affection apparently comes from the fact that he witnessed his sibling get murdered and is a bit traumatized. He does this thing where he sucks on himself every time you pick him up…weirdo.

Some of the work we did included treating the goats from hoof rot, figuring out their weight by measuring their heart girth and body length in order to prescribe them the right amount of medicine, scooping their poop and using it as fertilizer in the garden, collecting bird eggs, weeding the garden, harvesting apples and endless raspberries and cucumbers, wrapping trees in chain link fencing to protect them from the goats, moving and stacking pallets, moving old wooden structures to be burned, building a ramp out of cedar for a bridge, surrounding baby trees with mulch to protect their growth, flame weeding, and more.

Since this wasn’t a production farm there was definitely less emphasis and urgency on routine and the completion of tasks. This had its ups and downs because, yes we were given more time, and even encouraged to go out and explore the surrounding area more, but sometimes I felt a little out of place and not exactly sure of what I should have been doing to be helpful, even when I asked.

I think an important thing for myself this year is to figure out not only what I like about agriculture and all the different lifestyles that come with it, but also what I don’t like. I like working hard and feeling sore. I like having to cook for myself and using the things I watched grow. I like waking up early and knowing that I am being helpful. I think I am having a harder time with things that come “easily” during this gap year. I want to know that I am pushing myself. So, even though it was wonderful to get home cooked meals ever night at the homestead, I missed figuring out what I was going to cook every night on the kitchen bus.

I noticed that more and more I am becoming someone who does not like to leave a trace, especially in new places. I tend to obsessively clean dishes, kitchens, and living spaces as a way to keep busy, but perhaps also as a fear of being a messy guest. This isn’t exactly a bad thing, but it also speaks to an inability to relax in new places, or in the presence of people I don’t know. I guess I am wondering if I will learn to let my guard down a bit more the longer I stay in a place. This doesn’t mean that I hope to become a slob, but rather that I hope to not be so scared about how others perceive my presence. I have an idea of where this fear comes from, but I don’t think that I will share that here.

There was a family of four from Colorado that came to woof at Cabras y Flores for a few days while we were there and it was interesting to see how they interacted with the place, each other, with us, with our hosts. It was like gaining a new set of eyes, we were witnessing each other, together. Turns out the parents went to the same school that my parents went to, and the dad grew up in the same town that Claire grew up in. It is a small world!

Something that I wasn’t expecting to learn more about was the way in which I interact with small kids. So far we have lived with 5 kids over the course of the last two farms, ages ranging from 3-10. It has been an interesting experience. I think I am still trying to find the words to describe what that was like. There are definitely a lot of compromises and boundaries present, as well as beauty in seeing joy and creativity flow through someone who is not quite yet burdened by time and experience. We can learn a lot from the way young kids see the world, from our younger selves.

During our free time, Claire and I went to explore Lake Crescent, PA, and several different beaches. We were very graciously lent a car to use during our stay, and thankfully Claire knows how to drive. We went to an open mic night in PA at a place called Studio Bob, which was recommended to us by KC and described as a place for queer youth. What it ended up feeling like was a place where older folks went to try and find this youthful crowd, but instead composed the majority. Studio Bob’s layout was a stage facing rows of unique and old furniture. Tapestries hung from the walls, waiting to be sold, a mirrorball overhead. We left early.

We went on a goat hike with the other family, KC, and Lorelai, where we took all 10 goats to the woods and down to a branch of the Elwha River. This was overall a very silly experience because we first had to gather all the goats into a camper, and then we had to muzzle them because there were a bunch of poisonous plants around where we parked, and then at some point we were able to take the muzzles off and the goats would stop every few minutes to munch on some greenery which made it so that we couldn’t walk uninterrupted. A couple of these goats were trained pack goats so they carried our stuff on their backs. All of the goats were soon to be trained as pack goats since they had all eaten plastic, and therefore were not to be consumed.

One of the goats, Hercules, had eaten too much grain a few days prior so was feeling very unwell, to the point where KC thought that he wouldn’t make it until the next day. We ended up having to feed Herc antibiotics that were technically human antibiotics since they strangely don’t make medicine for goats according to KC? This involved me holding his head while he was tied to a pole, and KC would shove the liquid in his mouth. Eventually, we had to put a stomach tube in one of the other goats in order to feed Herc the other goat’s vomit and reintroduce bacteria in his stomach that he had lost due to his illness. Claire bravely took on the vomit feeding job. These series of events led KC to tell us the story about the time he had to drink his own poop in Alaska in order to save himself from dying from some sort of bacterial infection. I don’t exactly remember all the details.

During the actual hike, we were able to swim in the Elwha which had the most beautiful looking water I had ever seen. It was so fucking cold, excuse my language, but clear and fresh. There were salmon swimming among us. Sadly this was around when Claire started to feel very unwell again, something that progressed and unfolded over the following days.

The most exciting discovery Claire and I made was a farm called Sisterland that hosted open volunteer hours every friday starting at 10am. We found out about this place when we were running an errand with KC which involved picking up a five pronged flame weeder from Sisterland’s free tool library. I don’t even know where to begin in order to describe this place. It is a one acre farm that has only been around for 5 years, 2 years at its current location, and it embodies such a genuine spirit and passion for growing food. The owner, Jenson, is this kind and extremely smart human being who is very opinionated, but not in a way that makes you feel small. The experience of volunteering there was very different kind of welcoming. I felt like I made real friends there, people of all different ages and backgrounds. It was a gift to be there. Claire and I also hadn’t been around people our general age for a long time so it was refreshing in that sense as well.

We got invited to go to their farm work party on our last day which involved going to another farm in the area and helping them with a project that they need help with. We ended up going to Wild Edge farm, a pig and produce farm that needed help harvesting potatoes. There we met more people from the area and surrounding farms with an interest in agriculture and helping the community. Its really cool to be surrounded by folks who are so easily able to identify plant life and answer questions on all things agriculture. We harvested hundreds of potatoes, all different kinds, and had a lovely potluck lunch along the Elwha River. Claire and I brought blini with sour cream and raspberry jam, one of my favorite foods from childhood.

I told Jenson about how I had no idea what I wanted to study in school and they said that no one at the farm studied anything having to do with farming. They all took the different things they learned from different concentrations, and combined them to create a different kind of understanding around the industry they are now in. This was very different from when Mokey urged me to study business if I wanted to go into farming. It was interesting to hear their contrasting opinions.

Earlier that day we went to the mouth of the Elwha, where the river meets the ocean. I have always described the sound of waves as the sound of static, but it is here that I realized that I don’t believe that anymore. It is too loud and distant and heavy all at the same time to be compared to a tv or a radio. The sound is clear and in your face, but untouchable.

I felt that a lot more of my learning this time around came from nature. This is something that I really appreciate about the PNW, and maybe Washington more specifically. Growing up in NYC, people always said that you can never run out of things to do. I think yes and no. What you can do in NYC is limited by its concrete landscape. Where I am now, you can be completely consumed by the living breathing world of trees and mountains, that time spent is never a waste, and never repeated. This excites me. I always thought I was a homebody, but I don’t know about that anymore.

Something that I thought a lot about, especially while scooping goat poop haha, was this phrase that Mokey said to me when I was harvesting carrots back at Coffee Creek. The shape of a shovel doesn’t change underground. I know they were saying this to me so that I don’t accidentally chop the carrots in half when digging them up, but of course I am also not someone who takes everything so literally. This had me thinking about change. How much do we change in a lifetime? What stays the same? Does distance and experience change our relationships with people and places, will my friends and family still see me as the person I was before I left home? I also think the phrase left me feeling secure in myself a bit more, that even underground or overseas, with or without hair, farming or studying, I am still Masha.

On an exciting note, KC taught us how to process roadkill meat and shoot a 12 gauge shotgun, new skills acquired. However, just because I learned these skills, doesn’t necessarily mean that I want to use them.

KC got a phone call from a friend who had found a deer on the side of the road, knowing that KC knows how to use their meat. KC saves thousands of dollars every year by using roadkill, the arguably more sustainable meat source, which I would say is very admirable. I watched as KC dragged this dead deer from the back of his truck towards the food and waste compost deeper in the forest. There, Claire, KC’s friends, Lorelai, Aspen, and I watched as KC used a sharp blade to cut along the spine of the deer. He told us to make sure that the animal is laying on its stomach in order to avoid cutting into the gut. We watched as this animal became meat. The smell was awful since the deer had been laying on the road for probably around 3 days and was rotten, not to be consumed by humans, but perfectly safe for Basil to enjoy. I helped KC pick up the carcass by its legs after he was done cutting, and throw it into the compost bin. I have never felt a deer’s body before. I thought that I would get more emotional at the site of an animal being cut up into digestible meat pieces, but I felt neither sadness nor disgust. I watched its life and purpose change. The meat was no longer the deer’s after it died. Made me think about how I felt after losing my hair.

In terms of the shotgun, we got a run down on gun safety, how to load, unload, how to hold, shoot, etc. I’ve never shot anything besides my dad’s old bb gun in Woodstock where we would practice on Kefir bottles. A shotgun is a tool, as much as it is a weapon. Ultimately, what this experience brought me was a door leading outside the room of ignorance. I didn’t get a crazy rush or thrill, more so just a better understanding of what it was that I was doing. Claire and I both reflected on the experience and couldn’t understand how someone could take something so heavy and loud and manual and choose to use it against another human. I wouldn’t say that I am any less scared of guns, even after learning how one works.

With luck like ours, I definitely jinxed us (with the last newsletter). The medical emergencies of this gap year are not yet ready to let go.

Claire’s health had not been getting better as time progressed. Being surrounded by school going children probably also did not help with that. This meant them having to get a lot of rest, getting headaches at random, having stuffed sinuses, and a horrible cough that we would later discover was a result of Claire having Whooping Cough. We are the woofer and the whooper, ha ha ha. I am sorry. It was definitely a stressful component to our stay at Cabras y Flores because there was always the looming fear that we would have to be separated again, and it just sucked overall for Claire to not be able to do all the things that they wanted to do. It is really interesting to me how different our experiences have been thus far, we’ve had to take on new responsibilities and a very twisty turny road. All unexpected.

On a day where Claire was feeling a bit better, my body was feeling the onset of sickness, so after making breakfast for us, I decided to get some more rest while they worked. Once rest was over and I was feeling better, I decided to join Claire in completing some daily tasks, and started scooping poop while they were flame weeding. A previous woofer had brought fleas to the farm so occasionally Claire and I were tasked with using the flame weeder to burn the ground where the fleas lived so that they would die.

The flame weeder is a tricky machine that essentially is a propane tank on wheels attached to torches. In order to get the weeder to work, one needs to twist three nozzles to release the gas from the tank, and then use a hand lighter to light the gas to create a flame. While dumping poop into the garden, I heard Claire scream for help at which point I ran towards them to find them standing a good distance from the flame weeder which was on and burning. While lighting the contraption, too much gas was let out of the tank and flames blew up in Claire’s face causing second degree burns on their cheeks, nose, and chin, while also cinching their eyelashes, eyebrows, and the hair framing their face. I was able to turn off the weeder and get Claire into the house.

The moments following the accident were very fast paced and almost instinctual. Alana, who thankfully is a nurse, knew to immediately put hydrogel on the burns as well as cold water. Alana drove us to the ER where they almost immediately got Claire into a room to be checked out. Facial burns are taken extremely seriously, especially when there is the possibility of propane having been inhaled. We were in the ER for almost 6 hours, mostly just to make sure that the injuries didn’t progress harmfully. I am so proud of Claire for having been completely calm throughout the whole process, one that was extremely nerve wracking, scary, and painful. Thank god there was no damage done besides slight blistering on their face, and a small scratch on their eye. Though it was a horrible thing that happened, it could have gone much worse, and all we can say now is thank god that they weren’t inhaling when they lit the gas, and thank god they are alive!

This is yet another thing that I have difficulty describing my feelings around since, in the moment, there wasn’t really any time to think. It is very crazy to me how we can go into autopilot like that, and do what we need to do in times of trouble. I just remember getting all their stuff into the car as fast as possible so that we could rush to the hospital, and sending a message to their parents updating them on the situation. I remember feeling a lot of anxiety around how I could best be there to help. I was scared that I was in the way, or that Claire needed someone to hold their hand, or whether they didn’t want to be touched, or if they wanted to be alone, and all these things trying to figure out how I could best be there for them during what must have been one of the scariest things that happened to them. I don’t think I’ve ever had to fill out another person’s medical forms before, that’s adulthood I guess! I recommend reading Claire’s side of the story to get a better understanding for what happened and what the experience was like for them, the link is attached below.

claire is growing!

i'm having a BLAST (part 1)

So, so much has happened in the last three weeks, that I had to split this newsletter into two…

Read more

2 years ago · claire hunsberger

The pain went from a 10 to a 3 in the span of a day which was definitely something to celebrate! Alana got us some dinner after Claire got discharged from the ER. I think the three of us really bonded on a deeper level that day. Thank you Alana for being our PA mother!

Over the next few days, things mostly went back to normal and our adventures continued. We went to Murdock Beach together, and then to some other beaches separately. There was a beach about a 2 mile walk from the homestead that I would occasionally go to by myself after work. Alone time is becoming very valuable to me again! There I went and observed the beautiful ocean and forests surrounding. I am learning more and more about the PNW as I step through it.

Murdock beach was absolutely magical when we went, there were so many fallen trees transformed into these whimsical figures along the shore. Claire and I collected a bunch of stones, played with the dangling lichen, and laid on the wooden shapes. It was a very classic PNW day in the sense that everything was green and foggy and rainy.

It was these outside moments that inspired me to start writing poetry again, or at least on postcards to friends. I think that there is something sweet about writing a poem in pen to be sent out, because then you’re getting first thoughts out of someone’s head. It is a practice of presence. It was a wonderful experience to be able to find the words to write poetry again. Pure magic!

Soon our time at Cabras y Flores came to an end. Claire and I did a final walk along Farrington road, hoping to catch the sunrise, but only managed to get the trees mirroring what we couldn’t see. KC drove us into PA and we had a very interesting discussion about education during the trek. KC believes that high school teachers are the best kind of teachers because their main job is that of discipline. He also couldn’t understand why some teachers spend hours meeting one on one with students rather than just having lectures. I openly disagreed with both of these points, and it is definitely a privilege to debate different opinions without fear of consequence.

Claire and I spent a couple of hours in PA before heading back to Bainbridge on the Strait Shot, and then on the ferry to Seattle. In Seattle we were picked up by Claire’s camp friend Amelie who very generously took us out to dinner at an Italian restaurant called Limoncello and then dropped us off back at Eliza’s. Claire and I had planned a master prank plan (though it was really just Claire’s genius doing) on Eliza that involved a whole bunch of people texting her, “have you seen Drop Dead Gorgeous?” We managed to get their roomate Alex in on it who was able to get Eliza’s sister and mom to help us. The prank continues to this day, and Eliza knows it. hehe. Funny story, when Claire and I first met in Ohio last summer, we bonded over our love of pranks. I am thankful that we can continue this tradition as our friendship grows. Also sad news, apparently you can no longer watch Drop Dead Gorgeous anywhere?!?! What a shame!

The next day, Eliza took us to a spa just north of Seattle where we stayed for almost 6 hours haha. It was very nice to just melt away and forget about our poop scooping days briefly. We entered a bathhaus full of naked people without a care about anyone’s bodies or even our own. It reminded me of going to the YMCA with my grandmother when I was little, I felt no different. Just a body among other bodies, relaxed. I left the experience really wanting to do a series of paintings set in the many rooms we entered. How does one capture the steam of a wet sauna in a painting? Who knows, but I’ll try when I am back home.

Afterwards, Claire and I ventured to the U district where University of Washington is located and paid a joyful visit to KAYO!! It was so lovely to see her settling in her new environment. We took Kayo out to dinner to celebrate her belated birthday, and then Kayo and I parted ways with Claire who went to spend more time with Eliza and Alex and get some much needed rest. Kayo showed me around her dorm and we even ended up going to a frisbee practice. Oh how I have missed Ultimate. It was a very difficult practice, and it was the first time I felt like I needed to throw up after doing physical exercise. I need to start running again to prepare for the Cornell frisbee season, and perhaps even next year’s marathon hmmmm hmmmm. I slept on the room of Kayo’s dorm and attempted to readjust myself to going to bed at a later time since Claire and I had been going to bed at 8pm or earlier while at the farm.

That next morning, Kayo went to her math and chemistry lectures while I did some wandering of the area. UW has such a beautiful campus, I could have definitely seen myself going there. It was so strange to be surrounded by college kids, and even though I am their age, I felt so distant from them. I guess that is what the gap year does. It also made me excited to go to school. I need to relearn how to form conversational sentences, I feel that I am losing touch with them a bit. Kayo and I then shared a lunch with her friend Maddie, and Claire joined us once again. The time for me and Kayo to part soon arrived, a hug farewell, until next time my wonderful friend. It is crazy to me that we went to Kindergarten together, and now I am visiting her at her college dorm. Ah, I love you KAYO!

That evening, Eliza did Claire’s drag makeup and we then headed to our train back to Oregon. Sadly we missed our 5:40 train, but managed to catch the next one at 7:50 and ride into the night. It was awesome to see Claire with the makeup, they seemed so absolutely confident in themselves. No one turned their head twice.

And finally we are here, back where we started, home base. I got my nose pierced as a silly experiment with personal appearance, and Claire took me to Powell’s bookstore where I bought A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again by David Foster Wallace and Cowboy Graves by Roberto Bolaño (thank you Dean Hinrichs for introducing me to this wonderful writer). I convinced Claire to buy one of my favorite books called My Grandmother Asked Me To Tell You She’s Sorry by Fredrik Backman as well as a book of poems by Bolaño. Nothing makes me more excited than finding good books!

In honor of old and new friendships, I met up with my good friend Izzie who I grew up with! Izzie goes to Lewis and Clark which is a very short bus ride from Claire’s home. We caught up, talked about these new places we were inhabiting, the people we surrounded ourselves with. Izzie joined me in going to an Anohni and the Johnsons concert that night because sadly Claire was not feeling too great and needed to get some more rest. The concert was incredible. I remember listening to this music on the drive from my dad’s cousin Mark’s place with my mom before he passed away. The whole concert experience was very nostalgic for me. Old tunes with old friends. One of my favorite poems that I have ever written was inspired by the song Bird Gerhl by Anohni. Sadly it was not played live, but the concert was magical nonetheless. I have never witnessed a crowd so enthusiastic before, there were several standing ovations and someone behind me was sobbing the entire time.

Claire showed me Eraserhead a couple nights ago, and I am sorry to all my Lynchian folks out there, I was not the biggest fan. It did however made me think of Stalker by Tarkovsky which I actually did really enjoy. Maybe I am a little tired of deeply unsettling and disturbing films. But once again, I am not much of a movie person. Maybe that is why I love twin peaks so much. Not quite a movie, not entirely disturbing, still Lynch. Balance.

Last night Claire’s dad took us to another Portland Thorns game and they lost again! I think I am bad luck especially because they have won every game since we last went. I really enjoyed watching them play, I am growing into a bigger sports fan for sure.

Tonight Claire and I are going to see a play in Downtown Portland, and tomorrow we head out to our next farm in Hood River, home to Luke Dawg, a close friend of Aidan’s, and Eliza grew up nearby! We will spend a couple weeks there, exploring eastern Oregon, farming away, and then will head south to Bandon for our last PNW farm, where we will help with cranberry harvest. We are at a halfway point now for this section, a quarter point for the year as a whole. Oh time, how you fly fly fly.

Birds. You know the deal.

I will end with another Aidan Maggie question to tie this lengthy two-week year.

#74 - How have you encountered religion/spirituality while traveling?

On one of my alone walks to Lyre Beach. After walking along the main busy road, you turn into the forest, a path that weaves between the trees, leading you down to the ocean. At the opening from forest to open water, I spotted a bench and sat there looking at a man walking along the stoney shore. Benches have become a very important thing in my life, a love and importance that has only been building. I love benches! I didn’t listen to music or anything, I just looked. Eventually I headed back to the forest to make it in time for dinner. For the first time in a while, I ran. I ran through the trees, I skipped, I jumped as high as I could. The light settled, unbothered by my erratic movement. I laughed so loudly and looked up and spun. And for a moment, I felt something so indescribable. I am not a religious person, not at all, but in that moment I think I felt god, a feeling more than a person or anything. Something that was not human, but profoundly human, alive and everywhere. I cried very loudly and smiled the entire time. I don’t think I have ever cried like this before. I had not cried in a while. It was a culmination of all that had been happening. All these moments, these turmoils, the stress, the joy, the love.

Thank you, from the mouth of the Elwha, to the rivers of Mt. Hood.

Until next time.

Mash

(P.S. here is a playlist of the music I was listening to in Joyce!)

09/13/24

Due to a mystery illness that fell upon Claire when we arrived at the farm, they sadly had to go home, and I continued the rest of the time at Coffee Creek, solo. If you couldn’t tell by now, change has become the major theme of this gap year, and no matter how much we plan for the storms, one way or another, shit will sometimes hit the fan. Thankfully, the farm was only about 2 hours north from Claire’s home, and they were able to get the support they needed from their family during this time. Though Claire not feeling great was obviously not the ideal scenario, we are faced, yet again, with a moment that makes us say thank god this happened here and now, and not somewhere unreachable.

I left the lovely Coffee Creek today to begin preparing for farm #2: Cabras y Flores (goats and flowers). I spent my train ride back to Portland reflecting on what that time alone in Centralia had meant to me, what being solo in general means to me. I had gone not only on a physical rollercoaster of working 7-9 hour days harvesting, weeding, plotting, etc. but also a mental one of figuring out how to readjust to my surroundings without Claire in a place unfamiliar. To me, the latter tended to be more difficult at times, but ultimately more rewarding.

I went into the situation with the mindset that this was going to be a learning experience, that I would pay attention in a different way, which it was, and I did. That is not to say that sometimes I really just felt lonely and there was not much I could do about it. I called friends and family, had a brief social media relapse, wrote in my journal, listened to a lot of music, and even so, sometimes I couldn’t escape it and just had to accept that there will be moments where I will be on my own, and yes, that can be hard. It was also a really beautiful experience, and I am a better friend to myself because of it. My heart felt very whole when I was on the train back to Portland.

Mokey sat with me in the car while I waited for the train and we talked about if it is possible to ever really get to fully know a place. They have been living in Centralia for 16 years, and I had been there for a little over 2 weeks. We knew the place so differently from one another, but the ways we came to know the land, I believe, were both valuable.

I will say, in the past it has been a lot easier for me to reflect on my experiences, rather than think through them in the moment. I think that changed for me this week. I watched myself grow more and more lost in my surroundings, in my conversations, in the sensations I felt. It really did feel something like a breakthrough. I was breathing different.

Some of the actual farm work I did this past week consisted of cleaning up the high tunnel in preparation for winter harvest. This meant doing a general weeding of unhelpful volunteers (plants that aren’t purposefully planted), and attempting to preserve what was left of the volunteer tomatillos/ground cherries, which soon, will also be weeded out. I used a tool called a spade fork which essentially works as a shovel that you can use both of your legs to stand on. It helps to uproot the soil, making it easier to weed out plants or even just create some movement in the ground. For a few hours on one of the 92 degree days, I managed to take on a small section. Though it wasn’t a particularly detailed weeding job, I had to be very careful with not puncturing the irrigation tape or the plastic cover of the tunnel itself. I would eventually move all the pulled weeds into the wheelbarrow and go around the pasture to fill any holes in the ground. It was funny, everytime that I’d drop a new load, the sheep would run over and start eating away at the ground.

Something that Mokey taught me was that sheep have a very bad sense of dimension so if you don’t want your sheep or goats going into a fenced area that you are moving in and out of, you can angle the opening in such a way that it appears closed to them (45 degree opening). This is convenient when you’re carrying a lot of things and can’t keep opening and closing a gate.

There were also so many slugs that I sadly had to either squish or throw out because they are invasive and very harmful to the plant life. Without realizing it at first, I got a bunch of slug eggs on my gloves and wiped my arm on my face to scratch an itch. Those little guys got in my ear and on my cheek. Yuck! I ended up spraying my face full blast with a hose haha.

I don’t think I was expecting so much of farm work to be cleaning/weeding, but it definitely is one of the biggest parts of the job and I am not opposed to it. It’s hard and I broke many a sweat, but I have come to really enjoy the feeling of sweat and soreness in my muscles. It is a sign that I am getting things done! On my last day I did some more “detailed” weeding around the summer squash that Mokey pulled out, which meant using a hand held shovel called a trovel, and getting deeper around the roots. It still wasn’t a perfect weeding, but more exact than the spade fork work. The real detailed weeding came when I was working on the beds of lettuce. Every single bit of green that I saw poking out around the lettuce had to be pulled until the area was bare with the exceptions of moss and egg shells.

Fun fact: Did you know that if you sprinkle the shells of eggs around the plants you are growing, it will help provide them with calcium, as well as protect them from harmful creatures such as slugs? I recommend doing this if you have your own garden because it’s also a good way to make use of all the parts of an egg.

This process of detailed weeding was very meditative for me because I was kneeling on the ground for close to 2 hours, paying attention to all the intricacies of the dirt and the things that grew from it. My artist of the day that day was Anthony and the Johnsons who Claire and I are actually going to see in Portland on October 3rd! For those of you who don’t know this artist’s music, I would describe it as very mystical and eerie, with a large focus on lyrics which range from birds, to gender, to Beyonce covers. I highly recommend, I put Mokey on and they became a fan. Listening to this band while weeding put me into some kind of zone. There were no thoughts in my head.

I’ve been seeing a lot of worms which has been fun. I remember gardening with my grandmother in Woodstock when I was little and accidentally splitting a worm in half. The fact that they survive that completely freaked me out, but now I am in awe. They are a wonderful creature.

Besides weeding, I also did plenty of harvesting which included carrots and broccoli! We were simultaneously getting rid of the broccoli plants while harvesting the desired parts. I would pile the plant into a wheelbarrow and bring the leftovers to the farm’s rabbits who were always happy to see me carrying endless crunchy greens.

On one of the longer work days, I was tasked with folding and labeling irrigation tape, and then replotting comfrey. Comfrey is such an interesting plant, it feels very soft/fuzzy to the touch, but is extremely strong and makes it difficult for weeds to grow around it. It can be used to heal bruises before they get bad, as well as any fractures or sprains. Who knew that a topical ointment could do that. It is rarely digested, but if taken in a small dosage, also has healing properties. I replotted the comfrey along the fence of the chicken coop which ended up working against me because the chickens were eating the plant as I went.

I had a strange relationship with the chickens. I don’t think they liked me very much. They were also surprisingly intelligent, which maybe shouldn’t have been such a surprise. Every morning when I went to collect their eggs they would scream at me. I would occasionally have to move them in order for them to leave their structure and eat, but some were very stubborn. I remember the last day that I collected eggs, three chickens had stacked in the corner as some kind of chicken wall. I was shocked. They were unmoveable. These chickens were also pretty lightweight so they actually had the ability to fly (sort of) and would jump over the fence as a way to get more food. These chickens were always plotting something. To make them have less mobility in flight, their flight wings were slightly clipped so they couldn’t fly in a straight line. A bit sad.

I learned how to make chicken feed, which at Coffee Creek typically consists of several different kinds of grains, and water which helps the grains/seeds to ferment. It is a fun concoction to create, and has a nice texture against the trovel when mixed.

I would usually end the day with washing the eggs, getting them ready for Mokey to pack them and then sell them through shares. This was also a meditative process, a constant back and forth between sink and drying towel. The eggs were so beautiful, and came with so many different marks and in so many different colors. My favorites were the small, almost deep red, eggs.

I also did some work with the turkeys again. Something I learned is that turkeys eat ROCKS. Because they don’t have teeth, in order to help them chew down their food, they eat rocks which grind up the stuff they actually digest. I don’t know if this is common knowledge, but it was very surprising to me. The turkeys now live in these wagon like structures outside where they have access to the grass beneath them, but are still sheltered in a dome that has wheels so that they can easily be moved to new patches of grass. They are on one patch of grass for a couple of days before they are moved. Mokey wants the grass to be used up, but not completely annihilated by turkey poo in order for the grass to be able to prop back up over time.

As strange as it seems, I very much related to these turkeys. I am moving from farm to farm for as little as two weeks at a time, and I’m not really allowed to settle down anywhere. Home moves on and on and on. Birds getting used to a place always end up moving. I have mixed feelings about this in terms of myself. I am excited to explore all the places, but can I really learn deeply if I am constantly being uprooted. Is two weeks spent anywhere ever enough time? I remember talking to Aidan about this once. Is it natural for humans to build communities in one place, and then have those communities scatter around the world? Are we meant to be nomads?

After a couple of weeks of working with birds, I finally ate some…Mokey gave me a turkey wing. I have never cooked an individual turkey wing before, but I would say that it turned out pretty damn good. I also called up Mark to ask for his delicious corn/mushroom/onion recipe which I made alongside the turkey. Mokey was telling me how a lot of people talk about how they can’t eat animals that they get to know. Mokey then said said that they themselves can’t eat animals that they don’t know. They recalled some vegetarians who came to work at Coffee Creek who ended up eating some of the meat there.

I’ve definitely been doing a lot of cheffing as of late which has been very fun. I’ve been using a lot of tumeric, cayenne pepper, and jamaican spice that I found on the kitchen bus. I hope to build a beautiful spice rack over my life time, which reminds me - Odin if you’re reading this, what is the spice that’s been dominating your Indonesian cuisine? Bring some home, won’t you? Also, shoutout to Odin for also shaving his head. The revolution continues.

I also began to do yoga every day after my work hours. It is something that has helped me be present, and makes my mind feel more connected to my body. Those two often feel more disconnected than I would like them to be.

During my two days off at Coffee Creek I decided to pay a visit to Claire in Portland to see how they were doing. This also meant that I started to get very familiar with the Cascades Amtrak. I have taken it 4 times in the past 2 weeks, and haven’t had to pay once which is an absolute blessing.

I love trains, always have, always will. They make me think about home, but also about leaving home, exploring the world and the familiar. It is where I have my deepest reflections, where I most appreciate solitude. Growing up in DUMBO, all the streets were made up of old railroad tracks, and I would go to sleep to the sound of trains passing over the manhattan bridge. Since Centralia is a bit of a train hub, I would go to sleep on the bus to the sound of the passing freight trains. I love the dissonance of a train whistle, its pounding in passing. I’ve met and heard from a few train hoppers while at Coffee Creek. It is a life that I could dream, and almost taste, but I don’t know if I could do that, out of fear of inciting worry in loved ones, safety, etc. Maybe one day an opportunity will arise…I can’t make any promises.

On that train to Portland I had a surge of inspiration that I had felt had been on the tip of my tongue for so long. All these thoughts of poetic expressing came pouring down on me. I still have not written a poem in a very long time. Instead, I’ve found it a bit easier to write music and streams of consciousness. The latest song I believe will be the title track of my album, and I think when I get to recording it at home I will be pulling out my flute to imitate the train whistle. I found a cool technique where I use the sleeve of my hoodie to strum the guitar which made some of the harmonics stand out more and create the sound of a train moving along a track. If you are curious in hearing this, let me know and I will send it over.

At my initial arrival in Portland back in August, I had also written a piece essentially about listening to music on the train which will be published in the first edition of the quad this year for any of you Bardians reading this. If any of you would like to read it, let me know and I will send it over. I really do enjoy sharing my writing and music, no matter how personal it gets. Maybe that’s why I have this newsletter. Who knows. I think it is a way in which I feel really comfortable opening up to people.

Anyhow, my visit with Claire! They still weren’t doing too great and had a few more doctor’s visits and blood tests ahead of them, but I think our brief reunion made us both feel better. Claire took me to the one and only burgerville, a silly establishment unique to the PNW. It’s always funny to go to places together because we are both bald now, and look far too much alike. We enter and all the heads turn and stare.

It was nice to step outside of the farm for a couple of days, but also very strange. I almost felt a little out of place not going to sleep on a bus, or cooking for myself (also on a bus haha). It was a readjustment yet again.

While Claire was napping, I took my computer outside to their backyard and played some music out loud and danced. It was awesome. I jumped and swung and spun. I gave myself one song (“I Can’t Escape Myself by The Sound”) to just do whatever I wanted for no reason at all. I enjoyed this experience, and if I feel up for it, I will do it again! We are so used to habitual movement that it feels almost rebellious to flow in ways we don’t normally. To recall a previous newsletter, hardly does my forearm ever hang with my feet. I also spent some time typing a reflection in a google doc which I don’t do so often because I enjoy handwriting my thoughts, but there was something nice about having my words move as fast as my thoughts. I will attach the reflection below.

Claire and I watched a few movies during my brief visit including Linda,Linda, Linda, Bottle Rocket, and the beginning of Fargo. I’m not big on watching movies, I don’t have the best attention span, but I enjoyed drifting in and out of the realities these movies created.

That same evening as the porch dance party, I was headed back on the amtrak to Centralia. Riding the train into the sunset was magical. I listened to the Cranes the whole time and paid attention to the various train sounds. These are some of the things I wrote in my notes on the train which I eventually turned into a song:

• I’m in love with the sound that the air makes when two freight trains pass parallel in opposite ways

• I could ride the train forever

• Why are mountains far away blue?

• Am I a far away mountain to you?

• The train sounds like feet pounding, running away - I’m train bound, a bloodhound, I’m running away

• The power lines don’t look like birds here

• And in a place where the leaves don’t change, the sky sure is red tonight

Mokey and Eddy picked me up from the train station at around 8pm and we drove back to Coffee Creek. It was a pretty silent ride, not because we didn’t have anything to say, but because we didn’t feel the need to talk in that moment. Comfortable silence, a gift.

The next few days were bittersweet, knowing that my time at the farm would soon come to an end. I watched Waylon and Jack finish fixing/building car engines for a truck and van they had found. It was fun to witness the evolution of the vehicles during my time at the farm. It is always so great to meet passionate people.

One of the days I spent a few good hours picking all the aronia berries from a few trees. It was a test of how creative I could get with reaching branches 5x my height. I will tell you that I got every last one, two giant ziploc bags worth. At one point I accidentally got my hand caught in some blackberry bushes and I couldn’t really tell the difference between the juice of the berries and my blood. Don’t worry, the berries were washed in the end, my blood does not remain among them.

The next day I worked 9 hours in the high tunnel with a brief break in the middle where Mokey fed me a ham, bean, and spinach stew they made. I had two whole bowls, it was so delicious. At the end of our work session, it started to pour, my first serious rainstorm in the PNW. I am sure there will be many more to come. That night, Mokey invited me to bake zucchini bread with them, and they also fed me dinner. I made my first zucchini bread loaf and brought it back with me to Portland (I nibbled on it on the train, and now that loaf is almost gone). I also had a good conversation with Mokey’s au pair, Stella, who had just returned from visiting their family in Columbus, Ohio. Stella was a woofer at Coffee Creek last year, and Mokey and them bonded so well that Stella got a more permanent position, and a room in their home. I really enjoyed conversing with Stella, they had the sweetest voice and a really cool hairdo. We talked about dreams and music and trains. That night ended with me showing Mokey some of Kaytranada’s music, and a solo walk back to the bus, loaf in hand, in the foggy dark among a loud forest.

On the last day, I helped Mokey begin to prepare for the farmer’s market that they participate in once a month. Though I would sadly be missing the actual market, it was very interesting to hear what it is like to be part of something like that. I told Mokey about my inquiry project, and how farmer’s markets felt like such a conflicting space. One that simultaneously brings good produce to locals, and one that reeks of a certain kind of exclusivity and privilege. They shared some surprising information with me that I will not be sharing here, but if you are curious, let me know.

I made a big hearty dinner for myself that night, packed my bags, cleaned the bus, and walked around the places I had grown more and more familiar with over time. I began to notice an “in the moment-ness” that felt particularly new. I jumped over some ravines, and almost felt like I was stuck in slow motion when I was above the ground. I felt free in my jumping. Something fun, just for me. I think there were moments where I also started to imagine audiences that weren’t there. Like performing conversations to the trees, or even the walls of the Euphemism haha.

I woke up bright and early today, cleaned the sheets I used, swept the floors, took out the trash, made some breakfast, and at 9:30am Mokey picked me up and drove me to the train station.

Goodbye Coffee Creek. You have been so good to me.

Claire picked me up from the train station in Vancouver and it was so lovely to see them in much better spirits. There was the chance that I’d be going up to the next farm alone, but seeing how the antibiotics they were given were actually working, my time solo was perhaps over.

I went to my first ever professional soccer game where the Portland Thorns were up against the Chicago Red Stars. Sadly the Thorns lost their home game, but it was still a really fun experience. I love the culture and spirit around sports. Though I didn’t grow up in a home that ever really watched sports or followed any teams, I enjoy seeing how these traditions take place in other people’s lives.

Watching the game made me miss playing ultimate, and having a team. Shoutout to Chelsea, someone who I think embodies the spirit of sports so well, the best teammate I could have ever asked for, and someone I am grateful to call my friend. May we toss together soon.

9/14/24

Today was an exciting exciting day! I didn’t have the greatest sleep, which I think goes back to the idea of readjustment. Overall, however, I have been having some really wonderful and deep sleep on this side of the world. Those of you who know me well know that I am a very light sleeper and an early bird. I continue to have early bird tendencies, but my sleep is much deeper. A change I welcome with open arms.

I went to an orchard with Claire and their parents where we got to try different kinds of pears, grapes, and apples. I really liked seeing the different patterns that the natural wax made on the apples.

Claire then took me to the best store I have ever been to called “Next Adventure.” It is a place that sells used outdoor attire and equipment. I bought two pairs of hiking pants, a thermal shirt, and a hat, for a price that is cheaper than one pair of pants at REI.

Later this night, Claire took me to a place called Rimsky-Korsakoffee House (Rimsky’s). It is a late night cafe that may or may not be haunted. It was a very homey space, and I hope that I can one day take my friends there. Claire and I shared many jokes over a pot of Earl Grey. It makes me very happy to see them feeling better.

9/15/24

I am now laying down, writing this, and realizing that it is 1am. Oops. These keep getting longer and longer don’t they. Today Claire and I will be getting on the amtrak to Seattle at 11am, where we will be spending the night at a friend’s home. On Monday, we will take the ferry to Bainbridge Island, where we will then take a bus to Port Angeles, and then we will catch another bus to Cabras y Flores. I will not be taking my computer since we will be sleeping in tents and have little connection. This means no newsletter till October. I guess this is a goodbye for now. Wish us luck, spit on your left shoulder three times, knock on wood, cross all your fingers and your toes that we are DONE with medical emergencies. Let us hope that I didn’t just jinx us. Who knows with luck like ours…

We birds, must move again.

I had a lot of ideas of what getting on the plane to Portland would look like. I imagined scenarios where I was crying, or having to hold a stranger’s hand because I am scared of planes. I imagined getting held back again, I imagined missing home. I am realizing now that this building anxiety was entirely unnecessary because so what if those things did or did not happen!

I am what people call, in the most basic terms, an anxious person. For so long I thought this was completely out of my control. Some of it is, but some of it isn’t. Some of it isn’t and that is a crazy realization to have, one that is hard, but so important.

I am not helpless and neither are you! Do not let yourself get stuck. This year will be a lot of work towards this, I believe it is all possible. I will feel anxious sometimes, but I will live my life no matter what. Life goes on and on and on.

This past year felt like a rebuilding of the self in many ways. There were ups, downs, and so much anxiety. I can sit around and regret the time I spent worrying and scared, stressing myself and others out, however, I don’t want to be someone who lives with regret. So instead I say, because I need to move forward, that I forgive myself.

I forgive myself.

I think I am at a point right now where I feel more connected to myself than I have been in a very long time. I am mostly on my own right now meaning that I am away from my friends, my family, my home. I do have Claire and their family, which is already so much more than I could have ever asked for.

Thank you Hunsbergers!

This year I learned so much about what it means to care about others and be cared by others. This is so special because we also end up learning so much about ourselves when we observe other people’s care. That doesn’t mean I know who I am, and I don’t really want to know either. I just want to live my life, to experience this weird world, feel all that I must, connect with people, care, and love.

My departure finally caught up with me on August 23rd after a week of floating around at home. During that week, I went on a long walk everyday, going past places that meant a lot to me. This extra time was a blessing in the end. I climbed my favorite trees in Prospect Park, I put up stickers along the water with Tessa, gave Ryder one of my lucky picks, I held my dog, I cried, I sang, I said goodbye to my mom. Before, I felt so ready to go that I didn’t even realize how much I was going to miss everything until I was given this free week.

On the drive to JFK, I asked my dad for some advice. This is what he said, in no particular order:

• Don’t drink tomato juice on the plane

• Don’t talk so much, listen

• Don’t rush into sorries

• No need to be defensive

• Some people will not like you, don’t spend a minute thinking about that

• You don’t have to earn anyone’s love

• You deserve to be loved

• Stick to your truth

• Learn other people’s songs

I look back at this list in my notes app every few days. Take from it what you will. I am grateful for it.

Yes, I did end up crying on the plane, but it was because I watched The Breakfast Club, and Don’t You (Forget About Me) by Simple Minds always makes me cry. No hands were held, and I had the biggest smile on my face when I could start to see the mountains that made up Oregon outside of the window.

Claire picked me up from the airport and we exchanged a huge embrace. We skipped towards the parking lot with a shared pair of earbuds listening to This is The Day by The The. We got some lunch together in Portland, and then drove to the camp (Tree Folk) that Claire had been working at for the past week. Together, we looked after a couple of kids before they got picked up by their parents.

The first thing I noticed about my surroundings were the trees. Trees don’t grow like this in New York. I have never seen anything like it. Aidan had told me I would see a new shade of green when I arrived in Oregon. He was so right.

We spent about a week in the Portland area, exploring neighborhoods, meeting people, eating good food. Claire shaved my head the day after I arrived, and it felt wonderful to wander around a new place with a different kind of breeze in my “hair,” letting leaves and branches scratch my scalp.

We drove down to Salem to visit Claire’s friend Phoebe, and both Claire and Phoebe ended up with shaved heads as well. What a wonderful revolution. Even here in Centralia, Washington where I am writing this from, we encountered someone with a shaved head and got a big wave from across the street. Buzz cut bonds are unbreakable!

We also visited my grandparents’ friends, Natasha and Yan, in Portland. This was one of my favorite experiences from my time there. I had never met these friends before, but seeing them felt like reconnecting with family. Natasha showed us around her beautiful garden and bonsai collection. She has been growing bonsai for over 20 years. She learned from an old Japanese master who sadly passed away, and has been continuing the practice ever since. When asked if she’d ever be willing to teach others about the process, she said no. She said it was her private thing, her addiction. “It’s not so simple.”

They made us a delicious dinner and we talked about our plans over the next several months. When it was time to go, Claire told me that Natasha had tears in her eyes after I hugged her. Both Claire and I were a bit speechless on the drive home. Oh to meet good hearted people!

Finally it was time to depart Oregon and make our way up to Centralia, Washington. Claire’s mom drove us up to Vancouver WA because if you take the Amtrak within Washington as someone who is 18 or under, it is free! We hopped on the train around 11am and made it to Centralia around 12:40pm. We got picked up by our host Mokey Moon, the owner of Coffee Creek. Coffee Creek is a small, but beautiful farm 2 miles north of downtown Centralia. Upon arrival, we were greeted by converted buses, chickens, “We are the 99%” signs, blackberry bushes, dogs, and Jack (one of the residents of Coffee Creek who is the best friend of Waylon, Mokey’s kid). Both Jack and Waylon are also 18.

Claire and I are staying in a converted school bus which has a bed as well as a working stove. The bus is parked in the shade of a few apple trees, short walking distance from the Euphemism (the compostable toilet) and the Bathhaus (the shower). It gets very hot in the bus during the day, and very cold at night so we have worked our way with opening windows and using warm blankets when necessary. If anyone wants to know more about how a compostable toilet works, let me know.

There is also a kitchen bus where we do all of our cooking, and there is a walk-in fridge where we keep our food. We were given a box of 8 eggs, a baggie of broccolini, 2 zucchinis, 2 squash, a baggie of purple string beans, a carton of cherry tomatoes, and some yogurt for the week! There is also some communal food like pasta and rice on the kitchen bus.

The first day we got right to work and did some lawn mowing, weed whacking, and raking. It was essentially a clean up of the area since the farm is going through a period of transition, new people coming and going.

The day after, Claire and I did some more mowing and raking, and then I went to go help Mokey get rid of some blackberry bushes which are invasive and very prickly. Mokey talked to me about their life, and what it means to have raised a family at Coffee Creek. Besides Waylon, they also have a three year old kiddo named Eddy. Mokey has lived in Centralia for 16 years, but is well versed in a variety of places in the PNW as they grew up hitchhiking up and down the coast.

Claire and I went into town that evening. We sat on a bench in front of the library and for some reason there were a lot of cool vintage cars passing by. It also seemed that every other person waved at us. Small town vibes a plenty.

The next day, Claire and I helped feed the chickens, cleaned some equipment, harvested tomatoes and different kinds of squash, watered spinach, learned about drip irrigation, and transported some turkeys from indoor shelter to outdoor shelter. The turkey care was definitely a very new experience. We put these birds into cages, as packed as they could be, in the back of a truck, where they pooped all over themselves and others in the span of five minutes. I had a feeling that my thoughts on eating animals would change after working with them. I don’t think I’ll be eating any turkeys for a while. After the work day was done, I spent some time writing and playing guitar. I’ve started to feel more comfortable here as the days have progressed. It was a bit rough at first because we came during a down time where not much was going on. We felt a bit lost and isolated, throwing ourselves into a completely different experience. Plus, we didn’t know anyone, but the change there was always just a matter of time.

There are these huge bare hills behind the high tunnel (where most of the produce is grown at Coffee Creek) that I asked Mokey about. They said that there used to be so many beautiful trees there that they would wander around through with their family, but then someone had bought the land, stripped it of its resources, and is now trying to sell it at the same price they bought it, naked and afraid. It was really an emotional experience hearing Mokey talk about it. There was a real sense of loss to it all. If you are curious about hearing more about it, send me a note. There is a lot to say. We spent quite a bit of time in that area, and I had a moment alone with the hills. I cried a lot while looking at them.

The day after that, I helped Mokey compost a bunch of old plants and clean out brooding areas. For those of you who don’t know what a brooder is, it’s the area in which the turkeys were held before they were transported. In other words, and for lack of a better name, it was their shit tank. The smell still lingers in my nose, and I can taste it in my throat. A lot of their diet consists of corn, so when I was making dinner for myself that night and there were corn tortillas involved, I could not eat my food. Everything smelled and tasted like turkey shit. I wonder if I will ever be cleansed from that. That is a smell I will never forget.

While we were working with the plants, Mokey told me about the dance parties they have with their friends every month and how for three or so hours, they just dance. Everyone contributes to the playlists and intentionally listens to the music because at the end of the year, they vote on the best songs from all the playlists. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything like that. Music listening that focused I mean. That is something I am curious to try.

I asked Mokey about what sustainability looks like at Coffee Creek. They said there is a difference between being environmentally sustainable and being life sustaining. As much as they’d like to work for the rest of their life using only their physical labor, there are some tasks they physically can’t do, so they need a tractor that runs on fuel. In order for a farm to function, both sustainabilities, arguably, are equally important. I thought this was an interesting balance. Sustainability, as a preservation, not just a change.

To supplement my various daily tasks, I have been listening to a different artist’s discography per day. Yesterday I listened to Karen Dalton’s strange and beautiful folky voice while scooping poop. That will always be my silly association. Aside from that funny note, I think this practice of giving each artist a day has been really wonderful. I’m not much of an album listener, so deep diving into one artist is something new for me, and I’ve been enjoying the process of getting accustomed to someones sound. If anyone has any recommendations for an artist I should explore, let me know!

After yesterday’s work, I made dinner for myself, and Claire had some leftovers from the other night. At Coffee Creek there is something called HipCamp which is essentially a glamping get up that allows people to stay on the farm for a short time, so while Claire and I are wwoofing here, there are also some folks who are staying for leisure. Two hipcampers invited us to come up to where they were staying, for snacks and drinks. They were two friends from Hood River, who now live in Portland. One of them works as a dog trainer, and the other a lab technician. They shared salsa with us and apple cider (non-alcoholic). The lab tech shared stories of their various adventures including being an au pair in Denmark, working at a hostel, and as a flight attendant. Though the encounter was brief, so much kindness was shared. They gave us the address and number of their family if we ever needed a place to stay in between destinations, as well as a bunch of advice on cheap travel. They also offered to leave us all their leftover food when they left the next day which was very generous.

We had to cut the meeting short because at 8pm Mokey was hosting a new moon bonfire where different friends from around Centralia gathered to exchange conversation and intentions for the month. It was such a warm experience. The main themes of conversation were change, community, authenticity, and POOP. Some quotes I wrote down from the bonfire include, but aren’t limited to:

• “My friends don’t live near me anymore”

• “My forearm hardly ever hangs out with my feet”

• “Pooping is orgasmic”

• “I cry every time I poop”

• The importance of the word “and”

• “People should stop trying to be cool, and start being hot”

• Intentionally noticing moments of joy

• “The human experience is unavoidable”

• “At what point did humans start having to choose between authenticity and acceptance?”

• “How fast a year can go, how long a day can seem”

• “I am an amalgamation”

• “I seek the joy I felt as a child”

It was six of us around this fire. It reminded me a lot of burning hill. It’s nice to know that you can find that kind of community anywhere from upstate NY to rural Washington. There is hope, always.

Yesterday I think signaled a shift in my fears about this gap year. Even in scooping poop, and sweating in the hot sun, I found joy. In the past few days, I have enjoyed the soreness in my arms and back, sitting down and looking up at the trees, composting my own waste, etc. Ultimately, I think everything becomes easier when you have found a sense of community. I am starting to feel that.