Back to School, and Back to the Land

For the first time since kindergarten, I did not go back to school this September.  

It feels odd, but I think I like it.  It’s time for me to use the knowledge I acquired in university for something other than doing more university.   

Recently, I’ve come across the opportunity to lease farmland on Vancouver Island.  Three friends and I intend to farm it next year.  

Talk about an overwhelming launch into the real world!  It will be one of the biggest learning curves I have experienced in my life thus far.  I don’t feel like I learned nearly enough in school to go out and start my own farm!  But I think that’s what my professors meant when they told me that it wasn’t necessarily what we learn in class that is important, but learning how to learn.  So here I go: not enrolling in any university classes, but leasing some land, growing some food, and finding people to buy it.  That’s the plan, anyway.  

My favourite part of school was spending time with friends.  That’s why I feel capable of starting a farm, because I have three friends to work with.  My least favourite part of school was having to sit still for long periods of time.

So as far as I can tell, it will be the best educational experience I could ask for: learning heaps about plants and soil and ecological farm management with three friends and working outside.  Best school I could ever ask for.   

Memories

From and absentee blogger - I am beginning my Masters in Christian studies this fall, consequently the frequency of sitting down to blog has plummeted. What to do??? Post assignments :) Here is one I thought worked as a blog. It is a reflective paper on my life:

A narrative about me ought not to be divorced from my memories. Therefore, I have chosen to articulate my life through a series of specific memories. Each of these moments acts as a pericope of a larger embodied narrative. Within these snapshots, the themes of growth, change, and movement act as the fluid constants within the story.

           

            “Adrian”, I call, “check this out!” I have found a new bike jump in the park. Life as a five year old is serene. Adrian is consistent, I see him at church, at school, on camping trips. Blond and blue eyed, we are often mistaken as brothers. I guess that is the “hardship” of growing up in an enmeshed Christian Reformed community, located within the greater bounds of Calgary, Alberta.

            It is early, the streetlights glow yellow. Off I walk, down the block around the corner. The cold bites at my face. The sound grates on my ears. The shovel catches a crack in the pavement; I am jolted awake. The snow continues to fall; I know I will be out here again after school repeating the same monotonous exercise later this afternoon. The up side - today is payday. I will be receiving $40 for shoveling my neighbour’s snow for a month. To my eight-year-old mind, I am rich. Even though I will only see half of it, the other half disappears into university savings. Responsibility, my parents say, is something I am old enough to understand.

***

            It is Friday afternoon; Dad enters the kitchen after work. As we sit, enjoying a cup of tea, I am asked if I want to go to England. My stomach lurches within my twelve-year-old frame. This day forever shakes me from my comfortable community life. Friday, the impetus of the next year, a year spent living in Northern England with my family as part of a teacher exchange.

            Standing on a beach along the French Riviera, I turn thirteen. Tomorrow I get to ski for the first time this season, but the Alps will be nothing like the local ski hill near Calgary. Six months into the exchange, life continues to have surreal moments. These instants seem to redeem the onslaught of tough experiences, most of which occur at school. Beyond specific challenges, I am experiencing general confusion, a result of being unceremoniously dropped into the middle of another worldview. As we drive away from the beach towards the Alps, I open Harry Potter. Harry is quickly becoming a good friend, one who has stays with me through thick-and-thin.

***

            “Silas”, Adrian has a serious tone in his voice, as we leave another college party, “We really need to get out of Calgary! I have been looking and I found a fun program at a Bible college in BC, want to come?”

            “BC has good skiing!” I respond. “I am coming.” Little did I know this snap decision would forever alter the course of my life.

***

            Bedouin chi is so very different from Himalayan chi, and Wadi Rum is so very stark when compared to the grand vistas of Northern India. However, the welcoming disposition of the people could not be more similar, I muse. As I melt in the Jordanian sun, I reflect on how I never thought attending a Bible College would lead to these opportunities.

***

            All aboard?” I call back to the students taking their seats in the van I am driving. It was no less then two years before I was in their position, beginning a one-year discipleship program. This year I have the privilege of being an intern for the same program.

            As I watch Costa Rica disappear beneath the wing of the plane, I reflect on a wild year. The students I met no more then eight months ago are now flying home. We have hiked, skied, rock climbed, sailed, canoed, and lived together. We have learning from one another, and now we are parting ways. As I drift into the dream world, I smile nervously. The anticipation of spending the next four months in East Africa with no itinerary, acts as a double-edge sword. Both hope and fear describe my mood.

            The feet again, those old familiar boots, my friend Aron is still right in front of me. I have followed those boots many Kilometers down winding trails and up vast mountains, but none quite like this. As I wheeze my head pounds, yet I regain cognitive ability. The sun crests over the Tanzanian horizon. It is before seven in the morning that Aron and I reach the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro. What an incredible way to finish my time in Africa! It makes the depression, the hopelessness, and the anger I have experienced over the past months seem to fade just a little. Here on the mountain I feel worlds away from the slums, the villages, and the cities where I have spent the majority of the last four months.

***

            I look at the clock for the third time. I must force myself to get out of bed. It is a dreary existence. It has been raining for three months. The prospect of moving couches for another day seems unbearable. Thought of the e-mail I received last night, a rejection letter from another graduate school, compounds my morose disposition. This year is not turning out as I had planned. I loath the path I have chosen. How could I have been so stupid? A degree in Biblical studies with a minor in Community Development, what was I thinking? How am I ever going to be employable? The joy of reading Karen Armstrong, N.T. Wright, J.H. Yoder, and the classics, seems like a feeble memory when placed beside the reality of the year after. Even the thrilling theological discussions seem utterly disconnected from my experience of reality. I kick myself for not being more practical.

***

            I cannot believe it slipped my mind! This morning it the meeting with the permanent representative of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea to the United Nations. It is nothing but surprises and excitement when interning at the Mennonite Central Committee’s office at the United Nations. As I run to the store on the corner it crosses my mind how incredibly different this month has been from the one which preceded it.

***

            “Adrian, how is China? What is the best part so far?” I ask over Skype...“Ya, I am doing well too, I just started at Regent. It is busy. I really like one of my courses!”

           

            Where is God in all of these memories? Prevalent throughout. One need only see the gifts used, the enjoyment had, the tough times gone through, and the life lived to see the weaving together of a far grander story then I alone could have dreamed to tell.  

            What of my Family? My family has since spread and diversified. My father still teaches, acting as the consistent beat in our family. My mother works as an employment advisor for low-literacy women. She finished her Masters in Political Science and founded the Justice Film Festival in Calgary. My older brother moved to Edmonton to study, completing his Masters of Electrical Engineering. He is now works in micro-engineering, while competing at the highest levels of road cycling in Alberta. My younger brother is an action sports photographer living in Whistler, BC. His photos appear in publications all over the world. We continue to wonder how we all turned out so different! It is part of the human experience I think I will never quite understand.

Abbotsford, More than a Stereotype.

Abbotsford, British Columbia is known as a "bible belt", the murder capital of Canada and the City in the Country where delicious berries grow and all establishments close by 6:00 pm.

In my current position with Community Services, I am getting to know Abbotsford in a stereotype-shattering way. I was struck with a new fondness for Abbotsford this week after contributing to the planning and execution of the East to West City Tour, staffing the Multicultural and Immigrant Services booth at AbbyFest and attending the film screening of It's a Girl by GirlKIND Foundation.

The East to West City Tour was the kick off event of a 6 session Diversity Networking Series for businesses in Abbotsford. My colleagues and I, along with our community partners, have been working on the details of this series for months. A couple weeks ago, my nerves struck and I was worried about the timing of the event, who would actually show up, and whether or not I had interesting and relevant information to share. One of my colleagues helped put my worries into perspective by reminding me that this tour would not change the world. In the grand scheme of diversity awareness in Abbotsford this event would play a minimal role.

As it turned out, we reached capacity and created a wait-list. As a tour guide on the bus, sharing demographics and highlighting changes in housing and landscape, I could see our guests react with interest. The tour finished with lunch and an informal dialogue about what we had learned and experienced on the tour. The collected evaluation forms were packed with positive and appreciative feedback as well as interesting information about what was new for the participants including: that there are two reserves in Abbotsford, that there are more than 10 languages spoken in our city, that 25.8% of the population are immigrants, or that there are more than 24 different faith groups represented. This was a job well done.  

The 5th annual AbbyFest, a multicultural celebration, opened with a parade of nations where community members representing over 50 countries, dressed in traditional clothing, carried flags of the world around the room. The parade was led by three women from different visible minority groups arm in arm. They were followed by members of Sto:lo Nation beating drums. Tears fell over my cheeks as this collective symbol of unity and peace passed before me. The rest of the day felt like a church gathering because I was reunited with many of the people involved on our Interfaith planning committee that had taken a summer break. I made new professional and personal connections and felt an incredible sense of belonging.

Its a Girl is a documentary about gendercide in India and China. The screening event took place at Matsqui Centenial Auditorium. Over 200 people were in attendance. It began with an hour of networking time where I was able to meet the founder of GirlKIND foundation and the performers, speakers and emcee of the evening. The stories in the film stirred a lot of emotion in me but what truly moved me was the community member who put this event on. This was the first community event that she had ever been involved in planning. This was her first engagement in community and global activism. She is the mother of a two year old, and a member of the South Asian community. I can not wait to work with her in the future.

In my college days, it was easy to talk poorly about Abbotsford because I was from the big city of Vancouver with endless opportunity and a wide breadth of diverse people. Today, I am proud to live and work in Abbotsford because I am getting to know the people that live here. I am thrilled to continue investing in this city.

The Human Impact

I want to talk about something that does not get near enough discussion in Canada. Sure, the Tar Sands (Oil Sands if you're on the other side of the debate) is a hot topic issue, but discussion is limited to issues surrounding politics, economy and the environment. Instead, I would like to talk about the direct human impact that the Tar Sands have had.

Not many people know that in April 2011, Alberta experienced one of it's largest oil spills when the Rainbow Pipeline burst and spilled nearly 28000 barrels of oil into the boreal forest. For those of you who don't know, 28000 barrels is the equivalent of 4.45 million liters of oil. The spill happened close to the community of Little Buffalo, home of the Lubicon Cree. The spill not only shut down their public school after children started getting sick, the spill contaminated their water supply and now the people of little buffalo have little access to safe and clean drinking water. May I remind you that this is in Canada.

Greenpeace recently teamed up with Melina Laboucan-Massimo, a young activist from the Lubicon Cree community who grew up in Little Buffalo, to create a photo essay describing the human impact that the tar sands have. I encourage you to watch the video and ask the question, why is the human impact not talked about in Canada? Why is it that we only hear about how the tar sands will strengthen our economy and bring jobs to northern Alberta?

Exo-Brain Cell Phone

Recently my cell phone died and refused to be resuscitated. What seemed at first to just be a low battery became a black screen of doom and an infinite start up loop of insanity. My exo brain (Scott Adams, 2010) was dead. I thought for a while maybe the battery needed to be replaced but eventually concluded it was a software glitch and managed to restore factory settings, while being forced to update the OS and losing all my data. I lost my contacts, photos, some music, some apps etc. I am so excited to have my phone back I am writing this blog on it with the new blogger app that I jut got! It's like having a new phone all over again. Because nearly dying is very similar to being reborn... One of the worst things was the full realization of exactly how much information I have exported to my exo brain. Phone numbers, email, addresses... I only know my number, Amy's, my parents and Amy's parents phone numbers. That's it! So when I was at a gas station waiting to get picked up, wondering if Amy would find me, checking to see how many quarters I had, checking to see if the ancient pay phones still worked, unsure who I could call if Amy didn't pick up her phone... I felt alone, nervous, stupid... I am completely, daily, reliant on my exo brain especially for communication, while mostly this is excellent occasionally when technology fails, I am plunged into a darker darkness than I had ever known previously to my technological reliance.

Tapestry

“I am an artist” – this is a statement I hear quite often from the people within my circles.  But what I have found with this statement, more so than any other vocational statement, is that it is always coupled with the additional statement of what it is they actually do (“I paint, I write music”).  “Doctors” or “engineers” can simply get away with stating this is their vocation without additional clarification, whereas with an artist, if they do not offer this seemingly necessary statement right away (often somewhat apologetically), others are sure to ask (“Oh! An artist! What do you do?”).

Well, I am an artist, too (or at least I tell “non-artists” this…).  If you were to ask me, I would say I am a musician (even this I feel needs to be explained further: I play piano and sing). 

But as the pattern of my life is changing in so many different areas, I am learning that it is not what I do that defines me as an artist.  It is the product of myself that is my greatest ‘art’.  Whether I am the sole artist and can take full credit or I am collaborating with Another (which I would argue is the case), it is my life that is being molded, shaped, created, and reflects all of the goodness, beauty, pain, and struggle within the world.

When melodies I am trying to write only last 4 measures or my piano gets dusty from lack of use, I try to take comfort that it is not what or how much music I produce that qualifies me as an artist, but a recognition that I myself am a work of art that is changing and growing and working on the greatest piece of my career.

Carole King said it best in her beautiful song, “Tapestry”.

"My life has been a tapestry of rich and royal hue

An everlasting vision of the ever changing view

A wondrous woven magic in bits of blue and gold

A tapestry to feel and see, impossible to hold"

Ok, ok. I'll get off the couch and start working on a song to post.

Wax On

Last summer, Duncan and I, along with Silas, Amy and Papa Ris, created Beautiful Destruction. This year, as my roommate and I brainstormed possible activities for our summer fun list, I insisted on including an art project. This is what we made.  

Film Production

For the past three weeks I have been part of a film crew that shot 15 commercials in 15 days. This was exciting. This was fun. This was exhausting. This was frustrating. This was challenging. This was educational. It was a tough pace with a small crew, but we succeeded and I am excited for the results. The commercial are almost more like short films in a web series comedy which follows an engaged couple through a series of disastrous, hilarious and terrifying meeting with various wedding vendors. The commercial are part of an internet promotional campaign for VEILTV.com a wedding resource website already launched in Vancouver and Launching in New York this fall as well as San Francisco and possibly Dallas next year.

In the course of production I learned a few new things:

Clothes pegs - may be referred to as C47s because back in the day producers didn't like knowing that they were buying clothes pegs for productions and so the name was changed on the budget line.

The last shot of the day - is called the window shot. (I already knew this but had forgotten.) The explanation for this name is that back when crew was paid cash daily after this shot you went to the window to get paid. The last shot may also be called the martini shot. The explanation for this is that "the next shot will be out of a glass"...

The second to last shot - was called the abbey window shot by our director but I can find now corroboration for this. The second to last shot is the called Abby Singer shot on wikipedia after an AD who was famous for saying "this shot and one more..."

We also had some other some other somewhat flexible terminology:

The master/establishing shot - this was the shot that included all characters in the scene

The artsy/money/establishing shot - the overlap of the word establishing occasionally made this confusing. This was also often the last set up of the day and usually involved a jib or slider move that would be intended to bookend the commercial.

It was great to busy on set for three weeks... but I am looking forward to returning my hyper flexible schedule with minimal commute and lots of LLDs (Little Lie Down). Hooray school starts soon!

Farming can be beautiful, too

When the subject of art was suggested as our theme, I drew a blank.  I don’t consider myself to be a particularly artsy person.  I like things that are practical, tangible, down to earth.  I like climbing mountains, not trying to paint them or put them into words.  I associate art with being ambiguous, superfluous, or I just don’t get it.  But farming can be considered an art, and it is none of these things.  I like farm-art because it’s such physical work to provide a tangible and necessary, yet beautiful product.  Farming has purpose and meaning, because people need good food.  There are so many variables and challenges, and so many ways to creatively navigate around them. 

Farming is an art on many levels.  Throughout the season, my boss carefully plans the crop choices and planting dates to make sure we have produce to sell consistently throughout the seasons.  Weekly, she coordinates each harvest day (Tuesdays for Wednesday night market, and Friday for weekend markets) for what to harvest depending on what is ripe.  This is challenging because sometimes there's too much ready at once, or sometimes it goes to seed too soon, or gets hit with mould or eaten by rabbits and voles.  And for each harvest day, she has to account for the limited hours in a day and space in the cooler. 

Presentation at farmer's markets is also an important part of how we farm.  The way we harvest, pack, store, and present the produce influences the success of our sales more than I ever thought.  People like to buy beautiful produce, so we add edible flowers to the salad mix for vibrant colour, we keep the carrot tops on the carrots because they look fresher, and we put lots of effort into the display of the whole stall. 

My job is in the field, to make sure the beet bunches aren’t too big or too small, and that no wilted lettuce gets in the salad mix. 

Here is the art of what I do: a cart load o' carrots, just hauled in from the field waiting to be washed and packed.