Satisfying

Also, just to make note, it is really satisfying to throw snowballs at farm animals. No animals were hurt in the process.

Snow

Our second snow this fall/winter arrived today. Can someone check the date? Oh yes, October 18th. Second snowfall, meaning there's already been one this week. The snow flakes are the size of golf balls.

Really, though, I'm not complaining at all. Snow on a farm is wonderful. The usual craze slows down as we all retreat indoors to do indoor things, like painting a world map (as we did this morning) whilst listening to Lark in the Morning's Christmas album. If you don't know Lark in the Morning, let me do a quick bit of advertising and tell you that they are my best friend Cane's parents' celtic band. The music is awesome and extremely efficient at getting me into the Christmas spirit. I know, it's only October, but the sight of snow immediately triggers a Christmas-like excitement, even though in Arkansas/Tennessee, I never saw snow before Christmas. Go figure.

Snow on the farm is a time for us to be inside, warm, enjoying each other's company, keeping each other's spirits high against the cold, having a pie contest (as we are having tonight). It's a time for the animals to crowd close together in animal piles and share body heat. It's a time for them to bundle up in the hay and watch the snow pass by. No big plans or worries. Just the timeless fall of snow on the farm.

I'm a Monster!

So, I made five kids cry. Not even kids. Teenagers. I am a monster.

It happened on the second night of a Global Gateway program (the one where the kids stay for two days and spend the night in different global villages). The night begins with a lottery and orientation. Basically, every kid draws a number and is randomly assigned to a village site. So, after everyone draws a number, I say, "Numbers 2, 41, 25, and 7 stand up." The kids with those numbers stand up, and I say, "Congratulations. Tonight you will be the Garcia family of Guatemala." Then, those kids come forward to find out their different roles in the family. This part is usually fun. I've already assigned certain roles to numbers, so it's all predetermined and random. Number 2 becomes pregnant with a water balloon baby. Number 25 loses his/her hand (literally. Hah!) Normally, all the kids giggle and freak out, and it's all in fun.

Well, this time, five kids cried when each of them found out he/she was either pregnant or handicapped. Cried! It was awful. I'm standing there about to tape a water balloon into a kid's shirt, and she is crying. Multiply that five times. It sucked.

To make it worse, all of those crying kids had parents there as chaperones. So, another kid is crying because he's got a wood rod tied to his leg to prevent the use of his knee, and his mother is hugging him and looking at me like I'm the devil. Great. So much for a fun lottery.

You really aren't supposed to bend when this happens. The lottery system is impartial, and no one is allowed to choose because, after all, in life you can't choose where you're born or what you're born into. However, I bent a little, and there was some baby trading. I'm apparently a big softie. Well, here's to the hope of a better day, or at least a day not filled with crying kids.

Well, I stole some pictures from fellow volunteer Emily's blog. Cheating, I know. If you want to see more, check her blog out. These are pictures from the Harvest Festival. We've got me in my Tibetan outfit, contemplating the high mountain peaks, our garden stand, our hay maze, some fresh veggies from our garden, and me, modeling my find Thailand garb and rice pounder (check out my huge pants).

Vegetarian

Vegetarian. What a loaded word.

Some thoughts on being vegetarian:

I am a vegetarian.

Ok, what came to mind, when you read that? I would guess a variety of generalizations that are usually associated with vegetarians. Skinny white liberal dude. Self-righteous. Judgmental. Elitist. Weird. Since becoming a vegetarian, I have been amazed with how many assumptions come with the label "vegetarian".

But, let us consider what being a vegetarian actually means. Eating vegetables. Not eating meat. I'm guessing it's the last part that gets people. Not eating meat. Gasp. In this particular country, meat has become such a crucial part of the staple diet. By that, I mean eating meat two to three times a day. When that is the norm, it's pretty understandable that a vegetarian sticks out like a sore thumb. And, truth be told, being a vegetarian tends to marginalize you a wee bit, because, as so much meat is eaten, you have to pick your way around food a lot.

But, lets consider a broader picture of the human diet, over, say, the past few thousand years. Have people always eaten meat two to three times a day? No. Not even close. Up until the invention of the factory farm, where cows can be raised and slaughtered in a few years, meat has come at a higher price. Think about it. If you kill your cow, you get a ton of beef. A few questions: what do you do with the leftovers? Do you have refrigeration? Billions of people around the world today lack refrigeration. So, killing a cow presents a bit of a problem. New question: what do you lose when you kill that cow? A source of milk, a source or muscle and work, a source of manure, a source of income. You lose all these things that minute you kill your cow. Of course, most of us don't have to think that way, because we buy small meat packages from the store, and the death of a cow has no impact on our sources for milk or manual labor. In a vague sense, it is from a cow, but we barely recognize that fact.

All this is to suggest a different way of looking at meat. It's a lot more than a hamburger. It's an animal (or was), and, more importantly, a domesticated animal, meaning that it provides a number of services for human benefit, only one of them being meat. Not to mention the fact that, for most of human history, a person got meat by killing said animal. Not by driving to the grocery store. By taking a life. Too sentimental? Have you killed a pig? I hear it's quite unpleasant, and most of us would think differently about eating pork if we did the slaughtering ourselves.

Ok, I'm climbing off of my podium now. I don't like preaching. But, I do like considering different perspectives on things that are usually accepted as normal. Is it normal to eat as much meat as we do? I'm not sure it is. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the extent to my identity as a vegetarian. Nothing to do with politics, or morality, or self-righteousness. Just reconsideration.

Thailand Priest of Loneliness

As of Saturday, this has become my official title. My ordination occurred beneath the Global Village Thailand house site, a grandiose bamboo house on stilts, with a lovely pond (of dead fish) next to it. The audience who witnessed the ceremony consisted of five girl scouts. A rice pounder was provided for musical gusto. The only piece that misfit the puzzle was the presence of rain, a gloomy forecast upon such a significant day.

Oh, what am I talking about? Yes. Well, the Overlook Farm's Harvest Festival was this past weekend. The farm's annual celebration of the harvest of our garden. A few thousand people usually come, and there is a lot of "to-doing" all about. Animals and games and hay rides and bigwigs and food. And the Education Volunteers, stationed at the many Global Village sites, dressed in ethnic traditions, demonstrating different crafts and whatsis. All week long, we've been preparing for this weekend. Sprucing everything up. The poor livestock team had to build a hay maze over a span of three days. It's all a big deal.

But, Mother Nature was at odds with the farm's mighty plans, apparently, because it rained all day Saturday. The thousand visitors we expected were condensed to sixty visitors. I was stationed in the Thailand site. I wore a ceremonial Akha headdress and colorful jacket, as well as this pair of humongous pants. I prepared to demonstrate our Thailand rice pounder. I had a veritable army of girl scout volunteers to assist. And I sat beneath the stilted house all day, rain and fog surrounding, listening to the chatter box girl scouts tell me rambling stories about barracudas and birthday parties, while the headdress itched my scalp, and my giant pants got wet in the mud. Occasionally, we all pounded some rice, just for the hell of it.

Not the best Saturday for a Harvest Festival. But, today (Sunday) more than made up for it. Beautiful sunny day. A lot of visitors. I sported an intricate Tibetan robe, complete with fake leopard fur, and ground barley to make barley tea. 'Twas a good day. And there are a lot of leftovers from the kitchen.

Side notes: I baked my first homemade loaf of bread today. I have decided to never buy another loaf of bread again. And, I observed today, it is amazing how easily I've accustomed myself to life on the farm. I just stopped today, on my way out of my house, amid a sea of people, big mud boots on, about to help catch a goat, and thought, "This feels normal. How's that?"

Goats

We all know how I feel about sheep. However, I will add that I have developed a good relationship with one sheep. A gigantic ram, named Evander. He is calmer than usual, and sort of like a big labrador. By big, I mean he comes up to my chest. Unlike all the other male animals on the farm, Evander doesn't pound his head against every surface and terrorize the female animals. He just wants some attention and some grain, and he's good to go. However, a downside to his affectionate nature is that he "lovingly" butted his head into my ass last week. Not a good feeling. Once upon a time, my dad had a snowboard wipeout on a pile of ice, and described the sensation as an "ice enima". Well, this was like a "ram enima".

I also seriously hate the turkeys here. They are not the majestic brown wild turkeys of our pilgrim forefathers. They are white and pasty and foul (pun). Picture them as huge, overgrown chickens that look ripe with disease. And smell worse. That's how our turkeys are. I can't wait to eat one.

Goats. Goats are an exception. Bless the day that man domesticated goats (except buck goats, who are freaks). They are easy to handle, incredibly easy to feed, make great weed eaters/lawn mowers, give you milk (around the world, more goat's milk is drunk than cow's milk), tend to have a wide variety of personalities, and get into goat mischief all the time. They have a certain "je ne sais quoi" about them that is very likable. Take Ren and Stimpy, for example. Baby dwarf goats who wander around the farm all day and get into trouble. They're practically a cartoon in the making.

However, buck goats (male goats) are sick freaks. Maybe only in breeding season. When they aren't peeing on their own beards, they're knocking down walls or making strange monkey noises or doing this horrible thing where they lick their lady friends' necks and sneeze on them and butt their horns against them. Weird. Which has brought me to the conclusion that, in the wild, all male animals are dick heads (pardon my language). Total dick heads.