It gives me the shivers to watch people do what they’re really good at. People with intensity and real talent that’s been honed by hard work. When I was in Spain, I took an art history class from a crazy old Spanish man who tried to get his young American students to pose for him in the nude. He was a terrible teacher of history, and he was old and lecherous but when he got up to the board and started drawing these gorgeous chalk representations of famous artworks as if it were nothing… something in me reacted. My breath came heavy and I got a funny feeling in my stomach.

All this to say that this is how I feel sometimes when I watch a show like Project Runway where people are creating beautiful things under a deadline, sometimes out of what seems like nothing.

This episode didn’t disappoint.

First of all, it started on a farm.

Then, they made cocktail dresses out of potato sacks.

And to top it all off, one of the models on the show was a friend from high school. Sophia Lee. I hadn’t seen her in years and years. She doesn’t look too different.

At first, watching this show, I wondered if the farm shout-out was somehow testament to the ever-growing trendiness of all-things agriculture, but in fact I think it was a bit of the opposite. Despite mentions of farmcations in the New York Times and rising seed sales and the explosion of foodie films, it seems the mainstream image of farms still calls on the adjectives “old” and “dirty.” The designers wrinkle their noses as they run across (freshly tilled?) rows of dirt to reach their models. The urban still scorns the rural and needs to transform it into something different, more glamorous.

I was already pretty impressed when my adopted city’s Board of Supervisors voted in favor of mandatory composting last month. And now, an executive order by Mayor Newsom is making a big statement in favor of small, local, sustainable farming.

“[Newsom is] ordering all departments to survey the land under their control in order to create an inventory of land that can support community gardens. All city-purchased food for city meetings, schools, jails or homeless shelters must be grown locally with sustainable farming practices. Food vendors with city permits must also meet these requirements.” — from Tilde Herrera at Greenbiz.com

Wowsers! What a coup for food advocacy organizations and local Bay Area producers, and how tremendously apt for the region that gave rise to the term “locavore.”

I wonder how they are going to define “local” for these purposes, and what percentage of the food will have to adhere to this definition? This kind of policy is really only feasible in a place like SF, where fresh food is available year-round. But what about harder-to-procure stuff like grains and spices?

I assume this decision is also going to create more demand for services like this cool online startup to help city departments and food vendors to handle procurement more efficiently than juggling daily phone calls with dozens of small providers.

It was noon, and I was at a festival of sorts, and the hot dogs had perfect grill lines and they were offering stone-ground mustard, and no food politics, no knowledge of factory farming, food safety (or lack thereof), or the ethics of meat eating could stop me from buying and chowing that $2 all-beef Polish sausage.

It’s amazing how much community pressure can change the way you feel (and, in most cases, act) when it comes to food. The word around here is almost always POTLUCK, and at said potlucks, there are generally not too many hot dogs to be found. More likely, you’ll come up on a big bowl of quinoa tossed with cucumbers, or marinated tofu, or brown rice with carrots and onions, or a big batch of stir-fried kale.

I’m baking my own bread and making my own granola and yogurt. For the first time in my life, I know exactly what it is I’m eating pretty much all of the time and it feels natural and easy because I’m living on a farm and getting most of my food here, and I’m around a lot of people who live on farms and also care a lot about good, whole, real foods.

I’ve listened to a lot of talks like this one and read a lot of books like this one and this one that lay out logically the many reasons — nutritional, environmental, ethical, aesthetic — to eat more greens and to eat more simply, more locally, more seasonally and I’ve changed my habits some, but coming here has changed my habits dramatically.

I still ate that delicious hot dog, but I felt like a sneak and a rebel. The same way I feel when I bring home non-organic butter from Marketplace. Probably America could use a little more of that kind of healthy guilt for all our own goods.

* Delicious, juicy hot dog photo courtesy of “Mike Johnson – TheBusyBrain.com“

The watertower where I live was once actually a watertower, where water was stored, but in the B & B years, it was converted to a cute little apartment. We’ve got all kinds of good stuff: cute decor, heating, lovely little bathroom & shower, a mini wood stove, and a loft with a queen size bed.

Here’s a little tour of the inside:

The stairs in the entry-way. The bathroom is on this first level on the right. On the left is a beautiful stained glass windows that throws pretty red-colored light all over in the mornings.

The dining/work table in the living room space. Sometimes I sit here in the mornings eating oatmeal and wasting time reading articles about agriculture on my Google Reader.

The rest of the living room — Ikea couch, coffee table with my Kombucha hidden inside, lots of great lighting and my minimal decor additions

View of some of the North field from the window shown above. Right now these beds have broccoli, kale, beets, and carrots. Some will lie fallow until June and July.

Looking up from the living room into the loft. The wood beams are so pretty.

In between all that, I managed to squeeze in a little bike ride:

View

in a larger map

This time, I had companions… David who’s a jack-of-all trades who lives out on Sweet Earth Farm and a new friend Pritha who is an intern out on Heritage Farm.

David and Pritha looking at Mt. Baker

Still snowy out there.

We went almost out to the lighthouse at South Beach, but fell just shy (my 4 o’clock chicken date held us back), making for a total of around 20 miles round-trip.

Past American Camp a ways, we headed down a mini gravel path a little ways towards the water and were stopped by this curious guy. Pritha, the fox-whisperer, got him to come real close. Eventually, a friend of his came along with silver fur and eyes that were even yellower and more eerie.

Pensive fox.

Hungry fox.

Apparently, the red foxes on San Juan Island are a non-native species that was first introduced in 1947, and a few times afterwards to control a populations of (also non-native) rabbits which had been introduced in the 1890s and were out of control. Now there aren’t so many rabbits, but you can still see foxes all over the place.

Field + sea + mountains + sky = beautiful

Generally these weekends were full of fun, fun and fun. We got to eat Kraft Mac & Cheese and Cheetos and Oreos, we made trips to the park to picnic and build dams and catch pollywogs; we went to the movies where Grandma Evie would smuggle in candy we had agonizingly chosen at the drug store; we went down the street to the schoolyard to slide and monkey on the bars.

At my Kong-Kong (grandpa) and Grandma Sharon’s house, I would do experiments with my chemistry set, tumble rocks till they were smooth, and play dress up with out special bin of scarves & costume jewelry. We had season tickets to a special children’s performance at the symphony and afterwards, we would go out to dinner where I would eat a full rack of ribs, a baked potato (hold the greens!) and a “Pie-in-the-sky” for dessert.

Our trips varied predictably — the same activities in different orders — but a few weekends stand out in my memory. One such weekend was the weekend of the neighborhood block party at Kong Kong and Grandma Sharon’s. There were fireworks, there were hula-hoops. I think there was even a magician. But most of all, there was food. It was the middle of a Southern California summer, and hot. Everybody brought out their oven-fried chicken legs, their weenies and potato chips, their potato salad and watermelon. I remember roving from house to house and getting food handed to me along the way.

I don’t think I’ve ever been to a block party since then. This is an American tradition that really needs reviving. With all the labels and “do-nots” surrounding food issues these days, it’s nice to switch to the more positive once in a while and celebrate the bounty we do have. Sharing food in the community seems like the right venue to get conversations going about our values and what we care about in food for our neighborhoods, families, planet.

This seems to be a modern-day take on the “Block Party” that’s been taking place in some big cities across the world. Cool idea — we have lots of potlucks on the island, but maybe I’ll try to put something bigger together on the farm.

Today I washed a load of “delicates” in my kitchen sink and now they’re chillin on the counter looking like some sort of strange kitchen-themed lingerie shop.

And then, for some reason I just starting thinking about this website that I built when I was 12 or 13, and how awesome it was. I had one page that was just flashing gifs; one — obviously — of photo; one of those funny surveys that we used to forward around (What’s your favorite color? What are your nicknames? Who was your first crush?) and so on for at least a hundred questions.

I think I’ll try to look one up and fill it out. I wonder if those kind of flimsy awkward definitions are sort of the best you can get. Or maybe that fleetingness, (or in kinder, gentler terms: “adaptability”) is just me and I shouldn’t be so freaked out.

I tend to like bulletin boards and clothespins and mobiles because I can shift them around as I shift around.

Thinking about that website also makes me think about how much I buzzed with naive lust when I was young. Since this so-called public journal is just starting out, I’ll spare the details, but I can remember dreams with (always) thin, dark-haired boys and prancing around in a silky Japanese dressing gown that my grandma probably bought me, taking my hair up and down and pouting my lips in front of the mirror.

– Moving into my own apartment
– Selling something on Craigslist
– Cliff House at 6 in the morning to watch the waves
– Finding the fuse box and turning the lights back on
– Unclogging a toilet
– Tegan & Sara concert at Zellerbach Hall
– “Fondue” by candlelight
– Early morning run by Dolores Park

And just plain fun stuff:

– Perfect green tea & finding my keys at the Irish pub
– Dinner at Bissap Baobob & crazy dance party at Bruno’s
– Coffee & shopping with Sara in the Haight
– Gabriela, Clove & Cinnamon
– Apartment decorating spree: Pier One, Target, the Container Store…
– Olafur Eliasson exhibit

Things that I’m happy thinking about:

– **Buying the ticket to Cambodia**
– Building my apartment platform
– Finding/taking motorcycle lessons
– Picking up more library books from on-hold
– Buying fun Christmas presents
– Organizing my closet
– Getting a coffee pot