breakfast of localvores

everything's from my garden except the goat cheese, graciously created by the farmers on county road 250, 5 miles from my house.

wake up

i just returned from a little walk through the draw behind my house. my pant legs are soaked in morning dew, and my lungs are flexed and full of fresh air. i trapsed through purple aster and oregon grape, following the natural paths laid out by fallen trees, shale beds, and deer hooves. the mornings here are so still,and sounds resonate further than later in the day. bird songs come from oak and juniper, cedar and ponderosa pine. i hear the commute of an occasional automobile on the highway in the distance, and the steam whistle of the coal train 5 miles off in durango, announcing its load of passengers departing for the old mining town of silverton. i notice the mushrooms gaining ground in the decaying trees; i stop and put my hand on a juniper branch and suddenly feel my hand stimulated--there are 6 ants dancing on it, and dozens more racing up and down the tree. yet despite the abundance of life and sound, i can feel the slowing down of things. it is, after all, nearly 8 in the morning, where weeks ago this would have been the scene nearly 2 hours earlier. we are, at this point, losing 2 minutes of daylight each day. that's 15 minutes a week; an hour a month. the forecast calls for our nighttime temperatures to drop to the 40's this week, and it's true, i feel the transition to fall growing in my bones. i find myself having thoughts about winter. we're collecting firewood for the house already. in the heat and harvest of august, the nature of nesting is starting to root.

i was aware this morning of the sense that opportunity is slipping away, like the minutes of daylight. i've felt stuck lately, not knowing what to do after my garden becomes shadowed and the plants stop producing. i realized, in a moment, that i'm trying to hold the door open, fixing myself as dead weight against the swing of change. but there is no door on opportunity, there are just different moments and manifestations of it. some you step into, and some you don't. some mornings you sleep in, some mornings you rise to work, and others you get up and walk. but the morning always comes.

more mountains, more flowers

4 days in

so, i've finished 4 days of eating foods from within a hundred mile radius of durango. i thought it would be easier than it actually is! the first day i wasn't fully prepared. i had some greens from my garden for breakfast, and then had to work all day at the restaurant where i wait tables. nothing, absolutely nothing served at my place of employment is local, i'm sad to say. even though the cooks are amenable to it all, they haven't worked out an ordering system that puts them in coordination with the local growers. i brought them to a forum in the early spring, a farmer/chef sort of speed dating event, but they never made calls to the numbers they collected. sigh.
in any case, i went home and woke up hungry. fortunately, it was farmers' market day. i found corn, beans (fresh and dried), goat cheese, eggs, big tomatoes (yay stonefree farm!), turnips, green chiles, carrots and bison meat. then i wandered town and found an abandoned apricot tree, where i harvested a basketful of juicy precious fruit. i went home and made chili with beans, bison, tomatoes, carrots, corn and green chiles, and i ate some apricots and dehydrated the rest.

day three: i started contemplating history. so, hasn't trade always happened? you know, like spices, tea, and salt caravans? i mean, can i really be expected to eat for a month without SALT? i argued my case to my friend tami, over a glass of locally grown wine. i think i might have had a piece of chocolate from her stash of provisions, too. but she's local, and she came bearing gifts from the trade world--are you saying i should have turned it away? (in the meantime, we had a lovely meal of fresh greens topped with carrots, corn, tomatoes, cilantro, and a dill dressing and green chile goat cheese, and later some chili and dried apricots for dessert).

day four--local eggs with tomatoes and fresh (vegan) pesto for breakfast. apricots for lunch (new harvest). beets and greens from my garden for dinner with a dressing made of (gasp!) lemon juice,miso and tahini.

okay. i caved a little. miso and tahini are out of range--california and texas,respectively. i wondered how ABSOLUTE i have to be, especially when the cost of buying local exceeds the cost of buying from big industry (it's not like i'm made of cash). oddly enough, i'm starting to see the benefits of mass production, of course, in moderation.

the vegetables, fruits and meats that come from my region are indeed superior in taste and production methodology than most things i can buy at the supermarket. but! why should i spend the money on beautifully, sustainably grown things if i can't flavor them in a way that brings out the taste of their superiority? a little olive oil, a little salt. the contrast of a nut, or some citrus. a splash of tamari. okay, so maybe this has all revealed that i'm a hedonistic food snob. i'll admit it. but i wouldn't ever choose mass produced over homegrown, if i had the option.

i'm still sticking to my local food challenge. i'm just not being as hard core as i could be, for the joy of fresh, innovative flavors! i'd say at least 95% of what i'm consuming is still within--less than 50 miles of where i live. pretty good for the middle of nowhere...