Hello from Washington!

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“Wow, when I bought these leopard print pajama pants I never thought I’d be wearing them while doing yoga in a yurt on a farm in central Washington, where I live and work” is a weird/cool thought I had the morning I started writing this (weeks ago, now), along the same sentiment of many other thoughts I have had lately.

When I try to think of where I was in life a year ago, I can’t even exactly remember, but I know for sure I wasn’t expecting to be here. I had a lot of dreams and expectations, and one of them was to be living on a farm, but of all of the paths I was looking at this was the least likely to happen in my mind then.

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So Happy I Could Die – On 32 Trips Around the Sun (and my final days at Green String Farm)

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This post is starting with a Lady Gaga song, but bear with me here it will make sense soon.

Just know when that glass is empty
That the world is gonna bend

The last time I remember listening to this song and feeling it this strongly on a deeper level was six years ago. I had just broken up with the person I expected to marry and grow old with. I was finally breaking through the sad part of the grief cycle and into the strong independent woman stage. It was New Year’s Day of 2010 and I splurged and took the train to New York City to meet up with my best friends from college. Life as I knew it was over, but a new exciting life was beginning and starting off with the people I loved most in the world.

I listened to this song repeatedly on the train and thought of all the new adventures I’d be having in the days/months/years to come. Just as the lyrics go we spent the weekend painting the town red, laughing until we cried, drinking ourselves silly, wearing all black in tribute to the recently deceased Brittany Murphy, and closing down bars at gay clubs. As silly as it feels to relate to a Lady GaGa song, this song will always bring back prominent memories of a really important and transformative time in my life (We won’t get started on “Monster”).

The past seven years certainly were an adventure. New loves and losses, changes in friendships as people grew apart due to distance/relationships/everything/nothing, (multiple) drastic changes in my career path, etc. The last of which brings me to where I am today. Read More…

On Our First Intern Chicken Harvest

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[Written June 25, 2016]

Trigger warning: This post contains information about a farm animal harvest and may be upsetting to animal advocates/lovers and non-meat eaters. I’ll put another warning further in the post before the graphic parts for people who have a slight interest but don’t want to see anything too gross.

The internship day I’ve been dreading most was yesterday: our chicken harvest lesson. I overheard some of our supervisors speaking last week so knew it was coming this week, and we were officially told on Wednesday that it would likely happen on Friday. It was almost rescheduled due to a wedding taking place at the farm today, but when we told Bob about this his response was “Fuck the wedding, kill the chickens!” I really love Bob.

I was curious how this harvest would go considering there would be a wedding rehearsal/set up going on at the same time, but it turns out the groom was an intern at Green String and the couple didn’t really care. After our first chicken example, we walked back to the coop to get the first set of roosters for interns and a woman (a wedding planner maybe?) was out front of the wedding barn and smiled and said to me “It looks like you all are on a tour!” I awkwardly replied “Um something like that…” and the groom laughed and told her “They’re slaughtering chickens!!” I grimaced. Not the most ideal verbiage for something that feels so sensitive., even if it’s technically true.

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I’ve got 99 problems and all of them are chickens

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[Written June 19, 2016]

TL;DR The chickens can be a pain in the ass. Before we get into why, here are some cute pictures of them, because I do love them when I don’t hate them.

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The pullets, or younger chickens who don’t lay eggs yet out in the mobile coop. These chickens are free-range in that they aren’t fenced in, but they are fed by us so not 100% real free range chickens (though they also do eat whatever is growing near them).

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Our older laying hens/roosters over at the intern coop (the one next to our house). This is a photo of them eating their 10am greens. The chickens eat grain in the morning and are fed greens mid-morning. They eat exactly what we eat.

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On Moving to Petaluma, CA and My First 2 Weeks at Green String Farm!

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[Written sometime around June 16th?]

First of all, I sadly noticed a few days ago that my blog about being accepted to Green String Institute somehow disappeared. I am sure I double-checked it when I posted and it had text so I have no idea how/when/why this happened. Hoping I stumble upon a draft or something somewhere, but for now it’s gone.

Before I say anything else I want to link to my main Green String Institute Flickr photo album HERE. And a cool one of our communal meals HERE. There are almost certainly duplicates in the main album, and I’ll work on updating it and deleting them when I have wifi access!

That said – I made it to Petaluma! My last days in Philadelphia were hectic and busy even though I did my best to prevent it. I found out the same day I was accepted to Green String that my landlord was selling my house, so my original plan to store things there for summer was thwarted and I had to quickly move everything I own. I lived on Mole street for six years, the longest I’ve lived anywhere after moving out of my childhood home, so it was bittersweet to be packing up and going after so long… and there was a lot of stuff.

My last week in Philly was insane because I was stubborn and felt bad asking people to help so I ended up moving 85% of my house alone. I was still moving my belongings at 11am the day I flew out (at 4pm). Talk about down to the wire. I ended up not ever having a going away party and spending my last night in Philly alone at The Dolphin with some friends who work there and then staying out way too late at an after hours social club. It was much less stressful than a big party would have been but I definitely wish I had said an official goodbye to more people (I barely saw anyone unless we worked or circused together).

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