A Tall Feathered Tale

Sometimes things happen when you least expect it and they can totally turn your day around. This was one of those times.

I was driving down Sugarloaf Mountain Road thinking about the state of my affairs, which, if I had any thing to say about them, would be substantially different ~ Way Better ~ to be more specific. I came around a corner and what I saw before me was too weird to be true.

There was a man on a bicycle, moving rather slowly as he was pedaling  up   a steep incline. And running beside him was a long legged turkey.

I was shocked silly!

I pumped my brake pedal.

The turkey looked very tall;

the man looked very unhappy.

 

I rolled down my window and leaned out to get a better look. The poor man was trying to pedal even as the bird viciously pecked at him.  I casually asked him if this was his pet turkey. He had a hard time talking but he squawked something like, “this damn bird is trying to kill me!”

As I slowed my car beside them, the turkey was loudly vocal and partially threw out his tail feathers into a fan.  He was dark brown, wild, and rather trim, apparently from jogging.  He appeared to be much more in control than his opponent ~ gobbling, fanning and pecking at the poor fellow !

 

The gentleman biker had grey hair under his little helmet, and shiny black bike shorts that fit tightly on his upper thighs leaving the rest of his poor leg exposed. I feel quite confident in assuming he had no idea when he dressed that day that he would be fending off,  or racing against,  a rabid running turkey.

Lest you think I am being unfair to the biker, he outweighed the bird by 150 pounds at least, and I will confess, under different circumstances, I would have found them both equally attractive specimens.

 

I wanted to yell some encouraging words to the man on the bike but I was struggling not to laugh out loud. It was tough; I was choking up as I wiped tears from my eyes.

 

As I slowly rolled down the road, the scene in my rear view mirror was so comical I nearly wet my pants. That long legged turkey ran beside the bike in a dead heat.

I believe the fellow was trying to throw a kick at the bird without losing momentum. The turkey, displaying a much keener sense of physical prowess and never missing a stride, would expand his tail feathers and then pull them back into a neat bundle.

 

I know it is cliché, but seriously,

the last thing I heard as I rolled around the next curve

was the man screaming curses

to which the turkey answered with a long gobble.

 

 

No matter what is going on in my life,

I would rather be the turkey than the biker.

Archives

August 25, 2009

 

Expressions – Part 8

TESTIMONIAL.

On a warm summer's day I lost a dear friend named Ann.  In April, Ann had come out to my house for a wild foods class that I was teaching.  Unbeknownst to me, Ann was suffering from Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease, which eventually would claim her life.

Everyone had a great time with the plants, and our field trip, and we also spent some time with my healing herd of horses and donkeys.  My horse, Lakota, tuned in on Ann and spent many minutes licking her hand.  I had no idea what was going on, and could only hope that Ann was comfortable with Lakota’s attention.  I had to trust the process.  When Ann came out she had tears in her eyes and told me that she had received a wonderful healing from my horse and she was so thankful.  She wrote me a thank you note that brought tears to my eyes when I received it and I asked her if I could post it to my website. She agreed and it is there still.

There are no pictures of Lakota licking Ann’s hand. Everyone in class that day could tell you about it, but there are no pictures.  I had no idea of the significance of what I was witnessing.  The picture below was staged with the help of another dear friend of mine, Deb.

“What a wonderful day being with you and the circle of women!
Thank you so much for sharing Lakota with me. I will never forget her breathing and gentleness.                              I do believe she licked my hands to help heal them!! She knew I needed some help there.                                         I am so glad she let me hug her and pet her.
The sharing circle at the beginning was powerful. You are such a sensitive, loving, enthusiastic teacher. I always love field trips so visiting the variety of plants and picking and tasting them was pure fun.
Thank you for offering this special class. Any time I can learn more about wild plants and animals, I feel blessed. May you find sweet success, you deserve it.”
AT, Erie, CO

A WINTER’S TALE.

Long, long ago there sat a village kingdom high in the mountains, nearer so it seemed to the gods, and which certainly had a feeling of being  “heaven on earth.”  Or so it felt to the local residents, who sometimes whispered that their tiny village was indeed, “the spiritual center of the universe”.  And it became known as truth that some residents were indeed higher than others, for the land flowed with mead and many various flavors of the nectar of the gods, as well as a pipe filled with local and imported greenery, which was also revered highly by most of the grateful inhabitants. As the deep snows of winter set in, the residents gathered in their halls of worship, huddled together for warmth and companionship, and partook heartily of their sacred substance of choice.

In this village lived two fair maidens who brought joy to those around them.  They, being short of monetary treasures, were long indeed on wit, creativity, flair and beauty.  It came to pass that one of the fair maidens had received a large quantity of the imported greenery in exchange for a favor that she had rendered to another. She had indeed hoped to be paid in tokens that could be exchanged easily for her honey mead of choice, and was quite sorrowful for a time as she sat with her friend and separated seeds from stems of the low quality barter. What to do? But slowly an idea began to take shape and the maidens eagerly embraced it and discussed in great lengths how they could turn this vision, which now resided only in their in enthusiasm, into a reality. It would take every penny they had between them, but vowed to one another to accept this challenge and swore one another to secrecy, until such time as it came to pass.

They separated and began their quest to secure many different ingredients, requiring mountains of  flour and butter, a whole basket of eggs  and large measures of nuts and candied fruits. And the day arrived when they secured themselves behind locked doors, surrounded by their varied acquisitions and set to task. They laughed and sang loudly as they rolled up their sleeves, pulled out their largest cauldrons and plunged their bare arms into the forming dough ~ it was a glorious sight to behold.  At the end of the day, they wiped the sweat from their brows and sat back and marveled at their creations.  

There sat seven loaves, beautifully baked to perfection, weighing thrice over what they appeared. They were in uncharted territory now and had no elder to guide them on the next step of their journey. They appraised the recently laundered cotton sheet and measured again the seven loaves. Sacrificing the sheet to this creation was another measure of their unfailing commitment to their quest, for sheets of such good structure were a prized possession of the young maidens.  Reverently they dipped the torn cotton into a bowl filled with the best brandy they could acquire and wrapped tightly the loaves ~ imbuing each with love and good tidings.  

For seven nights, the two maidens would gather and bring out the loaves from their hiding place. For indeed, word of the wondrous creations had seeped into the villagers imagination, and were whispered about in the halls of worship.  Night after night the giddy maidens stole away from the communion hall, filled the bowl with brandy, re-soaked the sheet fragments and re-wrapped the heavy loaves. It was a labor of love and the maidens became quite attached to the seven swaddlings.  Alas, one night, upon retrieving the loaves from their sacred hiding place, they found one missing and they mourned the loss.

The time came to pass to share their handiwork with their friends and family. Many who had long scoffed at the idea of fruit cake, stood in line to receive their portion of the maidens delicacy for it was known to all that these loaves alone contained the sacred greenery. And every villager knows that even that greenery which does not produce the desired affect when smoked in the pipe, becomes a powerful intoxicant when baked or cooked. And the mind blowing effect of the magic fruit cakes were soon known to all with the curiosity to take them in.

And many a glass was raised that holiday to toast the ingenuity of the two maidens. And many were the invitations they received to share in the holiday festivities of their beloved neighbors.  It was a winter to be remembered, but never repeated.

And so ends this tiny tale with these words of advice.       Pure Love and Joy are free dear friends.     Imagination is your goddess given right ~ partake and be of good cheer.

Merry Christmas and green blessing to you all, each and every one, and to your friends and family, and their friends and family, and so on.

<< And, oh yea who so stealthily stole the seventh loaf, you are forgiven, but the maidens would love to hear your side of this winter’s tale. >>

Happy Winter Solstice

PRECIOUS MOMENTS

We had a nice snow storm followed by brutally cold weather which means most of the snow is right where it fell a week ago! Going out at seven am for a morning feed feels better with a scarf wrapped across my face, so the nose hair doesn’t freeze as quickly. We are feeding our outdoor critters four times a day if possible, to help everyone keep their body weight up and because I work from home a lot, I can make this happen.

I was talking to my mom the other morning, with my feet propped up on my desk and gazing out my north window at our little herd. Every critter stood out in stark contrast to the white snowy backdrop. I watched with growing interest a little brown bird that was hopping around the perimeter of a large overturned Rubbermaid water trough.  Hilde, a two year old mini donkey, was playing with him.  She would stick out her nose towards him, he would hop and she followed him around the circle of the tub. Then he flew onto her back near her shoulder and she turned around and looked at him.

I often see birds perched on top of horses out in the pasture so this was nothing new to me, but it made me wonder what went through her young mind. Her enormous brown eyes checked him out for a long moment and then she almost touched him with her nose before he flew back to the grey tub. I described to my mom what I was watching and then I burst out laughing. This was totally new to me.

The little brown bird jumped back onto Hilde’s rump. And then he wiggled his little bird butt, nestling down into her fuzzy fur, a thick winter coat. He nearly disappeared!!

I could just hear him exclaim (in my best Tweety Bird voice)  “I taut I saw a little nest. Oooh, I did!  I did! I did find a little nest. My little feet-sies have been sooo cold. Oh goodie, goodie, goodie. Dis is very warm place.”

Hilde turned and looked at him again with a huge question mark on her forehead,  “Really !!!???!!”

But she let him stay. Mom and I laughed out loud. Another precious moment at Dragonfly Farm.

More Ramblings of a Road Trip

Yesterday, walking up Lynnell’s road I stopped to tie my shoe.  As i stood up I noticed a hairy, black tarantula right between my shoes. I think I squeaked!  Where did he come from?  When we go back to look at him he rises up on his hind legs, posturing defensively. Yes, he does look bigger and it works. I am so out of here!

Last night we talked about how  out here in the high desert with absolutely NO light pollution, the stars come right down to the horizon.  There are stars apparently sitting in the treetops on top the canyon wall. They are decorated for the holidays!  It is incredibly beautiful!

8:45 am. Wave goodbye to Abiquiu.

Today, I am on the road heading north, home.

White flanks of antelope, glow in the sunshine

… then for the next ten miles every white rock cluster in the scrubby grass promises to be another herd

Bleached white rib bones curl towards the barb wire fence ~ another victim

Elk crossing sign seems to warn away that very creature

Tears well up, never quite enough to fall out of me, just enough to blur that, which in front of me, wants so badly to recognized as reality. Is this it?

Thoughts that Patricia will never again share this scenery

.... but then again, maybe she is sitting here beside me …

… maybe these are all her observations, reminding me to pay attention ….

I forgot it was October 31 until I stopped for a cup of coffee and handed my $1.50 to an impressive Queen of Hearts! Fun!

11:15 Alamosa ~ catch 17 straight north …. great short cut.

According to one property owner, Hwy 17 is the official UFO Highway; complete with watchtower, camp ground and small geodesic observatory … I keep my eyes open! They must be with the elk!

Sand Dunes on my east, I wave and call out to my friends that live in Crestone.

Joyful Journey Hot Springs looks very prosperous and that makes me feel good. If Patricia were here we would stop for an hour, but alone, I don’t feel enough inspiration … I drive on.

Down into Pagosa Springs, I missed the golden cottonwoods ~ last week’s snow fall must have worn them out.

Salida.   Patricia, remember the time I forgot my suit. We were heading south and we left the highway and popped into the local Wal-Mart.  I still have that bathing suit.

Collegiate Peaks, Arkansas River valley, Dvorak’s Rafting Co …. Earlier time, different friends, glad I lived to tell that story!!

Wide open South Park, rimmed by snow tipped mountains, so close. Light dusting of snow still on the ground.

1:30 Fairplay.  Might miss Denver rush hour , that would be good.

Wait for it … wait for it … ah, there it is. On Kenosha Pass there is one pull off that Patricia showed me the very first time we drove to New Mexico together.  Park the car, locate the small opening in the fence, find a private spot in the junipers, listen for voices, check the wind, squat and pee.  We discussed how much we enjoy peeing outdoors while we were peeing outdoors.  On more shared memory.

My Place of Worship

I wrote this as I drove away from Abiquiu, New Mexico.  It was inspired by a conversation sitting in a beautiful sun room with new friends.

My Place of Worship

The landscape is my cathedral,
this rock shall be my pew

and a dandelion leaf my communion.
The bird and the cricket form my choir
and their tracks in the dirt are my hymnal.
The clouds across the azure sky, my stained glass windows,
even as the night-time sky is an open portal welcoming me in.
The trees are my elders,
this pungent sage, my incense.
My love for you shall be an unending tithe.
I kneel beside my horse, in awe of all that I witness.
Dear God, Goddess, Creator of all that is,
thank you for this sanctuary.
No walls to hold me in, nor others "out".
Bless you for this day.
Amen.
    

Dandelion Festival

A few years after I graduated from herb school (1995), Dorje Root, a fellow herbalist, approached me with a wondrous idea. She suffered from “Environmental Dis-ease” and wanted to let her neighbors know that there were other things to do with dandelions than spraying them with toxic chemicals. She needed help and I was totally intrigued. Thus was born, the city of Boulder’s first Dandelion Festival. We planned a one day event filled with fun activities and classes on various subjects: cooking with weeds, the fascinating art of brewing dandelion wine, medicine making ~ which included teas, tinctures and lip balms ~ as well as the medicinal properties of our dearly beloved yellow friend.

It was a lot of work, to put it mildly, and the first spring we pulled it off in Dorje’s back yard. Her children made signs and posted them, and her oldest daughter collected a meager admission fee at the back yard gate. The children loved making lip balm and folks really enjoyed the cooking class. We presented a salad of wild weeds including purple mustard, mallow, wild spinach, as well as the yellow flowers and young leaves of our guest of honor.  Then we sautéed up a batch of onions and garlic, added dandelion greens, nettles, and the very young leaves of yellow dock and sprinkled this with vinegar and tamari. We finished off with a Dandelion-Rhubarb Crisp that remained a festival favorite for years to come.  Our small crowd ate everything we made, every last morsel.

We considered it a total success with over twenty-five neighbors and “people-who-don’t-know-us” stopping in to see what all the fuss was about. Well, almost a total success.  We learned that very first year that you do not bring out the dandelion wine early in the day; it should be one of the last classes offered. It involves wine tasting and is way too much fun for everyone involved!

The next two years we offered the festival again, the last week in April, in Dorje’s back yard. And for the two years after that we were hosted by Hedgerow Farm located east of Boulder. Every year we offered more classes, bringing in published authors for talks and book signings. Every year more people flocked to our festival; we had to find volunteers to park cars!!  It was exhilarating and exhausting. We were hoping that the Naropa Institute of Boulder, Colorado, and the owner’s of Hedgerow Farm, would take over the festival as part of their continuing education and community outreach program, but they did not take the bait. Alas, after 5 successful years, we were worn out. 

Below I offer you two “dandy” recipes that were published in the Daily Camera, Boulder’s local rag, on April 25, 2001. The article was printed in the FOOD section of the newspaper the week before our festival, along with a Schedule of Events.

These recipes are easy, quick, delicious, and dare I say it, good for you.

Sautéed Dandelion Greens

1 Tbl. Olive oil

1 Tbl. Tamari

3 garlic cloves, sliced

1 Tbl. Apple cider vinegar

4 cups fresh spring dandelion greens, washed thoroughly and chopped

(blanching optional, see note)

Combine olive oil, tamari, and vinegar in a skillet and warm on medium heat. Add the garlic and sauté for 1 minute. Add the greens. If using fresh greens, sauté for 4 to 5 minutes. If using blanched greens, just warm through, about another minute.

Makes 2 to 3 servings.

NOTE: Dandelion greens get very bitter later in the season, even in late spring. To eliminate some of this bitterness, place the greens in a sauce pan and pour boiling water over them. Bring the water back to a boil. Strain, then repeat the process if necessary.

Dandy Tofu

½ pound of tofu, cut into cubes or sticks

Enough soy sauce or tamari to cover tofu

One cup of tightly packed wild greens (dandelion, mallow leaves, wild spinach, purple mustard, etc)

1 Tbl. Oil or butter

A few dashes of turmeric

Optional: chopped hardboiled eggs, mushrooms, garlic and/or onion, sesame seeds.

Place the sliced tofu in a shallow bowl. Pour soy sauce over it and leave it to marinate. Go outside and gather wild greens (also available at heath-food stoves and “better” grocery markets)

Add oil or butter to saucepan over medium heat. Begin browning the tofu, sprinkle with turmeric, while you wash and strain your greens. When the tofu is browned on one side, turn it and lay the greens on top.

Add any optional ingredients. Cover and let simmer on medium low heat for a few more minutes, till other side of tofu is browned. Gently stir and serve.

Makes 1 to 2 servings.

I Love this for breakfast!!

NOTE: for years now I have been substituting Braggs Amino Acids for soy sauce and tamari. It is a much healthier choice for a low salt diet.

Turmeric is wonderful for the digestive system and can be taken in capsule form for joint inflammation.

TESTIMONIAL from May 1, 2011's Wild Food Workshop

Dear Annette,

What a wonderful day being with you and the circle of horse women!

Thank you so much for sharing Lakota with me. I will never forget her breathing and gentleness. I do believe she licked my hands to help heal them!!  She knew I needed some help there. I am so glad she let me hug her and pet her.

The sharing circle at the beginning was powerful. You are such a sensitive, loving, enthusiastic teacher. I always love field trips so visiting the variety of plants and picking and tasting them was pure fun. Now I just need to find some wild plants that haven’t been sprayed.

Thank you for offering this special class. Any time I can learn more about wild plants and animals, I feel blessed. May you find sweet success, you deserve it.

AT, Boulder, Colorado

Wild Foods ~ Are you what you eat ?

I did an eleven month herbal study in 1995 which included all aspects of plants, their medicinal and spiritual healing properties, as well as how to make our own herbal remedies from plant parts. Every week we had a section on nutrition which totally turned my head around and I will be forever grateful. I fully embraced food as my medicine; and if we are what we eat, I wanted wild foods in my repertoire. I love to garden, but there are “weeds” that are fun, adaptable, abundant, cost nothing and are delicious. 

But look over here, on the path to the vegetable garden. You are walking on dandelion greens, mallow and wild spinach. They grow wherever they choose; thriving only where the land will support them, plus they come up weeks earlier than planted seeds. Of course a dandelion will often grow out of crack in the sidewalk, screaming to get your attention, “Look how strong and versatile I am, to grow in this difficult situation.  I can help you!”

I began to take note. We did herb walks in the forests, beside the stream, as well as the back alleys of our neighborhoods, learning to identify what is edible and how delicious weeds can be.  If you ever plan on being lost in the woods, make sure that your hiking partner is an herbalist. 

You can eat things that you can barely touch!!  I have nourished a small plot of stinging nettles from baby plants that were a house warming gift from a fellow herbalist. I placed them in a situation where they are least likely to jump out and grab an unsuspecting admirer. Nettle leaves gathered in the early spring before the plants have gone to seed, can be sautéed for a delicious green side dish weeks before my adorable spinach plants are ready for the plate and can be used in any recipe calling for cooked spinach.

Medicinally, nettles are vibrantly rich in vitamins and minerals and are considered to be a marvelous whole body tonic, great for enhancing the immune system and can benefit those who suffer from plant allergies. PLEASE NOTE: Unlike spinach, nettles cannot be eaten raw; they must be cooked, or dried for later use, and make a delicious, nutritious tea. Use gloves and wear a long sleeve shirt when you first gather nettles; I doubt that you will continue with the outfit, but better safe than sorry to get started. If you should get stung, you will be uncomfortable for an hour or so.

Beginners Recipe for Nettles.

Place nettle leaves in a colander and gently rinse with cool water.  Empty into a frying pan that will easily hold what you have harvested.  Add a small amount of water and simmer gently for two minutes or more. When most of the water has evaporated, add butter and gently stir. At this point you can add salt & pepper or sprinkle with your favorite seasonings. I love to add nettles to sautéed minced garlic.

The color green that nettles turn when gently cooked is a gorgeous sight. I hope in this lifetime that you get the chance to experience this.

Annette Price

Reprinted from Food and What Feeds Us, by a Week’s Worth of Women, edited by Jyoti Wind. 2009.

I am offering Bringing in the Wild ~ Discovering Wild Foods

Two dates: May 1^st or May 5^th  ~ 10am to 4 pm

@ Dragonfly Farm

Contact us at annette@what-wire.com

Eat Well and In-Joy !!  *annette

Happy St. Patrick’s Day

I poured a can of beer in my crock pot this morning and slid the corned beef in. I love this meal. I love my crock pot slaving away for me all day! I had aimed to get the red-brined beef on sale for the season but when I got to the check-out stand it didn’t ring up at the sale price. The cashier called the meat department for me and we found out that I had picked up the more expensive cut, the flat cut, it was on sale, but not by as much. I thought for a moment and decided to keep it. Living “high on the hog” for one day instead of so “close to the bone” as we have been.

As I cut up my potatoes, carrots and onions to add to the pot, I thought about what happened last night.  I feed my horse Lakota in the smaller paddock because she gets alfalfa and the donkey’s can have only grass hay. I opened the back door to move Lakota to the north pasture so the herd could be together through the night and marveled at how bright it was. The moon isn’t full but it is headed that direction. As Lakota stepped towards the open gate, her head snapped up and her body was taut with pure focus. I looked where she was looking and saw it moving in the corn field. Quiet, dark, large. The silhouette moved with its nose to the ground, looking for a moonlight meal. I am sure it was coyote, not a threat to a full grown horse and I do believe the two mini donkeys could hold their own, but it looked large enough to be a wolf.  I was urging Lakota through the fence so that I could close the gate when I saw my cat. The large white triangle on her chest glowed in the moonlight ~ like a neon sign advertising the “blue plate special.”

I called to her but she seemed frozen in her crouch. Making an executive decision, I snatched her up and moved toward the house. She was not happy. Even on a good day she doesn’t like for me to carry her around; if I pick her up she wants me to stand still. She squirmed violently to position herself so she could keep an eye on the dark predator. I held her firmly and she growled, low and deep, her unhappiness with me. As I neared the door she made another desperate attempt to free herself, but I only tightened down on her, thankful for the coat sleeves between my arms and her claws. I finagled the door open as she continued to struggle. I told her quietly how much I loved her and how happy I was we were both safe inside. Gently I lowered her to the floor. I know that she would have landed on her feet but I did not want her to leap out of my grip and fall to the ground. I stroked her softness as I bent down; I was sure she would rush away from me as she has done in the past. But this time she got her feet underneath her, sat on the tile and looked up at me.

She recognized the difference. I wasn’t holding her down to push a pill down her throat, past those razor sharp teeth, which sometimes makes my heart beat too fast. My intent was different. I had been holding her tightly, with love in my heart my purpose was protection. Now we could both relax in the comfort of our home. She ate a snack before coming into the living room. She plopped up on the couch and lay on my chest as I took a few minutes to wind down from another busy day. It is all about intent.  

Wild Thing

When I was young, frivolous and all of 115 pounds,

all it took was skin tight jeans and a shimmery little top.

I could walk to the party, certain that the “wild thing” that lived

inside of me would emerge and bring out her two side kicks,

mischief and excitement.

Enhanced by the boundary fading effects of cold beer,

shots of tequila and a good joint,

it was easy to be fiercely impetuous.

I loved it and was loved for it.

It would behoove me right now to sit again

with the purest aspect of that wanton young spirit,

for I fear she may disappear …. and I need her.

Gently sifting the ground meal of forty years of experience,

folding the “pure wild” of her into my mixing bowl,

leavened with spoonfuls of lovingly harvested sweet wisdom,

flavored with aromatic herbs of passion,

a gently whisked (well beaten?) fertile egg of fresh ideas to give loft to this mix,

and enough drops of earth mother’s finest spring water to shape it.

Ah yes, this I would bake to honor the wild young goddess.

She lives inside of me still, sometimes springing out

in what feels like inappropriate moments.

But I am leery of any desire to harness her.

She guides me towards “texture” when I shop the thrift stores,

and color when I roam the produce department ~

not satisfied with the mundane and ordinary.

She is not afraid of an empty bank account

for her untamed vision peers deeper and farther

with a keen knowingness that comes from feral memories.

On the horizon a new day hovers

wooed back to life by the wild mustang’s nicker.

Her eye shines bright.

Her loyalty knows no boundaries

Her senses open to the undulating vibrations of the universe,

ready for new information.

A joyful expression of all that is wild.

I will cook weeds for her ~ dandelions and stinging nettles.

To preserve the wild.

I love her.