Archive for September, 2009

Oh kwaa-waaack waaack,

In the short time since last we last traipsed through the farm, we have been graced with twenty seven ducklings. Here's a brief history: two years back, Ty and I answered an ad pinned on the door of the feed store offering muscovy ducks for free. Just come catchum'. Big yard, fast moving birds, not an easy task. After a mild asthma attach and several near misses, we managed to coral a male and two females. Stuck em' in a garbage can, covered it up ( nightynigh ) and headed home.

The following year, one hatch out of fourteen ducklings. Ten out of fourteen made it, so thirteen ducks. This year around the same time in June we saw sixteen appear from the underbrush where mama duck had kept them safe and warm. Only six made it ( Mohawk, Duck Vader, Worm Gear, Stompy, Gizzard and Frinky) . So nineteen ducks.

Now, my best laid plan included building the flock to around thirty ducks that mostly ranged free, browsed the weeds, contributed to the essence of the duck ponds by pooping them into fertilizer tea and could be husbanded in such a way as to keep considerations of population in hand. My observations told me that they hatched out in June. Happened two years running. I remember the wild, albeit short lived mating sprees taking place throughout the summer, but thought nothing of it, as though the ducks only fired live ammo in the spring and blanks in the summer. Duhh.

So lo and behold, three more hatch outs in September, all overseen by the One who Nurtures, Casandra be thy name. We've not lost one. There are two goofy looking runts that are still all but featherless with feet bigger than their heads. If they stay that way, we're hoping to mate them with a hairless cat and call them Coatless Catucks. The perfect green pet. Gives you eggs and meat, eats weeds and kills rodents. And no grooming necessary. We'll make a fortune, be able to leave the farm with woofers and travel the world, bartering with desperate people for goods we can resell for enormous profits to the customers of hedge fund brokers. Sorry, went off on a little tangent there.

Now we have forty six ducks, and I wanted to cap the population at thirtyish. So we convened an emergency session of the council on what do we do now and as the first stop gap measure we put forth the proposition that funds be set aside from the Cayman Island account for Duck World. An ambitious project, garnering the skills of professionals worldwide and costing in excess of two hundred dollars. We'll float a junk bond.

It encompasses some four thousand square feet, has the shade of an Inia tree (built in), pathways, pond(s) and tall grass clusters with plenty of nooks for perfect nesting places. We've relocated the younger flightless little beauties along with their moms and all seem to be adjusting well. We have compensated them for ripping off their native lands by agreeing to lower their lease fees and upping their food ration by six and a half percent. We expect a counter offer soon as they bargain like Cambodians over a ripe Durian.

A bit of research will tell you that the Muscovy is considered to be one of the premier eating ducks in all the universe. They are prized for their lean meat and rich flavor. Without going into detail, I can tell you that this is true (sorry Marta). Faced with the need to thin the population, opting to fill the freezer with enough to keep the numbers in tow and us fed, is looking better than putting them on Craigs list.

I hope to get to the point where my understanding of their mating cycles allows me to harvest the eggs as necessary and let the remainder hatch out for food or to replenish an aging flock. Its always good to keep the killin' at a minimum, eh. If enough's as good as a feast, then too much can be worse than a famine. Somebody smart said that.

By the way, they're cute as the dickens and make lovely movable yard ornaments (no batteries required) for those of you who have gone "green" but are still really kinda clueless. You should get one, just to tell your friends you have it.

O.k., what else. Oh yeah, coming up on the end of year one of this farm stuff blog and if nothing else, it proves that the discipline drawn from the wellspring of demented creativity has reduced my need to masturbate by twenty seven  percent which will lead to the extension of my life by one hundred and forty two days. Days which I will spend on a morphine/mushrelessdee drip with Ty reading me Shel Silverstein poems and Kurt Vonnegut novels with the occasional screening of Field of Dreams for a good spiritual breakthrough kind of cry. I should be so lucky.

I'm thinking of discontinuing the email list and suggesting that you visit the web site to check in on the blog. I would do this for a several reasons.

A. Its a minor pain in the ass to transfer the email to the website.

2. I can easily edit the website post for those of you who love to critesize my spleening.

C. Every time one of you monkeys goes to the site, I become engorged with power.

D.Those of you living in the vicinity can check the c.s.a. page for weekly menu's .

5. Google rating.

So, consider becoming a member by pressing the DONATE button at the top the page to pledge your support in favoring the cause of Republicrats and Democans everywhere, and if anyone can figure out what that is, lemme know.

And finally, as if that weren't enough, the Obamascopic regime has populated the U.S.D.A. and dept. of Agriculture with Monsanto trueblues. In fact, the same one that criticized Michelle for not using pesticides on her white house lawn garden has just been given a high post at the usda. Its comforting to know there is a pesticide czar working on food safety, huh? "Waiter, another scotch please. Fuck it, just leave the bottle."

The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace, Jp

Website, c.s.a. tab, weekly menu. Go, look. |:-} (that's me sticking my tongue out at you)

The cold, misty nighttime air soothed my face which still felt a bit like pork cracklins'. The shoulder held up pretty well as I used my standard fall asleep routine, which is counting chickens. Chickens jumping through futuristic microwave hoops. Chickens that come out the other side plated as buffalo wings and tender juicy breasts dazzled with Thai glaze. Chickens that will never again fly up in my face when I toss them some food. Grateful dead chickens, happy to serve and be served. Never made it to a hundred before nodding off.

My awakenings throughout the night brought drifting star maps and wandering satellites and a reluctant but unavoidable whizz. The nene sang the dawn into being and the anticipation of the hike out the gap was front and center. My feet were wet with the cold dewy grass as I walked out back to the catchment tank, filled a pot half full of cold water and immersed my face until running out of breath. I was really glad there were no mirrors. As it was, I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the cabin windows, and it shattered.

Floors got swept, dishes got washed, packs got packed, sleeping bags got stuffed and water bottles got filled. Campers emerged from grassy campsites, zombie-like looking for the crapper. The sun had yet to crest the eastern pali and the walk to the kaupo trail head was cool, shady and damp, with tall grass soaking our pants and shoes within minutes. I always forget that part of the hike as well as the two or three extra pairs of dry socks that make the squishy foot go away.Maybe next time.

Looking across the gap to the west of the trail head, the peak called Haleakala had been bathed in the morning sunlight while the shadow cast by the ridge was in full retreat down to the base and across the western portion of the gap lighting the landscape in its wake. There were some swirling clouds and chilly breezes but it was a beautiful morning for a walk. We got baked and forged ahead.

The trail hugs the east side of the gap and winds in and out of grassy fields with outcroppings of thorny black raspberry bushes. We've been up there when they were in season and going off and it still took a discriminating eye to pick ones that tasted reasonably good. Leave it to Ty to spot some thimble berries, which along with Ohelo made a two part trail mix. The meadows merged with rocky switch backs and ridge line high points. We passed the last meadow before the sun poured over the ridge to bring the warmth our way.

The Kaupo bay came into view on a ridge overlook and I knew we were halfway out of the park. Safety break. Noemie was keeping pace with Tyler and I while Emily and James were bringing up the rear, leaving time for the occasional snog. It was time to change into my driest wet socks, lose the long sleeves and dive into the snack bag. We all sat together, strewn along the trail sharing food and taking in the calm majesty of the place. Noemie ate and drank nothing. It was like she was being nourished by what her flying saucer eyes were taking in.

The feel of the tropics was coming back as we had probably dropped fifteen hundred vertical feet. Koa trees and A'ali'i bushes appeared along with small shrubs, ferns and rock clingers with delicate poly-form flowers. Lichen and moss held on to stone and tree alike. The remainder of the hike through the park is spectacular. Views of the southern coast opened wide as we wound in and out of old stand ohia and koa hung with Spanish moss, surrounded by long, soft grassy carpeting and an invitation to wild crater sex if ever there was one. I was hoping that James and Emily would take advantage of this opportunity to file away a "we boinked under a koa tree in the soft grass of the Kaupo gap" moment. You just never know how many of those your gonna get.

We had come from the barren, dry and wind swept summit walking through this timeless zone, being replenished and exhausted all at once. And now, as the native tropical landscape marked our safe passage along the remaining trail, I had the same revelation that I always have, one of subtle but distinct transformation. Of acceptance. Of surrender. Sort of like, " ahhhhh haaa, That's what the fuck." All of this while watching Noemie and my peaceful young warrior blaze the trail through the tall green grass to Kaupo's end. Satisfying stuff.

Once out of the park its time to tank up and cool down for the hike through the ranch. We picked a rock outcropping down and to the right to drop our packs, lose the shoes, air out the feet and recharge. Its quite a stark contrast to look back into the fenced off park and then at the dramatically different landscape created by the decades of cattle ranching going on in Kaupo. There is a lone avocado tree standing by the park exit. There are cow pies everywhere you look. Old dry ones, fresh steamy ones, ones with amorphous shapes, one that looked like Jay Leno's chin. There's a rutted rocky four wheel drive road with erosion patterns in the usual places that doubles as the "trail" through the ranch.

Enter the Bizarre. Here we sat, having been immersed in the peace and stark rampant beauty of Haleakala national park for three days, when not twenty minutes after returning to "civilization" we heard the not so distant thumping of helicopter blades followed by the appearance of not one, but two yellow potcopters. They were low enough to see the grizzled look of the pilots mug and were running search patterns in and out of the valleys and along the ridges. One of them took off into the park for a look-see. It was as though the lord of karma had decided that we were entirely too chilled out and needed a little reality check. Welcome back, kids. Irony be thy name.

This surreal buzzkill continued unabated for the better part of a half hour as we hiked through the grasslands. At one point the trail overlooked a flat area where one of the choppers sent down a wire to pick up a large bag full of "something". There was a small portable looking building in the middle of nowhere and two or three black s.u.v.'s parked there looking very much like gubmint issue. It was like someone had taken the remote and gone from the discovery channel special on the wonder of national parks, to a crime scene on Dog the bounty hunter. A true "remember the time when" moment.

The sideshow finally ended and we were left fully exposed to a glorious sun, winding our way down a trail rather treacherous in its rock strewn steepness. Its slow going and a test on the toes and shins and calves and knees and thighs. Other than that, piece of pie. One of the high points of this part of the hike is rounding a corner and seeing two large water storage tanks sitting there, reflecting the sunlight. There's a constant flow of sparkling water piped in from the watershed replenishing the supply. Their effect is magnetic.

I'm stripping off my pack then my hat then my shirt, grabbing the empty water bottles and heading up the ladder to the edge of the tank where I can hang over an dunk myself up to the shoulders in liquid life. A welcome boost at the perfect time. Be a great place to set up a little pizza by the slice place. Pina coladas and vitamin B shots on the side.

I knew from experience that we were only one or two short rest stops away from the ranch border gate. By now the sun was beating down tropical, Emily's calves were cramping, general energy levels flagging (except for Noemie who had that ready for anything look) and all in all a desire to see Beauregard parked at the ranch entrance with Cassie and Jeremiah, a.k.a. Bubba Mahalo's at the ready to load up and cruise home. That's about the way it went down.

We wound our way through thickening foliage, picked the occasional guava, found the shade of some old stand common mangoes and traversed the final meadow and past the huge tractor tire thats used for a cattle trough to find that the ever lovin' couple had loaded up a cooler with homemade humus (broke da mouth), cucumbers and felafel's, iced beverages, fresh fruit and Noemie's favorite ranch dip with a bag of those tiny lathed carrots. If possible, she lit up even brighter.

We made the obligatory stop at the Kaupo store for some zoo zoo's and a frosty one, pointed the trusty steed toward home and watched the road disappear beneath us.

"Is that it unky jp, huh is that it? Didja hafta kill anything or drink blood to survive?"
"No, no little feller, we did just fine with water, and no killin' necessary."
"Thats cool unky jp. Maybe next time."
"Thats right, little feller, there's always next time. Sweet dreams."

The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace, Jp

Thanks to the clear headed advice of rap star Jay Nay I'm gonna start rather than end, with a prompt to go to the "csa" tab on the www.ranchorelaxzo.com site if you are interested in finding out what kine food we get. Learning how to be annoying and insistent at the expense of your customers peace of mind is an important aspect of marketing and one of which I hope to become surpassingly obnoxious. Mahalo's, the meanagement.

You know the feeling when you come to from an afternoon nap in a space that turned too hot while you were sleeping. You wake up in a sweaty daze punctuated by some drool, blurred vision and creased cheeks. Thinking is all askew and left arm half asleep and starting to tingle, with a nene goose nibbling on your big toe. You know that feeling? Me too.

The scene was typical Paliku. James and Emily had planned their day and were busily dividing the contents of a clear plastic bag, scarfing a substance resembling tree bark and dried seaweed, all giggles and smiles. Young love. Disgusting really. Noemie was in a wandering whimsy and appeared to stop every now and again to pet a flower or taste the dew on a blade of grass. Ty was plotting an agenda which included challenging the ridge overlooking Kipahulu valley.

I went through the gruelling process of moving eighteen feet to the left, positioning myself in the shade of an overhanging tree next to the cabin and letting the dappled sunlight dance the rusty bag of bones polka. I did my "old guy" yoga shtick, made note of increased circulation in the still functioning extremities and figured to make it through the day. My hand went periodically to the trail mix bag like some solid fuel i.v.. I went in and out of reading and reverie, feeling the heat on my face and the cool breezy shade initiating a comeback.

Turns out that after a couple of exploratory walks, Ty and Noemie went off on the ridge hike together which I thought was totally cool because I figured Ty would get to see her whip out a pair of tinkerbell wings and butter-fly her way up the trail to the ridge, so convinced was I of her otherworldly roots.

What a moment though.Perhaps the only time in this girls life that she will experience Haleakala, taking one of the more difficult and rewarding climbs with the doofusburger (thats Mr. Doofusburger to you) leading the way, courteous and confident. What a nice connection for two young people to make. Its a reminder to me of how significant a place Haleakala can be in a persons life and what a blessing it is to live in its shadow. The view from the ridge is sweeping and encompasses an almost mind numbingly beautiful landscape. I could imagine Noemie taking it all in and filing it away under "Mon Deux".

A couple of campers showed up and a group of six headed for the ranger cabin for some all out howlin'. I had boiled up some water for the trip out the gap and then cooked up the remaining pasta and pesto. A one dish smorgyborg. The scene looking toward the gap from the grassy lawn of Paliku cabin was dynamic. From prairie grasses doing the wave in the wind to the pack horses grazing lazily in the sprawling tree splotched meadow down to the left. The misty clouds never ceased their mutable morph, climbing the ridges and surging up the gap. At one point a wave of fog washed up and vanished the surroundings, gobbling up the cabin for a few minutes before melting like cotton candy in a little kids mouth. The nene held sway and foraged their way through the afternoon while the overall sense of being peacefully disconnected opened up a growing contentment. Breathing deep came easily.

Somehow the healthcare debate lost its gravitas. Peak oil, ppffffff. The rape and pillage of the planet in the name of corporate profits; boys will be boys. Global warming, a carefully crafted conspiracy theory to hide the fact that the military has been controlling the weather for decades. Economic meltdown, cacao beans were used for currency until the late nineteenth century, so sweat it not.

It should be mandated that all members of congress, s.c.o.t.us and the executive branch be annually set ablaze by some powerful entheogen, given three liters of fresh water with a squeeze of lemon and set loose to wander the crater, nekked, for sixty four hours while spending an hour contemplating each of the hexagrams of the I Ching. Confucius say "Inertia bad, self induced freak out, good." Once you've hugged a silversword and shared a good cry with a nene goose, its game over.

James and Emily had gone wandering for a couple of hours after which they parked themselves on the other side of the cabin in the tall shaded grass. Evidence of burbling and cooing were riding the breeze and what seemed to be a ridiculously good time for them continued unabated. Disgusting really.

Now Emily, when she's not playing Bonnie to James' Clyde is a naturalist who works, of all places at a bird sanctuary in Olinda that breeds nene and sets them back in the wild after spending hours forced to watch South Park episodes and listen to tapes of Milton Freedmans economic theory. She's not sure who initiated that protocol. She is able to replicate every nuanced sound they make and has pretty much figured out what they are saying. Its funny because every now and then right in the middle of an intimate conversation with James she'll go into some goose-speak tirade having overheard some kind of squabble in the underbrush. James just robs banks.

Ty and Noemie got back as Maui's grasp on the sun weakened and the evening began to awaken. Ty came over and put a mirror under my nose to make sure I was still alive. We chatted about the hike and he said that Noemie had no problem keeping up and in spite of language barriers had his usual mellow, open eyed, good time adventure. I must say that aside from the occasional minor spazz, Tyler is very level headed as humans go. The right combination of receptivity, self respect and selfless service. Doesn't hurt to have the brain of a mutant either.

And Noemie, this picture of youth, this student of agricultural engineering with a mind to explore relief work, standing there kind of knock kneed and smiling big like she had just seen something that added a bunch of acreage to her farm. The end of the day was reconciled in harmony as we all began to think with our stomachs.

The pasta was there for all and as for the rest, bags of this and that appeared, joints were torched and Ty made some tea out of the wild spearmint he found growing on one of his walks. The temperature dipped with the rays of the sun and the first signs of night crept over the pali to the east. It was a typical Paliku day segueing into an evening spent in candlelight and card games with pecans as poker chips. Noemie kicked our butts.

"Whats next unky Jp, huhhuhhuh?? Didja sleep outside again or rastle the moon?? Whadja do next?"

"Well little feller, your gonna have to trust me on this, but I can't really talk about what happened next, 'cause it involved nakedness and coconut oil and more of that stuff that looked like tree bark and dried seaweed, but i'll tell you all about that when your a bit older."

"Thanks unky Jp. Thanks." " Sure, little feller, sure."

Out the gap we go.

The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace, Jp

The nene were well into their daily foraging routine as the morning light crested the Paliku ridges and raced to illuminate. There were some sounds coming from inside Kapalaoa cabin as bodies moved from slumber to remember. One could feel the early momentum surging toward the hike to Paliku cabin.

Now of the three cabins in the crater it may just be universally agreed upon that Paliku wins the chi chi ,bo bo, ya ya award. Oh, by the way, big disappointment at Kapalaoa in the fact that the wooden picnic style table inside had been formaicaed over in a transparent attempt to bring tackiness to the wilderness. Paliku has it all. You're still in the crater with amazing vistas but its a bit warmer and much greener and the vibe in the cabin is one of having arrived rather than just passing through.

Ty and I knew this well but the lam-misters and frenchy hadn't a clue. I have this little thing I go through upon awakening and finding myself sore, sleep deprived and partially ossified with plenny more hiking ahead. What I do is ask myself, "what the fuck, you could be home drinkin' hot chocolate and watching Maddow, whatchu dooin'?"The response is always the same. Too late now, sucka. From there it just gets easier.

Noemie had popped her lenses in and wiki'ed her stuff into her pack and was out in front of the cabin breathing the morning in. Any eye contact with that girl solicited the signature smile. She looked fresh as the proverbial daisy. She ate and drank nothing. The cabin cleanup went quickly with Emily and James at the helm. Ty and I replaced the bunk matress to its designated slot, packed up, did some dishes, filled our water bottles, locked the back door and walked out into the cool bright morning.We all departed the cabin and with the click of the combo lock made our way to the trail.

At first its a bit like the trail leading to Kapalaoa. Kind of small grain cinder lined with flax and fern plants. But then it segues into a lava pathway strewn with loose rocks. There are old flow outcroppings on the left and a beautiful meandering arroyo on the right. One can look up at the ridges and see the remnants of rock slides spread out at the keyline like a river delta caught in a freeze frame.

About a quarter mile down this path on the left is a small access point through the rough sculpted lava. It was here that I found a camp site on my first trip into Haleakala in June of '70. Spent nine nights tent camping and ten days roaming the hills electric like I owned the joint. I'd go to the cabin once every day or two to get water for cooking and drinking.

This one time there were a couple of San Fransisco socialite moms with three or four kids doing the sliding sands to kaupo hike. All North Face and Kelty. I was hanging by the cabin brewing up some tea when they arrived. The youngest boy who couldn't have been more than seven or eight looked pooped. He was carrying a small pack that sagged a bit under the weight. We exchanged greetings and I smiled at the kid and said, "looks like you're ready for a rest". He just rolled his eyes back. Turns out he was charged with the task of carrying in a six pound london broil as well as the packets of freeze dried beef stroganoff, dehydrated daiquiri mix and his sleeping bag and toothbrush. We talked a little about this and laughed a bit about that and as I got up to go they invited me to come back at sunset for daiquiris, which I did. Acid and daiquiris. I felt like staying up there forever.

We wound our way around and through rock formations and thickening vegetation. Narrow rocky trails require full attention and a sure footed pace so one has to slow way down to take in the surroundings. Even though the once molten lava is fixed in stone, there is a very dynamic feeling to it all. Brilliant blue sky framing subtle earth tones and mountainous moonscapes all under the radiant and healing sunlight. Miller time.

Ty was the first to spot some ripe Ohelo berries which although somewhat bland tasting impart real refreshment and began to appear regularly along the path. We took rest when tired and kept a leisurely pace. The trail eventually intersects with the one from Holua cabin at the base of a large cinder cone, Puu Oili where we all kicked back and broke out the goods.

I twirled a slim one, fished the bag of trail mix out of my pack and took a long pull off my water bottle. It was chilly enough in the breezy shade to scare up a few goosebumps. Ty and I sucked some smoke and passed it on to the cooing James and Emily. We all sat quietly munching a snack or two, re hydrating and waiting for that point when you're nearly too relaxed to keep moving. At that moment its either kick back and have a snooze or build a small fire under the toosh that is your will to forge ahead. It would have been a nice time to play a little shakuhachi to pump up the breathing, except for the fact that I forgot to bring it. I held my stiffened arms and splayed hands up and made a Frankenstein meets Jerry Lewis moaning sound in the hope that someone would give the ol' guy a little help. Not a chance.

As you come around the Puu, the trail opens out into a lava field , smooth and shimmering in the sunlit heat. Its my favorite area because its so open and speaks so transparently of the spectacle of molten rock making its way toward the gap. It also affords one of the best views both east and west.

A couple of years back i sat with my dad on his death bed and told him that Ty and I had agreed that some of my ashes be spread in the crater by the hill called Oili. I asked him if he'd like to have a pinch of himself join the party. He smiled and nodded, so as our little excursion approached the favored location, Ty and I hung back and let the others go on to Paliku.

We sloughed our packs and started searching the area for the "spot". After a few moments we came across a bubble cave which for some reason had what looked like a couple of hundred feet of loosely coiled speaker wire tossed on the ground. We figured some hippy found the cave while tripping balls, got caught up in a fantasy about living there and got as far as bringing in some speaker wire for his surround sound, solar powered music system. The novelty must have worn off.

To the left of this strange anomaly was a lava outcropping with deep grooves forming near concentric circles from peak to base. There were three distinct levels. So we talked it out and sprinkled the last of dads ashes in the upper groove, reserving the middle for me and the foundation for Ty. We walked back to the path, keeping a slanted rock landmark in sight. It was a cool moment for us both and further cemented the bond that has been such a blessing in our lives.

From there, its less than a mile to Paliku. The trail opens up the view down the gap, across the channel and to the big island where the volcanoes appear to just hang suspended in the passing clouds. Misty drafts raced up the gap curling off the ridges as the final leg of the trail revealed the roof of Paliku cabin coming into view. We passed through tall grass and the first of the raspberry thickets that grow around the cabin and down the gap. It's not a long hike but I was ready to strip off my shoes, socks and shirt and lay motionless in the cool green grass.

Unfortunately I fell asleep and burned my face to a crisp. I awakened to the sound of an egg frying on my forehead.

Check the website for this weeks food items. Its right there under the "csa" tab at the top of the page.

The more you show, the more we'll grow. Sweet dreams, Jp