For several years now Kelly and I have been making some rather unusual New Year’s resolutions. Instead of joining the gym, vowing to lose 10 pounds, get in shape (round is a shape, isn’t it?), we have decided each year to focus on one area of our life where we can reduce our environmental impact, in big and small ways.

Last year we switched out all of the light bulbs in our rental unit and the duplex we own, for CFL’s. We also traded in our 2005 Hyundai Tucson SUV for a 2005 Honda Civic Hybrid, trading in 21mpg for 45mpg. We bring our own bags for shopping, bring our own “to-go” containers to restaurants, our own water and coffee mugs on the road, and recycle everything we possibly can. So this year, when we looked at our lifestyle and once more said, “What can we do?” we decided to focus on food. We have long been patrons of whole foods grocery stores, seeking them out wherever we have lived. We try as much as possible to secure organic options, not just in produce but also our grains, pasta, sauces, spices, snacks, etc. But we felt we could go even further, when we found out that those luscious organic tomatoes have probably traveled 1500 miles or more to reach the grocery store shelves. So, we decided to educate ourselves on where our food comes from. Even more disturbing than the distance most foods travel to reach our stores, and our plates, was learning that, according to this information from Sustainable Table, every week 330 family farmers are being forced out of business and leave their land. “The dramatic expansion of industrial agriculture (or factory farming) has made it increasingly difficult for small family farmers in the US to stay in business. Instead, the food industry has become dominated by a handful of giant corporations which benefit from government policies that favor large-scale production.” So, we started checking the addresses on packaged foods before we put them into our grocery cart. And labels on the produce shelves. I was saddened to see onions from Peru (yes, as in South America!) on the shelves of a local grocery store last summer when I knew there were fresh, locally grown onions down the street at the local farmers’ market. We moved to this area too late last summer to join a CSA, or community sponsored agriculture program, where you purchase shares up front from a local farmer in return for fresh produce all summer long, but we vowed to select one for 2009. A local alpaca breeder, Peggy from Sunrise River Alpacas tipped us off to a local CSA called Nitty Gritty Dirt Farm. We visited their blog and decided they would be a great local option for us. We are close enough to run over and pick up the food order each week, attend their festivals and workshops, even volunteer on the farm. And, they have a fun farm name. Last weekend, we attended their annual spring festival and blessing of the fields. We enjoyed meeting Gigi and Robin, who own and run the farm, who are both delightfully engaging, along with many of their summer interns and many other share members. We wandered the grounds and saw a wide variety of livestock – bunnies, chickens, turkeys, goats & kids, sheep & lambs, two steer, some young pigs, and about a dozen ducks. We feasted on brick oven pizzas, created by Dustin, intern and chef extraordinaire. During a short ceremony, we blessed the fields (whose names span the alphabet from A-I, starting with Abundance and ending with Integrity), the bees who will work tirelessly this year to pollinate the crops, and all of the animals. We also prayed for more rain. The fields are so dry that the top layers of newly planted fields are literally blowing away. After all of the wandering around, chatting, eating and meeting people and animals, the afternoon was gone and it was time to head back home again. I am very glad we visited. I have found a great peace in knowing exactly who is growing the food I will soon be eating, and exactly where it is coming from and how it is being grown. I look forward to learning how to use what is in the box each week in creative ways, whether long-time favorites or new and unfamiliar varieties, building our meals around them. I also look forward to learning how to can and dehydrate some of it, to enjoy throughout the fall and long MN winter ahead. If this all sounds too intimidating, don’t fret – it’s easy to get started eating locally. Use your fingers to find local, sustainable foods. Here are some sites to get you going: Resident of MN? Check out the MN Grown directory, maintained by the MN Dept. of Agriculture. Using this directory we located fresh locally made gourmet cheeses and buffalo meat at Eichten’s Hidden Acres, locally grown and bottled, award-winning wines at Winehaven Winery and Vineyard, grass fed beef and pork raised with no chemicals or antibiotics from Hidden Stream Farm (they ship our bacon directly to us), and even our popcorn is now MN grown, from Clem’s Homegrown Popcorn (also mailed to us). The Eat Well Guide is a free online directory of thousands of family farms, restaurants, and other outlets for fresh, locally grown food. Its listings include farmers’ markets, CSA programs, and even vegetarian eateries. If finding healthy grass-fed meats, dairy and other edibles is on your agenda, check out Eat Wild, whose site also includes information on the benefits of raising animals on pasture (for example, did you know that grass-fed meats are lower in fat and calories than grain-fed, and can actually lower your LDL cholesterol levels?). Don't feel like you have to make radical changes to make an impact. Start small. Visit your local farmers' market. Try one meal made from local ingredients and taste the freshness difference. Before you know it, you'll be hooked like we are. Who grew your food? Eat locally grown food, support global sustainability, enjoy your food, and smile.

This weekend marked the end of my 4th decade on this planet. I did not dread it like so many stereotypical birthday cards suggested I should. There was no angst, no sudden realization that “oh no, my life is half over!” No shopping on CarSoup.com for a red convertible or figuring out what medical methods I can employ to retain my fading youthful appearance. No, the weekend, and new decade, ushered in rather peacefully, despite my 19-year-old’s constant reminders about how “old” I am now. Reflecting back on my life so far, I can see it just gets better and better. My teen years were full of anxiety, lack of confidence and lack of direction. All I knew was that I was ready to be out of the house and into the wider world, and leave my small-town and small-school labels behind me. My twenties were also full of anxiety, lack of confidence, lack of direction, lack of finances, and to top it all off, several dysfunctional relationships and a large dose of single-parenting. There is not enough money in the world, if it were even possible, to pay me to go back and relive my twenties. But there were bright spots, too. I met some of the dearest people, whom I still cherish as my closest friends. I finished my college education, while working full-time and single-parenting, graduating Summa Cum Laude as my 8-year old cheered from the audience, “Yea Mom!” I faced my fears and jumped out of an airplane. I faced my fears and learned how to navigate using a map and compass, to travel by canoe through the wilderness, to sleep alone in the dark woods. I traveled to Germany and Ireland and Africa. Yet I was still eager to leave those tumultuous twenties behind and enter my 30’s. My fumbling as a naïve new parent was behind me. All of my dysfunctional relationships had been terminated, and the required amount of grieving and emotional detoxification (not to mention years of counseling) were under my belt. My thirties had to be better than the last twenty years, I sensed, and I looked forward to them. At age 31 I met my beloved. We were married two years later in a storybook setting in a Norwegian Stavkirke outside of Rapid City, SD. The rest of my 30’s were a blur of financial difficulties, parental struggles dealing with my daughter’s increasingly bizarre and scary behaviors (results of her anxiety disorders), and health challenges for my daughter and husband, culminating in three hospitalizations in 11 months, all of which were for life-threatening conditions. Through all of this turmoil and chaos, my beloved stood beside me like a rock (well except for the time HE was hospitalized for 10 days… then he laid beside me like a rock). I could not have made it through this last decade without his unwavering love and support, and for that I will always be grateful. Somehow, we all survived all of the challenges. I will always remember my 30’s as being exceeding difficult, but also blessed in so many ways. My daughter grew up into a beautiful, endearing, entertaining individual. And of course, more adventures. The purchase of my ultra-light 16’ cherry red Epic kayak, in which I have spent hours upon hours of delightful paddling and wildlife spotting. Camping, canoeing, the “Superior 35” (35 miles on the SHT for my 35th b-d). Back to Europe - Scotland, then Ireland on St. Patrick’s Day. Then a once-in-a-lifetime family trip to New Zealand and Australia over Christmas and New Year’s. And now, my 40’s. What lies ahead? What new adventures, what new lands? I am so excited to find out. Life is more stable than ever before. We have gotten through most of our financial challenges. Our child is safe and stable and happy and healthy. I am contemplating how to incorporate even more writing into my days. I believe I have a book or two in me, about getting through those tough times. I am no longer anxious or lacking in confidence or direction. I have my entire life ahead of me. And I have no regrets. Bad choices, yes, I have made many – experience is the toughest teacher of them all, but the end result is wisdom and compassion and a strength that cannot be forged any other way but by braving the depths of hell and coming out the other side. Yes, I look forward to the next 40+ years of my life. But, I could still use that little red convertible…… Blessings -

The babies are gone. Those incredible blue eggs which hatched into a vulnerable pile of blind, featherless beaks, barely strong enough to lift their heads up when mom or pop arrived with a mouthful of worms… whose collective dog-pile barely made lump in the bottom of the nest, who grew bigger daily before our eyes, popping out feathers, changing colors and growing until they outsized their nest, decided yesterday, on exactly their 14th day after hatching, that it was time to go.

At 7:00am yesterday morning, all 4 were still piled into the nest. By my 9:00am coffee pot trip, 3 remained. I searched the ground under the nest – no sign of the 4th. All day I checked back on them from time to time, and all 3 were still piled in there. Two of them took turns standing and stretching their wings, preening and sitting on the edge of the nest, but neither dared make the jump. The third seemed content to sit still beneath the other two, contemplating what lay ahead perhaps. At 6:30pm when my beloved got home all 3 little birds still stared at us every time we passed by the kitchen sink window. When I returned at 7:00, only 1 baby remained. He/she looked a bit lost now, all the siblings suddenly gone, the nest which was overcrowded moments before, nearly empty. But this baby didn’t seem to be in any big hurry to leave. I had to wonder if it was perhaps the 4th baby, the one that hatched the day after the rest, the one we had dubbed “slowpoke.” It was impossible to tell which was which, they all looked alike to our non-robin eyes. Would it take yet one more day to mature, as it did to hatch? We wondered, and the robin wondered back at us through the glass. We started to prepare our dinner on the counters near the window, glancing over every few minutes to see what it was up to. Then suddenly, I looked and the nest was empty. We had missed it, we had missed all of them take that fateful leap. We scrambled up onto the countertops in order for a better view, and searched the ground below our windows and the bushes and nearby trees. My beloved's keener eyes saw it first, in the nearest tree, its spotted breast differentiating it from one of its parents. It was hopping from branch to branch, mamma robin not too far away, calling to it. We watched it for awhile, until it had hopped up too high and out of sight.

Slowly we climbed back down off of the counters. We took our plates to the table and enjoyed our meal. But each time I walked back over to the sink, I couldn’t help glance into the empty nest, half expecting some curious baby to have returned to the safe and comfortable place it had known for the last 14 days. And every time the empty nest stared back at me, I felt a little sad. I had come to enjoy checking on them throughout the day. Any time I was at the sink, all I had to do was look up, and four pairs of eyes looked back at me. Or one pair, with three pair shut sound asleep. Or no pairs, just four beaks agape in what I imagined were robin snores.

Today, after checking the empty nest at least a half a dozen times, I headed down to the basement to see if my teenager was ready to go to work. She had been working on tidying up all stuff in the boxes and bins she recently moved back home with, when things fell through with her roommate in town. It is, in a word, a big mess. I sigh but acknowledge she has made some progress over the last two days. Our nest was empty for 6 months. No longer. Our baby has fledged and flapped her wings about in the wide world beyond, only to return again when the world was a bit too much to handle.

Where will the robins go when the winds blow and the rains torrent this summer? Will they have a safe place to take shelter from the storms of life? It won’t be back in their little nest, that is for sure. But I send a prayer out to the universe that wherever they are right now, they will find shelter from the storms, and that perhaps next spring, they may grace our window again with new life and new hope in the spring sunshine. And I send another prayer out, that our own little fledgling will also find her wings and the strength and courage to leap from the nest again, ready to explore the world once more on her own. Blessings - Victoria

Last weekend, over Mother's Day, was the 12th Annual Shepherd's Harvest Festival, a celebration of all things wool and natural fibers, and the animals they come from. Sweetie and I spent all day Saturday cruising the vendor booths and animal barns, admiring wool products in all of it's stages, from still on the animal, to raw fleeces freshly shorn off the sheep, to rovings and yarns and wonderful fiber products.

Click here for my web album.

I thought spending an entire day at the event would be enough to see all of the booths and the animals displays - I was wrong. I could have easily spent two or three more days. I did also attend on Sunday, but spent the entire day happily learning how to braid wool roving rugs, a class taught by Letty Klein, co-author of the book The Shepherd's Rug.

Ironically, when we walked through the sheep barn the day before, I was struck by a pair of adorable jet black ewes, with silky lustrous curly locks that reminded me of angora goats. The sign over their stall indcated they were owned by Letty, part of her flock at Pine Lake Farm Karakuls. I had never heard of a Karakul sheep before. I was intrigued, and even more so after meeting Letty and hearing about this ancient breed that has all but disappeared from the US. Karakul may be the most ancient breed of sheep. They originated in the deserts of Africa and Asia, and have the ability to store up fat in their tails, thus being categorized as a "fat tail" variety. The adult wool is of a courser quality but felts excellently and is therefore highly prized as a rug wool. But whatever their history, one thing is certain - the lambs are outrageously beautiful. Aside from the many wonderful breeds of sheep, we visited goats, angora rabbits (including a woman spinning directly off of her rabbit!) and of course, my beloved camelids. Although the barns held more llamas than alpacas, I enjoyed perusing the stalls and viewing the animals getting groomed for the shows the next day. I look forward to the day I might have some guard llamas or pack llamas of my own. Not to mention some of those Karakul sheep... perhaps a milk goat or two... the possibilities truly are endless, and an event like Shepherd's Harvest really does incite one to dream big.

We are so excited to announce the baby robins hatched yesterday! Well, 3 out of the 4 did anyway. The 4th blue egg is still in the nest. We've been keeping a close eye on mamma robin, who moved back into her nest about 2 weeks ago, which happens to be on the utility box right outside the kitchen window, offering us a great view. We've been respectful of her, being quiet in the kitchen, trying not to scare her off of the nest. When she leaves to relieve herself or eat, we have clammered up on the countertops to peer inside the nest. We were delighted when 4 bright blue eggs were discovered. And ever since, we've kept a close eye on the nest any time she leaves it. But it was the kiddle's sharp eyes yesterday evening that noticed a tiny beak just barely visible from our angle. We all clambered for our cameras, eager to snap the first pictures of the newly hatched babies while mamma was still away. That picture wasn't quite in focus, but was the only one we have so far of any of the babies with their mouths open. They were all pretty sleepy yesterday, not that I blame them. This morning, while I was out for my walk to the lake, sweetie was busy with the camera again, and we were amazed that the little naked babies have already sprouted fuzz! We are just overwhelmed by all of the signs of spring here, so different than the muted signs in the city. Yes, we had birds at the townhouse, but not like this - not nesting outside our windows, not singing like crazy by the thousands right outside our doors. The green of chemically treated and pesticided lawns was not like the fresh green we see here, and the air did not smell so dewey clean. We are indeed inundated and delighted by all of these things, awed by the abundant blessings we see and here around us each and every day. Peace and blessings - Victoria

Sometimes a picture is worth a thousand words. I snuck out for a walk yesterday, around sunset, and again this morning, after sunrise. Here are a few of the scenes that greeted me.

Quiet Country Living is a bit of an oxymoron. There are those man-made sounds that can be found within and without any city limits – traffic, lawn mowers, leaf blowers, hedge trimmers, construction… and then a few other man-made sounds more unique to the country – living in close proximity to a lake, we can hear boats motoring along all summer, and snowmobiles all winter. But what surprises me the most are the sounds of nature herself. When I walk outside on any given morning, I am nearly overwhelmed by the country chorus. Morning doves greet me with their plaintive cry, overlaid by the songs of the cardinals, red-winged blackbirds, chickadees, nuthatches, twittering red squirrels and drumming woodpeckers. If I wander down closer to the lake, the sounds intensify – song sparrows trill along the lakeshore, in between the territories of red-winged blackbirds. Seagulls cry overhead, interrupted by the loud honking of Canada Geese. Each new sound intrigues and delights me. If only I spoke the language of the birds, I would know in an instant the news of the day without ever opening a paper or switching on a TV. I stand this morning at the edge of the lake, who seems to be sleeping herself, barely lapping the sandy shore at my feet. I can see two birds far out in the water. They are too small for geese, but they are too far away to tell what kind of ducks they might be. I turn to gaze down the shore, and one of the ducks begins to flap its wings and raise its body out of the water. Something instinctually tells me this is no duck – I turn back to watch and am greeted by the sweetest sound of all – that of a loon trilling. I am instantly transported to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, a popular nesting ground for these magical birds, and the last place I have seen them or heard them cry. Are these two on their way up there? Is this small lake a rest stop on the highway of Loon migration?

Click here for a video to hear the loons calling. Alas, not speaking their language, I will never know, but their sweet song that fills me will carry me home and plant thoughts of the wilderness inside me again. Already I am planning my next escape – will I go alone, with my kayak? Or tandem, maybe with my daughter? The possibilities, like the chains of wilderness lakes themselves, are endless.