The scythe

A while back I promised to tell you about Guy’s scythe. He follows Kelly’s Cool Tools faithfully (www.kkcooltools.com) and not long ago the site featured a beautiful hammered steel scythe made in Austria and sold at two outlets in the US, one in Tennessee, the other in Maine. Last summer when we visited the States, he decided to purchase his own to bring to Brazil. The ash handles for the scythes are custom-made in the United States, to the measurement of the buyer. So Guy sent in his measurements and a few days before our return trip the final product was delivered to him at his cousin’s in Bangor, PA.

It has proven to be an invaluable tool and because of its beauty as well as its efficiency it has provided us much pleasure. I wrote a short story about the snath, the handle, which was packed separately because of its length and almost got lost on the plane trip to Brazil. See the story at the end of this post.  

Guy checks out his brand new scythe at his cousin's place in Bangor, PA.

The grass in what used to be a pasture before we fenced it in needs to be cut.

Grass tall and growing.

Almost a half-acre of meadow behind the horseshoe garden.

Guy gets ready, sharpens the blade.

The cows would be happy to crop the grass but they'd eat everything else we panted too. 

Mission accomplished. Greta raked up the cut grass into piles.




The Snath's Tale

Finally!

I arrived to the hands of my rightful owner weeks, two months, after I had every reason to expect – and the same goes for him. He had every right to expect me to accompany him on his trip and arrive at his final destination along with him and his wife.

Things got messed up even before the fateful journey. But first let me tell you a little about myself. I am a custom-made ash handle, technically a snath, for an Austrian scythe that was featured, if you remember, in the March 10^th edition of Cool Tools. My eventual owner was a faithful follower of that blog and, I came to learn, determined to have the scythe for the country plot he was developing in Brazil, along with his part-Brazilian wife.

They came to the States in May and after a failed attempt to purchase the object of his desire directly at the site in Sumney, Tennessee, he initiated his successful effort to obtain his scythe through the Maine company. I learned most of this later, of course, from conversations I picked up over the years, though some of my information I garnered from the carpenter who created me during the early part of July, 2012. If  you’re wondering how I came to have such a sophisticated vocabulary, at least for a simple farm tool, it was mostly thanks to this early carpenter, who listened to her radio while she worked. It was always tuned to NPR or the university station and I heard a lot of literary talk as well as stuff like Lake Woebegoen and Car City. As I said, I was customed-made – I mean how many tool handles are custom-made nowadays? But this is part of the excellence of the … scythe: it takes into account the size and proportions of the purchaser, the person who is going to be wielding the blade. I admit that I got a bit of ribbing from the other handles that were being fashioned at the same time because I was clearly the shortest, and it bothered me at the time partly because I was young and immature but mostly because I had no idea of the adventures that were in store for me. Had I known I could have turned them all green with envy.

By July 16^th I was ready to be packaged up and mailed off to an address in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. I overheard comments to the effect that my new owner was impatient to receive me and I soon learned the reason for his hurry. He and his wife had tickets to leave, for Brazil of all places, on the 31^st of that month.

I already expected a short owner so I wasn’t at all disappointed to meet the guy, short, yes, but well-proportioned, a full but neatly trimmed beard, and kind, intelligent blue eyes. I was delighted when the first day, as soon as he picked me up in my awkward packaging, long and odd-shaped, he unpacked and assembled me. Frankly I was excited to meet my companion, the beaten-steel blade that looks like the grim-reaper’s tool. You should understand that this meeting was like an arranged marriage and if all went well it would be for life, as long as we both should survive. I’m afraid I’m getting a little breathless here but suffice it to say that our first hours together, swinging gracefully across a soft summer lawn, me doing my part as intermediary between our owner’s inexperienced but honest strokes and my partner’s exquisite slicing skills. ah, those virgin moments were unforgettable, forever engraved in my fibers. 

But the coming weeks would test our love and our patience. Soon the voyage date arrived and the car was filled with my owners’ luggage – had I told you my owner is married, to a short plump mostly mild-mannered woman a bit older than he? – including the fine blade that was my sworn companion, packed separately because I was too long to fit in the duffle bag. Anyway, as I sat in their hosts’ garage watching the packing proceedings, a moment came when the doors were closed and the car drove off – without me! I can’t tell you, unless you already know, how painful it is to be abandoned. All kinds of questions came to my mind. Wasn’t I good enough? Was there another snath I didn’t know about? Would I ever again experience the joy of swinging across a field as my blade sliced the fragrant grass?

I swooned in despair, but then jolted awake as my owner’s cousin rushed into the garage, grabbed me and took off in her car. I heard her tell her husband that she’d gotten a call regarding me, and the request that she take me to be rejoined to my folks. Oh bliss! I was wanted after all.

The next few hours were exciting. First I was placed in a hold next to the engine of a bus, along with many bags, and still insecure, I wondered if I would be found, but not to worry. I was taken with the rest of the luggage to a counter where my passage was discussed, because I was too long to go as regular baggage but too light and skinny to warrant the high fee for extra baggage. They decided to take me as a courtesy item! Can you believe that? courtesy! I felt that my life was charmed.

Well. Jumbled and tossed around with countless bags of all sorts and shapes, I ended up in a large compartment of an airplane that was bigger than anything I could have imagined. Just the roar of the engine would have scared the wits out of me if I weren’t already suffused with an overcharge of emotions. I confess that I fell asleep again, barely raised an eyebrow when they switched us to another plane, and didn’t wake up fully until I was being carried from the plane to a conveyor belt with all the other baggage. Hundreds of people stood around the edge of the belt, grabbing whatever bags they could get their hands on. It was bedlam! and it frightened me, but I kept my cool and trusted that my owner would show up sooner or later.

Ah, cruel betrayal. Soon I was left with just a few other bags, three of which I recognized as my mates, spinning round and round slowly on the belt as the area emptied out, an eerie silence descended and the lights were dimmed. In the penumbra a man, singing softly in a language I didn’t know, picked us all off the belt and took us to a deposit that they called ‘bagagem perdida,’ or lost baggage. Me, the two red duffles and the lime green one were bagagem perdida, lost in what I eventually learned was the international airport of Rio de Janeiro. Only the big orange suitcase was missing, and I prayed that it had managed to travel with the folks.

“They will find us,” the travel-experienced duffles assured me. After some effort I found the shape of my blade, resting comfortably in the bottom of the large red duffle.  So I tried to relax and learn what I could from adversity. I liked the singing, but not the yelling – day-in and day-out. Noisy people, these Brazilians.

One day they came and fetched the green duffle. Two workers. One of them argued for taking all of us. “They all came in together,” he said. “Look at the tags: all started out from Newark on July 31.” But they other was adamant, “I only have paperwork for the green bag. Different names on the tags.” Of course, I thought, my owners are a couple, and they have separate names. Woe are we, the red duffles and me.

A few days later they came and got us. I was so hopeful! But they took us back where we came from, all the way back to Newark. Now I lost all hope. How would they ever find us? Long story short, they finally got it straight, but not without another major bit of drama. We were fetched again, and routed back to Rio, then the two duffles went off and I was alone once more.

All I can say is that the resilient fibers of the ash tree that made me also sustained me throughout my ordeal. I felt an inner strength even as I thought all was lost, even my last companion, the red duffle carrying my blade. But two months after the original flight, they put me on a new flight, to Brasilia, and soon I was reunited with all that was dear to me – the hands of my owner and the silken steel of my blade.

Now in the peace of the farm where I live, on a high plateau in Central Brazil, I have time to reflect on the near miracle of a skinny stick, considered courtesy baggage, surviving amid the chaos of huge plane holds and huger airport deposits. I know there must be a guardian angel of snaths, and I am grateful.

Weeks later - the grass is growing again.

Growing our own food, hopefully

March 20

Just yesterday Guy and I were agreeing that what we do here is just a drop in the bucket, a tiny piece of the huge experiment underway around the globe in how humans can live on the Earth in a more sustainable way. Growing some of one’s own food means less transportation costs, a lower carbon footprint, and healthy, fresh food. Other steps in the same direction include buying locally and regionally grown food, eating mostly food that is in season, and supporting small, perhaps organic, farmers.

You probably know that one of the big issues regarding food for the billions involves certain countries (e.g. China and Saudi Arabia) buying up huge tracts of land in other continents – Africa and South America – in order to feed their own populations, at the risk of increasing famine in places such as Sudan.

Climate change exacerbates the problems. Floods, droughts, fires, and invasive pests due to warmer winters are some of the changes that affect crops both on small and large scale farms. The ability to grow a portion of one’s own food, including chickens, even in tiny yards, on roofs and in window boxes, can mean a bit more to eat, and some variety. With more space, such replacing a lawn or a parking lot, families and communities could actually grow quite a bit of food.

As far as ‘planting your own food’ goes, I don’t really expect everyone to jump on board – it’s not easy to find the space and time, as well as develop the know-how for getting real food from whatever space you have. Buying local and seasonal is already a big start because it encourages and supports farmers, including truck-farmers. It also discourages the mega-farming-industry and long-distance transportation of foods – though it will take a much greater consciousness-raising to dissuade people from having strawberries year round, and the like. Here in Brazil farmers can extend the seasons of many fruits and vegetables, with second and third harvests, so it’s less important to think strictly seasonal, but still a lot of the produce in the supermarkets comes from quite a distance – southern Brazil, Chile, Argentina. And don’t get me wrong, I believe that it’s wonderful to have a treat from far away now and then. I still remember that back in the 50’s an apple in our Christmas stocking here in Brazil was like an orange in the States.

Here in the Southern Hemisphere the Fall Equinox brings in shorter and cooler days. On our high plateau – 3300 ft - hot rainy weather crops give way to vegetables that do better with dryer and cooler days. Cooler here means 75 – 80° in the daytime and 50 – 65° at night. I know, it’s tough!

After almost six months of planting it’s time to assess what we’ve learned – what has worked well and where we can improve.

Second round of guild-planting: veggies and other plants in beds between larger well-fertilized holes for trees.

Things are looking good - a future chapter will let you know how things have gone since then.

One of the tree holes: a cashew tree sapling at lower right, surrounded by green pepper,
fennel, green bean, and tomato seedlings.

Food for the soul - from our bedroom window.

Guy repairs the roof that was damaged by strong winds.

Newborn calf in pasture just outside our fence.

A bit of arugula, okra and green pepper for lunch.

Nasturtium flowers peeking out from among squash leaves. Wait til you see the squash we got!

The sunflower that survived the cow

Only a few leaves are left at the top of the stalk, which is splinted with a stake and string.

The bees are enjoying the flower. We're rooting for a full head of seeds.

Out, out, darn cow

Jan 30 - The garden was looking good! We were beginning to pick beans, and there were greens to pick every day. The sunflower plant was shooting up higher every day.

Feb 13 - We return from two days off the farm to this sad picture. One cow managed to get onto our property and ate her way through our garden, pulling down the sunflower, devouring all the bean plants and the manioc leaves, as well as the tips of many other plants. Her favorite? she went through three different gardens and took the tops of each corn plant, ruining those in the garden in the photo. We see the other corn coming back. 

We rescued the sunflower by straightening it back up and giving it a splint. I'll post a photo soon.

Guy has strung barbed wire across the path the cow took. He hates barbed wire, calls it the wire from hell, but it works.

Check again soon for the exciting story of the scythe.

Nuisances and dangers

Jan 31

One of the principles of permaculture involves identifying the nuisances and dangers that your surroundings pose to your space and its inhabitants. Once identified, we include provisions to address them in the permaculture plans. Typical nuisances are noise, smells and visual blights. Dangers include theft, fire, flooding, and other weather related events. 

On our half acre plot we enjoy silence and pure air, and wonderful dark nights. Probably ants constitute  our greatest nuisance at this point and we're studying options to eradicate them. A little black ant with a fierce sting lives under our house and when the new inhabitants are kicked out to go establish their own community - which seems to happen once or twice a week at this time of the year - they come up into our bedroom.

The reddish worker drones of the black ant colony under our house. 

The swept-up dispersing ants that collected in our bedroom one afternoon.

Other insects plague us as well, such as the huge green caterpillars that eat the tender new leaves of our manioc (cassava, yuca) plants. I pull them off one by one to get rid of them. 

Caterpillars on manioc stems.

We also have grasshoppers on the citrus fruit trees, aphids, ants in the okra and probably some unidentified insects eating away at our produce and fruit. I have successfully sprayed the okra leaves with an infusion of tobacco and coconut soap.

So far the monkeys haven't become a nuisance - we actually really enjoy watching them when they occasionally pass through the trees along the creek corridor. But the mangoes on one of the trees close to the house are golden ripe and one recent morning I heard the monkeys chattering in the tree. If you look closely you'll see one of the monkeys as they beat a retreat. This little guy stood up to get a good look at me before he scampered away.

Monkey in the tree next to the mangos.

I've probably left out some of the nuisances but I'll move on to the actual dangers. The first week that we slept in our new house we were robbed. There really isn't a lot of crime in our area but drug-related crime is arriving from the cities and we believe that Guy's guitar and an empty propane tank were taken for their quick resale value. So we're upgrading the locks on our doors and windows, and we had this handsome gate put in right at the entrance to our property. This photo is looking out from the property toward the public road on the other side of the grassy area.  

Bridge over the creek at the entrance to our plot. 

Another danger is fire, that can sweep through dry pastures especially in the dry season.  As you can see in the photo, the area on both sides of the fences gets cleared regularly, usually a meter on each side.

Fire gap between the pasture (low, grazed grass) and our property (tall uncut grass that hasn't experienced
Guy's scythe yet). The climbing vine is a passion fruit plant. 

Right now it's raining a lot, one of the wettest months ever in the Brasilia area, but we have no significant flooding because we are high up on the central plateau. At most the roads might get washed out or a bridge swept away. But it's pretty flat here, with no developments on steep hill sides to be destroyed by mudslides as is the case elsewhere in Brazil.

Poisonous snakes represent a danger to keep in mind, but there's little we can do about them except to remain vigilant. Actually if we kept geese or guinea hens I'm told they eat the baby snakes. Lightening is another danger, killing more people than snakes, but again the solution is paying attention.

All in all, we feel quite safe and serene in our lovely home.

Mushrooms

Jan 11

Just outside our kitchen, under the mango tree.

A bit more about mushrooms. Both of the films I watched just recently, Dirt and 2012: Time for Change, mention the work of mycelium, the network of fine white filaments that permeate the earth we walk upon and farm and pave over or coat 

with lawn. This vegetative part of fungus and mushrooms helps to form the 

soil by decomposing the organic remains of trees and other matter as it 

falls and returns to the earth.

Mushrooms have fascinated me for decades. I first became aware of their beauty and diversity on a damp fall afternoon as I wandered through a bit of woods in the Catskills. Everywhere I saw mushrooms and fungi of amazing shapes and colors, and I couldn’t restrain myself from collecting the finest specimens. I took them back to the cabin I was visiting and spread them out on the floor, becoming an amateur mycologist then and there. I’ve hunted and picked mushrooms in the Lehigh Valley and elsewhere, occasionally enjoying a gourmet omelet or stirfry with chanterelles, boletus or the humble puffball.

On a more controversial note, the narrating journalist of 2012, Daniel Pinchbeck, mentions the importance of mind altering experiences, often brought about by nature’s substances – eg. iboga in Africa and ayahuasca in South America – in bringing about the new consciousness necessary for deep cultural change. In this part of Brazil, similar in some ways to the highlands of Mexico, the sacred mushroom grows on cow dung. The local people don’t ingest it and as far as I know they don’t even talk about it. Once, about 33 years ago, I shared some here with a few city friends and would consider doing it again under the right circumstances. (I’ve started reading Simon G Powell’s book, The Psilocybin Solution: The Role of Sacred Mushrooms in the Quest for Meaning, to gain insight into his claims that the sacred mushroom should play a role in reconnecting our civilization to the Earth.)

But there are many other mushrooms popping up here and there – shelf mushrooms on logs and dying trees, little brown mushrooms in the fields and woods, and others like the beautiful yellow specimens that I am reposting from a couple of months ago. I have found no resources yet for learning about them and discovering if any of them are edible, but I do know that they are all performing the essential function of transforming organic matter into soil.

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Reflections for the new year

 Jan 5, 2013

Cooking rice and lentils on our wood stove  

Four weeks without posting! I mean to post more often but things got in the way, I guess, among which, bouts of pain and hay fever, a theft at our house, and the holidays with family visiting from Brasilia.

One thing we have in abundance here is time to read, and we’ve downloaded numerous Kindle books on permaculture to help us develop our land in sustainable ways. Peter Bane’s The Permaculture Handbook: Garden Farming for Town and Country (2012-06-26, New Society Publishers. Kindle Edition), focuses primarily on gardens and farms in the US and Canada, so it leaves something to be desired for our rural area here in Brazil. But much is applicable and some of his analysis is universal. The following passages struck deep chords in me. The first helps explain my attraction to Brazil where a much larger percentage of the population remains connected to farming.

Today only 0.3% of Americans and 2.2% of Canadians derive their primary income from farming.  This is the smallest proportion of the population devoted to farming in the history of either nation or in the history of the world. No other societies have made our basic connection to the earth and the garnering of sustenance such a marginal specialty. Are we, as economists and prophets of progress proclaim, more evolved and more efficient, freeing up labor from the drudgery of farming to perform more complex and rewarding tasks in industry or the creative professions? Or have we so lost ourselves in thrall to the logic of the machine, that we will sacrifice everything to it — the quality of our food, our health, the land, even our very souls? 

This agro-forest bed planted on Dec 1 is doing really well.

Unfortunately “progress and efficiency” march on relentlessly in Brazil as well, and “the basic connection to the earth and the garnering of sustenance” is becoming “a marginal specialty.” Guy and I are part of an effort to reverse the trend toward huge monocultures and mechanized agriculture. We’re working with others to develop and model viable ways for young people and families to sustain themselves on small properties, raising much of their own healthy and diverse food. I believe this is a way to reclaim our souls.

Here’s the second passage from The Permaculture Handbook that I want to highlight, with its familiar critique of the suburbs and its surprising outlook for them.

The depression of the 21st century, outwardly visible from 2008 onward, has been the occasion of much writing on the link between energy supply, settlement patterns and the shaky basis of the US economy. Social critic and geographer James Howard Kunstler has called the suburbs “the greatest misallocation of resources in the history of the world.”  There can be little doubt that paving over much of the nation’s best agricultural land and cutting old growth forests to frame shoddily built McMansions was a tragedy of epic proportions, but the question is not whom to hang but what can be done with it now?

However disreputable its causes, the emptying out of many American cities and the spreading of the population over broad metropolitan regions marks a necessary and inevitable turn toward a state of lower social and technological complexity that will develop progressively as energy supplies decline. 

Guy can tell you how often I’ve remarked, when driving by large suburban properties in the US and gawking at the enormous lawns, that a whole third world village could feed themselves from that amount of land. Well maybe it’s the American suburbanites that will rise up as the new farmers, maybe it’s already happening. Our property here is about half an acre, most of which was pasture until we closed it in. We expect to raise enough vegetables, tubers and fruit to get by on if we had to, and if we raise chickens and perhaps a mama goat, fish, and rabbits, we’ll eat very well.

Our wonderful mango tree - don't you think you should start planning your visit?