Reading Pollan

It's interesting to read something that so closely aligns with my own life experiences. I've covered all the same bases, though not with such scientific precision. I learned to grill first from my father, then years of graduate study with my great black friend, Big Roy, in Mississippi, and am now certified as a Master. I've learned to cook in pots too, because I never liked fast food, and for decades grew and raised all of my food. For years Marilyn and I ground our own wheat and made our own bread. Again, for decades, we brewed beer and made wine, not only for ourselves, but as barter items which actually paid for two houses, which we parlayed into a ranch in Colorado. For fifteen years we only used raw goat's milk for all of our dairy needs, including butter, cheese, and the best ice creams I've ever had in my life. I'm proud of all of those things, it satisfies some part of our brain to become competent at something, but, Jesus, what a lot of work. That and building a house a year, and running the farm and then the ranch; I can't believe, now, that I ever had that much energy. A clear day, with a brisk wind, and the leaves are falling like rain. I break a juice fast with a large potato patty topped with a fried egg and a piece of toast, then go for a walk. It's beautiful outside: the color, the slanted light, the cooler temperatures. I finally found the place, B had taken me, years ago, where a spring bubbled up out of the ground, originated a stream that flowed north, into the Ohio. It's a lovely spot, and so far from civilization that you'd need a good map to find it. Two hollows transect and the gradient is down, toward the river. The water is clean and cold. Whenever I go there, once or twice a year, I kneel on my foam pad, wash my face, and drink from cupped hands. My version of the Eucharist. It's in an area of mature trees, so there isn't much underbrush. It looks like it's maintained by a group of gardeners; what, in western Colorado, is called a park. It's one of my favorite places. I'm not a Romantic, but I could imagine filming "A Midsummer's Night Dream" there. I like to sit ten feet above the spring and have a snack: stinky cheese, crackers, sweet gherkins and a few black olives. It's a natural garden, and the filtered light is a thing of wonder.