Trekking the NW Oregon Coast

 Haystack Rock, standing at 235 ft and making it the world's 3rd tallest monolith rock formation accessible by land, was the film location for the truck rally scene in Goonies. 

 Walsh House in the Goon Docks. Still standing.

Fort George Brewery

Enter the Vortex

   Once or twice a week, a vital flight from the farm was needed and I'd set out to explore what the Northwest Oregon had to offer. Most notable included a trip to the Oregon Coast. Many Americans growing up in the 80's could appreciate the allure to check out Haystack Rock & Astoria's 'Goon Docks', both on-location settings for Goonies. 2010 turned out to be good timing on my part too. The port town wears the filming as a badge of honor and fittingly celebrated the 25th Anniversary of it's filming last year. Made sure to purchase beer and shot glasses commemorating the event for a couple friends and a keychain for myself (bumber stickers were all out, so it was the next best thing). For a Fall day in the Pacific Northwest, there was no sense in complaing with the mid 50 degree temperatures, as long the sun was beaming. Moreover, with it being midweek well after the end of the tourist season, it seemingly felt at times as if I had my own private beach to stroll.

   I came for the beaches and Goonie attractions, but stayed to sample the local, hoppy flavors at the Fort George Brewery & Public House.  According to their description on its facebook page, the fortress of brew is the "original settlement site founded in March 1811 by Captain Jonathan Thorn...Under temporary British authority it was renamed Fort George after King George the 3rd". Beginning in the 1920's, the building housed an auto repair shop till it was vacated in the late 1990's. By good fortune, out of town passersby and local regulars, alike, should no longer be wary of british control or grease monkeys, and can get their bitter-fiber fix in the Oatmeal Pale Ale, a little post-work pick me up with the chocolate/coffee combo Working Girl Porter or, my personal favorite, the biting, potentially dizzying 7.4% ABV, Vortex IPA. And for the icing on top, the adjacent seasonally-derived, local-supporting, organic Blue Schorcher Bakery scrumptiously fills your sweet tooth.

  Wanting to get back to Harmony before nightfall, I got the VW in gear just shy of 5pm. During the march on OR- 202, over a sedately manageable pass on the Coastal Range, past a pair of rivers and accompanying valleys, the pestering initial stages prior to the break of the seal beckoned me, when a well-timed rest stop area appeared. An out of the ordinary rest stop indeed. Before getting the chance to take care of business, a herd of Roosevelt Elk, tallying well over the century mark, caught my fancy beyond a fence line situated just past the parking area. I had stumbled upon the Jewell Meadows Wildlife Area, an animal refuge serving as a winter habitat for the hoofed creatures, amongst other creatures at various points of the year, and managed by the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife. It was great to witness such a vast number so close. Till then, I had seen two before; one enclosed at a zoo, and the other resting within a parking space next to the Hoh River Trailhead, situated at Washington State's Olympic Peninsula.

   Speaking of hoofed mammals, a 15-mile excursion from the farm down to Forest Grove, OR presented me with the L Bar T Bison Ranch, which houses an average of 15 bison a year. Having been a proponent of its red meat for some time, I was already aware of its more flavorful healthier benefits over beef and was happy to see a meat purveyor not relying at the standard agribusiness/concentrated feedlot model. As mentioned on their website, their animals 'spend their lives on grass much as they always have, and very little time in the feedlot. Because of this, there is no need for artificial growth stimulants or sub-therapeutic use of antibiotics. Comparison of the nutritional values of bison meat is low in fat and calories and high in protein and nutrients.'

   The last outing of mine worth noting was the last Saturday in Oregon before venturing southbound to California. Carlos took off soon after he and I finished work early in the afternoon and since the Matthews weren't expected for another 4 hours or so, I decided to treat myself to a celebratory drink at the one and only bar in town; and hopefully catch some playoff baseball in the process. Upon entering and descrying the seemingly ubiquitous w/in Oregon slot machines, I grab the closest empty bar stool and take in game 6 of the Giants-Phillys NLCS with the widely elder crowd.

   Two drinks and three innings in, a fella in his mid 20s, sporting a red sox cap, walks into the establishment (Later I'd find out he's from Arizona. Red Sox Nation is an epidemic).  The fast-talking, napoleon syndromic dude introduces himself as Warren and mentions he's passing through the area foraging for wild mushrooms. Mushroom hunting has intrigued me for quite sometime for its high risk/high reward. The booze tallying up 'kept my heart alive but bemazed my brain' and Warren ably persuaded me to take a trek at that drenching night hour after I considered the alternative of returning to Harmony.  We got into his Jeep and after travelling about 3 miles Warren takes a dirt covered service road turn off the highway.  Soon enough the dirt road morphed into a muddy pool and the anticipated fungus junket quickly became a mired down immovable wheeled encampment with the jeep getting stuck.  In vain, Warren pulled the gear down to reverse and back to drive and back once again and so forth. Placing more force on the gas didn't help the situation any either.

   I got out of the car at some point and instead of finding a way to help the situation, I managed to make matters worse for myself by losing my balance and slipping in the sludge. Careless me also left my fleece behind in my van. It was going to be a restless, frigid night! Where we were? Warren was unable to get service on his phone, so I lent him my phone. To get help, he tried calling some of his buddies and girlfriend, who were all seemingly somewhere between Portland and Salem. A text left on my phone went 'hey baby im on some random guys phone stuck out in the woods somewheere (sic) near the coast car died and i dont know whre (sic)i am'.

   To make a long story short, by midnight I decided my best prospects for making it back to the farm was to sit tight till morning and, with the aid of daylight, walk back to the bar to pickup my van. Though Warren wasn't able to get through with his buddies for help, at least he had a dry seat with cover I could crash on till daybreak.

   Equally grim to the failed adventure was the promenade back to the car. Luckily, my phone had enough juice to start up it's GPS and get me back on the main road. I timed the remaining battery life just right cause as soon as I hit the familiar street, the phone died. Immediately after, the cold showers poured once more, and for 2.5 miles I was walking on the side of the road with nothing but drenched clothes consisting of dirt stained jeans along and a t-shirt. Half-way thru the walk, I lost track of the amount of vehicles screeching 50 mph right by me in both directions. Ultimately, I made it back to the van in one piece and drove back to the farm realizing the most gloriously comforting hot shower ever waited for me. And that my friends is silver lining. You only can be sure of living just once in this realm. Enjoy what you can.


   Road Trip Tunes
   Sigur Ros, ' ( ) ' (Untitled #8)
   Neil Young, 'Live at Massey Hall 1971' (A Man Needs A Maid/Heart of Gold)
   Iron & Wine, 'The Creek Drank The Candle' (Upward Over The Mountain)
   Wilco, 'Kicking Television' (Ashes of American Flags)

Harmony Part VI

What was left of the hive.

Minor injury in line of chicken duty.

They look cute, and might provide us with delicious protein, but they're blood-thirsty!

Milking the goats.

   For those concerned about the well-being of the yellow jackets, none appeared mortally harmed. Can't say the same for the hive, which was in the way of the planned fence line. Before my three week stay at Harmony was finished, Larry sought to have it completed-all eight, galvanized, welded wire metal rolls, each comprised of 165 ft in length and 6 ft in height-in order to provide the livestock with an upgraded, more voluminous, 660-sq feet grazing area. Tedious is hardly descriptive enough for a project so entirely time-consuming (to the point where it was difficult to find the time to catch up on other daily tasks), and the unpredictable with setbacks (which on many occasions required Carlos and/or myself to backtrack half the 40-acres to retrieve the necessary doohickey to fix said setback). When unaided by the opportune location of a Douglas Fir tree to staple to along the tree line encompassing about half of the planned area, we placed several metal 8-footer T-Posts every 5 to 10 feet or so to secure the wire fence.

   The work wasn't all a drag, however. Tearing out the completely rusted-over, partially entangled with brush and ground, old fencing discarded behind by the previous owners, was done by the efficacious, late 80's Ford 150 XLT and a solid chain hoist pulley. For someone that got by largely without the presence of my biological father and going to boarding academy for high school, I wasn't afforded the opportunity to play with 4 wheel drive man toys much. Until now. It was time to make up for lost time! Also, pounding away on the countless posts thru a suitable depth in the fairly dense topsoil, with a 14 lb steel driver, worked well enough as a workout in lieu of a gym membership. Regularly during the project, K103-Portland's Soft Rock would cloyingly seep from the truck's radio. One sunny afternoon, shortly after a lunchbreak, John Mellancamp's 'Small Town' snuck into the rotation. For the first time in my life, I didn't want to introduce the speakers to a Louisville Slugger out of my usual annoyance with the song. Call it idyllic! Something in me during those 4 minutes saw it's intended complementary value flitting with the pastural setting before my eyes.

  No longer provided the safety of an office cubicle, there were a couple of 'work-related injuries' inflicted on me. Ananda, the 700 pound +, full grown female cow, aimlessly stepped on my feet, on two separate occasions to complete the pair, while I guided her to the grazing area. The verdant grass at my side was perfectly too alluring to pass up for her. Perhaps wanting to additionally get on the action, a thrill-seeking chicken managed to escape one day during feeding and after I deftly grasped it's right leg with my ninja arm swoop, it managed to inflict a decently-sized scratch on my wrist with it's free hind claw.

   Larry obviously expected more out of the volunteer crew than the suggested 4 to 6 hour days, 5 days a week by WWOOF-USA. And the mucky living conditions certainly didn't make matters better. So what led me to stay in Buxton as long as I did?

   It helped that the Matthews and Carlos did their best to make me feel welcome. Anyone with a God-complex can be found guilty of negligence and being self-absorbed, but I never found Larry to be malicious. Besides providing a roof over my head and meals for three weeks, I was given the green to light to muster as much of the stacked pine wood pile as desired to place in the Van, which would come in handy for future camp stops. Plus, right before my departure, the mister and misses handed over 2 dozen eggs, and snacks to be enjoyed for the trip. Carlos showed his appreciation for my help, after an earlier discussion on favorite beers and a personal preference to spicy foods, by presenting me with tall boys of Dos Equis and his wife's, day fresh, made-from-scratch, mouth watering/firing salsa (diablo, muy bueno!).

   Part of my determination to stay was the challenge arising from the foreman initial prediction that I'd only last three or four days before packing, based on his past experiences with other volunteers. It definitely provoked a stronger work ethic in me.  Also, having the chance to work day in and day out with a migrant worker and hearing the argument from his end verses having to rely on opinionated, hotheaded hosts on 24/7 cycle news channels appealed to me.

   Most importantly, though, it was a persistently building desire to learn permaculture farming, keeping livestock, and living off the land in a sustainable way. Ideally, there won't any dependance on the heavily tax-subsidized, corporate, agribusiness model from my end later in life. To further my greener than green knowledge of farming, I came to the conclusion that an effective way to new skills is to learn from other's mistakes and/or carelessness, which Harmony had in abundance.

   Road Trip Tunes:
   Pearl Jam, 'Radio Free Germany’ (Immortality)
   Beastie Boys, ‘Ill Communication’ (Rickie's Theme)
   Jackson 5, 'Jacksons Story: Number 1's' (ABC)

   Elvis Costello, 'This Years Model' (Radio Radio)

Harmony Part V

   Equivalent to the level of wrongful negligence toward his animals was Larry’s reckless, and often imperious management style over his work crew (ie Carlos, me and a later WWOOF’er arrival, to a lesser extent). Wednesday’s served as Mr. Matthews one day a week away from the shop. In lieu of enjoying a moment of repose, he spent the entirety of the daylit hours tending to the property; during which time, us ‘farmhands’, would occasionally be placed in precarious situations.  

   Ultimately, his priority was saving money. Concern for safety and keeping the workforce in good-spirits certainly? Not so much. Why else would he rely on an illegal immigrant and volunteers? In the chance Carlos had quarrel’s with the job, Larry could easily drive to the nearest Home Depot for a capable replacement. One who would be might be open to do the work for a dollar or two cheaper an hour. As for volunteer organic wanna-be-farmers like myself, well, we could leave anytime we wanted if we felt his methods too much to deal with. And if the WWOOF’ers labors weren’t performing to his satisfactory standard, Larry had the power to show them the door. No severance package required!

   The time spent attempting to re-track a Hitachi Trackhoe Excavator best exemplified his frightful carelessness. Larry was in the beginning stage of a compost pile project along the south-facing sloping area, adjacent to the house’s rear deck. The plan is to dig out a series of 8 to 10-feet deep trenches in parallel lines, perpendicular to the slope to later be filled with food scraps, tree slash, livestock waste and hay bedding, amongst other ‘compostables’. Eventually the material would be re-dug and provide an efficient fertilizer. On my first full day on the Harmony job, moments after twisting the excavator's ignition, Larry somehow unfastened the track from the front wheel on the hoe's right hand side. He remained behind the wheel and stubbornly sought to steer and occasionally jerk it back into place, all while anchoring the bucket and arm on the lower slope. 

   Rather than ‘waste’ $500+ of his money on a mechanic on realignment, the majority of the lifting and resetting, and the seemingly half-ton weight of it, fell to Carlos and myself while Larry remained chiefly in the cab. Even the subsequent aid of a chain and pulley, secured and hoisted by the excavator’s arm, didn’t prevent us from ineptly creating a hulking, haphazardly-positioned, mono-tired vehicle, positioned atop it’s rubber wheel (as evidenced by the attached photos). We wouldn’t have had anything to show for the days work if it weren’t for the handful of hours spent mounting a 100 lb control panel for the solar power unit on the basement wall and the daily animal commitments.

   A week later, Kent, another volunteer, showed up for a planned week and a half stay. A mid to late 30's, single male, Wisconsin-native, equipped with a heavy load of corpulence; likely resulting from a full-time sedentary lifestyle. How farm work stirred interest out of a man who without hesitation makes daily stops for fast food and drives a gas hog SUV I never quite made sense of.  Plus his preference of indoors work with the dishes and sweeping over outdoors chores involving a plant or animal quickly became glaringly obvious. 

   One of the first jobs Larry sought our combined abilities for was clearing brush and slash along a soon to be placed fence line. The incautious bossman neglected to mention the Poison Oak and yellow jacket hives we'd be up against. Unacquainted on how to spot the toxic shrub, my co-woofer's stay might have been a bit on the itchy side if I had not pointed them out to him before we started lopping and digging out old scraps of fence line tangled in the forest duff. Lucky for him, the wasps acted relatively quiet with the dropping winter temperatures, at least at the time.

  Kent's scheduled 13 day work vacation @ Harmony in reality became an 80 hour stop-off. After barely saying his departing words he got his vehicle in gear and hurried off with the driveway's suspended dust seemingly in tow.  Over anything else, having to drive 30 miles out for a decent wifi signal every night and attempting to catch up on the pigsty of a kitchen,  along with the daily 4 to 5 dish cycles and discarding of food scraps littering the floor tied into it, were the ultimate deciding factors. Taking off at the ass crack of dawn on the 2nd Wednesday of mine spent in Buxton, he left without being subjected to a full, straight day of Larry's commands. That lucky son of a bitch. Disinclined to taking out/in the heedlessly, aggressive male goat with it's leash, having no run-in with yellow jackets himself, and not getting the chance to partake in the second attempt at retracking the excavator, the wwoofer from the badger state never quite experienced the 'thrills' I did. The flying, pestering stingers reanimated themselves a week later and postponed 1/2 day of planned work, till Carlos and I smoked them out fully.

Harmony Part IV

   Both champions of Homeopathy, the Matthew's rely on this alternative medicine not only for their own own ills and hygiene cleanliness-or lack there of from the looks of their kitchen with food scraps haphazardly scattered about, or the sharing of their shower space with a trickle of recently hatched baby chicklets which were allowed to nurse in their own, rarely picked up waste, and replenished themselves w/ the scarce amount of grubby H20 left in a water dispenser-but also as a treatments for their livestock's maladies. 

   According to Blue Shield, Homeopathy is defined as 'a non-toxic system of medicine used to treat illness and relieve discomfort of a wide variety of health conditions.' It's two core principles involve the 'Law of Similars' (where preparation of A homeopathic solution is used to assist the symptoms of B, which would be comparable to those caused by A) and 'Potentization' (a repeated procedure of diluting a set dosage and succussion, aka vigorous shaking). Using non-toxic substances is noble enough and I'm no skeptic when it comes to some of our anti-bacterial prescription practices being a likely source of the increased number of asthma cases; but when Samuel Hahnemann (it's German physician founder) started Homeopathy, while bypassing the Scientific Method, it's hard to swallow as a legitimate practice of medicine.

   During my 3-week stay, a half-dozen fowls came down with an assortment of afflictions, ranging from varicose eyelids resulting in temporary blindness, broken lower limbs and unidentified sluggish ailments. The sick birds were brought to a designated infirmary coop or carrier where Mrs. Matthews would pour the same dose of homeopathic medicine into their drinking water and/or place a diluted portion on the affected region. Of the 6, I saw 1 fully recover, 3 die, and 2 still wearily clinging to life. When a 'homeopath' couple permits hatchlings to wallow in bestial filth in the upstairs master bathroom, who knows what microbes or viruses are festering in the fields?

   The birds weren’t the only resident animals suffering from misguided treatment. When I first saw the two inhabitant alpacas, Carlos said that the one aimlessly grazing a patch of grass was temporarily blind. After close examination, it’s eyelids appeared dilated, much the same as with one of the aforementioned chickens, in addition to a dark, opaque pair of eyeballs. The same diluted dosage got applied to the infected area of the peculiar, wool-producing, four-legged mammal.

   The worst case of animal abuse had to be the hackjob horn removal of Billy, the first goat brought to Harmony. Billy was neutered by the time he became Matthew’s property. In order to pacify a male’s goat customary, aggressive behavior is to dehorn them in addition to castration. By the time he matured, with no female counterparts around at the time, his inherent tendencies were instead directed at head-butting whoever was around when things didn’t go his way. Rather than get a farm animal veterinarian to go about the procedure, Larry attempted it himself. How he went about hacking the pair of cranial projecting bones off, I never figured out. Any information I acquired was gathered thru Carlo’s broken English. Technical talk was lost in translation, and the biting of my tongue became a regular occurrence when approaching some of Larry or Jessica unorthodox ways. Ultimately it was their property, and my position as a beholden guest wasn't to come across as accusatory.

   To treat the lacerated area, who knows what diluted solution was placed on it. Commonplace disinfectants, or other chemical anti-bacterial liquids obtainable at the local pharmacy were few and far between at Harmony-after getting slashed. Hydrogen Peroxide was the only one I happened upon; tucked away in one of the laundry room selves. During my stat, Billy suffered through his second worm infestation within the cut away area. The Matthews recommended we place sugar-water on the skull in order to get the worms creep out of the skull. From the previous experience using the same suggestion, Carlos realized it's lack of success. In it's place, we used a common ruminant anti-parasitic spray he became familiar with during his prior livestock work. 

   Before we began this job one Thursday morning, Carlos informed me that I would perform the role of 'doctor' and was needed to pin Billy down on all fours in the pasture while he applied the spray. Not exactly an easy task. He's a third of my size, but can still put on a fight and found a way to wiggle away from my grip once or twice. Seconds after the anti-worm aerosol dispersed, a few dozen or so, teenie, hair-raising freeloaders scurried away from the skirmishing goat and onto the grass. 

 Billy was happy, as far as goats go, I assume by the time I left, no thanks to the misguided life-styles of it's possessors, of course. If these folk showed a bit more care and allowed knowledgeable professionals to care for the animals rather than their trial-and-error, in addition to unsantiary, approach on treatment, its reasonable to think that there wouldn't have been 3 dead birds and one wormed goat during my 3-week Buxton, Oregon sojourn.

Harmony Part III

   Following dinner and the watering of the plants, I caught up on a little before Larry and Jessica Matthews returned home around 8. While leafing through Matthew Lewis's "The Monk", it occurred to me the strangeness of an farm owners not showing up to their property till well into the night due to a day job beckoning. When he did finally show up, Larry had scarcely anything but terse responses to questions shot his way from his wife and myself. Baring a striking resemblance to Mr. Montgomery Burns, and possessing the same grouchiness, he set off a tense mood as wolfed down his Foster Farm Chicken, greens, and personal favorite post-dinner popcorn. Figured a long day at the stovepipe/fireplace show was the likely cause of his short answers, and that I could uncover more of what led him into farming and what I could expect out of the work in the morrow. His wife and I tried our best lightening the mood and talked of our interests, family history, travelling, and whatnot.

   It was 9:30 by the time the Matthews finished their supper, and after discovering Carlos was expected at 7 the next morning, I opted to head downstairs and read a little before bedtime. Not long after hitting the sack, a keyboard and bass-driven sound, with a cheesy, low-budget horror flick soundtrack tinge to it, crept its way thru the floor panels of the main floor up ahead. A faint, indiscernible, soft voice was heard speaking above the 'music could almost be made out. I first passed it off as the sound of the washing machine, which was planted directly overhead. 

   It wasn't till 2 weeks of hearing it nightly before I conjured up the energy to asked him what was up with the noise. Dubbed 'Diamond Consciousness', Australian Futurist Fatima Bacot produced it to go along with her views on 2012 and her views on the Mayan Calendar. According to the Keys of Shambhalla website, 'the renewal, transformation and ascension of humanity and the Earth has been her focus. Her work is founded upon the co-creation of Universal Consciousness, Peace and Unity and the forecasted passage into a New Evolutionary Agenda....Beginning first with Astrology at the age of 18, Fatima has been a lifelong student of spirituality and mysticism...is easily able to present a visionary yet balanced, razor-sharp clarity regarding the Big Picture of the prophecies, initiations, challenges, personal and collective changes unfolding and exponentially accelerating as part of the anticipated Shift in Consciousness – and how to seamlessly navigate such changes. She is focused upon the translation of the outworkings of the Divine Plan as humanity ascends into Universal Consciousness.' Additionally, her DC teachings emphasize: 

    -Freedom from fear, conflict and outdated belief patterns, worldviews and ideologies

    -Illuminating the Big Picture 
    -Focused Heart-based intent, sovereignty, support, healing, action and groupwork

    I try my best and claim not to know everything, but with the Y2K scare back in 2000 and the countless 'end-of-the world' prophecies over the centuries coming to pass without much hoopla, I don't take too much stock in folks predicting the catastrophic futures; especially when the person who's telling me what will happen, honestly believes to be a prophet and purchased 40 acres of land to help those of us still around after the 'Divine Plan' takes effect in 2012. 

   In terms of singularities witnessed in my life for an extended period, only his wife, Jessica, is one of the few on the same level as Larry. One night at the dining table, I mentioned Ireland was one of my personal favorite countries I've visited. She immediately asked whether or not I believed in 'the Little People'. Took me a few secs to realize she was talking about leprechauns rather than people with a diminutive stature. According to Mrs. Matthews, a friend of hers glimpsed one during her travels on the emerald island.

  On top of believing in the existence of mythical, fairy-tale creatures, Jessica is a proponent of the Silva Method, widely viewed as a pseudoscience. According to Wikipedia, the method 'claims to increase an individual's IQ and sense of personal well-being by developing their higher brain functions'. According to Jessica, when encountering a problem, she could solve it by initially visualizing it in the mind before acting on it physically, through the Silva Method. The key is to mentally picturing yourself completing a task before it can be accomplished.

Road Trip Tunes:

The Roots, 'Things Fall Apart' (Dynamite!)

Portishead, 'Portishead' (Only You)

Tom Waits, 'Orphans' (The Long Way Home)

Harmony Part II

   A bit late with this post, wouldn't you say? Apologizes for the delay.  Being off the grid for the past three weeks in the Santa Cruz Mountains of California, on top of the two weeks prior traversing the country highways, in addition to catching up with family and friends along the way, has presented me a fair share of worthwhile (and some not so worthwhile) reasons to procrastinate.

   At Larry's request, I initially drove to his fireplace depot located just west of Portland, and about 45 minutes by drive of Buxton, for a meet and greet plus a rundown on how to get to his far-flung farm. Figure his demand was to get a face to face in a safe setting and make sure I wasn’t a raving loon. Passed the test!

   The shop’s another standard strip-mall storefront, abutted with your ubiquitous fast food stops, gas stations, and mom and pop-killing mega shopping centers. Larry was out of shop for the day installing stovepipes for various clients so instead I made acquaintances with Mrs. Jessica Matthew upon arrival. We got to talking about what was in store with help with around at Harmony, particularly with the animals. She also inquired whether or not there were any dietary restrictions of mine.

   After her recommendation to check out Portland’s own Forest Park and Pittock Mansion while in town, I headed east to introduce myself to Carlos and absorb the closing of a workday at Harmony before he departed for the evening. The free-and-easy, yet laborious working, foreman of the land works 60 to 70 hours weekly for a stingy $10/hr. In addition to no benefits, health care nor breaks to show for it. 

   Hailing from Mexico City, he’s made his way up the west coast at a snail’s pace trying his hands with day labor, construction, caring, milking and slaughtering of various livestock, and even a processing stint a local cheese company. Carlos mentioned pros and cons for all his past vocations in the states, but the ultimate factor favoring the work at Harmony over elsewhere came down to the amount of steady hours, thus steady money to support his three kids and Mrs.

   Puzzled from the alarming barks of the household dog, Moon, greeting my drive into the farm, Carlos wandered his way from the fowl grazing land to where the canine noise took place. From the bewildered look on his face after seeing my bearded hippie-self park climbing out of my VW, I gathered Larry hadn’t mentioned anything about extra help for the next three to four weeks. It was already after 4 pm by the time I got, so he was just starting to feed and water the livestock before bringing them into the coops and barn for the night.

   Bringing in the birds was relatively easy; step 1) Fill up a large bowl with poultry feed; step 2) shake around feed in said bowl along the banks of the pond where chicken, geese, duck and turkey congregates; step 3) stroll your way to pens and birds will follow in tow.

   Every other day or so, there’d be 5 to 10 stragglers left outside after the pen doors and windows were shut and lowered, respectively. To get em in we’d have to corral and/or corner them, grab their legs, and carry them. Occasionally the chase after them around a good chuck of their 1,500 sq yard area was a bit enervating.

   If fetching after the winged animals was the 3k, running after the sheep, goats and cow after unleashing them from their day spots was more of a half marathon. The moment of my arrival to the tethered spots serves as Pavlov's Bell, proclaiming dinner is ready in their respective barn stalls. Once unhooked, their mini stampede commences. Assuming the quadrupeds had the courtesy to get into their designated sleeping grounds and lock up after entering, pursuing them, mainly uphill for the length of about 4 or 5 city blocks, to shut the barn gates and to ensure goats weren't eating the cows food and vice versa, wouldn't be necessary. However, they were born in a barn, so what do they know?

   With the animals all taken care of for the day, Carlos heading out around 5pm, and Mr. & Mrs. Matthew not expected home for another 2 or 3 hours, I had the house along with the 40 acres to myself. Good time to explore my new surroundings! Downstairs were a pair of dormitory-sized bedrooms to choose from. Instead of the cream-colored chamber with a closet full of Salwar Kameej and Sari clothing, and wall-mounted shelves filled with a multitude of self-help books, romantic novels and dozens of VHS, I opted for the one tucked into the corner next to the storage room. Painted cobalt blue and ornamented with ordinary, cut-rate Arabian decorations and an abnormal high placed standard sized bed, the out-of-sight room would act as my home away from home for the next three to four weeks. Oh, it also housed on it's book shelf more self-help books, which I left in place to collect more dust.

   After unloading a few belongings from the VW, my appetite began gnawing at me. So I decided to head upstairs and see what was in the fridge. In the kitchen, I noticed, to my complete shock and disgust, numerous flies swarming a plenty and food scraps scattered about the floors and counters, and the sink and adjacent areas piled with about three loads for the dish washer. It was then I decided all my meals would have to be in unopened boxes, cans, jars and/or bags and would preferably be prepared by yours truly. The diet would be my eating style of college days all over again.

   Feeling satiated enough off of processed Safeway Spaghetti and productive from gettng one load of dishes on full cycle, I deliberated on other some other tasks I could get done before the Matthews got back. Watering plants in the two greenhouses out front seemed the perfect way to go as far as jobs I could do without Larry or Carlos showing me the ropes. As with the kitchen, the two buildings had an unpleasant surprise awaiting. Namely, the numerous resident plants looking withered, crisp and tan brown. I made it my mission to make sure to water the area for 10 to 15 minutes everyday during my stay.

...Alright, sorry to cut it here but I gotta get some grocery shopping down here in Santa Cruz before I head back up the mountain before sunset. Stay tuned next Wednesday for more of Harmony!

Road Trip Tunes:

The Good, The Bad & The Queen 'The Good, The Bad & The Queen' (The Good, The Bad & The Queen)

Dinosaur Jr. ‘Farm’ (Imagination Blind)

Nirvana ‘Nevermind’ (On a Plain)

Sleater-Kinney 'The Woods (Jumpers)

The Hold Steady 'Almost Killed Me' (Positive Jam)

M.I.A. 'Arular' (Pull Up The People)