So, so much has happened in the last three weeks, that I had to split this newsletter into two!
After five days of antibiotics for what we thought was Bronchitis, Masha and I began our second adventure on September 15th with an early morning Amtrak ride to Seattle. I can’t quite put my finger on why I love trains so much. Something about their movement I think. The noises make me think of my grandparents’ house, of one of the places I lived as a child, of the in-between feeling of leaving and arriving. And I love to look out the window, to pass towns and people and mountains, to see so much go by. After meeting several train hoppers at our last farm, the idea of hopping a train has become more and more appealing to Masha and me, and though we know the dangers, we can’t help but imagine it. Maybe someday!
When we arrived in Seattle, the one-and-only Eliza Luna Durkee-Neuman picked us up!!! Eliza is the most terrific and has the most terrific apartment in the most terrific old house. She and her wonderful housemate, Alex, were kind enough to let us stay in their living room, and boy was it a good time!
When we arrived, we spent some time trying wigs from Eliza’s extensive collection and witnessing Alex and Eliza’s drag skills. Afterwards, Eliza took us to a park with a top-notch view of the Seattle skyline, and then to Uwajimaya to get lunch (spam musubi and Calpico for me and Mash). We heard about Eliza’s college experience, learned about their work as a nurse, and got an inside perspective on the woes of the American healthcare system. Eliza works at the last health clinic founded by the Black Panthers in the United States, and her clinic gives people healthcare on a sliding scale. They told us about the harm reduction work they do with patients and about what it means to witness suffering on a daily basis. She told us how nursing has prepared her to talk to anyone about anything. And it’s true! Eliza is so approachable. She is passionate, selfless, fearless, and an advocate for her patients. She is one of the coolest people you can know, and you would be one lucky duck to have her as your nurse.
After our snack, we picked Francis up and got free coffee from her coffee shop! Francis made us delicious drinks and we rushed to sneak into a tour of the underground tunnels. We almost made it, but the tour guide recognized Francis and asked to see her stamp so we had to go back up. Instead, Frannie took us to the tunnels through the basement of her coffee shop, which was more exciting anyway. We saw a room where a bank robbery and murder had occurred, a skylight turned purple by the sun, and ferns sprouting from between crumbling bricks. We had to hide when the tour came around the corner, but we sang church songs through the walls to spook them a bit.
After we got a glimpse of the underground, we headed back to Eliza’s and made a delicious dinner together, tried on more wigs, bleached my hair, and rounded off the night with some good ol’ reality TV.
In the morning, Masha and I took the ferry to Bainbridge Island and then rode a bus to Port Angeles where our host, KC, and his four-year-old, Lorelei, picked us up. He told us about the town, his history of living with the homeless in Spain (by choice), and his many dumpster diving scores, including boiled ricotta cheese and a summer sausage jackpot. Throughout our time with KC, we heard SO MANY wild stories. This man has lived a life you would read about in a book.
KC drove us to his farm in Joyce, Washington, half an hour outside of Port Angeles. We met his wife, Alana, and his 10-year-old stepdaughter, Liana, who cooked us a DELICIOUS roasted chicken with roasted vegetables, all by herself. Masha and I spent that first evening feeding goats, picking raspberries to make homemade ice cream, and painting with Lorelei.
At this farm, we slept in a tent under a metal roof structure, which kept us nice and dry. Masha and I hung up our awesome purple and orange fairy lights and arranged our sleeping mats and bags. It was a cozy setup! Each morning, we unzipped our tent to a mist that fell in sheets across the farm, morphing the trees and sticking in our eyes. Mornings were my favorite, they were cold and strange, like the feeling between an exhale and an inhale, like being inside a dream, like being inside a memory. I would often sit alone and listen to a song or two in the mornings. Some of my favorites this trip have been Chimacum Rain by Linda Perhacs, and The Season by Tucker Zimmerman. Both songs have attached themselves to Joyce, Washington in my mind and body. When I listen to them now, I feel as though I’m back in the soft mist between the forest and ocean. It’s less about feeling the things around me though, it’s more that I re-experience the way the mist and the light and the trees made me feel in my body. The memory that’s preserved in the songs is so specific, so exact, so my own. It’s one of the reasons I love music so much.
The first few days of work entailed building ramps for a bridge, treating hoof rot in goats (soaking their hooves and applying a bright purple medicine spray), and torching brush to get rid of the fleas a previous woofer had brought. We also did some forestry work, nestling baby trees under wood debris to keep weeds back and provide nutrients. Working with the goats was my favorite. They were spirited, smart, and gentle. These goats were trained not to headbutt people, and they greeted us by putting their faces close to ours and breathing in and out with us. Each one was unique, but my favorites were Apollo, Raven, and Hercules. Raven, a baby, was feisty, agile, and talkative. He loved jumping and hated to be left out. Apollo was HUGE and so gentle. His favorite thing was to get close to your face and breathe with you. And Hercules was just plain funny. He would lay in the sun by himself, tilt his head up to the sky, and smile. Plus, he had a beard.
A few days into our stay, a family of wwoofers with two little boys arrived. They were so lovely. We talked about poetry, books, and food. The dad wore bracelets his kids made him, and every night I could hear the mom in their tent reading out loud to the boys before bed. They were warm and kind and made us breakfast and shared stories. The evening they arrived, Masha and I played with the boys and Lorelei in the yard. We pretended Masha didn’t know how to jump, so we all worked together to teach them and celebrated when they finally got the hang of it. We danced and sang and even formed a tongue-clicking band. We played with sound and movement and it was so, so joyful. There is something wonderful about creating magic and music with children. Seeing kids teach an adult how to jump, seeing kids conduct and be conducted, dancing like a kid. It makes me soar. One of my favorite things about working on these farms with children is seeing their parents allow them to be themselves. These kids are brave, smart, creative, and kind. They make noise, get dirty, and make mistakes without fear. And they thrive!
The next day, Masha and I went on an adventure to nearby Lake Crescent. We walked through moss and sun to a little beach tucked away down a side trail. It was spectacular; the sky, the trees, the mountains, the smell of warm leaves, the smell of water on clay, and an osprey over it all. When we came to the beach, we danced. It’s hard not to dance these days. As soon as possible, I jumped into the lake, swam around in the perfect water, and sat in the sun to dry. It was a beautiful time!
On Friday, Masha and I went to a nearby farm to volunteer. Sisterland Farms is a queer-run and worker-owned farm in the Port Angeles area founded on a two-word mission: “grow radically.” They work to provide affordable food and resources for their community while paying their farmers a living wage. If you would like to know more about them, here’s a link to their information page: https://www.sisterlandfarms.com/about-us
Masha and I spent the afternoon with eight others (interns, owners, and volunteers), weeding, harvesting and bundling flowers to dry, and deadheading flowers (cutting off the flowers that have already bloomed so the plants can put energy into growing new ones).
After working, we sat down for a delicious potluck lunch with homemade tamales, salads, meatballs, cheese and fruit, and TWO homemade cheesecakes. We celebrated one of the farmers’ birthdays, had a lively discussion about sneezing, and learned about efforts to radicalize delivery truck drivers across the United States. It was a lovely day full of great conversation, and I again felt accepted by total strangers. We were brought into a new community that shared their food, laughter, and stories with such willingness. I was even invited to contribute to a reproductive rights zine some of the farmers are working on. I left feeling like I had found what I was looking for, like this example of a farming community was what I wanted to be a part of.
Unfortunately, that evening I found myself sick once more. My cough never fully went away with antibiotics, but on top of that, I developed a nasty cold. Eventually, my cough got much worse, and I started having strange coughing fits that resulted in me gagging and gasping for air. I found out this Friday that these fits were caused by Pertussis (Whooping Cough), which I somehow managed to catch despite being vaccinated.
But even a nasty cold and Whooping Cough couldn’t stop me from going goat-packing! The goats at this farm are bred and trained to carry packs on hikes or backpacking trips. They all stick together and stay with their people on the trails, and they kindly carry our heavy gear and food. On Saturday, we loaded all ten of our goat buddies onto a trailer and headed to a trail that took us down to the Elwha River. We climbed with the goats down a steep hillside and arrived at a beach. The perfect-blue river folded itself between cliff sides and rocky shores, where we ate lunch, went for a freezing swim, and laid in the sun. The whole time, the goats wandered until it was time to head back up. Unfortunately, by the time it was time to hike back, I was feeling pretty rotten and had to take it extra slow. When we got to the farm, I ate dinner and went to bed at 6 pm.
Thus began a long attempt at treating my illness. I took zinc and vitamin D, drank spoonfuls of elderberry syrup, took decongestants, steamed my face with sage and yarrow, and even sucked on garlic cloves. Nothing seemed to work.
So I mostly tried to carry on with my normal business. Masha and I went into Port Angeles, searched for cool rocks on the shore, and got crepes at the Pink Pony Cafe. That evening, KC brought home a roadkill deer that we processed and cooked for Basil, the big white guard dog. KC talked us through it all, showing us how to tell if the meat was safe for humans to eat, if it was safe for animals, or if it needed to be thrown away. He told us that using fresh roadkill to feed animals is not only cheap, but it’s environmentally conscious and reduces waste. He is able to get thousands of dollars worth of meat from roadkill each year not only for his animals, but for his family and friends. This reduces their consumption of beef as well as the money they would spend on buying meats. I felt less sad than I anticipated, more reverent. I saw it less as being a part of the deer’s death and more as helping provide life to others. My perspective on the consumption of meat has completely changed since working on these farms. I often think of something Mokey Moon told us on our previous farm: how can I eat an animal I never knew? I went to the grocery store yesterday and stood in the meat isle trying to decide which bacon to buy. I found myself wanting to know the animals, how they were raised, how they died. After being so connected to my food, it was so completely strange to know nothing. How can we reconnect?
Now it’s time to tell you about the dreaded flame weeder. First, let me describe it to you. It’s similar to a push lawnmower, except instead of blades, it has cylindrical torches at the bottom. And it runs on propane. To light it, you have to turn on three knobs (each one adjusts the level of propane coming out) and then put your hand under the cylinders and click a lighter, pulling your hand away quickly so as not to get burned by the high blast of flames. Unfortunately, there is no gauge to tell you how much propane is coming out, and you can’t tell by the sound either. Because there are three knobs, and because multiple people use the same machinery, it can be hard to know which knobs are turned up or down when you first turn it on.
Masha and I were tasked with flame weeding a section of the property because a previous wwoofer had brought fleas, and burning the area is the best way to kill them without poison. The first several times we used it, all was well. But then, a week in, Masha had a slight mishap and scorched off some arm hair when the machine let out too much propane. No harm was done, so we kept using it. The next day, I pulled the flame weeder out, hooked up the propane tank, and for some reason couldn’t get it to turn on. Finally, after adjusting and readjusting the various knobs, I heard the woosh of propane and bent down to light it quickly so it didn’t let out too much propane and explode in the air. As soon as I clicked the lighter, the space in front of me was filled with a cloud of flames. My stomach flipped, I felt heat on my face, and smelled my hair and skin burning. I jumped back, ran, and rolled on the ground to make sure I was not on fire. I sat there for a second, stunned and unsure of what to do, I felt panic and knew something might be seriously wrong, but I was so dazed that I couldn’t even sort out how to move. At some point, I called for help, and when Masha and KC came to help, the pain began to set in. I don’t quite remember getting into the house, but the next thing I knew, Alana was putting cool washcloths and hydrogel on my face and I was getting into the car to go to the hospital. My face was so hot, that the water in the bowl on my lap I was using to refresh the washcloth quickly warmed up and was no longer very effective for the last 15 minutes of the drive. At the hospital, they rushed me back and helped cool my burns. By the time the pain meds set in, I was much more comfortable. I was diagnosed with 1st and 2nd degree burns across my face and knuckles, as well as a scratched cornea. After being monitored for several hours, I was discharged with antibiotics and instructions on how to care for my burns. I was so, so lucky. The doctors told me that if I hadn’t closed my eyes, I could have lost my eyesight, and that if I would have been breathing in when I lit the lighter, I might have not made it. When I knew I was okay, I was overwhelmed with a sense of joy and acceptance. I’ve never felt more happy to be alive, to have a needle stuck in my arm, to be able laugh, to be able to sit in an ER room, to be able to see everything around me, to be able to feel pain. The whole time I was in the hospital, I had The Season by Tucker Zimmerman in my head, which has become a theme song to my time in Joyce.
Masha stayed with me the whole time I was in the hospital, providing reassurance, support, and love. I am so lucky to have them. They gave up their whole day to sit with me, keeping me company and making me laugh. Their kindness and support continued outside of the hospital, too. They helped take care of me when I was sick, made me food, and helped me get the rest I needed. I wish more people could be loved by someone like Masha.
This concludes part one! While you wait for part 2, you should click this link and listen to The Season: The Season by Tucker Zimmerman
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I have wondered for sometime what my nephew Brent’s daughter is and was doing… Now I know! She’s seeing and jumping through and diving into the world. Wow! And I love how she shares the immersion into the wonderful and diverse animal kingdom that is out there in the world.. especially the humans. Now we are learning what wwoofing is all about. My daughter Holly is immersing into the plant kingdom in Chattanooga, Tennessee: she would like to read of Claire’s adventures. But be careful, Claire, this world can be dangerous, as your writing has well described for us. Uncle Kurt
My poop scoop pumpkin squirt whooper bud 😻