Rootstalk

A few weeks ago, I went to the first annual Rootstalk festival outside of Salem, OR. My friend, John, and I spent the weekend camping, going to classes, listening (and dancing) to bands, meeting awesome people, and generally having an amazing, mind-blowing time.

As soon as I found out about the existence of Rootstalk, I knew that I had to go. It was like someone had decided to make a festival just for me. With classes on herbalism, organic and sustainable living, wildcrafting, and more, I couldn't stay away. It was the right decision; the weekend was one of the best I've ever had. I still haven't fully processed my experiences (which isn't that surprising given that I was bombarded with bad news as soon as I got back). When it was over, I didn't want to come home. Normally when I see the Seattle skyline after being gone for a while, I feel euphoric. This time, I felt my stomach sinking. I was coming back to reality after being in a utopia.

I'm not entirely sure how to put my experience into words. Normally, words don't fail me, but in this case, I've barely been able to talk about it at all. I could talk about what classes we went to and which vendors I bought things from, but that was such a small fragment. It was more about the synergy (I hate that word, but in this case it fits) of the people, their combined knowledge and wisdom, the environment, and the activities we participated in.

What sticks out most in my mind is the overall feeling that some humans have given up a lot of things that we would probably be better off having in our lives. We have given it up in order to have the convenience of modern, city life, but I'm far from convinced that the tradeoff is worth it.

One of the presenters, Daniel Vitalis, said that he thinks that humans need fire - not just to cook our food and keep us warm. I can't help but agree that sitting in front of a real fire, whether I'm roasting marshmallows on a camping trip, having a bonfire on the beach, or sitting in front of a cozy fireplace, makes me feel good, like I'm getting something vital that I've been lacking. He aslo brought up that in modern western culture, we have developed the notion that we are somehow separate from the ecosystem. The fact is that we are part of the whole, and we can't escape that for good or ill. I'm not entirely sure what to do with that concept, but it rings true. Mostly, I want to spend more time in nature (I say as I'm sitting in my living room in my apartment in a major city) so that I can experience and hopefully understand what it is that I think it's so critical that we protect and live with in harmony.

The sense of community that pervaded the festival was amazing. Everyone was friendly and had a smile to share. There was no awkwardness about starting up a conversation with a stranger. We were all kindred spirits, and it was fabulous. The free tea pavilion was a great place to feel the camaraderie of the festival. People could be found there at all times of the day lounging on the cushions and making new friends. I would love to feel that wonderful sense of community in my daily life. It was jarring when I returned home and smiled at the first people who passed me on the street, only to have them avert their gazes and look obviously uncomfortable (though granted, it could have been that I looked like a derelict, dirty hippy... that is if it weren't still happening).

There is definitely something primal missing from my life. I realized this when a marching percussion band performed throughout the campground. People were drawn to them, and an impromptu parade formed as people followed them around, dancing their hearts out. It was reminiscent of the pied piper. That night we went to the woodland masquerade ball. I'll admit, before I went to it, I thought it sounded a little hokey. A masquerade ball? While camping? Outdoors? In reality, it was astounding. There is something profound about people wearing masks. Your identity becomes less important, and your ego melts away. People danced with abandon, unconcerned about whether they looked like idiots. And dancing outdoors... it's magical. The energy from the earth combined with the energy of the music and the other people was unreal. During the ball, it felt like I was part of a tribe, and I want that feeling back.

One of the things that was stressed over and over again by many different people in many different ways was that we shouldn't beat ourselves up when we fail to live up to our own expectations. The context was always that of living sustainably, but I think it applies to everything. When we try to change things 100% all at once, we are bound to slip some. I try to eat organic food as much as possible, but sometimes, I just need to buy a pizza, and that's OK. It seems to be human nature (well, American nature, anyway) that if we fail a little bit then we should just give up. Instead, we should be forgiving of our slipups and keep right on trucking, doing what we can. That's what I'm working on - doing what I can. For now I'm in Seattle in a small apartment with a cat who will eat anything green that she sees, so starting indoor window gardens isn't possible. I'm not going to be able to grow all of my own food on my shaded balcony. I can, however, keep maintaining my little garden (which I fully intend to truly maintain next spring/summer. I've mostly gotten over my bee PTSD and am pretty sure I'll be able to actually do work in the garden soon), and doing my best to eat organic and sustainably farmed food whenever I can. While it would be great if I were able to live in a perfectly permacultured (I've decided this must be a word) home that was completely self-sustaining. I don't, and I won't be able to do that for a long time. So I take baby steps, which are better than not doing anything at all.

John and I have big plans to start a club where we can spend time in nature, learning how to do awesome things that we learned about at Rootstalk, like making rope from plants, starting fires using the bow and stick method (essentially, rubbing 2 sticks together), wild foraging, and other awesome nature-based activities. We hope that by doing this, we'll manage to keep ourselves sane until next year's Rootstalk. I can't wait.

Covered in Bees!

I love bees. I love that they make honey and beeswax and pollinate our food. When I see fuzzy bees buzzing around flowers, I am happy. I am concerned about the decline in the bee population. I someday want to have a hive or two. Today, however, I had a bee encounter that wasn't very happy.

I was gardening on my tiny balcony, happy as a clam that the weather was finally nice enough for me to want to garden. There was a bag of things that needed to be composted sitting on top of a pot filled with dirt (but with no plants). The bag had been there for most of the winter because I had been too lazy to bring it to the compost bin in the parking lot. I gathered up a newer bag of stuff to be composted and the old bag and walked into my apartment.

I felt something sharp and stabby over my shoulder blade, and then I immediately saw a bee flying around. Then I felt something stabby in the back of my neck, and my arm, and OH MY GOD! There were bees flying all around me, stinging me. I realized they were coming from the old bag of stuff that had to be composted. I had the presence of mind to fling the compost bags back out onto the balcony (screaming all the while - turns out, I scream like a girl). Then I did a crazy run/dance into the kitchen trying to rid myself of bees. They eventually left me alone and went to the windows. Just then, my friend called to confirm our plans for the evening. I answered the phone sobbing and in a bit of shock. She suggested putting out bowls of sugar water to attract the bees, and she also suggested vacuuming the bees with a long hose. The bees were still quite agitated, flying around my apartment, trying desperately to get back to their hive.

I lit some incense (also suggested by the aforementioned friend) to try to calm the bees down (if beekeepers use smoke, why not try it?). My cat thought that the bees were great fun and was doing her best to catch one, which freaked me out. I didn't want her to get stung too. Eventually the bees settled down. There were 5 or 6 total. I sucked 4 of them up with my vacuum (crying all the while. I wanted to let the poor bees go home, but I didn't want to let any of the ones that were outside into my apartment, and I certainly didn't want to get stung again. I hated killing the poor bees that hadn't done anything to me). I trapped one of the bees between the screen and the window in my kitchen (I also feel dreadful about that). Because I'm not entirely sure if there were 5 or 6, there could be a bee in the belly of my cat, there could be one hiding somewhere in my apartment, or they could all be accounted for.

Looking on my balcony, it appears that the beehive is somewhere in the vicinity of the big pot that the compost had been resting on. It could be in the pot or somewhere nearby. I'm certainly not going onto my balcony today to try to figure it out (though I might check it out tonight when the bees are in the hive). Now I need to find someone to remove the bees, which I'm sure will be another adventure. Hopefully, they will make a beekeeper somewhere very happy.

I also have to mention the irony... I'm on a dating website, and my user name is a variation on Covered in Bees! (from an Eddie Izzard bit). It turns out that being covered in bees isn't very fun.

:Edit:
I just found the 6th bee. It has been vacuumed up with the rest of its cohorts, and my apartment is once again free of bees.