A Huntington Locavore's Survival Guide, Part I

WalMart, I have changed my number. Kroger, we must break up. I've decided the relationships have soured. I long for fresh foods, grown locally. I miss knowing where my veggies slept last night. I don't like eating food that's been around the block a few times or lies about its age. What's a girl to do? It's a scary prospect, but you go for a committed relationship. Not with the guy from out of town that has locations all over the country, but with a nice local boy.

This girl is committed to shopping and eating locally. A locavore. Also known as a locovore, but never a locuvore. I'm vegetarian; I don't eat locusts. I took eating locally for granted in my previous town (shout out to Austin). There were several restaurants that either provided locally grown produce, or solely used locally grown produce to create their culinary goodies. When I moved to Huntington two months ago I just started going to WalMart and Kroger like everyone else. The walk of shame back to my car (often without my eco-friendly bags) became easier with each trip. Last week I decided once and for all to support my local peoples (go with it). I spread the news to everyone I encountered. Then, the day of the commitment, I . . . I . . . I cheated. (red-faced) Not intentionally, of course. No one ever means to cheat. Sometimes it just happens. Hell, I hadn't even started seriously dating locally yet. Convenience and necessity pushed me to it. It's a poor excuse, I know. Hear me out, then make me eat GMOs.

A friend was visiting this weekend and offered to make us all a fine meal of burritos. I don't turn down someone else cooking me a meal. The guys are carnivores, so meat had to be provided. I could eat beans. We had all the ingredients, so cooking was just about to commence. We pulled the meat out of my mom's freezer and the icy coating looked suspect. The date: April 29, 2008. My mother obviously does not eat a lot of red meat. My friend looked at me and said, "WalMart?" My reply, "I hate my mom's bad meat for making me go to WalMart." So, off I went. And, I just dug the hole a little deeper by buying some TVP for me in addition to two pounds of lean beef. Sigh.

I am dating locally now. I am challenging myself to going local for a month straight. I want to prove that locavores can exist in Huntington. For local produce I have several farmer's markets from which to choose: Heritage Station, 14th Street, and Huntington's Kitchen (on 3rd Avenue).

Thanks to Yellow Goat Farm (www.yellowgoatfarm.com) I now own 1/14 of a goat and have access to yummy artisanal cheeses. They also have goat milk, soap and a nice selection of jellies. It is all quite delicious.

Although local grocery options are few, I know I have at least two. Travis, at Healthy Life Market (http://healthylifemarket.com/) inside Drug Emporium at the mall, is one of my BFFs. If he doesn't have something in stock he will do his best to order it for you. There is also Julian's Market (Mansour's in my past life) at 1049 12th Street. The staff are very friendly and helpful. I know that this is one place I can get those hard to find spices and herbs.

I felt much better about being faithful to my new relationships with my locals as I ate my herbed chevre salad and tikka masala veggies. It felt comfortable, like it was meant to be.

Lemonade - Original, please

I like lemons as a fruit. Straight up, even. Or, with salt to make them even more sour. However, I would prefer not to have lemons as a situation. Though cliche, the old adage of making lemonade of lemons holds true. How does one go about making lemonade of lemons? How do you start with nothing and make something of it? I think that most of the time we take nothing and create something that is comfortable. Familiar. A rehashing. How do you create something original? This does sound redundant to me. Create something original. Original is referring to the origin or beginning of something. Create is to bring something into existence. To cause to come into being.

I suppose the conundrum is not the creation of originality, but the acceptance of something original. Unfamiliar. We can create - make new, but if it is not accepted, if it is rejected, the creation dies. Simple. The solution is to convince others to feed the creation. It's like a petting zoo, though. The children visit the zoo and beg their parents for a quarter to buy a handful of feed. They gleefully skip to the edge of the fence and feed the fluffy cloud sheep. Familiar. However, no one gleefully skips over to the tank of which you are caretaker. The beautiful, exotic Columbian Redtail Boa. She's beautiful, but unfamiliar. Sometimes the children even offer a shriek. None of the children have read a book where they count the Columbian Redtail Boas jumping the fence to aid them in their sleep. So, you and only you feed the Redtail. You and the Redtail are very lonely - a solitude you don't enjoy. You start having a show-and-tell every 3 hours to teach the children about the Redtail - where she comes from (origin), what she likes to eat (avoidance of death), and why she is so interesting to you (and why others might find her so). At the end of every show-and-tell you allow the children to pet the Redtail, showing them how she, like sheep, likes being scratched on the head. After several weeks you notice that children start visiting the Redtail and her Serpentes friends. The Redtail has an audience. The children excitedly share their newly found intelligence on the Redtail. You pour yourself a glass of lemonade and listen.

Self Awareness

I am not necessarily a "Pollyana" type, but I do (or did) believe most people have manners. That is now in question. Humans are competitive by nature. I understand that. I am very competitive and a bit of a control freak. I try to be self-aware. However, I am finding more and more that people are totally unaware of self. Or perhaps it's that they are hyper-aware of self. I observe self-absorbed stares on people's faces as they navigate a store. These are the people that will run into you and give you a dirty look for not moving. They are so hyper-aware of their wants that it eludes them that they were the rambling pinball that just tilted. They are the ones that cut you in line and offer no apology, because they really didn't see you (hyper-awares only see themselves). These are the people who say hurtful things and never apology because their words meet a need for themselves and how they affect others is not a concern. I think it has reached epidemic proportions. Americans have become obese and bloated by self-consumption.

Why am I ranting on this today? It's car inspection day for me. Yes, I did wait until the last minute, but life has been hectic and the trivial forgotten. I arrived at the inspection super store 25 minutes prior to the 9:00 time I was told to arrive by an attendant yesterday. At five minutes prior to 9:00 some gentleman arrived with speed. Then another - this one even pulling up to the bay. The first guy hopped out of his car, looked at me, and started looking for someone to take him. He knew I was waiting, but he honestly was expecting to go ahead of me. He made a beeline for the front door and I was instantly set in competition mode. Finally, one of the mechanics arrived. "Here for inspection?" he asked me and the first guy. We replied, "Yes." The first guy followed him and asked him something. Then he jumped back into his car and sped off just as fast as he had arrived. At nine I walked to the front door just to be told by the manager that the inspector would not arrive until 10:00. I was peeved not because the inspector wouldn't be there until 10:00 but because the mechanic nor the first guy said anything. Couldn't you pass on the message people? On the way back to my car I passed the message along to the other waiting people in an attempt to get some good karma in the air. I decided that I could either choose to be angry about a situation I could not control or I could turn that frown upside down with a scone and latte.

In the universe's continuous battle to create balance, when I returned to the inspection super store at 9:45 the manager informed me that because I had not left the premises that mine would be the first car inspected. Go good karma!

Go forth my friends and use your humanity for good and not evil. Or, at the very least, just don't be one of those hyper self-aware types.

Om, says Steven Segal

Yesterday at 7 A.M. my alarm clock (a.k.a. Macon, the cat) awakened me. It was Saturday, and I had planned on sleeping in a tad longer. However, I decided that I needed to pack my day full of usefulness. I talked myself into, out of, and back into attending a 9 o'clock yoga class. If I'm moving to a town of 2 yoga instructors and no known studios I should at least have some basic knowledge of yoga. I arrived at the yoga studio with 2 minutes to spare, and I was looking forward to an hour of serenity and well-being.

The instructor helped the one other student and me set up. Sitar music lulled me into an "it' all good" mental state, and I had just accomplished some sense of balance with my Tree pose when a not too pleasant voice exploded the silence. "You DO know we're having an akido workshop here today, right? They did tell you!?" It was more of a demand than a question. My instructor's soothing voice stated that she, in fact, was not aware. Can we end the class? "We've actually had the studio since 9:30, so we can set up. It HAS been booked for three months." The tone of the man's voice made me want to punch him. The instructor's voice stayed calm as she inquired if we might work in a corner of the room to end our class. Mr. Akido would have none of it. "We have the WHOLE room booked. You'll have to leave." That was that. My inner being wanted to alter the Downward Dog into an I Fart in Your General Direction pose.

As there were only the three of us the instructor suggested we finish the class in the store front. Our poses were punctuated with akido conversations of the god, Steven Segal. Apparently, there was a film where he was reincarnated. I pictured the god Steven Segal as a variety of animals with many limbs. The thought of it made me giggle. At least there was some connection to yoga. I imagined even he would have wanted to strike Mr. Akido with one or more of his many limbs if he had been there. The thought of it brought me peace.

Namaste.

That "tween" stage

I need to pack; that's a given. However, I find myself at that prepubescent "tween" stage of the move where I am totally unmotivated. Friends want me to come see their shows, meet them out-of-town, and, in general, just socialize. The tween is always ready to socialize. "Meet you for drinks? Of course!. I don't have anything on my plate right now." Meanwhile, the parental subconscious is reminding the tween that she has orphaned furniture to move into new homes and countless books to pack. The tween rebels by going out almost everyday and, when staying in, decides that she absolutely can watch a movie and pack at the same time. However, the tween really does not have the self-discipline to multi-task and winds up making appetizers to match the setting and characters of the flick. At some point the parental subconscious says, "Enough is enough, young lady!" and banishes the tween to her apartment - daring her to pick up the phone or reply to emails. The tween is officially punished.

Living Green

Note: If you’re not a greenie you may be totally bored by this post, but go ahead and read it. It’s like oatmeal. It’s good for you.

This weekend Austin Convention Center hosted the Green Living Expo. The expo had tons of information on green building, sustainable food, and healthy living. I met several vendors, a couple of which deserve mentioning.

Nada Moo is a lactose-intolerant body’s best friend. It’s a coconut milk based ice cream. Quite yummy! The Java Crunch has to be my favorite. Unfortunately, the product is not on the east coast, yet.

I also found my new favorite cleaning product is Karmalade Scrubbing Souffles. The creator, Cynthia Brevil, has developed a gentle scouring agent that is completely green and safe. Karmalades come in several fabulous scents. My three favorites are Lavender Sugar Cookie, Lemon Meringue and Almond Butter. I bought one jar and told Cynthia that I would try it out and if I totally loved it I would come back for more. I scrubbed my kitchen and bathroom down. It worked so well that I bought three more jars. Karmalades are on etsy and it really is a great product. Plus, the packaging is pretty and recyclable to boot! The link is www.karamalades.etsy.com.

They also offered free yoga sessions at the expo. I took advantage and the results were jello-y. My body was contorted into several Cirque de Soleil positions. I haven’t done yoga in years, and it was all self work, so I never pushed myself to the point that I should have. Sara, the instructor, was not aware that I was fluxing between heaven and hell. I think I now know what torture victims endured during Medieval times. However, the end result was a relaxed pool of me.

There may not be a green expo where I am going, but I look forward to finding the “green” in WV.

Hoarders

I am at that point in the move preparation that I hate. I call it the Hoarder Stage. My apartment has items thrown everywhere. Some in sealed boxes, some in unsealed boxes (hey, I might need that stuff), some in a pile to be sorted into boxes, and a final sad pile. The sad pile are items that have been used to the point of discard, odd items that have been given as gifts, or to decrease another person's "To Purge" list. An example is the Dollar Tree plaque with the scroll embossed encouragement: With God All Things Are Possible. I don't disagree, but I think I can carry this in my heart and lighten the packing burden. I doubt God will be offended, but I will have a coffee chat with him later to be sure. I'll make the good French Roast.

See the problem with packing a small apartment is you have no where to store items to help you keep a sense of what stays and what goes off to a nice farm to play with other junked treasures in an open field with plenty of fresh air and a warm fire in the winter. I can imagine this is how hoarding starts. I can feel the stress and pressure of all the "stuff." The current state of my apartment makes Grey Gardens look like a lovely cottage B & B in upstate New York.

There were just a few things in the beginning. Over the years they have accumulated. You can always think of a reason not to let go of something. Everything has a story. Everything has a past. Sentimental chains that make us attach our very human emotions to a thing that wil never bring us a cup of French Roast. At some point you start thinking, "I just can't deal with the overwhelming mountainess (my word) of it all!" My plan is to jump into Weekend Warrior mode. It may take a Bond movie or two - or, a friend's fave, Full Metal Jacket. Hmmm . . . too much killing. I need something Zen. Perhaps a few candles. No. Fire hazard around moving things. Okay, my yoga videos and some sitar music. Dear Jesus, that will throw me into a trance. Okay, I'm back to Bond. Bond it is. The apartment will be transformed into a neatly packed storage unit by sundown Sunday.

Divergence

The purpose of this blog is to explore what happens when a self-created urbanite returns to her hometown. My progression from small town sweetheart (I will make myself appear very movie-like ingenue in these posts to deter boredom) to big city mover and shaker (cliches tie into the whole movie theme - go with me) began over a decade ago. I have shaped my persona in Gainesville, FL (I started small and safe), NYC (now you get the picture), and Austin, TX (the only democratic city in all of Texas). I have experienced things that seem dreamlike to me. Now, due to unforeseen circumstances, I am returning to my hometown. Isn't that the safe way to excuse yourself from explanations? "Due to unforeseen circumstances." Anyway, I am returning to Huntington, WV.

I visualize this branching and automatically thought of a divergence. However, is this more like a tree growing back into itself? The branches turning back into the trunk? I am attempting to keep myself from turning in and find ways to continue to branch out. I have to for my own survival. Most people worry about larger things; I'm petty.

This is the basis of this blog. How does one survive moving from very large cities (NYC 8.5 million - Austin over 1 million) to a small town of roughly 50,000. That includes the outlying towns; Huntington proper isn't even that big.

I could list all the things I'm going to lose as a result of this move: live music everywhere I walk, opportunities to perform in experimental pieces, availability of certified organic food, Whole Foods (the nearest one is 3 hours away) . . . . However, I want to focus on what I can accomplish. If it isn't available what can I do to get it or make it happen?

As I go on my journey please call me out if I start my elementary whining of, "I can't do it." I may sometimes need a kick in the backside. Push me to explore and find ways to be creative, cultivating and culinary in my new surroundings.

Thoughtless Awareness

Some people make you want to drink . . . heavily. Not in an alcoholic sense, but in a "sedate me to the point of sleep" kind of way. It wouldn't have to be alcohol, I suppose. Perhaps a Benadryl, Nyquil, or a complete box of chamomile tea. Transcendental meditation should make a reappearance into casual society. Thoughtless awareness. As I type this my neighbors are enjoying the herbal, smoky version of thoughtless awareness. This will be followed by obtrusive, poorly delivered music at high volumes which will drive me to . . . . Perhaps I will just counter with Gorecki or Crumb. My own version of raucous.