Gasping for air through remote villages

After a grueling 2 hour drive from Chiang Mai to The Pong Duad Hot Spring, our group finally set off on the first leg of our trek. I was practicing mind over body: it was clear to me that I had bronchitis and fortunately, my roommate had some antibiotics that she was willing to share with me. But I was secretly very, very concerned. My small pack felt heavy and I found myself short of breath with even the smallest incline. As an asthmatic, I'm no stranger to bronchitis and the potential danger that it could represent for me. My greatest fear was that I would somehow impact the group. But it was too late to turn back and I plodded along, taking comfort on the fact that our first leg would only be 1.5 hours. 

In fact, we came to the village of Ban Pong Noi, a small village of ten families of the Karen tribe in just over an hour. The first sign of civilization was a happy looking pig tied to a rudimentary hut.  And then another. And then, a pathway, framed by large poinsettia trees opened to a much larger barn-like structure, which I learned would be our accommodations for the evening.  We were all anxious to check out our digs,and after removing our shoes, we climbed the steep staircase to a large covered porch.  Our digs turned out to be a large room with 9 mats, a pile of blankets, a pillow, and mosquito netting, a necessity for this region that featured malaria and dengue fever. 

Sleeping in a loft in a barn-like building was apparently a novel experience for us all. And we happily set up our beds, reminded of our childhood days of fort building and the like, and smothered on our deet to protect from the Mosquitos,  preparing  ourselves for darkness to fall.  I was glad that I had rented a sleeping bag, most had not. As I spread my brand new silk sheet inside, I felt pleased that I did not have to give too much thought to sanitation. I ended up next to a window, which was really a cut out diamond shape in the wall.  I appreciated the extra light at that moment. Little could I have known that that window would provide me with an unending shower of moist cold air in the middle of the night.

After set up, I was anxious to check out the village.  First, of course, was to check out the latrine.  After taking in the sweeping view from the porch overlooking the village's recently harvested rice paddies, I spotted the facilities.  To the left, a small hut featuring a cold shower for the not so feint of heart, to the right, a "bathroom" featuring a squatting toilet and a water spigot into a bucket.  After using the toilet, we were to wash it down by pouring water into it. I did not learn where it all went.  Based on the train experience, which I learned went straight on the tracks, I figured it would be much the same.  

The village was lively.  Chickens and chicks wandered about as did dogs and the occasional cat.   I could hear children laughing, but generally, people remained out of sight.  Each family had a home not too dissimilar from ours, which I learned had been built by our travel company, Intrepid, for the express purpose of hosting travelers like ourselves.  Houses were built high up on stilts, which serves a number of practical purposes.  Underneath, a family might be storing dried rice, a chicken coop, or even clothing.  Kitchens, rooms that featured basic shelving and an open fire, had designated areas where washing occurred, the water and the waste dripping down to the ground below where the chickens and dogs rooted around for food scraps.

Our dinner was being prepared by Eddie, one of our guides with a terrific sense of fun, with the assistance of  Rich.   I was mesmerized by their process--fresh produce and meat were assembled neatly on trays on the floor.  Eddie had rigged up some music from his iPod, and we all helped ourselves to warm cans of beer, provided at the rate of $2 each by the villagers.  Before long, we were visited by a couple of ladies offering some wares for sale.  Initially I felt somewhat obligated to make a few purchases, a couple of rope bracelets and a pair of earrings, but I realized pretty quickly that it was all machine made and really, really cheap.  Later, when approached by villagers, I refused to buy any, which brought on hard stares and looks of disgust.  

Dinner turned out to be spectacular.  Eddie, as it turned out, has an incredible gift in the culinary arts.  For both nights of our trek, Eddie turned out course after course of traditional Thai dishes, easily the best food that I had tasted since arriving in Thailand.  

The cold fell fast and I was the first to turn in. While there was a small bonfire of sorts, and Eddie was getting out his guitar and "happy water", Rye whiskey with blackberries, I was anxious to stave off further illness so I opted out of the fun.  I snuggled down in my sleeping bag keeping all my clothes on, including my jacket. The sleeping bag was clearly designed for a chilly evening, not the descending arctic blast that we were experiencing.  The unseasonable cold was great for hiking, but rough for sleeping.  And when I awakened in the middle of the night with a raging sore throat and freezing cold as wet cold air rained on my head, I cursed myself for not piling on the dirty blankets and leaving my wool scull cap at home. It was COLD.   Sanitation be damned, I piled on anything and everything I could, all the while praying intensely that I would not awaken even sicker.

The next morning, all we could do was laugh and laugh.  We all froze. And I was particularly thrilled to hear Luca, a 20-something tough guy from Australia, recount his own middle of the night reckoning with sanitation, as he introduced all the dirty blankets into his sleeping bag in an attempt (failed) to find a modicum of warmth.  If nothing else, we had bonded as a group.  Even the guides proclaimed the cold to be highly unusual.  

Amazingly, I was able to hold my own while trekking the next full day.  The terrain was varied enough that after each incline, I had an adequate amount of time to rest as we walked long distances on mountain ridges.  We had our lunch at another small village along the way, the traveled on to a much larger village for another night in a sleeping loft. 

 This Karen village,  Ban Pa Khao Lam, was perched above a wide river and despite the cool, I could hear young children playing in the river, swimming until near dusk.  Bed set up went faster this time and we were ready for the cold.  My strategy: 2 pairs of pants plus a borrowed hat.  Also, we battened down the windows and doors, keeping the cold wet air at bay.

 Before long, women appeared offering massages.  I did not hesitate. For 200 baht, about $6, I received a delicious one hour full body massage.  As the late afternoon sun streamed into the barn and the sound of cow bells and children playing permeated the air, I could not imagine a more enjoyable setting.  Later, after another even more delicious meal prepared by Eddie and Rich, some of us commented to one another that a 5 star hotel could not deliver a better experience.  

Each day, Rich prepared us for what we could expect for the following day.  I was clearly on the mend from bronchitis, but nowhere near free and clear.  Rich warned us of a "big up." I was worried.  The "ups" were downs for me.  As it turned out, nothing could have prepared me for what was to come.  

It was not until our third and final trekking day that the "big up" happened.  The morning passed easily enough.  We followed a river for a while and I enjoyed the changing flora and fauna.  After stopping at Eddie's home village, where I stupidly consumed 2 small bags of Lay's potato chips, one flavored barbecue Thailand-style (I do not recommend), we started the incline.  It was steep, very steep,and within 10-15 minutes, I was hacking and gasping.  My lung capacity was still at about 60% of my norm and I felt queasy, no doubt worsened greatly by the disgusting chips.  It did not take long for the group to start to pull ahead, and I fell woefully behind.  I had to stop every 20 yards or so, if even that far, to catch my breath, and more than once fell completely on the ground.  I kept asking Rick when the "big up" would be over. He was grim.  

In the end, the group was held back about an hour or more due largely to my inability to keep pace.  I took very small comfort in that my roommate also paced with me, but I was not sure if that was out of necessity or kindness.  She is a doctor from Canada, and she instructed me on breathing techniques, which definitely helped.  It was difficult to appreciate the gorgeous vistas and ever changing landscape.  I had made it this far, but the prospect of dying on the mountain crossed my over imaginative mind more than once.  My legs were fine. It was my lungs that betrayed me. 

 The  guides cut the hike about 40 minutes short.  Some members of the group were cranky about it and I felt terrible when I found out. But luckily, that all came much later.  When I saw the group at the final meeting area, I was wild with enthusiasm. I had made it.  The trek itself paled in comparison to my Inca Trail trek in terms of technical difficulty.  But the bronchitis, way underestimated by me, turned that trek into Mount Everest as far as I was concerned. It was a tough lesson and one I'll never forget.  We had trekked 20 miles through the mountains.  Looking ahead,  I had two days of over 70 miles of biking. I was prepared to stay behind, if necessary. Time would tell.

Bangkok TBD

I had just shy of 24 hours in Bangkok before our group would depart by overnight train to a city in the Northwestern part of Thailand, near the Laos border. I had a few more disappointments to endure before things got better.  I was intent on salvaging my foodie tour, if at all possible. The guide wIuld meet me at the hotel, where I would stash my bags and we would head out for a few hours. In short, it was a bust. The guide wasted no time in trying to talk me into a tour of a flower market and temple instead, proclaiming the traffic too challenging to make much of our time.   By then, I was ready to have a proper meltdown. From gate to hotel had been a torturous 2 hours in immigration lines with sketchy looking people and relentless fume spewing  traffic. Where was all that happiness that Thailand promised?

I explained through clenched teeth that flowers were of no interest to me, and we set off by taxi, me trying to manage my spiraling foul mood, my guide, perhaps dealing with his own issues.  It was not a match made in heaven. We did make it to a wonderful market in the end, but the experience was mediocre at best and after a madcap race to get back to my hotel to meet my group, I handed over the fee with barely tamped down disgust. I felt robbed. Was this a sign of things to come?

Just as I completed my transaction with the guide, I was greeted and whisked away to our group meeting point by Rich, pronounced "Rit".  The meet up point was across the street from the hotel and as we stepped outside, I did not recognize my own street. The foodie guide and I had gone through a different exit, so it had been a few hours since I had seen my chaotic street, which has been crammed with taxis, motorbikes and cars.  The street was transformed into a pop up festival. 

 People, many, many foreigners now filled the streets wearing their best bohemian outfits, many barefoot, some with small children.  Food stands crammed both sides of the street,  their vendors offering an astonishing array of dishes with the freshest of ingredients--soups, grilled meats, fish and fruit, noodle dishes, and more.  American music blasted from the restaurants that blended the indoors with outdoors.  Massage parlors were set up street side.  

 Colorful  lanterns strung across the street added to the festival atmosphere.  This was "Bourbon Street, New Orleans," on steroids, but without the obnoxious drunks and focus on alcohol. The food vendors are serious chefs, adjusting food orders to preference and serving the food restaurant-style at small cafe tables with plastic chairs on the sidewalk.   Bangkok is a city that is meant to be experienced at night.  Later, I would enjoy my first street food of Thailand--vegetable Pad Thai, at the encouragement of my travel savvy roommate, the first of many delicious $1 meals to come.

Things continued to improve when I met my group. There were 9 of us and everyone was in great cheer. Two couples, one father and son, all Americans, one Canadian  woman traveling solo, who would be my roommate when we stayed in hotels, and one Australian  guy traveling solo.  Rich gave us a thorough overview and did not shy away from providing us the important cultural context, including a brief description of his own 12 years as a monk, his tribal background, and bhis extensive experience as a guide. I exhaled and ordered a second beer. Everything would be fine. I was in good hands, my group was friendly. 

Having been warned about traffic fumes, I opted out of our group's first day of activities. I was sure that a case of bronchitis was attempting a landing in my chest, and as an asthmatic, this could spell disaster for my next 11 days of trekking, biking and kayaking.  Instead, I had the good fortune to be personally guided by a young, beautiful Thai woman, a relative of my brother-in-law's in-law.  Parichat is a nurse who moved from her small town in Northeastern Thailand to get her masters degree and eventually work at a private hospital in Bangkok. Parichat was the epitome of grace, giving up her precious free weekend time to spend a half day with me checking out sights in Bangkok.  I told her that I wanted to go on a boat.  Bangkok has a complex system of canals that are still used for transport and commerce.  But first, lunch, again at a roadside pop up restaurant amongst native Thais. Then, a quickie tour of Golden Mountain, a Buddhist temple that affords incredible views of Bangkok, which is a vast and sprawling city of over 11 million people. 

Afterwards, we climbed onto the commuter canal boat at the first stop.  The long wooden boat could hold up to approximately 100 people.  Climbing in and out of the boat requires just that, climbing.  Parichat bought us tickets for the "end of the line," which I found out later was new territory for her as well.  We settled into of the bench near the front, strategically avoiding fumes, but more important, splashing water that was clearly highly tainted by raw sewage.  

Houses and shops lined the canals, the first of which were no more than shanties, leaning alarmingly, and then finally modern buildings and many, many buildings under construction.  The end of the line was about an hour on the canal. Parichat and I laughed as we ducked sprays of polluted water and watched the locals climb on and off the boat.  

It would be unfair to judge Bangkok based on 24 hours, but as a beginner traveler of Asia, I was not charmed. Later that day, I joined my group, after saying my goodbyes to Parichat, and we settled into our cozy bunks on the overnight train to Chiang Mai.  Onward.

Unexpectedly in Beijing and the hazards of travel

Arrival to Bangkok was an earned affair. My 15 hour direct flight to Beijing in Air China was uneventful enough. I even had an empty seat next to me, so I did not feel so constrained in economy and managed to grab a few hours of sleep. As the plane dropped gracefully through the sky for its flawless landing, I scrutinized Beijing for hints of its offerings, contemplating the Vegas-like lights and oversized, seemingly random boulevards largely free of cars.  I know better than to judge a City by its view from the air.  

My connection to Bangkok was tight, and I was mildly anxious. As we got closer to the ground, I saw it: a thick, unpleasant haze that was clearly discernible in the dark. I've been to very polluted cities (Santiago, Chile, for example), but I've never seen anything like this.  The Vegas-like lights disappeared in the fog of pollution. No wonder the streets of Beijing were so empty!

 I was feeling pleased with myself. At the end of my 20-hour journey to Bangkok, I had a beautiful luxury hotel lined up, complete with a pre-booked 2 hour jet-lag therapy spa treatment.  Following that, I would go on a personal "foodie tour" with a local expert.  Culture shock had nothing on me!

I could not have been more pleased to find the Air China staff person greeting passengers for Manila and Bangkok at the top of the ramp. The tight transfer had inspired Air China to personally escort us to our gate! How efficient of them! When I booked Air China, I was slightly wary, I was unfamiliar with the brand. The price was very, very attractive, 30% or more less than other carriers. I rationalized it. A Communist nation would have an efficient and disciplined airline, I decided. With the pressing of a few buttons, it was done. I was going to China, even if it meant only for a few hours in an airport.

China, as it turns out, had other plans for me. 

"You missed your flight." The Air China ambassador was indeed disciplined and efficient as he gathered a group of us and imparted this unfortunate news. As I took this in, I noted that there were others, including a woman who, like me, was traveling alone. And then, many more, mostly young and trusting as they laughed with each other anticipating their vacations in Thailand. In fact, there were several efficient, disciplined Air China ambassadors greeting, gathering, and herding about 40 of us.  Given the fact that Our flight was not scheduled to take off in at least an hour, an unsettled feeling crept in, and I began reviewing all the news I had recently consumed about China. 

Clearly, a group of 40 Americans are not likely to be kidnapped by China, but then again, a commercial airplane should not be shot out of the sky either, as had recently occurred in Ukraine. The world is an unstable place. Who knows what could happen?

I realize I have an over active imagination. But that imagination has helped me more than once, so I scoped out the scene and got busy with my cell phone. A quick email off to loved ones providing an update was little comfort. Over the next few hours, we were processed through immigration and herded onto buses. I figured that if we entered into a gates area with armed guards, my alarm would be justified.  At any rate, there was nothing to be done.  I was in Beijing! My plan:  I would focus on making friends with my captors! No email back from the lived ones. Clearly they were not alarmed!

The gates did materialize about 15 minutes from the airport.  It was a cheesy, low budget hotel. We were stuck until the AM. The hotel paired us up and I roomed with Diane, the woman I had spotted earlier. As we shared a lousy Chinese buffet dinner, she told me about her son, who will be marrying a Thai woman in two weeks. A new resident to Washington DC and an accomplished woman at the top of her game, Diane was a bonus in an otherwise thoroughly unpleasant situation. As I contemplated my paid for fancy hotel and spa treatment at 3:30 AM in the morning as I prepared to go to the airport 4 hours before my flight per our instructions, I reminded myself of the rules of the travel game: flexibility and finding the gold in every situation. I found two: 1) Diane, whom I'm sure I will see again; and 2) I now know to more closely evaluate the carrier brand. I heard Thai Airways has great service!

Thailand, here I come!

In 1 day, I’ll be in Thailand.  For my first trip to Asia, I wanted something accessible.  When I asked on Facebook, my friends pointed me toward Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos.  But the timing on those organized trips did not work as well for me, so I booked Thailand.  Similar to Peru in 2013, I have designed an active trip that combines physically demandingactivities with  culture and retreat.   It is hard to top the Inca Trail, but I love the itinerary.  I’ll be trekking to small villages, biking through agricultural areas,, kayaking the River Kwai, staying with families, camping, and seriously roughing it.  I have spent a lot of time reflecting on my some of my best  travel experiences in life,  and there is a definite correlation between the authenticity of the experience and the richness of the experience.

The last time I checked in on this blog, I was driving the streets of Baltimore and contemplating my transitional existence in a city in transition.  My experience was more David Simon than John Waters or Barry Levinson.  And, I was tentatively making a connection between my newfound passion for agriculture and the streets of Baltimore through an ambitious grocery store, Apples & Oranges. 

Fast forward, I’m still transitional, but I’ve landed too.  After accepting a full-time position that has enabled me to live in my eastern shore waterfront cottage, I combine small town life with rural life. Agriculture continues to be a major focus for me and I've found a way to apply my community development skills in that arena.  

I'm looking forward to my full immersion into Asian culture. As a student of Eastern thought (mainly Chinese) for over 20 years, I've put this off too long. First stop, Bangkok. 

Apples, Oranges, crazy drivers, and urban life...

Coming back to Baltimore puts me on edge.  After months of living away, I’ve grown accustomed to a quieter, gentler, lifestyle.  As I drove up North Charles Street, a car traveling about 70 mph, passed me recklessly on my right--only to be stopped at the same red light that I am.  I pulled up alongside the car, my disgust emanating from me, to get a good look at the driver.  The driver was waiting for me.  She already had her window down and, as soon as she saw my face, she started screaming.  “You want….blah blah blah.?”  Repeat:  “You want…..blah blah blah?”  A chant.  She was having a great time, her eyes twinkling throwing her full body into her chant.  This was legitimate entertainment for her. 

I couldn’t hear her, and for a moment, I considered rolling down the window so that I could.  But that seemed risky and all at once, I felt a tickle of uneasiness creep over me.  She might have a gun.  It is impossible to know.  It is not a ridiculous possibility.   I looked her over and made a decision:  She was harmless.  The only power she would hold over me is the power to intimidate me. I smiled.  Not toward her, but as I looked straight ahead.  Honey, I thought, you’ve got nothing on me.   I am at least as crazy as you.  You might have a gun, but I am not afraid.  I refuse.  And with that, the light changed and we both took off.

I had bigger fish to fry.  I was on my way to see Apples  & Oranges, the new grocery store opened by Michele Speaks and Erich March, the multi generationally run funeral home, March Funeral Homes.  I’ve known Michele for years and have watched her talent across a number of platforms, including a stint as a board member to the department of recreation and parks, where she built partnerships with businesses leading to rec center renovations.  I knew her to be willing to speak her mind--smart, with attitude.  She has a huge smile that she flashes frequently, she is impossibly skinny, and when she laughs, she throws her head back.

As I drove across North Avenue to Apples & Oranges, I thought about Baltimore.  It does feel out of control to me.  But it always has.  So why does it bother me now?  At the intersection of North and Greenmount Avenues, I noticed that the fence around the empty lot on the NW corner had a knitted sweater.  Provided by some artist/activists, it could be a sign of hope offered out by one of Baltimore’s great strengths right now, a robust and active artist community.  The streets were lined with vacant houses and the streets littered with trash.  Despite an administration that has pledged 10,000 new residents over the next 10 years, Baltimore feels like a city in retreat.

Michele and Erich felt that they could no longer sit on the sidelines watching people die from heart disease and other food related illnesses.  In Baltimore, it is possible to have a life expectancy vary by 20 years depending on your address.  And many of these deaths are preventable.  Too many of these people were ending up at their funeral home, their lives cut short by heart disease, obesity, diabetes, and more.  Deaths by violence get a lot of media attention, but the deaths through preventable disease are frequently overlooked.  The fact that all of this exists in the shadow of one of the greatest health institutions of the world, the Johns Hopkins Medical Institutions, provides an ironic backdrop.

So, in the absence of anyone else stepping forward, Erich and Michele took a huge risk and opened a grocery store offering fresh produce in the heart of one of Baltimore’s food deserts a block away from one of their funeral homes.  When I stepped into the store, I was struck by the orderliness and cleanliness of the store, the beautiful displays of fresh produce, and the fact that there were not a lot of customers.  I quickly found Michele and we found a place to sit in her “community area”.  She had some funny stories to tell and some haunting ones as well.  She was active in the store daily and witnessed the behaviors that were leading to those health statistics.  And there were glimpses of hope too.  After one very obese woman defiantly defended her poor eating habits, Michele told her to think about the fact that she won’t be able to see her children and grandchildren into old age.  The woman hugged Michele and told her that she “would try to do better”.  Other customers got advice too.  One woman’s entire cart was emptied and restocked with fresh foods in favor of frozen.  She was given cooking instructions.  At Apples & Oranges, the customers were family.  Apples & Oranges is on the front lines of enormous social challenges and Michele is developing partnerships to help bridge some of those challenges.

When I asked her about her numbers, she said they were behind projections.  I was reminded of my own past struggles with Urbanite and the struggles of the farmers that I had met over the past year.  To boost sales, she was growing her catering business.  Some local businesses and institutions saw the value in having fresh food in the neighborhood and were making a point to purchase catered meals to boost sales.  I, too, began to notice the steady stream of Hopkins students coming by to pick up lunch.  There seemed to be the ingredients for success, a luncheon clientele and a steady catering business.  On the flip side, the realities of selling fresh food in a food desert were becoming clear to Michelle.  For too long the people in this neighborhood have gone without a grocery store.  They have developed habits, behaviors and even a taste for processed, high calorie, low cost food corn based foods.  And these habits will be difficult to change.

The challenges faced by Michele and Erich at Apples & Oranges illuminate the relationship between poverty, food choices, and health outcomes.  Federal agriculture subsidy programs, developed to ensure our nation’s ability to feed itself, have led us to a point where we are only beginning to understand the costs of those policies.  Unfortunately, for the most poverty stricken, it is costing them their lives. 

Bugs and bumpy landings

The first few weeks of my time on Cottingham Farm involved a lot of drama over the Colorado Potato Beetle (CPB), which clearly loves potatoes, but also has a fondness for tomatoes.  Cottingham is primarily a tomato/potato farm, so in hindsight, when Cleo pointed the bugs out to me, she was positively way too calm in my opinion.  At that time, there were few.  And then, almost all at once, there were many.   CPB’s don’t multiply.  They explode. The organic farming official regulations require that we hand pick the bugs off the plant before resorting to any approved spraying.

I was weirdly obsessed about eradicating the beetles.  I took it very seriously and examined every plant to find and destroy every bug or egg.  I found the whole endeavor physically exhausting and wondered to myself why on earth I insisted on being so dedicated to the cause.  Even my co-worker Miguel, after working on it for a few hours, turned to me and said, “this is boring” in his rudimentary English, and found an excuse to wonder off to another more important task.  Not me.  I was undeterred.   I used to love picking blackberries when I was younger.  Actually, I still like it, but when I was younger, I would disappear for hours and hours to the farthest reaches of the family farm to find every possible blackberry.  Somehow, this search and destroy mission lit up those same neurons that loved the blackberry hunt.  So, oddly, I was comfortable taking the lead and I made it my cause.

Later, at a dinner party, I was asked about my farm work.  As I recounted my recent days devoted to picking the CPBs off the potatoes, we all came to the same conclusion:  Organic Farming is hard, if not unrealistic.  Who can afford that kind of labor?  And, it is true.  Studies have shown that organic farming is much more labor intensive, and therefore expensive, than traditional commercial farming. This is ironic (and sometimes infuriating) because commercial farmers are well subsidized--even as their practices erode the land, pollute the waterways, and grow food that is inferior both in taste and nutritional value.

Beyond the bugs, life on the farm has presented other battles.  The summer rains, when they finally came, came in torrents leaving the aisles between the tomato plants filled with water (and tadpoles) giving rise to man eating mosquitos that attacked with such vengeance that one day, I opted to wear my raincoat in the 90 degree heat to avoid their ½ inch stingers.  A couple weeks later, when the heat index hit 130 degrees, I stayed home.  The realities of farming were hitting me.

At just about that same time, the tomatoes began to turn from green to yellow, red and purple, depending on the heirloom variety, and I finally had my first taste.  I have always loved tomatoes and usually will serve them with balsamic vinegar, basil and fresh mozzarella cheese.  But these tomatoes were not in the same league as the tomatoes that I’ve had before.  These tomatoes transcended all of that and wanted to be consumed with utmost simplicity:  sea salt and basil. 

On other fronts, I found my reentry to Maryland to be bumpy at best.  In my mind, the summer was to be transitional:  I would continue to work on the farm, but I would also reconnect with family and friends in Baltimore.  I underestimated the difficulty in integrating the peaceful existence free of responsibility that traveling enabled as I waded into the reality of dividing my time between Baltimore and the eastern shore.  All the while, my left arm, which had been troubling me, was finally diagnosed:  frozen shoulder.  Farming suddenly became even more challenging as I lost the use of that arm and my tentative plans for continuing farming for the next year were suddenly thrown up for discussion.  As I watched Jenna, the 32 year old farm manager, work 3 times faster than me and handle large machinery with ease, I began to awaken to my own physical reality:  I am a young 47, but I’m still 47. 

And while I enjoy the eastern shore and the endless joys that it brings:   Turtles crossing the road in the early AM;  Frogs hopping across the road after a rainstorm; Deer everywhere, including a handsome buck with at least 6 points who comes around in the evenings; Bunnies everywhere (there were 6 and now perhaps many fewer); A young fox and raccoon eating fruit from my trees at sunset; The regular sighting of a great blue heron fishing from my landlord's pier;  The occasional sighting of a bald eagle; Picking blackberries off the bushes from behind my house for my yogurt shake; and the occasional summer storm yielding double rainbows galore, I feel the stirrings of a new adventure calling. 

What? That is the question.