And The Adventures of... Depression?

Today at work I was practicing a Salmon in the Classroom presentation in which I used my hand to remember five salmon types. I looked down at my ring finger, which is used to remember silver salmon, as silver is often worn on that finger, and I noticed my mother's wedding ring. I then remembered that my mom was dead, somewhat suddenly, and began to cry until I heard the printer start up and immediately pretended to be on the phone so that the person who came to pick up their stuff wouldn't notice.

After work, in an effort to make my life less depressing, I found a meetup that looked pretty fun hosted at a brewery an hour away where you could choose between brews such as the campfire and peanut butter brew. I wrote a message to say I was new to the group, but was excited about coming and would be late and the response was: "okay." At this response I surmised that the organizer likely hated me, preferred I didn't come, and if I did go, everyone would just pretend to enjoy the fact that I was there. So, I didn't go.
...I think I have a problem.
And, I'm a master at self sabotage.

In an effort to drown my sorrows of crippling social anxiety, I opened, for the first time, a recipe book exclusively filled with chocolate recipes. As I flipped through it I realized that what I really wanted was the melting chocolate cake recipe that is my go-to in chocolate-craving times. Another flip revealed a notecard with that exact recipe written in my mother's hand.
I don't have enough eggs.

The End.

In other news, my nieces are hilarious:

Mini Memoir Spurred by College Application Prompt

Ironically, I was quite put off by Evergreen when I first toured the campus back in 2010, at the young age of 17. I didn't know yet any of my passions, who I would become, how much Evergreen's unique approach to learning would end up aligning with the way I pursued knowledge and change within myself. I only knew that I wanted to move to the Pacific Northwest and deep down I knew I wasn't really ready to go to college-the true reason for my lack of excitement while touring various colleges that fall. So, I took a gap year and fell in love with the ebbs and flows of agriculture, learning that I would not feel fulfilled unless I spent my life toiling in the dirt growing food for anyone I could. I learned I could fly to a country completely unknown to me with nothing but a backpack and a three-night reservation in a hostel and could thrive. Unfortunately, I also learned while working and traveling through New Zealand, that my mother was re-diagnosed with breast cancer and so I learned the terrifying yet liberating truth that plans and paths can drop and change in a second.

I had my heart set on a school in Florida, but with the news of my mother's cancer, I ultimately decided that Hendrix College, an easy seven-hour drive from home, was the best option. It was not the wrong choice–I met people who helped lead me toward who I would become, created ties with professors that would last a lifetime, and opened my mind to the possibility that learning in school did not have to hurt, but could in fact be truly enjoyed.  I was just getting into the groove of college the first semester of my sophomore year, having finally finished my four-year college plan when I got the call that my mom's health had plummeted. I left immediately to be with her and was blessed with three more weeks of her company before she passed on Oct. 27, 2013 at the age of 57. Despite knowing the inevitability of my mother's death, I was still taken off-guard. At 20, I entered a world of independence that was shrouded in grief. My friends, professors, and therapist helped me through and I finished another semester at Hendrix as a part time student, focusing my efforts on an anthropological study of grief in southern American culture, integrating my own personal experiences with data I was collecting.

I withdrew from Hendrix permanently in 2014, following my gut feeling that I would do better with some space to breath rather than forcing myself to stay on the path I had devised for myself before my mom's death. I knew if I was going to graduate college, it was going to be a conscious decision rather than an adherence to a path society created for me.  It didn't take long for me to start looking into Evergreen again, especially since my yearning to move to the PNW had never ceased. With more research, I was able to see how Evergreen has the ability to assist me the way I am, rather than my having to conform to an institutions' way of learning. I feel form-fitted for Evergreen in a way–knowing now that true feedback spurs me forward more so than grades ever could; knowing now that though my interests lie primarily in agriculture and environmental science, I must have room for those interests to grow and change and space enough to seek other opportunities seemingly unrelated to those disciplines to create a more holistic self; I know now that the costs of college are no joke, and since I provide for myself must choose a school that won't send me into the shackles of student debt for the rest of my life; I know now that a college degree is not an inevitable part of life, but learning is and more than anything right now, I desire to be in a space where people from all backgrounds can pursue their curiosities and I suspect I can find this at Evergreen.

Champagne for One Makes One Write Funny

To all my old friends:

I've spent quite a lot of time this past year distressed about how I was losing myself--thinking back to my teenage youth when I thought everything was awful but truly I was thriving despite my inability to keep up with my homework. But sitting here, drinking my bottle of champagne for one while counting down the hours till I can go to bed on this new years eve (okay, it's really not as depressing as it sounds); I am realizing that it isn't so much a younger version of myself that I have been yearning for, it is all of you. Ever since extracting myself from the community I was a part of for so many years I have been searching for all that I left behind (to, mostly, no avail).

So, my dear friends, for the start of this mysterious year of 2016 (goddammit, I'm still trying to grasp that the year changed to 2000!) I would like to tell you how very much I miss you, how very much I love you.

When pop stars sing about lost loves and how if even for a second they could get them back, I'm pretty sure those songs are written about y'all.
We were so fucking stupid and surely there was so much pain, but we were able to ride it out, sitting around a fire, speaking sweet nothings and laughing, laughing, laughing. You all were my vice, no need to weather the social situations with substances, we were all crazy pills for each other with only one side affect: love (holy god that was cheesy! The champagne is slowly going to my head). I remember the mornings I was determined to hate the day and y'all would refuse to let me win every. time. You are why I'm still alive. I took for granted how easy it was to ask for help when you're in a town that is filled to the brim with people you feel 100% comfortable with. Words can't do justice the joy I felt when I was surrounded by all of you. You all were my life.

Now, I haven't lost you, not really. But also (you know), I have. We were like a beautiful bombshell that exploded and landed all across the world to bring joy to other places and other people. I am so, so glad for that! I love hearing how amazing all of you continue to be. But now, it's 2016 and I haven't seen some of you since 2014 and I miss it all like parched ground misses rain.

I love you all. Here's to all those new years we spent together, and here's to whatever this one brings!

The Phases of Greif: A Pamphlet

After 3 months: You may be feeling a sense of deep sadness, along with many occurrences of happiness, though if you're feeling neither that is fine too. Feelings beyond the realm of language are quite likely as well.

After 6 months: You may be feeling a sense of deep sadness, along with many occurrences of happiness, though if you're feeling neither that is fine too. Feelings beyond the realm of language are quite likely as well.

After 12 months: You may be feeling a sense of deep sadness, along with many occurrences of happiness, though if you're feeling neither that is fine too. Feelings beyond the realm of language are quite likely as well.

After 2 years: You may be feeling a sense of deep sadness, along with many occurrences of happiness, though if you're feeling neither that is fine too. Feelings beyond the realm of language are quite likely as well. You may feel as though you're re-experiencing the loss all over again, other times you may feel afraid that a time may come when you don't think about them every day, because you can feel your life existing without them physically beside you. All, none, and some of these are normal.

Grief is not an affliction, it is a way of life. Stages cannot be prescribed as your grief is as unique as you and the loved one you lost.

The other day I was standing on the beach with Eric, and I felt a story of my past come up and instead of suppressing it as I would usually do, I let myself talk about it. I described fall in NH, how the paths in our neighborhood would be covered with vibrant dead leaves and I'd pile them up and serve pretend food to my mom. And then I broke down crying, realizing that I was utterly terrified that someday I would stop missing her.

Over the past year I have slowly allowed myself to shut my mom out of my public life. I didn't mean to, but talking about her inevitably led to talking about my grief and that made people feel uncomfortable.

So here is my mom:

Her name is Mary Ann Johnson, so yes, my last name is her maiden name. She grew up in Minnesota, a state I had the privilege of living in for a short stint last summer. I meant to bury some of the small items that belonged to her in the state, but I'm bad at enacting my ideas. I also don't have many memories of her from Minnesota, most of them are from Kentucky.
I remember that when I was young she would comfort me when I was sad, and then at least tried to comfort me when I was a teenager and denying comfort was my forte.
I know she liked to dress up when we would go out to see theatre performances, which we attended often because my family is entrenched in theatre. She would put on a necklace and make sure her shoes matched her dress and sometimes dab on a little perfume--to her wrists and her neck. She really liked the honeysuckle perfume that I believe was a present from Kate.
I remember she would sometimes work impossible hours, often 12 hours a day because she needed to be there for her patients--I see this in myself, this need to overwork if it is going to help others, so if you see that in me, thank my mom, it is her.
I remember that because of this she didn't end up cooking from scratch very often, even though she enjoyed it and when she did cook from scratch it was delicious--spotzan, lefsa, monkey bread, banana bread--most of her recipes came from  her mother and were kept in little brown boxes in the kitchen. She also loved Oreos; and enjoyed sharing that joy with others such as when she bought Gjon, my foreign exchange brother from Germany, a giant box bigger than his head of Oreos for christmas.
I remember she would call her siblings every Sunday and quite enjoyed sitting on the hammock with Jewels in her lap and pepper under her while she chatted. I picked that up too, but it is now an impossible memory to re-create.
I remember she would send me care packages for every holiday, even St. Patricks' day, and they always included special socks, which is why I now have nearly an entire drawer-full of seasonal socks. She even sent me a care package when I was in NZ and it included a beach ball that was sadly never used as I was there in the winter.
I remember she loved hanging out with her friends, but, like me, she also needed her alone time.

This is not even close to all of her, just the things I draw from the top of my head. I need to start talking about her again. And I don't need pity or a heartfelt "I'm so sorry" I just need you to know her, too.

Mom, tomorrow it will be two years since you left. I know you aren't really gone from me but it still feels like that sometimes. It does still suck hard and I'm still pissed at cancer and wish you were still alive and thriving. But my life is okay, it is full for sure. I am surely floundering about well, as those in our early 20s do--confused and terrified and excited. I do wish you were here to guide me, but you set me on a pretty good path and gave me the tools I needed to be okay long after you passed, so thank you for that. I love you past forever.

"The end of this month is reserved for honoring the dead by many cultures around the world. Our gardens now begin to show us what was believed by the ancient druids to be the closing of the natural cycle of the year." –Seattle Tilth gardening book

To two years of freedom from cancer!-A toast to you.

A Place Called Home

Today I used the dishwasher for the first time in order to wash all the new kitchenware my roommate and I bought to create a functioning kitchen. As I was laboriously scrubbing the inside of the cabinets, I poked my head out at the change in tune the washer was sounding. I had a steaming waterfall in my kitchen, as all the water used to wash my dishes was now pouring all over the kitchen floor. I jumped down, scoured my furniture-less apartment for a rag of some sort, and was able to remedy the situation with minor finesse.

I am now sitting on the floor, as we still have absolutely nothing beyond the few kitchen-wares we bought and the clothes I’ve been trucking with me since April. The weather is cooling and my wardrobe is becoming more and more inadequate as I wait patiently for the moving truck to arrive (destined to arrive probably around Oct. 26^th). That truck will deliver some comforts—loveseat, warm clothes, puzzles…. Yet, we’ll still be out any tables or chairs, a full spice rack, and anything that resembles a fully furnished apartment.

I arrived last week to my new (actually, very old) apartment and had to begin my 8 hour workweek the next day. I have had barely any time to organize everything, get utilities set up, clean the place, and certainly no time to really relax. Eating has consisted mostly of snacks, throwing food into my mouth as I move along at a pace that shows no signs of slowing anytime soon.

With all that has been going on I just need to unload how overwhelmed I am feeling–how incredibly overwhelming happy I’ve felt these past few crazy hectic days. I feel as though I should feel nothing but stress; yet everything I’ve been doing has seemed like a dream come true. Some nights I step onto the back deck and listen to the wind rustling the giant evergreens in my backyard and can’t believe this life is my real life. I have never felt so in control of my life… and for so long I haven’t felt like I was anywhere close to home. But now I am home.

I allowed myself to trust my gut feeling to follow my dreams, even when those dreams were to stay put, stop traveling for a while. I can tell with certainty that I have followed the right path that has led me here, despite the confusion many people express at my wanting to settle for awhile; they said I was living a dream but at times I felt like I was barely living at all. My mother’s advice is right again… “the answer” isn’t traveling or getting married or finding your one true passion (though it could include any and all of these), “the answer” is following your gut. Stop reading articles on how to be happier and how to change your life, just start listening to yourself and certainly stop denying yourself. It may take a lot of wrong turns, but it you’re paying attention, you’re sure to figure out the direction you should be trekking. It will almost surely not be easy, but somehow you’ll still persist because you’ll know you have to. Then you may find yourself running through the woods of your new home state, looking up at the morning sun rays with tears running down your laughing face because, oh my god, you didn’t even know you could ever feel this good again.

Silly Little Ducks

In honor of their 1 month birthday, I decided to give this little ode:

Ducks! from Kelly Zenn on Vimeo.

The Dark Side of Farming

My previous post highlighted the sunny days full of harvest, bright colors, and finding plants in among the weeds.

To balance it out, I will now highlight some of the less savory aspects of a farm life....

So this week or so I've racked up my injuries from chickens and ovens and now have cause to renew my tetanus shot. I burned my thumb making a potato bake dinner, was bitten by a broody chicken viciously protecting her eggs, and attacked by a rooster.

Broody hen attack!

The rooster I speak of has been trying to attack me for a couple weeks now, but I've always seen it coming. This time, though, I was bent down petting Potato and he charged at my back. It felt like a ton of bricks had fallen onto my lower back, but luckily I came away with just a cut on my back. That rooster is now dead, after attacking one too many times. Sorry rooster, but on a farm if you anger the farmer it is completely within our power to prepare you for eating. It's the only place I know of that my instincts of killing that which angers me can be acted upon. I guess if I'm being honest with myself the completion of the kill still doesn't feel too good.

Even if this does hurt!

I was also working in the barn tidying up the workbench when a cat walked in through the open door to the fish pond. When I looked over, though, it was a sopping wet angry raccoon! My automatic response was flight, and I ran away swiftly all while dreams of being chased by rabid raccoons came rushing back. We now have a trap set, but so far no catch and I am still fearful of the barn.

These stories are by no means the only less happy parts of farming, but they are a glimpse. All I ever hear anyone say when I tell them I want to be a farmer is "it's hard!" Trust me, folks, I do know this.