That's that whirlwind. 2 week tour breakdown:

September 13th - September 29th

Tassajara > Cotati, CA (Sonoma County)

The Infamous Dome Home, Cotati, CA

Swifts. Muir woods. Dining at Chez Cynthia. Hoes. Apples. Batman. GGF Squaredance. Peggy catches Facebook from me like it's the common cold.

Cotati > Santa Cruz, CA via San Francisco

Chez Lu. Molino Creek Farm. Jukai @ Jikoji. Tassajara refugees make camp a Casa de Bridgette. 

Santa Cruz > Ashland, OR

Market to market. Bread peddling. Berry picking. Grape mashing. 

Ashland, OR > Cheshire, OR via Eugene

Highways, byways, flyways. Sign says Springfield (Gateway) Mall. Drive an '89 Camry. We've arrived. We're home. Sit chickens, sit.

B

A temporary permanent home.

Cheshire, Oregon.

We've landed here for a 10 day stint of house sitting for a couple in the greater BZC sangha.

A beautiful home on 5 acres of Pacific Northwest woodland forest. Chickens, Chloe the dog, Tigger the cat, all under our care. The chickens have names, but I don't know them yet. The owners left before I could ply them with questions, so I'm not even sure of the breeds. We get about 4 eggs a day, I know that.

I'm already into a schedule. Rise before 7, zazen in the upstairs Zendo, feed the animals, feed the Crowes.

I feel like a guest at my own B & B. Cooking BIG breakfasts every morning, compliments of said eggs, toasted Teff bread (a souvenir from Rise Up Artisan Bakery near Ashland), and steel cut oats. I was hard up for some hot cereal since I left Tassajara. This morning I made gingery some pears from a recent harvest. 

Today is do nothing day. I've been puttering on the computer and getting this blog set up. I haven't moved from this chair much more than the Tassajara Tangaryo students who are at this moment halfway into their DAY 5. It's some needed respite after a whirlwind tour of farms and zens in the Bay Area.

Yesterday we visited Horton Road Organics, a bio-intensive production farm on 15 acres, complete with Zendo and apprenticeship program. The two are not as closely linked as the Zen growing apprenticeships at Green Gulch farm, but not mutually exclusive, either. Debra Seido Martin describes the farming as a practice in and of itself. If people want to come sit Zazen, they can, but it's not required. Boundaries are maintained so that there's time for work and time for play. The feeling among the apprentices and owners is warm, down to earth, and friendly.

The Empty Field Zendo is pretty and amazing. It's got a square footage about the size of the Tassajara compost shed, and some beautiful homemade altars. Kuan-yin is the centerpiece of the main altar, a welcoming homage to the divine feminine. The surrounding field includes an open air kitchen and space for tenting, which must be an awesome way to do a Sesshin. The surrounding field floods in the winter, so the Zendo closes up during the rainy season and practice moves to the upstairs zendo in the home we're staying. They have a sitting on Wednesday nights which I'm looking forward to.

B

Market to Market

Little Applegate, OR

First time I feel like I'm catching up on sleep. I kind of knew a certain peace that would lend itself to rest as Lasse drove us into the valley yesterday. It's quiet out here in the country, in a large, mostly vacant farmhouse. I have a huge comfy bed to myself. Also my first hot bath since Tassajara. Yesterday's drive into Oregon was sunrise over fir topped hills.  Made our way over to the Rise Up Artisan Bread stand where Ruthie, a Full Bloom Farm resident, welcomed us with enthusiasm when we said we were from Tassajara. She's a prospective GGF student/apprentice for next spring, very sweet. In no time she had me (with my months of experience peddling Tassajara bread) covering the stand for a bit.

Cannabis has a place in the natural order, here. I mention it not because it's grown on the farm, but because this is my first time encountering its frequent use on the west coast. (Keep in mind that I've been in a monastery for three years.) I had no idea that carrying up to a pound was legal in western states, more if you apply to be someone's grower. All in the name of medicinal use. 

I get the sense that Full Bloom was a production farm until its producers moved on recently. For several years it's been home to their bakery, which continues to sell to local grocers and markets in the Rogue Valley area. The oven there is impressive, 7 feet tall, 13-foot diameter, Spanish built in 8 days, eats a cord of wood a month, located in a community building that is just an amazing cob and straw-bale insulated structure.

For our part, we picked berries and grapes and made a dinner featuring fresh-squeezed grape juice and raspberry pie. And we helped sell and strike and set up the market stands on two days. Got some lore on a local permaculture production farm down the valley, which will have to wait for touring another day. We ramble on to Eugene for to chicken sit tomorrow.

B

One Day Sitting on Greyhound

9.24 / 10:30
Julie Chen deposits Abijah at Jamesburg

Returning monks are coming off of vacation, probably a few new ones in the mix, gathering for their last trip up the road for 3 months. A fall shelter in place ritual. Perhaps some tears are shed. There's probably a lot of excitement. It's a beautiful day. Many will have missed the departing monks ceremony for Graham and Mako, and will ask those who were there how it went down. Some may inquire of Leslie's absence, or ask when she will return. Others will report their sightings of the Crowe brothers--or secondhand accounts of our whereabouts will be filed.

9.24 / 8:30

Julie Chen deposits us at S.F. Greyhound
With no craigslist rideshares coming through, we opt for going easy and simple. Santa Cruz is in the rearview window. We said a final Tassajara goodbye with Bridget, Marta, Eli and Cat over borscht and more. I get a final rendition of The Day The Town Trip Fried out of the composer. And we're off!

9.24 / 21:15
Tassajara -- Firewatch

9.24 / 21:15

Greyhound Bus Station, Oakland, CA

A woman stumbles and with a hushed exclamation says "Oh my God!" as she steps aboard the bus, hustling to her seat with a male friend in tow. My seat partner is quiet beside me--window seat, headphones. My foot tingles, stretched from the weight of the 37 lbs I'm packing. Must get that down. The bus is spacious and clean--I rejoice at a working overhead lamp. I read a couple of lines aloud to my traveling companion: "Oregon's mild, damp climate is fabulous for fungus..."
Pinole Ridge is a shopping center indistinct from any in the U.S.A: Orchard Supply Hardware. Michael's. Chuck E. Cheese. It passes quickly on our right.
1.5 hours until Sacramento.
3 hour wait for bus to Medford, OR.
Zen students will rise at 4:20, approx. 2 hours and 20 min after we depart for the Oregon border.
Don't know where we'll be by then.
Slumberland, I hope.

9.25 / 04:35

Tassajara -- Four Han hits in the wilderness, smell of incense

Reading, CA --
Smells of cigarette smoke at Reading Bus Terminal, where we aptly wait 15 minutes. I'll entertain some "Zazen" when we get back on the road--what may be a short-lived act of solidarity. I look forward to sitting on a cushion by the time we land in Eugene--would like to do so, daily.

9.25 / 06:00

Weed, CA -- A portal of portent on this road.

The 10 Grave Precepts of Bodhidharma

1) Self-nature is mysteriously profound. In the everlasting Dharma, not giving rise to the view of stopping and the notion of extinction is called the precept of not taking life.

2) Self-nature is mysteriously profound.In the Dharma in which nothing can be obtained, not giving rise to the thought of obtaining is called the precept of not stealing.

3) Self-nature is mysteriously profound. In the Dharma in which there is nothing to grasp, not giving rise to attachment is called the precept of not misusing sex.

4) Self-nature is mysteriously profound. In the inexplicable Dharma, not speaking even a single word is called the precept of not telling lies.

5) Self-nature is mysteriously profound. In the intrinsically pure Dharma, not allowing the mind to become deluded is called the precept of not dealing with intoxicants.

6) Self-nature is mysteriously profound. In the flawless Dharma, not speaking of others’ faults is called the precept of not criticizing others.

7) Self-nature is mysteriously profound. In the sphere of equal Dharma, not speaking of self and others is called the precept of not being proud of self and slandering others.

8 ) Self-nature is mysteriously profound. In the all-pervading true Dharma, not clinging to one form is called the precept of not coveting.

9) Self-nature is mysteriously profound. In the Dharma of no-self, not giving rise to the thought of self and others is called the precept of not giving way to anger.

10) Self-nature is mysteriously profound. In the one Dharma, not giving rise to the thought of distinction between sentient beings and the Buddhas is called the precept of not speaking falsely of the Three Treasures.

Self-Nature is Mysteriously Profound

We stop at Jikoji. I'm glad to arrive. It's our third day on the road since leaving Peggy's and I'm tired of being in moving vehicles. However, I'm grateful for Bridget, her driving, her company, and the scenic route.

There's a Tassajara contingent here: Abijah, Marta, Eli, Cat, Bridget, Patrick, and Julie Chen. I share their camaraderie and their friendship. I did not seek it. I do not have it. I don't even seek dharma. I am only here now, in what this is: Abijah receiving precepts. The humble truth of a warm, big-eyed, largehearted man. "Handsome and gentle being" writes Sally Carlsson. Welcoming and accepting all. Devout, sincere, ready. Easy to get attached to that one!

There's no adequate explanation for this ceremony, ritual/rite, symbol, performance, dance, passage.

Words? No words.

Mirror Phoenix, Leaping Mountain

No praise. No blame.
No speaking of past mistakes.
No difference, no sameness.
No single form.
No self.

One dharma, one great truth.
Unattainable, unexplainable.
Original. Basic. Pure.

Self-nature is mysteriously profound.

Yet, sometimes there is praise. Sometimes blame.
Sometimes mistakes and speaking of mistakes.
Difference. Equality. Form. Self.
Bewilderingly estranged. Supremely attuned.

Echelle, a little girl of five years, collects and distributes elemental wands. Earth, wind, water, and fire. In accord with the ten grave precepts, we will use their powers to free her parents, trapped in the belly of a monster. Echelle's wand becomes a phone. Echelle's phone is chewed up by a dog. We all come down the mountain.

Bob Cannard at Green String Farm

Successful Organic Farmers (from EcoFarm's website)

Bob in Earlier Days

An annual tradition at EcoFarm! This year’s crop of farmers will talk about what they do, why they do it, and what they’ve learned along the way. (In English with Spanish interpretation.

Bob Cannard -  (last 20 minutes of mp3) 
Green String Farm, Petaluma, CA

Bob Cannard has been farming sustainably for 30 years. He is well known for providing produce to Chez Panisse Restaurant in Berkeley. His farming philosophy involves staying in tune with natural processes and replenishing the land with cover crops and compost. In collaboration with Fred Cline, he currently runs Green String Farm and the Green String Institute. Green String Farm is a 140-acre farm with 50-60 acres in cultivation in Petaluma, CA. The mission of Green String Institute is to renew the spirit of organic agriculture and train young farmers with respect for the environment and the planet.

To sing . on . ...........a string. A lesson in grafting.

Green String Farm, Petaluma, CA

My traveling companion belts something out, never once deterred at Tassajara by the rules, but now encouraged by the cohort holding hoes, walking fields. Strawberry Fields. Not so easy with eyes closed.

An apprentice is stoked about my experience with Zen practice and interest in Green String's program. He makes a reference to the book on non-violent communication he's reading.

I want to kill a chicken and I still want to kill a chicken.
Only chickens bleed.

Turns out the broth we eat for lunch is made from a chicken just harvested here last night. I missed my chance by ONE DAY.

I'm told it's not good to feed chickens tomatoes from the compost, but I look it up later and find no reason not to.

Maybe it's just ketchup.

After lunch we have a lesson on grafting from Bob Cannard. Bob's grafted more fruit trees than Father Abraham's got great-grandchildren. Two kinds of grafting: slip grafting (winter) and bud grafting (summer). We're bud grafting because this is the time of year when the bark slips.

Green String Owner/Teacher Bob Cannard

Grafting involves a host plant (you want it to provide energy to another kind of fruit tree) and a scion (part of a tree that you want to grow on the host for fruit). The scion should be in the stage of bearing fruit, but not yet ripe.

steps:
1) prune the host plant, including everything beneath where you're making the graft and let some leaves remain at the top to draw sap up through the bark
2) make a cut shaped like a T on the bark of the host plant
3) remove a leaf bud from the scion, ideally these cuts are made with a pruning knife (hella expensive...can we say more $$ than an ipod?), the leaf is removed and you cut the bud like you would cut the eye off of a potato (the part of the bud that is growing from the stem is the called the eye). The bud will also have a "shield" which is the section of the stem you've cut off.
 
\  //     <-------bud //
|//
|/ 
/

^
|
shield  }

4) peel back the corners of your host plant 'T' with said knife
5) slip the bud "shield" into the flaps
6) tie off with a rubber band, making sure to cover the part where the scion bud's shield meets the host plant

If your bud is still green (hasn't died) in 2 weeks time, you're doing good.

I'm not sure what happens after this part. Pray for fruit?

B

The Oneness of One and Many

"It's a predatory world," he said.

"It's a predatory world," Tahkipas said.

"Everything becomes the soil, even metal, which turns to rust, turns to soil. To feed the plants."

The plant we gathered around. 

The plant we gathered around to fill the earth with is the Santa Lucia Fir 

(Abies bracteata).

Endemic to the Ventana Wilderness.

Sheltered from the fire in cool, moist river canyon bottoms.

Escaping fire on the rocky outcroppings of higher elevations.

Barefooted, we each reach out to make contact with the tree.

To look at the white striations under the leaves--mirroring patterns: striations in local rock formations, designs in the hand petroglyphs in nearby caves.

Tahikpas says, "You will find a fish!

"When you find a dead fish, bring it here, and plant it with the tree to give it nourishment."

Just before the ceremony, I take what I assume will be my last soak in the healing waters of Tassajara creek. As I leave it behind, I think to myself, for three years I've been crawling in this creek with the fish! It's somehow normal. Natural. A matter of course in a fish eat fish world.

Then I return, to wash the muddy soil from my feet. I've stood close to the Fir. Blessed it. Kissed its new home with my toes.
 

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We left home that day crammed into Lars' truck. Already a tight squeeze for three, augmented with a pile of disparate belongings. 

They dallied at Ashes point, a site marked by relief and release, the smoke there making no signal. I took the road on foot, reminiscing that I'd gotten more time on it in previous summers. It was sunset. I climbed for a while.

The whoosh of several birds plunging into a ravine surprised me. I'd never seen anything like it before. I continued with the soft dust and hardpan road under my feet. Had they let me climb to the ridge intentionally, or not?

More distant ridgetops shadowed to silhouettes on the glow of gold and orange air. The approaching truck now wore its headlights, the sound of its engine melding with the silence. My peaceful resign was to one last view of this land.

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Sangha News (photo of tree planting ceremony)

Last Days at Tassajara | The Cloud Mountains (Mako and Graham say goodbye)