Spider Woman / Collage

Summer one, you're powerful.

I love your collection of things

and I love your limbs.

Push Mower

I cannot say in confidence

that so much depends on you.

You have rusted and I have

no idea of your origins.

When we bought this house

you were here

and I have used you.

But during summer months,

when the green grass lengths lean,

we walk together

over crabgrass

and dandelions

—beheading some and pushing over others

while the children ride by.

Buckley

The wonder dog. Photo by Megan Retka Tidd.

Found Poem (Already Complete)

Ash Wednesday

Because I do not hope to turn again

Because I do not hope

Because I do not hope to turn

Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope

I no longer strive to strive towards such things

(Why should the aged eagle stretch its wings?)

Why should I mourn

The vanished power of the usual reign?

Because I do not hope to know again

The infirm glory of the positive hour

Because I do not think

Because I know I shall not know

The one veritable transitory power

Because I cannot drink

There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again

Because I know that time is always time

And place is always and only place

And what is actual is actual only for one time

And only for one place

I rejoice that things are as they are and

I renounce the blessed face

And renounce the voice

Because I cannot hope to turn again

Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something

Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us

And pray that I may forget

These matters that with myself I too much discuss

Too much explain

Because I do not hope to turn again

Let these words answer

For what is done, not to be done again

May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly

But merely vans to beat the air

The air which is now thoroughly small and dry

Smaller and dryer than the will

Teach us to care and not to care

Teach us to sit still.

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death

Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.

T.S. Eliot

Beach House

Lindsay and I are in Florida for spring break. We're staying in Longboat Key with Lindsay's parents, grandparents, and other assorted aunts, uncles and cousins. Here's some photos from day one.

Birds.

Sea shell.

Pucker up, baby.

Big jellyfish.

Pilgrimage

Santo and I were talking about butchering pigs and about how we wanted to learn to do it. Just as we found out that the class we hoped to take in Minneapolis was sold out, my good friend Jonny--of Underground Food Collective fame--let me know about a similar class he was teaching in Madison. The weekend the class was scheduled also happened to be the same weekend that my brother was hosting his first supper club dinner. It didn't take much conferring to decide that we would cancel our Monday classes, jump in the car and head back across the Mississippi. Good food and good times were calling. This is how it went down.

Starting things off proper. I picked up Santo early Saturday afternoon and was so rushed getting my bar application in the mail before we left that I didn't have time for lunch. This turned out just fine since the two of us share a soft spot for the occasional McDonalds indulgence justified by limited interstate dining options.

Holsteins.

We stayed with Josh, Jill, and Ruby Makoutz--good friends. When we walked in the house, Jill had some stew simmering and this soda bread coming out of the oven. It was a welcome sight and an even better smell.

Josh and Ruby. Not only is Ruby beautiful on the outside, she has a deep and abiding love for butter--a woman after my own heart.

After Josh and Jill fed us, they let us crash a party. Normally when I think about spending an evening with strangers, I get squirmy. But these people were real nice and they had bourbon. Very nice bourbon. It's a good thing that Jill's pregnant, cause I definitely was in no shape to drive away. Also on the menu: Mobay, chocolate torte, and pizza bombs--deep-fried margherita donuts. This is how I like to get down.

When we sobered up the next morning, we went to Josh and Jill's amazing coffeeshop--Bradbury's. Jill served us up some excellent espresso and we soaked up the sun.

Prosciutto, chevre, and fig preserves.

After a late breakfast, we headed to the Weary Traveler to help my brother prep for his dinner. Here Santo was crisping up some pork shoulder for a buckwheat crepe with a sunchoke puree.

Radish, pinenut and serrano vinaigrette. Served over pork dumplings, which appear below.


Coworkers.


Simmering.


Santo and the radishes.


Mushrooms.


Pork dumplings.

After a few hours of prep, we went to the butchering class. Jonny and Ben start things off by showing us the power of teamwork.

Pig parts. After the class was over, I took home some fresh sage and ginger sausages, a belly that's becoming pancetta and jowl that's now guanciale.

Greg plating desert. The meal was quite special. My favorite dishes included tuna loin with anchovy puree and truffle vinaigrette, the pork trio (the dumpling and crepe mentioned above as well as a beautiful piece of sous vide tenderloin atop chicken liver mousse) and this dessert--vanilla panna cotta, poached rhubarb, cherries, and pie crust.

Three guys, four bottles. Not a bad ratio.

Dad came to the early seating and was mostly to blame for our wine ratio.

We were knackered after a long day and crashed promptly after returning to the Makoutz household. We packed and left early in the morning, but not before Santo caught Josh and Ruby in the morning sun.

Poles

There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? -- Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet If the Greeks had looked at Mount Baker all day, their large and honest art would have broken, and they would have gone fishing, as these people do. And as perhaps one day I shall. -- Dillard, Holy the Firm Rilke takes me back to my freshman year of college. There my friend Gabriel and I would take turns giving each other Rilke books as gifts--writing earnest inscriptions on the inside covers, thanking the other for their friendship and encouraging the other to continue making art and living well. The above-quoted passage challenged me. I knew then that I wanted to make art a big part of my life. I knew that some of my most lucid moments came after experiencing art. But I wasn't sure I was ready to try my hand at making a profession out of producing the stuff myself. Rilke--who wrote with such gravitas--seemed to be saying to me that if I wasn't ready to give all for my art, I should move on to other pursuits. And for the most part, I have. Sure, I played around with a potter's wheel for a while, and I strummed a guitar in a band for a few years, but I've mostly split the last six years between work and graduate school--preparing myself for something distant rather than surrendering myself to something urgent. For the most part, I don't regret my choice. I'm pretty happy doing what I'm doing. Law school has been intellectually challenging and enriching, and I've met some damn inspiring people. But at the same time, with graduation just over the horizon, I've felt a real desire to create. A burden even. An impish little voice that wakes me up with ideas and chides me if I don't write them down. And so I'm making this blog. I'm doing other things too, projects I hope to share here. Hence the return to Rilke. Without intending to, I've come back to his words and felt braver in front of them. I'm not sure that I will die if I forego writing, but I'm resolute that it's something I want to do. Also, the Dillard. Her reminder that life itself can be more than enough--that we can lose ourselves in the natural world--feels true too. In fact, it is my desire to lose myself, to be the contented fisherman at the foot of Mount Baker, that has brought me back to writing. As much good as I can say about the past year, I have to admit I'm angsty. Something ain't quite right with my chi. I don't see any reason to drag this first post out, but here's to balance and to living right.