White Dogwood

I happened upon this quote recently from one of my favorite poets, Anne Morrow Lindbergh: "After all, I don’t see why I am always asking for private, individual, selfish miracles when every year there are miracles like white dogwood." There has been a great paradigm shift within me in the last year. It has been (and continues to be) difficult to become the kind of person I desire to be, to act and behave in a way that accurately represents my ideals and beliefs. It is much easier to speak about values and ideals rather than set to work to become those values and ideals. Yet, there is a slow transformation that began within me some time ago, and each day I continue to be amazed at the progress Nature has made within me. I can't take credit for most of the work; more than anything, I have simply allowed the change to take place. I have become more open to this transformation and have had to call upon reserves of patience that I didn't know I had, in order to continue to allow the transformation. Watching the cycle of life on the farm here has been marvelous. I mean that literally; it has been something at which I will always marvel. Harvesting the fruits of physical labor with reverence and thanks for the sacrifice of Nature in all forms, transforming the sacrifice into a beautiful meal, and sending the scraps back to the land in order to do so again tomorrow is, well, marvelous. The pace of the restaurant is fast, certainly, but the energy is not. The energy is calm and slow and forces you to be a part of the process, not merely an observer. Even the shit here smells beautiful. As I was driving through the country to arrive here, I found myself repulsed by the stench of shit through the plainlands. It was invasive to my senses, offensive, and overwhelming. I wanted to roll up windows and hold my breath until it was gone, fearful that I would breathe deeply in the smell of methane and chemical waste. The shit here smells different. The animals are well fed and happy and taken care of. There is a sweetness that lingers after the shit smell is gone, so much so that you can nearly identify what they've been eating. Reading an interview with Joel Salatin from the latest Sun Magazine, I was pleasantly surprised to see him comment on the same thing. He remarks, "One of the surest ways to know if a wound is infected is if it is unsightly and smells bad. When it starts to heal, it gets a pretty sheen and doesn’t smell anymore. Farms that are not beautiful and that stink are like big wounds on the landscape." I have witnessed first hand the truth in this statement. When I set out on this journey to become a...whatever I am: chef, pastry chef, culinarian, when I set forth on the journey, I had no idea where it would take me. I was open to whichever direction I was moved by the journey itself, and it has led me here. I have always known, deep in my heart, that I am to be a steward of land and food, and I have shrugged off that responsibility as one that will always be there for me to return to after I'm done with my "living". I am now aware, more than ever, that this is my living. This is where I find my peace and contentment, and to separate myself from this, is to create a separation within myself. I have come to realize the great power of small miracles.