Phase one: In search of dreams

I am at the mercy of Mother Nature and I feel fine. Well, I'm getting use to it I guess. We live in a rapidly cycling planet that is heating up. Experiencing the wrath of super storm Sandy followed by a Nor-Easter has been a reality shattering whirlwind. The convenience of power, the need of gasoline, these storms have exposed the thin margin between an effective society and chaos. Abbey and I are observing the snow mounds out our window over some coffee. I am reflecting on the last months of summer and the coming, then going of Autumn.

Seeding by the bee boxes

Evan and I are still moving forward with our Plan Bee. Phase one: We are immersing our selves in the world of plant life and agriculture. I have to say, even though it has only been a short time since the start of this journey, I feel exponentially happier each day. Instead of dreading the winter and the cold I am day dreaming of our winter rye, wheat and barely tucked under the skin of the earth. I hope they survive this weather and find a spark in them to grow come Spring. The mystery and power of bringing new life into this world feeds my spirit.

October 14th, 2012

Evan and I drove up to an alpaca farm in Pawling, NY and planted 1/4 acre of winter barley, wheat and rye. It took us two months of weekend trips to clear the land to make it ready for this day.

The weather was on our side that day. Temperatures were in the low 60's, a little bit of sunshine to keep our hands warm but cumulonimbus clouds kept us from sweating as we labored. The air carried the smell of dry leaves and animal coats. The alpaca watched us curiously as we spread the seeds over the tilled earth.

Sample section of seed distribution

The majority of the 1/4 acres is winter barely, the base grain used in beer. Thirty percent of the 1/4 acre was split between the winter rye and wheat which will be used as specialty grains to flavor the beer. The white bee boxes hummed.

Hay covering

After we spread the seeds, we took rakes and turned the soil. Well turned, we set about packing it all down. It was a spectacle for those alpaca as we all bunny hopped over the mixture of manure, fresh earth and kernels. Finally, we unfurled hay bails over the lot to protect it from the rain that was coming the next day. We thought the hay might also keep away the birds and squirrels temporarily but the land keeper wrote us about the heated fury that took place upon our departure.

2 week old winter barley

"A few hours after you guys left I walked over to the hill and there were 4 squirrels and about 10 birds foraging the soil for seed. I chased them away but it's definitely going to be an issue. One of the squirrels actually stood his ground, puffed up his tail and started chirping at me. I might try putting out containers of seeds around the area. Hopefully if they have easy access to food they won't bother with the soil. Also, it'll only be problematic for the first few weeks until the seeds sprout." - Matt


October 21st, 2012

Back up at the alpaca farm, we wanted to see the sprouts that covered the hill. To our surprise, there were green and red blades cutting through the hay all over! Education: when rye first sprouts it's blades are a purple-red color but as they grow towards the sky they change to green. The wheat and barley both have green sprouts but their silhouettes are different from one another. My mind is imprinted with these images and I have gained the knowledge to identify the difference between winter barley, wheat and rye in it's early growth stages. How can I quantify this education?

2 week old winter rye

We are getting more people involved with Plan Bee and working on potential next steps. Winter is a time for respite and contemplation. It has been seven short months since Evan and I set our compass in the direction of becoming a self-sustained, farm-to-beer brewery in the Hudson Valley. From where we stand now, I can see our path but there is an arch coming up ahead. What is around the bend? I am eager to find out but reluctant.

"My heart is a traitor," the boy said to the alchemist, when they paused to rest the horses. "It doesn't want me to go on."

"That makes sense," the alchemist answered. "Naturally it's afraid that, in pursuing your dream, you might lose everything you've won."

"Well, then, why should I listen to my heart?"

"Because you will never again be able to keep it quiet. Even if you pretend not to have heard what it tells you, it will always be there inside you, repeating to you what you're thinking about life and about the world."

"You mean I should listen, even if it's treasonous?"

"Treason is a blow that comes unexpectedly. If you know your heart well, it will never be able to do that to you. Because you'll know its dreams and wishes, and will know how to deal with them. You will never be able to escape from your heat. So it's better to listen to what it has to say. That way, you'll never have to fear an unanticipated blow."

The boy continued to listen to his heart as they crossed the desert. He came to understand its dodges and tricks, and to accept it as it was. He lost his fear, and forgot about his need to go back to the oasis, because, one afternoon, his heart told him that it was happy.

"Even thought I complain sometimes," it said, "it's because I'm the heart of a person, and people's hearts are that way. People are afraid to pursue their most important dreams, because they feel that they don't deserve them, or that they'll be unable to achieve them. We, their hearts, become fearful just thinking of loved ones who go away forever, or of moments that could have been good but weren't, or of treasures that might have been found but were forever hidden in the sands. Because, when these things happen, we suffer terribly."

"My heart is afraid that it will have to suffer," the boy told the alchemist one night as they looked up at the moonless sky.

"Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second's encounter with God and with eternity." - The Alchemist