Recycle

No'j - the essence of No'j is thought on No'j days, it is good to contemplate how our thoughts influence our actions of both conscious co-creation and intentional or unintentional destructive behavior

Okay, who loves Michigan falls more than me? I adore the warm days, cool breezes. This year the trees are turning very slowly allowing us to sort of revel in the color change. Previous years, the change has happened so quickly that I felt that I almost missed the spectacular colors. The earth is reminding us that it has its own cycles no matter what we do and with this change we seem to be getting more color.

And so the leaves will fall mulching the ground, the ground that helps to feed the trees that dropped the leaves in the first place. Nature's recycling. Elegant, efficient and for part of it, a treat for the eyes.

Frankly, I don't do enough when it comes to recycling. You would be able to go through my garbage and find bits here and there that should have gone into recycle. And let's not mention color glass! What the heck am I supposed to do with that? Our recycle center doesn't take it which is ridiculous so we "try" not to buy it in the first place. And recycling is not a small task. We have to load it into the truck and then drive off the island to the recycle center, becoming a weekly duty for Joe and I. Just part of the many "to do" things on our list. I guess it makes me feel more responsible but still, I know I have to do more when it comes to my part, which would take a lot more effort.

The effort and consciousness that needs more work on my part, has become really evident from a book that I have been reading called "American Indian Life". A lot of things struck me about the way the Indians lived before we got here. But what was most clear (besides that they lived in Teepees in the dead of winter without gortex) was that they used and recycled everything. For instance, in the book, a real life character T'ena, was being taught to be careful about whatever she found on the floor - bits of food, bone, feather, hair or skin. It was a rule that all such waste bits be put separate into baskets by the women, and carried to the haunts in the forest or on the river, of the creatures to which the bits belonged. Her partner, Cries-for-salmon, would go along with her to see how she dumped into the river from her canoe, the feathers of duck, goose or swan, that they might change back into birds such they had come from-as the feather drifted down the current, although invisible to her, Cries-for-salmon said, they became birds again to return to feed in their old haunts of mud and goose grass. She had learned this from her mother empting out fish bones to become fish, and she saw her take to the forest the bones of game animals. Were such bones left on the floor and stepped on, it would be a sin.

No longer are there barefooted archers lurking in the forest but while I write this, gunshots in the distance - a result of the beginning of duck hunting season. I wonder if any of the hunters will respect life the duck has given up to feed them as did Cries-for-Salmon - maybe, but I don't get that from most of the conversations I hear. Like just about everything else in life, many of us think that it is our right to eat what and when we want to, not understanding that it is a gift and a privilege to have something on the table. So much has to happen in nature just so one human being can be fed. Hard to remember when pushing the shopping carts down the aisles of Costco.

I continue to put in more effort to recycle. Putting my foot down about some packaging, buying just about everything used and of course doing my weekly recycle, though a hassle is worth it. Maybe just maybe we, or I should just speak for myself, it would do no harm in adopting these powerful lessons in living with nature, so that I may continue to live as the higher self I was meant to be. Recycling information allowing the industrial age to come to an end making it time for a new age, a new paradigm, a new consciousness - changing or recycling each one of us, one by one which in turn will lead us all into a world of change.

A Change is Gonna Come

A Change is Gonna Come"-Sam Cooke

The weather here has been fricking brilliant! I have all these things I am supposed to be doing on the computer but I keep going back outside to bask in the sun along with the never say die marigolds and the constantly reappearing monarchs (besides, it's my birthday). The cats and cat/dog Little B lay slammed up next to the sliding glass doors, soaking up the heat with pretense of maybe just maybe, someday, they will be able to go outside and in Little B's case that would be without a leash.

With our new found lounge mode and just having more time to pay attention to the goings on of our animals, Joe and I have been reflecting back to the beginning of the year when naming the garden. We had many names we thought we would go with but after our first garden cat, Cricket died, it was clear that we name the garden after her. Our affection for our animals borders on the silly but to those who think of their furry children as family members, I'm sure you get how we feel.

From the time I got out of high school, I knew that I didn't want kids, wanted to live on a farm and have animals. There were other dreams tangled up with those but that is for another newsletter someday. I don't know where the love for animals came from, but from the time I was a child, I was a little gaga over them. Being that my mother was allergic to all critters it took my love for critters into a semi-fanatical longing. So everytime I would see someone with their pet on the street or in their home, all humans became blurred as the animals took center stage. There was no bigger compliment than some pet owner saying, "My cat doesn't like anyone but she sure loves you". Or "My dog really trusts you. He can't wait until you come over."

I would go to the library and look at pictures of animals and study how they should be held, then instructing all who would listen on properly holding their kitten or puppy. One day when I was about 8 years old, I caught a neighbor boy, about 13 years old, swinging my cat by the tail (this is when my mother tried to let me have a pet), I attacked him like a crazy banshee, sending him home crying. I don't remember much except that afterwards I was holding my then cat named "Kitty", sobbing as I ran home to tell my mother. From that moment on when that kid saw me, he would cross the street. It was there and then, I became the protector of critters - from everything to reprimanding people leaving their pets in hot cars to reporting abuse to the Humane Society.

So I guess it shouldn't surprise anyone that knows me well, that I, or rather we (Joe is just as protective about animals as I am) would name our garden after a cat.

Cricket was our beautiful 10-year old calico. Crick demanded almost immediately that she was our garden cat and that she would protect the vegetables from the mice. Every time we would find a dead one (and there were plenty), we knew it was Cricket - the great hunter.

About a week before her death it seemed like she wasn't feeling well - or just seemed a little lackluster, sleeping alot, but then all cats do. By Saturday we knew that Cricket was really sick but by then it was too late. Joe and I knew she was dying so the only thing we could do was make her comfortable. We made a box for her, with our best towels so that she would have a nice cushy place to lie in. I put her in my walk-in closet along with her water and food. She never ate again and through Joe's persistence, drank small amounts of water.

The last night she was alive, we brought her out into the living room to have some family time while we watched T.V. She seemed uncomfortable due to the other cats who were hissing knowing there was something wrong - they could sense her death. And being the opportunistic creatures they are - gave her a hard time - we moved her back into the closet.

Joe checked in on her the next morning before leaving for work, about 5 a.m. Cricket was resting comfortably. I looked in on her that morning, finding that she had passed. Cricket was stretched out with her head bent, paws turned under as if she was in a private kitty prayer. Our precious cat, Cricket had died passing on to the special place where cats run free and big boxes of catnip are on every corner with mice standing on top singing songs only cats can hear. She was missed by so many since Cricket's thing was to adopt company as if they would take her home - she loved to be the center of attention - especially with strangers. We were optional - she never did forgive us for not being an only cat.

The year before, when we had moved into the cottage, Joe and I debated on whether or not we should let the cats out. For the last seven years they were house cats (in Seattle they were outdoor cats)....we decided outdoors was okay because honestly, those cats are so darn happy. Every time we think of Cricket we think of how thrilled she was to be in the garden - Joe called her his special garden cat. He would work in the garden, while Crick would find the shadiest place, close by and lie on her side, sprawled out as if lounging in the south of France.

The garden, our pets, the beautiful flowers, the air we breathe, the river that flows in front of our cottage, the wind through the trees - all of it is teaching us to love and pay attention to all living things. When I begin to forget that life is incredibly precious, no matter what form it is in, I have these beautiful animals and nature to remind me to be grateful.

Though losing Cricket was heartbreaking, it not only reminded us to keep our hearts open but that change is a part of life. Buddy and Minky Monkey continue to hunt the mice, in memory of their sister, taking over the position so proudly held by her. And so the change continues - Clouds do not stand still. Trees bloom then shed their leaves. Tides come to shore, then retreat. Night follows day which in turn follows night. Life is a consistent cycle. Ever changing. And we are part of it all. Aren't we the lucky ones.

Recycle

The weather here has been fricking brilliant! I have all these things I am supposed to be doing on the computer but I keep going back outside to bask in the sun along with the never say die marigolds and the constantly reappearing monarchs (besides, it’s my birthday). The cats and cat/dog Little B lay slammed up next to the sliding glass doors, soaking up the heat with pretense of maybe just maybe, someday, they will be able to go outside and in Little B’s case that would be without a leash.

With our new found lounge mode and just having more time to pay attention to the goings on of our animals, Joe and I have been reflecting back to the beginning of the year when naming the garden. We had many names we thought we would go with but after our first garden cat, Cricket died, it was clear that we name the garden after her. Our affection for our animals borders on the silly but to those who think of their furry children as family members, I’m sure you get how we feel.

From the time I got out of high school, I knew that I didn’t want kids, wanted to live on a farm and have animals. There were other dreams tangled up with those but that is for another newsletter someday. I don’t know where the love for animals came from, but from the time I was a child, I was a little gaga over them. Being that my mother was allergic to all critters it took my love for critters into a semi-fanatical longing. So everytime I would see someone with their pet on the street or in their home, all humans became blurred as the animals took center stage. There was no bigger compliment than some pet owner saying, “My cat doesn’t like anyone but she sure loves you”. Or “My dog really trusts you. He can’t wait until you come over.”

I would go to the library and look at pictures of animals and study how they should be held, then instructing all who would listen on properly holding their kitten or puppy. One day when I was about 8 years old, I caught a neighbor boy, about 13 years old, swinging my cat by the tail (this is when my mother tried to let me have a pet), I attacked him like a crazy banshee, sending him home crying. I don’t remember much except that afterwards I was holding my then cat named “Kitty”, sobbing as I ran home to tell my mother. From that moment on when that kid saw me, he would cross the street. It was there and then, I became the protector of critters – from everything to reprimanding people leaving their pets in hot cars to reporting abuse to the Humane Society.

So I guess it shouldn’t surprise anyone that knows me well, that I, or rather we (Joe is just as protective about animals as I am) would name our garden after a cat.

Cricket was our beautiful 10-year old calico. Crick demanded almost immediately that she was our garden cat and that she would protect the vegetables from the mice. Every time we would find a dead one (and there were plenty), we knew it was Cricket - the great hunter.

About a week before her death it seemed like she wasn't feeling well - or just seemed a little lackluster, sleeping alot, but then all cats do. By Saturday we knew that Cricket was really sick but by then it was too late. Joe and I knew she was dying so the only thing we could do was make her comfortable. We made a box for her, with our best towels so that she would have a nice cushy place to lie in. I put her in my walk-in closet along with her water and food. She never ate again and through Joe's persistence, drank small amounts of water.

The last night she was alive, we brought her out into the living room to have some family time while we watched T.V. She seemed uncomfortable due to the other cats who were hissing knowing there was something wrong - they could sense her death. And being the opportunistic creatures they are - gave her a hard time - we moved her back into the closet.

Joe checked in on her the next morning before leaving for work, about 5 a.m. Cricket was resting comfortably. I looked in on her that morning, finding that she had passed. Cricket was stretched out with her head bent, paws turned under as if she was in a private kitty prayer. Our precious cat, Cricket had died passing on to the special place where cats run free and big boxes of catnip are on every corner with mice standing on top singing songs only cats can hear. She was missed by so many since Cricket's thing was to adopt company as if they would take her home - she loved to be the center of attention - especially with strangers. We were optional - she never did forgive us for not being an only cat.

The year before, when we had moved into the cottage, Joe and I debated on whether or not we should let the cats out. For the last seven years they were house cats (in Seattle they were outdoor cats)....we decided outdoors was okay because honestly, those cats are so darn happy. Every time we think of Cricket we think of how thrilled she was to be in the garden - Joe called her his special garden cat. He would work in the garden, while Crick would find the shadiest place, close by and lie on her side, sprawled out as if lounging in the south of France.

The garden, our pets, the beautiful flowers, the air we breathe, the river that flows in front of our cottage, the wind through the trees – all of it is teaching us to love and pay attention to all living things. When I begin to forget that life is incredibly precious, no matter what form it is in, I have these beautiful animals and nature to remind me to be grateful.

Though losing Cricket was heartbreaking, it not only reminded us to keep our hearts open but that change is a part of life. Buddy and Minky Monkey continue to hunt the mice, in memory of their sister, taking over the position so proudly held by her. And so the change continues - Clouds do not stand still. Trees bloom then shed their leaves. Tides come to shore, then retreat. Night follows day which in turn follows night. Life is a consistent cycle. Ever changing. And we are part of it all. Aren’t we the lucky ones.

One Season into the Next

Does anyone remember September going by? I sure don't. It really does feel like I'm not in the center of the day, hour, moment......I seem to be off to the next thing and the next thing and the next thing. Sort of ironic as I really thought of my move to Harsens Island as one of quiet and solitude so that I could write and garden. But obviously I don't know myself very well. Everything I do becomes some sort of a project. Will I never learn? However, Joe and I were having dinner eating the stuffed cabbage recipe I sent out last week (are you kidding me! It is amazing), talking about how incredibly rewarding the year has been. For me, it has been a diamond kind of existence with many facets. The garden, writing the newsletter, meeting the farmers, Bluegrass Festival - with which we have committed to establishing monies for an emergency fund for families in need), produce stand and teaching voice, voice over workshops and voice classes at Michigan Actors Studio. This summer I also saw four royalty checks for my CD that was released last year - as any indie musician will tell you, that is amazing. But I have CD Baby, the Airlines, Satellite Radio and Brian Ball's Women;s Radio to thank for that. It has reminded me that it is time to record as the material is already written, I just need to decide what direction I want to go in. Great timing as our garden "to do " list is beginning to shrink.

We thought that we would continue the produce stand until November but it looks like island life does go into hibernation a tad early so we are going to be open in a casual way selling canned goods. For all of you islanders who read this newsletter, feel free to stop by anytime and we will accommodate you. Next week we will provide a list of what we have - much of it will be great for gifts with the holidays coming up. We are still pulling food out of the ground i.e. spinach, heirloom strawberry lettuce, sweet potatoes, herbs, beets, onions, parsnips, tomatoes (if you can believe it - thanks to everything I read about raised gardens), kale, eggplant, cabbage and collards. This last week, Joe canned the green beans, tomato sauce, pickled beets and green tomatoes. I made applesauce, salsa, corn succotash, eggplant puree, green tomato bread, stuffed cabbage and both of us mashed and froze the potatoes - oh wait, let's not forget the pounds of pesto......it continues to be a lot of work but again, incredibly rewarding. (By the way, the eggplant puree is to die for - you could actually use that as a dip or sandwich spread - as I often say - SHUT UP it's so good).

I will continue the newsletter and that is when I will move into some other earth friendly subjects that have struck my fancy. There is so much that I read about that I want to share and of course get feedback on - I am really looking forward to it. I have spoken to my webmaster - the fab Doug Van Slembrouk. He is going to post my two books on my site http://www.katehart.com in the next couple of weeks. I will let you know when they are done so that if you are interested, you can download a chapter at a time - or just leave it online and read it there. Along with that, we are going to get the Magik Nuts website up (I already have orders for 50 lbs) and create a page for Cricket Garden. That too should be done in a couple of weeks.

I do want to apologize if I have ever come off as being a bit preachy. I do have to continue, on a daily basis, to keep a wise ol' saying running through my brain- "Those who know, don't speak. Those who speak, don't know." (Politicians anyone???) My goal will be to take on each newsletter with love and humility with no intention other than to share what I think is interesting but at no time demanding you should think the way that I do. That never gets anyone anywhere does it?

We are going to miss visiting with our wonderful neighbors every week as you come and get your produce. Buddy, our garden cat, will also miss doing his meet and greet at the front of the driveway, welcoming you into his domain, bringing dead mice for all of us to admire and then jumping up on the stand for one last petting extravaganza. With all of these wonderful spring and summer memories, please don't be strangers - it seems that our beautiful garden opened up a little magical door where good intentions could thrive and with that we could make new friends. From one season into the next we send our love and may the fall and winter bring sustenance and peace to your family.

Home Sweet Home

Fall is really here. Isn't it funny how our bodies, minds, spirits begin to crave and do different things? I know my days are changing dramatically due to less sunlight, cooler temperatures and taking on a full work schedule. Four to five days a I have an hour drive coming to and from work. The drive to work is on the meditative side. The drive home not so much, as it is dark which means I don't have the spectacular view. Since so many of you don't know Harsens Island I would love to clue you in on my slice of heaven. When Joe and I moved out to Harsens Island we had several agendas to fulfill by being here. First of all, and maybe the most important was to be close to nature. Secondly, we wanted to be in a place where there was a sense of community. Third, due to feeling beat up from being on the road, running bands, dealing with club owners, agents and managers - I could feel a stagnation of spirit and because of that, I was up for an adventure. But finally and most important, the great Lake St. Clair is an important piece of Joe's young history. He had such a "soul" connection with this magical lake. Since nature and the connection to the earth is so important to us, I will lead with that. When you get off the island and head west, almost immediately you are in Saint John's Marsh. Besides being the largest freshwater delta in the world, the St. Clair River Delta contains the greatest area of unaltered coastal marsh in the state. It is under management by the St. Clair Flats Wildlife Association which protects 745 acres. St. John's Marsh is part of a cluster of lake plain prairies within the St. Clair River delta. Lake plain prairies are relatively flat, occurring on sand ridges overlaying clay. Close to 160 different kinds of plants thrive in the area. The Natural Area is adjacent to 3,000 acres of St. John's Marsh which is occasionally managed with fires. What I have found so far is that the shaping of Michigan's landscape began during the great Ice Age, sculpting four massive continental glaciers rapidly moving across the Midwest. Michigan experienced the last great ice sheet, known as the Wisconsin Glacier, about fourteen thousand years ago. Actually, some say it was 13,500 years ago and this is a cycle that happens every 13,500 years and believe me, last winter, with all the ice, I believe them. Okay, back to the history of the Marsh. This huge mass was a mile thick and almost four million miles square. As the "river of ice" crept over the underlying rocks, its base scraped millions of tons of earth like a giant bulldozer over the land. The debris composed of soil, pebbles, cobbles and boulders - all being pushed forward, grinding rocks into dust, while boulders scratched their way through the bedrock. Then the climate began to warm. Melt-water carried the soils and rocks away from the melting glacier, depositing over the landscape. As this blend of soils and rocks was dropped away from the ice, the low hills, were created across the state. The weight of the glacier was lessening and the earth began to rebound, like a sponge returning to its original shape when the squeezing stopped. The landscape began to emerge like a slowly rising phoenix. Plants began to appear on the drying landscape. Communities formed as plants found a suitable growing environment near each other. Okay, I did ramble a bit - hope this wasn't too dry, but I find it really fascinating that all of this happened and here I am, little ol' me, lucky enough to live next to it. But this is only a part of what I see. In addition, there is an incredible array of river fowl, deer, raccoons, beavers (love their twig huts that stick out of the marsh like summer built igloos), swans, ducks and geese. Other animals species include great blue heron (which nests on the islands and I am privy to see almost daily), the Eastern fox snake (one of which kept slithering up to my produce stand - I eventually grew fearless, picking him up and putting him back in the weeds by the canal - oh and let's not forget his babies that were in my house) restricted to coastal marshes of Saginaw Bay, Lake St. Clair, and Lake Erie, King rail, and the rare Forster's Tern (nests on the channel levees that extend west from Dickinson Island). The Marsh is a well-known stop-over for migrating waterfowl, and provides nesting habitat for other birds, including some of the state-threatened birds. Along with the animal life are the incredible prairie wildflowers/grasses, such as blazing star, tall sun flower, big blue stem grass and Indian grass. On Dickinson Island, next to Harsens Island, small areas of wet prairie exist between the oaks on the ancient delta formation and meadow of the younger delta wetland. Wet prairie sites on both Dickinson and Harsens Islands provide habitat for rare plant species. My daily drives and living on the island reflect all of the above. As a matter of fact, when driving home early on a Sunday last winter, the iced up canal had one small opening, exposing a bit of fresh water with two swans huddled, waiting for lunch to swim by. Other days I might see, ice fisherman, in cars, trucks, portable and more permanent looking shanties, dotted long the lake. In the summer I'll see canoeing, fishing, hunting, nature study groups, photographers and birdwatchers. Beats looking at the back end of a car on the freeway. When people ask me, "Isn't it hard to drive that far? or "Doesn't it get to you when you can't get off the island?" I have to smile. In my opinion, the disconnectedness with nature has just about ruined this planet. Being with nature while trying to live a life in the modern world, is not easy. But the hardship is worth it. There is a high price for not paying attention to this incredible earth that we are living on. I once wrote a children's story about a girl named Fig who lived in a world where all the trees were disappearing because people just stopped thinking about them. Maybe I can take my lead from Fig while I slowly pick away at living a life that won't be a terrible impact on earth. Everything from plans to purchase a small car, to putting in a wood stove for heat. But none of this would be foremost in my mind, if I weren't living in a place that was a constant reminder of what is really important - and that my friends, is the ground we stand on and the earth that feeds us. Home Sweet Home! Now what you want to know about , the food!		Recipe of the Week Thai Pumpkin Soup This is a spicy variety on our favorite pumpkin soup. You can make it mild spicy or hot spicy by using different types of chilies. Instead of the traditional sour cream, this recipe uses coconut milk. Quick n' easy! Ingredients 1 tbl. vegetable oil 1 tbl. butter 1 clove garlic, chopped 4 shallots, chopped 2 sm. fresh red chili peppers, chopped 1 tbl. chopped lemon grass 2 1/8 cups unsweetened coconut milk 1 bunch fresh basil leaves Directions: 1. In a medium saucepan, heat oil and butter over low heat. Cook garlic, shallots, chilies and lemongrass in oil until fragrant (be careful not to burn the garlic). Stir in chicken stock, coconut milk and pumpkin; bring to a boil. Cook until pumpkin softens. 2. In a blender, blend the soup in batches to a smooth or slightly chunky consistency, whatever you prefer. Serve with basil leaves. Letters From...YOU! Barbara from Austin, TX writes... "I just LOVE your newsletters! Thank you so much for sharing all that you do and all that you are with us. These are thoroughly enjoyable Many thanks again." More from our valued readers... "Hi Kate! Great newsletter this week and last! But even greater still...HAPPY ANNIVERSARY! All my love, Laurie" "I've heard you sing on CD - I have a Detroit Women CD - love it. That's how I originally got on your newsletter. I always wanted to hear you LIVE, but, do you sing at all anymore?" "I forward your garden newsletters to my mom also - she's a Master Gardener in Indiana - and she loves getting them! What a great service you are providing to so many people - spreading your joy: first, through music and now, this. You are gifted. Thank you for blessing all of us - and helping to heal the planet in so many ways. Namaste.
Produce Stand