The Coffee Tree and the Bramble

Continuity

2012-01-24T17:30:00.018-06:00

I came across this first image, several months ago, while reading through an article in National Geographic, about coffee production in El Salvador, and specifically in the region of Santa Ana, where I now live. But that was before I took a job at Cuatro M, before I learned that the man I was working for was, uniquely, the nephew of the man who operated the mill from which that photo was taken, El Molino; and before I knew I'd photograph coffee being processed, as seen in the second image, in nearly identical fashion to the way they were in 1944, when the article was written.

My reaction was initial surprise, initially perplexed at how vastly things change, and yet how ever more vastly they are no different then before. I think, as they say, the world spins madly on, and develops, yet only within brighter pixels, and lenses capable of capturing a greater extent of the details; essentially people, fulfill roles and needs that have existed always, and perhaps a few more we've invented along the way.

So I believe in continuity, because Solomon said that there was nothing new underneath the sun; and if he had in fact, been granted wisdom from God, I believe that he knew exactly what he was writing; so I want that pair of eyes to observe the world, and I want to believe that it is, as it always has been; that the sin I, and society face, are not in some way more depraved then generations before; and that my weeping, to be spared the consequence of it, is not unending, just as David lost his firstborn son, rose and ate.

Change is something we point to and recognize daily, and for understandable reason, because it makes us believe good things can happen, that president's can fix nations, that disagreements can be hurdled, or that relationships can be mended; but I prefer to find continuity in my day to day, for the sake of the fact that it reminds me, humanity, has always and always will be in need of the redemption that always was, there, before the earth was formed.

I like change, for what it means in terms of improving the way we see the world, and live our lives; just like I enjoy new cameras and easier methods of transportation; but I like continuity, for what it means in terms of this world's ever present need for grace, and rebirth; in no greater or lesser quantities than the day Adam ate the fruit.

First photo, taken Beneficio El Molino - Santa, Ana El Salvador: 1944.

Second, taken Beneficio El Manzano - Santa Ana, El Salvador: 2011.

And yes, I took the idea from Natl. Geographic, and I like it.

Varietal Experiment Part 2 - 'Picking'

2012-01-17T18:29:00.003-06:00

Second part of an experiment we're working on at the plantation. Really learning to enjoy video making/editing.

Music - Manu Chao '15 Homens'

Hello January 16

2012-01-16T17:56:00.001-06:00

It has been some time....

2012-01-09T19:23:00.002-06:00

First go at new editing software. Intro clip to a film we're hoping to make on an experiment with different varieties of coffee.

Dear Uncle Steve

2011-12-07T16:21:00.001-06:00

My khaki shorts

and blue, zapzilla

t-shirt

were no match for your flannel

and blue jeans. My

soft hands and,

casual arm strength

held no sway underneath

your dolly cart,

desk loader and

assortment of

working man’s machinery,

like extra-terrestrials, looking

through,

my unpolished eyes,

still glowing with inexperience.

The baseball cap you wore

had more,

sweat than my entire body

but,

we worked hard,

to afternoon, sunset, and

evening through, and

even though i hindered, more

than helped

you let me lift things,

put my shoulders behind dressers,

kitchen tables and,

crawl into corners,

gathering

carpet squares, record

players, dishware,

tandem bicycles, golf clubs,

and speaker cables;

your life,

now stacked

neck high

against my chest

and arms and thighs

We were strangers,

we were family;

we were

opposites, and harmony;

like trials

considered joy;

you knew,

a thing or two

about having, and

losing, so,

leaving, you made

home, where home

always had been.

You drove trucks,

big trucks, for citrus

growers, and

house movers, but whomever;

I knew,

even before watching you,

could

tuck in and out

of any tight turn;

and back quarter inches

from obstacles, while,

fearing

no heaviness,

darkness, or emptiness,

and that days without

were but days within

to thank god for,

his compassion

to give today,

so when i passed

you’d call out “mike,”

to ask about school

and church,

or, whether my check

engine light was on

and if i needed work.

you told me you were giving double

while trusting god for the harvest,

and i saw eternity

in your sincerity;

in your grill tools,

pool net, and sandaled feet

simplicity,

in your leaf blower,

white shirt, ball-cap

clean trailer, and calm-bodied

surety.

We were strangers,

we were family.

We were

opposites, and harmony,

like trials

considered joy;

you knew

a thing or two

about having, and

losing, so,

leaving, you made

home, where home

should be;

over a meal,

in the bottle of

table wine,

through the resonating

laugher, and

in the second glass,

the mid-evening door knock

half gospel,

half politics,

half nonsense - whole,

we just enjoy each others

presence, talk;

the request for a good movie

the, middle age

and still make your wife laugh;

gladness

for your children’s

happiness, and

in grand babies.

I wrote this on a bus. I wrote it for my wife and kids running through my thoughts, for the ones that run physically through yours; as both stood at a distance, near the hope I’d somehow piece us back together.

Happy Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T22:10:00.000-06:00

To the El Salvador comedor owners

2011-11-16T23:35:00.006-06:00

After three difficult weeks,

the hunger sensation in my body has returned,

and my apatite is feverish;

just in time for a handful of pupusas tonight

out of Los Naranjos.

But here is my heads up

to the El Sal comedor owners,

apron wearers,

pupusa molders,

maiz, atol venders,

chuko mixers,

horchata sharers;

I am on to you, like

kobayashi on hotdogs, like

santa clause on christmas eve rooftops, like

nerves on the lips

of new-years eve kiss

wanters.

I am everywhere,

and will de-vour

pupusas

till curtido is my credo,

empanadas, pasteles, yucca

till oil pools in my naval.

Four weeks until christmas

I am going big,

then going home,

(returning of course).

Depulping Intro Video: October 31, 2011

2011-11-14T19:43:00.003-06:00

"Where's your string?"

2011-11-10T20:55:00.004-06:00

(I set pen to page, squared up to my failure; from the notion that blogging is easy, living is hard. If my world is grey, the people written about are painted solely from the motivation to draw from a colorful source).

I built a fence for my father, the summer after my freshman year of college, that, despite his hesitations, is still standing to this day.

There are a few beams, I'm confident he wanted dug deeper, but, at the time, he didn't have the time to stay, and help me through it, only 15 minute intervals between meetings, inspections, and orange-cranberry snack breaks at Dunkin Donuts; which, nearly always began with, "auhhh Michael," rolling his eyes, "I wanted the beams on the inside," or, "auhhh Michael," with hands in the air, "these posts need to be at least two more inches off the ground; the grassline is gonna grow right over the base, and then they're ruined;" meanwhile, grabbing a brick and two-by-four, he suggested I position it beneath the fence, standing on the two-by-four which had, by that point, been placed onto the brick, creating a teeter-totter like effect, hoisting the fence to the desired two inches into the air, where he then recommended I screw it into place; all before, "Oh! I'm late," running quickly back through the house to his truck.

But the one command, I still hear, anytime leveling is in need, is the one to stretch a string.

As if I didn't have enough on my hands, attempting his fulcrum-hoisting strategy, with screw gun in right hand, and six panel, double sided fence held in place with the other, he would call it from nearby windows, or out the screen patio, where he would stand, and watch through, "stretch a string Mike; you need a string; how are you gonna know when it's level if you don't have a string Mike?"

I love my father; I think the fence is fine. That question seems to come to mind, when watching projects like the one today; and when mindful of my life's, metaphorical fence, being unleveled.

The construction is moving quick, and I'm scrambling to learn how to take and edit video, while trying not to overdue things i think are nice.

Bare feet concrete

2011-11-09T15:07:00.004-06:00

Drying patio construction at Beneficio El Manzano.

Ever since moving to El Salvador, I've wanted to capture cement mixing in some form. No matter where you go in the country, at every construction site, you will find men mixing their concrete in this manner.

They start by creating a pile of cement mix and sand, before hollowing out the center; at which point they pour water, creating a pool within their man-made crater. They then slowly, and always in pairs, work the the mix from the outside, into the middle, until water has meshed with mix.

I've always loved watching it, and noting the far greater implications for the development of societies. If the states are cement trucks, mixers, and work boots, rural El Salvador is this video, and barefoot.

El Manzano Lab Roaster - Eduardo Mendoza

2011-11-04T00:01:00.000-06:00

The best part about this video is the gentleman in it. Eduardo works in the lab at the mill, and runs all the samples for every batch of coffee, therefore he roasts and cups daily, and with my "office" being in the cupping room, made me his pupil.

The kid (30) is gold; honestly, pure gold.

To Eduardo; to the fact that you cannot read this, and to your off-tune angelic voice. You are a sincere friend.

I carry a camera, but the question is does she still call me aperture

2011-11-03T19:29:00.012-06:00

it’s, a canon

shiny, clear black,

nice

i bought it new

when she said to

after dry heaving

on the price tag,

it seemed selfish, then

it was selfish now

because between the two of us

we already had four

and she knew so

hers were brown

mine green

and not a person in the world

had ever owned one, or two,

or three,

years

we carried them, to ledges

beside railroad track

to red boots, alaska and back

to lighthouse hammock, augustine

over a stone wall,

up a water,

passed my fear,

fall.

(when all else blurred

she called me aperture

when she smiles

i call her beautiful)

we developed so many pictures

facebook couldn’t handle us

twitter had no place for us

she was my status

is my status

she will be

tomorrow

when i wake

i’ll drink coffee

in my left hand.

and right hand,

holding newness,

rub my eyes,

through a glass lens, and

always catch the suns

glare. (hear me clear).

if buying a camera

sounds good to your ears (you've got four already),

save your money,

don’t finish grading

keep your day job,

and leave.

buy her ice-cream

cone,

walk the boardwalk,

sit on stairs,

walk more.

but love her,

lover

love her

like waves do shore,

like i do,

and when the old man asks,

if you are lovers,

say always.

I took a picture,

wednesday morning, at 4 am

beneath my throat

where my soul sits

midway from my stomach

and sent it in an email

i’m positive it was everything,

and blurry

fish bowels and nowhere

2011-10-27T19:00:00.013-06:00

Her tears were the voice of God,

spoken audibly

from the drivers seat

of a white Nissan;

sending me to a city

to practice a message of repentance,

reconciliation, salvation;

but grace appeared the enemy.

But now,

as I foot home,

our story smells of burlap,

and sackcloth.

And for my sake,

when you hear it,

good god,

let your pretty heart jump

a little,

if for no other,

than for the

hope,

I have,

it might.

Because I didn’t set my course for Nineveh.

I took a third class to Joppa, and

in the storm named ambitions,

dreams,

found myself asleep,

awake to screams to

summon God.

So when I drew the short straw,

and convinced this crew

my nightmare,

was in fact

the one to cut your wrists for,

they tossed me overboard,

into an ocean called lovesick,

homesick, godsick,

and without knowing it,

but hearing,

the voice in my body

hit the water,

“dear holy god,

if your holy ears

hear

my soul,

then bridge my reach;

swallow me,

neck deep

in fish bowels and nowhere;

but

my knees;”

like standing,

only laying”

and I pray day and night there,

i pray day and night there; and yet,

these hands

could still clench tighter,

this heart

could still know fuller

three days thirst, before

vomiting me onto her shores.

Partida #9: There's coffee in the mountains, and women in coffee, International Women's Coffee Alliance visits El Manzano

2011-10-27T17:30:00.003-06:00

Representing multiple areas of the coffee industry, from producers and exporters to importers and marketers; women from around the world gather in El Salvador for the second Annual International Women’s Coffee Alliance, International Convention, from October 25-27.

On Wednesday, 30 of those women journeyed to Sierra Apaneca-Ilamatepec, to explore Finca, Beneficio, and Tostaduria El Manzano, observing the farm, milling, and roasting levels of coffee production.

As stated in their website, the objectives of the convention are threefold, “to increase the visibility of the organization, share knowledge of coffee from seeds to the cup, and promote relations in the coffee sector.” In conjunction and support for their theme, Emilio Lopez, wife Christy, and mother, Margarita Diaz de Lopez, each having experience in the different levels of coffee production, from growing to marketing, welcomed the group.

The day began late morning, in the garden area of the plantation, enjoying El Manzano coffee and pan dulce. From there, the tour began, following the path of coffee from seed to cup, as Emilio led the group through the construction zone of what will become a new patio at El Manzano, allowing visitors to pause for photos of the bright coffee cherries, blushing from the trees planted in route to their first station, the weighing and categorization station, where cherries are weighed and graded for processing.

They then observed the de-pulping station, where cherries are washed and separated by the mechanical syphon, into two qualities of cherries called sinkers and floaters, before passing through an unripe bean separator, where unripe cherries are rejected, and cycled back into the batch of second quality cherries; at which point, both qualities will be de-pulped by vertical machines, and filtered by horizontal rotary screens, which allow normal beans to pass through, while rejecting any beans that did not get de-pulped, is round, or otherwise does not have a flat surface, ultimately resulting in four qualities of parchment coffee; which are washed of their mucilage in water, and channeled into hoppers, and carts, to be spread out onto the patios for drying.

The women were able to walk the patios, as some asked questions, while others kneeled to hold and smell the coffees, taking photos of and with the coffee, or of the small placards marking each batch of coffee processed, listing its complete information, from batch number, to farm and quality. Completing the drying portion of the processing level, were the two horizontal dryers, which the group visited, staring up the long bucket elevators, and into the two furnaces that, fueled by husk, heat the dryers, before pausing for a group picture in front of the patio.

From there the tour entered the hulling portion of processing, as the group walked through the warehouses, already partially filled with parchment coffee from this years harvest, bagged and compiled according to elevation and certification, ready to pass through the hulling equipment, which removes parchment from the green coffee, and separates it with screens according to size, including a newly installed screen for peaberries; at which point the coffee will be ready for export and roasting.

Before the final stop on the tour, the group paused for stories of historic Santa Ana, of weeks journeying, and wagon trains out to the plantation, while imagining what farm life would have been like from 1870 to 1950, before modern roads and efficient transportation. For this reason, a chapel was built to host mass for family and workers throughout their stay at the plantation during harvest, the altar from which however, having now been removed, and replaced with a black, steel, Diedrich IR-12 roaster.

The Roastery at El Manzano is where roughly 10 percent of all the green coffee, processed at Beneficio El Manzano, will end up, where just over half of that 10 percent will be roasted for commercial clients within El Salvador, (i.e. Pollo Campero and McDonalds). The rest will be roasted for speciality customers, distributed to various outlets, (Super Selectos), also within El Salvador.

As the tour came to an end, the group rejoined others in the garden, for lunch and conversation, all accompanied by more coffee and pan dulce, from a famous shop in Santa Ana, bringing an end to an odyssey that began many months ago, as trees shed their flowers and absorbed the seasonal rains and filtered sun, to produce the harvest that brought these women together, now experienced, shared, and enjoyed at every step along the way.

Damien Rice - One (U2 cover)

2011-10-26T22:06:00.008-06:00

Is it getting better
Do I feel the same
Will it make it easier on me now
I've got someone to blame
You say

One love
One life
When it's one need
In the night
One love
We get to share it
Leaves me baby if I
Don't care for it

Did I disappoint you
With a bad taste in my mouth
I act like I never had love
And I want you to go without
Well it's

Too late
Tonight
To drag the past out into the light
We're one, but we're not the same
We get to
Carry each other
Carry each other
One

Have I come here for forgiveness
Have I come to raise the dead
Have I come here to play Jesus

To the lepers in my head

Beneficio El Manzano: 16 crew, 8 hours, 4 wheels, 2 lightbulbs, and 1 installed horizontal cylindrical dryer

2011-10-26T21:18:00.011-06:00

A sixteen man crew, eight working hours, four wheels, three support ropes, two lightbulbs, and one, installed horizontal cylinder for the new Pinhalense SRE-150 mechanical dryer.

There were moments of laughter, amidst others of waiting, measuring, and brainstorming, with reggaeton to fill the patient and often fraught silence, as the crew at Beneficio El Manzano worked into late Tuesday night, in order to install the first of many pieces for the new dryer.

Work began in the afternoon, with two freestanding base supports, and the two ton cylinder in the back of a truck, which needed to go from the latter, into and onto the former.

Using sawhorses to support long pieces of lumber, a makeshift bridge was assembled between the truck and foundation, and wheels were attached to both front and end of the dryer, which they then, rather then lifting, patiently pushed into its suspended position.

Hour by hour, the dryer edged nearer and nearer, until reaching it’s far end brace, where it was then hoisted with a jack, and clamped into position, leaving only the second base to be lifted and bolted into place. As the night set in, a truck was pulled near to cast light on the project, while other crew carried extension cords attached to sockets, and lightbulbs, which shone into the tight spaces where headlights could not reach.

Since the dryer had been suspended in place by sawhorses and lumber, it had to be hoisted again with a jack, allowing the lumber to be sawed in half and removed by hand, making for some tense minutes as the dryer held, suspended, supported only by the first base and a narrow, orange circular jack, which, once both foundations were secured in place, was released, allowing the dryer to rest in its now permanent home.

Ropes were removed, handshakes were extended, congratulations were said, and deep breaths again filled lungs as the day’s work was called and approved, and the feeling of deferred hunger suddenly emerged to everyone’s senses.

Beneficio El Manzano: Partida 7 (Here comes the sun)

2011-10-25T12:00:00.001-06:00

With Tropical Depression 12-E passed, the clouds have soon emptied and dissipated, bringing the late morning and afternoon's clear sky and sunshine.

At Finca El Manzano, the new harvest is more visible each day, as cherries begin to show clearly from the trees, intermixed with still ripening beans. Early in the harvest, being a strictly high grown (SHG) plantation, it has begun to be picked, however will not begin full harvesting until December.

While at the mill, seeing some of the effects of the recent rains, many overripe beans make processing more technical and dirty, however, with sunny weather to wake up to, along with a full harvest soon arriving, attitudes are bright and 'cherry.'

We were three worlds, both in one world

2011-10-24T00:30:00.004-06:00

No photo could ever capture all that is contained within that tin-wall, double-bench, tarp-covered comedor we call Maria's. I did my best tonight, and would be content if I never took another. These tables are my every day, these faces are family, these friends are true love, and these moments are everything.

We stacked benches on the stove and shelves, washed dishes with wet hands and cold air, and locked your tin windows with wire. I kissed yours and your daughters cheek, hugged your brother and your sons, waved goodbye, and wished as I have before, that I could swallow your poverty as you have mine. I bit my lip and turned my head, you walked that way, and I walked this...

We were three worlds, both in one world, pondering if bridges could ever unify our roads. So you made dough and lit a stove, and I poured coco-cola; and together we sang hallelujah from our island world, and called it home.

Boys - Three

2011-10-23T22:39:00.008-06:00

Marlon

If whippersnapper had a photo...

If you were attempting to unlock a door, and had the wrong keys; Marlon would be right there watching over your shoulder, waiting to offer his services to have a go at the door, just in case somehow you'd forgotten how to use keys.

Kid's got a spark, a quick wit, smart lip, and a fantastic excuse for everything; Nothing was Marlon's fault, but always a perfectly good explanation for why he was typing on someone else's computer, late to class, or fiddling through your stack of papers or books; and yet at the end of the day he was the most fun to joke with and at, because more than likely he was the one dishing it out to me half our days together; certainly one of my favorites.

Boys - Two

2011-10-23T06:00:00.005-06:00

Javier Francesco Cruz

If any of our students are going to forget everything learned last class, how to spell carpenter, or respond to How old are you with "I'm fine thank you," it's Javier. However, a drummer in the school band, a soft and loyal disposition, and a seconds' fraction away from hysteria, you wouldn't rather him be any other way.

You could not pay Javier to miss class; rain or shine, he will traipse the two miles uphill to the academy with his leopard print umbrella and second-hand bowling jacket belonging to a Stan Andrews, in order to sit in his usual spot at the boys' table, back against the wall, next to Carlos, whom he'll nudge pre, during, and post lunch for consistent, confirmed laughter.

I didn't want one one photo, chopped up into many, but many photos, telling one character. It's an idea.

Boys

2011-10-22T23:30:00.008-06:00

Since arriving in El Salvador, I have been working with an organization, teaching and getting to know a group of students from a community in Los Planes de Renderos, a rural area composing one of the outskirts of metropolitan San Salvador.

The name of the organization is Passion for Purity, and while they teach English, their primary purpose and goal is discipleship in the gospel, and I am grateful to them for opening the door into the lives of each of these kids, into their abilities to learn, and hunger for laughter and community. Their needs are many, and potential likewise.

I am not leaving El Salvador, but am moving to a new region, to begin work at a coffee plantation. In light of that, I brought pizza and Coke up from town, to the bible study Nicole and Noemi lead with our students on Saturday afternoons.

Afterwords the kids and I sat, ate and, mindful of our inability to communicate fully, loved through our laughter, deep smiles, and mutual understanding of that small candle within us burning at both ends.

We said our goodbyes, and I walked them to the gate, where we waved, hugged, and said goodbye once again. Thinking it was the last time I'd see them for a short while, I was surprised, yet pleased when Edgar's face peered around the door to our classroom, with hand soon following, holding a cone with coconut sorbete and raspberry topping, sold for 25 cents from a man in town that walks the streets with three-wheeled cart and bell.

I said more than thanks, and followed him out to the gate once again, knowing sorbete tastes best under a clear sky, but now noticing two other of my students, Javier and Carlos, also buying ice-cream, (pause here, for clarification, that sorbete is like ice-cream, but not ice-cream; not necessarily better, not worse, only like, but not ice-cream). I strolled over, raising my cone as I approached, to signal approval and gratitude, motioning across the street, to the mirador, as a clear location for us to unveil more than delicious from our snack. All concurring, we both-wayed and crossed the street, passing through the small black gate and single-filing, then shoulder to shoulder against the stone wall that marked the ledge, over-looking the nation's capital.

We didn't speak, solely surveyed, taking in the newness of blue sky and chilled air, white clouds and all that was the present. A photograph would have taken away from our pure pleasure and perennial contentment, however I did take one picture, as I glanced at the three boys and their ice-cream cones, staring out, thankful and non expectant at the city below, developed it in black and white and hung it at the forefront of my soul; reminding me of the things I hope to live for, and an Edwin Arlington Robinson poem I once read...

I: Boys

WE were all boys, and three of us were friends;

And we were more than friends, it seemed to me: --

Yes, we were more than brothers then, we three. . . .

Brothers? . . . But we were boys, and there it ends.

We finished our cones, and by this point had defined in spanish and english all the geographical landscapes we could spot with our eight eyes; at which point Carlos opened his backpack to reveal and retrieve four mandarins he'd picked while visiting his grandmother, polishing them with his palms before offering them to each of us, chuckling, hiding then, what we'd find out five minutes later, that we had 35 plus, mandarins in his backpack, at which point, we too laughed, each narrating a story of our own as to how Carlos managed to pick and conceal such treasure from us all afternoon. We peeled, and ate, and stared, and ate; before again breaking the silence by attempting to land the seeds spit from our mouths onto a decorative ledge roughly five feet beyond and ten feet below where we leaned against the stone wall. I was the last to accomplish my own objective, only to regain my high standing by retrieving three more mandarins and juggling them near the ledge of the lookout; gaining glances and slight applause before losing control and hitting a mother on the right shoulder, to whom I apologized, and feigned embarrassment for being the adult in my group. In reality, I was thirteen, and could not have felt ashamed even if it were appropriate.

We finished our mandarins, and absorbed a last look at the city, as I took one last photo of my friends for the dashboard of my eyes. They had nothing, and they had everything.

Other day, same sky, students, more like friends.

....I studied

Their faces and made for myself the story

Of all their scattered lives. Like brothers

And sisters they seemed to me...

Edwin Arlington Robinson

One for a deep cup and an empty wall, or sky

2011-10-21T17:00:00.002-06:00

Edwin Arlington Robinson

from The Night Before

...When or where I first met the woman

I cherished and made my wife, no matter.

Enough to say that I found her and kept her

Here in my heart with as pure a devotion

As ever Christ felt for his brothers. Forgive me

For naming His name in your patient presence;

But I feel my words, and the truth I utter

Is God's own truth. I loved that woman, --

Not for her face, but for something fairer,

Something diviner, I thought, than beauty:

I loved the spirit -- the human something

That seemed to chime with my own condition,

And make soul-music when we were together;

And we were never apart, from the moment

My eyes flashed into her eyes the message

That swept itself in a quivering answer

Back through my strange lost being. My pulses

Leapt with an aching speed; and the measure

Of this great world grew small and smaller,

Till it seemed the sky and the land and the ocean

Closed at last in a mist all golden

Around us two. And we stood for a season

Like gods outflung from chaos, dreaming

That we were the king and the queen of the fire

That reddened the clouds of love that held us

Blind to the new world soon to be ours --

Ours to seize and sway. The passion

Of that great love was a nameless passion,

Bright as the blaze of the sun at noonday,

Wild as the flames of hell; but, mark you,

Never a whit less pure for its fervor.

The baseness in me (for I was human)

Burned like a worm, and perished; and nothing

Was left me then but a soul that mingled

Itself with hers, and swayed and shuddered

In fearful triumph...

Beneficio E Manzano: Partida #6 (Report on Tropical Depression 12-E)

2011-10-20T15:45:00.010-06:00

After ten long days of the highest recorded rainfall in El Salvador since 1960, the rains have reached an end; at least in the torrential, 24 hours-a-day category.

However, despite the optimistic reports of the first sunshine in a week and a half, and sub-sequential reinstating of coffees back onto the patio, we await reports and coming estimates of damages to not only the Central America region’s total coffee production, but to our own plantations as well; accompanying the effect that these reports may have on the global coffee market, and international prices for arabica coffee.

In Atlantic Specialty Coffee, Inc. report, Central America takes stock of rain damage to coffee, published October 18, Hernando Urena, manager of Costa Rica's national coffee cooperative federation comments, "We've already had nine days of uninterrupted rain and the coffee is ripe. Too much rain makes the berries swell up full of water and burst, and then they fall off."

As we walked the plantations, Emilio pointed out the these effects at both Finca Ayutepeque and El Manzano, however, noting more severe damage to the trees at Finca Ayutepeque, located at an altitude from 1,000 - 1,100 meters, as opposed to El Manzano, which is from 1,300 - 1,550 meters. All measured, the farm experienced a meter of rainfall, and at a lower altitude, cherries at Finca Ayutepeque ripen sooner, and therefore, at this point in the harvest, are more vulnerable to rain and heavy winds.

Scores of ripe coffee cherries lay in the dirt surrounding the trees in certain regions of the plantation, many of them split open. Many others, bulging with fluid, falling with a slight touch or sway of the tree; Emilio estimating as much as 15 - 25 percent of first ripened cherries to have been damaged or lost in initial areas, specifically those planted with the bourbon varietal.

Red Bourbon, is one of more than five varieties of coffee growing at the two plantations, comprising 95% of all the coffee grown. It experienced a greater degree of damage to its cherries than did other varieties observed, such as Pacas and Acaia; due to the fact that its branches and clusters of cherries are more spread out, as opposed to a much tighter, consolidated series of branches and clusters on other varieties mentioned. As a result, its cherries are more exposed to sunlight, causing them to ripen quicker, and again, leaving them more exposed and vulnerable to the wind and rain experienced.

Atlantic Specialty Coffee’s report goes on to site the uninterrupted rain as a potential cause for damage to the future crop as well, as a lack of sunshine can give fungus the environment to spread very easily throughout plantations.

While Emilio is confident this kind of damage will not harm the crop at El Manzano or Ayutepeque, we cannot speak on behalf of other plantations, and can only wait for time to tell of the total effect that this storm will have the region for the coming harvest.

i carry your heart

2011-10-20T02:01:00.002-06:00

i carry your heart -- EE Cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

If you love me, love El Salvador

2011-10-19T23:00:00.003-06:00

The rains in El Salvador have fallen, and with them roads, and bridges, roofs and walls; fathers, mothers, and children. The need is beyond any i've known with my two literal eyes, or hands, while photographs seem misplaced, as creativity at their expense is beyond my maturity to portray with pure motives.

If you love me, love El Salvador. Pray for fathers without homes or jobs, mothers without food, and children without blankets. And pray for east africa and palestine; and much of the world, who were without food and homes long before we had a rainstorm and a story to bolster my heroics.

I want you with me;

i need godliness and family;

selflessness and charity,

direction and clarity.

When "I'll drink it black" meant I love you

2011-10-17T22:45:00.005-06:00

I remember the day you said you loved me, in fact I remember many, however there was one in which you said it looking beyond my two eyes, and into the part of me that made was wholly Michael, far beyond your nephew.

I was fresh off the trail of a story I'd been buzzing, about a roastery in some warehouse, with some company I wasn't even convinced I knew the name of; about coffee, roasted coffee, that I had seen drop into the drum, from a hopper loaded with my two hands, that I had seen turn circles, above fire and heat with my two eyes, and I had made the call after first crack with my own sense, to let full air through the roasting drum, and soon switched on the cooling bin, before lifting the bar and door to let each bean spill into its ocean of deep brown and smoke.

And after lunch, was a moment I lost sleep for; when I'd brew that religious pot of pre-dishes, mid-desert Sunday coffee. I made every women in the kitchen furious, pulling open cabinets, plugging in the grinder; making what would seem like a routine, sober task, comparable to a British monarch's coronation.

I prepared five or eight cups, and even french-pressed one for my dad, being over-meticulous with the press and pour, like I was threading coffee through mug needles; and set them out on the table; intentionally serving without cream or sugar, hoping my first tasters would take my word for it and search the darkness, the untainted truth, to find something beyond usual weekday morning or sunday afternoon; however, as expected, cream and sugar were soon placed at tables center.

Askance, I quickly righted and tossed glances to each table head, obscurely noting if anyone had caught the chagrin in my demeanor. Nothing, hands nor lips moved in fluid, as my brain processed reaction, like a referee interrogating instant replay for foot placement on a sideline catch. Then, my eyes caught note of my Uncle Ron, forming the words, "I'll drink it black."

I was inwardly beaming, while outwardly annoying; taking each of his sips with my eyes, to the dregs of his cup with my overbearing questions; but truly, happy.

In retrospect, it wasn't fantastic coffee. It was non-organic, marked 'humanic,' over-roasted, and perhaps, good; but for whatever reason, in my naivete, I had taken a piece of what made me Michael and brewed it that afternoon, poured it into a black-rimmed, white glass cup, and set it out on the Sunday dinner table, exposing my sincerest self and wants; to which he, in his supportive benevolence, saw into my imperfections and shadows, and said, "I'll drink it black."

Where you at Drew Barsalou?

2011-10-15T20:10:00.013-06:00

I remember a black suv,

chick-fil-a coupons,

and battling zach cole for shotgun;

medieval europe,

lacrosse sticks,

laughter;

'it's too late to apologize' and

your ever dramatic social scene.

What else did we need in life,

honestly,

but the all consuming immediate present?

We lost touch.

I hear your dating a girl now.

I'm sure if we collided, we'd reconvene

that scene,

like yesterday never came between us; but

must we remember life

is not an eternal university campus.

And a nine to five no longer consists of

Dr. Poe's 3:30, Tuesday - Thursday;

and your,

mid-afternoon perma-snack

that never seemed to stop flowing from your

quicksilver/billabong/some surfboard company

back-pack;

(ZC, back me up on that one).

I can't speak on behalf of what you were

to any one else who crossed your path, an

intellectual, honors buff, paper-writing - sandal wearing

goofster; but

hard-to-get-a-hold-of

aside;

it was always worth the time.

Wherever you are;

these days I hope

you got someone

riding shotgun;

because at least, to their gain,

I'm sure as any,

they've got a good story to tell.

Don't Dress, You're Beautiful

2011-10-14T14:00:00.012-06:00

We are the more marketable,

but you are without doubt the more authentic.

And while more people will love us;

those that do, will love you exclusively more.

For we, (I and they), sold a piece of our sincerity, when

we pursued marketability,

an external sell;

that went beyond the nature of being,

and into the nature of being seen,

which in the beginning meant nothing

to Adam and Eve.

"And they felt no shame."

But once perceiving being seen,

we realized our nakedness,

and subsequently clothed ourselves

in fabrics never designed to be worn. Like advertisements;

when nature’s inclination already tells us what we need,

we now live inside a world aiming for the things we don’t.

So please don’t dress, you’re beautiful.

Indelible Grace: Jesus I my cross have taken

2011-10-14T08:41:00.003-06:00

1. Jesus, I my cross have taken,
All to leave and follow Thee.
Destitute, despised, forsaken,
Thou from hence my all shall be.
Perish every fond ambition,
All I’ve sought or hoped or known.
Yet how rich is my condition!
God and heaven are still my own.

2. Let the world despise and leave me,
They have left my Savior, too.
Human hearts and looks deceive me;
Thou art not, like them, untrue.
O while Thou dost smile upon me,
God of wisdom, love, and might,
Foes may hate and friends disown me,
Show Thy face and all is bright.

3. Man may trouble and distress me,
’Twill but drive me to Thy breast.
Life with trials hard may press me;
Heaven will bring me sweeter rest.
Oh, ’tis not in grief to harm me
While Thy love is left to me;
Oh, ’twere not in joy to charm me,
Were that joy unmixed with Thee.

4. Go, then, earthly fame and treasure,
Come disaster, scorn and pain
In Thy service, pain is pleasure,
With Thy favor, loss is gain
I have called Thee Abba Father,
I have stayed my heart on Thee
Storms may howl, and clouds may gather;
All must work for good to me.

5. Soul, then know thy full salvation
Rise o’er sin and fear and care
Joy to find in every station,
Something still to do or bear.
Think what Spirit dwells within thee,
Think what Father’s smiles are thine,
Think that Jesus died to win thee,
Child of heaven, canst thou repine.

6. Haste thee on from grace to glory,
Armed by faith, and winged by prayer.
Heaven’s eternal days before thee,
God’s own hand shall guide us there.
Soon shall cease thy earthly mission,
Soon shall pass thy pilgrim days,
Hope shall change to glad fruition,
Faith to sight, and prayer to praise.

It was a

2011-10-13T23:15:00.010-06:00

grey sky and fog, an

it rained all day, a

water flicked by your shoes onto the back of your thighs, a

frozen burritos and tater-tots for lunch, an

i really enjoy laughing with these kids, an

"I make juice," an

umbrellas hanging from the window bars, a

there's a leak in our roof, an

i think i'll cook dinner tonight, an

i met my nephew for the first time, an

over a skype conversation, an

i talked to my sister and her kids, an

i want to share coffee with my brother, a

greg zajicek motivational conversation, an

i miss teaching history, an

i'm neck deep in a presentation i should be preparing for, a

no i won't cook dinner tonight, a

there's always love at Mariah's comedor, a

sure why not, my body can handle entirely fried food, an

if you add enough sugar to corn-hash drink, it'll taste pleasing, an

i don't want to do this alone and

i wish i knew how to tell her so,

kind of day.

Phobias and dogs

2011-10-13T00:00:00.002-06:00

Up until today I never knew how phobias developed, I've never had one, and really, while not particularly caring for certain insects, don't remember strongly disliking or fearing anything. I suppose phobia may be a slight overstatement, considering the implication of irrationality; however, I can confess, openly and honestly to a new found fear of dogs, El Salvadoran dogs.

Dogs? I know, how is that possible?

I didn't think it was, but after frantically lifting my knees and feet from under a restaurant table to avoid contact with a stray looking for food today, and nearly sending the table, my entire bowl of soup and six others into oblivion, I realized I might have a problem.

I apologized to everyone thirty-five times, and have been thinking hard about it ever since. I might have seen signs of it coming, just without the confidence nor understanding to resist such a thing.

Ever since I arrived in El Salvador, and in one community in particular, dogs have not taken a liking to me. In the past three months alone, I have been barked at, lunged at, forced to climb up walls, chased down four streets, and bitten twice....no lie, drawn blood from my upper calf and ankle, when I didn't see it coming; just a growl, pain, and blood.

My friends here think it's hilarious, and never cease to repeat in their broken english, "only you Michael, only you."

I don't like to stand near dogs, nor do I desire to pet them. I refuse to look them in the eyes and tense up when I have to walk past them, but if not forced to, I have become as patient as a mailbox, sincerely, I would rather be late, wet, and down-right publicly humiliated, then walk by an unfamiliar dog with teeth; which is all of them.

Perhaps not a phobia, perhaps a rational response to a very real threat to my safety, perhaps. Now teach me to explain that in Spanish to six Salvadorans wearing their chicken soup.

Beneficio El Manzano: Partida #5 (Weighing and Categorization)

2011-10-12T21:00:00.004-06:00

There are a myriad of things that happen to a coffee, between the time it is harvested from the tree, to the moment it is brewed, cupped, and tasted; and even then, takes different courses depending on the type of cup. A universal experience, yet dynamic, delicate, and unique; sacred in its unrefined, natural essence and unabridged conversion.

Coffee is harvested from a tree, and if quality is considered, by hand. On the tree, coffee is called a cherry, or in spanish - uva, and is hand picked according to ripeness, leaving unripe beans for a later harvest. Cherries will then then be sorted, to distinguish the ripe beans from the incidental unripe, sticks, leaves, etc, and will then be bagged in burlap sacs and weighed. This weight is taken by the farmer, owner of the plantation, to determine the picker's days wages, typically one dollar per twenty five pounds of cherries, a measurement referred to as arroba.

If a farmer does not process his own cherries, they will be sold to an external processor, someone who buys the cherries from the farmer, and likely picks them up from their plantation. At Beneficio El Manzano, this happens four times a day, where trucks are sent out to collect the coffees purchased from the nineteen surrounding farms in Santa Ana, El Salvador; processing High Grown (HG) and Strictly High Grown (SHG) coffees from eight distinct growers.

(Coffee is a delicate crop, meaning that throughout its growth and processing, it will absorb the flavors of that which it comes into contact with. For example, it will absorb the flavors of other crops it shares the soil with, which many farmers will intentionally plant to give their coffee certain preferred taste or aroma.

Since it is picked as a fully ripened cherry, harvested coffee immediately and naturally begins to ferment. Most coffee will therefore be processed within 24 hours of being harvested, lest it develop sour, alcoholic flavors. Much of the processing method of coffee is geared to allow it time to do that very thing, however, leaving coffee in its natural fruit is a riskier processing method, considering the potential to ferment and thereby spoil the beans).

With picking occurring during the day, trucks begin to arrive the mill by nightfall, and thereby begin the first step in the processing method. At Beneficio El Manzano, this process is called the Weighing and Categorization Process.

The first part of this process is very simple. All trucks are scheduled for a delivery time, and upon arrival, with coffees bagged in the bed will drive onto a calibrated scale. The driver scans a bar code, which registers the information of the truck; the name of the farm it is coming from, the altitude of the plantation, the variety of coffee, the number of sacs, and pre-measured weight of the sacs.

While on the scale, the second step of the process begins, the categorization or grading of the cherries delivered. Since there are so many variables in the production of coffee, ie: altitude, fertilization, harvesting methods, a grading system was developed by Cuatro M, as a means of determining the quality of the cherries, in order to provide feedback to the farmer, determine which regional coffees can be blended with others, and determine the premium paid to the farmer for his cherries. Prices for cherries purchased each harvest is predetermined, however, this grade, determines the price offered to a farmer in the coming harvest.

The categorization process (grading system) works by taking one sample from the sacs of cherries delivered from each plantation. This small sample is taken from the sacs delivered at a ratio of 1/10; so, if 30 sacs are delivered, sample cherries are collected from three of those 30 sacs, which are then brought into our lab for examination.

Once collected, 200 grams of those cherries are measured out, and sorted into seven categories of ripeness; 1). Fully Ripe 2). Pink Under-ripe 3). Yellow Under-ripe 4). Overripe 5). Dry Pods 6). Sun burnt 7). Green - Fully Unripe. The weight is taken and recorded for each of the eight categories, to determine the percentage of each category within the sample.

Once determined, the sample is analyzed within a rubric, which considers the maximum and minimum percentages that the cherries must have in order to earn a grade of AA, A, B, or C category cherries. For example, as shown below, a AA coffee will contain no less than 90% of fully ripe cherries, with more than 0.3% green cherries. If either of those standards are not met, it moves to the next grade.

While later assessment of the categorization process, or method of scoring coffee cherries, is practiced as a preliminary means of controlling the quality of coffees processed. It helps the mill to identify which coffees were harvested at their peak ripeness, and therefore promotes consistency within production. This consistency offers insight into which coffees may be blended, enables producers and clients to predict the quality of the coffees, and offers a premium, and thereby incentive for farmers to harvest only the ripest coffees.

After the categorization of the coffees has taken place, the cherries are delivered to the mill, where they are emptied from their sacs, into a cement hopper, that will feed the de-pulping machinery.

Two things I know

2011-10-10T22:00:00.000-06:00

You were a deep well,

and rightly named.

Simon and Garfunkel - Song for the asking

2011-10-10T19:30:00.006-06:00

As quoted in Henri Nouwen's With Open Hands.

Here is my song for the asking

Ask me and I will play

So sweetly, I'll make you smile

This is my tune for the taking

Take it, don't turn away

I've been waiting all my life

Thinking it over, I've been sad

Thinking it over, I'd be more than glad

To change my ways for the asking

Ask me and I will play

All the love that I hold inside

Metropolitan Cathedral, San Salvador

2011-10-09T23:00:00.008-06:00

"I soon discovered that if a wayfaring stranger wishes to eavesdrop on a local population, the places for him to slip and hold his peace are bars and churches." - John Steinbeck: Travels with Charley.

Being that it was one o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon, I chose church. I was a self-proclaimed tourist, and wanted this moment to be so, therefore, remembering a church I'd read about, buried my face into a map, and soon found myself lost on streets I've walked a hundred times. I managed to shuffle past a drunk who knew some English, rounding sixth avenida, to find my destination. I exchanged a few phrases with a younger fellow, as he padlocked a chain around the iron entry way, saying it would be open for viewing at two in the afternoon. Well it wasn't two in the afternoon and I was hungry, so I figured I'd nose into my map again and choose a restaurant I hadn't been intentional enough yet to find down town.

(It's important that downtown, be understand in its literal translation. San Salvador is built onto the lower slopes of a volcano, and much of its economic class system is structured accordingly, the richer areas with their U.S. Embassy, escalators, paper receipts, and the whole bit, positioned in the higher west end, while the concentrated poorer areas work their way east to the lower elevations of the landscape, downtown; officially named Mercado Central, or locally, Centro).

I walked two blocks west, as I had been on the outskirts of Centro, and found myself in the crossing the road just beside the Metropolitan Cathedral, named for an Archbishop, Oscar Romero, that spoke out avidly against killing, even if militarily, and therefore the government. A compelling and moving individual who might not have become so iconic, had he not been assassinated at the alter of a private chapel, after finishing a sermon 1980. Thus, along with the murder of a thousand civilians at his funeral, El Salvador began down a path of Civil War that would take 70,000 lives.

The road marks the east end of a square that rests in front of one of the largest church in San Salvador; seat of the San Salvador Archbishop, and home of the tomb of Monsenur Romero.

I walked up the stone stairs, and tiptoed my way past the twenty person plus line for confession, finding the farthest left and back pew. I didn't stand when everyone stood, nor did I kneel at the appointed time, but considered the implication, that the gospel was, in fact, still relevant to many, at one:thirty post meridian on a Tuesday.

I was grateful to the family in the last center aisle, whose oldest son was far too occupied with what took place behind his behind pew, to allow anyone to notice me withdraw my camera from its blue beanie home.

First photo, not mine; complements to whomever, but I will replace soon. This is my favorite sight in the morning, walking north on Cuscatlan.

The night you shared your shooting stars

2011-10-08T21:20:00.001-06:00

More and more I am convinced, the gospel is far from a destination, like road maps, but rather shooting stars one waits anxiously to fall within reach. You were a natural born star catcher; and even against everyones' warnings, knew you needed to pursue darker skies, filling your jar across the Rocky Mountains, to Washington State, and up three finger tips of the Old British Empire.

I remember when you made it home; we drove out behind the old high school, and sat on the tool box of the red truck. You showed me how you made your pockets deep, to fit every star you carried, even opening up space in your shoes beneath the arches of your feet. You said one jar was all we needed, lest appearance become our true love; that we didn't want to be the folk to wear the shiniest as necklaces, and keep the rest against the bathroom mirror, or in a fish tank or something; and that most people would never in their lifetime know stars were never meant to be ornaments, never solely for our keeping.

I faked understanding, but floundered for solid ground amidst our back and forth, knowing full well I'd only in my lifetime pocketed a handful of stars, two of which you'd manage to express mail from Whale's Cay, before I left that summer, but were now buried in a box beneath others, labeled with black sharpie, 'stuff', with no foresight for their practicality.

You said, we catch to give, and the need is great. That in giving, we brought the heavens down.

I knew then, what people saw in you that I never could possess; why your eyes always caught sight of and pursued what mine did not, despite staring into the same sky. Your saw a kingdom here, meanwhile my eyes were stuck in a second grade daydream.

You filled your jar a time and a half that night and, noticing the emptiness of mine, spilled each one into my jar, saying not to mention it.

Beneficio El Manzano: Partida #4 (Coffees on the Patio)

2011-10-08T19:40:00.005-06:00

At some point or another, I hope to draw order from this madness, however, simply want to capture what comes natural and immediate to my mind. Thursday morning and afternoon was spent walking the patios, taking in the newness and expanses of parchment coffee spread out to sun dry. My presence is more consistent at the plantation, however, my natural lack of elegance and awkward, childlike clumsiness, still turns out bemused looks from many of the plantation staff.

As the coffee on the patio had the utmost of my interest, I channeled that energy into sprawling my entire body, stomach down onto the patio, in order to capture images on an eye to eye level with the beans. Not a best way to send a message of sanity to my new compadres, however certainly assuring them that they would not be judged.

Why are the coffees different colors?

Beneficio El Manzano is now receiving coffee cherries every day, and with that the patios are beginning to fill up with the many different batches of coffee that has been processed. Batch number eight was laid out on the patio last night, however, like the rest of the current coffees on the patio, is forced to wait out the rainy afternoons and evenings in the warehouse, before it can be spread back out onto the patios.

While only eight batches of coffee have been processed to date, one will notice a greater number of sectioned coffees on the patio, and their colors are different. Each batch of coffee received at the plantation is separated into four primary qualities, which explains why you will see a higher number of piles on the patio than number of batches processed at the mill; however, coffee will range in color for several reasons.

First, you are seeing different qualities of coffee. As coffee is processed, a series of machinery will distinguish the different qualities. On a patio, many of the different piles of coffee you see are from the same plantations, however, of different qualities, due to different levels of ripeness, and degrees of size.

Imagine picking two oranges from the same tree, one more ripe than the other, which still bears a shade of green. More than likely, they are going to have very different tastes, despite being the same fruit, and coming from the same tree. As coffee passes through the various pocessing machinery, the beans are sorted into its four levels of quality. Each level of quality bears a slightly different color, due to the degree to which the machines are able to remove the pulp from the beans, due to the levels of ripeness and size.

Secondly, coffee may differ in color based on the amount of time it has spent on the patio. Imagine a Northern Michigander sprawled out on an open patio, under a constant sun. After a few days, you'd start to notice color changes. Same idea, except that coffee is not being burnt while on the patio.

Coffee is laid out in the sun completely wet, with a near one hundred percent moisture content. Over the next five to eight days, that moisture will be drawn out, forcing the beans to undergo a major chemical change, which as they remain on the patio, begins to change the color of their parchment.

The third reason coffee will vary in color, is due to the different types of processing it undergoes, after being harvested. Coffee cherries can be 1). Fully Washed - which means, after being de-pulped (having its outer fruit removed) it will spend several hours in a fermentation tank, in order to separate the bean from its mucilage; 2). Machine Washed - which means, that the cherry is de-pulped, but bypasses the fermentation tanks, and has its mucilage removed by a machine, using water; 3). Pulp Natural - the coffee cherry is de-pulped, but is dried without removing the mucilage; 4). Natural - where the coffee cherries only pass through a tank of water to determine the two main degrees of quality of cherry, but are then spread out on the patio to dry, without removing the pulp.

Beneficio El Manzano is capable of processing its coffee by each of the four methods, and depending on the method used, will determine the color it gives off on the patio, the fully and machine washed bearing a shade of tan or brown, while the natural coffees remain the red color, as it remains in its cherry on the patio.

If you happened to ask that question regarding the coffees you see in these photos, it is primarily because of the first reason I mentioned. All of these coffees, batches three through eight were processed with the Machine Washed method, and range in color solely because of the different qualities of coffee that are separated by the processing machines.

Confession: I am still quite photographically challenged when it comes to light and shutter speed, and as you can imagine, it was a nightmare for me on a patio full of glare, therefore, you will notice great differences between the photos, due to the need to adjust the exposure. I always prefer the natural, but will confess to my sincere editing needs. Anyone who knows anything could pick these photos apart; I'm ok with that, or as they say here in El Salvador, vapues.

Beneficio El Manzano: Partida #3 (Profit Sharing)

2011-10-05T22:00:00.005-06:00

Cuatro M partners with roasters to invest in El Salvador Schools

Santa Ana, ES - Who remembers saving files to a floppy disk? Personally, I recall labeling each different one with permanent marker, and getting strange stares in college when attempting to retrieve a paper from one in my university library. And that was six years ago.

For many students in El Salvador however, working with computers that still require them is a daily task.

As Emilio Lopez Diaz, owner of Cuatro M and Beneficio El Manzano, visited and toured Escuela de Educacion Especial "Elisa Alvarez de Diaz," a school in Santa Ana, El Salvador; technology was something he noticed, observing computers in the school’s media center that were purchased, practically speaking, before Facebook was invented.

Escuela de Educacion Especial, was established to provide educational services for students with special needs in the Santa Ana community. Named after his grandmother, and near the location of his coffee mill and roastery, Emilio Diaz considered it to be the perfect candidate for a profit sharing initiative he had begun at Beneficio El Manzano one year ago.

The initiative gives green coffee buyers and roasters the opportunity to purchase green coffee from Cuatro M at a premium, paying $0.05 more per pound, on the contracted guarantee that the money will be used to invest in the recognized needs of schools within the area of the coffee mill.

So far, Cuatro M has paired up with Coda Coffee Company of Denver, Atlas Coffee Importers of Seattle, and Finca Ayutepeque of Santa Ana, ES for an initiative at the Ayutepeque School, where they replaced all of the cafeteria cooking and kitchen supplies, in order to enable their staff to meet the needs of students. Also, Campos Coffee of Sydney, Australia has joined in the initiative to assist the El Manzano School in Las Cruces County.

Now, only days away from a celebration of the schools name, honoring the life of Elisa Alvarez de Diaz, who passed away two months ago; Emilio Lopez Diaz, on behalf of Cuatro M and Veneziano Caffe of Melbourne, Australia, was able to deliver three brand new computers to the principal and staff of Escuela de Educacion Especial, assembling and installing them Thursday morning in the school's media center.

"I want to replace them all,” was the first thing Emilio said as we climbed back into the truck, and waved back to the extended hands of staff and principal, recalling the wear and damage to the six or so computers still remaining.

Thanks to buyers and roasters like Veneziano Caffe however, and others who value more than just the coffee in El Salvador, Emilio Diaz and Cuatro M are confident we will.

Agree to agree: FMLN Rally - Salvador del Mundo

2011-10-04T23:30:00.006-06:00

I got into trouble the last time I brought up politics at the dinner table with my Father; however, tonight I have the privilege of claiming non-partisanship, as I only hopped off the bus, and into the middle of a demonstration by the FMLN, the Salvadoran political party currently in power.

Fifty or so supporters were gathered on one of San Salvador's busiest intersection/round-abouts, surrounding the famous statue of El Salvador del Mundo, The Savior of the World. As long as I acted confident, and like someone had assigned me to be there, my lens was never without an 'el sal' smile or peace sign. Unfortunately, it was late in the evening, and I am clueless to recognize storm clouds as significant light reducers, so much of photos did not turn out, however I did get a few that I liked.

I will admit, I am wearing the bracelet, and am anxious to use the red cased ball point pen I received for my part in the rally, however, while Salvadoran politics, better yet, the FMLN would host a hot bed of conversation, I am taking the affirmative solely for free speech, an opinion even Reagan would admire. I am in deep water already for mentioning my dislike for nuclear weapons over the phone, and don't need any more reason to quarrel with my pops come Christmas.

So let your flags wave, stop traffic, and hand out red bracelets. I am more than thrilled to coincidentally stumble into your enthusiasm, be denied a free t-shirt, and collect your paraphernalia with greedy wrists and pockets.

Beneficio El Manzano: Partida #2 (Mechanical Dryers)

2011-10-03T21:45:00.004-06:00

The new mechanical dryer has arrived at the plantation, and after sitting at port for a hectic week, rests disassembled, scattered about the plantation, awaiting the completion of its covering at the new patios, for installation.

After being harvested, all coffee, whether de-pulped and washed or natural, must be dried to an internal moisture level of twelve to twelve and a half percent before it can be bagged and roasted. For this step in processing, beans, as parchment or cherries, are spread out onto patios.

Although ranging according to country, patios in El Salvador typically contain clay or cement tile. Beneficio El Manzano houses cement tiles, with a total area of approximately 48,500 square feet, in addition to the 20,000 tiles being laid presently, handling 1.1 million pounds of green exportable coffee in 2010-2011.

All of the coffee processed here will remain on the patios a minimum of two days; until its internal moisture level has dropped to less than 40%, at which point some will remain on the patios another three to five days, until reaching twelve to twelve and a half percent, while the rest will be put into mechanical dryers to complete that process.

The mechanical dryers currently used at the mill are vertical cylindrical dryers, and were constructed in the 1970's. In these types of dyers, coffee is cycled every hour from the bottom to the top of the cylinder via bucket elevators, where it passes through streams of hot air contained at the bottom of the dryer, ranging from 125 to 135 degrees Fahrenheit. The heat for the dryers is produced by furnaces burning coffee husk.

The new dryer that will be installed, is a horizontal cylindrical dryer, pictured above, which allows heat, produced by furnaces, to enter through a central shaft, and releases it through a rotating perforated cylinder, where the coffee is being circulated. Unlike the vertical dryers, heat passes through the entire cylinder, meaning the coffee is channeled, but dried without pause, thus reducing both the time needed for the coffee within the dryers and the amount of husk consumed by the furnaces.

We hope to have the dryer installed by the middle of the month; but for time being, it remains an intriguing myriad of mechanical import shrapnel for wandering photographers.

Helpful information gathered from: http://www.coffee-ota.org/cd_hygiene/cnt/cnt_en/sec_3/docs_3.2/Intro%20coffee%20drying.pdf

Club de libro - La Llemada de la Selva

2011-10-02T22:21:00.005-06:00

Book Club - Los Planes de Renderos kicked off its first meeting at Maria's comedor with sunset, not the best for quiet or lighting purposes, but perfect for high spirits and empty stomachs. Not long after however, we were searching for light, holding our books at odd angles to catch reflections of the fresh glowing street lamps, to remedy our squinted eyes; which Antonio eventually redeemed as he usually does upon nights first darkness. Maria attached our new hope of a lantern in its place above the stove, although waiting to switch it on until every spare scrap of sun was licked up from her kitchen walls by seven o'clock and fifteen.

Meanwhile Carlos and I reasoned over how we should begin. I motioned that we alternate paragraphs, to which he responded with something I couldn't understand. I should mention this is a bilingual book club, of which, both and only members do not speak two languages. It made for a few hurdles, and several conceptual roadblocks; Puget Sound for example; not to mention the task of following in Spanish what someone is reading aloud in English.

We were only introduced to Buck, before I conceded to Carlos' request to wait until tomorrow, when he didn't have to hold the pages three inches from his forehead in effort to squeeze some light through my voluminous shadow. A rough start indeed, but spirits remain high and stomachs full, although I'm quite confident the oil from the fried yucca (cassava) and pasteles is now leaking through my fingernails.

Hands I've grown to love, and the food they prepare

2011-10-02T22:19:00.002-06:00

Aqui Esta

2011-09-28T22:40:00.004-06:00

I was cautious about getting into his truck, being that we'd only passed handshakes across the table, and that it went against my expectation that his church was at the bottom of the hill. Fear awaits eagerly for those who must trust the direction of another. But when he motioned hesitatingly to the bed of his truck, I knew he'd sensed my lack of trust, and so I compensated, not with a positive assurance, but with an ever greater fear of offending or disappointing.

I shut the door of his truck, and held the hinges in tact, using my arm through the open window, to brace the outside of the door, as we first geared down the stone paved ally-way, and seconded around the sharp left bend, now unfamiliar with the shop sings.

"Yo necesito apprender mas espanol," I chided, loud enough to compete with the pot-holes and fifteen plus year old transmission.

We pulled up to the gate, and the dust clouds spraying from the ends of their brooms spelt out why Alfredo and Antonio had left the comedor early. I imagined they didn't typically wipe down their rusted metal fold-down chairs, but every polishing sweep of their rags added cushion to its flat metal frame, as I ambled through a series of hand shakes and 'mucho-gustos' to a second-row seat against the far right wall.

Across the aisle, a young boy crunched Latin-American Cheetos as a prelude to the service; as two fell from his mouth, and skirted, like dice, into and against the door frame, landing snake eyes out of his vision, but square into mine. We, the Cheetos and I, locked stares seven times during the service, as if checking on them would somehow remove the irritation I considered, if those cheesy puff balls were to take the mold of the soles on my shoes.

Six:thirty struck, as it always does in El Salvador, tragically early, as if time were always on our side; except for those with wrist watches and places to be. My three friends, met at dinner, paced the entrance way, alternating expressions between welcoming visitors and that focused swinging arm clap, people typically perform prior to performing. I was busy scribbling in my robotoc journal, pretending not the hear the word ingles (English) from the chairs directly behind me. As if my cave would actually guard me from the obvious conclusion that I was an outsider, I stood timidly as the pastor brought the the attention of the congregation that I was from the United States, and that we had met at dinner, and had told him I thought a church service in Spanish would be extremely difficult. I had said that, but more so because the idea of joining folks, I'd only known long enough to shake hands with, seemed impulsive.

The tambourines started, almost as quickly as the two girls had emerged from the front-row seats, and we were singing. I didn't know a word, nor the melody to their song, so I clapped with my head down, smiling at the floor, praying for a Pentecost. Three-quarters through the first song, the band showed up, and fumbled their two guitars to the front, entering the chorus mid strum, impervious to the fact that their guitars hadn't been tuned since the early 90's.

We prayed, for a lady in the back row, for Pastor Antonio, and for Michael.

The pastor, extremely sensitive to my processing speed with numbers, gave me time to flip to Romans five:four for his opening passage, "For whatever was written in earlier times was written for our instruction, so that through perseverance and the encouragement of the Scriptures, we might have hope." I did my best to follow his facial expressions, but spent most of my mind wandering through the corridors of why I had felt so defeated inside; like I'd been spotlighted in a crowd and come up empty; and why the idea of a church service in Spanish on a Wednesday evening wasn't all that inconvenient to the three things I still yet have to prepare for; but was rather inviting.

John twenty:thirty-one "but these have been written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God; and that believing you may have life in his name."

"Aqui esta," was all I heard as he interrupted the fluid figments, of noble letters declaring my resolve, and personal determination to love like I hadn't before; nearly glossing my eyeballs; holding out his 'La Palabras de Dios', or Bible.

He might as well have embraced me, saying it again, "here it is."

The answers I seek, or the relief and reconciliation I covet, will never be found in my resolve, regardless of the persuasiveness in my feelings or present willingness to change, or love better. They are found in the gospel, and if the Holy Spirit can use three strangers and a Salvadoran pastor of a max, thirty person church to communicate that to me, I sincerely hope he can use an ex-pat blogger to do the same for you...aqui esta.

Ryan Adams - Dirty Rain

2011-09-26T19:00:00.000-06:00

Last time I was here it was raining
It ain’t raining anymore
Streets were drowning and the water’s laming
All the ruins washed ashore
Now I am here just looking through the rubble
Try to find out who we were
Last time I was here it was raining
It ain’t raining anymore

Last time I was here you were waiting
You’re not waiting anymore
The window’s broke and the smoke’s escaping
The books scattered across the floor
And the churchbells are ringing through the sirens
Your coat was full of bulletholes
Last time I was here you were waiting
You’re not waiting anymore

So
May the wind blow
May the moonlight know your name
So
Let the needle pull the record ‘round
To the walls came in
You and I we’re out there dancing
In the dirty rain

Last time I was here it was raining
Like you have never seen it rain
And your eyes were filled with terror
And tears from the gasoline
As the stars exloding with gunfire
I saw you smiling just before
Last time I was here you were crying
You ain’t crying anymore

Beneficio El Manzano: Partida #1 (Batch One)

2011-09-25T22:00:00.008-06:00

Over the past two months, I have had the opportunity to volunteer with a company here in El Salvador, named Cuatro M. Although many faceted, they operate a coffee milling and exporting business in Santa Ana, and have given me the chance to shadow, and experience firsthand, life on a coffee farm. I am really amped for all that lies ahead, and am thankful to the owner, Emilio Lopez Diaz for exposing me to a side of coffee I never knew.

Preface

My hope is to feature excerpts from a coffee farm, mill, and roastery, about the life, work, treasure and toils within them. I want to tell of the coffee trees and the bramble, of the beauty I keep fresh on my mind, and of the four, white-lined, criss-crossing scars on my left arm, reminding me both are real.

The Coffee Tree and the Bramble - Beneficio El Manzano: Partida #1 (Batch One)

The 2011-2012 coffee harvest has officially begun at Beneficio El Manzano, in Santa Ana, El Salvador; receiving its first two batches of bourbon cherries on the twelfth of September from farms: Finca El Manzano and Ayutepeque.

After processing and drying, the pergamino, or parchment coffee, is bagged in burlap and transferred to the bodega, or warehouse, for thirty days to await hulling, the process of removing the parchment, or dry pulp, from the beans. (Complete details of the Milling Process at Beneficio El Manzano).

Then, this past thursday, Eduardo, from quality control, or the lab side of the company, hulled and roasted samples of both batches for Cuatro M's first cupping of the season, performed by himself and three of us others, including Emilio, the owner.

While evident of the early harvest, the cupping was, in itself, ceremonial of beginnings, for Cuatro M, of a promising new season that will certainly surpass those before in quantity and always expectantly in quality; and for me, of new tastes within the cup, new characters within the story, and a new side of the mountain I'd only ever talked about exploring.

Stay posted for upcoming events:

Sunday, October 16, 2011: Sustainable Harvest: Let's Talk Coffee 2011, tour of El Manzano Farm, Mill, and Roastery.

Unlikely to cohabitate well, doesn't mean we can't be friends

2011-09-24T23:10:00.002-06:00

There is certainly no shortage of friendly mice in the La Mascota community, central-eastern San Salvador; home also to many dear human friends. This curious fury pal was lured Friday night into a cage, baited by Carlos Ernesto with a healthy portion of homemade tamale. Personally, not participating in his capture, I became attached to the creature, and therefore cannot speak much more on the matter, without feeling a slight bit of heartbreak.

Quince de Septiembre

2011-09-22T21:49:00.010-06:00

El Salvador turned two-hundred last week, so realizing, I'm well overdue on any kind of legitimate post, thought I'd let walk the parade. Not sure how or whether the rest of Central America holds parades on birthdays, but I'm nearly convinced it is the one place on earth where more people participate, than spectate. Literally the entire town comes out for the event, and while it consists of the students from the area elementary, middle, and high schools; from what I experienced, most people walk alongside the parade, absorbing whole portions, before hurrying up the street, to watch the same span of parade....six or eight times in our case, for the entire three plus hour length of time, spanning one end of town to the other; ultimately, all gathering in the local park for the anthem and hoo-rahs from town officials. Many of my students played a part in the caravan, and those of us that did not, walked and hollered our blue and white from the fringes, consuming pupusas, mais de loco, and horchata along the way.

Some photos of my students at the academy, along with some of Los Planes de Renderos' finest, kicking off with husband, wife, and daughter, who run 'Pupuseria Elisa' just one block up the street. No where else in El Salvador will you find liver and other internal chicken organs, so large and vibrant in a lunch soup special.

I could eat dessert with my breakfast

2011-09-21T05:00:00.003-06:00

I suppose there are a great deal of things that would distinguish one as "well-off". I might not have given myself away this morning, had I not remembered and eaten the piece of pan dulce (sweat bread) in my sling-bag, purchased in Centro for a quarter, mid route to my second bus leg.

I might not even have noticed the man across the table, who drank only coffee, had he not slightly scoffed at my rightly-accused gluttony, having polished off four pupusas prior to un-bagging my breakfast dessert.

I don't typically like feeling distant from my fellow man, for any reason, be it dress, or home, or a natural predisposition for silverware. And when I say fellow man, I reference what one might define as the poor; let's be honest with ourselves, they comprise the majority, and their lives consist solely of mankind's' most natural functions; eating, sleeping, working, and loving. I want, in all circumstances, to live and act most like my fellow man, and this morning, I regret that I did not; not because I ate sweat bread, nor because I did so after my breakfast, but sheerly because I could, today, and can, tomorrow; and any day of the week, eat dessert with my breakfast; and if I really meditate on that thought, I mean really think about its implications, am not entirely convinced that true living, or religion for that matter, takes place within the state of having more than todays needed share.

Because if I think back

to the stories I learned as a child,

I remember a God,

who when he provided for the Israelites,

gave them solely enough for the day,

lest it spoil; and yet

somehow

I've managed to change

a God who does not change,

into one that condones eating dessert with breakfast.

Perhaps, one could claim that God allows wealth, even grants it to some; I'll concede, and won't argue, so long as we also agree that if God is the author, as one might claim, of financial wealth, in the sense that I could, if I wanted, eat dessert with my breakfast; if he wrote that story, then he must also, in his grace-filled authorship, determined a majority of his characters to have none.

If so, I hope to choose to be most like those, that God has, in far greater measure, decided are better off having no dessert with their breakfast.

Or I can state that God is solely the author of redemption, and of a kingdom, and pursue it with every workaholic bone in my system.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, age 15. Not making any point, just enjoying her poetry

2011-09-20T22:27:00.002-06:00

Old Letters

I know not why I am so loath to lay

Your yellow leaves along the glowing log,

Unburied dead, that cling about and clog —

With indisputable, insistent say

Of the stout past's all inefficient fray —

The striving present, rising like a fog

To rust the active in me, that am a cog

In the great wheel of industry today.

Yet, somehow, in this visible farewell

To the crude symbols of a simpler creed,

I find a pain that had not parallel

When passed the faith itself, — we give small heed

To incorporeal truth, let slack or swell;

But truth made tangible, is truth indeed.

But when the sun rises

2011-09-13T20:09:00.004-06:00

You are content with knowing,

and not being known.

Concealing reverie,

like the focal horizon

behind dawn's first brightness.

As I,

with eyes,

although fixated,

am compelled patience.

I am content with being known,

and not knowing.

Wearing intimacies,

like blades of grass

under morning's dampness.

As you with ears,

although earnest,

find no joy in my repose,

save distance.

But when the sun rises, you

and I,

outstretching our expanses,

are relinquished

and laid bare,

and give pleasure.

When I knew when

2011-09-09T22:06:00.004-06:00

I've got two poems

written on the back of my eyelids; one

to assure me when I wake

her beauty is real,

but the other to remind me

she won't be there.

So I choose to dream,

wherever I can;

to live within that space of time

when I knew when.

She's got London

2011-09-07T22:37:00.008-06:00

She's got London, etched into her soul, deep conviction her only compass; owing no apology or reason to rewrite her story.

She's got London, echoing her rhythms, for though her faults, far greater are, what inspirations lie around the page.

I toiled winter's snow and air, amidst the club and fang;

to find 'everything that was not death,' howling in her stare.

She's got London, printed on her hands, and I will sway, regardless of what any critics say, to the symphony they conduct.

If I were a letter

2011-09-04T06:00:00.008-06:00

I could have years to think upon losing you,

or only one mind, and morning

to get this letter through.

No pen could spell out those lonesome stars;

nor color, paint the hell

in a sunrise without you near.

Open me up.

Tell me your eyes, solely yours

breathe poetry from our silent stare.

Open me up.

Please call, what you read

beautiful.

Let this lump inside my throat, be

the Dear Rebekah;

my sweaty palms, and patient kiss

the forever, yours.

Bolas de Fuego: Nejapa, El Salvador

2011-09-01T23:42:00.006-06:00

Bolas de Fuego is a long celebrated tradition in Nejapa, El Salvador; the stories behind which, coming from geographic and religious elements. The first tells of an eruption of the volcano, ElPlayon, in 1658, which forced the people of the old town, Nixapa, to leave that place and migrate to what is now Nejapa. The second, tells of a religious saint, San Jeronimo battling the devil with balls of fire. Personally, I find the second story more convincing.

Either way, every August 31st, the men of Nejapa enlist onto two teams, this year, one composed by the recently victorious FMLN political party;(conveniently the one that, just 25 or so years ago, the US, pledged $100 million, to keep from winning the civil war, and control of El Salvador; attributing to the 70,000 lives lost, but we'll save that story and sentiment for another post). They dress up, covering their arms and legs, and gather in a small, dusty, plain orange-walled weight room, to paint their own and one anothers' faces. This is where a group of friends and I, found ourselves Wednesday, a few hours before the firefight.

The two teams square off on the town's main, modestly paved two-laned road, each taking an end, some ridiculous amount of gasoline, and more than 5,000 tightly wound nylon and cloth balls; which they will light on fire and presume, round after round, to charge one-another, throwing these 'balls of fire' as their means of forcing the other team to retreat.

On the fringes, we spectators literally rode the shoulders of one another to observe, and at times, get caught up in the makeshift spiritual warfare. Like few Salvadoran events, I had the privilege of joining an Ohioan native named Justin who lives and works in my community. He found us a short brick wall, home to the vendors selling cheap Pilsner and soda immediately behind the sidewalk bordering the street; which was perfect for shooting video, yet awful for balance, and living. We eventually were pushed back by the crowds attempts to escape the chaos, and Justin took it as a sign that we needed to get into the street. I played textbook younger brother, and watched his back as he watched mine for the thirty minutes we made believe, we worked for National Geographic. Sincerely, a fantastic experience.

In the end, I can report no major injuries, other than the four inch bald spot on my right forearm. These characters speak more than I can tell, so I'll let them do the talking.

The Trees and the Bramble - Judges 9

2011-08-30T22:19:00.002-06:00

When it was told to Jotham, he went and stood on top of Mount Gerizim and cried aloud and said to them, “Listen to me, you leaders of Shechem, that God may listen to you. The trees once went out to anoint a king over them, and they said to the olive tree, ‘Reign over us.’ But the olive tree said to them, ‘Shall I leave my abundance, by which gods and men are honored, and go hold sway over the trees?’ And the trees said to the fig tree, ‘You come and reign over us.’ But the fig tree said to them, ‘Shall I leave my sweetness and my good fruit and go hold sway over the trees?’ And the trees said to the vine, ‘You come and reign over us.’ But the vine said to them, ‘Shall I leave my wine that cheers God and men and go hold sway over the trees?’ Then all the trees said to the bramble, ‘You come and reign over us.’ And the bramble said to the trees, ‘If in good faith you are anointing me king over you, then come and take refuge in my shade, but if not, let fire come out of the bramble and devour the cedars of Lebanon.’

Brother Lawrence - 'The Practice of the Presence of God'

2011-08-30T08:27:00.018-06:00

TWELFTH LETTER

IF we were well accustomed to the exercise of the presence of GOD, all bodily diseases would be much alleviated thereby. GOD often permits that we should suffer a little, to purify our souls, and oblige us to continue with Him.

Take courage, offer Him your pains incessantly, pray to Him for strength to endure them. Above all, get a habit of entertaining yourself often with GOD, and forget Him the least you can. Adore Him in your infirmities, offer yourself to Him from time to time; and, in the height of your sufferings, beseech Him humbly and affectionately (as a child his father) to make you conformable to His holy will. I shall endeavor to assist you with my poor prayers.

GOD has many ways of drawing us to Himself. He sometimes hides Himself from us: but faith alone, which will not fail us in time of need, ought to be our support, and the foundation of our confidence, which must be all in GOD.

I know not how GOD will dispose of me: I am always happy: all the world suffer; and I, who deserve the severest discipline, feel joys so continual, and so great, that I can scarce contain them.

I would willingly ask of GOD a part of your sufferings, but that I know my weakness, which is so great, that if He left me one moment to myself, I should be the most wretched man alive. And yet I know not how He can leave me alone, because faith gives me as strong a conviction as sense can do, that He never forsakes us, till we have first forsaken Him. Let us fear to leave Him. Let us be always with Him. Let us live and die in His presence. Do you pray for me, as I for you. I am,

Yours, etc.

FOURTEENTH LETTER

I RENDER thanks to our LORD, for having relieved you a little, according to your desire. I have been often near expiring, though I was never so much satisfied as then. Accordingly I did not pray for any relief, but I prayed for strength to suffer with courage, humility, and love. Ah, how sweet is it to suffer with GOD! however great the sufferings may be, receive them with love. “Tis paradise to suffer and be with Him; so that if in this life we would enjoy the peace of paradise, we must accustom ourselves to a familiar, humble, affectionate conversation with Him: we must hinder our spirits wandering from Him upon any occasion: we must make our heart a spiritual temple, wherein to adore Him incessantly: we must watch continually over ourselves, that we may not do, nor say, nor think anything that may displease Him. When our minds are thus employed about GOD, suffering will become full of unction and consolation.

I know that to arrive at this state, the beginning is very difficult; for we must act purely in faith. But though it is difficult, we know also that we can do all things with the grace of GOD, which He never refuses to them who ask it earnestly. Knock, persevere in knocking, and I answer for it that He will open to you in His due time, and grant you all at once what He has deferred during many years. Adieu. Pray to Him for me, as I pray to Him for you. I hope to see Him quickly. I am,

Yours, etc.

She was the flower in a world of vines

2011-08-27T18:20:00.002-06:00

She was the flower in a world of vines.

As we, blinded

with upturned eyes,

missed her for the gold dipped sky.

She was the distinct on a trellis of green.

As you,

the workaholic machine

thought more of Fortune Magazine.

"That's the beauty of this dream,"

and tucked your soul back in to sleep.

"That's the beauty of this dream;

I can make myself anything."

She was the flower in a world of vines.

As I,

the day break parasite,

lost myself when I lost the light,

and couldn't find her when it set to night.

She was the flower in a world of vines.

Contentment's constancy her spine.

"For Christ's sake, I just need some time.

Can't you see?

I'm blooming."

Tristan Alexander VanDyke

2011-08-25T22:28:00.000-06:00

Came home to the news that my sister and brother Joy and Jesse, had given birth to my newest nephew, Tristan Alexander 4 pounds - 6 ounces, pictured above with Papa J.

I don't know however, whether to be more excited about the fact that he was born on the same day Carl Lewis ran 100 meters in 9.86 seconds, Amelia Earhart made her transcontinental flight, or the US National Park Service was created. The US Park Service is epic, but Amelia Earhart is just downright classy.

Hard to be away, long live the spirit of the progressives.

Congratulations Joy and Jesse.

Dear Lisa Hannigan,

2011-08-25T00:00:00.000-06:00

The truth is, I've had a crush on you since the eleventh grade.

That was 2003; I had purchased 'O' for a girl I liked, which she returned a month later, saying she wasn't crazy about the music, nor the woman painted on the inside jacket sleeve; however, after listening straight through eleven or so times, including your version of Silent Night, I remember knowing things would never work out for her and I, at least not, as Dean Moriarty would say, 'in the deepest depths of our souls' kind of way.

(If I had a choice in the matter, this would be read in blue ink, from lined notebook paper, and on a Saturday morning, several days after it was written, to give the words time to settle; but as it goes, it'll be delivered via social network, immediately, late Wednesday).

You are likely one of the most organic and intrinsically beautiful women I have ever come across. I might have said most, but would not have been honest, considering a dear friend of mine that is now married to my best friend; and the girl I still love, but shouldn't say so because it hurts more than helps. I must admit I was a little disappointed in myself when I penned the word organic, considering the implications and the overused, almost, marketable nature of the phrase; but I swore before writing this that I wouldn't erase a single word, knowing each one would be absolutely sincere. I feel the need therefore, to clarify, at least in my mind, what is meant when I said you were beautiful. I'm sure you hear that a lot and want to be intentional. Besides, if I make an entire fool of myself, have the occasion to compliment two friends, whom I hold in still higher regard, and know will always think I'm nice.

I meant the type of whole-being beautiful that is truly generous; for in your face, eyes and voice, composure and laugh, I am gifted with breath, clarity and reverence, joy and light. And I meant the type of beautiful that at descriptions end can only be likened to something within the natural world, and even then most things fall short. I sense Shakespeare caught my drift, or perhaps I stole his, in simply reiterating, "Shall I compare thee to a summers day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate."

I recently listened to your session on BBC with Dermot O'Leary, and no one was there to enjoy it with me, but for the rest of the night, I swear I wore an indelible smile. Sincerely, my entire disposition was sheer fire-light, that could not have been extinguished by the rainy season. I was reminded that you sing with your eyes closed. I remember watching videos of you performing on 'Volcano' and 'Rootless Tree' at Abby Road with your eyes closed and hands in your pockets, but to know you still preferred that with no cameras rolling was positively enchanting. I am presently living in El Salvador, but truth be told, invested an entire restless night in the thought of purchasing tickets to see you in Brooklyn this coming October; however, considering my older sister is going to have my fourth nephew in Florida this September, didn't think my family would forgive a visit to the states, solely to chase a musical interest. I'll be the first to admit I'm not a musical critic, but thought an entire letter without references to anything but your nature and personality, would even then sell you short. Beyond the creativity, I find the character and soul within your music and performances to make one feel sincerely welcome within your songs. All that to say, I feel invited into your music.

I think you're a unique and charming lady, I enjoy watching you perform, hearing you talk about baking bread, and 'don't know if you speak any other languages other than your own, but I'd like to meet you.'

Michael Kaiser

My constant goal in all of this was to never necessitate a disclaimer or preface of, "sincerely, I'm not crazy." Not certain if I accomplished that, but hopefully you can look past the uneasiness and self-doubt to find something worth your early Thursday morning.

Most sincerely,

Michael

Charter MUN - General Assembly

2011-08-23T15:30:00.000-06:00

I had the chance this afternoon to Skype into a Model UN meeting at Charter High School, and as my eyes scanned the students and u-shaped desks of Mr. Z's classroom, debating the superiority of Ocean vs Land Animals, I couldn't help but reminisce upon all the faces that just three months ago I said goodbye to. The meeting ran far better than any I can recollect being in charge of, and, I wrote this somewhere before, but am confident my face will wear an indelible glow for the rest of the afternoon and evening. I don't know if it's the water, or if Charter feeds its students infinite supplies of supernatural sugar in their orientation powder cookies, but there is something spellbinding in their hello and smiles that make me ecstatic to live life.

I don't know if you knew it Patrick Haas, sometimes I suspected you did, but my biggest fear while teaching was that you'd realize in your front row seat that you were much smarter than myself. I may have had more stuff in my brain, but yours is capable of handling and organizing so, so much more....you should know that....same with you Zachary Hilberer, Candace Lawrence, Mr. Dangler, Mrs. Jacobs, Julian Grudens, and the rest of my first, second, third, fourth, Homebase, sixth, seventh, and eighth hour classes.

Thank you Charter for giving me a podium from which to appear competent. It wasn't any ability of mine, but your esteem, that made teaching such a covetable post in my mind. I am sincerely grateful. Now go find a tree to do your homework under.

Homebase....I'm glad I got that note out before school started. My school address is temporary out of service, so for the time being, feel free to write to MichaelJustin5@gmail.com. Toodles.

I look to my eskimo friend

2011-08-21T16:17:00.001-06:00

New album 'Passenger' release September 20.

Did you feel Gettysburg?

2011-08-18T21:45:00.000-06:00

Transpiring surprise,

neither anticipated a fight.

Awakened July,

ought,

like Eden's blue-sky calm,

breathe sunshine.

But,

more bitter than war,

are bullets between brothers.

Insufferable sword;

the grudge against neighbor.

Church steeple's lookout,

barrel for barrel,

round for round.

Morning lapsed,

midday's exchange

broke through the town.

Our mothers bore witness,

victims to the the sound.

I took the offense;

you claimed the high ground.

More bitter than war,

are bullets between brothers.

Insufferable sword;

the grudge against neighbor.

Did you feel July Third?

We were Cemetery Ridge.

Did you feel Gettysburg?

We are Cemetery Ridge.

The settled smoke's remorse; unveils

the riderless horse.

The field's scattered dead;

oh the livings' regret.

Did you feel July Third?

We were Cemetery Ridge.

Did you feel Gettysburg?

We are Cemetery Ridge.

There's a Damien Rice song for every scene, at least every one of mine

2011-08-17T20:22:00.001-06:00

I couldn't help but notice the light of so many recent happenings, Ali and Joshem getting engaged, Brian and Erin having a baby, Neal getting a tattoo, Rebekah, Rachel, and Greg going back to school, Jesse celebrating a birthday one month early, Alan moving into a new place and having two bicycles, my nephews starting school, Dad building a Dunkin Donuts (his life goal I might add), and from the shadows wanted to respond in the only way I really know well, in penning my joy for what's occurring and the angst for not having been there.

The world spins madly on, we know that, the weepies told us so six years ago. And yet, I can't help but wonder why God brings people so far away only to pull them through the internal dregs of wanting only to be where they just ventured from.

(I suppose by people, I should clarify I mean me, and by God, must give the disclaimer that he probably, in this scenario, is wearing black jeans and a faded Zapzilla t-shirt. Holy smokes...did I just claim to be God, or realize that in my world it's far too easy to claim and credit him for what in all reality was my own aims, my own fancy, my own resolve, to be anywhere and everywhere but where I now am; to be doing anything and everything that I am not presently doing? For when even now, in the clear and present wake of being so close, literally weeks, to the very thing I've sworn to want and to have been called to, to anyone and everyone, for the last I don't know how long....want nothing more, than to be home).

I want nothing more,

than to be home.

2011-08-14T18:43:00.000-06:00

Jack London

2011-08-07T21:21:00.001-06:00

My babe has got a spine

thicker than my thumb.

With words, and soul,

that answer to no one.

Took me on a plane

passed the ruined ancient Rome.

Took me on a boat,

on a bus,

on a train and home.

Oh my god,

oh my god,

what have i done?

I mistook you

for old and worn;

set you on a shelf

to read elsewhere.

Read the words,

in bold above,

Classics, Please

Handle with Care.

Oh my god,

oh my god,

what have i done?

I have searched

the aisles

for the place i remember;

with yet to find

the shelf that contains

what i left there

But this i know.

Contentment

is a myth, when without

the one you treasure.

Contentment

is a myth, when without

the one you treasure.

As good a day as any

2011-07-25T21:56:00.000-06:00

Like when I read Jack London, and didn't foresee a way on earth that anyone else could have escorted his pencil; like when the evening fog rolled in so thick, I pooled water in my palms; like when their family served me fish and cheese, and I knew they wouldn't be eating dinner; like when he and I couldn't catch the bus after darkness and had to walk all the way home, and I preferred it that way; like when an old friend stopped through town, and only two Old Rasputin's weren't quite enough; like when I saw her face back lit by train cars and moonlight, and knew my soul would live forever.

Romans 1:20 -"His invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made."

If a man's identity has anything to do with his ability to communicate his opinions, call me John Doe.

2011-07-18T22:21:00.000-06:00

I took a quick, three block stroll over to the nearest Pupuseria (griddled tortillas with goodness inside them) this evening to pick up dinner for myself and the two ladies I am working with. Having no intention of placing a complicated order, I went textbook, straight ticket revueltas (a combination of pork, beans, and cheese), seven of them. After fumbling through communicating that I wanted them to go, I took my ticket, number 35, and found a cozy brick archway to lean against for the time being, doing my best to conceal the blue and white striped umbrella I brought with me in case it rained.

"I took in my surroundings, and in between the blown transformer and random fireworks, plotted and scoped out the nearest wooden bench I would dive under in case of a genuine attack, even going so far as to hypothetically roundhouse a machine gun out of one of my assailants hands."

Before long, more than thirty minutes passed and all potential suspects had long thanked the host for their food and departed with their families, leaving me with a whole new lineup. The host noticed me, subtly trying to get his attention; not wanting to uncover my umbrella, yet notify him of my concern.

He came over several times, each time with an inquisitively apologetic look on his face, internalizing my order number and shaking his head confidently, like he had everything under wraps. And yet the food never came, and he continued to stop by, and ask me questions. I was tired, and grew more so with the fact that I couldn't understand a word that was coming out of his mouth, with explaining for the seventh time that I speak very little Spanish, and with the fact that even if I wanted to, there was no way to communicate what it was I wanted. So I began to blanket respond to every question with, "Si."

In hindsight, I realize that more than likely, each of his questions went something more like this...

"We just served a lady with an order number 16 higher than yours, did you notice that sir?"

"There's no way on earth that it should take an hour to prepare seven pupusas, were you aware of that sir?"

"The dish-washers and I just snack-timed on your entire order, are you cool with that sir?"

My food did arrive, and it was incredible.

I love El Salvador, and am constantly reminded of the often impossibility in communicating my opinions, or what it is that I want...a reality I wish I learned years ago.

Take 1: FC Academy El Salvador - First Baptist Church of Boynton Beach

2011-07-18T18:56:00.000-06:00

Yellow Feather

2011-07-14T21:57:00.000-06:00

I once told you when you looked hard enough at me, I saw dancing.

And in your breathing, felt the crescendoing fire rhythms of an ancient people, as we, nomads, under the constellations painted with each of your finger tips, joined to worship the sustaining life giver. Clothed in our souls, we pressed bare feet into the clay soil so mightily, the whole earth trembled in our wake.

And you knew I was telling the truth, because the dust clouds never left your eyes.

Independence Day

2011-07-04T23:02:00.000-06:00

The night was misted rain, like fading laughter to the story teller. Passing stray dogs, I overstepped torn open trash bags, styrofoam, and cracked chicken bones. Mexico scored first, and three more times from different angles, within the thirty seconds it took me to sidewalk from the corner convenient store to the first pupuseria. I pictured the guard at the gate spilling his red beans in celebration all over his booth, or onto the six inch television he and his girlfriend stared into as I left the community. Conscious of the darkness, I sunk both hands into my jacket pockets, and enabling my upturned head and squared shoulders to pretend confidence, continued up the road until half-time. I crossed the road, finding the gate of 'El Mirador,' and escorted by my aloneness, proceeded, as would a bride, to the railing overlooking San Salvador. Two couples, disengaged to the eleven of us others, kissed church bells into the view.

I didn't get fireworks on the fourth of July, but I did get two million lit up kitchen windows. I do.

In the words of Paul Simon

2011-06-27T22:00:00.000-06:00

Paul Simon

"Dazzling Blue"

Truth or lie, the silence is revealing
An empty sky, a hidden mound of stone
But the CAT scan's eye sees what the heart's concealing
Now-a-days, when everything is known

Maybe love's an accident, or destiny is true
But you and I were born beneath a star of dazzling blue
Dazzling blue

Miles apart, though the miles can't measure distance
Worlds apart on a rainy afternoon
But the road gets dirty and it offers no resistance
So turn your amp up and play your lonesome tune

Maybe love's an accident, or destiny is true
But you and I were born beneath a star of dazzling blue
Dazzling blue

Dazzling blue, roses red, fine white linen
To make a marriage bed
And we'll build a wall that nothing can break through
And dream our dreams of dazzling blue

Sweet July, and we drove the Montauk Highway
And walked along the cliffs above the sea
And we wondered why, and imagined it was someday
And that is how the future came to be

Dazzling blue, roses red, fine white linen
To make a marriage bed
And we'll build a wall that nothing can break through
And dream our dreams of dazzling blue

Near the avocado tree

2011-06-25T21:11:00.000-06:00

Rodrigo and Josue. Best buds. Spent a few minutes during snack break on Friday afternoon, watching these two gather and toss avocado grenades into the cascading jungle behind the academy, before retreating, covering there ears and yelling explosion noises. Here's to that age, when imagining or becoming anything we want is no farther than our creative minds and the sticks upon the ground. Nothing has changed, only we've become more conscious of the fact that people can hear our imaginary explosion noises, that the neighbors are turning to look and might be disturbed; or if we're adam and eve, that we are naked in the garden.

Nephews

2011-06-21T23:40:00.000-06:00

Their laughter is pure angels wings, swooping back and forth intrepidly through the hallways of my parents high ridge home. Each kitchen table, chair, and cabinet, a tree or lake glided past in God's country. Their flight, just dodging my pretend outstretched finger tips; we make believe ardent pursuit, this game of chase; all the while they grow ever more anxious to be scooped up into my unsleeved angel nets, they turn their course back my way, and wrapping the full circumference of my reach around both their bodies, I thrust them upward and offer their hysterical shrieks of euphoria to the ears of God himself.

Departing First Covenant Church

2011-06-14T14:48:00.000-06:00

As I thought about the reality of saying goodbye to First Covenant Church and the community of friends built up here over the past year and nine months, I knew it was necessary for me to do so with a blessing from this congregation, or as we've come to call it after studying the book of Galatians, the "right hand of fellowship." I recognize that I do not bear a message like Paul's, nor will my work or writings be instrumental in laying the foundation for the Christian Church, however I think there is wisdom in those early apostles actions, and their understanding for the necessity of fellowship, accountability, and the mutual support for one another's ministry; all the while never failing to remember those in need at Home.

This morning I ask to be grafted, (an agricultural word for our friends at the USDA), into your hearts as a friend and brother in this equal and universal ministry of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I seek your favor, your accountability, and your prayers.

But first off, I want to retrace some of my fondest memories and experiences here at First Covenant, highlighting the initial revelation of God's Faithfulness, the fun moments and fellowship, before closing out with a parting word.

If there is any one thing that truly defines this church more than all others, it is its people. In the many facets of what make a "church" in the context of its building, weekly services, etc...I was drawn exclusively to each of you. My first visit was a Tuesday night bible study. It was September, perhaps early October 2009, and I remember it being a prayer night. I coupled off with James Salvatore and Brian Flores, and vividly remember the tears that came down Brian’s face as he shared a heart weighed by truly difficult and trying times, but what struck me was his consistent and almost childlike understanding that God was and is faithful. Being able to witness God’s answer over the next months and year has been remarkably inspiring, and all the more encouraging to follow and trust God when it doesn’t seem to make rational or financial sense.

Over the next months I had the chance to meet most of you, to sit within your homes, and experience the hospitality and welcome one would show family. James and Beth, your pineapple chicken and rice has transformed my cooking tendencies over the course of the past 2 years, and anyone whose been invited to my house can attest that without fail, I serve that very rice, chicken, vegetables, and pineapple creation. Not to mention the evening walks, archery, gardening, and child-rearing tips, and hours of counseling and prayer. Brian and Erin, you must have received a tip from Beth, because you also made chicken, and I later recalled needing to apologize, for feeling so at home at your table, that by meals end I was picking at the caesar salad and chicken with my fingers. And if none of you know about Brian’s Hip-hop/rap career, Straight 8’s is going to be performing later this afternoon.

Other favorite memories, and these are more a genre of memories. I don't know if competitiveness is the tenth fruit of the spirit, but if so I would say this congregation has been baptized in fire. I can boast proudly this morning that of all my athletic accomplishments, none compare to witnessing Coco Minor concede the game point in the final round of steal the bacon. She thought she tagged me, I said she didn't, and in retrospect Coco, (I didn't tell Pastor Tristan I would be confessing anything this morning), but I think you definitely tagged me. And yet in our arguing, and sincerely, I thought she might punch me in the face, she gave in, which really turned the tides of those 2009 Shappie Olympic Games.

Other epic moments in the sporting category: Joshem breaking the nose of a church visitor at the Super Bowl Sunday two hand touch game, and of course most recently, Rachel Shappie's lay-out sideline, touchdown reception from Katie Mieras at Humiston Park Stadium, (First Timothy Two might say that women should be quiet in church, but that submission certainly had no bearing on the Football Field two weeks ago), and of course Brian Strickland's unceasing football-lodged-in-tree rescue effort, using only water bottles, while selflessly sacrificing his modesty and only pair of swim trunks.

I could mention countless other fond memories, or perhaps discourse the great lengths of Asher Salvatore’s innovation, but I did promise to keep it short. You now realize now why they only ask me to sing.

I keep a picture on the dashboard in my car, of the men of this church, posing peculiarly, rowed, in the Lones’ front yard to say goodbye to Riley, as he left with Alissa for Atlanta. It reminds me of the thing I love and will miss most: the community and fellowship here at this church. It is the reason for so much of our laughter, joy, and for some, our return.

My one charge to myself and to this community, and one of the primary motivations for desiring membership, is to continually remain accessible; for as I am not ashamed to attest, when our participation in each other’s lives climaxes at the once weekly nightly meetings, Sunday mornings, and special go-away functions, we fall short in bearing one another’s struggle with sin, and the need for consistent accountability and encouragement, and that picture alone in my car, as much as I cherish it, is not enough to walk you or I through the Christian Life.

For many years now I've held my pistols high, firing deadly bullets, round after round at the Church, and while this has enabled me to ask some much needed questions, and at times stand alone, I feel God's prompting to lay down my weapons, and instead stand beside the many of you who have been fighting for what the church should be all along. If I say anything of value this morning, let it be my desire to formally commit to partaking in the work and mission of this congregation, to rejoice in every success and steadily work through the shortcomings, in this great and beautiful ministry of reconciliation. Whether here or abroad in years to come, I want to recognize that our task is collective. I ask for your prayers, and promise you mine, prayers to grow in the love of Christ, and in the effectiveness of sharing that love here and worldwide.

RECUERDO

2011-04-24T20:19:00.000-06:00

By: Edna St. Vincent Millay

We were very tired, we were very merry --
We had gone back and forth all night upon the ferry.
It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable --
But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,
We lay on the hill-top underneath the moon;
And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon.

We were very tired, we were very merry --
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry;
And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,
From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;
And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold,
And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.

We were very tired, we were very merry,
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
We hailed, "Good morrow, mother!" to a shawl-covered head,
And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;
And she wept, "God bless you!" for the apples and the pears,
And we gave her all our money but our subway fares.

Pittsburgh

2011-03-28T20:26:00.000-06:00

my grandfather was a steel man
his union due did pull us through
like him
my father
was never much for i love yous

i'm a father too
but that don't mean i'm in their shoes

so i'm gone to pittsburgh
hear the northbound track
i'm coming home
to take my daughter back

i'm gone to pittsburgh
oh pennsylvania line
i'm coming home
to make you mine

the ohio
allegheny
monongahela
cold and grey

smell the rivers
taste the steel
but don't believe
what is not real

May 20

2010-05-20T20:05:00.000-06:00

i walk into books-a-million; khaki pants, white-tee, and sperry's. michael is wearing the same thing i am and we both order coffee. i get mine with whipped cream and michael gets his with none. i don't sit at my table; because i sit by the window.

we both open a book, me reading about Ronald Reagan as i read something else; something i can't spot the title of. Michael looks concerned as i scratch my nose, sipping our coffee with whipped cream and without periodically, still reading.

i look young, yet potentially older; you know that questionable type. we wear socks in our boat shoes, as i normally do. why wouldn't i? my name is michael.

I watch, waiting for something, and yet not knowing anything other than that i must begin remembering, everything. nothing comes to mind. michael and i keep reading, but aren't absorbing, nor remembering, as i mentioned before, i am concerned.

"I have to go" we think; but where? neither of us knows; but michael sort of does; that faint kind of sort of, like right before i leave a place i won't be coming back to. not certain, but almost positive; yet not rational because michael won't be coming back to this place.

i remember a hotel room, and a tooth brush, maybe my shirt behind the bathroom door; we always remember later; a week later when michael unpacks his bags.

now i am focused, because i'm looking concentrated like; not all around, up and down like; noticing the chocolate mint magazines and cheap matt damon movies like. i hope i'm taking everything in, because michael for sure is not, we don't know a thing about Ronald Reagan, nor the Salt II agreements. good thing michael's reading something else, something i don't know the title of.

2-10-10

2010-02-10T16:05:00.000-06:00

Killer whale, did you see
me sitting there by the top railing

Alligator did you hear
me yell your name with my father near

Dinosaur, did you mind
when i slid down your neck and spine

Ballerina did you catch
my tears that fell on the empty bench

Tall giraffe, did you feel
the weight of my eyes in the rear view mirror

You were only a minute
a shout between my hands
but now that voice has become lost
inside a mans

or so it seems...

November

2009-10-29T13:53:00.000-06:00

warped boards, rocks-litter-and steel
the dixie train track became our midnight trail
steady now, she's walking toe-to-heel
i put out my hand to the ballerina on a tight-rope rail

her legs laying outstretched
parallel over a concrete ledge
anxious for the approaching train
to awaken the pilgrim she became

frame by frame
each passing car
caught a wordless moon
with her stare

slowly our knees entwine
a quiet hand, secretly exploring mine
as chin and lips press up against cheek
consecrated by the dim-lit street

frame by frame
each passing car
caught a wordless moon
with her stare

please, please be patient cuz it's time i need
please, please wait here with me

As the setting sun
uncovered each star one by one
her heart was the night sky
and her eyes had only just begun

from a couch, in a living room

2009-10-26T14:55:00.001-06:00

the stereo is eyeing me down
the records' a spinnin'
the records' a spinnin'
the records' a spinnin

the newspaper reads itself
the pages are turnin'
the pages are turnin'
the pages are turnin'

nothing is real
my world is make believe

the t.v. talks to me in my sleep
the channels are changin'
the channels are changin'
the channels are changin'

the clock is seated, propped like a judge
the hand are pointin'
the hand are pointin'
the hands are pointin;

when an eye is free of martyrs
and casualties are conversation starters

then nothing is real
i am what they tell me

Upon reading Flight, by Sherman Alexie

2009-10-26T14:31:00.000-06:00

A weapon that kills
is a weapon that kills
whether it fires or not

so be careful what you wish for
hold your tongue boy
hold your tongue

10/18/09

2009-10-21T08:21:00.001-06:00

sleepy eyes, and a routine morning coffee
shapes start spinning in my cup
the face of a mother and her young boy
the bright sun, swallowing their crop

they were waiting on a runway
for my plane to come
down

only for a dollar and a quarter
you and i will place an order
just one more cup of coffee
and another long year of poverty
upon their shoulders

as they're waiting on a runway
for my plane to come

the workday sure as hell aint getting shorter
meanwhile the price of my comfort aint getting any cheaper

and they're still waiting on a runway
for my plane to come

Eve speaks

2009-10-16T09:27:00.000-06:00

I recently moved to Vero Beach, and right around the corner from Rebekah's house, sits a retirement home. It is not uncommon to see residents strolling about the neighborhood, or watering the grass. Today however, i decided to join a friendly looking woman for a stroll around the block. We introduced ourselves, and began to tell our stories and future plans. I told of my recent graduation, and aspirations of becoming a writer for the local newspaper. She told of her children, and previous experiences teaching fifth grade science and writing for a small town newspaper herself.

We rounded the last corner of the block and arrived at the retirement home main entrance, at which point she told me her name was Eve and said a quick prayer for the passing airplane. I told her it was a pleasure to have met her and wished her a pleasant afternoon, at which point she stopped me, and said....

"Well, have a wonderful life, and remember, whatever happens; we have these beautiful birds, beautiful flowers; and we need people to take care of them, protect them, and beat the hell out of anyone who sprays them with pesticides."