For a loooong time, I've been wanting to figure out an alternative way to store the bulk coffee we brew at World Fare. However, with such tight margins all the time, we haven't been able to afford one way valve containers and I didn't want to use disposable vacuum seal methods. We've been re-using and re-using one pound bags that one of our volunteers brought in, but the zip-lock seals have been coming apart, which sort of defeats the purpose of the one-way valve bag. They've started to look pretty crummy, especially when they're held closed with paper clips.

But...TODAY I finally found a solution that I could make with items we have on hand. (Rob says he came up with it before, but I just wasn't in the right brain space to hear it then.) I took jars that we'd purchased some time ago from Global Infusion and, after cleaning them thoroughly, drilled small holes in the lids. I then cut out the one-way valves from the coffee bags we've been using and taped them inside the lids. Voila!

Thanks to this web page for the idea! (And also Rob. :)

My dad's mom passed away this week in Arizona and I won't be able to make it out to the funeral, but my thoughts, of course, have been there with my family all week. Here are some memories of my grandma that I sent over to my dad.

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Rob and I have moved around quite a bit in the almost-ten years we've been married. Most of our possessions have found their way to us through thrift stores, garage sales, hand-me-downs, curb sides and dumpsters, so when we box up our lives, there are very few objects I'm overly concerned about packing well. Among those very few is a teapot Grandma Marge made for me in her ceramics studio.

Maybe it came from spending her formative years around so many men--her father, brothers, husband, sons--or maybe it came from having parents with deep roots in the sometimes dour world of Dutch Calvinism, but Grandma wasn't overly sentimental. And yet, her affections for her long-distance grandchildren found ways of coming through. I still remember the excitement of greeting her and Grandpa in the terminal in the days when such a thing was still possible. She'd be wearing white sandals with hose, an Arizona tan and all pastels. During her visits, she'd play with our hair and give an occasional hard squeeze or pinch on the cheek with her characteristic inside out laugh.

As Grandma and Grandpa grew older, so did I, and soon I was the one showing up on their doorstep with my overnight bag, ready to pick citrus fruit and play Rummikub, ready to enjoy tater tot casserole and bran muffins. On one visit, I admired the glaze on a set of ceramic coasters she'd made--a foggy blue gray misting over a brown background. Then, not too long after I returned home, I was browsing a thrift store when a set of four Chinese teacups caught my eye. They were lovely, but wanting for a teapot. I don't remember exactly how the conversation with Grandma went, but within a couple of months, a package quietly arrived containing a set of blue-gray ceramic coasters and a teapot to match.

This past spring, I unpacked my teapot to find its place in what will hopefully be our home for a long time: a second floor apartment above an 1865 storefront in Three Rivers, Michigan. The last time I talked with Grandma on the phone, she said she didn't think she'd be able to make it up the stairs to see our new place when she came to visit next. I doubted that was true, and told her so. I guess neither of us knew how very true it would be.

Over and over again, we humans prove true that even while we mark the deaths of our loved ones, they continue to live on in memory, in objects, in ways of being that make their ways through generations in both nature and nurture. In that sense, Grandma's here in our home every day; neither a cross country flight nor a flight and a half of stairs can get in her way. She and Grandpa watch over me from one of their wedding photos as I write at my desk; the massive flower bouquets and the ocean of a train on her dress are almost as big as their smiles. And of course, among the less tangible traits she's passed down to me through my dad, there's always the teapot, waiting to offer a hot beverage as a symbol of hospitality to our guests as they come in from the cold of a Michigan winter. And maybe some day, a cup of tea will be one of the concrete ways I demonstrate my love to my own grandchildren, along with laugh and a squeeze and a pinch on the cheek.

I'm consistently fascinated by acts of human culture that embody our deepest values in very practical, visible ways--not fascinated as an outside observer, detached in her analysis, but as a practitioner myself. Coming off a weekend conference about teaching Christian practices, my radar is especially tuned to such manifestations, which is in part why this quote from the magazine Dwell caught my attention. It's a very finely written tidbit from a small book review of Heavenly Vaults: From Romanesque to Gothic in European Architecture:

These buildings, some nearly a millennium old, are charged with the grandeur of God, as though their architects, suddenly doubting that it could be read in nature, decided to codify it in stone. The skyward vaults suggest their faith's holy order, the majestic possibilities of men working to glorify their creator, the intimation, the endurance of infinity.

One of the things we try to do each year with our students is help them see that, whether people claim to be religious or not, the things that hold deepest meaning for them (individually and as communities) come out in the ways they eat, the houses they build, the choices they make about their children, and so on. Architecture is the example we go to time and time again because it's such a powerful example in terms of its actual buildings, as well as its function as a metaphor. Add Heavenly Vaults to the reading list...

We have finally managed to move in to our apartment in Three Rivers! While much finishing work remains (trim, hanging doors, finishing windows, kitchen storage, etc.), we were able to move essential things into the space and begin staying overnight. How exciting!

A few weeks ago, we finished the floors--including painting the floor in the kitchen. As with so many steps along the way, it felt really good to have such a big piece of things finished. And it was fun to see how different elements we've been working on were finally clicking into place:

The furnace and ductwork were completed in the two weeks after the floor was finished; then our plumbing fixtures were installed. Last weekend we were able to turn our water on for the first time (with a pleasant whoosh!).

Moving our things in (and cooking!) started making the place feel like home:

As always, there are more photos available on Flickr.

Unfortunately, we recently had a number of things stolen from the basement of our building--which, of course, doesn't contribute to the sense of security home is supposed to have. Thankfully, the wonderful volunteers and board of World Fare have been very supportive as we deal with the consequences of the robbery.

On a happier note, it is wonderful to finally hang out in the place we hope to call home for a very long time. It's great to spend time in the space in non-work clothes, doing non-renovation activities; we felt we'd arrived the first time we walked on the floors in bare feet.

With the help of amazing friends and family, we moved out of our home of three years in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Thank you to everyone who helped (Kim, Chris, Kara, Ken, Gail, Michael, Alyssa, Dave, Julie, Cyndy, Duke and Beverly)!

Though the last several months at our house haven't been particularly enjoyable (given the circumstances), it was still difficult to leave. We figured out that this house was the longest place we've lived since we've been married. We'd done work in the yard--creating a stone border for flower beds; planting a rose of sharon twig and caring for it until it finally grew leaves and bloomed this summer--and lived life in the house, trying to be hospitable to friends, students and family. It's strange to still work in Grand Rapids and not be able to go to the house we called home since we moved here.

We are, though, looking forward to moving into our apartment in Three Rivers and calling it home for a long time. Unfortunately, it isn't quite ready yet, so we'll be relying even more on family and friends for shelter over the next several weeks. If all goes well, we should be able to move in to our new apartment in three weeks or so. More on the apartment progress soon ...

It's been a crazy summer for us here in Grand Rapids. Our housing situation went from stable to unstable to non-existent when the house we rent in GR recently sold before we were able to sign a lease through next summer. We have until August 21 to move.

We had already been planning to move back to Three Rivers next June (into the apartment we've slowly been renovating), so it didn't make much sense to us to find another place to rent in Grand Rapids for less than a year; the thought of finding a new apartment/house and then moving twice in 10 months was not a good option given our already-too-full lives. So we've decided to dramatically increase the pace of our renovation in an effort to finish our apartment in the next 3 weeks--a time frame which includes a week in Ontario for camping is not optional and a few Food Tour stops. Yikes.

I'll try to keep updating the blog with photos and descriptions of our renovation, but it's proving difficult to keep on top of everything going on right now. Your thoughts and prayers are needed and welcomed. Thank you to all of the folks who came out last weekend (including friends from TR, GR and my whole family from Chicagoland!) to help move things along ... you're all amazing and we're glad to have such a wonderful group of folks alongside us for this strange leg of our journey.

So lots of folks who are usually suspicious of big government conspiracy panics are perking up their ears lately and taking action regarding an impending bill that's currently in committee: H.R. 875, The Food Safety Modernization Act of 2009. The bill threatens, in the name of "food safety," to subject small farms and even garden hobbyists to the same rules as large agribusinesses, making organic and heirloom methods extremely difficult, if not illegal. Farmer advocate Alex Tiller (yep, that's his real name) has a good explanation of why this bill is significant, with links to LeaveMyFoodAlone.org, a web site set up specifically to explain the bill's dangers and help mediate our response to government officials through a petition. You can also read the full text of the bill and vote "yea" or "nay" at OpenCongress.org. Whether you do or don't support the bill after doing some of your own research, this is an issue worth looking into as individuals and as communities.

So it's really been hitting me lately how many people we know personally who are around our age and taking hold of Wendell Berry's poet farmer vision by both horns (or sprouts or branches) and putting down roots on farms. Fortunately for us, they've made the very un-Berry decision to post artifacts online so we can keep up with their inspiring stories. Moving from west to east...

• After a very cool tour of Mennonite churches to reinvigorate congregations' peace ethic and conversations, Matt and Elizabeth are pondering starting a CSA in Matt's hometown of Shickley, Nebraska.


• Dan, Julie and Harper just bought a 20-acre farm in Demotte, Indiana, after being involved with Victory Acres for a few years.


• Rachel, David and Henry are in Three Rivers, Michigan. We're looking forward to getting to know them better when we move back, but have already enjoyed their goat chevre.


• Steve has just moved to Franklin Farm, an urban agrarian intentional community in Grand Rapids.


• Mel and Steve and their brood are exploring infinite possibilities on a plot of land in Columbiana, Ohio (and they're looking for summer project participants!).


• Sarah, Henry and Moses have started Field Sparrow Farms in Cameron, Ontario.

And let's not forget our friends at Russet House Farm in Cameron and our friend Karla, founder of the Three Rivers Sustainable Food Group, who's in the process of naming her land, reclaiming her neglected farmhouse and envisioning possibilities for half a dozen outbuildings. I'm really excited to see how these projects go--and to have such neat people and places to visit!

I had a dream the other night about standing up and yelling in a church. As I sat down, I felt equally conspicuous and convicted about what I had to say in an attempt to "wake up" the congregation to its hypocrisies. But then I stood up and interrupted the speaker again, to let him know that I loved him, or that I was trying to love him, and ask if he would like to sit down for coffee with me after church. I needed to be prophetic, but also to create a humanizing connection.

It was a dream about a particular church for sure, but also, I think, about dancing and about telemarketers.

I'll save the dancing interpretation for another time, but I did want to put some of my questions about telemarketers "out there" to see if anyone has any words of wisdom. We've been receiving a lot of telemarketing calls lately--more than usual. My hunch is that it has something to do with the flailing economy; either a company recently sold off our information or companies are investing more into getting themselves into our homes in a desperate attempt to stay afloat.

I don't feel badly hanging up on an automated voice or hanging up after the pause and before I hear the click that automatically puts my answer through to someone's line. However, I am troubled by the nature of interactions with very real human beings on the other end.

I have never, ever responded to a request to purchase or donate by phone. Even when my credit card company is trying to offer me "free" credit protection, I politely decline. And decline. And decline. The other day, I had refused credit protection twice, but the woman on the other end just kept talking, she just needed to confirm my information to be able to send out the packet of materials and enroll me in the program. And it wasn't a language barrier. So I changed my approach.

"Look, I understand your situation. This is your job and you have to try to sell me this thing, but I'm really not interested. I've gotten burned on a program like this before."

"I just need to confirm your information. Do you still live at...?"

I hung up. I can count on one hand the number of times I've hung up on anyone, telemarketers included.

Now, I'm sure telemarketers hear all kinds of things, including personal attacks, in the course of a day, so my hang up probably just rolled right off her back as the lights started blinking for the next call. But what if it didn't? What if she went home seething about the smart ass who "understands her situation," and yet refused to just enroll in the dumb program and cancel within 30 days so she wouldn't be charged anything?

There are several obstacles to showing love in these circumstances. The calls happen so quickly, and if we say something we regret, there's no opportunity for reconciliation because the calls are also anonymous. It's also very difficult to make a human connection in a situation which is inherently dehumanizing. On one end is a person who's been charged to make as many calls and sales during his or her shift as possible as a computer keeps relentlessly shuffling numbers along the assembly line; he or she would be replaced by a machine if possible (and often, they are). On the other end is someone whose sense of privacy and home is being violated in some foggy kind of way. (In fact, Rob and I often tell white lies for each other--"she's not available right now. Can I take a message?")

Because of the dehumanizing nature of the situation, some might argue that we're not under any obligation to try to transform it into something other than what it is. And yet, this is a small circumstance which seems to bear unrecognized possibilities. And I'm not talking about Jerry Seinfeld's snarky response: "I'm busy right now, but if you give me your home number, I can call you back later."

Am I taking this too seriously? Has anyone found an imaginatively kind way to deal with telemarketing calls or is politely declining the best recourse, even in a situation when someone is robotic-ally persistent?

For an interesting look at housing and transportation costs around the United States, check out the Center for Neighborhood Technology's Housing + Transportation Affordability Index. After selecting a region, it becomes quickly obvious that city dwellers spend less overall (as a percentage of their total income) on housing and transportation than do suburban inhabitants. I imagine this is most likely due to the increased availability of mass transit in urban centers, which allows people to live without cars (thereby significantly reducing their transportation costs). Interesting stuff ...