Celebrating Rock Turkey on Thanksgiving

Here's "Rock Eagle," a prehistoric rock pile sculpture located in middle Georgia. It's one of the most spectacular indigenous rock piles I've seen in the US. The Native Americans who built it are probably the ancestors of the Muskogee or Creek Indians. Known today as the Woodland Indian phase, this culture lasted from 1000BC to about 1000AD.

But most archaeologists say that the effigy sculpture is not depicting a eagle -- rather, it's most likely a turkey. Calling this sculpture Rock Eagle is massive projection of our own mythology of eagles as fierce freedom fighters ( never mind that eagles will eat carrion before hunting) and has little to do with Native American sensibilities.

On the other hand, turkeys were undoubtedly the most important bird of the prehistoric forest. Food, clothing, and building materials all are uses of the average turkey sacrifice. Even Benjamin Franklin petitioned for American national symbol to be the turkey instead of the eagle. Humble, gracious, and bountiful, this bird is still a symbol of abundance for the American Continent.

So in the spirit of gratitude this Thanksgiving, say a toast to Rock Turkey!

Chantrelles and the Potatoes of the Gods

Long time no DreamCrisp. Sorry about that.

But to make up for lost time, check out this pic of chantrelles we picked that are as big as your head:



I just picked some more today, not so big as these, but firm and meaty. There's a lot of ways to cook chantrelles, but my favorite so far is chantrelle-infused scalloped potatoes. Here's how to make:

Scalloped Potatoes of the Gods

basic ingredients:
chantrelles, cleaned and chopped
a couple cloves of garlic
1 cup of chicken or vegetable broth
potatoes: 5 to 8 medium red or yellow ones.
1 cup of heavy cream (can substitute goats milk or half and half but you may need to add some flour to thicken).
about a tablespoon of salt and pepper.
olive oil.
butter optional for the heart-lover's special

directions:
Dry-saute the mushrooms for a few minutes, so the juices are running. add some olive oil near the end when you add the garlic and saute more.
Meanwhile, in a bowl mix the broth and the cream and the salt and pepper.
Drizzle olive oil into a shallow glass baking dish.
Add the potatoes to the skillet and get em covered with the mushroom goodness.
Transfer potatoes, mushrooms, and all the juices to the baking dish.
Add the cream mixture and stir it up.
You might want to top the mixture with some pats of butter.
Bake in the oven at 350 for about an hour, or until the tops of the potatoes are browning.

Wait at least 10 minutes for the Scalloped Potatoes of the Gods to cool before attempting to eat.

MacGyver Eat my Muffler

Enjoy this pic of my truck's muffler held together with some wire, a tent stake, and a can of Budweiser. This is how I rolled through the CA border station this summer.

It's better now.

I'm home

This is the view from the porch.

Getting here took a long time. Being here is easier. I like being here.

Once the daily patterns emerge (which will have to wait until after the dreams conference in Montreal next week), this blog will continue to focus on ecopsychology, sense of place, suburban forage, and random bits of cultural flak that either make me angry or make me laugh, or both simultaneously.

RIP Albert Hofmann

January 11, 1906 – April 29, 2008

Hoarding Gourds

My brother and I came upon this mother lode of gourds in the middle of Levy County, Florida, piled high at Fern Sink Farm. There was no one around so we selected six gourds between us, and left a ten dollar bill under a rock in the garage next door.

This is really the best way of procuring gourds from the earth. Grab them and toss money in the general direction of the gourd farmer. He doesn't want to know which gourds I took, nor do I want him to know. That is between me and the gourds.

Gourds fragments in human context have been found in Gainesville, FL as early as 11000 BC. The earliest known bottle gourd comes from the Windover site, dated to roughly 5300 BC. We can thank the swamps for this level of preservation.

Gourds make great ladles, containers, and percussion instruments, and are steeped in some crazy kind of mythos that I can only call an intense "presence." They navigate between consensual reality and the otherworld that we glimpse sometimes in dreams and visions. They're good luck, in other words.

I endorse gourd art for curing malaise of the soul.

Tricky

It's been a while since I've posted because life got tricky. Tricky little life.

Long story short: My fiance has dropped out of her traditional midwifery program because the school never delivered on its promises. She fought hard to make it work but it was like rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic. It's a good thing, really, because she knows now that nurse midwifery is a better fit for her. A lot clarified for me too. I see my path, where I need to go to get it done, and how I want to live. Now we're saving up to move back West this summer. So our transition continues.

I'm hoping to use my time in the swamps of Florida well, to appreciate the warm days, the tick bites, the clear springs, and the quiet beauty of my parents' ranch.

Meanwhiles, I'm preparing for my lecture in a few weeks at Yale University on Nature Awareness, putting the finishing touches on my lucid dreaming thesis, and applying to grad school for a PhD in psychology/dream research.

Shout out to Owley - Goddess of Harsh Realities!

Northern European Ancestral Remembrance - March 22, 2008

I saw Apela Colorado speak last summer in California. She's got a new message for Northern Europeans about ancestral remembrance that she is uniquely qualified to give due to her mixed heritages. Colorado says that the only way out of the post-colonial traps of isolation and fragmentation is to remember who we are, and what duties we have been charged with.

Mark the spring equinox on yer calender for this special, global event.

The other first Thanksgiving

I can't believe it's been a year since the last good lookin' bird. Last year, Thanksgiving was all about gathering the other orphans far from their families and reminding them they are loved. This year, well, they have to fend for themselves because we're back in the fold. Sorry ya'll. I'll mail some leftovers.

This year, it's all about extended family for us. No, make that two extended families. First my family and then hers. It's like a bad stovetop stuffing commercial. But there will be Aunt Josephine's wicked corn fritters, and many other classic northeastern recipes involving cream, butter and shortening.

And believe it or not, I'm closer to the Original Thanksgiving than ever before. That's right: Jacksonville, 1564. Fort Caroline was built shortly after the French sat down to a meal with the Timucua Indians.

I really don't why we cling to the vision of the first thanksgiving, given what I know about the history of the US. It's not exactly a history of delicious meals with Native Americans and Europeans sitting at the same table, is it?

Maybe giving thanks is as close to atonement that European-Americans can get. Maybe today's abundance will wash over the harsh memories of yesterday. Maybe it's about forgiveness - the hardest kind: forgiving our culture, our ancestors, and our ourselves.

The deeper history of thanksgiving doesn't involve projecting our indigenous selves onto other people who have been oppressed by colonization. Harvest festivals have been around since there was grain to reap. In its original and most basic context, thanksgiving is about celebrating the fruits of a hard year's work. For my ancestors, it's also time to bundle up and play dice on a dirt floor for three months while it snows outside.

So, thanks to everyone in my life. Thanks for showing up for me this year. Thanks for the courage it takes to be real. And thanks for letting me be real too.