An Update: Upstate NY

Hello all,

A very few of you know that I have moved temporarily to Tivoli, NY, where I am apprenticing as a farmer at a small organic farm called Heermance. I've been here for just over a week now, and I thought I'd say a little about it. Work has been one of the very few experiences that have gone swimmingly so far. Here is a little about it. The first day was a mild introduction, and then the intensity kicked up. Though I think "the intensity" may just be what I'm coding as repetitive squatting and bending, to which I'm adjusting. Some daily tasks consist of watering the greenhouse, collecting and cleaning chicken eggs (being pecked in the process, so I got some simple gloves for that task), laying irrigation hoses, direct-planting an array of vegetables, transplanting vegetables—which means taking trays of plants from the greenhouse and putting them in the fields one by one by hand—hoeing the ground before transplanting to break up the top soil and remove the weeds, and much more that I may mention later. Thankfully, even though we've harvested so little at this point and are early in the season, I have had plenty of fresh eggs and pretty good onions from the farm to eat. Omelets find their way into my diet daily right now. The work is often a pleasure in nice weather and still pretty enjoyable when it rains. I work with two other people, the farm manager and assistant manager. It's an intimate working environment, and discussions can become deep and meaningful quickly.

I made it through Friday before I experienced any back pain or blistered hands, and hammering poles in the ground brought that on. The process is the following: pick up an eight-ish foot long metal pole, stick it in the top soil—which is poor, heavy soil here—take the solid end of the tube hammer and nudge it into the soil enough to reach the top of the pole, slide the tube over the pole, grab a handle on each side of the hammer, and being lifting and slamming it onto the pole. It's metal on metal for thirty-five to forty hits depending on the force applied, which weakens over the hours of work. I put forty in the ground in about three grueling hours. I walked away with seven oozing blister and an aching back, which caught more agitation after lunch transplanting beats. As I went to pick off the dirt from my hand after the task, I found it difficult to decipher between blistered skin and dirt until I felt the pain of a snag. The blisters later drained and made dirt into mud spots along the creases of my palms and fingers.

I stayed in a remotely located cabin for a mere four nights before moving into a room. The cabin was around 14x12 inside, featured a covered porch, a cot, on which I laid a sleeping pad and sleeping bag, a cabinet, some corner shelves, a table and two chairs—one for a visitor if they had rain boots high enough to get them to the cabin dry and comfortable—and a 6x6 room for storage The solitude at the cabin was a pleasure, but hauling water through a wetland was not. Of course, I had no electricity or running water, the latter being the only real pain. I had a camp shower, but the temperatures stayed in the 50s and 40s in the morning and at night and proved too cold for a shower. After sleeping all the way through the first night—catching up from an 1100-mile drive—I was awake a lot of the second due to scurrying mice. I expected to wake up in the mornings to streams of sunlight to enjoy brushing my teeth, cleaning my face, and cook in (on a propane camp stove), among other parts of my morning routine, but the windows were positioned in a way that the eastern sun was blocked, not to mention the cabin sits in a dense part of the woods where it is shaded most of the day. Moreover, the light inside was low even when the sun peaked. Regular tasks took almost twice as long, and getting my dishes washed before time for work was an achievement in itself. As far as that goes, I didn't have as much time to sit and read and write as I expected, given how long it took to complete daily routines. I also want to note that just in the knick of time when I was wearing down I received a care package from a friend in the mail, and don't ever forget that all of you mean more to your friends than you may think. That gesture was an immediate pick-me-up. Moving on, so after I would boil water for coffee and oatmeal, clean my dishes with camp shower water, and gather my things by a lantern I would set off on a fifteen minute walk through a swampy trail to the farm where I worked a full day, returned to the cabin, and took the evening to eat again. After a couple of nights I realized that I had a big temptation to just eat out in the evenings, which is a major problem because every restaurant in this area doesn't offer a cheap page on their menus and eating out sort of defeats the ethic that comes with living in the woods Henry David Thoreau style (or maybe not since he went into town as well). One might say that is was more intense than his experience since his momma was around and mine isn't. After scavenging Craig's List for housing I realized that I couldn't afford anything in the area. So I told my co-workers my problem and they informed me of a room ten minutes away for a somewhat reasonable price at a flat rate. A little too over eager to leave the cabin for a hot shower, hot meals, and a bed, I took the room on the spot.

A passage from my journal while in the cabin: 5/18 10:17 a.m.

"I can hear the ricking of my alarm clock and birds outside, somewhat like you might at your grandmaw's house in the country, except there is an un-imitable silence here. I'm going to funnel water into my camp shower now before heading out of the wood and exploring town. Mental state—confident."

That mental state has waivered from disillusioned, excited, scared, anxious, back to confident, angry, and relatively calm. Right now I'm feeling it all at once in a cyclone.

That house is where I'm writing this. The place isn't exactly in pristine condition. It isn't charmingly old either. There is an invasion of stink bugs, many of which I have killed flying around my two exposed light bulbs in the middle of my white-walled barren room that I have not decorated on account of my hope to get out of here soon. I started cleaning immediately upon arrival. After my first shower I stepped out and felt unidentifiable filth sticking to my wet feet. There is a light switch in the bathroom and none in the others. Other than that there are only hanging whisks from the ceiling (the woman renting me the room is a chef) tied to light bulbs, so I have to wander around the rooms at night feeling for a hanging whisk. In order to cook without suffocating from the gas stove, I must open up the kitchen windows. It's because of faulty screens in the windows, I think, partly, that the bugs get in.

There are perks of the area. I can see the Catskill Mountains most places that I go, and there is a tiny skatepark nearby where I have already met some people. My hope is that meeting people and forming relationships will change my perspective of the area. This experience will benefit me in many ways, I believe. I just have to get through this period of adjustment and that I am more or less paying to work right now. There really is so much more that I'm leaving out. There are a couple of friends keeping me sane right now, and knowing that some benevolent friends in Brooklyn and my family aren’t so far away doesn't hurt either.

What to Say, What to Do, What to Think, What to Be

It has been over three full weeks since I finished school, and I am finally feeling rested. Because of an irregular work schedule, I still have not been able to reinstate a routine with the morning light, but—with the help of James Baldwin, some new clothes, and a few sits with friends—I am stabilizing. I have rediscovered the music I enjoy, the language I most love to read, and thoughts that I remember from a time before I was always exhausted. The vertigo is not so severe.

Everyday that I hear students talking about going back to class (the first day is in a week or so, I think), I start yearning for the comfort and stimulation of the classroom, long hours in front of books, research, writing, engaging conversations, and the ever-present baggy eyes. I will probably be lurking around campus for a while, a real Slacker-type hanger on. The Recreation Center may be able to keep me out with absurd membership plans, but the library is free, and my brain muscles can always use a brief workout.

It turns out that career centers are helpful resources, and I am grateful to the one on the MTSU campus. However, I have concluded that I will have to start a job that is not specifically writing based. I never had an internship, never published anything outside of academia or poetry, I have no experience with writing jobs, and my current and previous work places were probably not the most effective atmospheres for building communication skills even though both are customer service-centered establishments. Though a great deal of jobs out there include some type of writing duties, it seems, so that is a plus.

Buying suits is my most recent step towards full-time employment. I picked up one extra trim dark grey and one dark blue. I must admit, I look forward to wearing them. I am also terrified of spilling something on them or hooking the jacket on an edge.

Lastly, have any of you submitted any articles to websites and have been published? No matter what the site or content.

That's all I really have to say. It isn't much, but I need to keep writing this blog.

Á bientôt.

We'll Drink Horse Bark Root Beer

I did something rather uncharacteristic of myself for New Years, I went out. My roommate drug me out of the house and to a house party. After wallflowering and exchanging greetings with a half dozen people or so for an hour, I distanced myself and started to watch. Though I was the only one present who had not consumed a drop of alcohol (because, well, drinking is not fun) I realized that I was, nonetheless, just as drunk as they were, and playing the role of partier become natural.

I have carved out Monster, Indeed, Career Builder, etc., and discovered caves scribbled with long requirements and job responsibilities. I feel like I have little experience, and I do not know I am qualified to do. Even entry level jobs seem to demand more than what "entry" denotes. And let's say that Nashville is not a hot spot for book publishing jobs. After spending an hour roaming through these caves, I leave intoxicated—stumbling over my desires and chipping my typing fingers on the way down that have gotten me thus far. Then I think about who I know. That part takes a bit less than a hour.

Copywriter? Assistant to Editor? Proposal Writer? Technical Writer? Not a writer? Another glass please.

In other news, by the time I got off of work and was reminded of the black eyed peas superstition, the grocery was clean out, but I did learn frontside tail slides skating yesterday, so I think I will continue to get out of bed in the mornings. Who knows, variations may be coming soon.

I have five months to sober up and get a real job, or I'm stuck in Murfreesboro.

At 1:00, some sunshine during these dim winter days.

A song filtered by holy water.


Always calming.

Walking and Talking

The French family is educated. I graduated last Saturday the 14th, and I have been eating entirely too much graduation cake (thanks mom), but I have also had the time to skate, bike, hike around, and be generally active, so all is well. I have been avoiding the fondant anyway.

I am also already feeling more vulnerable than ever. It is the first time that I do not have a comprehensive goal in mind that I could describe in a concise manner. I thought the most introspection I would do in my life would be while I was working my way through the English program, writing essays that required me to critique the minds—the texts—of others while keeping myself in mind. Those essays were reader response types, which called upon the critic to transcribe his/her reaction to texts—the experiences/actions of the characters and what not—and examine that response through introspection in order to uncover the reasoning behind that particular response. The assignments were aimed aimed at provoking self-discovery and identifying inconsistencies in personal political belief, and after writing so many I really felt I had a firm sense of myself, which I could articulate.

I still identify myself with particular institutions—as I think we all do in this postmodern era, even if unconsciously—but one that defined a considerable amount of my identity, the Liberal Arts college at MTSU, is no longer a primary part of my life. Those responses were often rooted in my experiences as a student up to that time. Furthermore, I spent the majority of my time alone because of the ever looming essay, exam, and reading. Okay, the I usually looked forward to those things, but they took up all of my time, nonetheless. Now I am noticing that I have a lot of people around me that are interested in having me around, which I am grateful. Though pride almost keeps me from saying this, I need that community, because even, being the introvert that I am, sometimes isolation turns from fruitful solitude to loneliness. Whether it is from getting more sleep, an eruption of suppressed energy, or simply being excited about a fresh step, I have had a lot more energy than usual, and I have enjoyed the company of friends who help me channel it in a healthy way.

Skateboarding fixes a lot. Wallies and f/s disasters in particular fix everything.

To fill the time until I find something full time, I am currently in the process of finding a different part-time job to supplement substitute teaching (if that works out). Surely someone will have me.

I saw an eye doctor today. My vision in both eyes has worsened from 1.00 to 1.25/1.50. That matches up pretty closely to how I see everything else right now—less clearly.

For those of you who have gone through these early stages of post-graduate delirium, are you blessed with any thoughts that you would be so kind as to offer my still malleable brain?

My newest celebrity crush is Greta Gerwig. This is her as Frances in Frances Ha

I'll start trying to post pictures with these posts. Here is one of my graduation cake and a gift from my fat boxer, Lucy.

See ya.

Entitled to Nothing

In this blog I plan to discuss my new challenges that come with post-graduation life rather than my college experience, but, in order to get this blog on its tender feet, here is a little note about where I am now.

After nine semi-solitary semesters, I am ready to graduate. After I leave no prisoners on my three exams next week, I will be the first in my family to walk the line. In other words, as of next Saturday the 14th, the French family will be educated. It was a family endeavor, and they supplied a critical amount of financial and emotional support throughout the past four and half years, especially after I chose to move to Murfreesboro after a year of living at home studying at a community college. Knowing that I would always feels somewhat displaced and alien in my hometown, apart from my family to whom I am close, I migrated a couple of hours east to attend Middle Tennessee State University in Murfreesboro. I had been here but once in my life and knew not one person. After meeting a few friends—most of which I met through skateboarding, I came into company with the Western literary giants. Never did I suppose that I would become an English student, but that's the discipline in which I ended up pursuing a degree after I got over my fear of being an inferior student compared with my intellectual community. I didn't grow up with books in the house, but my failure to read was ultimately my own fault. Needless to say, I spent a lot of my summers and winter breaks devouring essential books of fiction and literary theory. I caught up, and I am graduating cum laude.

I am currently working a part-time job in retail, and I must say, the worst part about the gig is the radio station to which I am forced to listen. I can handle disgruntled customers, endure cleaning bathrooms, not cry (much) over minimum wage, and tolerate the wacky hours, but the music really gets to me. It'll drive me to hysteria, or something. My plan is start substitute teaching for the public schools in January to help with financial strain and combat the urge to wander around Nashville and spend money excessively while I find a permanent full-time j.o.b. 

I live in a house with two other guys, both of whom skate and are current Geology students. 

After desiring, for the last two years, to pursue a PhD in postcolonial literature or literacy and composition, I've changed my mind and taken an interest in book publishing. I'll be pursuing a job in that field instead. If I fail in my search, expect me to go to graduate school for a degree in it. The most widely used book-publishing guide available is already en route to my pad, aka Dad's House.

More to come. I promise. Keep learning. 

Listen to some Shad: 

He Say She Say