Adıeu Yakabagh
Today is the last day at Yakabagh, and this entry marks the conclusion of my 30-day adventure at an organic farm.
Some people have asked me why I decided to do this, and its hard coming up with one answer. Michael Pollan's Omnivore's Dilemma had something to do with it, and so did a lingering distant history with lifestyles of the rural fabulous. I'd always heard growing up about how my parents were forced to do hard labor in Communist China, which fueled a remote curiosity about what that world was like. Throw in some idyllic American illusion about farms and the coolness of a farmer's tan, and voila! there's a recipe for a silly Chinese girl to abandon the comforts of modern living to try a month of farm life.
Looking back at these last four weeks, it's definitely been a journey. Week one had its fill of achy sore muscles. My body echoed a peculiar thought running through my mind - what the hell was I thinking when I signed up for farming?! Old Macdonald never had it this rough . It was all supposed to be E-I-E-I-O.
Luckily, I adjusted quickıly, and by week 4, I can look back at it all and say that I've had the fortunate opportunity to get a glimpse of rural Turkish village life, where the days are slow, the work is hard, the neighbors are friendly, and photosynthesis works at its finest.
To say the experience has been life changing would be an overstatement. Then again, it's hard to tell how much any life experience impacts you until the backdrop changes, the plane lands and deposits an eager Chinese girl who attempts to turn her parent's rock garden into an apricot orchard.
That said, this experience was incredibly memorable and has reinforced my conviction that life is too short not to share it with the people you care about. Thanks everyone for following along on this journey, and special thanks to B for being so supportive. Can't wait to see you next week so I can show off my new farmer arms! As they say in Turkey, güle güle!
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Day 29
Clean
Spent all morning clearing weeds in the vegetable garden. There's something therapeutic and raw about gardening that I have grown to love. Maybe it's the simplicity of the task, and the single-minded fixation that comes with the mundane repetition of physical labor (the same elation does not happen on a treadmill). The garden looks beautiful. Like Eden, pre-apple.
Party with the Turks!
Agaın, repeat Sunday night, this time at Bade's house at the top of the hill. It all got started late afternoon, when the neighbors arrived, all dolled up, to carpool with us. We also picked up Tomaş and Nevin at some random rendezvous point, and off we went! - 10 of us packed into the van like a makeshift dolmuş, with Irıs, Şeda, and me opting to ride in the trunk. Like cats.
When we finally arrived and popped out of the trunk, we found ourselves at the TOP of the mountain. If there is a tower of Babel in Turkey, this was it. Bade and Orhan's house is perched near the top of the hill, and it's beautiful. They have a gorgeous porch that looks down into their Anatolian kingdom (of which we are subjects). Throw in a few hours of socializing on the porch, an unstoppable amount of wine, raki, and beer (it was like Dıonysus was invited to the party!), and the same successful formula from Sunday night: mezes, live folk music, Turkish bbq. By 11, we were well on our way to another night of Turkish delights. Bade and Orhan turned it up a notch and started playing Turkish dance musıc, and the well-lit living room was soon swarmed by crazy dancing Turks, snapping their fingers and dancing with a gusto usually associated with Cubans. Luckily I'm a lightweight, so it didn't take long before the Chinese girl entered the fray. We danced to traditional Turkish music, Turkish techno, old British and American rock, the works! All in all, yet another memorable night fete-ing with the crazy Turks.
Spent all morning clearing weeds in the vegetable garden. There's something therapeutic and raw about gardening that I have grown to love. Maybe it's the simplicity of the task, and the single-minded fixation that comes with the mundane repetition of physical labor (the same elation does not happen on a treadmill). The garden looks beautiful. Like Eden, pre-apple.
Party with the Turks!
Agaın, repeat Sunday night, this time at Bade's house at the top of the hill. It all got started late afternoon, when the neighbors arrived, all dolled up, to carpool with us. We also picked up Tomaş and Nevin at some random rendezvous point, and off we went! - 10 of us packed into the van like a makeshift dolmuş, with Irıs, Şeda, and me opting to ride in the trunk. Like cats.
When we finally arrived and popped out of the trunk, we found ourselves at the TOP of the mountain. If there is a tower of Babel in Turkey, this was it. Bade and Orhan's house is perched near the top of the hill, and it's beautiful. They have a gorgeous porch that looks down into their Anatolian kingdom (of which we are subjects). Throw in a few hours of socializing on the porch, an unstoppable amount of wine, raki, and beer (it was like Dıonysus was invited to the party!), and the same successful formula from Sunday night: mezes, live folk music, Turkish bbq. By 11, we were well on our way to another night of Turkish delights. Bade and Orhan turned it up a notch and started playing Turkish dance musıc, and the well-lit living room was soon swarmed by crazy dancing Turks, snapping their fingers and dancing with a gusto usually associated with Cubans. Luckily I'm a lightweight, so it didn't take long before the Chinese girl entered the fray. We danced to traditional Turkish music, Turkish techno, old British and American rock, the works! All in all, yet another memorable night fete-ing with the crazy Turks.
Day 28
Regular farm day. Mild hangover from Sunday festivities. Spent late afternoon at Havangıbag with Shaman Farmer. Finished collecting stones at vineyards 1 and 2.
Shaman Farmer called everyone together in the afternoon, and collectively, we drew up a list of tasks to be accomplished this week. Dictatorial communism at its finest. Like development team meetings. With hippies.
Shaman Farmer called everyone together in the afternoon, and collectively, we drew up a list of tasks to be accomplished this week. Dictatorial communism at its finest. Like development team meetings. With hippies.
Day 27
Allah!
Last Sunday at the farm. Thank god for the Sabbath. After a week of labor, it's a godsend. If you don't believe ın god, then some genius had the foresight to write that down into the annals of perpetuity. Good thing to live by, the Sabbath.
Vamos a la playa
Went to the beach (Ölundenız) and then to Çaylas to see Nevin and Tomaş perform Greek folk songs. Fun in the sun.
At the neighbors
The neighbors invited us to a potluck at their house, and this will count as one of the trip's highlights. It amounted to a 5 hour dinner outside a beautiful stone cottage, complete wıth a table full of mezes (tapas), raki, and local wine. We sang old Turkish folk songs and told stories into the wee hours of the morning. It's debatable: the Turks might enjoy life more than the Spaniards.
Last Sunday at the farm. Thank god for the Sabbath. After a week of labor, it's a godsend. If you don't believe ın god, then some genius had the foresight to write that down into the annals of perpetuity. Good thing to live by, the Sabbath.
Vamos a la playa
Went to the beach (Ölundenız) and then to Çaylas to see Nevin and Tomaş perform Greek folk songs. Fun in the sun.
At the neighbors
The neighbors invited us to a potluck at their house, and this will count as one of the trip's highlights. It amounted to a 5 hour dinner outside a beautiful stone cottage, complete wıth a table full of mezes (tapas), raki, and local wine. We sang old Turkish folk songs and told stories into the wee hours of the morning. It's debatable: the Turks might enjoy life more than the Spaniards.
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