Tag: sustainability

Honouring Labour, Honouring Food

July 31, 2017

I’m emerging from the intense process of bringing a book to life: the detailed proofing, the minor cover changes, the precise production values.  It’s done, and published, and starting to make its (so far) well-received way in the world.  Which means I can raise my head, and look around, and think about some other things.

One thing I’ve been thinking about recently (again) is food.  Not the cooking of it, or not only, but the ways we value it, or don’t value it, and more precisely how we don’t, in general, value the labour and resources that go into producing it.  Food waste has got a lot of press recently, and it should.  But there is more than one devaluing going on when food is thrown out: we are, when we waste edible food, dismissing it – whether it’s an extra zucchini or soft carrots – but we are also ignoring the human and resource cost of producing that food.

I have a couple of degrees in agricultural science.  I have also worked, in my teen years,stoop labour in what is called ‘stoop labour’: picking tomatoes and green beans, riding a potato digger, harvesting sweet corn, cutting grapes. Long, hot, sweaty days, often with no access to a washroom or running water; lunch eaten with dirty hands, sometimes between the rows. Sometimes the pay was hourly, sometimes it was piece work. It was never good. I’ve worked alongside immigrant women with advanced degrees, whose English wasn’t good enough to let them work in their area of expertise, women from Portugal and Hungary. I’ve worked alongside men from St. Kitts and Jamaica, who come to Canada yearly to support their families back in the islands. I did this work for a few weeks every summer, and only for a few years.  These people did it, do it, year after year after year.

I find myself remembering this more these days, maybe because I am in my 60th year, and my knees creak and my back hurts, and arthritis plagues me occasionally.  I buy a head of broccoli at the farm stand, or a bunch or radishes, and I look at it, and think about the work. Which raises, in my mind, an ethical issue: this head of broccoli or bunch of radishes is in my hands because of the labour of those who planted it, those who weeded and watered and fertilized, and those who harvested it.  Can I, with a quiet mind, throw out half of it: the stems of the broccoli, the leaves of the radishes?  What would that say about how I value their work?

So I have set about to find ways not to waste the products of that labour. (Not to mention the other resources – the fuel and fertilizer to grow the crop; the topsoil itself, disappearing or degrading in much of the world; the water, rapidly becoming a limiting factor.) As each vegetable crop comes into season, I’m being creative with what I do with it.  (But if anyone’s found something useful to do with corn husks, other than compost them to produce soil amendment, let me know!)  This is what I’ve been doing, so far this summer:

Broccoli stems:  I slice off the tough outer part of the stems, tossing those parts into the large container in my freezer where all soup stock ingredients go.  Then I slice the inner portion into matchsticks, which go either into salads, or into an Asian-inspired soup I make.

Radish greens:  add to salads or soups, or, cook until soft, and puree them. (Pour off most of the liquid and reserve as stock.)  I use pureed greens, whether from radishes or salad greens past their best – in place of zucchini in zucchini bread or muffin recipes, and it works just fine.  I sometime use other pureed veggies too – I’ve previously published this recipe here.

The stock container in the freezer gets just about everything else: broccoli leaves, radish trimmings, bits of pepper, anything that’s sat too long in the fridge and has gone soft; overripe tomatoes, extra herbs. Every couple of weeks I scoop out about two cups worth of bits, put them in the slow cooker with some garlic and onion, salt and pepper, and few chicken bones from the other freezer container, cover with water, and let it simmer all day.  The bones and vegetable matter go into the municipal compost system (from where it goes to farmers’ fields as soil amendment); to the broth, I add match-sticked broccoli and carrots, thin slices of red pepper, left-over corn, slices of radish – really whatever is around.  I toss in a few herbs – Thai basil, lemongrass, parsley – from our community herb garden, more garlic, cayenne pepper. I cook the broth and veggies together for ten minutes, add tiny egg noodles, and four minutes later, pour into wide bowls.  Sometimes I add tiny pieces of meat – again, whatever is around: little bits of chicken from a roasted bird; one sausage, cut into fine rounds and browned –  but no more than an ounce for each person. I serve it with good bread, and maybe a salad, and that’s supper.

What do you do to reduce food waste?  I’d really love to know. Has anyone tried making pesto from greens other than basil?  Are there other creative soup recipes out there?Please share!

 

Photo:  Kern County, California. Migrant youth in potato field. Stoop labor by a migratory youth: by Partridge, Rondal, 1917-, Photographer (NARA record: 8464464) (U.S. National Archives and Records Administration) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

A New Kitchen Tool

November 26, 2016

I bought a mortar and pestle today, a kitchen tool I’ve done without for thirty-five years.tools-mortar-and-pestle-800px  As I have a general policy of not buying things, why did I make an exception for this?

The answer lies, and hangs, in my basement: a rack and two elevated screens of drying herbs, the last harvest before winter.  Rosemary and sage, oregano, parsley and chives: some hang in bunches from the rack that used to, in my working days, dry my panty-hose; more are spread on window screens elevated on paint cans.  (None of them are catnip, to Pye’s total disgust – she loves it. Pyxel, on the other hand, watches Pye go ecstatic over a catnip toy the way a teetotaler watches someone enjoying a glass of wine.)

I could have chopped the herbs and stored them frozen in oil; or just frozen, in small bags, but I prefer dried herbs for the simple reason I don’t have to remember to thaw them prior to cooking. (I do freeze pesto.) I could have microwaved or oven-dried them, but why use energy when the basement is dry and warm?  In another few days, I’ll bring them up to the kitchen, and strip the leaves off the stems prior to storing in glass jars.  Some of them – the rosemary in particular – I will later grind.

Ground rosemary used to be easy to find in grocery stores, but for a long time now all I can find are whole leaves – which are fine, and I use them, but sometimes I want ground rosemary, when the texture of what I’m making will not benefit from the whole leaf.  There are a few other herbs that can benefit from grinding, sometimes: dill for use in sauces or on fish comes to mind.  And spices – well, Indian spices like mustard seeds need grinding just before they are added to a curry; powdered mustard seed lacks the fragrance and bite of freshly-ground.  These were all good reasons to buy a mortar and pestle years ago, but for some reason I never got around to it.  (You can bash mustard seed with a rolling pin, in a pinch.)

But I am also thinking ahead.  The community in which I live has a communal herb garden, and I’ve volunteered to be one of the people who takes care of it. It satisfies my wish to garden without committing me to something too big or too demanding of my time. Next year we’ll have quite a wide variety of herbs, edible flowers, and perhaps a few other plants like jalapeno peppers.  With a larger variety of herbs to cook with and to dry, I will (I hope) need the mortar and pestle more than ever before.

But I’m curious…those of you who use a mortar and pestle regularly, what other kitchen uses does it have?

Slow-but-quick Soup

November 18, 2016

I have written before about how two of my favourite kitchen tools are my slow cooker and my stick blender, but the two together are proving to be indispensable.

Last winter in England, we bought a small slower cooker – about 2 litres (2 quarts, more or less) in size. It was perfect for the two of us, and could stretch to a meal for three on occasion. When we left to come back to Canada, we gave it to a charity shop. (Not only was it too awkward to bring home, the UK uses 220V power, so I couldn’t use it here if I’d wanted to.) I often wished during those weeks that I had one of the same size here, but I’d never been able to find one.

But this September, in the university town where I live, suddenly 2 litre slow cookers appeared, marketed to the student population. Hooray, I said, and bought two – one for me, one for my sister. And it’s a rare day I don’t use it. Now the heat of the summer is gone, I like to have soup for lunch. Ingredients thrown in the pot when I get up are ready by noon, but not over-cooked as such a small amount might be in a larger slow cooker. A quick pureeing with the stick blender, and with some good bread and a bit of olive oil for dipping, lunch is ready.

Today it was a couple of cups of frozen diced butternut squash (raw), and a few pieces of left-over roast parsnip. As I was out of chicken broth, usually a pantry staple, I just used water, about a cup. These simmered away on the high setting till noon; I added salt and pepper and a bit of cumin, gave it a whirl with the stick blender – and the soup was ready. Those proportions make enough for one generous serving.

Another day it will be minestrone: 2 cups of low-sodium diced tomatoes, 1/3 tin tomato paste (I freeze it in small plastic containers) 1/4 cup red lentils (or any other cooked legume), some frozen spinach, and whatever other frozen or left-over vegetables I choose to throw in, along with a cup of liquid. This gets some red pepper flakes and garlic added, sometimes a tablespoon of pesto.

Almost any left-overs can be turned into soup. I frequently make just a bit too much when I’m making meals like chili or dhal or even chicken stew, but that less-than-one-serving that’s left doesn’t get thrown out, it goes into the little slow cooker the next day with chicken broth and veggies, and tomato paste and spices if needed, to become my lunch-time soup. Sometimes I blend it to an even consistency, sometimes I don’t. I eat it with bread and olive oil, or bread and cheese, or cheese and crackers….whatever is available. I finish the meal with a cup of coffee and one square of dark Swiss chocolate and am thoroughly satisfied.

And if it’s a soup-for-supper day, then I just double everything so there’s enough for us both. Soup-for-supper is served with an amazingly easy focaccia bread. I’ll post that recipe another day!

Walking Downtown

October 30, 2016

The past two Sundays I’ve had writer-group meetings downtown in the early afternoon, and on both days I’ve chosen to walk. It’s about 4.5 km (2-3/4 miles) by the most direct route; it takes me about an hour, and it’s a walk I’m growing to love again: we used to do it all the time, back in our university days, but those were thirty-five years ago.

The first part of the walk takes me through the university campus, on its bricked walkways, walking between buildings that range in age and architectural style from the limestone houses of the 1870s to the concrete, wood and glass of the twenty-first century. Only a few students are out and about so the wide walkways aren’t crowded, unlike Monday to Friday. I cross College Avenue and follow a minor path behind MacDonald Hall, in all its red-brick and terra-cotta glory, to University Avenue – and then down a footpath that joins two dead-end streets that more-or-less parallel the main road to downtown. The footpath follows the road allowance, it’s unmarked but partially stabilized with pavers, and I have never known if it’s an official city path or not, but I’ve been walking it for over thirty years and there are no signs to tell me not to.

This brings me out onto Gordon Street, the main road, a steep-ish downhill and busy, but the sidewalk is wide and I only have to use it for 600 m or so. At the bridge over the Speed River I stop to look at the waterfowl: Canada Geese and mallards at the confluence with the Eramosa, and a few ring-billed gulls. Just beyond the bridge is the Boathouse, home to ice-cream and canoe rentals in the summer months, afternoon tea well into December, and the point at which I turn and walk along the gravel driveway to the covered footbridge over the river.

I remember the bridge being built: in 1992, the Timber Framers Guild held a conference in Guelph, and 400 volunteers built this bridge to an 1880’s design, raising it by hand. It was an impressive project, and an important one, because it meant the river trails on either side of the Speed were now continuous. We lived for a decade or so at the far east end of the river trail, and I would walk home from work at the university down Gordon Street and across the bridge, along the trail and home. And vice versa, in the morning.

But now I cross the bridge and turn left, away from the river and towards downtown. I walk up past the Armoury and into downtown proper, find the cafe where the meeting is, buy a coffee and start talking.

Two hours later and it’s time to come home, after a short detour to buy a loaf of bread from one of the downtown bakeries. I have two choices: I can re-trace my steps from earlier, or, at the covered bridge, I can turn east and walk along the river trail to Victoria Road, watching the river for bird life, greeting the dogs out for walks, and avoiding tiny children learning to walk or ride bikes along this safe trail. At Victoria, I turn south, up the hill, walking here on a wide road shoulder for a few hundred meters until a trail turns west into the University’s Arboretum. From here I can follow the trails and gravel roads back to the University gates on Stone Road, and cross the road to home. It’s longer: it takes me about ninety minutes to walk that way, but it’s a lovely walk.

Last Sunday I came home through the longer way; today I chose to retrace my steps. Another day I may go downtown by the long route and come back up Gordon Street hill. There is always something to see: I can stop to look at architectural detail on campus, or watch a soccer practice; on the walk down Gordon the spires of the Basilica dominate the skyline. The downtown itself I never tire of. And if I choose the river-and-arboretum walk, I’m guaranteed some birds, even if it’s just a flock of friendly chickadees. Yes, it takes me two hours at a minimum. But I plan to walk for at least two hours every day, and if some days that walk is in the city rather than the fields and woods of the Arboretum and the river, well, it fills a different need. And not just because I can stop at the Boathouse for a pastry!

Seven Things – no, Eight – I Love about Our New House

August 6, 2016

 

We’ve been here two months next week. Here’s what I love about the new house.

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  1. Its location. I’ve written about this before, so I’ll keep this short. I can walk or bike to the university’s arboretum, which alone gives me a 6 km walk if I do the perimeter paths alone, and a lot more if I wander the interior trails…and it’s an easy connect to the city’s multi-use trail system, which takes me downtown, or up to the big north-end park, or further out to the lake. Or along the river system, east, west, or north. I can also walk or bike easily to grocery stores, two butchers, a seasonal local-produce stand, and all the shops and services I could want.
  2. The recreation centre that’s about 250 metres away. Which includes a 25 metre pool, where I’m learning to swim again; a fitness centre, an excellent library, billiard rooms, bocci and tennis courts, concert and theatre venues, and lots of other activities to participate in, should I choose to.
  3. Air conditioning! It’s a hot and humid summer. The previous house didn’t have air conditioning; it kept cool with huge old shade trees and windows open at night, but it would have struggled this summer. We use it judiciously, but we appreciate having it here.
  4. The natural gas barbecue. No propane tanks to buy and change and take back. We’ve barbecued more here in the last month than I think we did in the last house in the past five years. (This is related to reason 6, too.)
  5. New construction. Our previous house was built in 1911. This one was built in 1998. Its windows fit, its doors fit. Floors are flat. It has good insulation. I dusted today for the first time in two months, whereas the old house – well, you dusted, and a few hours later you wondered why you’d bothered.
  6. No mosquitoes! OK, it’s a very dry summer. But it hasn’t stopped the mozzies at the other house, which is rural and in an area with a lot of maple swamps. Here, there’s the occasional one, but I can go outside to pick herbs and tomatoes without insect repellent, which wasn’t the case before.
  7. The city it’s in. I’m hugely biased: I lived here for sixteen years, between 1978 and 1994, before we moved a bit further south to make our commutes do-able. I always wanted to come back – but there was good reason for that. I’ve talked about the trail system, but to that I can add beautiful parks along the rivers, a good arts centre, one of the best bookstores in the world with welcoming writers’ community, some wonderful old architecture, the university’s library, music performances and theatre, the year-round farmer’s market, the best-behaved off-leash dogs I’ve met outside of Paris, and a strong local-food movement. All the things that make a city livable, for me.
  8. The community-within-the-city. Friendly, welcoming neighbours who balance that friendliness with respect for personal space and choices about lifestyle and involvement in community activities.

The biggest thing we’ve had to get used to (again) is paying for water. We’ve been on our own well for the last twenty-two years, and while we were always careful during other drought summers, the water was, essentially, free, although of course there was pump maintenance and replacement, as well as water-tank replacement in those years, and the electricity to run the pump. (Sometime I’ll do the arithmetic on that and see which one was, in the long run, more expensive!) Here, not only do we pay for water use, but we are bound by water restrictions – the city uses groundwater, and in a dry summer like this one we are limited to which days and which hours we can water flowerbeds; lawns are out of the question. I have no problem with that at all – essentially it’s no different than what we did with our own well. I’m not complaining about either paying for water (we should) or the restrictions (necessary and responsible): it’s just the one thing that wasn’t on our radar for the last twenty-two years.

So, when people ask me do I miss the old house, the honest answer is no. It was time to move. I’m glad we did.

Art, Tools, and Ice Cream

July 20, 2016

On Saturday, I biked the 4.5 km downtown to do three things:  go to the farmers’ market, enjoy ‘Art on the Street’, and drop a few small things off at the new tool library.

Our market is a year-round market, rare in Ontario, but it’s been a fixture of this city for over 180 years, and it has its own building.  In the summer it expands to the outdoors; in the winter, it shrinks.  Fair enough; there’s very little food grown here in the winter, outside of the greenhouse industry, but the baked goods and meats and cheeses remain.  I dropped in only to buy kamut wraps and toss coins into the guitar cases of the buskers, who never fail to make me hum along on a Saturday morning.

Then it was off to the tool library, a few streets over.  While not a new concept, this is a new initiative for our city. If you’re not familiar with the concept, it’s pretty simple:  if you need a tool, from rice cookers to cement chisels, from stock pots to a screwdriver, you can borrow it from the tool library. I’d first discovered them when I was looking for a place to donate my garden tools from the old house.  A volunteer had come to pick up that load – there were quite a few tools – but now I had a few more things to give them, things that fit in the panniers of my bike.

The space was functional but effective, and all the tools are being catalogued and bar-coded for inventory control.  In a city with a lot of students, its share of low income families, and a strong community ethic towards sustainable and cooperative living, the tool library is a logical addition.  I’m eyeing the tile-cutter in my basement now: I kept it as we consider what to do with the backsplash in the kitchen…but I could always borrow it back.

I left my bike and helmet locked to the rack outside the tool library, and walked over to Art on the Street.  One street had been closed off to house this annual, tented art display and sale, and the place was crowded, cheerful and noisy.  I wandered among the art for the best part of an hour, coveting but not buying a set of glass coasters from one artist,  a mug and vase from another.  Both ‘covets’ had a raven theme, which calls to me strongly.  I’m always torn at art shows:  I am trying not to buy things, to add to the items we own because we really don’t need anything.  I have a dozen coasters and more than a dozen mugs.  But on the other hand, as an independent artist myself…we need people to buy things.  Even when there isn’t financial need, there’s the need for people to appreciate and value the art we make, whether visual or written or aural.  I’m regretting the coasters, just a bit.

I finished off with a small cone of what might be the best chocolate ice cream I’ve ever had, from a small creamery that makes ‘small-batch’ ice cream from mostly-local, in-season product, before biking the longer-but-flatter river path route home.  In retrospect, I should have had the raspberry-rhubarb ice cream….but it’s Wednesday today, the summer Wednesday market will be on downtown; we’re biking down for an afternoon showing at the little rep cinema…and the creamery will be at the market, steps from the cinema.  What better way to fuel up before the ride home?

 

 

 

 

Biking

July 3, 2016

One of the many attractive features of moving back to town was the opportunity to bike everywhere: to the farmer’s market, to the grocery store, to the library. This city has a wonderful mixed-use trail network plus a lot of bike lanes, and, for the most part, drivers, used to hordes of university students on bikes, are watchful for and respectful of bikes.

It’s taken me a couple of weeks to get my biking muscles up to speed, but for the last week or so I’ve been biking frequently. (The good weather helps, too.) I have a set of panniers that fit over my rear wheel, in which I can stuff my straw hat, a book, my laptop, shopping bags, water bottle, or whatever else I need to take, depending on my destination. My bike is a 21-speed ‘hybrid’: not quite a mountain bike, but sturdier and wider-tired than a road bike, with front shocks, perfect for the gravel trails as well as the roads.

Saturday morning I biked to the farmers’ market downtown. I kept the panniers empty except for a shopping bag or two, and ventured off down what is a new route for me: the bike lane down the major thoroughfare that leads downtown. Before the bike lane, which is relatively new, this was far too dangerous, and I’m still not sure I’d want to do it at a busier time. But fairly early on a Saturday morning, I felt it was safe enough.

It’s downhill most of the way, and a fairly steep downhill. I kept my speed slow, and enjoyed not having to pedal while keeping a close eye on the traffic. But there were no issues, and I reached the market in about fifteen minutes. I locked the bike and my helmet up, took my bag, and did my regular shopping, potatoes and peppers, kamut wraps, asparagus and cherries, greens. Then I stowed them all neatly in the panniers, bought a glass of freshly-squeezed (extracted?) carrot/orange juice, and considered my ride home.

I wasn’t going to tackle riding up the hill, so going back the way I came was out of the question. Basically, my choices were ride either west or east along the river trail, and then head south. I chose to ride east, which brings me out to a short-but-steep hill (I walked my bike) and then takes me into the Arboretum, and a short ride through its trails to our residential development and home. The whole trip – about 12 km – took me less than an hour, including the time shopping.

Today I biked on quiet residential streets over to the butcher’s (with a small insulated bag and ice pack stowed in the panniers), and then on to Staples to get a document bound, a quick 10 km trip. Tomorrow it will be back downtown, to my Monday morning writer’s group, and then a  loop home along the river, westward this time, and up the trail, back to Staples to pick up the document I took in today, a ride of about 14 or 15 km. I’m still challenged by some of the city’s hills, but I’m also old enough not to be discouraged (or embarrassed) by having to get off and walk occasionally.

BD bought a new bike last week, replacing his road bike with one similar to mine: a couple of trips on the trail system convinced him this was necessary. Older bones need a softer ride! He’s out every day, riding downtown to the library, or around the trails to new birding spots. Our gasoline use, even with BD going to check on the other house every second day, has dropped by half, and likely to drop more as we both bike for errands rather than drive. I’m seriously wondering how long we’ll keep two cars, although we certainly won’t make that decision until we see how we manage in colder, wetter weather. There are times when driving is still preferable: I’ve got a couple of evening events coming up, and I don’t want to bike in the dark (or even in the dusk), but the reasons for having two cars are rapidly disappearing. And there is a good bus system here, if we needed a back-up.

I’m very glad that one of my theoretical reasons for moving has rapidly become a viable reality. It’s a strong reinforcer that this was the right move, and the right time to make it.

The One-Stop Holiday Shop

December 11, 2015

We don’t, as an extended family-and-friends group, give anything but small, consumable holiday presents. We’re all adults, all well-enough off and we all own too much stuff. The money we would have spent goes to a cause of the donor’s choice, and we celebrate with food, wine, winter walks and conversation.

But there is still that small consumable present to buy. In keeping with our belief in shopping locally, I consider my options. There is a lavender farm just north of us that has lots of lovely little products. There is a bee-keeper who makes beautiful candles with the beeswax. There is local maple syrup. Or there is Rose’s, our bakery-preserves shop right here in the village. Rose’s jams and chutneys and pickles and salsa are scrumptious, made mostly from locally-grown produce, providing employment and revenue right in our village. Rose’s wins.

I stop on my way to town: I can walk there, but not with nearly two dozen jars of preserves in my bag. I’ve chosen late morning on a mid-week day, when she isn’t so busy. The shelves are lined with jars, their contents gleaming red and purple and green. I buy blueberry jam and hot salsa, crabapple jelly and cranberry-apple chutney, spicy red pepper jelly and bread-and-butter pickles, while inhaling the scent of bread baking. Probably I buy more than I need, but we’ll eat anything that’s left over.

I could, in theory, preserve my own jams and pickles now; retirement should give me the time. But my days are too full already, and with such a supply just down the road, I’m happy to buy them from Rose. A little bit of our local food will make its way around the province in the next few weeks, our local farm and rural economy will benefit, and my holiday shopping stress is nil. Now I can start the holiday baking!

Words to Live By

September 30, 2015

Not all of us can do great things. But we can do small things with great love.

This quote, apparently wrongly attributed to Mother Theresa, remains one of my favourites.  It doesn’t matter who actually said it – it remains a valid and validating statement.

I can’t, for example, paint a masterpiece.  But I can create art for handmade birthday cards, the image usually one I think will have some extra meaning for the person receiving it.

I will never write a best-seller.  But my first novel has been enjoyed by quite a few people, and has been well reviewed.

I will never be a master chef, but I can create meals from scratch that are enjoyed by friends and family.

I am no design guru or master renovator, but I have mudded and caulked and painted and wallpapered and laid tile with care to help create a home we love.

At the end of my career I received a provincial award for contributions in my field of education, completely unexpectedly.  I had never done anything huge, just a lot of small things over many years.

In a recent article in the New York Times, OpEd writer David Brooks asked readers how they found purpose in life.  He writes  “a surprising number of people found their purpose by… pursuing the small, happy life.”

Small things with great love.  Words to live by, at least for me.

On Being a Tortoise

September 3, 2015

I have become somewhat sloppy in some of my practices of mindful living this past month. Somehow, I got out of my habit of shopping only twice a week, and have been running in to town to pick up a few items almost every day. (We live twelve miles outside of town, in a tiny village with no shop.) This needs to stop, not just because it’s wasteful of gas and time, but because it’s just not how I want to live my life.

I shopped Monday this week, but Tuesday and Wednesday, except for picking up fresh corn and tomatoes, I didn’t (and that doesn’t involve going in to town). Instead, I went walking, good two-hour hikes both mornings through woods and fields. Today I need to go into town again; but I have a plan. I’m going to put my bike on its carrier, park at the store I buy the most at, and then bike to the other places I need to go. I have both a basket and panniers for my bike, and the university town has both bike lanes and an extensive network of off-road multi-use trails, making it easy to get around.

To be fair to myself, I haven’t just been being lazy by not using them. I didn’t have the core strength to ride my bike with the added weight, especially the panniers, which I find also affect the balance of the bike. Following major abdominal surgery thirteen months ago, I was forbidden to do anything except walk or swim for six months, to allow complete healing. (And I can’t swim.) That took me to January, and the middle of the coldest winter on record for many years here. I kept active, but mostly inside, and mall walking, painting woodwork, and using the treadmill or exercise bike wasn’t enough to strengthen the core. (A lot of the regular abdominal exercises are also contraindicated after the type of surgery I had, so I couldn’t just do crunches, either.)

But then spring finally arrived, and I started walking seriously again, and biking, My balance was bad for a while.  I kept at it, and finally this last ten days I have been walking without my Nordic poles; first for half an hour, then for an hour, and for the last two days for two hours each day, on hiking trails with all their ruts, roots, and rocks.  I think I can safely say I don’t need the poles any more, at least on fairly level ground.  This means my core is stronger.  A small but significant victory.

So I’ll put the basket and panniers on my bike, and park in town at the grocery store, and after shopping there plan a circular route that will take me to the specialty poultry store, and the library, and back to the car.  I could walk it, and carry the chicken and the books, but biking works different muscles and I like to do both. If it goes well, then this will be how I run errands in town, at least until snow makes it too dangerous.

There have been times in this past year when I have felt like a tortoise:  slow, ungainly, and dependent on an external support system.  But ‘slow and steady’ did the trick.  I didn’t rush anything; I built on small gains in small increments. Sometimes I did push myself too hard, thinking I was ready for a distance or a difficulty of terrain I wasn’t, but I backed off immediately once I realized I’d misjudged.  I didn’t let either pride or the desire for a quick fix to result in injury, which in turn could have meant more surgery.  (That was quite the incentive to not overdo it, by the way.)

My healthier body means I will drive less, which benefits the environment as well as our gas budget.  I can do my share of the heavier chores, which BD’s bad back will definitely like!  I’m less likely to use (more) health-care resources, more likely to stay creative, happy, and useful in the community, and I’ll be living my life in a manner closer to my ideal.

*****

A later-in-the-day update….the plan worked.  I learned the following:  I have to make sure I have my balance completely right before I take a hand off the handlebars to signal a turn, or I wobble, especially after I had made my purchases and was carrying some weight.  I also learned that choosing to try this out on the hottest and most humid day of the entire summer wasn’t the best choice; normally I bike on rail trails and bike paths, and the additional heat radiating off the paved road surface was more than I had expected…and it was ten-thirty in the morning.  But I did it!