As Summer Flies By

No, I did not take the photo above. Neither my camera or my photography skills (or lack there of) could capture this fleet-of-wing creature, but this has been the view from our living room window. The Bee Balm has flowered all over the farm, luring one of my favorite birds back to our home.  With its iridescent green head and radiant red neck, the Ruby Throated Hummingbird looks like a small Christmas tree ornament. It is the only species of hummingbird that regularly nests east of the Mississippi.

Yesterday was the last day of the first two week session of farm camp. It was a busy and hectic two weeks, but well worth the chaos to see the smiling, tear-smeared faces of so many happy campers that did not want to go home to their cities and suburbs. I love watching the kids bring their parents around the farm on closing day, teaching them about the plants and animals and sharing antidotes from the last two weeks. Many parents come up to Andy and me to tell us how much their child has changed in the last two weeks. Parents are amazed when their city kids rave about milking goats, weeding the garden, eating kale, and sleeping in a yurt. It makes me so happy to see this.

However, the background business to keep this place running is exhausting. This summer I am merely in a small support role to Andy while he runs the whole place. He has a great team helping him, three lovely ladies who I am endlessly grateful are here to be the other parts of his brain. But seeing him go from putting out one fire to the next makes me look forward to the few days of summer when the campers are their parents' responsibility again and the two of us can enjoy a day with our favorite happy camper, Oliver.

Last night Andy spotted a ruby throated beauty hyper-actively hitting up every pink tubular petal of the bee balm below our window. He held Ollie in his arms and pointed at the hummingbird as it paused at each flower. I came over and the three of us stood at the window and watched. It was the best moment of my week. Finally alone in our home, just our little family, enjoying the beautiful place that we live and nature's miracles, in peace and silence. This morning when I came down with Ollie the little visitor was back. This time Oliver was less tired and really honed in on that little bird. His head and eyes followed the zig-zag flight path of the hummingbird as I narrated. He even watched as the bird flew away and then looked up at me as if to say "where did it go?" 

Today we are celebrating Ollie's four month birthday. I can't believe how fast these four months have flown by. This is such a cool age. It is almost as if you can see new neuron bridges forming and synapses firing in his brain. He is more and more social every day and recognizing familiar faces and voices with a face full of glee and a gummy smile. 

I love my boys so much! Now I'm going to go spend a wonderful day with them!

Farmstead Update

Everything is blooming on the farm.  Ok, not everything. In fact there are a lot of seedlings just getting their roots in the soil, but things have been so busy and exciting in preparation for camp to start, that it feels like the whole farm and all of its inhabitants are in FULL BLOOM!

Lets start with my favorite farm creature: Oliver. Ollie is now 14 1/2 weeks. It is true what they say about the  fourth trimester (the first 3 months of a baby's life are an extension of life in the womb). Like clockwork Ollie has really matured into a different baby at three months. We have had a difficult time with his tummy since he was born. He spits up all the time and he has A LOT of gas. The poor guy would squirm, pull his knees up, tense up and scream until he could finally pass some gas (which I swear shows up on the richter scale when he does). I tried everything to make him feel better and prevent the gas- gas expelling baby yoga moves, an elimination diet, tummy massage, warm baths, gas drops, gripe water, pro-biotics (for him and me), feeding him in different ways (tummy to tummy, more burping, block feeding).

The only thing that made a little difference was removing liquid dairy from my diet, but that only helped get rid of the most severe tummy upsets. As a new mom tirelessly searching for ways to sooth my baby's tummy, I just didn't want to except when people would tell me that he just had an immature gut and that we had to wait it out. I guess this is a pretty good lesson in mothering to get early on: "this too shall pass." I'm pretty sure I'll be having to learn this lesson over and over again in Oliver's life, for as much as I wish I could make the whole world a rosy experience for him, so much of it is out of my control. But I can try to make it better, or at the very least hold him and kiss him so that he can muster what he needs to get through the hard things.

Back to the present update. Ollie still spits up all the time (I'll be so glad when he's grown out of that phase), and his farts sound like they are coming from a 200 pound dude, but his tummy seems to be feeling better most of the time now. He is so strong and kicking and moving around all day long now, so I think he's able to get the gas moving along and out of his body instead of it pooling up in a painful pocket in his intestines.

Ollie rolled over three times from front to back on Wednesday. He doesn't quite know how he does it yet, and so far he only does it when we put him on his belly with his elbows close together under his chest. Then he holds his head up for a while until he lays his head to one side and his body follows with a gentle flop onto his back. It looks like he is really close to figuring out the back to front roll too. He will kick his leg to the side and lie on his side, but then his arm gets in the way and he doesn't make it all the way over. It is so fun watching him figure these things out.



He is so smiley and social. I had my first day of work since he was born, and Ollie stayed home with his Granny Liz and great aunt Kathy. They were out on a walk with him when I drove up to the farm. I stopped to say hi and he recognized me and gave me the BIGGEST smile and squeal. It was one of the best moments I've had as a mom. Sometimes in the middle of the night, when I am sleepily nursing him in the dark, I can't wait until it gets light out and he is awake so I can see his big gummy smile again- it is brighter than the sun and moon and all the stars. I love that boy.

I could go on and on about this little guy (and I will, after all, he is the reason I started this blog), but for now I will continue on an update of all the other exciting happenings on the farm. We have several new folks on the farm and by the end of today the entire summer staff will be here. The garden is looking incredible thanks to the hard work of our garden manager. She grew up on an organic CSA farm and has learned a lot from working with her dad, who is an expert farmer. I hope to learn a lot working with her this summer. Andy's assistant director (a fabulous, long-time friend of his) is here and has already brought so much more life and laughter into the rush to prepare for camp to start. Andy also hired a program director this summer who has a good bit of knowledge about farm animals and a lot of ambition. And one of the most important people on the farm is here- the chef. I know I'm going to like the food this summer, because he is from my native Louisiana.

Other new comers to the farm include: two kittens, two calves (Mason and Dixon), four bunnies, baby turkeys, more chicks, and the guinea hens...not to go hating on god's creatures, but when I am up at 3am after nursing my baby back to sleep and desperately trying to nod off before he wakes up again for another feeding in two hours, I loath the ear-piercing cackling of these birds. I see them in the morning, with their red skeletor heads and their round, speckled bodies, and I think to myself "you birds are dumb."

No photos in this post, but I'll put some up soon.

looking back one year

Lately the lyrics to a Cranberries song have been running through my head: "how my life is changing everyday, in every possible way."

One year ago I was in prison in Greenland. Prison was an unsavory experience, but the journey that led me there was epic and beautiful. Not long after Andy and I made the cross country drive from Seattle to the farm, I received a call from a friend asking if I was available to join the action team for a Greenpeace campaign. Once I learned that the campaign was stopping oil drilling in the arctic ocean, and after talking it over with Andy, I was packing a backpack and heading down to D.C. for climb training in the Greenpeace warehouse.

A few days later I was on a flight to London. After narrowly being passed through Heathrow Customs and Immigration (let's just say this isn't my first rodeo), I sleepily watched the beautiful English countryside pass me by on a train to Fowey on the southern coast. This is where the Greenpeace boat Esperanza was docked.

The last time I embarked on a Greenpeace boat (the M.V. Arctic Sunrise) I was barely 18 years old, and had no idea what was in store for the next several months as we sailed up the Pacific and through the Inside Passage of Southeast Alaska campaigning to protect the rainforests of the Tongass National Forest. I knew this would be a very different experience- different boat, different crew, different ocean, different campaign, and the biggest difference was my role on the boat. Seven years prior, on the Sunrise, I was a deckhand and the ships 'garbologist'. My day-in, and day-out duties involved sorting trash, recyclables and organics (food waste) on the ships poop deck. Of course I also got to clean, swab, paint, and help out with a few odd projects that involved some fun power tools. And then there were the campaign duties- painting banners, giving tours of the boat to visitors at each port we stopped in, and running educational activities for the kids who visited (this was one of the best jobs on the ship in my opinion, especially with the gang of half-feral kids that visited everyday while we were docked in the Alaskan village of Haidaburg). I even helped in an action off the coast of British Columbia where I froze my butt off for a few hours helping to unfurl a huge floating banner in protest of destructive fish farming in ocean waters.

I'm the little dot floating under the "K". This was before the helicopter came in to take video footage and blew the whole banner over forcing us back into the frigid water and rearrange the giant letters again. 

I fell in love with ship life in those three months on board. It was more than just the constant slap of the water on the bow, or waking up to a new coastline everyday; I was living and working with incredibly passionate people from around the world, that had no shortage of life experiences to share with me. My heart swells with nostalgia thinking back on the incredible people I shared that time with and the beyond-words-beautiful places we experienced together.

On the Esperanza I was part of the action team- there were three of us climbers. The first few days at port in Fowey were busy loading gear and supplies. It was a confusing time as I wasn't sure what exactly this campaign entailed or how we were planning on stopping a huge oil rig bound for drilling in the Arctic Ocean- it was also confusing because the Esperanza is a much bigger ship than the Sunrise and it took a few days to find my way around and learn the names of the almost 30 people on board. Soon enough we set sail, I got my sea legs back, and I began to get to know my new shipmates. 

What a crew they turned out to be. Representing 18 countries, this crew was a grab bag of personalities, skills and tastes in music. I delighted in conversations during meal times or over a beer and a card game after a days work on deck. There was a fun-loving and hard-working bunch of deckhands and campaigners that made action training on deck a pleasure. I was so thankful for this as the day to confront the oil rig neared and my nerves grew. Most of my time was spent climb training. This involved regaining a muscle memory of important knots, dangling from the ships structure (all the while swinging to and fro with the ocean swells), and practicing for nearly any scenario we might encounter on the rig.

Climb training in the helicopter deck and work on deck.

In an email to a friend a few weeks before Oliver was born, I compared this month of training on the Esperanza to the wait for Oliver's birth: While Andy and I have had a lot of fun preparing for peanut's arrival with classes on birthing, breastfeeding, and newborn care (not to mention a stack of books that has taken over the bedside table), it is hard to feel prepared and relaxed knowing it could be any day. It's oddly reminiscent of the month spent taxiing around the North Atlantic looking for an oil rig, that once found (day or night), would deploy me into a crazy unknown length of time dangerously dangling thirty meters high off its structure. No matter how much I prepared or how many safety nets we had in place, I knew it could go drastically wrong, or really well, and that even the best case scenario would be scary, uncomfortable and incredibly rewarding. 

When the day came to climb the oil rig I watched from the bridge as my climb team scaled the back side of the rig and secured the pod between the flare booms. The constant summer sun was at its lowest point in the sky, giving a dusky glow to the cold choppy water even though it was the middle of the night. I soon joined them on the rig...that sentence in no way captures the epic-ness of getting up to my climb team; let me try again...with a dry suit, climbing harness, and about 40 lbs of gear strapped to me, I climbed out the pilot door on the side of the Esperanza, and into a zodiac that sped into the wake of the behemoth oil rig. The zodiac pilot kept pace with the rig at about 8 knots to position us directly under the pod where a climbing rope dangled down about 80 feet to me. As I clipped onto the rope and began to jig my way up, the zodiac pulled away, and all the remained underneath me was the deep, freezing Arctic Ocean. I was breathless and overheated when I climbed through the bottom hatch and into "the pod" that was to become my home for the next 4 days.

The pod was actually a recycled bottle bin that had been reinforced with kevlar and fiberglass and fitted with a top hatch, bottom hatch, porthole and air vent. It has been used to lock-down to the anchors of drilling ships in the past- the evidence of this was left on the pod wall with drawing of each oil vessel that was occupied and tally marks for the number of days in the pod. It was about the same space inside as a two person dome tent, only packed with supplies- comms equipment, batteries, laptop, food, water, sleeping bags, first aid, and climbing gear. There was barely room for one, but it was home for me and my pod mate Luke. Luckily Luke and I got along well, and seemed to strike a balance between keeping each other company and allowing quiet time for an escape from the person mere inches away. 

Not long after I got up to the pod, I climbed out onto one of the rig's flare booms (using slings and a harness to keep me safely attached to two points of the structure at all times) to retrieve a strop that was left behind on the initial climb up the rig. The flare booms are crane-like structures that are swung out from the rig during drilling to burn off gas encountered while drilling. As long as we were locked to them, the rig couldn't drill. I paused on the boom to take in the scene around me.

Two ships in front of me: the Esperanza, and a Danish Navy vessel. To my left, 12 miles away were the steep, white mountains of the Greenland coast, their jagged, glaciated peaks in stark contrast to the crisp sky above. In the expanse of ocean beside me I could barely make out the outline of the massive icebergs we had sailed passed the day before. Taking a moment to reflect on the sights from the days just prior to that, I recalled majestic sea birds floating over head, pods of pilot whales sleek in the dark blue waters below, and the crispest, cleanest air my lungs had ever encountered. Looming behind me was a rusted, 53,000 ton, behemoth oil rig- only a reflection of our current place in history where the last, bitterly expensive drops of oil are being sought to feed our addiction to cars, plastic and cheap energy. 

The magnitude of this moment overcame me. This rig was quickly approaching its first exploratory drill site. What would come of the pristine arctic environment around me if oil was found? How long until deep sea drilling here would lead to a massive oil spill, the likes of which is still poisoning the banks and economy of my native New Orleans? It was easy to see from the harsh weather and icebergs we had encountered, that an oil spill here would never be able to be cleaned up. This was highlighted by the fact that drilling here had only recently become possible due to the climate change induced retreat of the arctic ice cap. 

From our pod we were able to talk about what was at stake in the arctic with media from around the world. The pod was a beacon of what our energy future could look like; a windmill and solar panel gave us energy to connect to the world via internet, satellite phone and radio. The days and nights blurred into one another with the midnight sun. The rig suddenly stopped one night at the drill sight. Loud noises and vibrations ensued and I was terrified they were going to recklessly start drilling with us attached to the rig. They didn't, but we were costing them thousands of dollars everyday they couldn't drill. Each day they couldn't drill was another day that an arctic oil disaster was averted. As word got out in the media, Cairn's stocks dropped, at a time when the rest of wall street was celebrating a rise. If you want a large corporation with a lot of momentum behind it to listen to you, you have to hit them in the bottom line. Dollar signs are the only language they speak. Greenpeace knows this; it is how their activists have managed to reform the destructive actions of several multinational corporations and save countless acres of wild land. 

Just when I started adjusting to the constant light, noise, movement and cramped quarters of the pod we were plucked out by the Danish Navy, brought on deck the oil rig and arrested. On the helicopter ride from the rig to the capitol of Greenland where we would be imprisoned, I looked out the window and took in the pristine beauty and elegance of the ocean and ice carved mountains. I had kept calm and collected through the excitement thus far, but once I got to the Nuuk jail everything hit me at once and I weeped for this place and the destruction we are hell bent on bringing to this planet. 

I spent the next week in the Nuuk prison with Luke and a bunch of Greenlandic guys. I'm glossing over this part, well, because it was dehumanizing, boring, and at times terrifying. There was a great celebration however. One morning during our 30 minute "recess" in the tiny courtyard outside, a guard told Luke and I that 20 more of "our friends" had been arrested. That afternoon we were picked up by the chief of police and brought back to the jail where we had been booked. We walked back to the cell and were greeted by the raucous, celebratory cries of our shipmates. They had boarded the rig a few days after we were taken off and demanded to see Cairn Energy's oil spill response plan. Words cannot describe how happy I was to be reunited once again with some of the dear friends I had made on the boat and thought I may never be seeing again.

Luke and I were deported to Copenhagen, where we spent the night in single cells of a huge prison. The next morning we were taken to the airport and each put on flights home. I arrived in New York in June wearing the same long johns and sweatpants I had been in from the pod through prison; I was frazzled and exhausted; and I was met by the warmest, safest arms I've ever known- my Andy. 

My Andy, who had been sleeplessly following every step of the action and anxiously awaiting any word from me in Greenland, held me in his arms and drove me back to our home on the farm. I was so happy to be home with him. There were some jokes made about me needing to be barefoot and pregnant to keep me from going off on such a daring adventure again....you do the math.

Cairn never found oil that season at a loss of $1.2 billion. Exploratory drilling is set to continue off the coast of Greenland again this summer, this time in Baffin Bay. Part of me would like to be up there stopping the drilling. But, a bigger part of me feels like I did all I can do at the scene of the crime, and I'll continue the fight safely here on the home front, for now. Besides, I have taken up a new cause. One I am even more passionate about. It's important to fight against destruction, but I feel that it is equally important to create the world we want to see as well. A just and sustainable world based on authenticity and community. So for now I am trading in my harness and banner and I'll be busy raising my baby boy and tending my garden with love. I just discovered the name for this cause: Radical Homemaking. 

Ozarkansas

I have arrived in the land of Oz (Ozarkansas). Ollie's first plane ride went well. Although he did leave behind a nice layer of smeared spit up on the back of our seat- but really who can blame him for wanting to leave his mark? Andy, Ollie and I stayed the night in our friend Theresa's cute apartment in Queens, which made for a quick drive to La Guardia Airport at 5:00am. Oliver was a doll and slept the whole way through the gate confusion, check-in and security, and then continued to sleep for the first 2 hours of the 3 hour flight. What a guy! Then I let him stretch out on the empty seat next to me so he could perform his morning show.

Oliver's morning show started at about 3 weeks old. He is a super happy guy when he wakes up. Andy and I sit him on one of our bellies and lean him back against our knees. Ollie waves his uncontrollable arms, smiles, stares, and sticks his tongue out. Each week he adds something new to the routine, like mimicking a clicking sound with his mouth, or controlling his arms enough to keep his hand in his mouth. I'm not usually a morning person (and after being woken up 3, 5, or 10 times in the night I would think even less), but this has become my favorite part of the day. Andy makes me laugh and laugh with his jokes and narrations of Oliver's thoughts. The fun continues until Andy leaves for work and Ollie usually falls back asleep in a carrier while I make breakfast.

My mom is in heaven right now holding sleeping Ollie. I'm going to take advantage of this and get a little nap in. Pictures from Oliver's travels in the South coming soon (I didn't bring a camera, but Ollie is a WELL documented baby when his Pody is around).

The Birth

I was ready to have my baby. My birth team and plan were all in place. Practice contractions had been going on since 35 weeks, and Andy and I were working on softening my cervix and encouraging labor with everything from bumpy roads to (ahem) bumpin' in the bedroom. My midwives gave me a homeopathic concoction to gently encourage labor, and I even enlisted Murphy’s law by telling my doula to go ahead and stay the night in New York City (2 ½ hours away), figuring if I did go into labor he would have plenty of time to get back- after all the average first time birth lasts 16 hours.

When I woke up that night at 2:30 am I thought it was for the usual hourly pee break (two gallons of water a day left me waddling to the bathroom FREQUENTLY), but as I stood in the hallway I stopped and felt a contraction much stronger than the practice contractions I had become accustomed to. I knew this was the real deal right away, especially when I got to the bathroom and my body immediately began emptying the contents of my intestines. I waited a few minutes until I had another contraction and then woke up Andy. We were both excited and relieved that labor had begun, but I knew there was a long journey ahead and that it was important to rest in the early part of labor.

We called David and the midwives to let them know I was in labor. Surprisingly my contractions were 5 minutes apart, and while they weren’t painful, they did require my full attention at the sensations going on in my body. The midwives told me to rest and call again when the contractions got stronger or closer together. Only about 20 minutes went by before I looked at Andy and said “they’re strong now. Call again.” At this point I was moaning through each contraction, trying to stay relaxed, and imagining each one opening my cervix and hugging my baby down. I tried lying in bed to save energy and had Andy put on my hypnobabies tape, but quickly found it too difficult to lie down. This is when I started wandering around upstairs pausing for each contraction to lean on whatever was nearby. I was searching for a surface at the perfect height for leaning on. It felt as if I needed to lift the top half of my body off of my pelvis to give relief to the strengthening pressure between my hips.

I lost since of time, but the contractions kept coming closer and closer together, giving me little relief in between. It hurt, but I kept reminding myself that they were going to get a lot worse and to stay relaxed. Low moans were very helpful; it felt meditative, like an “om,” and forced my mouth and jaw to stay relaxed during the peak of the pressure (a la Ina May Gaskin). Andy was also giving counter pressure on my hips which soon felt essential to get through the worst of it. I wouldn’t allow myself to think thoughts of pity or give measure to the pain; when my mind wondered there, I focused on pacing myself and finding what comfort or distraction I could to get through.

For a while I sat on a yoga ball and leaned on the bed. I threw up a few times and felt like there was no reprieve from the pressure, so I got in the shower for a few minutes. The hot water on my back was awesome, but I remembered a friend saying that warm water had slowed her labor down, and I just wanted to get my baby out. I reluctantly got out of the shower and moved to sitting backwards on a chair and listening to Iron and Wine’s Our Endless Numbered Days. This album was the perfect serenade for the cycle of moans and rest.

For most of the labor it was just Andy and me upstairs. My mom stopped in a few times to empty the puke bucket, but mostly left us alone. I was in an altered state of reality, hyper-sensitive to other people’s speed of movement and voices. Mostly, I went inward and didn’t talk much. There were a few times when I wondered when David and the midwives would arrive. I thought “I hope they get here to help me through the really bad part.”  When Andy told me the midwives’ apprentice, Julia was on her way here, I decided to stand up again for contractions, hoping I could encourage my cervix to open and praying that when she arrived I would be at 6 centimeters and could get into the birth pool (they want you in active labor before you get the relief of warm water). I was vaguely aware of Andy giving Julia directions on the phone and remember being bummed she was lost and wanting her to get there and tell me I could get in the pool. (Days after the birth it occurred to me that it was miraculous that she was able to get cell service out here.)

When Julia finally arrived I crawled onto my back on the bed. It didn’t quite register at first when she told me there was only a small lip of cervix left. I thought I had hours to go, and transition, the part I feared most, ahead of me. It turned out that I had already gone through transition and I was just about ready to push! I was absolutely elated. I asked her if I could get into the birth tub now and she said, “I’m not sure there is going to be time for that.” She went downstairs. I was blissfully unaware that downstairs everyone was preparing for the birth and calling the midwives to hurry over. All of a sudden during the next contraction my body heaved and pushed, all on its own. It wasn’t the “sensation to push” like I expected, my body was just pushing, uncontrollably. I yelled out, “I need help. I’m pushing!”

Everyone was back up in the room and soon kicked into action. The lights went on, there was some rushing around to get the room warmed up and some debate about the birth tub- all of this was throwing off my zen labor groove I had going and making it harder to focus through the contractions. At one point during a contraction, I yelled out “there’s too much going on in here!” as an attempt to quiet things down again. It didn’t even cross my mind that the midwives weren’t there yet- I felt totally safe and was ready to push out my baby. I leaned on my knees and the birth ball on my bed. Andy’s tired arms kept a steady pressure on my hips. The contractions at that point were actually easier feeling and had longer, more restful breaks between them than the hours leading up to this.

My body kept pushing and I felt my baby low in my body. I didn’t want to tear, so when I felt the head crowning I cried, “it burns!” In my delirious state this was the only way I knew how to communicate to Julia to do what she could to keep me from tearing. The only instruction she gave me was when she asked me to try and push a little between the next contractions. I did, and then pushed hard, letting out guttural groans. In the next seconds, felt him slip out. Another push and my baby had arrived in the world.

Pody caught Oliver's first moment in the world on camera.

I collapsed onto the yoga ball with such relief for what felt like a minute (after watching the video it was only a second) and then said “I want to meet him!” and turned around to see my tiny baby in Julia’s hands. He let out a little cry and a few snorts. It was an ecstatic moment. I turned to Andy, who was also crying said “we had a baby!” Julia passed this perfect, delicate new human to me and I drank in every sight of him as I held his tiny warm body against mine. It was 7am. I had labored for 4 ½ hours and pushed for 12 minutes.

It was only after Julia had asked if we had scissors and alcohol to cut the umbilical cord that I realized the midwives weren’t there with all of their medical equipment. While I would have loved them to be there to share that magical moment with us, it felt like everything happened exactly how it was supposed to. Oliver was born healthy and safe, and gifted Julia with her first solo homebirth (I hope a baby decides to do the same for me when I am in my midwifery education). I couldn't have been happier that everything went so well, and I have to say, I was proud of myself. After all that worry in pregnancy, I trusted the process, and peacefully participated as it unfolded into the perfect birth I hoped for.

That morning my mom made everyone breakfast and we had a picnic in our bedroom to celebrate baby Ollie's birthday.

Oliver's (almost) Birth Story

I tend to worry. I get it from my mother. Each new week in my pregnancy I tracked the development of my growing baby and discovered new things to worry about. Those nine months were a constant challenge to practice trust in my body and to steer my thoughts from fear in order to manifest health and safety. It was a practice in the biology of belief.

I knew I wanted a homebirth before I was pregnant. Oddly enough, I had decided almost exactly a year before I gave birth, that I wanted to become a midwife. This decision came after reading Ina May Gaskin’s Spiritual Midwifery when I was trying to discover my next steps, post undergraduate degree. Midwifery seems to me a beautiful combination of human relationships and the science of medicine. And, of course, there has to be an opportunity for activism and creating positive change to keep my attention.

Andy and I had been living on the Frost Valley Farm for a little over two months when we found out I was pregnant in July. We weren’t sure where to find good prenatal care or midwives that would travel out to our country home. I was unsure we were good candidates for homebirth with the closest hospital 45 minutes away in perfect driving conditions (which are uncommon in our valley in early March). Even after we found our midwives and began preparing for our homebirth I struggled with the concern that we were too far from a hospital.

By some awesome stroke of luck (oh you universe, always putting us in the right place at the right time), two other Frost Valley families living in our one-road valley were also pregnant. It is now known as the “fertile valley.” Both women were planning homebirths with the same midwives and sang their praises of “the Susans.” These neighbors reassured me we were not too rural for a safe homebirth and that these midwives were the best ladies for the job.

A couple of weeks after the summer camp season ended on the farm I was lucky enough to encounter one of my neighbors in labor. We usually had chats in my front yard when she was out on walks with her two year old. This time her daughter wasn’t with her, and she was stopping for breaks with her hands on her knees. It was my first time seeing a woman in labor. I was excited for her and extremely curious how she was feeling. It was shocking how calm and happy she was; there were no signs of fear or unbearable pain. She acted as if it was any usual, late summer day we were meeting in our yard, only with pauses where she would stare at the ground and breath. Her husband was the only one showing nervousness.

Andy and I left them to it, but couldn’t stop wondering aloud how the birth was going next door. The next morning we found out that the baby was born soon after we saw them in our yard. Labor was only 6 hours long. We brought food over and caught a glimpse of a beautiful, brand new baby girl and glowing mother. After that I was totally psyched for my homebirth and wanted to do whatever I could to help it be a speedy and enjoyable birth. However my midwives were quick to remind me that that was a second birth, and that first time births usually go a lot longer.

From the first laid-back meeting with one of “the Susans” on our porch I felt at ease, and confident we were in good hands. I loved appointments with my midwives. They would talk to my baby as they measured my growing belly. I was emotionally supported and meticulously checked for physical health, all the while being invited and expected to participate in my own prenatal care. It was the most empowering health care I've ever experienced. 

My other pregnant neighbor quickly became a good friend as we carpooled to midwife appointments, chatting about pregnancy, birth, and parenting on the long drive. Knowing I want to be a midwife, she was kind enough to invite me to the birth of her third baby. That is a whole other incredible birth story in itself, but I will say here that it amazed me to watch the midwives care so peacefully for Jennie as she brought her baby boy into the world with such grace. Being at that birth not only made me fall deeply in love with the magic of natural birth, it also reaffirmed my decision to birth my baby surrounded by the same peace of home and the resolve of a mother easing her child forth with her own power.

Even with such great care, it was a challenge not to let worries get the best of me. I read and prepared the best I knew how- focusing on eating well, exercising, relaxing and visualizing a good birth. There were times I felt so scared my baby would be sick or that something would go terribly wrong at the birth and we wouldn’t get to the hospital in time. Worry seems to be common for a first time mother, but it doesn’t help that everyone loves telling a pregnant woman their birth horror stories and giving unfounded advice. Thank Goddess for my midwives! With each visit I developed more of a relationship with them and gained more confidence in the road ahead. This was especially crucial as my pregnancy shifted from healthy and easy, to a bit complicated in the last trimester.

My blood pressure had been rising until it reached the point at which it was time to start intervening. The midwives took a welcomed approach to managing my blood pressure involving herbal and homeopathic remedies that seemed to be helping.

The last few weeks of my pregnancy were, by far, the hardest part. A week before my due date my mom was admitted to the hospital to get a stint in her heart. Not surprisingly my blood pressure went up at the midwife visit the next day. The intensity of my prenatal care increased accordingly- this also correlated with the arrival of my long time friend and doula, David and his seven year old son who stayed at the farm to support our birth. What I had pictured as a relaxing and rejoicing time with friends, leading up to the big event, was instead stressful, swollen, uncomfortable, and worrisome. 

Andy and I had to drive an hour and a half to get ultrasounds every couple of days in the last week. They had discovered that my amniotic fluid was low and I was put on modified bed rest and told to drink 2 gallons of water a day. At this point I was a few days past my estimated due date- something I knew was a distinct possibility, but had not fully emotionally prepared. It seemed like the longer the pregnancy went the more complicated my health became. The saving grace was that the baby was doing well, regardless of my body’s malfunctions.

Firsts

I've never been a good journaler. There is a box upstairs with journals full of the details and observations of the first week or so of every trip abroad or major transition in my life. The writing always stops as soon as I am caught up in the adventure or normalized to my new surroundings. I had high hopes for recording Oliver's life and my journey into motherhood, but almost two months in now and I've barely recorded his milestones or the magical, emotional, and exhausting moments of caring for this new being. Not because it is becoming normal. On the contrary, it is because the every-waking-moment-job of figuring out how to be a mom has afforded me only a few minutes to reflect and record this journey (all my other hands free moments are spent cleaning, wedding planning, and if I'm lucky, catching up on self-care and sleep). Blogging is something I haven't tried yet, and since I type way faster than I write, maybe a blog is the best way for me to create a record of memories as Ollie grows up (this may be replacing my failing memory that is seemingly getting sucked out of my breast). So here is the start of my ramblings as Andy, Ollie and I evolve as a family on the farm.

Frost Valley Farm Camp garden and yurts.

I'm going to skip the introductions, because although I know this is a semi-public forum for recording my life, I have no idea who (you) the audience will be, and I am determined not to let that shape my posts and rather allow this blog to be a cathartic exercise and memento for me. 

Oliver joined me in weeding half a raised bed in the garden this afternoon. He slept snugly, wrapped in the moby while I raked and plucked dandelions from the soil until the bending and jostling coaxed cries from the little bean to stop weeding and start walking. The fact that half a weeded bed feels like an accomplishment is just another indicator on how much my life has changed since Ollie entered it. It took me weeks just to figure out how to do the basic things like eating and showering while taking care of my newborn. But now that he is a little bigger, a little less fussy and I am a bit more seasoned in mothering we are starting to get things done around the house and on the farm.

How can you resist being in the garden on a day like this?

Some days we do a lot together- like when I moved a whole stack of wood while singing to Ollie who watched while he stretched out on the porch. Other days he reminds me that he is only a little guy and needs my undivided attention (that sentence was my best euphemism for the supper fussy, "nothing makes me happy for more than 5 minutes" days). While those days of marathon breastfeeding and arm-tiring, non-stop baby bouncing can be more exhausting than tackling the wood pile on the porch, I still fall asleep feeling a sense of accomplishment knowing how lucky I am to nurture and watch as this new life grows.

Mama and baby enjoying skin-to-skin contact and sunshine.

As I write this Oliver, having recently discovered his reflection, is cooing and smiling at himself, his arms and legs wiggling and dancing. His fresh newborn-ness is as ephemeral as the trout lillies and trilliums. While the progress of spring is calling me to plant a garden and plan a wedding, I am continually reminded to readjust my idea of an accomplished day. At the top of my long to-do list is my most important job: caring for Ollie.