As part of the Permaculture Teacher Training Course taught ` at Lost Valley January 7-13 by Jude Hobbs and Tom Ward, the fifteen students broke into several groups to consider ten- and fifty-year visions for their land and to prepare presentations related to these visions. The Lost Valley Group included all four staff facilitators for 2002's Organic Gardening, Permaculture, and Community apprenticeship program. We talked about how the Lost Valley community might look in a decade or a half century if we continue to develop it according to the principles of Permaculture.
The basic ethics of Permaculture (a contraction of "permanent agriculture" and also of "permanent culture") include care for the land, care for people, giving away surplus, and living within natural limits. Permaculture's practical implementation often includes a transition into eating more local and seasonal foods, becoming more self-sufficient, incorporating various less-familiar perennial and unusual foods into one's diet, and (in many cases) raising animals to meet some of one's dietary needs.
Our group of four talked about physical systems we could design to support the resident community's transition into such a Permacultural food future. But a basic question remained: will people (not hypothetical idealistic Permaculturalists, but the actual people who are likely to be living with the results of whatever we design) embrace the diet and food systems we are imagining? What additional design factors, ideas, and challenges or problems have we not thought of, and how can we turn these into opportunities to work toward food systems that truly meet the needs and desires of people as well as caring for the earth?
I interviewed fifteen community members (almost three-quarters of Lost Valley's permanent adult population) about four key areas of concern, and received a smorgasbord of useful feedback for our smaller group to chew on.
First, I asked about LOCAL AND SEASONAL FOODS. Were respondents willing to eat more of these? Were they willing to limit themselves to only what's local and seasonal? Did they value this type of food more than non-local and non-seasonal?
Support for increased consumption of local and seasonal foods, at least as an ideal to strive for, was virtually unanimous. Michael stated the sentiment most poetically: "The more local you eat, the more the land gets to shape or dream who you are." Trish observed that the 1400 mile trip the average American food item makes from field to plate is "way out of kilter," and William noted that consuming locally available, seasonal foods supports the local economy and the community's value systems, putting people and the earth first.
The challenges (problem areas or impediments that, according to Permaculture principles, are merely opportunities waiting to be recognized as such) included:
Chocolate: "the one thing," Tammy revealed, "I really wouldn't want to do without."
Fruit: Over a third of interviewees mentioned fresh fruit, year-round, as important to their diets--a need that might be reduced but not eliminated by increased amounts of preserved fruit. (Permacultural fruit explorers and breeders take note.)
Children: "We need to give more consideration to children," Rick offered. "They have different desires and needs than we do." Similarly, Karin said that "with children who like only a few vegetables," she wants to be able occasionally to buy those vegetables for them out of season.
Health: In addition to general nutritional considerations, special health concerns can impact dietary choices. One resident said her doctor had told her to eat avocados and olives regularly--foods not currently grown in our bioregion.
Variety: Virtually everyone valued variety in their diets, though many were willing to compromise variety in order to eat more bioregionally. Steve summed up a common sentiment: "I'm not into a steady diet of just kale."
Second, I asked about MORE SELF-SUFFICIENCY. Did respondents value a move toward growing more of our food on site? (We currently grow approximately 30%--calculated by dollar value--of the food consumed by the community, course participants, and conference guests) Were they willing to support this move by working more on the land and/or by paying higher food fees?
Almost all those interviewed favored boosting on-site food production. Half were willing to pay more and to work more to support increased agricultural activity, while a third were not willing to pay a greater premium than we already do for on-site produce. Michael and Devon both pointed out that investment now in greater self-sufficiency may save us money later, as economic systems increasingly reflect true ecological and social costs.
William was among several who said he saw the benefit of "doing human-scale food production, going back to an agriculturally based society." He recalled liking the system at another community where he lived (the Reevis Mountain School of Self-Reliance), where everyone worked in the garden for an hour every morning. Several others, however, said that they most likely would not have time to add garden or land work to their schedules without becoming overextended or stressed.
Respondents also raised the following issues to be considered in any long-term Permaculture design:
Economic Viability of LVEC Business / Needs of Conference Center: Tammy and Sharon both noted the importance of maintaining a balance that keeps LVEC viable as a business and that meets the needs of the conference center.
Impacts of Additional Staff / Residents: Ory observed that growing more of our own food would require more people, so as to prevent current gardeners from becoming overextended. In light of our current housing crunch, Russ asked, "Where do we house the extra gardeners?"
Local Networks, Neighborhood Cooperation, Gleaning, Bartering: Several members saw these as more promising directions to pursue than greatly increased on-site food production. Even some of those favoring increased self-sufficiency emphasized the value of local neighborhood cooperation--the possibility of trading surplus crops as well as labor to create a stronger local community and greater food security. Steve said he would like us to grow more of our own food, but not all of it: "I don't want to be totally self-sufficient and eliminate contact and interactions with the rest of the world. Local exchanges would be great--they don't have to be distant."
Design into Lives: Larry observed that we could achieve greater food self-sufficiency if we more deliberately designed it into our lives so that it was easier. Non-garden staff could still process food in meetings and do other simple things--grinding grains, baking, etc.--in discrete blocks of time, if we set up appropriate systems to facilitate these activities.
Third, I asked about NEW AND UNUSUAL FOODS that might be part of a Permacultural diet. Were community members open to trying these foods? Were they excited about the possibilities?
This question elicited the most universal "yes" of any that I asked. Every respondent was open to exploring new foods. Tammy summed up her experience with such foods as yacon, sunchokes, and unusual mushrooms: "Strange foods, prepared well, can be delicious." These considerations emerged as the major potential impediments:
Tastiness: While respondents seemed willing to try just about anything, several said they wouldn't continue to eat it unless it tasted good.
Food Associations and Comfort: William noted that many of us have strong memories and associations related to specific foods--especially ones we may have eaten growing up--and that these provide comfort. We need to take these associations and emotions into account when attempting to introduce new foods and/or displace old ones.
Rate of Adjustment: As William pointed out, humans rarely adjust to new foods overnight. To avoid sudden radical changes in our diet and the psychological discomfort resulting from them, he suggested an adjustment period during which we'd increase the amount of any new food in our diet by about 10% per year.
Finally, I asked about HOMEGROWN ANIMALS / ANIMAL PRODUCTS. Should Lost Valley have more animals than we keep currently? (We have a dozen hens and five ducks.) Would respondents eat, care for, and/or pay additional money to have more food-producing animals here?
Half of the respondents were willing to pay more for homegrown animal products than for ones coming from outside, and half were also willing to help in the care of additional animals. Most seemed relatively comfortable with our current chicken and duck populations, and Rick pointed out their educational value, saying that the connections that the children make with them are worth the extra money we may be paying to have our own eggs. However, the idea of adding more animals generated much less unanimous support.
Space, Energy, Care: Longer-term residents had the greatest reservations about adding animals, asserting that, given the current state of our land and our community, we don't have the space or the energy to care for large or herd animals. Several people warned about the costs as well. Goats were the one larger animal that most (but not all) residents could envision consenting to have here at some time in the future, if circumstances were favorable and if they had long-term caretakers.
Stability: Most members agreed that dedicated staff are essential for any animals we do take on. In Karin's view, animals are a huge commitment and residents (including animal enthusiasts) come and go too frequently at Lost Valley to provide the stable base of caretakers that would be required to keep them responsibly. Larry agreed that we would need more stability in our population and in our lifestyle before we could consider taking on larger animals, but he did raise the possibility of having micro-livestock (rabbits, snails, fish, more fowl) in the nearer-term future. In the very long term, under more stable community conditions, he could envision allowing goats to browse a couple of acres in the new forest.
Context: Michael and others emphasized the importance of making sure any animal raising and butchering would be done in a respectful, sacred manner. Devon said she'd be in favor of switching to more homegrown animal products only as an alternative, not as an addition, to our current food choices--i.e., only if we cut out other items that come from far away.
Local Networks, Neighborhood Cooperation, Bartering: The group as a whole saw these forms of local cooperation as the most promising directions to pursue, rather than growing many more animals and animal products ourselves. Given the sentiments expressed by a substantial number of members, this cooperative model is the only animal-related food future that the community would be able to consense on. Trish said she would rather support other local people who raise animals--hormone-free, free-range, and under humane conditions--than to try to turn Lost Valley into a full-scale farm. Karin and Steve agreed that we're better off buying or trading for meat than attempting to raise it all. Several mentioned the possibility of cooperating with neighbors in the use of draft animals or "brush-cutting" goats, if we wanted to make those part of our agricultural approach.
Ten years from now, fifty years from now, how much of the vision expressed in these interviews--borne of people's real needs and preferences, rather than abstract Permacultural theory--will be in place? I suspect that if we're to have a truly Permacultural, sustainable food future, it will align much more with the greater wisdom of the group, as expressed above, than with any "ideal" diet described theoretically in the pages of a textbook. Most of the challenges above do seem like opportunities--they're the factors we'll encounter in the coming decades as we work to figure out how to feed ourselves sustainably.
The one thing I'm not sure we'll be able to achieve is finding a bioregionally adapted substitute for chocolate. For Tammy's sake, please prove me wrong about that.
Chris Roth edits and co-facilitates Lost Valley's Organic Gardening, Permaculture, and Community apprenticeship program.
©2002 Talking Leaves
Spring 2002
Volume 12, Number 1
Food and Spirit, Grief and Hope
It both saddens and troubles me to hear our son's preschool teacher say that one of the most difficult lessons modern day toddlers have is to sit together and eat family style. Setting the table, eating with utensils, and not rushing are new experiences for many. Most of them eat by unwrapping fast food in their car seats in a traveling car.
I also am amazed to hear a story from a friend of mine who cleans houses for a living: "I no longer clean many kitchens. I just dust them." Meanwhile empty take-out pizza cartons, microwave dinner containers, and leftover bags from fast food restaurants spill out of the trash can in front of the house.
From having worked with many women patients in my practice over a decade, I notice that the women who remain keepers of home and hearth--growing, gathering, and cooking for their families--are also the healthiest, being most resilient of both mind and body. Those who have not let go of their passion for gardening and cooking are also happily responsive to the spiritual nature of their lives. I believe there is a physical and psychological congruence among such people and that these individuals are better able to ride the increasingly volatile waves of societal and personal change. Sadly, many others are caught in the almost impossible juggling of career and home. More often than not, the home front suffers. And so do these women, who report feeling fragmented, stressed, and out of touch with both their families and themselves.
Growing and gathering whole foods and spending long hours cooking and baking restore one's spirit. Our depressions and anxieties are transformed in the slow stirring of a soup or the rhythmic kneading of bread. Cooking ties us into the ever present cycles of life, grounds us, and allows us to pass on love and consciousness to our families and friends via the food we prepare.
The healing of our psyches and bodies begins when we turn over our first spade of soil and it continues when we gather our own apples from the trees we planted and slice them into a pie. There is a continuation of care demonstrated here--we are planting, nurturing, and caring for the earth, and the fruits of this harvest, in turn, care for us.
In naturopathic medicine there is a very basic understanding: "The further we get from nature, the sicker we'll become." It is becoming increasingly difficult in our culture to remain connected with nature. Our suburban homes are on overly concreted lots with sprayed, sterile landscapes. We are so busy acquiring the "next thing," there is no longer value placed on the slowness of a walk in the woods or a swim in a cool lake on a hot day. We have simply not made time to develop or maintain our personal relationship with nature.
Then we go to the grocery store, where we are often met by the smell of chemicals the minute we step inside. The shelves are stocked with overly processed, artificially dyed, irradiated, genetically engineered foods which are chock full of preservatives, additives, and fillers.
One of my friends who is a spokesperson for a major whole foods distributor did an experiment. She bought a hamburger and box of fries from a very well known fast food establishment. She then left them in their original packaging on her desk and, as of nine months now, there is no sign of decay. It comes as no surprise that embalmers these days don't have to use nearly the quantities of embalming fluids as in times past; average Americans have already partially embalmed themselves through their dietary choices.
I see our cultural obsession with speeding through life, combined with remaining isolated and detached from nature and its cycles and gulping down processed "convenience foods," as yet another indication of the wide scale dismantling of our society. We don't realize how shaky the ground is that we are standing upon.
By contrast, Italy for the past twenty years has witnessed a grassroots movement called "Slow Food." This is an economic, social, and political reaction to fast food and its destructive effects on local culture and community. Italy has one of the lowest percentages of fast food restaurants in the world: only 4% of the total restaurants in the country. The manifesto of the Slow Food movement stresses that the modern person must slow down, cook more, and socialize with family and friends. It urges one to live in the happy intersection of nature and community or become extinct in short order.
In my opinion, the pendulum of "convenience" has swung too far and until this is recognized, there will be a continual erosion of culture, community, and the psycho/spiritual health of the American public. We really can't call it "the American way of LIFE" anymore.
"One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well."
--Virginia Woolf
Deborah Turvey has practiced naturopathic medicine for over a decade in the Southwest. She, her husband, and their three-year-old son now reside in Eugene, Oregon, where they are busy creating an urban permaculture site. Deborah has turned her focus to patient education, teaching courses on "Food, Community and Culture" and offering healthy gourmet cooking classes as Pepperberries Cooking School in Eugene. She can be reached at (541) 434-6027 or [email protected] .
©2002 Talking Leaves
Spring 2002
Volume 12, Number 1
Food and Spirit, Grief and Hope
Search and you will find courage and compassion in the acts of animals, contentment in the embrace of shifting clouds or a turquoise sea...and enlightenment in the lessons of a single mulberry tree.
Well-managed orchards are impressive, but the rareness of wild mulberry trees makes them the most special of all:
Seek friends and lovers, causes and careers, places and moments that embody character and meaning--not those that conform best or produce the most.
Hikers who are busy talking may walk right under a tree's branches without noticing its berries:
The entire natural world is constantly trying to engage, instruct, and nourish us. There are lessons, gifts and miracles all around, if only we'd wake up and open to them.
Turn or duck your head even the slightest bit, and you may spot berries you hadn't previously seen:
In life, the slightest change in perspective often bears fruit.
The sweetest berries nest high in the tree, and getting to them can be risky:
Special rewards come to those who are willing to risk a fall.
At the same time, we often overextend ourselves in order to pick what looks like a special berry, only to find sweeter ones right under our nose:
The distant and exotic look good from afar, but often the greatest treasures in life are close at hand.
We'd likely hurt ourselves if we tried to get out to the berries nested on the end of some slender branch. But then again, we may be able to pull the branch closer instead:
It can look as though the things we want in life are out of our reach. But sometimes by staying true to our values, beliefs, assignments, and purpose we can pull closer those people and situations we desire.
When high in the tree, the careful gatherer keeps a firm hold with whichever hand isn't busy picking:
When taking risks and making changes--when projecting into the future or reaching an arm out into the unknown--it's wise to hold on with the other...maintaining a grip on the here and now, the real and reliable, the tested and true.
Test the branch that you take, before putting all your weight into it:
If we don't want to fall hard, we should carefully consider any forks in the trail of life before fully committing ourselves.
If the tree gets no rain it will die--but if overwatered, its fruits turn out colorless and bland:
A person, whether a child or an adult, needs sustenance and attention. But those who are fussed over and smothered, who never learn to do without, are often the least interesting and effective people.
From a single branch, broken by the snow, two new branches grow:
If our lives are rooted in truth and place, trauma brings about new awareness and growth. We branch out in response to each broken effort, doubling the number of approaches and attempts.
Some wild foods spoil more quickly than others. This is why ground squirrels carry most of the acorns they gather home to their nest, but eat all berries they can find:
In life, there are times to store and save, and times to gorge.
For every season of giving, there are months of preparation:
The mulberry produces berries only for a brief three week period, while the rest of the year it rests, draws sustenance from the Earth, mends its wounds, and replenishes its vital sugars.
Sometimes the smallest mulberries have the most flavor:
In a culture that claims "bigger is better," it's good to notice how much character can be found in the small, the near, and the accessible.
The softer the berry, the sweeter it usually is:
We don emotional armor and cultivate strength, but hardness brings with it a certain bitterness.
It takes a lot of roots to hold a tree upright through the heady winds of Spring:
Family, community, history, tradition, and relationship to place are what keep us grounded in the face of disruption and change. To keep our balance requires as many roots as branches.
Thinking about a previous year's bountiful harvest makes it harder to appreciate what is found on the tree today:
Dwelling in our minds, in the past or the future, can make it hard to fully taste the fruits of the present.
Mulberry seeds somehow live through the process of being eaten and then passed by birds, and the trees are spread in that way:
We spread the seeds of insight that survive our lengthy digestion. Those that remain viable are the ones we pass on. And as it is with the birds, we may never get to see what sprouts from them.
Some of the tastiest berries can be found lying on the ground:
Along with the sugar, comes a little grit. And while some gifts require we stretch up on tip-toes to receive...the ripest insist we get down on our knees.
There are mulberries on a wild tree only for a short time, and the conscientious gatherer will make sure not to miss it:
We're each only healthy and savvy for a brief and glorious season. It is thus unwise to allow ourselves to be distracted from the fullest living of life, even for a single day. Nor should we take advantage of its fruitful bounty unless we can give it our complete attention...honor it with our gratitude, and repay it with our acts.
Jesse Wolf Hardin is an activist and spiritual teacher whose wildlife refuge is a model for riparian restoration in the canyon Southwest. He hosts guests for quests and counsel, while his partner Loba welcomes women for resident internships and wildfoods weekends. Contact: The Earthen Spirituality Project, Box 516, Reserve, NM 87830, www.concentric.net/~earthway.
©2002 Talking Leaves
Spring 2002
Volume 12, Number 1
Food and Spirit, Grief and Hope
Welcome to the new Talking Leaves. With this issue, we introduce several major changes:
"Food, Sustenance, and Spirit," our primary pre-announced focus area for this issue, is obviously so broad a subject that no collection of articles about it could ever be comprehensive. In recent months, a number of excellent food-related pieces have been written and published--particularly addressing the issues of hunger, globalization, genetic modification, and similar big-picture themes. We've decided to offer writing and perspectives here that cannot be found as easily elsewhere--stories that focus, for the most part, on the personal, while still reflecting the "big picture."
It was not easy to decide to exclude a long article we received about the new Farm Bill, or to resist the urge to ask reprint permission for David Borglum's "Hunger and the Environment" article (from the December 2001 issue of his EcoChurch Resources newsletter-email him at [email protected] for a copy), or to not follow up on this provocative passage from the article "Global Terrorists Threaten American Food Supply" by JJ Haapala: "Imagine headlines reading, 'Terrorists spray 46 billion tons of agricultural chemicals on our nation's farmland'; 'Terrorists contaminate 98 percent of US groundwater'; 'Terrorists destroy three billion tons of agricultural topsoil'; 'Terrorists eliminate 90 percent of the mineral nutrition in meat, fruit, and vegetables'; or "Terrorists introduce genetically engineered fragments into 30,000 food products.' Now replace the word 'terrorists' with 'our modern agricultural system' and the headlines are accurate." (This appeared on p. 7 of the December 1, 2001 issue of In Good Tilth, available from 470 Lancaster Dr. NE, Salem, OR 97301.)
However, the material we have been able to include here brings food "close to home" in ways that seem unique, and that correspond to Talking Leaves' natural niche (see pages 7-17, and also 18-19, 22). In future issues, we'll have plenty of opportunity to explore this subject further.
Our other section, "Grief and Hope," continues a theme from our Winter issue. In it, a couple close friends of Lost Valley share experiences that, in a troubled world, are inspiring testaments to the potential for healing and the power of love (see pages 26-35). We hope we are only the first of many publications to share, in depth, the remarkable story of The Superheroes told here by Ethan Hughes.
As always, thank you for reading TL, and we appreciate your support in whatever form you can give it.
Happy Spring.
©2002 Talking Leaves
Spring 2002
Volume 12, Number 1
Food and Spirit, Grief and Hope
Following Gandhi's dictum, "You must be the change you wish to see in the world," the group undertook projects of all sizes, from picking up trash and moving baseball bleachers to installing community gardens, helping to build a new library, and finding a lost whitewater rafter. They also painted over 600 faces, spontaneously led games in city playgrounds, invited all strangers to join them at their meals, danced and sang a song at every state border crossing, and held memorial services for thousands of road kill animals they encountered along the way. Through pre-arranged sponsorship by friends and family back home, riders also raised money for various nonprofit organizations. They did plan a few stops in advance--to help nonprofits seeking to address the roots of problems (e.g., teaching low-income families how to grow their own food, instead of just feeding them)--but most of their trip unfolded spontaneously.
In the summer of 2001, the second Haul of Justice took place-a three-week ride through Maine, with similar activities and goals. The group now plans to travel in one state per summer; for 2002, Ethan and friends have chosen North Carolina.
Before this interview, I had heard Ethan talk several times about the Superheroes; in fact, earlier the same year, volunteers from the Hero Alliance (the local, part-time continuation of the Haul of Justice project, based in Cottage Grove and Eugene, Oregon) had helped us at Lost Valley Educational Center with garden bed preparation. The conversation below took place in November, 2001, during a break in a workshop Ethan was participating in at Lost Valley. Against a background of troubling world events--terrorism and war had dominated the news in recent months--I found his stories and visions extremely hopeful and inspiring. As Ethan remarked later in our conversation, "I've seen how beautiful people are, at the core. I really believe that, even to the point of taking life, people who do 'evil' things are acting out of fear and not being loved. The best I can do is live my own truth. That will assure that I'm not overwhelmed by the evil in the world, because I start seeing beauty everywhere." In Ethan's experience, "being love" and "being peace" (Thich Nat Hanh's term) are not only possible--they're contagious.
Besides being a Superhero, Ethan currently teaches courses such as "The Bizarre World" (a science class) and "Cartooning for Social Revolution" to high school students at Wellsprings Friends School in Eugene, and appropriate technology classes at Aprovecho Research Center in Cottage Grove, a few miles from the farm on which he lives. He is strongly committed to eco-friendly forms of transportation (he bicycles, walks, or uses public transportation wherever he goes) and to learning and teaching about ways of leading more ecologically harmonious lives. Far from being a stereotypical self-righteous activist, however, he extends a generosity of spirit to others that radiates fun, love, and inclusiveness. Ethan is a magnet for community, and a catalyst for projects that spread joy, spontaneity, and connection among those they touch.
CR: Can you explain the background of the Superheroes? Who are the Superheroes? And why should we be interested in them?
EH: The Superheroes started a long time ago. When I was in high school, I wore a cape at a beach to recruit kids to pick up trash. That was the first manifestation. They wore capes and it made it exciting for them; we'd shout, "Fear me, trash!" All of a sudden I had a line of ten kids when before I could get no one. That's when the Superhero meaning came to be. Superheroes are people all around the world who give to their culture, give to their society, give to their community.
I thought, wow! It would be great to take this on the road. I started dressing up as a Superhero to fight food waste, and I was a Superhero at the WTO protests in Seattle. Then I realized it had always been limited to certain events or times-but how about the idea of a Superhero who was in the moment whenever something presented itself, whether it was growing organic food or helping somebody find a place to stay? There wouldn't be one preselected cause, just whatever cause the universe sent. We would set out in the most mindful way we could manifest--which meant human power, bulk organic meals, our kitchen and tents towed by bike trailers complete with guitars, juggling balls, and facepaint.
I sent a couple photocopied flyers out, and news spread word of mouth. On that first ride, forty-two riders took part. Seven of them just met us spontaneously on the road. One farmer jumped on his bike--"Dirtman"--and rode with us for sixty miles. In Oregon, we met a nineteen-year-old on a cross-country trip on his bike, and shared meals with him; once he reached the West Coast, he turned his bike around, met up with us in Kansas, and rode three thousand miles with us. So the Superheroes are organic and every trip we do is different. People come who feel moved by that mission: to go out and just do good--bike until you see someone in need.
CR: When was that trip? Was that the first cross-country trip?
EH: That was the summer of 2000. We went five thousand miles over a period of four months. Our only intention was to be open to what we saw and to serve. We called it the Haul of Justice. This summer [2001] was the second ride, which was in Maine. We did just one state, for three weeks, riding a total of five hundred miles.
CR: I've heard some of your stories about that first summer trip. Are there any that you'd like to tell?
EH: Yes... I guess one of the big things is to realize how a tiny act can change someone's whole perception of the world.
We met a man for two minutes at a health food store. The next day, we were crossing the highest peak of the trip at 11, 700 feet, Hoosier Pass. He had woken up early in the morning to go up there with a huge bag of cherries, marked "Superheroes." We went up and found it at the peak. We never saw him again, but I still think of him and how that one act gave me so much hope--to see that he was so moved that he would go out and give us sustenance.
Another time, we came into Rawlings, Wyoming, and saw a man standing in front of the church, so we asked, "Do you know anyone in the community who needs help with anything?" He said, "Go around back." There were all these twelve year olds trying to build an outhouse on wheels and we were saying, "Good God, what's happening here?" "It's a local outhouse race, the whole town does it, and the winners get $300. Our kids are trying to win it to share the money with their youth group to go on a trip." And we realized, "Great, this is our mission," so we spent all day helping to build this outhouse on wheels and training with them, running through the church parking lot. In the morning we went to the race to cheerlead. It's this crazy race, there's a radio announcer and hundreds of people in the streets cheering for different outhouses. They roll down the street and have to throw toilet paper through basketball hoops and Roto Rooter through pipes and do all these events. The children lost, but I carry them so in my heart. Here were all these adults racing, people trying to get the money for themselves, and it was the twelve year olds who were wanting to share. They became the Superheroes of their town. When they lost they felt really bad, but we circled up and just acknowledged them all as Superheroes and then said, "You know, you've won, because you've moved us and all of these people." Superheroes are everywhere, helping their communities, the earth, and our hearts!
CR: How did you find people to help? Would you go to a public building when you first came into a town?
EH: Or if we saw someone working, like an old man outside of Astoria, Oregon, who was taking rocks out of his garden...with individuals too we'd just stop and offer. One old woman in Pennsylvania was maybe 88 with this push mower, looking like she's going to die, and I stopped and asked, "Can I help you?" and she answered, "This is the best part of my week," but then was very thankful that we'd asked. So it would be whatever we saw. Sometimes we'd come into the town and go by the Chamber of Commerce, a shelter, or sometimes we'd just pull up to a person on the corner of the street and say, "Do you know anyone...?" It was whenever and wherever we were moved; there was no pattern.
What makes people feel alive is the unknown. We're not thinking, "I'm going to go out for this." Instead, it's "I'm going to go out and be open and trust the world," and that unknown makes it exciting.
CR: What was your first day on the road like?
EH: At the very beginning, as we prepared to leave Seattle, we didn't know what was going to happen, so there was fear. We had just gone through a ritual to become Superheroes, and literally we're about to get on our bikes and a BMW went by with a flat tire. And of course we're so excited to do something--that's what we're about--so we're chasing the BMW down the street, with the guy looking in the rear view mirror saying "Oh my gosh, there's seven adults in capes chasing us." Finally, when it was totally flat, he pulled over and just cracked the window: "What do you want?" "We want to help you change your flat." He and his wife and daughter got out of the car finally and we started changing the tire. It turns out it was his birthday, the first person we interacted with. They were going to lunch, it was about noon, and they had a reservation, and he thought he was going to have to call AAA; he didn't know how to fix a flat. Within a few minutes we had switched the tire, and the daughter and mom were clapping, and we're hugging, embracing this total stranger, and he was saying, "This is the best birthday gift I've ever had."
When we made a commitment that every moment was looking outward, as an experiment, all of a sudden the world changed. We were just so attuned to whenever we saw an orphanage or some kind of group--we seemed to be led to them--and every time we went in they'd say, "Oh, we've been wanting to build a recycling shed," or whatever it might be.
CR: So how did you--or did you--draw limits or boundaries? Let's say that someone had enough work to keep you busy for four months?
EH: That was a fear. There were two fears, about money and about work. We had raised a pool of money to share with people, for things like meals or a place to stay or wood for a handicapped ramp for a homeless shelter. People would say to us, "You're probably going to be out of your money before you get out of the state of Washington, people are really going to take advantage of you." It was amazing: I think people felt our energy, the fact that we were totally ready to give, and then they no longer needed to take so much. It's almost as if when you're hoarding, people want to take it as an expression of "things as love." But because we were so open to giving, no one ever wanted to take it all.
We were in a town for two days once, because there were eight places that needed help, but then they told us, "That's all." People would get their base need met and then say, "Wow, you've really done enough, thank you." We were even with a farmer doing bales of hay in Kansas--it could have been weeks of work--and we helped him one day with his son and he said, "Gosh, you know, have dinner and move on." It's almost as if they didn't want to keep all that energy; they would realize "I can do this," and people didn't want to hoard our energy for themselves. So in four months, from the inner city to rural Missouri, everywhere really, no one ever took advantage of us in that way--financially either.
CR: You had a commitment to give whatever people asked?
EH: Yes. The only thing that would override that was our spiritual commitment to ourselves to not do something if it didn't feel right in our spirit, because then it wouldn't be from joy any more. So, for example, one time we had to spray pesticides in a park, and one of the Superheroes chose to sit out. Or if someone had been breaking into a car, to take an extreme example, and asked me to help, my reaction would be, "What do you need that's in that car--can I give it to you so you don't have to do this?"
If you try to be really open and aware, you can stay in your intention while helping people. You don't have to help them with exactly what they are doing, but just ask them, "How else can I help?" If someone's stealing something to eat, the solution is for you to give them food, or to support them, help them to find food.
CR: Can you tell me more about the time the Superheroes sprayed pesticides? Did it have any positive impacts?
EH: It gave me a new vision of what it meant to be active in trying to change culture. We were serving a man whose job was to put in a new playground and get rid of the weeds. His intentions were beautiful: he wanted a safe, open place for the kids to play. Because we gave our energy to him, and helped, giving his purpose validity, he knew that we wished the best for him. We had one of the Superheroes who knew the most about organic gardening and mulching write a page about different books and different techniques for eliminating weeds without herbicides, and then presented it to him. And he said, "Thank you, I researched which ones were the least harmful for kids and I didn't know what else to do." It became this gift. He told us, "I'm going to incorporate this and bring this to the city." We saw how beautiful it was: once we honored where he was, he was so much more open. That happened on GMO farms [growing genetically modified crops] and other places, a lot of farmland we went through in Kansas. If we had said, "Sorry, it is against our beliefs to help," and biked on, these farmers would have felt judged and probably never would have changed. We found that opening ourselves to others made change possible.
CR: So you worked on GMO farms?
EH: Yes, we would work with whoever, and they would ask us, "How do you eat?" and we'd say, "Oh, we have bulk organic we carry in our bike trailers." And because we'd already helped and given them love, they didn't feel attacked. They would ask, "Why do you do that?" and we'd have this beautiful two hour conversation. They let us in because we let them in. It was hard for me at times; I wondered, "Am I going against my ideals?" But I realized that here were three beautiful human beings trying to survive, this farmer barely making it with his wife and son, and all he knew was that GMO crops might do better so he could feed his family. I saw that I could just trust in the human spirit, and I remembered that getting from where I'd been years ago in my own life to doing what I was doing as a Superhero had been a process for me. I too had needed to learn before I could change. Many farmers took the Community Supported Agriculture hotline number, book titles, and were interested in changing to organic. They listened to us because we listened to them.
CR: Did the park policy change--did they stop using herbicides?
EH: Yes, they sent a letter saying that they had instituted a policy where they were going to start with black plastic instead, and actively seek alternatives. I didn't follow up to find out exactly how every single project was affected, but that was their intention and movement, and they were using those guidelines for more projects. Just knowing that, I thought: gosh, here's this ripple. We could have just said, "We're not going to do it," and left, and nothing would have changed. By giving energy, amazingly, we saw that the momentum shifts people's hearts.
CR: Is anything going to change on that GMO farm?
EH: We realized that changing what physically was happening sometimes wasn't as important as seeing spirits change. We heard so many people say, "Gosh, I have hope--you've spent four months going out to help people." Without taking a political or environmental stand, we were saying, "I'm here to help you as a human being." So we felt amazing spiritual changes in these places. If I went back and tried to measure it by whether they were growing organics or using herbicides or not, I'd be missing a lot of the point. That these people felt honored and moved by us is what matters more. The thing about this spirit work is, it's unquantifiable. I believe that when people feel respected and loved, they will naturally move towards beauty and mindfulness.
CR: You had a commitment to give whatever anyone asked of you, including your bike, right?
EH: Yes. There was one situation where I was catching up with the group, I was four days behind, and was outside of Chicago, in Illinois, at a park bench. People always come up--you know, you're dressed as a Superhero, sitting eating a piece of bread--and two guys came up and asked, "What's this all about?" I told them it's to help people, and they said, "Well, we need a bike." It was very aggressive energy, and so I was thinking, "All right, well, I made it to Illinois, you know, that's amazing, and now I'll be on foot." I had about eighty dollars cash and I handed it over to them and then I asked, "Could I keep my journal and my extra clothes ?," and they said, "Well, if you're helping, you know we need your clothes too." That was the moment, when they were wheeling the bike away with all my belongings, that I wanted to take back that trust and just say, "OK, I'm trusting, but that's a little too much, you know, give me the bike back"--thinking of all the reasons I had to catch up with my friends, and not trusting that maybe if they wheeled off the bike someone would have given me a bike and clothes in another twenty minutes, and that they really needed the bike more than I did.
But I was on the bench just biting my tongue telling myself, you know, "Just for these four months I'm going to go through with this, and that's it." They went off a pretty far distance, and you can imagine how long it seemed, waiting for them to do something. But it was gone, I was letting go of it, and all of a sudden one turned around smiling, and they both walked the bike back, shouting to me, "That's the best thing I ever heard!" And then they were shaking my hand and giving me hugs and telling me, "Right on!"
That kind of thing happened too when I was in costume traveling on the Greyhound, going through inner cities. People would come up, curious, and I'd feel really aggressive energies from some of them. Then I'd tell them what we were, and I was just amazed how many people cracked this huge smile and said, "Give me a high five!" It strikes a chord in everyone, from an Oregon logger to a banker, when we want to help.
We made so many people smile, without them even knowing what we were about. We would be riding through a town, wearing capes, ringing our bells, and making strange sounds, "Awooga!," and people would be laughing and honking and waving to us. People enjoy that, celebrating life creatively. If we had not helped anyone, but just ridden across the country in costumes, I think it would still have been a huge gift. It's really nice to see people having fun, you know?
CR: Who were some of the especially memorable people you met along the way?
EH: Virginia Lee Matthews was one-she was amazing. She's a local poet in Tribune, Kansas. She was tracking us in her car, and came up to us at lunch. We invited her to eat with us, then she invited us to her home. The surrounding town is all flat lawns and flat farmland, and then there was this one acre with just forest all around, you couldn't even see her house. She said, "Welcome to Eden." We went in and there were birds everywhere, and bird feeders and vines, and all kinds of animals she'd taken in. In her house we saw all these awards she'd received for her poetry. As a gift back to us, she gave us each a poem.
This was her gift back to the world, to write poetry and to give habitat and life on her one acre. Our gift was to celebrate her as a hero, to show her that she was seen. Other people we interacted with in the town saw her as a real, you know...some people called her a witch. She said once she'd gotten chased by the teenage kids, yelling "Crazy!" It's interesting that when someone does something different and challenges us, it's easier to put them in this inferior place, to ostracize them. So we realized the gift we were giving in celebrating her, because she was isolated and we recognized that. She started crying and was telling us, "Thanks for seeing me." What a huge gift to be able to give someone, to just come into a place and say, "We acknowledge you, you're doing beautiful things."
I have so many people in my heart. Jean-Paul was a little boy in Beaver Center, Pennsylvania, twelve years old. We rode into Beaver Center in the evening--we never knew where we were going to end the day, because we had a random plan, so we saw Beaver Center on the map and decided we'd pull in there--and there were just three houses. We knocked on one of the doors and Jean-Paul's mom came out. We asked, "Where's downtown Beaver Center?" and she fell down laughing: "This is it, what are you looking for?" And then we stayed at her place.
Jean-Paul just stayed with us all evening, helping us, and when we all went to bed his mom told us, "Oh, he sleeps in, so he's probably not going to see you in the morning." We woke up, I unzipped my tent at 6 in the morning, and he was in the chair, just waiting for us to come out. Then he was helping us again--"Anything I can do?"--and finally I asked him, "You're so eager to just be with us and help us, and it's beautiful, why do you...?" And he said, "Things like this happen every fifteen years in Beaver Center, so I figured the next time this happens I'm going to be twenty seven, and I'm going to be way out of here. So I've got to take advantage of every moment while you guys are here."
That's another gift, the wisdom we give to each other. Here he was seeing that the universe sent this opportunity, and he stayed up late at night printing this thank you card on his computer, with his picture, just thanking us for coming into his life.
It was reciprocal. Everywhere we left, when we'd be thanking people for the place to stay, and they'd be thanking us for the hope or for being joyful or for coming and helping. A lot of times we'd come into a home and they'd say we didn't have to do anything, but within a couple hours we were helping them move a boat out of a garage, or something else, once they saw that we really did want to help. It was addictive.
CR: So you never knew where you were going to stay?
EH: We only knew we'd find a place. It could be a muffler yard one night, a truck stop, sometimes a church, sometimes a city park--just a huge diversity of places. And that's how we looked at it: the universe doesn't always necessarily give you a hotel room. A muffler junk yard was actually a safe place to be. We might look and think, "What's this? you know, come on, give me something, not this." But we were always given something and always thankful for it.
CR: Was it difficult to adjust back into society and into your more "normal" lives after this trip?
EH: It was hard for everyone, especially for the riders who'd been through a couple months. We felt that we were back to working off of time, and working on what we think we're supposed to do, instead of letting the universe present our path in each moment.
We had to ask ourselves, "How do we bring this in to normal life?" That's how this local Hero Alliance started--we realized, "Hey, I can just start a permanent one in our community, and have Batphones--people can call and we can mobilize volunteers." So part of missing the energy of the ride manifested in creating it locally.
But it is hard. I love what Monkasphere said (he came this year on the Maine trip, dressed as a monk with a big M on his chest): "This is three weeks when my only goal, my only priority, is to open my heart as big as I can. This is the first opportunity of my life, and I need to take full responsibility for what happens. I don't have an excuse anymore; the whole thing is set up to try to be love." It's just beautiful to hear things like that, and to give people and myself the opportunity to be in that space. Seeing how profound it is for us and for other people is a huge gift.
CR: Is this way of life realistic for greater numbers of people? I know you raised money ahead of time for the trips. But how many full-time volunteers can there be in the world, who aren't trying to earn money? And how are they supported? Is this a model for reconfiguring society on a massive scale? Could everyone be like this all the time?
EH: The amazing thing is that if everyone did this for ten minutes a week, I think everyone in our community would be supported. If you multiply that by 300 million Americans, that's a lot of hours just serving those in need. Some of the riders came for two weeks or three weeks, whatever they could give to the energy. Other people who couldn't ride were the headquarters, or helped in some other way. You can support things so easily just with encouragement, so it's not to say everyone has to be out there giving 24 hours a day, but each person can be a piece of that change.
In the local chapter, I've really seen people sign up for what they love. One man loves doing computer work, another woman loves painting murals, so I call them only maybe once every three months. For a carpentry job, Yankee Rose is great; he just outfitted some ramps for a woman in a wheelchair. He also gets called about once every three months, but all of a sudden he's seeing that his carpentry's a gift. It's his job, but giving it away once every three months gives him extra meaning in his life. Imagine if everyone just fit in that little piece of support. The reason it feels as if we have to be out there 24-7 is that our culture's moved away from community, but if everyone truly was holding each other in the community, it wouldn't seem like a lot of work.
A big Canadian newspaper, The Toronto Star, covered us--just by whim, since we don't seek media. As a result, we just received a letter from a town of 25,000 asking us to send them the Superheroes startup kit. Well, we didn't have one, so we're now doing a comic book startup kit, and this town in Canada is going to have a Superhero team. In Maryland, a friend just did a Superhero ride raising money for inner city kids. So it's popping up organically without glossy brochures or without our telling anyone to do it. The ripples are amazing to watch.
It's just a simple format--stay simple, that's the wisdom--and it unites everyone. It's not a ten-page credo--our credo is basically move around mindfully and do good, be open to what the universe sends. And that simplicity also makes it palatable because everyone can understand it.
You don't need special qualifications, you just need the sincerity to say I'll do the best I can, so all of a sudden it's inviting to everyone. Everyone can go out and serve, from a two year old to an 80 year old. We didn't plan that, you know, we just were moved by the spirit of "Let's dress up as Superheroes and bike across the country." We don't know all the ripples, but as we see it, it becomes more and more beautiful.
CR: Did you ever feel depleted or as if you weren't taking care of your own needs because you were trying to serve the outer world so much?
EH: The amazing thing about the ride was, when we pulled in at the end after four months, no one wanted to stop. In giving that fully, we got so much given back to us. It was a real lesson in receiving, because we were thinking, "We're the Superheroes; you're not supposed to be cooking for us." But we realized that these other people were filled, just as we were, by giving to us in that way. Same with the Maine trip, people didn't want to leave. In that open format there was beauty, real beauty, and we didn't feel exhausted. I think it's because we went all the way out there with our hearts. Because we were all holding each other in that space of being open, the bounty of the universe just kept flowing back tenfold.
Contact the Superheroes at 78590 Echo Hollow Lane, Cottage Grove, OR 97424, (541) 767-9604.
Chris Roth edits Talking Leaves.
©2002 Talking Leaves
Spring 2002
Volume 12, Number 1
Food and Spirit, Grief and Hope