This year the Link School will be heading to Baja California for its annual international expedition, and THIS is the place to begin thinking about and researching this unique part of the North American tapestry. Here are some great places to start:
The Nature Conservancy is doing some great work in Baja, especially with the protection of Isla Espiritu Santo, the Loreto Bay Marine Park, and the Sierra la Laguna mountains.
Our home base on the Pacific side will be the funky little town of Todos Santos, part fishing village, part international artist’s colony, and home of the mythical Hotel California. Our hosts and organizers will be Sergio and Bryan, owners of Todos Santos Eco-adventures (TOSEA).
Over the past few days Sage and I have managed to spend quite a bit of time outside — down in the garden, by the river, and up on the ridge behind the cabin. The ridge leads to a vast tract of BLM land and is therefore a common corridor for elk and mule deer as they move between their brushy haunts on Pahlone Peak and the river that flows through our lower pasture. As we walked along Sage spotted a large femur bone — look daddy, BONES! With no trepidation he picked it up and began brandishing it around like a wand or a fishing pole. It was fairly well bleached, probably a year or two old, so I made no protests. (A rotting, maggot-covered freshie would have been a different matter.) Not surprisingly we encountered other bones as well, which he also picked up until he had something that resembled a bleached out stack of firewood — look daddy, MORE BONES. Fortunately the terrain began to steepen, and Sage decided the armful of bone timber was counter-productive to a safe descent. Bones abandoned, we made our way back home with yet another lesson posted on my educational “TO DO” list — telling the story of where bones come from and how they end up strewn about the side of a mountain. 
Yesterday the natural history lessons continued as we played by the river in town, enjoying the last bit of warm weather before fall asserts itself completely. I had my back to Sage and the river for a moment when Sage said very matter-of-factly “look daddy, a bear is coming.” I whipped around to see him still playing in the sand while a young black bear made its way downstream on the opposite shore. At one point it was no more than 20 yards away. There was no real danger, and we stood together enjoying the fact that a bear was indeed sauntering past us. I snapped a photo on my phone and we went back to playing in the sand. What a remarkable and wonderful thing that a child can see wild bones and bears and think it normal and natural. Long may it be so.
Mountain farming is quite the exercise in managing uncertainty. It gives me great appreciation and respect for those around the world who survive and thrive in the extreme variability of mountain landscapes. The soil is rocky, the temperatures fluctuate wildly (up to 40 degrees per day here in Maysville), and water has to be carefully tended. We are in our third year of growing vegetables and we are still figuring out the most basic things. Most importantly I have stopped trying to grow things like eggplants (too cold) and I have focused more on the classics — potatoes, brassicas, beets, and rhubarb. And I am finally getting my brain around that ever-important issue of soil management — cultivating, fertilizing, and balancing pH. We can already tell the plants are happier.
From Llamas to goats to horses and ducks, young farmer Sage has had more interest in animal pictures than in the real thing. But recently we have seen subtle signs of the plates shifting, and there is new hope that the inner shepherd boy is beginning to surface. Last weekend we visited “Jumpin’ Good Goats,” a new dairy in Buena Vista. There was a girl handing baby goats over a fence to anyone willing to grab hold, so Sage and I gave it a whirl. Usually Sage freaks out about being too close to animals, but he put up with the baby goat. Our good friends John and Steph Lovseth were with us, and they helped with the negotiations. After a cool reception Sage began to touch the soft hair of the kid’s neck. Then, (and without permission) the young goat pushed his nose forward into Sage’s face. There was a jump of suprise, but no screaming or shrieking. There was laughing! This was progress. Perhaps our new foray into chickens is helping him to be less apprehensive about animals. Or maybe it’s the goldfish or the trout we feed down at the Mt. Shavano hatchery. Whatever the case Farmer Sage is acting a bit more interested, and we are happy to watch the process.
scheming about ways to bring a few home. Well, as you can see from the photos the deed has been done. Last week we brought home some Buff Orpintons and this we week we added a few Brahmas for good measure. All are (in theory– since no seems quite sure how you sex a 1 ounce ball of fuzz) pullets, females that will eventually lay a few brown eggs apiece per week. If all goes according to design this will result in enough weekly eggs for our family, Gwen’s parents, and perhaps the odd (meaning occasional) neighbor in town. Below are a couple of lessons I have already learned.
In the end it still looks like our eggs will be half the price of the free-range stuff at the grocery. But more importantly they will be from our own family farm, fed on our own bugs and garden scraps, cared for and molested by our own son. Right now Sage has taken to kissing the chicks on their little fuzzy heads, but pretty soon they will be sitting on his lap, eating homemade scratch, and he will be pulling his own breakfast out of their nest boxes. And sure, I’ll be the one cleaning up most of the poop. But hey, isn’t that what parenting is all about?
At 6385m Nevado Ausangate is one of the highest peaks in Peru. For this reason, and for the many glaciers and rivers that issue from the massif, Ausangate is considered sacred by millions of Andean people-especially in the Cusco region. It is not hard to appreciate why people are so reverent– the mountain is the source of weather and water, home to important plants and animals, and awe-inspiring in all directions. For Andean people everything in the mountains seems alive and invested with supernatural power. This is generally the same for peoples living in the high Himalayas as well- everything in the mountain landscape has meaning, everything is sacred. As a younger traveler this used to trouble me; was this mountain worship a form of the pantheism I had been warned about? Paganistic nature-worship? Sure there is plenty of ritualism and superstition, just like in any religious culture. But increasingly I am coming to believe that the concept of sacred geography is really not much different than the concept of exchanging material objects with the grand ideas that hold them up in the first place. In other words, spiritualizing things. Rocks, water, birds, plants, etc. are all divine ideas in the rich tapestry of creation – each with unique lessons to teach and each with an inspiring perspective to share. Seem strange? How many of us, too, head to the mountains to find solace, to find inspiration, to find healing and cleansing and renewal? Not so strange at all…
As I stand on the summit of Wayna Picchu fog enshrouds the land below, and the famed Incan city is hidden. Occasionally the fog teases us, opening and closing like a blinking eye. I like it this way. With 10 visits under my belt (nothing to a Peruvian tour guide) I have had the good fortune of seeing this place in every season and in all kinds of weather. But this is my favorite. I can only imagine that when the emissaries of Inca Pachacutec chose this place for his royal retreat (sometime in the mid 15th century) they were similarly enchanted. This is, after all, a cloud forest. Moisture from the Amazon basin rises up the eastern slope of the Andes and stacks up in this unique ecological zone. It it a place rich with life, too. Orchids and birds are found here in abundance, along with the rare spectacled bear and the bizzare looking vizcacha (part pika, part squirrel).When the American Hiram Bingham was led to the ruins by local farmers in 1911, the cloud forest had already taken the place back, probably for many centuries. And as interesting as the stone ruins are, I can’t help but feel that something important is missing. Given the deep reverence the Incan culture held for the natural world of the Andes, and given their agricultural skills, they must have been master gardeners. And what an incredible palette of wild plants they had to choose from! Dramatic in greens and greys, this place must have been splendid in flowers and native textiles. Splendid indeed!
After more than a year away I arrived in Lima last night, back for another student program in the Andes. My old friend Martin was there at the shark tank (the crazy space outside of the baggage claim where all the taxi drivers and hotel pimps try to capture you and your business), ready for the evacuation to Miraflores and the Casa Andina hotel. Lima has never much captured my imagination– a grubby megalopolis on the way to higher ground in Cusco and the Central Andes. But bit by bit I am finding myself more interested, more interested in the underlying fabric that binds together such a diverse population in such an arid landscape. The cuisine alone is worth some thoughtful attention. Ceviche for example. Ceviche is the general term for fish or seafood that has been lightly marinated in lime juice, usually combined with other spices and flavors. In Peru it is always served with chunks or slices of sweet potato and toasted corn (corn nuts to us gringos). Ceviche reflects the traditional fishing heritage of the coast, the culinary influence of Japanese immigrants, and the fruits of the Andes (sweet potatoes and corn). This is a town with many other types of fusion as well– Afro-peruvian music, Cocina Novoandino, Chifa (peruvian-chinese food), Andean catholicism, Ford trucks retrofitted with Mitsubishi engines, and increasingly Limeños banking at HSBC (aka Hong Kong Shanghai Banking Corporation — “the world’s local bank”). Incidentally, we also have Lima to thank for the lima bean, although the original was from the northern highlands and not from the capital city itself.
This is for my foodie friends out there, especially Craig, Derek & Chris. So, what is Patagonian food? Most would say lamb in Chile, beef in Argentina, fish on the coasts. During our last couple of days in El Calafate I decided to sample some local specialties.. you know, just to stay informed. I had three notable meals at two different restaurants, one beef, one lamb, and one fish. The first restaurant, Casimiro Bigua, actually has three locations in Calafate– a trattoria, a grill, and a wine bar/restaurant. I ate twice at the trattoria (I could have gone back for a week if I’d had the time). The appetizer I ordered was so good I had it again the next day so I could deconstruct it an jot down the recipe in my journal. What was it? A humble caponata. Not that gooey, mushy stuff you get in a jar at Trader Joe’s. This was simplicity defined — cubes of grilled eggplant, grilled celery, capers, green olives, sundried tomatoes, toasted walnuts, and fresh parsley. The dressing was so light it escaped my tableside analytics so I am still waiting for the test results from my private lab. It may have been walnut oil with a trace of malbec or balsamic. Whatever it was it was the perfect integrator. Nothing very Patagonian about caponata, so I followed with the ossobucco de cordero (lamb shank slow cooked with aromatic vegetables). Tender, subtle, and delicious. For the second meal I chose the black merluza, a Patagonian fish something akin to cod in texture and flavor. The fish was steamed in a foil pouch with mushrooms, aromatics, and cream. I just want to say “Whoa Bessie!”. It was fantastic. The fish was melt in your mouth delicate and the mushrooms, cream, and broth were a fantastic accompaniment. I chased both meals with the same dessert — dark chocolate gelato “affogato,” that is to say drowned in fresh brewed Illy’s espresso. Call me boring, I don’t care.