The Farmer's Market Series

Cows aren't as docile as most people think. They have their own personalities. Some can be very mean. They can kick, bite, charge and spook. And even if this is rare in the animal, if they are roaming free or in barns it is rare they will get close to you, let alone offer any type of affection. This is easier with the baby calves and those cows raised to show from birth (ala 4-H and FFA). That is probably where the image of the girl cradling the cow comes from. An animal raised from birth about to be shown at the county fair.

Most children raised on farm learn a lot about compassion via the animals. Bonding happens quickly. They suffer through the deaths of those who they are close to or not. They care for prematurely born calves knowing that they are going to die yet still hoping that this will be the one who makes it. They see veterinarians at work and the extremes they will go to to save the animals life. Under the hot sun, in pouring rain, on cold winter evenings, in feedlots or fields.

I am helping my dad and Dr. Waterbury try to save a pregnant cow named, "Morgan" on one of these hot days at the feedlot. Morgan has "milk fever" a quick illness that mostly happens in heat and comes on by the lack of electrolytes. I.V.'s of saline and sugars are given to the animal. If done in time the cow comes out of it quickly. If not the cow dies just as fast.

Everything has been done for Morgan. I begin to see her life fade. Dr. Waterbury pats her eyes for a blink. There is none. Not missing a beat he pulled out a scalpel, went the stomach below the back hip and begin slicing through Morgan's layers of skin, fascia and the lining of the womb. He is hoping to save the calf. With his bare hands he reaches inside, grips the calf and pulls it out onto the dirt ground.

It doesn’t make it either. Of course, I burst into tears.

I am stunned by what he has done. I have been around animals who were dying or had died. Not this. To see him go for the calf is unexpected and, in the environment we are in at that moment, teaches me a little something about courage.

No one in the"raw milk movement" portrays milk as a fine food. 

Treat milk as if it were gold! 

In 2005 when I began to sell raw dairy at farmer’s markets in Los Angeles, I moved the product as a nutrient dense food aimed at building healthy immune systems and minimize disorders believed to be caused by pasteurized dairy. This aligned me with many into alternative foods and health along with elements who were politicizing the right to purchase raw dairy in states where it was illegal.

In time, my approach to moving raw dairy began to orient itself in the direction of milk as a fine food. Less "fast and loose" and more insightful and inclusive. The idea of "raw milk" is rounded out to appeal to a broader population, especially to those who love food for food's sake. And when dairy is presented as a source of pleasure, the standards that everyone wants begins to have a life of itself and dictate the environment.  CAFO's are definitely "distincted"  And small/mid-range dairies/maker have a stronger base to work from.  The standards for them to produce the quality product that we want dictate their aim/direction and invite the possibility of a wider range of choices (more breeds being milked with dairy farmers taking on more initiative to make their products unique.) The mindset of "to make make more money you've got to have more cows" can then change. 

To me, most of the "movement" is anger and contrary-based and completely misses the boat in the process.  A fanatical element pervades. And a large segment of people who can actually help and support stay away.  Ultimately the decision becomes theirs (the people who I am talking with). 

I'd rather give them honey then hate. 

To me it is about "terroir"  Because of this "raw dairy" becomes more inclusive, informs intelligently and widens a base.  People then feel as if they are part of a "system" rather than being asked to take a side. 

Just Bury It and Walk Away.

Will asks for his break and goes to get his tamale and muffin.  He has already finished off his handpie.  Angela turns in 3 empties and we agree that I didn't charge her a deposit and we'll keep that running.  The samples are moving quick. I transfer and consolidate the full bottles/jars and load the empty coolers with the empty jars.  I notice that it is relatively cool at the stand which makes me very happy.  I notice the market traffic seems to be slowing and think that it must be getting close to the end of the market.  I am going to do an end of the market sale to make sure all the product is gone by the end.  I look at Will's watch.  It is 11:45AM.  I am stunned.  It seems so much later. 

Yogurt Mom comes in.  She buys a lot yet today has complaints.  One jar had a crack and as she ran her finger around the edge she cut herself.  Another was broken and had pieces in the yogurt.  Partially embarrassed and partially irate I scaled it in.  Is this too much???  I cringe at the expectation of perfection.  I decide that after she is done I will not charge her for the next 2 cups.  She appreciates this and I see her leave a two dollar tip. 

Will goes out.  Comes back.  "I don't think I can do any more" 

"We are going to finish off this jar along with one more.  After that we'll be done." 

Jack comes and goes.  Miele skips by for a second.  Some customers stop by that I want to have nothing to do with.  Will deals with them with me listening in the background waiting to jump in.  Sally speaks to him like he is a child.  That bothers me.  The transaction goes on and on with her telling him how she makes raw yogurt using our culture in a sing-songy voice.  I get the sense that even Will is frustrated. 

Clock moves past one.  Heather shows.  I haven't seen her in a long time.  She asks me my feelings about the Rawsome Raid.  I immediately want to cover my mouth with both hands.  I don't want to talk about it.  I begin though and soon realize that what both of us think about the situation actually overlap.  She sees the "extremism" on both sides.  I tell her why I am stepping out, that there is no leadership and only drama.  She tells me a story of her going to see "Farmeggedon" with her husband and her husband essentially saying (once seeing much of the audience) that this movement is going nowhere with people like that.  We discuss missed opportunities and deaf ears on part of the "movement"  It's nice to speak with someone who does want clarity and keeping the "ship on course" 

Heather walks away.  I begin the "end of market" sale.  As I barker I began to clean, consolidate and prepare for the end of market.  Will is done with the samples and I am happy that there is little left over. 

Billy stops by with Ella in her stroller.  I see Kristen, his sister and say hi.  She is there with her husband and two kids and is surprised that I remembered.  We all talk as I continue to clean, riffing on what yoga was like in the early nineties and how, for me, Irina was the one who pulled the current group together.  Another woman Billy knows joins.  Her name is Anneke and it turns out she teaches yoga.  We talk about the classes and Beachwood and she mentions how she may come and take.  I leave them all with yogurt as a takeaway. 

It's always nice to leave with something sweet" 

Tina stops by to get Will.  She shows me her "failed" ear of corn.  I joke, "Just bury it and walk away" 

Some lingering customers stop by.  I continue to pack very happy that much  of the day here was cool.  I notice that I am taking my time and am in no rush. This is nice.  Miele strolls by on her way to turn in her load sheet.  I continue on.  Ed drops off plums, kale and tomatoes.  I tell him to take what he wants. 

Tables folded and leaned against the light standard.  Everything else follows.  I take in the canopy and pop open a bottle of soda.  It's the last one left.  Twyla drops by to say how it was so nice to be across from me  at the intersection today as it is the second anniversary of Brooke leaving.  

I Think I’ve Got Him.

Joy and her boyfriend show wondering where I was.  I think I should have left a message as to where I was.  Alex shows with her daughter.  It's been so long that I've forgotten her name.  I mention how her daughter has grown.  She asks me if I know about HFF, seemingly livid that they are here at the market.  I do my best to stay neutral.  She then launches into a subtle stream of invective.  I can see that sense of feeling betrayed to the point of her arms and hands shaking as she talks.  Reminds me of the feeling I went through posting on TCP (post raid) This must have been close to how Mary Martin felt.  I sell her a jar for her daughter and later see her talking separately to another customer and Pompea.  It looks as if she is spreading her anger along with questioning Pompea and if she knows HHF practices. 

Delphine shows.  A smiling, sparkly wisp of a man.  A make mention that after our last conversation I biked by the "W" hotel, saw a sign that said "Delphine" and realized as I noticed it was an oyster house that it was his. He laughs.  Ed stops by early.  I tell him that last weeks trade was good and to bring me more of the same at the end of the market.  Miele skips in.  Nice to see though I don't seem to be able to spend time with her like I''d like. She seems tired. 

Jack sneaks in behind me.  He ask if I know what he can do about his sciatica. I make mention that he might want to call Lisa.  Max is helping him and has brought along his sister.  True to Jack's nature he asks me "Why does he do that?  Why does he want to work with me?"  He has compared him to Clara's Max. 

"He does so because he likes you.  You're interesting.  He likes you and wants to be around" 

Jack shakes his head and says nothing.  I think I've got him. 

I pour yogurt into cups and send Will out to intersection.  I watch him and initially see him just standing there.  I motion to him to open his mouth.  He soon comes in. I load a second round of cups filling them enough and realizing they can drink it instead of handing out spoons. 

Miele comes around again and orders a mojitos snow cone from the ladies next door.  She offers me a taste.  Very smooth with nice slivers of coconut.  Will, immediately on trying, wants one and gets one. I then send him off to Stan's to get to get the fig/prosciutto pastry, peach scone and his blueberry hand pie. 

Leopard Hair stop by.  Dan and Stacy drop off two soda empties and get two more.  They seem shiny and clean.  I kinda wish I can spend some time with them.  Market momentum has taken over.  I send Will out again. I notice the mojitos on the table completely melted.  I finish it off.  Pompea comes by and says she'll move an umbrella close so we are not so in line with the heat.  An umbrella comes in and the shade is soon inhabited by an older woman dressed as a clown promoting a Hollywood Toastmasters group.  It's unfortunate that she is standing right in front of the stand as I see this keeping possible customers away.  I walk to information desk and ask Jackie if she would ask her to move. 

Will goes out and comes in fast.  I switch from Meier Lemon to Honey.  He say that he can't do it much longer.  I say we are going to finish the jar and then he can rest.  Some regulars come in. Some new people come in.  Jack shows up again.  I give him a bottle of soda.  He tells me he's found a way to deal with his sciatica.  He points to his back and turns.  I see that he has placed the 2 foot long bar he uses as a jack handle (pun intended) between the leather lifting belt he is wearing and his sacrum bone. It is parallel to his spine pressing both into his back between his shoulder blades and his sacrum.  I laugh, more in amazement than anything else.  It's an engineer's temporary solution and one that I can appreciate.  Structure begats pressure demanded from other parts of the body.  Energy event (pain) is dispersed by this pressure. 

He turns and walks back to his stand with his blue bar well tucked in. 

West Coast Trumpet Man Toots To the Four Directions.

Alarm goes off at 5:30AM.  I am sleeping at Neal and Meghan's in Mount Washington.  I am here to housesit and watch Buddy while they (along with Liam) are at the festivities in Berkeley celebrating the 40th anniversary of Chez Panisse. 

I shower and get dressed.  Renee's "Lucky You" jeans with the rip in the right knee, blue HFM t-shirt with cut sleeves and black clogs.  I feed Buddy, remember to bring Lorraine's cooler and walk out the door.  It is already sweltering.  A bit of dread floats in as I think it is only going to get hotter.  I back the market pre-loaded Taurus out the driveway and make my way towards the 110. 

The trip into Hollywood is quick.  I stop by Beachwood to get last weeks leftover product and the tray Will will use to handout samples.  It's a quick in and out and soon I am dropping off product at the intersection and parking the car at the NE corner of Ivar and Sunset. As I get out I see the small urn designed by Sylvie that holds some of Renee's ashes.  I had forgotten to take that, a silhouette done of her at the 1962 World's Fair and her report card from her junior year in boarding school out of the car the night before.  "Cool!" I think. "I'll have her here with me at the market"  I grab the urn and shut the door. 

I walk towards the intersection still thinking about the heat.  I salute Erin as I walk by her stand.  James still hasn't arrived.  I see Jackie at the intersection and wait to ask her if I am is the proper spot.  She nods and I begin to set the supplies out. 

Tables first.  Then brown tablecloths.  Containers, large tubs and photos placed on front table.  Steve the Coffeeman send his greetings.  I like it when people say hi.  Once the front table is set.  I go to work on the side table. Sample spoons, eating spoons, small paper bags, cashbox, handsoap and disinfectant.  I then stow the excess in the plastic holding container and slide it underneath front table and my bag, last weeks product and Will's clothing underneath the side table. 

Kathy Lindner stops by.  Asks if I am here for good.  I feel my contraction as I reply in response, "just for one day"  She is snooping is my guess.  I am betting that either the word has gotten out (weird) or the word will be passed on (weird) There always seems to be an underlying reason and defensiveness to her inquisitiveness.  I do my best to ignore it. 

I finish with set-up, grab the hand truck and make my way to Farmer's Kitchen for ice and water. Angela does me up with 5 bags and the small cooler full of water.  I drop off at stand and go to Vicki's to get the yogurt and soda's.  I help Backwards Cap With Specs unload from the truck bed to handtruck 3 large coolers from St. Benoit and 1 small cooler with sodas from Lorraine. He suggests switching the coolers on top.  I mention it's fine as it as.  Momentum has taken over.  His response back is quick as if his feeling are hurt.  That was not my intent.  I get back to intersection, unload the coolers and reposition the stand.  There not going to be a lot of elbow room today. 

I walk to get coffee from Ruth and pastries from Stan at Valerie's.  Ruth does me up.  Coffee.  Small cup. 3/4 full.  I finish it off with 2 packets of raw sugar and plan to get some cream from Miele.  Stan is late in setting up.  I tell him I'll come back later.  He ask where am I.  I tell him at the intersection wondering if there will be blowback from this.  Reply seems neutral. 

This caravan is led by a great delight... 

The joy that sits with us right now. 

That is the the grace

-Hafez

By the end of yesterday at McCall's, I was surviving on whiskey and coffee. All filters are down. A woman with a beautiful smile is told this as she stood on the other side of the counter. I can tell that her smile dictated the contours on her face. That is why there is a sparkle in her eyes when she sincerely asks the question of how we are doing. For a brief moment I think, "It would be fun to be friends with her" 

I have eaten two burgers from the lot Nathan and Karen had ordered for the crew from Shake Shack, Turns out there are 16 burgers for the 16 of us. I have eaten Steph's. Mental note: Have a Shake Shack gift certificate and flower ready for her on Thursday. Kenya and I double team a customer who, before her turn, attempts to move to the front of the line. After her comeuppance I catch her out of the corner of my eye staring at me with a harsh glare spitting daggers. 

No 30 minutes lunch breaks today. The customers seem more measured and kind. Some of us have talked more about the racial slur John was slammed with yesterday. As we move towards the 3:30 close I see Max out amongst the crowd. I was wondering about him this morning. Max left McCall's for college in September. Sincere with his hugs and love, the speed at which Max moved at wrapping meat entranced me. I catch his eye and raise my eyebrows in acknowledgement. He returns in kind. Nathan thanks me on his way out. We have a brief talk about how the spatial environment changes to meet the demand. I hear that expansion changes time. This change allows the adaptive presence of everyone to meet the needs and exchange based work. Could be another degree of democracy in action. No time to think about this now. I've got work to do. 

We begin to wind down. Drew says to me how it's killer that we didn't have the lunch break today. he's ready to drop. Max is behind the counter now receiving hugs from the rest of the crew. Then by me. I don't really know him and love him in spite of the fact. We won't talk much. For me it would be excessive. I don't care. Christina stops by. She is going off shift. I give her a chest crushing hug. It's long. We separate. "I want another" We both respond in kind. Meagan orders all of us to leave the customers at the counter and step into the back of the store for a group shot of whiskey. 5 minutes later the doors are locked. We all begin to deep clean the shop (cases, racks, reefers) Max is still hanging out. I can hear him talking with the others behind me. As we move towards finishing up, Meagan again brings out the shot glasses, whiskey and sets them on the counter. I say, "I'm not drinking until we get a group photo of us doing so." Larry sets up his iPhone and sets the timer. We all get in position making sure none of us are in shadow. We take another. Then down our shots.

Hugs on leaving are varied and never lacking. Drew lingers a bit longer. Larry's unable to give the full crush as he is so tall. Meagan's is firm. Hugging Jim is like hugging a sweaty oak tree. Kenya berates me for giving a one-armed hug. I course correct. 

A working day is over. I pack bread rolls, a one bone prime rib, two hazelnut chocolate tarts and a loaf of jalapeño-gruyere bread into my backpack, hop on the bike and ride into Hollywood to pick up Steph's gift certificate. It's cool out. Yes, I do feel air moving around my face as I a pick up speed. Yes, it does feel good. I turn south onto Vermont. Past Los Feliz 3, Skylight Books and Figaro. I don't feel the trappings of Christmas, a need to please, or the need to be pleased in return. I am in and of spirit. I feel full. 

Sitting in the shade, I watch the parade go by.

My first day at the Hollywood Market in 2006 is memorable.

Mark McAfee of Organic Pastures had given me carte blanche to take the initiative and make OP and raw milk happen in Hollywood. OP's acceptance to the market was quick due to the fact that we had such a unique product. Here I was doing dairy after so many years being removed from dairy.

That morning I drove to the market a beater GMC pickup reconfigured to be a flatbed. The cab was white, front bumper dented, and fully covered with dirt from the farm in Fresno. A beaten white chest freezer was bolted to the bed. It was filled with milk, butter, cream, colostrum and kefir. Since the unit was not working all the product was covered with ice. I could tell it had been Rube Goldberg'd together quickly. Although it wasn't the cleanest or most attractive vehicle on the street. (Actually it was really embarrassing) I could not help but admire it if only for the fact that it was meeting its need and serving its purpose.

We were in the dead zone of the market that morning. On the east side of Ivar around the curve just 50 feet from Sunset. Even I would never walk that far when I was shopping.

And then the magic began to happen. I began to meet people. Lovely. Strange. Kindly. Open. Closed. Crazy. Offbeat. Attractive. Dirty. Smelly. Angry. Dour. Wounded. Obsessive. Giving. Generous. Knowledgeable. Sweet.

We moved closer to the center of the market. I was using all the buried knowledge and experience that I had accumulated as a child raised in farm life. It was wonderful and easy. It was work I could enjoy and that played to all my strengths. At the time the farm was using every loophole possible in the law to get their product out into the world. That means we were cowboys, sometimes playing shady, staying fast and loose.

Over time many who I met became friends. I integrated into market life...its gossip, habits, feuds, dislike of the visiting regulators, the bartering, dealing with annoying customers, bitching about management, discomfort, language, and more.

Cool Jazz Trumpet Man blowing market reveille to open the day. Gathering signatures to bring the bluegrass band back from the dead zone to their original and more prosperous spot. Selling cream to Heath Ledger. Flirting. Selling in pouring rain. Connecting with people. The true sense of giving from generosity and love. Scaling prices to meet someone's financial status. Wanting to be on the shady side of the street when we were working in 100 degree heat. Thankful of where we were when it was 40. Hiring people knowing how it would benefit their well being. And asking friends to work with me when they did not have work or were feeling down.

At some point I realized that this was my church. It was the best church I could have. Delightfully raucous. Everyone open. Settling into a common agreement of working, giving and receiving for all. The Golden Rule. No one stands out in the best way possible. The kindness expressed by vendors during times of loss and pain. It's reciprocation. Caring for each other. An open place where one could smile, hug and share.

And be in communion.

It's funny how a lot of judgement can drop away in a place like this.

One Sunday morning a couple of years ago, I lay paralyzed in my room. I was devastated from recent events. Realizing that my brain could only see every self-loathing, shaming and apocalyptic thought as real. Unable to stop this and experiencing the seemingly ongoing, unending adrenaline surges through my body. Sometimes calling an emergency call center at 2:00AM just to hear a soothing voice. Wanting to hear that same voice the next night. And the night after. And the night after that

I lay in my bed that morning. I said to myself, "Get to the market. You have to get your ass to the market. Get to the market now"

I went to the market that day. I knew it wasn't going to make me feel better. I walked through in a daze. Sampling fruit. Hiding from people who I didn't want seeing me in this place. Forcing myself in front of others so as to not be afraid. To maintain an unknown, important and tenuous thread of connection.

Even my visits with Sourdough Jack were brief.

The Sunday's afterwards were not much different.

I just kept showing up.

Up until recently, I hadn't been to the market for a year and a half. Only in the past couple of weeks have I been able to go back for fun. It's good to hang with Jack. Tell Cool Jazz it's good to see him. Wave to the guys in the bluegrass band. Sit with Team Sagittarius at Barnard Farms. Revel in some of the new vendors and rage at the others.organic

Today I sit in the shade and think of the others. All those met, loved, parted with, played with, raged with, fought. Continue to meet. Effort to know. And negotiate with so we can live in the same gentle, self-regulating, and sometimes raucous system I see in front of me.

And that mirrors me back.

Te Mando Un Beso! 

His voice quivers. He is a proud man. I tell him, "Don't worry about it. I know what it feels like. The less stress and shame one has to feel about this the better." His spirits lift immediately.

The customers come by. We joke around. I tell Miele the dream I had on Sunday evening about the Knight's jersey, my family and the Peterbilt truck. She wants to know more so I begin to tell the story of the relationship I had with my father and the events leading up to his funeral. Miele gets into it with an older female customer who buys 2 quarts of whole instead of 1/2 gallon as the 1/2 gallon always goes bad. Miele begins to question her. The woman responds back defiantly with Miele responding in kind, claws extended. Though uncomfortable, I like it....to see a woman standing up to a woman, spirited and strong. "Don't fuck with me" seems to be the theme of the day.

The man with the question who has all the answers is thrown when I just nod, listen and offer no response. We both have a long conversation with Ana, the nutritionist from Spain. Miele asks her how to say, "I miss you," and " I send you a kiss, " in her native language.

Te extrano!

Te mando un beso!

We continue to talk. She tells me that she talked with Mark, the owner of the dairy, and wonders why they do not make yogurt. She wants to start a smoothie bar backed by the doctors she works for.  I give her my guesses. The three of us began to talk about health and those people who care and give/inspire health with their presence. I tell her the story of visiting a small ramshackle home with my father. How the seeing of an older Hispanic man caring for a young baby, baby in one hand, bread dripping with milk in the other, left a profound imprint on me. Ana is wearing dark glasses, straight, short clipped brown hair. Her arms are clasped across her chest. We talk for five/ten minutes. By the end of our conversation, her arms are down by her side, her glasses are perched on her forehead.

The market continues. Miele sends her Spanish translations to her lover and spends 15 minutes getting to know Gilles, the wheelchair artist from Ontario, Canada, who paints with his nose. The tiny man with the oozy cynical vibe comes by. He rants and complains in his know-it-all way. I just ask him questions until I have none left to ask. He gets the message, says that he saw an attractive girl he'd like to check out and walks away. I send Miele to Maggie's Farm with milk for Santiago, butter for the stern, blonde Swede and cheese for Buxom Curlytop. The winds come. Gusts almost blow over the canopy. Jerry, Jimmy’s homeless friend, comes by and holds onto leg to keep it grounded right out to the time we have to take it in.

Miele goes into truck to count while I take canopy and tables in. Jack Bezian drops by to leave e-mails he has collected for his blog page. The numbers top $1,200.00. A surprise for me as there was never a rush. It's the best Wednesday we've had. As Miele goes to turn in load sheet, I go to Mac store and check my e-mail. We get into E-350 and drive back to the HUB.

Sean is there. We say hi and I introduce him to Miele. The winds have blown the crates over. I help him restack and unload his truck. As Miele completes paperwork, he helps me unload my truck. He leaves. The more I get to know him, the less I want to trust him. I double check Miele's work. We fax everything in. I help her load her car. I feel both tired and whole. I know Miele feels the same. We do our farewell for the week.... forehead to forehead, eyes closed, both of us quiet. We are still for 10 seconds. I place my hands on her shoulders and say softly, " I am going to do a blessing. When I say "I", I speak of a collaborative "I"

I am blessed to have this body.  

I am blessed to have everything that is going on in me and around me.

I am blessed to have all that I have.

We separate as our eyes open. The honoring/acknowledgment seems sweet, clean and noiseless.

"See you next week."

You Don’t Know. I Hate To Ask For Money

Driving to the HUB on Wednesday....it’s cold. I get to bundle myself in like an Eskimo. It is pretty dark at the time that I leave here.... usually at 5:45AM. I like the drive towards downtown at this time. The streets are bare, I get to see Venus shine brightly and a new Sunscape being birthed.

Miele and I arrive at the same time. In about 20 minutes we have the set-up loaded and the E-350 warmed and ready to go. She drives as usual. As we drive onto the 10 West, we begin to catch each other out on what's been going on during the week. She has a lover in New York who she has been conversing with on her I-phone daily and sending pictures to. She has begun the process of leaving her husband so she usually has a lot to talk about. Today on the road she tells me stories of how her mother, her and her family were treated living on the commune in Tennessee known as "The Farm", along with stories of how crazy her father was when he was young, kidnapping her and her brother at a young age in order to get her mother back together with him.

We arrive at the market around 7:00AM. We set-out. I bless the milk and thank all spirits who have been a part of it getting here. I vow to move it along with good energy. Miele does the product count and then takes a walk to the beach to talk with her lover. She seems tired on leaving and perky and filled upon coming back. She shows me a picture her lover sent to her of Grand Central Station as he was there when she called.

The market begins. We both walk to the Rockenwagner booth to get our market breakfast......a strawberry Danish to eat with a glass of milk. We trade a quart of milk for our pastries and learn the vendors names......Brendan and Jordan. Back at the milk stand, traffic starts slow and gradually increases. Today is unusual. Two restaurants come by to buy product. Both purchase a half gallon. Jimmy, the homeless man from Maine in the wheelchair, comes by to pay back the $10.00 I loaned him to purchase new tread for his wheels.  He didn't get them as they were too expensive and he felt he was being gouged. I tell him to go ahead and keep it until Saturday...see if you can find some. He says thanks and tells me,

1) Hugs are the only thing Garcetti can’t gentrify

2) I just got a hug from my virtual husband

Every now and then I go out and give free hugs at the corner of Ivar and Selma at the Hollywood Farmer’s Market. I enjoy this immensely. And it’s an interesting practice to see how others respond and don’t respond.

Here are three responses.

1) I’ll take it. The Dodgers need all the good karma they can get.

2) You are now being live-streamed to 14 people around the world.

Birthday Party on the Farm - 1971

"There was a star danced, and under that was I born." -.William Shakespeare

This photo is me with my sister, Margaret, and my brother, Peter, probably in 1965. When I was in the third grade my birthday fell on a Saturday. On Friday, I took it upon myself to have a birthday party. No one, including my mom, knew about it until my friends mothers began to call to confirm. My mom now had no choice. I forced her hand, The party was on.

We had no idea what to do. This was the first time I had ever had any of my friends over to the farm. I had no such thing as playmates except at school. This wasn’t a town party that took place in someone’s garage or at the local roller skating rink.

We soon realized there was no better place to have a party. The farm was our playground. No one was watching us. We tore around the property like little Indians, climbing the black tires that held the black plastic that covered the silage in the pit silo, climbing the ladder to the top of the grain bins 20’feet of the ground, and climbing the side of the haystack in the milking barn to where my older brothers had build a fort made out of bales of hay. My mom baked a cake that we sliced.in the kitchen. Among the gifts received was a "Barrel of Monkeys" from Pete Vaz. The party was never forgotten and was one for the ages.

For the past nine years on the week that surrounds my birthday, I have a “Non-Static Universe Birthday Party.”. It’s essence is quite simple. From December 6 through December 13, the party happens wherever I see you, wherever we meet. Less stress. More surprise. More yeehah! Just like how Universe works

And it wouldn’t be a birthday if you don’t know my wishes. Vesper martinis, wine colored penny loafers, a new pair of overalls, white tees, dinner at Musso and Frank or Little Dom's,. A gift certificate to Beverly Hot Springs and, as always, sloppy wet kisses and lipstick stains on my collar.

I have been wondering recently when the next used cookbook sale at the Hollywood Farmer's Market was going to happen.  It's a nice surprise to find out it was today.  I set up the St. Benoit stand and walk to the intersection where volunteers are unloading the boxes of books from the van. 

I begin to browse quickly.  I have very little time.  The books are still in the boxes.  Hundreds of them. I find a nice book on sauces and another one on Texas cooking.  The third book is entitled "The Cornicopia"  No jacket, nice brown binding and I like the name.  I open it and notice the fonts and drawings. I think, "This is the one!" 

I don't have my wallet with me.  I look for a salesperson to let them know I am taking the three books and that I am coming back later to pay for them. 

There doesn't seem to be anyone in charge.  3-4 people are trying to figure out how to unload the truck.  I see a tall woman with a Audrey Hepburn haircut standing next to a man who is attempting to take charge.  Probably mid-fifties. Little bit of gray.  Full body.  I stand for a minute and hope I can get her attention.  She looks as if she is pretending not to notice me.  Nada.  I clear my throat. 

"Excuse me.  I work here.  I am going to take these books with me and come back later to pay when everything is set up." 

Her eyes soften up a bit. She nods yes. 

At that moment I see an older woman who is walking towards me.  She is probably in her mid-seventies, about 5'2, hair of gray, loose and uncombed, kind of crazy looking and slightly overweight.  She looks like she's from Hogworts.  She has a sparkle in her eyes and she looks like she is in a trance as she floats towards me.  At first I think she is a crazy Russian woman and how Bezian believes Russian immigrants will buy anything if it cost .99 cents. She lifts her right arm and lays her hand on my left shoulder. 

"What the hell?"  I think.  The other woman watches. 

There is a look of disbelief in the woman's eyes. "That's my book.  I wrote that book!" My jaw drops open and it's my turn to be in disbelief.  The watcher says, "wow!"  It turns out that Judith Herman,  the author who had written the book with her mother in the early '70's,  was there to help with the sales.  I reach for my pen and say, "You have to sign this" 

She moves slowly and tries to find a flat spot to lay the book on.  She opens it to see if she had signed it before.  It turns out that it was a gift to someone else. Judith finds a flat spot.  

"How do you spell your name?"  

I sound it out. She then asks, 

They Ought To Sick the Dogs On Him.

I turn my attention back indoors and watch then French women. She is so anxious. I look at her eyes. She looks like she is going to burst into tears. Behind the counter, Kenya smiles and winks as she catches my eye. JIm calls out in his deep voice, "Number 74? Number 74" I think that was the year the Dodgers went to the World Series. I do an advance count of the next ten customers I will let in. I find that I am chanting "Hare Krishna" to myself as I work out a plan as to when to let the next group in. I settle on letting them in when the last three of the previous group are being served. I see John has arrived. It is near noon. We've been open for an hour and a half. I realize that John is going to take my place. John works in the back contributing to the flow by dishwashing and filling in when needed. He's about 5'6, black, and moved here from Atlanta about a year ago. Good man, bright smile. His shyness covers a wicked sense of humor.

We switch positions. I go behind the counter. I hear Olin.

"Moe, take your ten. There's some pizza in the back"

I go back to the office. There are four boxes for the gang. I grab a slice of basil/tomato and another of cheese thinking that I am not doing sugar. I want to be a part of the gang and devour them. I also haven't had pizza in a long time.

I finish my three slices and go back out to the counter. Within five minute I feel the sugar crash and a headache coming. As annoying and spacy as it feel, I like that my body's response is so clear and obvious.

Groups of ten continue to be let in. The special orders are moved along. Lots of prime ribs. I use my reading glasses to read the tickets on the wall. Nathan shows me how to cut pork chops off a rack of ribs. Larry walks by mentioning how someone left a hundred dollar tip. I make sure I drink water to clear the sugar haze. We all kvetch when we can about the customers. In this environment we can't help by being curt, unspoken or not. Time is taking on a different dimension. A customer is asking for a lamb shoulder roast. I have a 7lb shoulder. She wants 5. I go back to the counter to cut to spec. Larry is there trussing a chicken.

"A woman outside in line said about John that "they should sic the dogs on him"

I am stunned. It hits like a thunderclap. It's unexpected and, in some ways from what I've seen of customers in the past couple of days, not surprising.

I am livid. He is my friend. We should not allow her to shop here. Do we even know who she is? How are we going to respond to this.

We all continue to move on. The cases begin to empty of special orders and product. More requests are denied. I briefly go to the back room for water and see John eating, quiet and alone. i wonder if he knows that we know. I feel pissed inside. I take my break, go to Little Dom's Cafe to eat my avocado egg salad and read a little bit of the times.

I get back. It's 45 minutes to closing. Customers keep coming in. It's hard not to think that some their requests are just ludicrous. We are all tired. There is a low tolerance for indecision. I see that it is 5 minutes to close. I tell John to get to the door and prepare to lock it.

Clean up is light tonight. Major clean will be tomorrow. I cater wrap the baguettes and jellies in plastic wrap. I hear Olin talking with John about what happened. She is saying to him that if it happens again that he comes and gets her immediately. It's unacceptable. I can't help but say, "And if Olin's not here, come and get me."

Cleanup is quick tonight. I stay late to restock the shelves. Nate tells me I will be working the door tomorrow and how important the job. He smiles when he says the line will be around the block. I tell him we should have an open carry space and that I want a holster with two six shooters. Soon it is just Meagan, Nate and I. The space is clean. The shelves look good. Olin and Nate are going to work into the night preparing and tying prime ribs for tomorrow. Olin says,

"Moe, go get the bourbon and clean out the shot glasses"

It's a request. We all want to have a good time. I joke about how someone told me once that when someone tells you to stop pouring alcohol or wine wou pour for two more seconds.

I bring out the fun. As I pour into the first glass, Nate says to me,

"Moe, I want a third the size of what you poured."

I pour as requested. I fill Olin's class. She tells me to stop. I pour a second more. She laughs.

"Here's to aged beef, aged cheese and aged whiskey"

Let’s Light This Candle, Moe

The Christmas rush at McCall's has steadily increased the past couple of days. We have all been working full shifts to accommodate the increase. The experience is intense. Flowing. Dancing. Learned skills being called to task along with new skills being learned on the spot. With one cut a knife is used a certain way. With another the knife is used differently.

Cycling home last night in a reverie, I was thinking of a wisdom told to me about Native American / First Nation hunters hunting for meat for their tribe. They would wait and pray for the animal who would sacrifice itself for the good of the tribe. When the animal showed they would make sure the strike was clean and direct to the heart. The animal was sacrificing itself for the tribe. A clean shot would cause the animal a minimum amount of damage and pain.

The same is true of cutting an animal. It's become clear that a clear, clean stroke is a way of treating the animal with respect. It is still alive. The animating spirit is still in the meat, though not in the ways we have been led to believe. A jagged cut is not much different then a bad shot where the animal suffers. A clean stroke is one of respect. A trim gets rid of excess. It becomes clear how we can follow through with this divinity practice with the care we take in the preparation of this food, and more importantly, the many ways we can play with this source of nourishment to add pleasure and satisfaction to our lives. That, too, is a creator of compassion.

We adapt to the increase of customers as we get closer to Christmas. Today, I am to stand by the door and let 10 people in at a time. This manages the flow of work and interactions.

It's 10:29. I ask Olin and the group if everyone is ready to go...

"Let's light this candle, Moe"

"Lock and load."

There are 69 special orders today.

I unlock the door, step outside and face the customers.

"Welcome to the Sunday edition of McCall's Meat and Fish. We will be letting 10 people in at a time. Please take a number when you enter the store. The dispenser is to your right as you walk in. If you don't have a special order and would like to know of a specific cut you would like to see if we have, let me know and I will check for you. Do you all understand?"

People nod their head in agreement. I let in the first 10.

It's been interesting to see "privilege" in action the past couple days. The word has many degrees of meaning for me. And what I have seen the past couple of days is of it's current cultural meaning. Men and women having the expectation of being served at a moment's notice. Disgusted when not. Some looking like reptiles coming out of the dark into the light. Pompous and petty men and women...some trying to impress their partners, other demanding their intellect and presence be met. "This person needs to be spanked" I hear myself say at times. I soon find myself being impatient with them as I am confronted with the show they are putting on...and the cluelessness they have to a process they are a part of and refuse to accept...that it's not the end game that matters. It's the game as a whole.

It's time to let the next ten people in. The people in the line are busy with their cells phones. I think, "You really see what a person is like when you watch them have to wait." I watch the gang helping customers in the store. Olin, Danny, Ernesto and Bart cutting the meat and fish behind the gang. Everyone is meeting the need and want of the moment. The interacting process seems as seamless as it can be. I feel a bit bored wishing I was in the building wave towards flow that is taking place behind the counter.

A woman inside the store comes up to me. She is anxious and holds an envelope in her hand. I see that her grocery list is written on it. She asks me if we have chicken thighs along with other items on her list. She has French accent, early 40's, thin with brown hair to her shoulders and looks like she has recently woken up, threw on some clothes that she gardens in and has rushed to the store.

I look at her list. She holds all the items she needed from her shelves in her arms. I tell her that we may have all her other requests and that she will still have to wait.

I turn my attention outside. I am hungry and find myself craving coffee. I joke to the first in line...

Written 12/29/2017

A good man has moved on...

Nigel and Lorraine Walker launched their farm (located in Dixon near Davis, CA) in 1997, going organic in 2000.They soon became a fixture in the Bay Area organic food movement by establishing a stellar CSA program and making their presence felt at Bay Area farmer's markets.Through his vision and generosity Nigel, Lorraine and Eatwell built a loving, caring and informed community. He also encouraged his fellow vendors to work and nurture long-term relationships with their customers.

I met his wife, Lorraine, at the Ferry Building Market in 2010 and jumped at the chance to sell her floral and and herb infused soda's in Hollywood. I visited the farm that year and admired the heart. innovation and effort the devoted to their family, workers and their land.

In 2011, I heard that Nigel had come down with Myeloma, a rare form of cancer.

As he went through treatment the local food community rallied around him, having fundraisers to help cover his medical bills.

I finally met him at the Ferry Building Market in 2015. I introduced myself. He smiled. He was still in the stages of treatment. That's not what a saw. I saw a man who had great aplomb and dry wit, running a tight ship, and having good-hearted banter with his customers. The stand was vibrant, colorful and his employees were working adeptly and with good humor.

I was thinking of him and his wife yesterday and wanted to see how Nigel was doing. I checked their website and saw that Nigel has left his body in July.