The quest for plumb and square

Jun 3

4 min read

A theme is developing here at The Forage: we constantly question if we’re being too picky or not picky enough when it comes to plumb and square. Usually we err on the wrong side. If we decide close is good enough, it multiplies into a million future headaches. And if we spend three hours getting something set down to the millimeter (or sixteenth of an inch as I’m trying to retrain my brain to imperial measurement), then it turns out it didn’t matter at all.

I can’t help but feel this is the physical manifestation of my lifelong struggle to learn to care less about some things so I have the energy to care more about the ones that matter. Maybe the exercise of fastening on crooked boards, unscrewing them, straightening them, and fixing them tight again will train me to hold all things a little more lightly and trust in the slow iteration of life.

Quincho progress

Despite our carpentry challenges, a quincho is appearing in the clearing, and it is everything we hoped it would be. Already I can picture the cast iron pots hanging from the tie beams and the rain trickling off the roof and into my irrigation barrels. Most of all, I can imagine the many conversations and laughs and reflective moments that will happen under its not-quite-perfect rafters.

We have all of the main structure up: posts, beams, diagonal braces, rafters, and purlins, largely thanks to the generous work party that joined us in March to get the heavy posts and beams up. Thank you all!

Last week we made a big push to complete the retaining wall to protect the foundation before a big line of storms came through. That was heavy work! At the moment, we’re working on getting metal up on the roof. It’s a sharp, hot, heavy business, but we’re figuring it out.

Once the roof is up, there’s still a long list of tasks before the quincho is fully itself. The next step will be laying flooring. And then, we can start building out the cabinets, bar, table, and grill. Right now our goal is to have a fully functioning (if not fully polished) quincho in time for the winter solstice party.

Grow together

The garden is growing happily as the days warm up. I’m deeply grateful to have found a community of women here who have generational knowledge of sustainable agriculture, food preservation, and local foraging. I am constantly learning from them, and there is nothing more satisfying than passing extra plants back and forth among your growing community.

I’m particularly excited about canning sauce made from my Costoluto Genovese tomatoes and using my own sweet pumpkins for pies when the holidays come around. Already we’re getting more than we can eat ourselves out of the garden, so if you’re local, come by and help us enjoy some of this fresh harvest as the summer ramps up production!

We’re all mad here

I’ve always been a believer that adults need to play far more than society allows us to. When the world is at its heaviest, we need creative release even more. For months, I’ve been gathering lone glasses from flea markets and thrift stores: coupes, fizzios, snifters, punch cups, goblets, flutes and tulips. All to spark a fanciful spirit at our Mad Hatter’s Cocktail Party. A challenge was also issued to construct the maddest hat. And wowser, did people deliver! Both on headwear and on unexpected cocktail ingredients. Homemade thyme flower liquor, rhubarb-infused Colorado slush, pine vodka, strawberry shrug, and every botanical ingredient a creature could imagine.

Young foragers

We’re still a long way from hosting any sort of formal residencies or retreats, but it was a treat to have two young foragers with us this week for an informal nature camp. We gathered sassafras leaves to dry and grind into gumbo filé, splashed up and down the creek looking for crawdads, learned to identify everything from spice bush to bee balm, battled Japanese beetles on the fruit trees, and spent a stormy night out in the blue tent reading The Hobbit together.

Wide and deep

Nearly a year into this experiment, I think there’s a family bet in play as to whether AJ and I will be able to put down roots finally after so many nomadic years. I’ve thought a lot about that phrase this spring as I’ve seeded, and transplanted, and weeded, and about how metaphor can both open and close language and the thought it shapes. We often think of rooting as the opposite of movement, but rooting is an active process, meristematic cells at the root tip perpetually dividing and pushing down and out, transforming into whichever sort of cell the plant needs to anchor, feed, and protect itself. AJ and I are just working our way into a new bit of soil.

As always, I cannot overstate the gratitude we feel for the constant support and love coming our way. Our calendar is beautifully full this summer with guests from as far away as Hong Kong and Vietnam and as close as a 10 minute drive. We can’t wait to see you all!