I arrived in Montrose, CO two and a half weeks ago, on a rainy day punctuated by occasional startling glimpses of the sun glinting in an disorienting way off the unfamiliar mountains. I was coming off a six-hour drive over I-70 from Fort Collins, my hometown, where people I loved and who loved me back were checking their phones for a text to hear that I had made it safely. My own cell had been hovering near death for the last hour, which I had spent eking out directions and panicking because, should the damn battery die, I would literally have no idea where to find Montrose, or whose door to knock on once I got there.
Somehow my phone held out through all the delays, including a panicked phone call from a gas station before I even left Fort Collins, a two-hour nap in Vail, and a stop in Delta which I, for some reason, thought was Montrose. And somehow my nerves held out through the tears, the exhaustion, the terrible coffee, and the snowy weather. Despite my verbal mantra of the trip, ("What am I doing? What am I doing? What the fuck am I doing?) I kept driving, trusting that once I got there, it would feel right.
Well, it didn't. Not right away. I pulled up in front of my new friend Russell's house, staring at the strange plastic structure in the front yard, through which I could barely see the outlines of greenish plants. Leftover raindrops beaded on the plastic, though in that moment, the sun was shining.
"Look for the greenhouse," Russell had said. I wasn't sure if he had meant "greenhouse" or "green house," but either way, this Crest toothpaste colored house with the strange garden had to be it. I got out of my car and walked up to the front door. Russell greeted me by opening a window.
"Hey, my kiddo's sleeping," he said. "I'll meet you outside and we'll drive in your car to Jake's and hang out there for a while."
"Ok!" I said as brightly as I could. My panic was probably visible in my eyes, but Russell didn't mention it.
I walked back to my car, suddenly conscious of the fact that the back seat of my car was filled with balloons from my going-away party the night before. Embarrassed, lonely, and anxious, I sat in my car and waited for Russell.
This is the start of something new, something different. A close friend of mine once told me, "Transitions reveal our weaknesses, but they also give us the opportunity to prove our resilience, and to grow." It seemed appropriate that this quote would be ringing in my years as I start this possibly crazy experiment: Co-Creator training through Transition Lab, a seven-month community resilience and sustainability intensive. I'll talk more about Transition Lab and what my participation looks like next time, but for now, what's important is the transition itself, tear-stained, messy, and disorienting though it has been so far.
I came here because what I was doing wasn't working. I was applying for jobs and being shut out by the sheer competition of thousands of recent graduates with practically identical resumes. I was living with my parents, feeling like not even a roommate in my childhood home and feeling guilty for impinging on my parents' generosity. I was feeling lost and hopeless and unimportant, depressed and anxious.
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| My new friends and co-creators, Zeno, Russell, Kevin, and Jake, hanging our homemade t-shirt prayer flags |
This is what I have to bear in mind, even as things are difficult here. My support system has been dismantled, and replaced by one that isn't comfortable yet. If it wasn't hard, I'd be crazy. But it will get better, and it has been already. I no longer feel like a stranger in someone else's home, and I'm starting to stop feeling like a visitor to Montrose. As with most opportunities, what I get out of this experience is what I put in. The hard part no one mentions about "putting in" is that it takes phenomenal courage to admit lacks of knowledge, to take risks, and to work towards goals that, for now, remain nebulous and unformed.
Cooking is helping. I'm always astonished by the healing that food can bring about, especially when the food is fresh, local, and shared with friends, old or new. I'll try to attach a recipe each time, typically seasonal recipes for things I'm getting from my farm share. Hopefully it mirrors what you, my readers, are able to get fresh from CSAs, the grocery store, or farmers market. This is a new recipe, adapted somewhat from "Greatest Ever Indian." It's one of the first dishes I cooked for my new friends and teachers here in Montrose. Hope you enjoy!
Curried Cauliflower and Potato Mash
- vegetable oil
- 1 onion, sliced
- 2 potatoes
- 1/2 head of cauliflower, cut into florets
- 1/4 tsp cumin seeds
- 2 dried red chilies
- 1 tsp finely chopped fresh ginger or 1/2 tsp ground ginger
- 3 cloves garlic, crushed
- 1/2 tsp chili powder
- 1/2 tsp salt
- pinch ground turmeric
- 1/3-3/4 cup reserved veggie-cooking water, to desired consistency
- fresh green chilies, cilantro, lime juice as desired to serve
2. Add the onion and cook until soft
3. Add the potatoes and cauliflowers, then fill the pot with enough water to cover the veggies
4. Turn the heat up to high, bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to medium-high and cook until potatoes are soft
5. In the meantime, grind cumin seeds, red chilies, ginger, garlic, chili powder, salt, and turmeric in a mortar and pestle, then add vegetable oil, or just blend the spices and oil together in a food processor
6. Drain the veggies, reserving 3/4 cup of cooking water
7. Mash the potatoes, cauliflower, and onions, then add the spice and oil mixture
8. Add water to the desired consistency
9. Add chilies, cilantro, and lime juice to taste
