Transition Lab Curriculum Part 3: Entrepreneurship

This is part three in my series explaining the five core aspects of Transition Lab's curriculum.  Last time, I talked about housing, which you can read about HERE, and before that, I explained how we're meeting our food needs, which you can read HERE.  This time I'm talking about how Transition Lab fosters entrepreneurship.  I'll end the post with an awesome recipe for custard tarts that you seriously don't want to miss.  You can skip to that by clicking HERE.

Some of you may remember that my plan was to wrap up this series in one week...and I was almost comically unsuccessful.  I managed two, not five, posts in one week.  And then, obviously, nothing for months.  I want to be very transparent about what's been going on for several reasons.  First, most of you reading this are close friends and family, who I want to keep in the loop anyway, and secondly, because I feel that I did not honor my commitment to write blog posts during my time here, and I want to make it right by at least explaining why.  Besides that, I think what I have to say is applicable to why I've been dreading and procrastinating writing this particular post.

Still relying heavily on the natural
antidepressants though.

For one reason or another, my time here at Transition Lab has been really hard.  My experience started with feelings of loneliness and isolation in a new place, followed by a prolonged period of insecurity about my place here and my ability to effect the kind of change that this program is all about.  These two problems compounded, feeding off each other and causing me to miss deadlines, arrive late to class, and often outright skip our group meditation practice.  This contributed to a rising anxiety, which quickly became all-consuming.  Anxiety began to turn into depression, which begat more anxiety and so on.  By the time things finally came to a head, and my instructor called me out and scheduled a counseling appointment, I was pretty far in the hole in terms of my credibility with others, my self-esteem, and my mental health.  The hardest part has been, even though I have made tremendous progress in overcoming my feelings of isolation, my insecurity, and my doubt in my self-efficacy, the depression and anxiety have persisted.  After a month of trying unsuccessfully to free myself, I have decided to try a short-term round of antidepressants.  It's too early to say if they're having any effect, but I wanted to keep you all appraised of the situation.  Hopefully the Andrea that returns from Transition Lab is ready to tackle new challenges and proactively create the meaningful life I want to lead.

Entrepreneurship is what the little blue guy with the shovel stands for.  In a general sense, the entrepreneurship goal of Transition Lab students is to start small businesses, using a model of minimal upfront capital, which are capable of sustaining us into the future.  Honestly, this is the aspect of Transition Lab that has puzzled and frustrated me the most.  I think the reason for this is pretty simple: I have never really thought about what I want to do.  Our school system makes it easy to simply pass through, especially for good students, and I did just that through junior high, high school, and college, without having any sense of direction whatsoever.  Expectations in school are very clear, and I imagined that after graduation, they would continue to be so.  This was an inaccurate assumption.  There are a lot of big decisions to be made, and the bigger the decisions get, the less clear the guidelines become.

Transition Lab hasn't offered me any "guidelines," so to speak, but it has given me tools to look at my passions, at my talents, and at what serves the world, and decide what kind of livelihood supports all three of those needs.  Although this hasn't come to fruition in terms of a great idea yet, I'm not rushing myself.

I came to Transition Lab with the goal of creating a Farm Dinner business here in Montrose, but I quickly learned that I didn't want to do that.  I've changed a lot out here and will continue to change, and I think it's okay if my goals and plans have changed significantly too.  But the problem is, rather than moving from plan to plan, I've gone from plan to no plan.  This was paralyzing for a long time, and it was unbelievably painful to watch the plans of others progress and yield tangible results.

The lesson that I feel the universe is trying with increasing ferocity to drill into my head is this: it's okay to take small steps in the right direction, even and sometimes especially if the way ahead isn't clear.

Me learning to weld, practicing on a small piece before
moving on to larger projects

This is where Transition Lab has really helped me.  I've taken hundreds of steps in the right direction, learning skills that will eventually empower me to pursue my gifts and decide what my life is going to look like.  For example, I can weld, enabling me to create structure or beauty or both.  I can cook dinners for 30 people.  I can preserve food to reduce my dependency on non-local sources.  I can mediate conflict with others.  I can keep a garden alive.  I can participate in local politics.  I can take responsibility for my mental health while maintaining an attitude of self-compassion and patience.

All of these skills are works in progress, but they are steps along a path which I can feel and sense is worth treading, even though I have no idea where I'm going.  And one day, I will find I have all the tools to create a life for myself that empowers me, fills me with joy, and creates a more beautiful world.

Tarts Two Ways with Berries, Currants, and Coconut

Frosting-filled tarts, topped with berries and currants

Lucky readers, you get two recipes for the price of one!  Kind of.  Really it's a recipe for amazing tart shells, which you can fill with either a delicious cream cheese frosting (as in the picture above) or you can bake a tasty egg custard into them.  I discovered this recipe when I was trying to satisfy a craving for these incredible custard tarts my friend Kendra and I used to eat with embarrassing frequency from a grocery store in Scotland called Roots and Fruits.  This recipe is close enough.  You should probably make them today.  They aren't even difficult.

If you're making the egg custard, you need to make that first so it can cool.  If you're doing the cream cheese frosting, skip to the part where you make the tart shells.  Add the following to a saucepan:

 Egg custard tart, topped with blueberries, lavender,
and a drizzle of amazing local honey

• 1 1/2 cups milk
• 5 eggs
• 1 1/4 cups sugar
• Pinch of salt

Cook the custard over low heat, stirring with a whisk, until all the sugar is dissolved.  This will take about three minutes.  Resist the urge to whip the eggs up into a frothy, foamy confection, fun as that is.  That's a surefire way to end up with annoying air bubbles in your tarts.  Very unposh.  If there are any lumps floating around, fish them out with a slotted spoon or a small handheld sieve.  Let this cool while you make your shortbread dough for the shells.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

For the shells, I'd recommend using a big stand mixer, but  I'm sure you can use a hand mixer, or mix by hand if you love pain.  Put all the following in your mixing bowl:

• 1 stick + 2 Tbsp butter (at room temperature, but NOT melted)
• 1 egg
• 1/2 tsp salt

Beat these together for about a minute, then add: 

• 1 1/2 cups flour
• 3 Tbsp sugar

Continue mixing until the dough comes together.  You'll know when it happens.  If you aren't sure, it hasn't happened.  This stuff will come together and bang around in a big wad in the mixing bowl.  Dump the dough out onto a piece of plastic wrap and form it into a long log.  If the dough is sticky, flour your hands and the plastic wrap.

Cut the log into 15 pieces.  I'd do thirds and then cut each third in five.  Take each piece and flatten it out with your hands into a circle, then press the dough into a muffin pan.  You want the dough to come up about 3/4 of the way.  Make sure there aren't any holes, or your custard will leak in there and turn this from easy clean-up to pain-in-the-ass.

At this point, if you're doing the frosting filling, prick the bottom a few times with a fork, and place the shells in the oven for 15-20 minutes.  The shells will turn light golden brown.

If you're doing the egg custard filling, fill each tart shell with egg mixture, leaving just a tiny bit of room.  Put them in the oven (carefully - don't spill that custard, or if you do, wipe it off before baking) for 20 minutes.  At this time, jiggle the pans to see if the custard is set.  If they're liquidy, turn the oven down to 375 degrees, and check again every 2-3 minutes.

Egg custard tarts topped with blueberries

For the cream cheese frosting, mix together the following:

• 1 8oz. package cream cheese (you can use reduced fat, but your frosting might have a slightly different texture)
• 1/2 cup powdered sugar
• 1 1/2 tsp vanilla extract

Mix until well blended, then switch to a whisk attachment to your stand or hand mixer.  Here's the secret to luscious, fluffy, pipable cream cheese frosting that doesn't melt or lose shape.  While the mixer is running at medium high speed, add COLD heavy cream in a steady stream until the frosting is as thick as you want it.

• 1 - 1/3 cup COLD heavy cream

Scoop or pipe (if you want to be extra fancy) frosting into the finished tart shells.

Whichever filling you choose, you'll want to top these with tart berries, currants, and coconut flakes.  Or with whatever you want!

Reflections on the UCSB Shooting

I know I'm interrupting my (very delayed) series explaining Transition Lab curriculum.  I'm going to earnestly endeavor to continue the series tomorrow, but for now, I hope you'll pardon me.

I usually avoid reading the news, because most of the time, what I find there hurts.  I, like most humans, do not like to hurt.  I’m not saying that I think it’s bad to read the news, or even that I should refrain from reading the news simply because it’s painful.  I’m not even saying that avoiding things that hurt is actually a good idea.  I’m just saying that I don’t read the news much.

Sometimes, though, something happens that is actually impossible to ignore.  An environmental disaster floods Facebook with righteous indignation.  A law passes which activates a volley of justifiably defensive op-eds on the Huffington Post.  Six young people are killed; a grieving father’s face appears on every screen, the hashtag #NotOneMore floods Instagram, and I hear the constant murmuring of the gun control debate approach a deafening roar.

Finally I cave – I consume with ravenous energy the multitudes of articles, posts, and stories at my fingertips.  It’s late at night, I have to be up early, but I can’t stop myself once I start.  It’s a painful, gut-twisting blend of anger, sadness, confusion, fear, and morbid curiosity that drags me on, clicking through link after link.  The salient quotes start to ring in my ears, the same set of details spin a thousand different ways, and the simple fact of the act itself disorients me and leaves me sitting helpless in my bed with tears pouring down my cheeks.

I’m so, so sad for the students that lost their lives, including Elliot Rodger.  I’m so, so sad for the father whose face has become synonymous with deep wound this act reveals.  I’m so, so sad for the people who bear witness to the anguish of the shooting, in person and through the seemingly endless web of coverage.  And, more and more, I’m sad for all of us who live in a world where things like this happen.

 Part of the pain I feel comes from an unbearable energy, a desire to defend myself and my loved ones, to lash out with anger, to campaign to “fix this,” by demanding gun control, or advocating mental healthcare reform, or maybe even buying a small handgun to defend myself, or, screw it, we need to melt all the guns in the world because they’re awful and no one should die by having a piece of metal shot at them with a small explosion.  The point is, I don’t know what to do, but I feel I must do something.  Inaction burns in my veins; my skin actually itches with inactivity.

But what can we do?  Bereaved father Richard Martinez calls us to use our constitutional rights to petition our government leaders for stricter gun control – for the restriction of semiautomatic weapons and assault rifles to military use.  I watch as my friends polarize into their respective pro-gun and anti-gun camps; incendiary missiles of verbal abuse begin, they trade barrages of slanted data, they both quote the Bible.  They sling hate at each other.  We don’t know how to react with anything other than hate to what we see as an evil act by an evil man, perpetuated by an evil system.  Incidents like these make the evil in the world impossible to ignore, and I don’t think we should ignore it.

In the wake of one of the horrific shootings of the last five years, (I wish I could remember which one, but maybe the fact that I can’t speaks to the shocking frequency of these events) I was over at a friend’s childhood home, having dinner with her and her parents.  The TV was on, broadcasting a debate between pro-gun and anti-gun representatives.  My friend and I were making dinner, watching the debate as we chopped vegetables.  We listened to the anti-gun argument in silence – I was vaguely aware of my friend nodding in unison with her parents, and, for the most part, I was nodding too.  I found a lot to agree with: the power that guns harness fills me with respect bordering on fear, and I want to be safe from people who have them and want to use them to hurt people.  And then there were some things that I didn’t fully agree with, or that made me a little angry and confused.

Then came the other side of the debate, and suddenly the air was thick with noises of derision.  My friend’s dad’s voice rose in a wave of contradiction, and suddenly the atmosphere in the kitchen became tangibly tense, and filled with frustration and helpless anger.

I was, perhaps naively and/or selfishly, upset by this turn of events.  I had come over to have a nice dinner with my friend, and to cook for her parents, who I deeply respect.  My vision for the night comprised vignettes of playful teasing, beautiful food, good-natured debate, and, overall, love.  The thick, palpable hostility in the room felt jarringly dissonant with the presence of my dear friend, for whom I hope I would be brave enough to actually take a bullet, standing beside me, almost elbow to elbow, cutting up vibrantly colored vegetables that we were about to eat together.

“I can’t believe this is even a debate,” my friend said, practically shaking with anger.  There were tears in her eyes.  “I just…don’t understand why anyone could possibly think we need guns.”  I don’t remember the rest of what she said, but her anger and judgment toward the NRA and all gun-owners was difficult for me to stomach.

At the time I didn’t understand the pain I felt upon hearing her words.  I lamely offered a few counterpoints, but I didn’t know what to do.  I certainly didn’t disagree with her, but I didn’t feel like I totally agreed with her either.  My overwhelming desire was to stop talking about it – to continue cooking together and let all that anger fade into the past.  So I changed the subject and we continued cooking, and ended up having a nice night.  I think her dad read us some French poetry.  They’re a wonderful family.

It worked out okay, but I wish I had responded differently.

I wish I had pulled my friend into my arms and hugged her tightly until her tears soaked my shoulder and neck.  I wish we had kept talking about it, that I had been able to voice what I was thinking: “When I see you hurting so badly, I feel a deep, tender pain too, because I love you and I want you to live in a world where you have all that is good and beautiful.”  I wish I could give that world to her.

I love my friend for her passion, her stubbornness, and her conviction.  Most of the time, she beautifully and compassionately balances my indolence, doubt, and tendency to cave under pressure.  Sometimes, though, I feel that I need to balance her out, and I don’t know how. 

Many of my interactions with friends and acquaintances are tinged with this pain of not knowing how to bring healing.  I find so much anger in the people I love.  Sometimes, I am filled with selfish irritation – I want them stop being so angry so I can have some peace.  I really wish I didn’t feel that way.  But it helps me to move past it when I realize that all that irritation is just a very ugly scar I bear from years of craving harmony, love, and nurturing and finding too often discord, separation, and anger instead.

Richard Martinez says he isn’t angry with Elliot Rodger, with Rodger’s parents, or with those who failed to pay adequate attention to the warning signs.  This, to me, looks like progress.  But even if he isn’t angry, there are millions who are.  If I can’t even figure out how to heal the pain of my closest friends – remote from the impact of the shooting, thankfully safe and far away – how can any of us even begin to heal the huge, spreading wound that is both the cause and the result of these acts of apparent evil?

Tentatively, I imagine the intensity of the pain that Elliot Rodger must have felt: a constant ache of loneliness, a burning separation, unbearable agony.  I draw from my own experiences, my own deepest, most tender wounds, my worst nights where I felt that I hated myself and couldn’t see how I could possibly keep on existing.  I take these feelings and imagine them spread over a lifetime, with no relief, with no network of loved ones to remind me that I was a part of something larger than myself.  Merely imagining this degree of isolation hurts so much it brings tears to my eyes, and worst of all, I realize that my imagination, limited as it is by my own privileged experience, is unequal to the task.  This phantom of pain I’ve conjured is tiny by comparison to the immensity and depth that must have been his reality.  Indeed, all that the phantom and the actual have in common is that they flow from the same source: humans living in separation from each other and from the world with which we were meant to be so intimately linked.

What I’m trying to talk about is my desire to create the world that I have always wanted to give to the people I love: a world where they are happy, healthy, and free from danger.  This incident has made me realize that everyone deserves that reality; leaving one single person behind would be a loss.  How can we create this world?

 

Russell and Zeno picking up trash from
a stream that runs through Montrose

In Transition Lab, we’re reading a book called The More Beautiful World Our Hearts Know is Possible by Charles Eisenstein.  I want to endorse this book to any of you who are interested in what I’m trying (clumsily) to explain.  You can read it online for free HERE.  It’s had a huge impact on my understanding of myself, the world, and my relationship to other human beings, and I conscientiously believe it’s the most important book I’ve read in my life.  Plus it’s beautifully written.  That’s the highest recommendation I can give.

To paraphrase grossly, Eisenstein identifies the source of the pain we all feel as part of our day-to-day lives as a result of the brokenness of the story we tell ourselves about the world and our place in it.  He calls this dominant narrative the “Story of Separation.”  In it, humans are isolated entities, living apart from each other as self-serving individuals, and living above nature, free to exploit its resources at will.  For me, this immediately rang true – I often feel that humans are encouraged to be self-serving, to compete with each other for scarce resources, and to cultivate an unhealthy self-absorbtion.  And I believe that living this way causes the pain of loneliness and the impotence of unfulfilling life.

He claims that a new story is beginning to emerge, and, indeed, has been trying to emerge counter-culturally for many, many years: the “Story of Interbeing.”  In this world, we are all closely connected; we give freely to one another, and are free from the technologies of force and competition.  Instead, we recognize that the things nature and our fellow human beings have in abundance (nourishing food, love, fulfilling work to be done, adventure, etc.) are the very things that most completely meet our needs.  We feel pain because those needs are being met by substitutes, from unhealthy, artificial foods to social media, and substitutes are never enough to make us feel whole.

In one anecdote, he describes an experiment he conducted, where participants simply held extended eye contact for many long minutes – way longer than social norms dictate acceptable.  He found that after the discomfort had passed, people were filled with euphoric joy.  A need was being met that most people don’t even put a name to: genuine connection.

I don’t want to live in poverty of connection anymore, and I don’t want my friends, family, community, or any single person in the world to be there either.  It seems to me that the world I’ve always wanted for myself and my loved ones is possible – only a radical shift in perception away.

Transition Lab 2014: Jake, me, Zeno, Kevin, and Russell

Transition Lab Curriculum Part 2: Housing

For those who haven't read my previous post, please go back and check it out HERE.  If you're just here for the tasty recipe (Crepes w/ Brie, Swiss Chard, and Apple-Cider Caramel Sauce) you can skip to that by clicking HERE.

This week I'm doing a total of five posts, to introduce the curriculum my fellow co-creators and I are learning out here in Montrose.  Last time, I talked about food, the first icon in the Transition Lab logo.  In summary, we're trying to find ways to meet our food needs as a group by relying on a community, work-based economy, rather than the traditional dollar economy.  This allows us to eat local, organic food without spending a single dollar, but more importantly, it puts us in tune with the needs of the community at large, and how we can meet those needs in exchange for what we need: food.  We gift our time and labor to local farmers, and they reciprocate by gifting us with abundant, varied, and unbeatably fresh food.

We follow the same model with our approach to housing.  Each of the students here lives in a spare bedroom in or around downtown Montrose, and each of us pays exactly $0 rent.  Instead, we participate in what's called the Skilled Resident Program, which allows us to make up for our rent by working for our hosts, or in the community at large, for 10 hours per week.  If you think about it in terms of dollars, assuming we'd be paid $10 an hour for the work we're doing, that's $400 dollars per month - which really is about equivalent to rent.  Nobody's taking a loss here.  Our hosts receive $400 dollars worth of work in their homes, gardens, and community, and we students get to pursue interesting, community-oriented work that interests us.  The other students are doing things like designing gardens and compost systems for their hosts, and I'm doing projects with LiveWell Montrose Olathe (part of a larger initiative to improve healthful lifestyles in Colorado) and the Valley Food Partnership (a group dedicated to improving food education, infrastructure, and policy here in the Uncomphagre Valley).  It's unbelievably rewarding to see my work translating directly into meeting one of my most basic needs - shelter.  More rewarding, certainly, than living off my parents generosity - no matter how appreciated - or even than working for dollars which I then use to pay rent.

Plus, it's really fun to live with new people in a new place, especially the kind of people who are willing to open up their spare bedroom to a dirty hippy like me.  (Full disclosure: I'm trying to cut shampoo and conditioner out of my life in favor of more natural alternatives, so, for the time being, while my hair adjusts to the change, I've actually got the full greasy, unwashed hippy look going.  To clarify - it's clean...just greasy.  For now.)

I'm being hosted by a couple, Dan and Karla, who have not one but three spare bedrooms, which they have allowed many people to use over the years, particularly interns for their church leadership program.  They've been extremely generous and welcoming, treating me essentially as one of their daughters.  I've really enjoyed getting to know them and their three dogs: Riley, Rowan, and the new puppy, Luna (who is just about too cute to handle).  Dan and Karla place a high value on community, participating themselves in local events like the Adventure Film Festival which took place this April here in Montrose.  I'm eternally grateful to them for understanding the value of the work I'm doing in the community and the skills I'm learning with Transition Lab, and for their decision  to open their home to me.

I'll talk more about the projects we students are doing for our hosts as the blog progresses, but for now I just wanted to leave you all with a basic understanding of how the Skilled Resident model has allowed us to meet another of our fundamental needs in an unconventional way.  It's been amazing to observe the effects of these partnerships within the community.  Great friendships develop between hosts and residents, as well as among hosts, who come together for a monthly potluck hosted by Transition Lab.  Great projects occur in peoples' homes and yards without hosts having to pay a stranger to do the landscaping.  And great projects develop in the community, because residents are free to follow their passion and volition.

Tomorrow or the next day I'll cover the next aspect of our curriculum - entrepreneurship - and later this week, I'll post on community and knowledge of self.  Thanks for sticking with me!  As a reward, here's a recipe you'll definitely want to try.  I cooked this for Russell and his wife, and it was, to say the least, a huge success.  Don't be intimidated!  You too can make crepes.  I promise.  The pictures I'm posting were of my first ever attempt.  I think they turned out more than okay.  Bon appetit!

Crepes with Swiss Chard, Brie, and Apple-Cider Caramel Sauce

Oh.  Yeah.

Start by making the caramel sauce.  This is edited from an Emeril Legasse recipe for the most amazing salad dressing ever (Basil Caramel Vinaigrette from his Emeril's Kitchens cookbook) but it's edited pretty substantially.  You can scale it up or down however you like.  I like to make a ton because it's really versatile and you can put it on so many things.

• 2 parts sugar
• 2 parts apple cider vinegar
• 1 part heavy cream AT ROOM TEMPERATURE

In a saucepan, cook equal parts sugar and apple cider vinegar over medium to medium high heat until the sugar is completely dissolved.  Swirl the pan to stir, rather than using a spoon.  A spoon sometimes causes the sugar to crystallize rather than form into smooth caramel.  Continue to cook, swirling the pan occasionally, until the mixture darkens to a rich medium brown - not burned at all.  This can be somewhat difficult - my advice is to keep the heat just below medium your first time, because things happen quickly.  Swirling the pan will help you keep control of the temperature, and will prevent the caramel at the bottom from cooking faster.  Don't worry about the strong vinegar smell - the caramel doesn't taste anything like vinegar.  When you're happy with the color, turn the heat down to the lowest low and add the cream, swirling to incorporate.  The mixture will foam, so be ready.  It's very important to use cream at room temperature, because adding cold cream causes the caramel to harden.  At this point, you can use a spoon to stir the mixture until it's homogeneous.  If some small lumps of caramel formed, some of them may loosen up if you continue cooking over low heat.  Or else you'll just have to eat them.  Pour the mixture into another container (like a gravy boat or something that can pour) and let it cool.  You can add salt and pepper to taste if you want.

Next start the crepes.  I use Alton Brown's recipe for basic crepes, but I skip some steps. For enough crepes to feed 2-3 hungry people, you'll need:

• 2 large eggs
• 3/4 cup milk
• 1/2 cup water
• 1 cup flour
• 3 Tbsp melted butter + more butter to coat the pan

I pretty much just whisked all the ingredients together.  Alton says to use a food processor, but I'll do almost anything to avoid cleaning food processors, so I said, "Screw that."  Alton also recommends refrigerating the batter for at least an hour, which "allows the bubbles to subside" or whatever.  I popped the mix in the fridge while I lightly sauteed:

• However much swiss chard you and your fellow feasters think you can cram down your gullets. Remember it cooks down, so...GO BIG.

Cook the chard with oil or butter over medium heat until it's wilted, then transfer it to a serving bowl or plate and cover to keep it warm.

Then I pulled out that crepe batter (after like 4 minutes of refrigeration...shhhh).  The way to do this is to heat up a small non-stick pan with butter in it over medium to medium high heat.   Not too much, or the crepes get soggy - you want just enough to coat the pan, with no pooling.  The exact heat isn't a science - be flexible and watchful.  The butter should be hot enough that when you add the batter, it sizzles a little, but definitely not so hot that the butter burns.  (If it does burn, start over with fresh butter in a clean pan.  Not the end of the world.)  Maintaining the correct amount of heat was the hardest part of the whole process - but you can do it.

Pour the batter into the pan, about 1/8 to 1/4 cup at a time.  This is based on preference as well as the size of your pan - I like my crepes a bit on the beefy side, plus, they're easier to flip that way.  But if you truly want the paper-thin, melt-in-your-mouth experience, try to use as little batter as you can.  Swirl the pan to spread the batter evenly.  Cook it on this side for about 30-45 seconds.  Again, this is somewhat flexible depending on how hot the pan is and how thick your batter is.  A good indicator that the crepe is ready to flip is to watch the bubbles forming in the batter.  The crepe is ready to flip when the bubbles stop filling themselves in with more batter when they pop.  The second side is even quicker - more like 10-20 seconds.

Lay the crepes out flat to cool (not stacked), and continue until all batter is gone.  Add more butter to the pan if it gets to dry or if they start to stick.  Once the crepes are cool, you can stack them.  They shouldn't stick to each other, but if you're worried, by all means layer wax paper between them.

Now to assemble the crepes!  Lay a crepe out on your plate, pile it high with swiss chard and

• Brie.  However much you can eat.  Or "should" eat.  Your call.  Again, I went big.

Then drizzle the whole thing with the apple-cider caramel sauce.  Prepare to have your world rocked.

I repeated this recipe a few weeks later with some friends.  We didn't make the caramel sauce because we were...not sober...yeah...but we scrambled some eggs instead.  Delicious.  And yeah, we totally succeeded at making crepes.  I'm serious, you can do this.

Transition Lab Curriculum Part 1: Food

I recognize I've been remiss - it's been almost a month since I last posted  a blog, and those of you supporting me from afar have been requesting another post, which I appreciate.  The good news about the long wait, though, is that now I can talk about the curriculum of Transition Lab in context of some actual depth of experience now that I've been participating for nearly two months. I'm also posting a delicious smoothie recipe - to skip to that, click HERE.

First of all, I should probably explain what it is exactly I'm doing out here in Montrose, and what this crazy Transition Lab thing is.  I talked in my last post about how what I was doing before (that is, living with my parents while applying for jobs) wasn't working, and that's a good place to start talking about what I'm hoping to move towards as I go through Transition Lab.  First of all, most basically, Transition Lab is an alternative and/or supplement to higher education as it currently functions.  It recognizes some of the key flaws of institutional, university-based higher education (prohibitive cost and/or crippling student loans, difficulty of finding a job afterward, etc) and seeks a systems-based solution.  There's a focus on keeping costs low, ensuring return on investment, and fostering skills that comprise an ability to make a living, rather than focusing on finding just "a job."

 Above is the logo for Transition Lab.  Each of the icons represents a different aspect of the curriculum we cover, and the lifestyle we seek to live after graduation.  The first icon represents food, which is the aspect I'll be talking about today. This is where the goal of 'making a living' is at its most literal - we're learning to grow our own food.  Perhaps more importantly, since not all of us want to be 'farmers,' so to speak, we're learning how to work in partnership with farmers to meet the majority of our food needs.  We each spend a minimum of eight hours per week working on organic farms, community gardens, and several edible home gardens we're working on in town.  So far this season, we've done most of our work on two organic farms located about 10 miles south of downtown Montrose, each of which we visit once a week to work a four hour shift.

Keven, Jake, and Zeno hoeing garlic at Straw Hat Farm

At Straw Hat Farm we spend the time using cultivation hoes to keep the weeds in check around the acre of garlic which grows in front of the farmhouse.  You can read more about Straw Hat by following the link, but they're a certified organic farm that runs a farm store in town, where they sell their produce, freshly-baked goods, and local foods from other farmers and producers in town.  In exchange for our work there, we can shop at the farm store.  This allows us access not only to the delicious pies, cookies, and bread baked by Straw Hat, but also allows us to buy ground beef, eggs, cheese, seedlings, and bulk goods like beans, rice, corn, and flour from other local producers.  Hoeing the garlic is hard work - this spring we've had a few bitter cold days, and a few days when the ground was almost impossible to weed because it was frozen or muddy.  Supposedly when summer finally comes to stay, we'll be wishing for the cool spring weather, but this week promises more 40 degree farming, and I say: "Summer can't come soon enough!"  My dad came to visit early last week, and he elected to have a conversation with the patriarch of Straw Hat, Chet Byler, rather than spend the fourth hour hoeing.  Apparently it's hard work or something.  ;)  Anyway, I have to agree with my dad: "Chet gets it."  I feel very lucky to be connected to that farm and that family.

Zeno walking through the greenhouse at Circle A Garden

The other organic farm we've been working on is also a family farm, Circle A Garden, named for the first initial of the Austin family, who runs the farm (mother and two daughters).  We primarily work with the two sisters who do most of the heavy lifting these days: Betsy and Della.  Both of them have a truly incredible depth and breadth of knowledge when it comes to organic growing.  I'm constantly amazed by the sheer volume of food they manage to produce, but also at the potency of flavor and lasting freshness of everything I've received from the luscious, well-tended soil of their land.  Since it's still spring, and we're obviously not quite out of danger of frost, they're still almost exclusively harvesting the greens, turnips, radishes, and carrots which are grown in the largest of several greenhouses on the farm.  However, over the course of the season, I've been told that they will grow over 100 varieties of vegetables, herbs, and fruits.  We each receive a CSA share (community-supported agriculture) in exchange for our work there, which, let me tell you, is a HUGE amount of food.  Even this early in the season, it's easy to get behind on eating everything we're receiving.  I've been making green smoothies almost every day, just because it's a quick, tasty way to eat through the biomass rapidly accumulating in my fridge.

I'll talk more about both of these farms later, but for now I just wanted to explain how my fellow Transition Lab members and I are meeting our food needs, and how our methods fit with our mission.  This has proven to be a viable way to meet our food needs outside of a conventional economy.  Our need for affordable, local, and organic food dovetails with the needs of these farmers, who always need extra hands, but who often have surplus food rather than cash to exchange for this work.  This is the kind of systems-based solution we seek to apply across our lives, in order to meet our needs in tandem with the needs of our fellow community members.

I''m hoping to post four more posts this week (I know it's a lot to read, but I want to get these fundamentals out of the way) to finish discussing the four other aspects of the curriculum: housing, entrepreneurship, community, and knowledge of self.  I'm planning to post short recipes at the end of each of these posts, but we'll see how that goes.  For now, here's a simple recipe for a green smoothie I made today.

Green Smoothie with Greens, Berries, PB and Yogurt

In a powerful blender mix together the following:

• Sizeable bunch of greens (I used kale and spinach)
• Three large strawberries
• Large dollop of plain yogurt
• Spoonful of peanut butter
• Some kind of sweetener (I used chocolate syrup, but dates or honey would work too)
• About an inch of water

Then, blend that ish up.  Add more liquid, thickener, sweetener, or whatever to taste.  The texture should end up pretty thick, with the frothy texture of a lassi, if you've ever had one of those.  You can add a banana, if you want.  I'm allergic.

Introduction

This is a blog for me to talk about my adventures here with Transition Lab in Montrose, Colorado on the western slope of the Rocky Mountains. I'll be talking about what I'm learning here in the program, about the personal experiences I have here, and posting recipes that I cook for myself, for my new friends, and for people who come to visit me. To skip to this week's recipe for Curried Cauliflower and Potato Mash, click HERE.
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.

My new friends and co-creators, Zeno, Russell, Kevin,
and Jake, hanging our homemade t-shirt prayer flags

It became clear to me, within hours of applying, that Transition Lab was a different kind of opportunity.  I got an email back within hours, and the email felt personal, genuinely interested, and eager to take next steps.  I felt pursued, so long as I was willing to give back, and pursue in return.

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

1. Heat a splash of vegetable oil in a pot over medium heat
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