A Pronoun Primer

Oh, Pronoun Dressing Room, my lovely new friend! Here, a pronoun usage lesson, just for y'all! (Altered excerpt from "The Piebald Hippogriff" by Karen Anderson.) 

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"The edge of the world is fenced off stoutly enough, but the fence isn't made that will stop a boy. Blue tossed zir pack and coil of rope over it and started climbing. The top three strands were barbed wire. Ze caught zir shirt as ze went over, and had to stop for a moment to ease zimself off. Then ze dropped lightly to the grass on the other side.

The pack had landed in a clump of white clover. A cloud of disturbed bees hung above, and ze snatched it away quickly lest they should notice the honeycomb inside.

For a minute ze stood still, looking out over the edge. This was different from looking through the fence, and when ze moved it was slowly. Ze eased zimself to the ground where a corner of rock rose clear of the thick larkspur and lay on zir belly, the stone hard and cool under zir chin, and looked down.

The granite cliff curved away out of sight, and ze couldn't see if it had a foot. Ze saw only endless blue, beyond, below, and on both sides. Clouds passed slowly.
Directly beneath zim there was a ledge covered with long grass where clusters of stars bloomed on tall, slender stalks.

Ze uncoiled zir rope and found a stout beech tree not too close to the edge. Doubling the rope around the bole, ze tied one end around zir waist, slung the pack on zir back, and belayed zimself down the cliff. Pebbles clattered, saxifrage brushed zir arms and tickled zir ears; once ze groped for a hold with zir face in a patch of rustling ferns.

The climb was hard, but not too much. Less than half an hour later ze was stretched out on the grass with stars nodding about zim. They had a sharp, gingery smell. Ze lay in the cool shadow of the world's edge for a while, eating the apples and honeycomb of zirs. When ze was finished ze licked the honey off zir fingers and threw the apple cores over, watching them fall into the blue.

Little islands floated along, rocking gently in air eddies. Sunlight flashed on glossy leaves of bushes growing there. When an island drifted into the shadow of the cliff, the blossoming stars shone out. Beyond the shadows, deep in the light-filled gulf, ze saw the hippogriffs at play."

Being Not Being

I think, sometimes, about the community that I am technically a part of. I live a life of involuntary seclusion. I don't know many people, let alone LGBTQ people. I know one person in that category who is over 50. I often wonder how they feel about the world today, this world that is so different than the one they grew up in. Do they feel joy at the progress that has been made towards equality? Do they glow with pride for the work that has been done, and with hope for the future? But is that pride and hope tinged with bitterness over what they never had? Do they think of the days when they were demons and deviants, and wonder how their lives might have been different if they had been born 50 years later?

I wonder about the people who share my own little niche in the community. Do they feel the anger and bitterness that I so often feel at my condition? Even as they climb, cicada-like, from the shell of their missed often births, do they gaze in the mirror at their soft and vulnerable new bodies and feel a presure in their heads as the mist and the red leaks into their vision? Do they curse, or cry, or shrink under the weight of it?

Do those people, my people, ever look at the community at large with a sneer and a heavy sigh? Do they think "how lucky you were, hiding in your closets and your bars, that you weren't also hiding in your own detestable flesh"? Do they watch, elated, as the shiny new coach pulls into Acronym Station? Does that elation turn to rage as those of us who are the L or the G as well as the T are stuck at the platform, waiting to be herded onto our own separate bus? Rage that those who rail against their own reduction to parts and bedroom habits reduce us to parts and bedroom habits, and reject us with the same fervor that the world has long rejected them? We of the T know the agony of a single printed character. We understand the depth of green a pair of eyes can reach as they watch the courthouse steps from the confines of their "straight" marriage. When we are run down by the bus that the L and the G now sit in the middle of, do they ever think to stop and pick us up, and welcome us into the empty seat beside them? Or will we continue to lay on the cold pavememt, wishing the bus had crushed our hated parts into dust that could be swept up and dumped into the closets that our estranged brothers and sisters had so recently abandoned?

I keep waiting at the station, hoping my bus will arrive soon, and I'll find a comfortable seat next to a fellow G who will know me as his brother. But the longer I wait, the more I fear that my misprinted ticket - that little T that obscures my G - will leave me standing in the cold, choking on exhaust.

16.9.14

We're really in the crunch now. Gardens are slowing down, seeds ate falling off the weeds, and geese are winging south in noisy lines. It's time to tidy up, batten down, and snuggle in. Our first killing frost should be coming soon, followed too quickly by snow. Rumor has it this winter will be longer, snowier, and harder than the last. It was a balancing act last year, keeping us warm and comfortable without spending all our time and money doing it. We're more prepared now. Hopefully all our work this year will tip the balance our way.

Not-So-Evil Ex fixed my old computer, so it should be easier to stay connected through the indoor end of the year. I also should be able to post photos again soon. That is, if there's anything to post photos of other than a blanket of white.

11.9.14

Time is marching on, as it does, and is taking our summer with it. The whole summer has been unusually and pleasantly cool, rarely reaching the 80s, and only hitting 90 a time or two. We've had a blanket on the bed for most of the summer, but now we're up to two blankets. And today, for the first time since spring, I have had to shut the windows to keep out the damp chill.

Winter is closing in quickly, reminding us that we need to step up our efforts in preparation for the snowy months. We've put up almost 300 jars of food, along with some onions and squash that will go into cold storage. The chickens will soon be moving into their upgraded home, and the tools now reside in a brand new shed. There are packs of insulation on the porch, waiting to be installed, and the wiring for our solar power is almost done.

But with the good news comes the bad. The tractor is broken again, with little hope of fixing it in the near future. The ceiling insulation requires a taller ladder than we own (in fact, we currently own no ladders at all, the last two having inconveniently died). Fencing for the chicken run must go in before the ground freezes, and at the same time we need to dig three large holes for our trash can "root cellars", or we'll lose our squash and onions. And for both the chickens and the cellars, we need to somehow find room in the budget for straw. It's wonderful to see all we have done, but overwhelming thinking of all we still have to do - and absolutely must do - within the month or so before the snow flies.

Will we finish it all? I honestly can't say. We've done so much but so little. This kind of life is simple, but certainly not easy.

19.7.14

Jam day follows picking day. With Badger's help, I put up thirteen jars of jam first thing this morning. This evening, ten more. Our jam stores are full for another year.

In between the two batches, Ex, Badger, Junebug and I headed into NYC for a show. Walking up and down the streets of the east village, I realized two things. The first was that I miss The City terribly. I love our land, but NYC feels like home in a way few places have. The second thing was that I was obviously being read as a gay man, by other gay men, from a distance. It felt like triumph, in a way. But it also made my heart ache. I hate this sometimes. Anyone who thinks that being trans is a choice should try walking through the village in my shoes. Because being read as closer to what I am, while wonderful, also serves as a reminder that I will never be what I am. All the hormone therapy and surgery in the world won't fix that. I will be seen as a fem/androgynous gay boy right up to the point that I am outed as trans, and no further. I will never be accepted as what I am by cis people, or as a gay man by other gay men. So where is there a place in the world for me?

18.7.14

Another day in homesteading paradise. Today I took the kids out to a u-pick farm to bring in our supply of blueberries for the year. Badger picked some, but ate a lot more. Junebug did some real picking, but also a lot of eating and dumping. We ended up with a large box of berries that will magically become jam tomorrow morning.

Day 3

Breakfast: two eggs poached in bone broth.

Lunch: way too many berries.

Dinner: sauteed zucchini, garlic scapes, and chicken in lard, plus the last bite of homemade cheese.

Snack: sweet potato with coconut aminos.

Mutu exercises done, pushups done.

17.7.14

Day 2. My pants felt a bit loose today, but it can't possibly be the diet yet. Wishful thinking.

Breakfast: two eggs poached in bone broth.

Lunch: cucumber with salt and pepper, banana, fizzy water.

Snack: homemade farm cheese.

Dinner: a large piece of salmon, sauteed chard, zucchini, and garlic scapes, cooked in lard.

I was a little light on vegetables today, because I was on the road all day. I had my three month appointment today, where my hormone prescription was increased to almost twice my dose. I'm looking forward to my changes happening more rapidly.

16.7.14

Yesterday was my birthday. I am officially in my mid-thirties. As a birthday gift to myself, I am buckling down and working on my health for the next month. I have been 80/20 paleo for a long time, but lately I have been slipping, and my health has suffered a bit as a result. Looking in the mirror the other day, I noticed how much the shape of my arms has changed as a result of the testosterone. But the rest of me - not so much. I'm at an age that no longer allows a poor diet or sedentary lifestyle. Time to get moving.

My diet isn't terrible. I eat healthy fats, meat, eggs, and dairy, all from pastured animals. There are far more vegetables in my diet than the average American eats. But I still consume far more sourdough bread than I should, and I've been known to have a pizza and beer night now and then. So for the next month, I'll be detoxing with the Whole30 plan. It's a more-paleo-than-paleo, 100% clean eating diet, for 30 days. I'll be modifying it in just one way - by adding pastured raw dairy, which I tolerate just fine. I have a bit of weight to lose, and I'm hoping Whole30 will help with that. It should also improve my health in general.

In addition to losing a few pounds, I need to work on building muscle and improving my endurance. To that end, I'll be starting the Mutu System, doing some extra push-ups and dips, and walking at least a half hour a day. I'd like to run again, but I'll have to wait and see how my ankles and knees tolerate the walking first.

So, let's call this day one. I'll be using this blog for accountability.

Breakfast: two cups greens beans, one cup chicken, sauteed in lard. Black coffee.

Lunch: large salad with crumbled raw milk cheese, evoo, and balsamic vinegar. A few swigs of unflavored full fat kefir.

Dinner: stir-fry of golden beets, garlic scapes, beet greens, and sausage.

I've done some push-ups, gone for my daily walk, and am about to do my nightly Mutu.


So far so good.

8.7.14

The season of action is upon us. My day starts early, with coffee, sauteed greens, and fresh eggs for breakfast. The dog is walked, the chickens let out to roam, Junebug changed and dressed, and my chores prioritized. We've pledged, now that we're able, to eat 90% local. So every day during this season, canning is on the list of daily work. So far this year we have put up the following: 5 pints pickled asparagus, 8 quarts chicken stock (from pastured chickens purchased from a farm down the road), 6 pints zucchini relish, 5 pints strawberry rhubarb pie filling, and 14 half pints strawberry rhubarb jam. We also have a quart of lacto-fermented wild leek bulbs in the fridge. The leeks, which we harvested in our own forest, should last us most of the summer if we eat them sparingly.

So, after breakfast, work continues. Clothes need to be washed by hand in a laundry tub and hung out to dry. Dishes need washing. Meals have to be made. The house needs cleaning, as does the chicken coop. Our Silver Grey Dorking chicks, still in their brooder, have to be fed, watered, and cleaned up after. A hundred other small tasks must be done. In between, Junebug keeps me endlessly busy.

After a dinner of baked chicken and vegetables, we took a walk together to the end of the road, to give the dog some exercise and drop off the recycling. Along the way I harvested a heaping quart of daylily buds, which will be on the menu tomorrow. We took note of the ripening wide raspberry patch, and picked a bouquet of black-eyed susans to brighten the kitchen.

The light is fading as I type. In the distance, the frogs are starting their songs while the many birds finish theirs. Junebug is happily playing in a puddle of rainwater, and in the distance I can hear Mutt on the tractor, clearing away some fallen trees. A day like this can make you forget about all the trials this life can cause, and remember only its simple pleasures.

It rains on Saturdays, too.

This morning, NPR ran a story about hospice care. They talked about the phenomenon of "life review", in which hospice patients and their loved ones feel the need to go over the details of their lives, telling their story from the beginning, over and over. Like someone staring death in the face, I find myself doing a daily life review lately. I go over the details in my head, starting in childhood and working forward. What decisions would I like to change, if I had the power to do so? How could I have done better, if I knew then what I know now? How did I get where I am, and become the person I am today? Do I even know who that person is?

The sad fact is, I don't. I have some vague idea of who he is not, but not of who he is. I know what he has done wrong, but not what he has done right. I have some idea of what he does not want for his life, but what he does want - what I want - is still largely a mystery.

Do we ever reach a point where we know, beyond a doubt, what we want to be when we grow up? When we can identify with clarity what will make us happy and fulfilled going forward? When we love ourselves, and those we have gathered around us, and all the holes in ours hearts are filled? How can we know? How can I know?

The chickens are scratching and pecking around the yard, as they always do. I am still watching, and wondering. Every day my questions seem bigger, and this little patch of earth seems smaller.

Rainy days and Mondays

What is it about this place that highlights my aloneness in such blatant and uncomfortable ways? I've always considered myself to be a bit of a loner. Though I enjoy the company of friends and family, I highly value my privacy, and need to have a quiet place to retreat to when interactions become overwhelming. A room, an activity, or even just the quiet space in my own mind - time alone has always been essential to my emotional wellbeing. So why is it that here, in this place of beautiful solitude, surrounded by the majesty of nature devoid of humanity, I am so lonely I can hardly cope? What does it say about me that I need my solitude to be punctuated by the neighbor's dog barking, a car driving by, or a housemate puttering in the next room?

The chickens give me some small relief, at least. Their gentle clucking and occasional spats feel like the barely heard chatter of aunts in the kitchen, bickering over the best way to bake a pie. But caring for Junebug increases my feeling of being apart from the world. She is not yet old enough to be a real person with whom real conversation can take place. She is my love, my sweetest love, but as yet is a bundle of needs and cries and tasks to be done. Years from now I hope she and I will sit down for tea and the sharing of our deepest selves, but for now our morning ritual of Cheerios (her) and coffee (me) is less than satisfying on an emotional level.

Where is the balance in a life like this? I can turn on the radio for a human voice, but the voices never ask me about my day, or offer a shoulder when I need to cry. I could call someone, but battery power is as precious as their time, and I hate to waste either on my trifling need for company. I could walk to town, but it is miles away, and Junebug's need for the comfort of home trumps my need to watch the locals tramp through the gas station market, going about their business with not a friendly glance for the blue-haired queer boy in the corner.

Was this part of my homesteading dream? Was it in the package all along, and I studiously ignored it in the hope that I would find a community waiting with open and accepting arms? Where is there to go from here but back to my window, coffee in hand, lips silent, chickens clucking softly in the yard with no idea that I am gazing at them with open envy.

The stuff of dreams.

Before we moved here, when we were living in a large city, I dreamed of days like this. Though the ground is still covered with snow, the weather is the warm and moist like early spring should be. It's warm enough here that I have left the front door hanging open, letting the scent of sun and budding trees and frosty mid fill the house. Classical guitar is pouring out of my radio. Junebug is standing at the open door, laughing at nothing in the way that toddlers do, and occasionally tossing toys onto the porch. In the distance, the chickens (who have started producing eggs, at long last) are clucking softly. The rooster is clucking right along with the, throwing in a hearty crow now and then for emphasis. Spring has arrived, bringing  change and life and joy back to the land.

In just over a week, my own changes will begin in earnest. My medical evaluation is happening, really happening, after all these years. As the farm grows into its potential, so will I. I am excited. I am nervous. I an anxious to throw myself into the arms of.this beautiful year, and give it all I have to give.

Little things

We have heat! On our second try (the first was too big) we have bought and installed a wall mounted propane heater (well, Mutt installed it), and it is wonderful! All we have to do is set it at 60, and let it work. The house stays warm all night, so I don't have to spend hours huddled by the woodstove in the morning, trying to get the fire going and the house warm. In the evenings, Mutt doesn't have to spend his few free hours hauling and chopping wood. Junebug doesn't have to stay bundled up all the time, which always made it so much harder for her to play (you try to hold a crayon while wearing mittens).  Every bit of progress here makes such a big difference.

It's funny, though - I have conflicting feelings. Some of our reasons for coming here were to reduce our bills, provide for our own needs, and wean off fossil fuels. Our new heater is lovely, but it sends us backwards on all three goals. Is the convenience worth the trade-off? The heater is in, so the choice has been made, but I'm still not sure.

Spring Awakening

Though you'd never guess based on our land, spring is just around the corner. With it comes the awakening of our all the flora and fauna that share our home. The ground is still covered with snow, and the nights are well below freezing, but our wild neighbors are stirring, preparing for their re-entry into the world. Another spring, another year of hard work.

Finishing the house will be our main project this year. The winter has been hard on us, with some cold nights and difficult hikes. We have learned what needs to be done before cold weather returns, and will be spending the summer doing it. Insulation, wiring, lights, flooring, walls, heat, driveway and road building, and kitchen installation are just a small part of our summer projects. It's going to be a busy year, and it will all end up here. Stay tuned for more photos than anyone really wants to look through.