Yellow Maize

This story was shared at the 'Story Slam' hosted by the Northern California Returned Peace Corps Volunteers, Healdsburg, CA., May 6, 2017. The 'Third Goal' of Peace Corps is to 'promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans'. The theme for this story slam was 'Cuisine from the Heart'. 

I was 25 when I arrived in Kenya for my Peace Corps adventure. It was 1985. It was before personal computers and cell phones. It took a month for letters to arrive. I did not return home for three and a half years. 

During three months of In-country training we learned to speak Swahili. “How do you say ‘I'm a vegetarian?’” I asked. Our instructors laughed and said “the word for vegetables is 'mboga', so you can say ‘mimi mbogatarian’”. 

We also learned about Kenyan culture, history and politics. At that time there was a long drought and a lot of food aid was being sent to Kenya. But the Nairobi newspapers were full of editorials criticizing the 'Yellow Maize'. “Why are you sending us your cattle fodder? We eat white maize, not yellow maize.”  The national staple food is called ' 'Ugali' in Swahili. It is like stiff grits, and they prefer the white maize for that. I would tell them that I ate both. Yellow maize for corn bread and polenta, and white maize for grits. But that both colors were equally good. I found myself apologizing and hoping the topic wouldn't come up in conversations, but it was difficult to avoid.

My assignment was to teach women's self-help groups to build water tanks to catch rainwater from their roofs. They were newly settled subsistence farmers spreading out over the semi-arid Laikipia plain from the western slopes of Mt Kenya. The women and girls carried water in 5-gallon plastic jerrycans from the river, sometimes 3-4 miles away. Each family had to get by on just 5-10 gallons of water a day.

Working together as a group, a 500-gallon water tank would be built at the home of each member. Workdays would have 30-40 women learning and working together. I'd work with the younger women doing the building, while the older women would cook food for everyone. It was easy to be a vegetarian with these Kikuyu farmers. We would eat a maize and bean stew called 'githeri'. It had pinto beans and big whole kernels of yellow maize.  If the village was higher up on the mountain there would be potatoes, and we would eat 'Irio' which was mashed potatoes and pumpkin leaves with the maize and beans mixed in. Corn, beans, squash - the three sisters - and potatoes from the Andes. These four vegetable crops support many cultures around the world with a fully nutritionally balanced staple diet, and I was a happy ‘mbogatarian’.

One day one of the women came to greet me. “Are you an American?” she asked. “Are you sending the food aid?” Here it comes, I thought, another complaint about the yellow maize. I began apologizing and she interrupted me. “Be quiet and listen to me. My family was starving and we were given bags of maize and beans. On the bags it said ‘donated by the people of the United States of America’. You are the only American I will ever meet, and I just wanted to say thank you to someone for sending the food and saving my family.”

I understood then that despite the unavoidable corruption and flaws with the distribution of food aid, some of it actually gets to people who need it and saves lives. That was a real Peace Corps moment. But it's not the end of the story.

Building the water tank at the cattle dip. Rainwater captured from the roof is stored in the tank until the cattle are ready to be 'dipped' for protection against insects and disease.

My next assignment was to build a large tank at a cattle dip for the Maasai in the northern part of my district. The Maasai are nomadic herders of cattle and goats. It would be difficult to be an ‘mbogatarian’ in the desert, so I was told to carry in food supplies. I strapped a big bag of beans and a big bag of yellow maize to the back of my motorcycle, called ‘piki piki’ in Swahili, and headed north. The team of four masons I worked with came up with the truckload of supplies.

The Maasai had elected a family to set up a temporary camp to house us. The huts were dome shaped, made of bent over poles covered with thatch. You had to bend over to go inside. I had my own hut near the women's hut. Every morning I would stop by the mama’s hut and she would give me a big enamel mug full of sweet milky tea. They had plenty of milk from their cows, although I noticed there was very little sugar, but it was all we had to get through the day until supper time.

In the evening I would enter her hut and sit around the three stone fire, watching the women prepare food. It was smoky as there was no chimney. A couple of 5-gallon jerrycans were always around the fire. Food was very simple. Usually a thin meat stew or boiled beans and rice. I was hungry, so I politely ate whatever was served, but I wondered why we never ate the yellow maize I had brought.

At the end of the first week I went back to my town for more supplies, so I asked what I could bring them. “Sugar,” they said. I brought back a 20 lb. bag of sugar, and the morning tea was much sweeter after that.

The masons and Maasai worked together on the water tank for the communitycattle dip, Laikipia District, Kenya, 1987

Another couple of weeks went by and we were almost finished with the water tank. My mama handed me the big enamel mug in the morning as usual and I took a big gulp. Arghh! It burned like fire and made my eyes water. That was white lightning, not tea! Fire water, grain alcohol, serious hootch! The masons were giggling and suddenly I knew what had become of the yellow maize.

The mama invited me into the hut and showed me her still. It was three pots. The corn and sugar had been fermenting in those jerrycans kept warm by the cooking fire. She poured that into the bottom of one of the pots. Then she suspended a smaller pot into the larger pot using a wire harness. A second pot filled with cold water was set on top of the big pot as a lid. The fermented mash boiled and condensed into the smaller pot to create the distilled spirit. She poured the distillate onto the fire and it burned blue, which was supposed to be reassuring - meaning it was not methyl alcohol, so drinking it wouldn't make me go blind. She kept urging me to drink more, and I had a few more sips. But I had to draw the line, it was first thing in the morning after all, and handed the mug back to her half full, promising to finish it in the evening.

The masons and I headed off to work on the tank. We were laughing until we saw an entire troupe of baboons jumping around on our water tank. We stumbled down the slope shouting and waving our arms to chase them away before they did too much damage. Drunk and winded, I sat down in the shade of an acacia tree and one of the masons gave me his jacket to use for a pillow. As I drifted off into an alcohol induced stupor, I thought about how my bootlegging hillbilly ancestors had done the same thing with the corn the Native American's had shared with them. Turns out, it really IS all about the Americans and their yellow maize.

RPCV Terry Allan shares her story about 'Yellow Maize' at the 'Cuisine from the Heart' Story Slam, Healdsburg, CA. May 2017.

Restore the land, restore ourselves: a week at Deep Dirt Farm

Kate adds extra salt to the fresh duck eggs we fry for breakfast in the outdoor kitchen. Like four times more salt than I usually use, and I am not on a low salt diet. This daughter of a Welsh farming family traded her verdant wet birthplace for the desert long ago, and her body craves salt to help her retain the precious moisture sucked out by the dry desert air. Kate has been on a mission to conserve moisture and live resiliently in the desert for more than three decades and her 30 acre property in Patagonia, Arizona serves as a demonstration site for ecological restoration, food production, water management strategies and dancing with the sacred feminine.

The duck eggs are a great example of the abundance that comes from thoughtful integration with the environment. The ducks thrive on the plagues of grasshoppers and other insects that would destroy the tender garden plants if not kept in check. They weed and fertilize as they play and, contrary to the concept of 'work', reward the gardeners with eggs in exchange for the priveledge.

Standing on a ridge overlooking Deep Dirt Farm and the broad watershed in which it is nestled challenges my preconceived notion of 'desert'. The ridges and valleys form a ruffled pattern that has obviously been created by the forces of water and erosion over millennia. Clumping native grasses cover the land in soft green waves that blur in and out of focus as they rustle in the breezes beneath the thin shade of widely spaced oak and mesquite trees.

The Madrean Sky Islands region is a biodiversity hotspot.

September is lush after the summer monsoon, which provides most of the annual average of 18 inches of rain to support this incredibly diverse ecosystem known as the Madrean Sky Islands. Ecologists have observed that there is greater diversity along the edges of different ecosystems, and the Sky Islands are all about edges. Spanning the borderlands between the Sierra Madre mountains in Mexico and the Rockies in the USA, where the Chihuahuan and Sonoran deserts overlap the edges of the Great Plains and the neotropics, the area is a stopover oasis for migratory birds, as well as full time home to endangered jaguars and ocelots.  The incredible assortment of dry-lands plant species supports (and is supported by) the highest diversity of pollinators in North America including more than 600 species of native bees, 300 different butterflies and moths, 14 types of hummingbirds and 2 nectar feeding bats.

Kate saves seeds of native plants like this zinnia, the original species from which our modern flowers were bred,  to help regenerate habitat for butterflies and pollinators. Behind the zinnias are a native coreopsis grown for seed saving as well.

Although sparsely populated, the impacts of clumsy human activity like mining and ranching tear at the fabric of this landscape threatening its resiliency. "The type of damage caused by outdated ranching practices is largely avoidable, and reparable. We now know how to finesse the limited water resources and manage grazing in harmony with natural systems so that the landscape supports production that is restorative rather than extractive," says Kate. Indefatigable, her motto is 'Restore the land, restore ourselves', and she shows us how in the realization of her Deep Dirt Farm.

Kate Tirion demonstrates ecological restoration practices for dry-lands at Deep Dirt Farm in Patagonia, Arizona. 

"We are part of the ecosystem, not apart from it", says Kate, "and once you understand the difference you make decisions from an entirely new perspective."

One of the most talented Permaculture designers and teachers I know, Kate rarely uses the permaculture lexicon to describe her work. She approaches the world from a deeply emotional place dedicated to honoring the sacred feminine, our earth mother, and gracefully healing the wounds inflicted upon her by our carelessness. "The young people really get it," she says. "When they relate to the land from their hearts, the hydro-geology just falls into place."

"Isn't this lovely?", coos Kate. Most of these structures were built by young people from the area through a partnership with Borderlands Earth Care Youth Institute (BECY) that provides summer training and employment opportunities in ecological restoration. Each structure supports the others in slowing down and spreading out the flow during rain storms.

 The property is home to hundreds of water management structures including check dams, gabions, and other simple rock structures that serve to "slow it, spread it, sink it." In order to soften the landscape this energetic 70 year old woman heaves heavy chunks of 'urbanite' around and waits for the rainy season floods to come and do the work of raising the stream bed to repair the damage of erosion and prevent runoff. A single large rain event could carry enough silt to complete the task. Given that there hasn't been a large rain event in the past 12 years due to the ongoing drought, these structures represent HOPE with a capital 'H'. "It is simply a matter of volume or time", says Kate. "Once the silt fills in behind the rock dams, we will build another layer to raise the land even more until this eroded streamed is healed and the water flows gently across and into the landscape."

Once this gabion silts in, another will be built on top to continue raising the stream bed to the level of the surrounding meadows so that rain water can hydrate the landscape instead of running off.

In addition to the wild plants and animals, this landscape can support food production for humans with proper water management. Kate hosts gardening workshops that help participants understand how to grow healthy organic food while building soil and revitalizing the landscape. Her gardens and orchards are tucked in among the native plants along her "Path of Least Resistance" that winds through the valley and take advantage of different soil types and microclimates around the property.

The food production garden is fenced to keep the ducks in and the deer out.  Both raised and sunken beds are used depending on the needs of the plants.

Fruit trees are supported by planting them among the native mesquite trees and using raised pathways to form a waffle-like "net and pan" water collection system that doubles the amount of water available to the thirsty trees by capturing the runoff during the rainy season.

Raised pathways form a "net and pan" water harvesting system that supports an orchard of fruit trees (caged in black netting to protect from deer) among the nitrogen fixing mesquites.

The greenhouse was intentionally sited along the most badly eroded stretch of the stream bed. "We want to make sure we pay a lot of attention to this part of the property, so we center a lot of our daily activity here to keep it top of mind."

This interesting post bank structure is designed to prevent further cutting of the stream bank by accumulating fresh material behind the posts and building up the bank.

During the week we take care of ducks, garden with women from the community, harvest seeds, build a "two rock dam", and bake an organic pear galette that raises $110 for the Patagonia Community Garden at the annual Pie Auction. We meet with people from other groups and organizations within the Patagonia community. Borderlands Institute, Wildlife Corridors, Borderlands Earth Care Youth Institute, United States Geological Survey scientists and Deep Dirt Farm are all approaching the healing and revival of this unique landscape from different, yet complementary angles. All are essential for the success of the others. An undeniable interconnectedness brings ranchers and ecologists together to create synergies that support healthy human activity and community building within an increasingly resilient ecosystem.

I could go on and on about Kate, her husband Richard the blacksmith, and their wonderful place, the homemade bread made from freshly ground spelt, the cultivation of community, and the endless ideas for living lightly on the land. As my week in Patagonia comes to an end, I find I have added many new techniques and ideas to my earth repair toolbox, from water harvesting structures to organic gardening with ducks to valuable relationships. But more important is the beautiful feeling of inner peace and happiness that inspires me not to lose heart. Kate's got it right. For in thoughtfully acting to restore the land, we can indeed restore ourselves...and our communities, and our mother Gaia.

Find out more about the diverse programs and workshops at Deep Dirt Farm that will help you develop your own relationship with the land:

Deep Dirt Farm - http://deepdirtinstitute.org ;  https://www.facebook.com/DeepDirtFarmInstitute/

Borderlands Restoration (and BECY) - http://borderlandsrestoration.org 

Kate Tirion and her husband Richard Connolly, blacksmith, are co-creating Deep Dirt Farm and sharing their knowledge through workshops and demonstrations.

'Dottie Todd' Rare Heirloom Potatoes

After months of waiting and wondering what was growing underneath the soil, the time finally arrived to dig in and see! Michelle and I unearthed a hoard of beautiful white-skinned potatoes with rosy red 'eyes'. We boiled up all the small ones right away and found them to be quite delicious with a flaky, tender texture!

This rare variety is known as 'Dottie Todd'. I started with a few spuds given to me by heirloom gardener Cal Vanoni of Sonoma County, California. An unusual feature of this variety is its 'indeterminate' habit, which allows it to keep growing practically perpetually (if it doesn't freeze).  The vines are incredibly disease resistant, so home gardeners in mild climates could essentially have a permanent potato patch with no fuss! The disadvantage of this habit is that it is difficult to tell when to harvest...in fact, it seems to be best suited for ongoing harvests of small 'new' potatoes over a long season. 

Dottie Todd Potatoes

Most of today's popular potato varieties have more of a 'determinate' habit. They predictably set their tubers after flowering and the plants die back for harvest of a more concentrated yield of larger potatoes. This is a big advantage for farmers and home gardeners who live in places with cold winters. However, enthusiastic heirloom gardeners in these regions may want to give Dottie Todd a try anyway to see how the yield is affected by the first killing frost. Potatoes can be stored through the winter in a root cellar at about 40 degrees Fahrenheit.