The Furious Spinner

I am finally posting the Big River Slow Supper Salon. This is first draft, and I trust you to read it in the spirit that it is given. As time goes on, I'll rewrite it and flesh it out. I've changed everyone's names for now, until they tell me it's OK to use their real first names. I haven't included all the recipes yet, but I hope to be able to after I hear from everyone. I'd like to know what you think. Do you want more conversation or some discussion about the food? Etc. By the way, Mario is Canadian. He was born in a refugee camp in Italy. (Actually he was born in a hospital, but his mother was living in a refugee camp at the time.) His mother is Croatian; his father was Serbian. That's why during conversations we often look to Mario for a more "international" view of things.

Conversation

In 1982, I sat in a restaurant with six other young writers discussing language. Several of us argued that it was perfectly acceptable to change the language. If people insisted on using “he” as the only pronoun denoting a person, writers could hurry along the process of change by using “she” and “he.” One of the writers, Paul, said this was unacceptable. He maintained that by changing the language in this way a writer would be making a political statement, not telling a story. Our discussion was exciting and heated and went on for some time. Then Mickey said, “Paul, you are assuming that maintaining the status quo is not a political statement.”

We fell silent. She had said exactly the right thing.

After a bit, Paul nodded and said, “You’re right. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

It was great. Twenty-two years later, I still remember that conversation.

I have always valued conversation. For me, it is a sign of respect when someone honors me with their thoughts, feelings, opinions, and then listens to mine. A good conversation is good communication. It doesn’t mean each person agrees with every other person; it does mean everyone is listening. People learn in different ways, of course. Conversation is one of the ways I learn. I can begin a conversation believing one thing and by the end of a lively debate, I can change my mind. Even if that doesn’t happen, I gain insight into a subject or the thought processes of another person. Talking is part of forming and maintaining relationships and establishing community.

Not everyone feels this way about conversation. I have learned the hard way that many people see disagreement (or merely talking about particular subjects) as a sign of disrespect.

A dinner companion said to me once, “How dare you presume to bring up politics?” I was dumbfounded, but I learned to be more careful about what I discussed with relative strangers.

I grew up in the Midwest; except for my immediate family, I argued, debated, and conversed with nearly everyone I met. When I traveled in Europe, I had great conversations about politics, art, travel, philosophy, the United States. I moved out West in 1982 and discovered conversation was not a highly prized commodity with most of the folks I met. I stayed anyway, but I’m constantly on the lookout for some good “talk.”

Mario and I traveled to Taos a few years ago and stayed at the Mabel Dodge Luhan House where Mary Austin, Georgia O’Keeffe, Ansel Adams, D.H. and Frieda Lawrence, and others had visited and talked about culture, writing, art, community. I walked into the house and tears started streaming down my face because I was finally in a place where beauty and art mattered--where people talked with one another about issues and ideas they cared about. I was inspired by the house, the beautiful natural surroundings, and the whispers of long ago conversations that were so interesting the walls could not let go of them. It was then, I suppose, that I started thinking of starting my own salon.

According to Gary Kamiya in his “Brief history of Salons,” salons began in ancient Greece, where “the search for knowledge through conversation with others” was less formalized than it became in later years. The Greek salons had an erotic aspect to them, he says, which probably kept the attendance high.

Catherine de Vivonne (1588–1665), the Marquise de Rambouillet, is credited with starting the first great French literary salon. Her salons took place in her blue room, “chambre bleu,” which was also called the temple of Athena. (On the Salon du Muse website, they say, “To converse is human...to salon is divine.”) At these salons, philosophers, writers, artists and members of the aristocracy gathered to talk, debate, contemplate through words, and open up the great creative channel which allows the flow of ideas.

Lately I have heard people bemoan the loss of culture and civility. They ask, “Where are the big ideas?” “What has happened to our innovators?” Many of us are overloaded and spend our days are running around doing, doing, doing, yet feeling as though nothing gets “done” and little is accomplished. If we do not have the space and time to “be,” to converse, to communicate, then when will we have time for the big ideas? By listening to others, by hearing their thoughts and ideas, often our own thoughts and ideas come bubbling up until we are overflowing with energy, creativity, and new concepts.

Food

While conversation nourishes our souls; food nourishes our bodies. Many of us have lost touch with our bodies and our food. Many people live on fast food and haven’t any concept of what it takes to grow food—or to nourish themselves. Mario and I have tried to eat organically and sustainably grown food during most of our marriage, yet we are often too tired to cook anything more exciting than quinoa and vegetables (although this is quite delicious).

Our ancestors ate communally. Eating with other people is an intimate act. We consume pieces of the same food and this food transforms into part of our bodies; this links all of us who have shared that particular food. This can be a comforting tie that does not “bind” us but creates a bond which helps us develop a sense and true community.

Buying (and/or growing) food which is organic and local helps us connect with our community and region. If the food is grown in the soil of our homes, we are consuming parts of the Earth that come from our specific ecosystem.

When my novel Coyote Cowgirl was bought by Tor, my editor mentioned the Slow Food movement to me (since my book was about restaurants and food). I had never heard of it, but it sounded intriguing. I found out that their guiding principles are similar to what Mario and I feel about food—and our lives. They want to promote sustainability. This means, according to their website, that they recognize the interdependence of people with one another and our environment, and they want to care for the land and protect biodiversity and promote pure food that is local, seasonal and organically grown.

They also believe in the value of cultural diversity and recognize “food as a language that expresses cultural diversity.”

They find “pleasure and quality in everyday life” by “celebrating the diverse expressions of our earth's bounty; appreciating and encouraging creativity, passion and beauty; respecting and supporting artisans who grow, produce, Michaelet, prepare and serve wholesome food.”

As members of this organization, they strive to be inclusive by “following democratic principles in a spirit of sharing and educating members and others about Slow Food's mission, and dedicating ourselves to local cooperation and global collaboration.”

I’ve never met one of these people before, as far as I know, but I like their philosophy—especially since it jibes with mine. Reading about the Slow Food movement inspired me to combine creating a salon with the philosophies of slow food. I called it the “Big River Slow Supper Salon.”

We live in the Columbia River Gorge which has the Columbia River running through it. Even though the River is dammed within an inch of her life, and she’s radioactive and polluted, we love her and she dominates a good part of our lives—just by her presence. I wanted to acknowledge the river when naming our salon. But I had another reason for calling it the “Big River Slow Supper Salon.” We bought a dining room table which was called a “rio grande” table; this table reminds me of so many of the big solid wood tables I see when I go to New Mexico. The name will constantly remind me of my Big River here, but also of New Mexico and those long conversations of other writers staying in the Mabel Dodge Luhan House.

My friends and acquaintances are busy people who work, take care of children or parents, plus perform many hours of volunteer services. I wanted to create a space, place, and time for conversation and slow food. I wanted the participants to be surrounded by beauty as much as possible, to feel safe, and to be nourished by food and friends. Once I felt this was all possible, I invited a few people to attend the first “Big River Slow Supper Salon.”

Five people said yes to our invitation. We asked them to use local and organic ingredients in their dishes (especially if they brought chicken, and only wild fish) and no beef or pork. I sent them ideas for discussion via email: “Is community and discussion an important part of life? If so, why don't Americans do it? Or do we? Europe has a cafe culture. Americans generally don't gather to discuss things. Why? Is it to our detriment? Saturday is a Pagan holiday, Lughnasa, which celebrates the first harvest. Can modern people find value in ancient celebrations? Or do we still celebrate these holidays today but in a different form? (August fairs) Do we really have any sense of community in the U.S.? Etc.”

On Saturday, July 31st, Lughnasa, on the second full moon of the month—the blue moon—on a hot summer afternoon, seven us of us met.

We sat at our Rio Grande table with lovely place settings (and Lucy’s beautiful flowers at the center). We started with Bonnie’s organic chicken soup. Then we had Lucy’s broccoli salad and Melissa’s lentil salad. While we were eating the salads, Mario prepared salmon hash, quinoa, and vegetables. For dessert, we had Bonnie’s pumpkin pudding and banana bread. And we talked the entire time, even as we sweated in our increasingly hot kitchen, waiting for an evening breeze that never came.

Talking: Community and More

I originally said I would write up what we discussed afterward. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was encouraging everyone to “be” at the Salon and not try to “do” anything but eat and enjoy, and here I was offering to type up transcripts. I was out of my mind. Even when I loosely transcribed the tapes, it took over two hours to do less than an hour of tapes. We had talked for over four hours. Plus, I realized that transcribing the words didn’t truly convey the experience of the conversation. So what follows is some of the dialogue, but it is more (or less) the essence of some parts of the conversation.

First, everyone talked. I listened to the tapes, so I got to hear it: everyone participated! I was gratified by that outcome. We often talked over each other, and we interrupted one another. I thought that was fine, too. I know a couple of people who get very angry when they are interrupted. My feeling is that most conversations are a series of interruptions--but this does not mean people are not listening. It means the ideas and thoughts are flowing freely. As far as I could tell, no one was offended by these interruptions during this first “Big River Slow Supper Salon.”

We discussed many topics. I started out by reading a Gaelic blessing from Tom Cowan’s Yearning for the Wind:

“You are the pure love of the moon, you are the pure love of the stars, you are the pure love of the sun, you are the pure love of each living creature.”

“May the love and affection of the moon be yours, the love and affection of the sun be yours, the love and affection of the stars be yours, the love and affection of each living creature be yours.”

Then Daniel led us in a toast to our first "Big River Slow Supper Salon."

Our first discussion was about the Celtic gray salt Bonnie was putting in her soup. Melissa and Mario talked about how the salt rakers work. They have channels near the ocean, the tide brings in sea water to fill the channels, then the sun dries it.

We talked about are experiences growing (or not growing) food. Michael’s mother was a gardener. He liked being out in the garden with his mother, and he wanted to be a gardener. Melissa’s mother had a garden in San Diego, but she wanted nothing to do with it. Lucy grew up in Southern CA. All her fruits and vegetables came from Safeway. “I came from people who two generations ago were farmers,” she said. “But I was so disconnected from it. Walking to school I saw kumquats, grapefruits, oranges. These all grew in people’s yards. I didn’t connect that they grew and you had to put energy into them.”

Daniel mentioned his bees. He described making holes in blocks for the mason bees who are “good pollinators. They don’t make honey.”

When Mario served the “sacred salmon,” we talked about quinoa, mints, and my rosemary plant which has traveled with me over the last fifteen years.

We wondered if people in other countries have food allergies and chemical sensitivities the way Americans do.

Melissa said, “Can you imagine a French person not having bread, cheese, coffee? And they’re healthy people.”

“They don’t use as many drugs,” Kim said. “They don’t misuse antibiotics the way we do. They don’t spray as much there. Europe is much more progressive as far as pesticide use. Sweden doesn’t use pesticides at all. We were thinking of moving there.”

We remembered the story of parents in other countries who leave their babies outside restaurants and stores in their strollers. When a couple came to this country and did the same thing, they were accused of child abuse.

We wondered if the parents were able to leave their children unattended in their own country because a) they don’t all have highways running through the middle of their towns, b) they know each other well enough to trust one another, or c) they have such a sense of community that they know if they leave their children unattended, the whole community will look after their kids.

We acknowledged again that if a parent left their infant in a stroller outside a store here, they would probably be arrested for child endangerment—and the child probably would be in danger.

Melissa said, “Meanwhile what happens to the kids behind closed doors? Or not behind closed doors: the spraying at the schools, the food in the cafeteria, parents beating their children.”

Kim: Does Europe have child abuse the way we do here?

Lucy: I’m sure they do but not at the level we do here.

Michael: It’s the exception.

Kim: Why does it happen in our culture?

Lucy: We’ve been ruined.

Bonnie: Our water is not clean, the air is not clean. Look at the chemicals kids get in the water, look at all the sugars they get in their foods. And then look at the television. They’re bombarded in every avenue to be ill. Mentally or physically.

We talked about community in relationship to the movie “Bowling for Columbine.”

Michael: Moore’s premise is that our country is fear-based. I think it’s the basis for a lot of our behaviors.

Mario: The individualism that is so prized in this country is not prized so much in other countries. What it does is kind of give permission to people who are on the edge to go a little over the edge because they can see it as being an individual act, doing what they want to do.

Lucy: It’s an excuse to push the limit.

Michael: Owning things is a big thing. In a socialist society people share a lot more of the common wealth. It’s a struggle between the Democrats and the Republicans these days. Do we each have our own nation on our 50 x 100 foot lot and shoot whoever walks on it.

Mario: But using the example of Canada, Canadians want things just as much as Americans. They want their house, their toys, their cars.

Michael: Maybe there’s a different expectation on what you actually get to have.

Melissa: What does make Canadians so nice and clean? Well, they clearcut. They do unhealthy stuff, too.

Kim: They don’t have the level of violence and fear and anger that Americans have.

Daniel: Is there the disparity between the wealthy and the poor in Canada like there is here? Maybe that has something to do with it. People who’ve got it are going to hang onto it regardless if they do it with a shotgun in their back yard or by buying a politician.

Mario: The people who are most violent about keeping onto their stuf