Power Washers & Pantries

November 3, 2012

Never feel above an honorable calling, nor be afraid of the course frock or apron. Put your hands to work in the line of duty; dust on your garments and moisture on your brow neither shame nor disgrace. Better soil your hands than your character. Daniel Orcutt, Shaker

They say we learn something new every day…or at least we should. Well, today I learned how to use a power-washer. There’s a very attractive photo of me in action on another retreatant’s camera which I hope remains on that camera. So just take my word for it. Thomas (a Carmelite brother), Michael (one of the 5 retreatants) and I spent the morning washing the community’s “fleet”, which include: 1 older Bronco, 1 older Subaru, 1 older Corolla, 1 older minivan, 1 large Truck, and 1 newish Rav4. Perpetual dust is a major downside to the desert, as my nostrils have learned quickly. So, we spent the better part of 3 hours removing layers of dust from all but the Rav4. And then we got to powerwash! I have to admit it was fun for about 10 minutes and then I was happy to hand off the hose to Michael, whom I suspect was itching to return to gender equilibrium after vacuuming and dusting.

I was itching for chore time to end so that I could take care of some important business. Now don’t judge! But the sight of my “pantry” when I arrived made my stomach churn with anxiety. 

I have developed a very close relationship with food over the years. I’m often preoccupied, if not worrying, about the when/where/what of my next meal, as if I’d spent time in a refugee camp as opposed to a middle-class suburban home. And again, unlike a refugee situation, I’m increasingly picky about what I consume, particularly objective to the 2 deadly ingredients: HFCS (high-fructose corn syrup) & partially hydrogenated soybean oil. I don’t buy items if I see these on the label and I try to limit how much I eat unless absolutely necessary. (One plus to leaving my office is escaping the candy and snack food hanging around tempting me each and every day!) Anyway, after a quick label scan of the canned goods and peanut butter that stocked my panty, I panicked. What will I eat for 5 weeks? Will I have to succumb to the deadly ingredients just to survive?? I can’t! I won’t!!

I’m being slightly dramatic. I did have some “safe” food at my disposal: potatoes, onions, eggs, cheese, whole wheat bread, fruit, rice, quinoa, lentils, pasta, granola, tuna fish, and raisins. And even now as I type it out I realize that the above list was sufficient fuel. Not to mention, we cook & eat 3 meals a week together in the main kitchen and we can restock our individual supply from that kitchen whenever necessary. Oh, and there’s the 3 pack of Trader Joe’s dark chocolate bars that I brought for emergency purposes. Nonetheless, I convinced myself that I needed some supplements. So, I laced up my hiking boots, strapped on my backpack and walked what felt like 5 miles into town (though I think it was about half that.) Have I mentioned the altitude? 8000 ft. and sea level are significantly different heights!

The town of Crestone might need its own post. Let me just say for now that I had seen all I cared to see in the first 5 minutes and was ready to return to the civility of a 1 room hermitage in the desert. But first, I loaded my backpack at Curt’s Country Store (which looked more like a mini-Whole Foods than a Cracker Barrel). Except for peanut butter, which “Curt” was out of, I can’t recall what I thought I desperately needed to buy. But here’s what I returned with: yogurt (for the granola), milk (to bring my oatmeal to the next level), cinnamon (because everything is better with cinnamon), flax seed (because it seemed like a good thing to have for a mostly vegetarian diet), concentrated cherry juice (to jazz up my liquid repertoire of water and hot tea; and it was the right size to carry back), and blue corn chips (well, because they were on sale and every shopping trip deserves one impulse buy, right?)

My pantry (and stomach) are now less anxious.