An Organic Conversation Blog

Archive for the ‘Blog’ Category

Not to Take Anything For Granted

by Helge Hellberg | August 16th, 2009

Living in Northern California, this year’s Cherry season was extremely short. Late rains at the wrong time – just a few days before harvest –let the fruit split and made it unfit for the market.

I remembered a similar year last year with blackberries, there were almost none, blackberries that this year hang abundantly in thick dark clusters bursting with flavor and sweetness.

Every farmer knows that after a few years of great harvests, there will be a poor one, followed usually by another few years of good harvests.

So I wondered, “Why does nature go through these cycles?”

As I am preparing to visit my family in Germany for a few days, I am starting to understand. As I am packing my bags, say good bye to friends, my dog, my co-workers, and while I feel excitement about the trip and look forward to see my parents who are getting older every year (unlike me), there is a sense of sadness about leaving in my chest. I don’t mind flying, I will have a great time in Germany, and yet, already on my way to the airport, I know I will miss everything my life here holds. So actually, rather than sadness, it’s kind of a bittersweet joy of truly belonging, and knowing at the same time that I, and every other being, lives on borrowed time.

I am grateful that I am leaving so that I remember how precious my life here is, how much I love my friends, my work, and how lucky I got when my dog adapted me a few years ago.

After years of abundant cherries, this was a short season. The cherries were great, but the season washed over California in only a few short weeks, and now, at best, we have the very last crop from Washington at the markets, before in a week or so, by the end of August, we will have to wait another full year before we can taste the fleshy darkness of a perfect cherry, another full year before we can spit that stone again.

Nature has its ways of showing us what ever we need to learn and recognize in life – the feeling of truly belonging, the joy of an abundant harvest, the acceptance of things not coming in as planned – or leaving much too soon – and first and foremost, not to take anything for granted.

The Flavor of Language

by Helge Hellberg | August 12th, 2009

A couple of years ago I met a man from Lapland – which is the northern part of Sweden and Finnland – at Terra Madre, a gathering of food communities from around the world in Torino, Italy, organized by Slow Food.

He was Sami, a reindeer herder, and he was wearing beautiful clothes made out of felted wool and rain deer leather.

We ate some food together and in our conversation he shared that he knew 300 words to describe “snow”. He had a word for any kind of snow: slushy, dry, thick, snow that had freshly fallen, snow that had fallen on old snow that had turned to ice, snow that was about to melt, and a word for snow that would melt in a few hours – and 295 other words.

For him, there was nothing nostalgic about this, because he knew that his survival was depending on it.

300 words for snow, shared with other reindeer herders, to discuss what the safest route to take would be, on their thousand mile long trek from the endless grazing areas of the tundra in Northern Scandinavia to the place where some of his herd would be slaughtered and sold, just for him to start the journey all over again.

26 letters: the alphabet; a universe of possibility and diversity – all needed to describe the subtleties of nature and all her endless expressions.

The Sami and I were sharing food, eatable, and in the form of words, as well.

According to Webster’s Dictionary “Food” is defined as “something that nourishes us,” and “nourishment” is defined as “…to foster and sustain life.”

His 300 words for snow are sustaining his life. And his story has nourished me, ever since.

On Buddhism and Agriculture

by Helge Hellberg | July 24th, 2009

A few years ago, I studied holistic nutrition and the same year, I became lay ordained as a Buddhist teacher. During my studies, I found that there was a direct connection between the two disciplines.

In my nutrition class, as my final paper, I looked at the loss of nutrients in non-organic soils.

As a general rule, an organic farmer feeds the soil during and after each harvest by planting a cover crop and through other methods that enhance and build healthy soil, such as applying compost. In fact, soil management is a requirement under federal organic guidelines.

Non-organic farmers on the other hand, instead of the soil, feed the plants, and that is usually done by applying Nitrogen, Phosphorous and Potassium – NPK.

However, plants absorb a much greater variety of elements than those three, and as a consequence, soil, over time, gets depleted of essential nutrients.

So in my final paper, I wanted to know if there is any correlation of what is missing in non-organic soils and the most common diseases in the US. I picked the ones that cause the most deaths: heart disease, cancer, diabetes, stroke, and a couple of others – and what I found was amazing:

Heart disease, for example, the number one death-causing disease in the U.S. with 50% of all deaths. One of the most beneficial nutrients for optimal heart health is Selenium – a nutrient that is one of the most depleted nutrients in non-organic soils throughout the US.

So while all diseases are caused by a variety of factors such as lack of exercise, an unhealthy diet, or smoking, I found that exactly the nutrients that are known to be beneficial to prevent these diseases are the ones that are missing the most. Even the exact order of their depletion rate correlates directly with the order of the diseases that kill us the most.

So for me, there was a direct connection to Buddhism, a teaching that is anchored around happiness and kindness.

In relationship to soil it became clear that she gives us clothes, and food, and nourishment, and that when we are unkind to her, when she is incomplete, when she is hurting – so are we.

Harvest of Wisdom

by Helge Hellberg | July 17th, 2009

On a walk with my dog last week I realized that change is in the air. There was a sense of – dare I say it – fall in the air. I don’t want to create any kind of year-end overwhelm here and I am the greatest critic when the Christmas decoration in department stores goes up already at the end of October – and yet, in this case, I could swear I felt a tad of fall last week.

Maybe it was the light, which right now is as golden in the morning as it gets as we are only three weeks past summer solstice.

Maybe it was the wind and the way it made some dry leaves shuffle against each other

Maybe it was my memory; maybe I remembered these days and somewhere deep down I knew that summer is right here, right now, and that after the summer, fall will come.

I was reminded of the seasons, of this year, of time passing, the celebration of what is yet to come this year, the harvest, the bounty, the flavors of 09, the progression from spring to summer, from seed to carrot, from caterpillar to butterfly, from boy to man, from summer to fall.

And it is such an interesting little struggle – in my anticipation for the opening of the Point Reyes Farmers Market every year I can also hear the voice in my heart that says, “no, please don’t let that day ever come” – because that day will also be the beginning of the end.

So as we are seeing tomatoes and summer squashes ripen, and boys graduate, and girls become women, and dogs get older, I am walking into this season with a somber sense of gratitude – for the seeds that have become food, for the grapes that will soon be wine, and for the courage to accept that we can’t do anything about it, that this is just the way life is.

A good friend send me the following article:

“Why do leaves burst into color exactly? It’s a sort of magic trick, a sleight-of-leaf maneuver, in which the tree, sensing impending autumn, yanks the green from the leaf, thereby exposing the leaf’s true color. The “real” color of deciduous trees are the ones you see in autumn. Spring and summer are one long green disguise, a cacophony of chlorophyll.”

So the beauty, the color of fall, is not something that happens “to” the leaf, but is a revelation of what has always been.

Just as the leaf, the carrot, or the cherry, the boy, or the girl, life is about expressing our true innermost beauty, which is always inside of us. May this year’s harvest be abundant and full of wisdom.

The Touch of the Cook

by Helge Hellberg | July 13th, 2009

I had soup last Friday evening, made by a street vendor in the mission district in San Francisco, and on my way home I kept asking myself why soup tastes better a day or two old, rather than just cooked. When I asked that question while I was eating my soup, the street vendor said “Because the ingredients kind of melt together after a day or so, and the flavors come more out.”

So I wondered about our role, as humans, in this process. In this case, the onions would have never been caramelized to begin with, and of course they would have never met with the pureed zucchini to create a delicious organic vegetable soup – just like the cheese that carefully tended to and turned and knocked on and turned again would never become an award winning cheese. Or the wine that gets better ever year, or the balsamic vinegar that has been cared for for 15 or 20 or 40 years. Or the marriage, that, when it grows in the right direction, gets richer and more intimate year after year, and decade after decade.

While at the end nothing lasts, what would long have spoiled in nature can be kept alive, and what is great individually can become fantastic and turned into a new, beautiful, delicious, healthy, and vibrant form because of the attention and energy we give to it.

So when I had that soup last Friday, it was clear that I tasted more than good, organic vegetables that had been blended together well. I was tasting the touch of the cook.

How amazing that we have the capacity to add a secret ingredient to any process we choose. The one thing that make things so good, like soup, and sometimes even makes them last a whole lifetime, like balsamic vinegar, or a really good friendship.

The Story Of Your Food

by Helge Hellberg | May 30th, 2009

Last week, I experienced the importance of the story in the things I am engaging and surrounding myself with.

I started off with an internal debate about “self” in the context of the world. Where do I, Helge, start and where do I end? What is truly mine in this world of complete interconnectedness?

What’s my role, my contribution, what’s my personal life, and how really am I in the world? What is defining me, and what’s my community?

The internal conversation turned into a love song as the week progressed, and I realized that it is not about the self or the other, but that self only exists in the relationship to other. We manifest in the presence of the other – without the other there is no self. We are defined by our dignity and by our relationship to our food, our family, and our community.

Community in the sense of Aldo Leopold’s words: “to encompass all life forms: plants, animals, rocks, rivers and human beings.”

As I looked at my community, I understood that it is all about the quality, the story of the things that make our community that defines us.

First, consider the uniqueness of your life: In 30 million years of human evolution, you have never been here before – as far as we possibly know, no one has ever lived who has your thoughts, your body, your feelings, and your talents – what ever they may be. You are a “one time only” miracle in creation. You have never been here before, and you will never be here again. It’s about a 75 year or so snapshot in the space of time, during which you are comprised out of the endless possibilities of creation.

Imagine this: There are eight notes in an octave, and eight octaves on the keyboard of a piano, plus some half-tones – 88 keys in total. In addition, there are beats, and different styles, but basically, you can bring the majority of music in the Western World back to those eight notes as the framework of all classical and all pop tunes that were ever written and that will ever be written. There are some other scales in music in the Eastern tradition and in other parts of the world, but everything your ears are used to, from Beethoven to the Beatles, every melody, every lullaby, and every bird song is created within the frame of these eight notes.

Imagine the entire world of music comprised out of it – an endless universe of sound inspired by only eight notes, and eight octaves.

So now imagine what created you. The infinite number of possibilities, 30 million years of evolution, your great, great grandfather and how he met his wife to birth to your great grandfather, everything they ate, their sickness, their fortune, their destiny, where they traveled, the risks they took, what they said, and what they thought.

And that’s just your bloodline – imagine all the people they interacted with, the farmers that grew every bite of food that every single person in your bloodline ate throughout thousands of years – imagine all the farmers, all the bees, all the rain. Imagine all the animals that were involved, the thousands of miles of carts drawn by horses, the endless acres of land plowed, the millions of seeds planted.

All that, created you. You are an unprecedented composition, and only you will ever exist in this form.

And when it is your time to pass on, you will re-compose into another life form. Scientists found that the calcium in the spine of a grizzly bear is 80% of oceanic origin. The salmon has become the bear.

Einstein’s formula E=mc square says that energy and matter are the same – and we cannot create anything out of nothingness, nor can we destroy anything into nothingness.

So you have never been here before in this constellation, and yet, there is an old story in you, in all of us, in all the parts that made you. And when it is your time to pass on and to become another life form, your story will be added to the soil. So make sure it’s a good one, a healthy story, a happy one, full of love.

And make sure that in your lifetime you add good stories to your body, because every carrot has a story, and when you eat it, in minutes, you can measure that carrot in your blood stream. The carrot and its story will become you.

So make sure you know the story of your food. And make sure it’s a good story.

And when you have created a community of beauty, health, and dignity, then go and celebrate the opportunity of your uniqueness in this lifetime.

You are the one we’ve been waiting for.
We all are the ones we’ve been waiting for.

You Are Part Of The Mosaic

by Helge Hellberg | May 30th, 2009

“Each of us in our own way, with our own gifts, in our own time, can find a way to be part of this mosaic of a rising consciousness.”
Terry Tempest Williams

Food, Inc. – The Secret Lessons of a Film

by Helge Hellberg | May 27th, 2009

I was invited last week to be part of a preview of the film Food, Inc. (in theaters on June 12th), followed by a panel discussion with San Francisco Bay Area organizations such as Food and Water Watch, Pesticide Action Network North America, and the California Center for Public Health Advocacy – amazing organizations that have done fantastic work over the last years to change awareness and to make this world a better place.

Food, Inc. is an important movie for anyone who cares about food. It features interviews with Michael Pollan (The Omnivore’s Dilemma and In Defense of Food) and Eric Schlosser (Fast Food Nation), and reports on some of the darkest areas of cruelty in the production of the food that we eat.

The movie is extremely powerful, so much so that half way through the film I found myself torn between appreciating the intention and rejecting it for the cruelty it shows.

I was sitting in the theater knowing that I would be part of the panel discussion right after the film, and I had to make a choice – either to let this movie not fully affect me so that I can be the role of executive director, or let myself feel what I felt and not really knowing if I could give a great presentation afterwards.

I was struggling with that conversation in my body between heart and mind, trying to answer the question: How can I choose numbness or ignorance right now, when I am sad about the perceived numbness of the slaughterhouse workers in the movie that I am watching?

Finally, I chose to fully feel the movie.

Right after the film had ended I sat down to be part of the panel, yet I knew I couldn’t just launch into my regular talk. My heart was beating and the scenes of the movie were still very much in my head, and so I expressed on the panel that I am struggling with the message of the movie, with the display of cruelty and violence, and I was wondering if anything good could come out of it.

I said that I know that education is important but also that my inspiration comes from the work of Marin Organic – amazing farmers, stories from the land, progressive ideas and first and foremost, hope and beauty – and that I don’t know how we could possibly hold both – the dichotomy and necessity of displaying cruelty in the pursuit of creating beauty and positive change?

Isn’t the motivation out of watching cruelty always anger, or fear? Can there ever be anything beautiful come out of anger or fear or will that motivation follow through the entire creation, like a silk threat, and destroy the creation at the end because of its inherent weakness?

And who are we to display the organic movement as the solution and the food industry as the evil “other”, when it is all about engagement and integration and changing things by becoming a part of it, because, truly, we are already a part of it?

And so I went on and on.

The film and my internal conversation stayed with me the entire week.

I realized last night – while all these thoughts of course are valid – that my motivation that evening came at least in part from fear myself – the fear that if we don’t all love more, we will fail as a movement.

And by following my fear, completely without knowing, in debating my thoughts with the audience and building a space as in “me and the other” between me and my fellow panelists, I, myself created the second greatest force that stands in the way of transformation and positive change – which is “separation”.

Everything I so strongly stood against that night, the separation, the being motivated by fear, the “me and the other”, in that moment, I had become myself.

What an incredible lesson.

I finally got the full meaning of Gandhigi’s “Be the change that you want to see in the world”. I believe what he is actually saying is not to be different – and then feel right about it – but actually, simply, be more loving.

Food, Inc. – in theaters on June 12th. Difficult to watch, but perhaps important to watch it anyway. You decide.

Becoming Adult

by Helge Hellberg | May 23rd, 2009

When I seek ease in my struggles to accept the complexity of this world, I re-read this excerpt by Barry Lopez on becoming an adult:

“How is one to live a moral and compassionate existence when one is fully aware of the blood, the horror inherent in life, when one finds darkness not only in one’s culture but within oneself?

If there is a stage at which an individual life becomes truly adult, it must be when one grasps the irony in its unfolding and accepts responsibility for a life lived in the midst of such paradox.

One must live in the middle of contradiction, because if all contradiction were eliminated at once life would collapse.

There are simply no answers to some of the great pressing questions. You continue to live them out, making your life a worthy expression of leaning into the light.”

Barry Lopez

Love and Power

by Helge Hellberg | May 18th, 2009

“One of the great problems of history is that the concepts of love and power have usually been contrasted as opposites—polar opposites—so that love is identified with a resignation of power, and power with a denial of love….

What is needed is a realization that power without love is reckless and abusive, and that love without power is sentimental and anemic.

Power at its best is love implementing the demands of justice, and justice at its best is power correcting everything that stands against love.”

— Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.