A question of convenience

In July I joined the food co-op Suzie Lerma with Sol Food Market set up. When I first heard there was a co-op, I wasn't sold on the idea but wanted to support Suzie and her efforts to provide our small town with wholesome, organic and healthy foods.

I had never been a member of a co-operative and really wasn't too sure what it meant. Nor had I ever made a conscious effort to consume seasonal produce. I was fairly aware that some of our supermarket foods travel tremendous distances - like grapes from Chile and spinach from Mexico - and I had started limiting my purchases to items grown only in the western states. But I was fascinated with the idea of consuming produce based on season and locale.

A co-op, I read, is when consumers pool their resources together and share in the benefits. With our co-op we pay a monthly fee which funds the time, effort and costs in ordering and obtaining produce each week. In return, we receive wholesale pricing on locally grown, seasonal and (mostly) organic produce. We are also expected to share in the work load. Only one hour per month. So, on a Tuesday, I joined three other members to sort through fresh produce and put together orders. Working side-by-side in the cool space of Sol Food's walk-in refrigerator I began to connect with these other members in my community and the food I was taking home. A connection with food I hadn't experienced since high school when I went to our garden to pick tomatoes, lettuce and cucumbers for our evening meal.

This got me interested. A little research revealed the importance of having local food available. I found out that yields from organic farms are equal to the yields of conventional farming - e.g., farms using pesticides. That farmer's markets and co-op's support what are considered small farm operators - those with under $250,000 in sales per year. And that small farm operators make up 94% of farms in the United States. Also, through farmer's markets and co-op's - low income families have access to fresh, organic and healthy foods.

Perhaps most interesting is the trend and growing desire to obtain fresh products. The number of farmer's markets has increased each year since 1995. This urban/farm linkage provides people with a connection to their food source and personal interaction. Not to mention it's a source of income and allows farmers to stay in the business of farming. I was curious so I asked Suzie if I could join her on one of her weekly trips to purchase produce for the co-op.

She invited me to tag along on her Tuesday route: Five hours from start to finish. We left Big Bear at noon with the goal of arriving in Upland no earlier than 1:30 p.m. to meet Doug and purchase 48 bottles of raw milk. Because raw milk is strictly regulated, there are only two dairies in California allowed to sell it and both are located in Northern California. Doug drives north on Monday afternoons, picks up the raw milk from the dairy and returns to Southern California. He drives all night so he can deliver the product fresh to his customers the following day. Because his route doesn't take him anywhere near Big Bear, the all cash deal takes place in Doug's driveway - a ubiquitous neighborhood of three-car garage homes with views of the San Gabriel Mountains.

With the milk on ice we drive east towards Redlands, making a quick stop at Clarks - a whole food store in Loma Linda. After purchasing a few hard-to-find items for the co-op we cut through the rolling hills that run parallel to the 10 freeway. A canyon framed by sun scorched hills leads us past a series of farms. The temperature is in the nineties and you can see the heat rising from the pavement. Crossing railroad tracks we follow a single dirt lane past a mobile home and a trio of barking dogs. The road ends at a concrete hacienda with a broad porch shaded by two oak trees. Behind the home, several acres of farm head off toward the hills.

The farmer, also named Doug, ducks under a clothes line of white cotton tee-shirts and greets us. He tells me he has another 20 acres down the road. Though he farms most of it he leases a few acres to other growers. In a cool room Suzie and Doug get down to business - sorting through sweet, red and russet potatoes, green, red and yellow bell peppers, melons and cantaloupes and a box of cucumbers. Suzie picks the vegetables she wants handing back those that are over ripe. Doug hands us two Israeli Melons to take home and sample. I wander outside with Benji - Suzie's seven-month-old son - to view the crops. The smell of dirt is heavy in the air and a tractor sits ready in the middle of a field. I learn that Doug also supplies produce to Wolfgang Puck's chain of restaurants in West Los Angeles, participates in the Farm to School Program and sells his fruits and vegetables at a number of large markets in Los Angeles and Ventura counties.

The earthen aroma is intense in the car as we drive highway 38 back to Big Bear. During the ride our conversation is easy: We discuss the importance of obtaining our foods locally and the environmental sustainability of organic farming. We talk about the deep connection we feel when you know the farmer who tilled the land, planted the crops and picked the food. That relationship we miss when we settle for the convenience of a large grocery store. While I still shop at Vons, I purchase my produce from Sol Food. I'm sold on the concept Suzie introduced - not because it is cheaper than the alternative but because it is the better alternative. Plus I have a deep connection with the food I eat - I've met Doug and I want him to continue to farm his land and provide for his family.

Over the Handle Bars

I LOVE mountain biking. It is a sport I never thought I would pursue. When I lived in Los Angeles I was a triathlete and preferred my road bike. I couldn't understand why anyone would ride dirt. It's much harder than riding smooth pavement. The bikes are heavier and the downhill a bit scary. Then I moved to the mountains.

Looking for a spin class one May morning, a local instructor said, "It's nice out - we don't ride indoors anymore." I was intriqued. "Do you have a bike?" she asked. "Yes, I do," was my response. I met her and four other girls at 5:30 a.m. at the Triangle in Fawnskin. We rode Grout Bay. It was almost magical, the light illuminated the wild flowers that lined either side of the trail. The ride was equal parts laughter and hard work. And even though the mountain bike I owned was a rusty, 36 pound, nine-year old Haro with an inch of travel, I still had a good time. Six weeks later, on my 40th birthday I bought a hardtail Specialized Stump Jumper. Then I dragged my boyfriend out on a rental bike and showed him how much fun it was. He was hooked and bought a Cannondale hardtail with a Lefty fork.

These last three summers have been about exploring the trails in my community. Meeting for early morning rides and developing friendships that will last a lifetime. My riding abilities have also improved. I rarely ever fall. Except for these last two weeks: My first was impressive. I sailed over my handle bars hitting a log drop. The log caught my chain ring and stopped my bike. I continued on, however, and scorpioned onto the trail with dirt the consistency of powdered sugar. I lay motionless, starfished in the center of the trail mentally scanning my body for injury. I felt only one rock jabbing at my right hip. Hearing another rider come down behind me, I reluctantly moved to the side. Covered in dirt I tried to brush it off - I couldn't. I wore it like a badge of honor as I climbed up yet another fire road for one more descent. Get back in the saddle, right? It took two showers to remove every particle but otherwise I was fine.

My second fall was stupid. I was crusing a relatively easy trail thinking how lucky I was to live in such close proxmity to great mountain biking when my front tire was swallowed by soft sand. As my bike went right, my body flew left. I let out a yelp before I hit - vocalizing the reality of my landing: Two very sharp rocks. My knee cap took one while my shin took the other. Though I couldn't walk for a couple of minutes, I did recover and rode back to my car. It has made teaching yoga a bit challenging this week and added to the army of scars I have accumulated since taking up the sport. But, again, I was fine.

Overall I am glad I fall. While I am not happy about the bruises or the pain - neither are permanent. Much like when we have challenging issues arise in our daily lives. It's hard to remember that even though the 'bruises' and 'pain' are still visible and palpable they aren't permanent. And this, I believe, is a really good thing. It allows us to learn and come that much closer to the essence of our true selves.

Why Yoga Rocks!

I don't do this often, but let me get on my soapbox for a moment. First, I need to take my shoes off - I want to connect with the wood, feel the grain beneath my soles, and I'm a clutz.

Ahem. Why Yoga Rocks! by Cathleen Calkins

First, let's get the obvious out of the way: It's good for the body. Yoga strengthens not only the prominent and more popular muscles of the body such as the gluts, quads and hamstrings, it works the muscles we don't often think about. The muscles that assist breathing and the muscles that make up the spine.

Yoga opens tight areas like the hips, shoulders and neck. It works on the connective tissue - the ligaments and fascia. This helps us maintain a youthful flow in our movements even as we age.
Yoga is also great for the internal organs. It moves them around, nourishes them with blood, fresh oxygen and energy. Invigorating each organ, maintaining health.

But here is where it gets interesting - more complicated but simpler at the same time. Yoga rocks because we breathe. Yep, it's the breath. Through the breath we foster community - within ourselves at first. When we breathe we calm down, we are peaceful, aware and conscientious. We forgive ourselves and acknowledge our short comings. We are driven to become happier and better humans. We accept our bodies - no longer sitting in judgment but accepting who we are for just that - who we are. The good and the bad. And as we begin to care a little bit more about ourselves a strange thing happens: We begin to care a little bit more about those around us. The people closest to us, in our lives and we even begin to let new people in. There is impact when we relax. Gripping the steering wheel less, we driving slower and let others into our lane.

Then it moves beyond us. To others. From the family at home and our co-workers, to the people we pass in the grocery aisle or strangers on a hiking trail. To keep it simple, I like to define all of these encounters as our communities. The communities we move in and through. If we move in and through these communities calmer, more at peace and accepting of ourselves we begin to transfer these feeling. Becoming calmer and more accepting of others. This is peace. No longer antagonistic, jealous or angry - just peaceful.

Okay - so you're screaming at the computer - But what about the other guy? He just cut me off on the freeway and scared the heck out of the old lady ahead of me. Well, my answer is this: It's a choice. What if we all choose to be like the other guy? Sit with this for a moment. Can you imagine? No one would ever get to where they were going, we would all be cutting each other off, clogging up traffic with accidents which would lead to sig alerts and affect everyone - not just the other guy.

Now think of the other extreme. Everyone walking around in a state of bliss. A dopey grin on your face that is contagious. On the road, traffice would flow. We would all move forward and this would affect everyone, including those behind us and those in front of us.

In reality, some of us understand this connection and impact we have on others and some of us don't. Still we are all one and our choices leave a mark on our communities - good and bad. Think of how one angry person infects those closeby. Now think of how peace plays out in the same situation.

In short, yoga rocks because through our practice we become more aware of just how much power we have to impact the communities we move in and through - good and bad.

The end. Stepping down now. Putting on my shoes and walking away. Namaste'

Finding Still - ness

The last two weeks have been a blur - opening a yoga studio while attempting to be somewhat productive and work has been a challenge. Wonderful, but a challenge none-the-less. What started as a notion to have a space dedicated to yoga - where I could hold a class without limitations such as having to move furniture or exercise equipment - has turned into something so much more. A studio with choices, other instructors, a variety of styles, and new ideas. Somewhere even I could go and practice. In fact, the best part of last week was attending an Ananda Yoga class with Jen. I settled into my mat, followed along, meditated and relaxed into savasana.

I came to the name of Still because of my own issues with finding calm. It is hard for me to find stillness - physically and pschologically. Though moving from the frenetic pace of the big city to a small town in the mountains has helped me find quiet, it is really through yoga that I am truly able to find stillness in my thoughts, my breath and my movement. Yoga, to me, is a moving meditation. I was initially drawn to yoga because of the physical asanas - the energetic vinyasas and strength required in balancing poses. But as I progressed, I found that with intense physical focus comes the ability to be mentally calm and land in an almost breathless state.

So with this, I am back to work - struggling to get everything done so I can make it to the 5:00 pm Ananda yoga class with Jen.

Why do we judge?

We all do it. I do it. It doesn’t make it right, but it does offer us an opportunity to really know ourselves.

I pre-judge, come to a quick summary based on an action, a look, an event, a sound and quickly come up with a label. I don’t do this as often as I did 25 years ago, but it still occurs, and when it does it is so disarming. Now, my strategy is to stop, acknowledge judgement and sit for a moment with the feeling I created. Where did this notion come from? Is there something going on right now with me? Am I resistent to the idea being proposed? Is this something I see in myself and am now rejecting? And most importantly: What am I missing out on by snapping to this conclusion? This is when I soften. I don’t berate myself for judging. I do not judge myself but rather acknowledge my action, locate its source and move on to the next moment. I let go with more awareness and am a better person for it. Although not perfect, I am better armed for the next time I draw a quick conclusion about someone or some thing.

I bring this up because I worked through this yesterday in my yoga practice of all places. I set the alarm for 5:45 am to attend a 6:15 am Hatha Blend class. When the alarm sounded I just wanted to turn it off, roll over and finish my eight hours. But I knew I would just lay there – mostly awake – until it was time to jump in the shower and go to work. Not to mention - I hate regrets. So, tired and cranky I arrived for class about five minutes early, set my self up in a supported Supta Badha Konasana coupled with ujiya pranayama. I thought it gave me the separation I needed between my alarm and the practice. The instructor started us in Tadasana, but as I folded into Uttanasana, I couldn’t stop thinking “This isn’t going to work; I don’t think I like her voice or direction. Can I leave? What time is it?” As I struggled to still my mind and move into the next pose, I decided to figure out why I was feeling this way. With a few breaths I found the source of my discomfort and basis of my judgment - I was tired and cranky and I really didn't want to be there. It had nothing to do with the instructor, her manner or her voice. I opened and sank into one of the best practices I have had in a long time. Completely aware and humbled.

I hate when I judge – it’s impulsive and unnecessary. But I love that I can acknowledge. And without beating myself up too much move on, have a great experience, meet a new and interesting person or have a memorable yoga practice.

The words we use ...

Leading a yoga practice can be challenging: Providing students with correct cues at the appropriate time, setting the pace of practice and breath, coupled with identifying the proper orientation of the body without mixing right with left and left with right. But finding words to communicate the practice of yoga can make the task of teaching even more daunting. How often can I use ‘melt’ to describe Savasana? Can the word ‘soften’ be used repeatedly when explaining what the eyes, throat, shoulders and lower belly should be doing in Tadasana? As a writer, redundancy just doesn’t sound good – whether in print or in yoga practice. I am constantly on the lookout for new words to add to my yoga vocabulary. Last week I heard the word ‘trace.’ Instantly I fell in love with its sound, its grace and its effectiveness. Trace your breath - in through your nose and along the base of the throat as it fills your lungs. I can’t use it enough. As you soften your shoulders into the front of your chest and down your back, trace the length of the spine and draw your tailbone towards the floor. It’s so lovely. In Reverse Warrior reach your right hand towards the sky and feel the flow of energy from your right big toe to your pinky, tracing its course in three long, smooth cycles of breath.

Are there other words so versatile and effective? I hope so. Stumbling upon the word trace gave me inspiration in my own practice and a sense of freshness in my classes.

The Yin and Yang of Yoga Practice

I decided to stop for a yoga class in Temecula on my way to Carlsbad last Sunday. I dropped in at the Living Yoga Center (http://www.living-yoga.com/) and took Vicki's class, a Level I-II flow. I set my intention in Supta Badha Konasana: To venture to my edge personally and physically. An easy and sensible asana sequence followed and as I sank deeper into each pose, I opened up. I pressed my shoulders apart in Triangle, engaged my core in Half Moon and melted into Balasana - arms extended, plams flat on the mat. I was so elated - I felt a glimmer of my previous yogini self. Even merging into traffic on I15 South did nothing to deter my hopeful mood.

After spending a day and 1/2 visiting with an old friend and working on my tan, I traveled north to Los Angeles. Anxious to return to the mat and test my shoulder once again, I stumbled upon a yoga class at the Westside YMCA. Valucha greeted me, asked a few questions and then cranked the music until it vibrated the small mirrored room. She performed a series of poses while the rest of us sat on our mats attempting to quiet ourselves. A few minutes passed and Valucha returned to us. She spoke directly to me and wanted me to know that if I didn't like her teaching style I could leave at any time. I assured her I wouldn't and would stay the course. I have to admit this was a bit strange. She had a beautiful flow about her, an accent with a sweet cadence and a class full of returning yoginis and yogis - why would she invite me to leave before we even began our practice?


I know I am not always confident when teaching and I realize my style or even my voice are not for everyone. I don't take it personally. I just hope they forge ahead and try another style or class. Different teachings is the single thing I find so interesting about the practice of yoga. That 'ah-hah' moment of self-discovery, of what works for you at that given moment. It is so intriguing.


Will I return to Valucha's class? Probably not, it wasn't really for me. But I did learn more about myself and my own yoga practice, and I will always be grateful that I stayed the course and didn't accept her invitiation to leave.

Dedication fades to disaster!

Finally had a chance to attend a yoga class at Yogaworks' new South Bay studio. Plenty of parking, great feel, a multitude of offerings and two rooms for practice. I decided on the 6:00 a.m. Vinyasa Flow Level 2/3 with Kimberly Needham. Having not attended a rigorous practice since February and nursing a separated shoulder - I was a disaster!

Every time I would connect with my breath, loose myself in a pose or begin to melt into the mat, either my shoulder would scream out its dismay or my lapse in a dedicated practice would become painfully obvious. The result: Any slight connection to my breath would be given up to frustration. My own fault really - I have not allowed my shoulder to heal and I have done nothing more than meditate sporadically in the last two months.

As I settled into svanasana I realized that despite my struggle with the physical challenges , it was my mental focus and state of presence that had suffered the most decline. It wasn't the injury, it was the total abandonment of a consistent yoga and meditation practice. I guess Thursday morning I was ready to confront and understand the repercussions of deserting myself entirely.

Oh, how far we fall... It reminds me of when I was a rock climber. Dedicated to developing my finger strength and comfort with heights and exposure, I would spend three evenings a week at an indoor climbing gym and at least one weekend day outside on real rock. I was able to climb with grace and finesse and conserve energy by not wigging out when I moved up and beyond my protection. And then, slowly, I shifted on to other things, tended to life's little castrophes and began to climb infrequently. Now, when I do manage to spend a day climbing with friends I hear myself quantifying my current ability with "when I used to be a climber, I could ..."

Am I heading down this path with Yoga? "When I used to be a yogini, I could..." Hmmm, I don't think so. My practice has taken on new energy since Thursday. I think I was in need of being humbled and welcome it. A little taste of what might be lost is always a great motivator and makes a lasting impression.

When you're on, you're on & when you're not...well, you recover.

I always get slightly nervous moments before I have to teach a yoga class. Not sure why - I have been teaching something or other for the last 10 years but yoga is different. I used to write a full sequence out an hour before teaching. I would include cues and weave a theme into them depending on what I wanted to focus on. Eventually I got away from having to rehearse prior to delivering the material asana by asana. It took up so much time. And in the end I found I only stuck to it for the first couple of poses anyway and winged the rest.

Nowadays, I come to the mat and class pretty open to what I see and feel. What needs to be released or attended to, or share something I read or discovered myself. Some days are better than others. The best days are when there is this tangible connection between me and my class. I get into the energy, they get into the energy and feed off each other, and I leave feeling as if I had participated in a lengthy and strenuous practice myself.

And then there are those others days, like this morning. Despite the space (less than ideal with thick wall-to-wall carpeting, mirrors on three walls and the disruptive sound of conversations by non-yogini's and yogi's), I just couldn't seem to settle in. The room was colder than usual and the heater blew loudly into one end of the studio overpowering my whirling sufi selection. It's trance-inducing-style lost in the drone of rumbling hot air in the ducts above . Ugh...I thought. I looked at the clock more than usual, moved through a heat-building standing sequence and quickly settled into twisting dragon. Still, no connection - not even with my breath or my voice, until finally it was over. Somewhat apologetically - and probably a bit unethical - I invited my sole practitioner to attend other classes I taught in the area.

As I drove home I started to think about a spin class I attended in Santa Monica this week. The teacher, popular in her own right, was subbing the time slot. There were about 10 of us in a room of 50 bikes. It didn't seem to phase her. She started a bit late, muddled through a couple of mixtapes finally settling on a climbing theme. This continued throughout the hour-long spin. Not a seamlessly presented class but I got a great workout, burned a few calories and was better for the effort. Truth is, I enjoyed the class even though it had this haphazard vibe the entire ride. She was herself, delivering a sucessful workout and unapologetic. Not sure if she was on or off - it didn't matter. I was in my head and feeling my gluts burn. Perhaps my sole practioner was doing the same and didn't even notice the things I found distruptive. Of course I have no control over the setting - it is what it is. But I can be myself, continue on and recover. Learning to stay in the moment rather than rushing to the end no matter what else is taking place, and realizing that others are probably doing the same.

Why Nomadic Yogini?

Why Nomadic Yogini? First, Nomadic represents a wandering lifestyle - moving from place to place - yet deeply present and purposeful. Yogini is me - someone who practices yoga. The two together describe what drew me to the practice of yoga almost 13 years ago. When I first started I was drawn by the physical asana. The coordination of muscles in each pose and the transitions, and the sweating. I never noticed my breath and only was aware I needed to breath when my teacher mentioned it. It took me a bit of time before I understood my breath and its purpose. It was my initial connection with the physical asana that allowed me to connect with my body and eventually connect with my breath.

At present, I come to the mat with my struggle to develop a consistent personal practice. I also come to the mat through teaching a multi-level, community vinyasa class. And, I come to the mat by wandering from studio to studio, dropping in when I travel or when I need a day of directed, intense asana. With each - whether alone, watching my incredibly wonderful vinyasa class or attending someone elses - I learn. And in between the three, I learn too.