Ike

A diary entry from New York

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A cabbage worm has hatched and flutters its white wings over the patch in silent elegance. Ike tells me the worms are integral to the lettuce’s health. 

For the last two nights we’ve slept on Ike’s land although he makes us feel as if it’s ours. He’s a clog-wearing handsome-cross between Gollum and Lance Armstrong with a funky hoop in his left lobe. Ike likes us because we like bikes, and we like him. He’s a good host and better human.

There’s a garden hoe in his hand and he’s doing his dailies to ensure the weeds don’t go to seed. ‘A couple hours a day saves eons in the long-term’ he tells us about ‘gardening’ we’re all on the same page. His place is a ‘Blue Zone’ and those are his words not mine. 

Marsh met Ike’s niece in Montana at Funksgiving in 2019 which is our only connection to this stereotypically Northeastern home-steader. He trusts us an unreasonable, if not perfect, amount. 

A mole with a shiny-brown tail scurries from the compost pile to the watermelon radishes and brings one back to its home. And again. I tell Ike and he quips back that ‘rodents need food too’. I can hear the white noise of the brook that encloses the perimeter of his solar powered four acre farm. And beyond is the emptiness of forest. Life is quiet here, solitary and he’s overjoyed by our youth, hankering for conversation, and palate for the home-brewed lemon-grass saison. 

We arrived some nights ago after a mission of sorts. It was three am and we were thankful for the jar of home-made granola perched on the outdoor bar-top that read: ‘granola vegan gf’. Lulu and Gordy’s barks woke him but he tells us he didn’t mind one bit and he meant it. He has clearly stealth camped on bikepacking trips before, because he sees Marshall and I. He really sees us. And that is the best gift we could ask for– better, even, than the permaculture and re-localization know-hows he’s passed along over the past couple days. 

I much prefer learning from people over YouTube, though that’s good too, and maybe, just maybe, it’s finally time to start getting my hands dirty when I return home. With full bellies and hearts the same, Marsh and I will continue our mission North.

We saddle up and he offers us some of his home grown nugs. He waves and tells me how nice it is to meet people our age, on the same path as he. I tell him the feeling is mutual and I mean it from every ounce of my being. 

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