A mud oven by any other name . . .

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Adobe . . . cob . . . mud.  An oven by any other name (‘hornos’ comes to mind) still bakes a mouth-watering bread.  Since our return from the East Coast, we have reveled in the dry thinness of our Taos, NM high-altitude air. We count our blessings continuously for such a beautiful home AND to have such incredible travels throughout the United States sharing messages of hope, inspiration, and beauty.

Our travels lit the well-laid fire within me to address environmental & social issues along with the spiritual. Climate change is very, very real. Every corner of this country is being affected by it. As our environment rapidly changes, so must we. Adaptability, flexibility, and non-attachment are useful practices to have under one’s belt.

The past ten days out here in the summer desert heat were filled with house cleaning, inspired writing and cob oven building.  The oven in our sage-brush yard defies all cultural delineation, shaped like good English cob-ovens, built of New Mexican adobe, and ready to bake some vegan cookies. It’s construction was home-grown activism, an impulse to wean ourselves from our natural gas oven.  Natural gas, extracted through the destructive practice of fracking, is a hot-button issue in nearby Mora County, NM. I heard rumors of it in my home state, Maine, and passed by communities in Pennsylvania already injured by it. Energy is a national issue. The personal becomes political through conscious choice.

Later this week, I sung my oven’s praises. It is alive, an ecosystem unto itself. A teacher. Enjoy this short excerpt of my written work. (For those who salivate in anticipation, the book is coming . . . someday soon.)

“. . .my hands are back in earth, digging. Scoops of clay-thick mud thwop firmly on a mound of packed down sand. My hair sneaks out from where it should be, pinned, and tries to slip with grass strands into mud. I tuck it back. As long as women have had hips and breasts . . . as long as men have caught the whiff of smoke and bread and something else . . . as long as curves and buns and loaves have been shared between our bodies; that is how long humans have been building ovens. . . She’s sensuous, my oven. She teaches me to sway the mud-lumps on my hips. She reminds me how long women have had breasts and breads and ovens. . . and how long we’ve shared ourselves with love.”

Be blessed and well wherever you are! Drop us a line! Rivera