Tag Archives: Wilson Alvarez

The deer people

Day 51

photo by Wilson Alvarez

photo by Wilson Alvarez

I went running at dusk today, felt the ground disappear beneath my feet; watched the world soften and blur with each sharp intake of breath, each thump of my pounding heart.

And for a moment I was one of the deer people, invisible in the graying twilight, each cell awake, humming , the razor wire awareness that can only come from living with predators; being prey.

And then tonight, preparing the venison to roast. Slicing the carrots, celery. The thump of the knife on the cutting board, garlic, onions; salty tears.

She was a victim of the road, left to die, left to lay like trash, like nothing. Our friend lifted her limp body from the cold ribbon of road, took her home, called Wil for a lesson in skinning, butchering.

He came home proud, with tenderloin, a roast, arms covered in blood up to the elbows.

And now, it’s not clear who is who. Because that deer fed us. Filled our bellies with warm meat, colored our cheeks with goodness, and laughter, and talk.

An ancient trade: She gave her life for ours; she left her family to feed mine.

So then, in a very real way we ARE the deer people.

Flanks heaving, hooves pounding, shapeshifting,



Thank you.

I love you.

I am sorry.

Please forgive me.


Thank you for listening,



photo by Michelle J.

photo by Michelle J.

Our guest post tonight comes from my dear friend and kindred spirit Sarah H. She asked me to post this footage of “the rally at Franklin Forks” from her “friends up north”, who are fighting the monster that is fracking, the exploitation of the very bedrock we stand on. We are in solidarity with you friends. You are not alone in this fight. Thank you for sharing Sarah.


Thank you Grasshog

Day 30

The doggies killed a groundhog on our doggie walk at the park near our house this morning.

The groundhog didn’t suffer, I made sure of that with a quick and final blow to the back of the neck, an instant sever of the link between brain and spinal cord.

Revie was in his stroller, looking at the trees and sky, and I tucked the limp body beneath him in the pouch at the bottom of the stroller, and we walked back home.

Then,  in our backyard, next to the junglegym, we said our thanks to the “grasshog” as my nephew called her, skinned her, and butchered up her meat.

photo by andrea h.

photo by andrea h.

We looked at her delicate little feet, 4 toes in front, 5 in the back. And we gently pressed them into the surface of the soil to see what her tracks might have looked like.

And we made a stew from the meat with squash, and onions, and sweet potatoes, and kale from the garden.

And we marveled at the amazing taste.

And I’m telling you this,

because when I talk about reconnecting to our landbase,

I mean it not in a philosophical brain and feeling kind of way, although that is part of it,

but in a very real, knees dirty, hands sticky with blood, forehead sweaty kind of way.

I mean learning everything we can about the world around us so we can again take our rightful place in the grand scheme of things once again.

I mean learning how to grow food, and meat, and what is safe to eat in the forest and the meadow, and learning to hunt, and trap, and learning to tend our wildlands so we have greater biodiversity and carrying capacity.

I mean actually weaning ourselves off the products the corporations have to offer us. A gradual, and conscious rejection of their packaged foods, their bottled water, and their plastic junk.

And a replacing of their soul-less things with wild foods, goods we make ourselves, and the company of friends and family.

These skills will feel unfamiliar at first, and we will be clumsy.

But a sleeping part of ourselves,

will slowly awaken

And one day, when you lay down with your baby for a nap in the afternoon, you’ll smell the faint scent of groundhog on your hands, and it will call up misty distant memories, visions, of sun kissed afternoons spent amongst flowers and trees, and the sweet taste of clover, and the comforting dark of the deepest burrow.

And you will know in all your cells, and all the parts of yourself,

What it truly means to be connected.

Thank you for listening,



Tonight, we are lucky enough to have another insanely beautiful guest post from Sarah H. tonight, one of the most passionate and rebellious women I know. I’m proud to call her my friend. Love you Sarah, thank you for your words.


 The inspiration for this poem came from listening to Scott Mann’s September 24th Permaculture Podcast, titled “Restoring Eden: Zone 4 Permaculture with Wilson Alvarez and Ben Weiss”. The idea that humans are meant to live with wild/natural ecosystems, having the responsibility to nurture the wild, and subsequently thriving; spurred a rather deep, nothing short of- spiritual conversation. I began seeing the wild where human design dominates, asking, “If I can go to the wild, than why can’t the wild come to me?” It is an attempt to merge humanity with the wild, to foster the emergence of something new and ancient.

wild: human environment

“You were once wild here, don’t let them tame you.”

Isadora Duncan (May 27, 1877 – September 14, 1927, Russian-

American dancer)

“And the walls became the world all around.”

Maurice Sendak, Where the Wild Things Are

“To be human is Zone 4; to be human is wild.”

Wilson Alvarez, The Permaculture Podcast with Scott Mann 9/24/13,

Restoring Eden: Zone 4 Permaculture with Wilson Alvarez and Ben



the way you part the curtains


black on light


gelatinous coughing

into the bathroom sink-

furry moisture

chipping at the chest…


dream fading

into a new




on the morning glass

wild salmon dawn-


stacked city yards


amateur porn

frozen on an open screen;

sometimes getting it right…

a forget the camera-


wild bird squawk

or the delay-

of a screen door shutting?

wild bark

in shoe soles

scratching cement, between

boxcar after

wild boxcar

artists’ hot

pink neon



sick and

wild beautiful commentary

all poor nutrition,

wild mind…

wild foraging behind


greasy pizza joint

puke on a hot day smell

wild stinging of the

ether television

billboard signs


monster-sized steel structures

intimidate amputated trees

wild favorite pair of

jeans sway on the line

wild friend


motor running, insect-ile



bronze october dandelions

stomped out by skateboards and

kids getting off the bus

wild stalks of gray-purple flowered basil

mowed-down in the fence


demon traffic


like rushing water


clips of radio

wild blurps of the same love song

or wild rap, salsa

maybe punk rock

wild stretch mat

forward fold

wild stiffness



of fast leaves


a figure dancing through the streets…

wild core

wild cure

wild stick in the mud

wild sit on a rock

wild plants in teapots


Here is the link to the permaculture podcast by Wilson and Ben