Today the snows arrived. Outside my bedroom window the shingles of the roof were first bare, then slightly dusted. Now upon them lies 6 to 12 of glorious powder.

The secondary streets have not been touched; those intrepid enough to walk do so in the parallel paths unintentionally plowed by those even more daring drivers.

From my office windows a dizzying haze engulfs the otherwise familiar, forlorn walls and forgotten facades. It is quiet.

The office downstairs is closed, the sounds of students stomping their boots on welcome mats is absent today; who knows in what other pleasures they indulge.

The few cars that brave the road pass with barely a sound, in affirmation, perhaps, of our electric days ahead.

But then it comes… wait, can you feel it? Vibrations jar ahead of the orange lights as they come flashing by, illuminating our control over nature, if only fleetingly; they’ll be back many times yet.

How can I contrast this day with yesterday’s pristine blue skies and silent sun among the glades? Far be it for me to say, for soon too the shoveling and scraping will become tiresome.

But for now, for this rare moment, I seek only to be enveloped, to be swallowed fully by the snows.

I had a very interesting night. Joining my roommate and some of his friends, I traveled to the Turner Grange. There we participated in a community dinner followed by entertainment. Going into this I wasn’t even really sure what a grange was, but thanks to this event I found out that a grange was (and to some extent still is) a sort of society for farmers. Thanks to Wikipedia, I can further tell you that the Grange (or the National Grange of the Order of Patrons of Husbandry,) was meant to encourage interaction for farmers’ cultural and political good. In this regard alone, the idea is fascinating. Much like the old fraternal orders of yore, these organizations served as the cement for communal action.

Tonight’s event was sponsored by a collective – basically a group of people around my age who share a farm – what one might call a commune. For a donation we were able to feast on locally prepared meals, ranging from pumpkin soup to lentils and beans. Following the meal we all had access to the desert table which was piled high with scones, pies and cakes.

After having eaten our fill we all made our way upstairs to the hall, the true showcase of the building. Far from grand but not modest, the room was flanked by large windows and contained a stage up front. The first performer of the night was a storyteller/mime, and although mime experiences have historically been far from positive, this guy was very funny. Following that there was an auction for local items such as pottery, cakes and crafts. Instead of a regular auction, though, each person would bid a dollar, thus increasing the “worth” of the goods being auctioned. The auctioneer always got a laugh from the crowd when he said “going twice,” only to see a bunch of hands shoot up at once – it was a very clever twist that allowed everyone to participate.

After the auction a local folk group took the stage and sung some truly powerful songs. One was about the cocaine trade, the other was about corporate executives, and others were more mellow odes to the earth and family. It was a moving experience. I had a conversation with one of the women who is kinda part of the collective and we ruminated on how the pursuit of the material seems to have reached its zenith in American culture and that the revival of community is perhaps the only way to save our endangered social institutions.

Tonight’s event was a fitting follow-up to the speaker we had at Friday’s VISTA meeting. After seeing Anouar Majid, a scholar and professor of English at the University of New England, on Bill Moyers Journal, I gave him a call and asked him to speak at our meeting. Luckily he agreed and on Friday, in Bowdoin’s stately Moultin Union, he spoke passionately to us about the need for dissent in both American and Islamic culture. Majid’s latest book, A Call for Heresy, outlines his beliefs. But in person he was even better, drawing in the whole audience. For me it was a great victory to bring him to address not just the VISTAs but also my organization’s steering committee – all too often their meetings are less than animated, so I thought it was crucial for us all to get a shot in the arm to re-focus and inspire. It was also wonderful to see everyone and take time to share about our individual successes and hardships. I’m proud of my team.

Below are some pictures from recent things I’ve been up to, including my recent trip to Chicago where I attended a national conference for VISTA Leaders. I’ll have more about that, perhaps, but for now, enjoy:

American life can be overwhelming and thus doing something the simple or old fashioned way can be very satisfying. During my time in Romania, I would often bake a chicken and make mashed potatoes. Since my kitchen there was outfitted with only basic utensils, I did it all by hand, and thus the process ended up taking about 2 hours. During that time I’d read and wait as the aroma of chicken and the steam from the boiling potatoes rolled out from the kitchen, slowly spreading throughout the entire apartment.

The other day, as I was shopping at Hannaford (it was in the cereal isle, confronted with 100 choices of corn bran and wheat products,) I realized that I had not baked a chicken since I had been back. And so tonight I did.

What is the joy of cooking a chicken, you may wonder? Well, unlike a pre-packaged breast or thigh, the bird is a bit unwieldy and you must really touch it during the preparation phase. First you rinse it, then brush it with oil and rub spices all over. This last bit is very satisfying because it is the point at which you can begin to really smell and anticipate the taste of what is to come. Of course it’s not all glamorous. You have to be careful to wash your hands and anything that comes into contact with the raw chicken, but I believe that this is a small price to pay for being connected to what one eats.

As the chicken was baking and the potatoes boiling, I finished a book and thought of how grand and wonderful life ought to be. The reward was as I expected, a familiar delight, a luxury brought about by time, an understanding that faster is not always better, and that more is relative. I’m not sure where that chicken came from, other than the store, so my whimsical moment really only extends so far; yet I am both content with where I have taken it and constantly striving to see where it goes next.