So yes, I’ll admit, my past few posts have been a bit introspective and gloomy. This one will have gloomy bits as well, but for a different reason. But I am getting ahead of myself.
My heart and belly full, I headed north on the Pacific Coast Highway to Green Gulch Farm, where, inspired by my interest in Honoring the Path, I would be spending the next two weeks as a Guest Student. Cresting the coastal range, I was treated to a sign normally seen from the air: a blanket of fog covering the valley below. Slowly I descended the twisty road, going ‘IFR’ shortly before I reached farm’s driveway. The dirt track wound through an eucalyptus grove, the dark green leaves hanging from white and tan smottled trunks cloaking my arrival as the sky darkened and the air took on a chill. Little did I know that I would not see the sun again for three days.
Green Gulch Farm was founded in 1972 at the direction of Shunryu Suzuki, the spiritual founder of San Fransisco Zen Center, as a place where lay practitioners could live and practice together. Located on a former working ranch in Muir Valley, the property includes family housing, several dormitories, a tea house, and the Green Dragon Temple. Over the years many notable gardeners have lived and practiced here including Alan Chadwick, who helped spread organic and biodynamic farming techniques in the US, and Wendy Johnson, the lead gardener for over ten years who now mentors aspiring farmers through the Edible Schoolyard program and the local community college. The farm’s grounds now include eight acres split between a fruit, herb and flower garden, and the vegetable farm.
The schedule Green Gulch focusses on work practice. We would wake at four thirty and sleepily make our way to zazen at five. The zendo, located in a converted barn modified to incorporate traditional Japanese design principles and temple features, is beautiful. The original wood beams and support structures, now sanded to a shine, rise two stories above a recovered plank floor. The early hour was dark, the temple lit only by the candles on the two altars, one to Manjushri (wisdom) and one to Tara (compassion), that sandwiched rows of black cushions from opposite ends of the temple. We would enter one by one, stepping in with the foot closest to the door, two steps, bow, then down a short staircase to find our cushions. It was cold, and as the service proceeded, it would soak though my sweater and chill my toes. The sitting intervals here were longer than I am used to, forty minutes. The first would include elements of the service, lighting the altar and ringing of bells. My mind would settle quickly but after an interval my legs would numb and then begin to ache. Slow walking would clear the kinks and slightly warmed by the movement, I would settle back on the cushion to watch the pine
After breakfast was work practice. Each work location had a small altar, and samu would begin with incense, a reading from Zen teachings, and a bow. As guest students, we would begin with dishes, then rotate through the different departments: chopping veg in the kitchen, pulling weeds on the grounds, cleaning the guest house, thinning and planting seedlings for the farm, and cleaning flower beds in the garden. We would break for lunch, vegetarian and prepared with produce from the garden, then continue for another three hours. In the late afternoon we would to clean our tools and close the practice. After this, we had free time for the remainder of the day.
The farm, located adjacent to the Muir Woods National Monument, is surrounded by miles of glorious trails. On the first few days, drained by the physical work, I ventured only as far as the beach at the bottom of the valley. It was so foggy and cold I would wear my winter parka, a bright of magenta in the sage and grey, returning from trail with mist dripping from my nose. On Tuesday there was a break in the clouds, with actual sunshine on Wednesday (the sky seems to be broken), and I took the opportunity to hike the coastal trail. Accustomed to the sheltered bay of my childhood, I was surprised when I looked south, where I could see past the mouth of the bay to Half-Moon and beyond. To the west was a line of ships on approach, dashes of reds and oranges on heir hulls and deck, distance belying their size.