Saturday, July 21, 2012

intro to 'to she:'



Not sure if there is a more ‘token’ metaphor, than that of the metamorphosis of a caterpillar into a butterfly; the transformation of one ‘creature’ into another; and let’s be honest, my science is bad, at best, however, I did read up on a child’s butterfly website, so I suppose that makes me qualified to dole out facts like Bill Nye or something. 
You hear it often, and my intention is not to emphasize or even highlight what happens within that cycle of life and transformation, however, I do hope to walk passed with thoughts, like I did this butterfly's dead body being eaten by ants; how moving, the imagery of that transformation and rebirth is, within the larger narrative of the butterfly’s very short lifespan. 
A 3rd grade field trip to Butterfly World taught me that an average butterfly lives about 12 days, and from my new favorite website, I learned that this number can be greater or less, but regardless, I remember thinking even then, that is a short span of time. Seems somewhat sad, that something so magnificent as metamorphosis, could be so shadowed with a near flash of an existence, and yet we very seldom hear much of the butterfly’s life, other than that sole event of newness into butterfly, never the short-lived, or otherwise tragic imagery of something so inspiring and beautiful, ceasing to be. 
And i want to capture that reality of that thinking, pack it into a rucksack, and travel the world; because truth is, I think most of us are cocooned in life’s possible failures, the what ifs, the potential dangers, potential tragedies; and what is the butterfly doing; he’s living, with nothing more than two weeks ahead of him, and so he always inspires, he is always called beautiful, he will always be the centerpiece for allegories and metaphors, and rightfully so. 
I want to live, so free of fear, so full of love, so intentionally hopeful, so mindful of of what i’m chasing after, that when i miss the target the memory of what i’m aiming at is nothing but sonnets and daisies, that when i fall short the dirt on the other bank will have been disturbed, that when my skiff is found empty eyes will subsequently scale the waterfall, that when loneliness makes camp the sun will set over a volcano i’ve never seen before, and when oxygen, no longer expands and contracts within my lungs, we'll know without question, that i am at last, truly breathing. 

to she:

you were a star
a hologram baseball card
and my father’s father’s guitar
you were gold 
my favorite story book
and a secret i’d never tell a soul 

you were a season
fallen leaves and winter lake 
caught in the act of freezin’
and when you leapt onto my pages 
you penned your name she  
and wrote it on my cover 
beside will forever be
so i’m going to flatter you 
then let my heart break
it’s the only i’ll come out breathing
(the only way i keep believing 
that you can be every bit of beautiful 
as the colorful 
i’ve scratched onto the cave walls 
of my today, 
yet not be mine)
cuz’ when i crack this cocoon 
my brightest butterfly wings 
will dance a hope stronger then the darkness before
crack this cocoon 
my brightest wings 
will dance a hope stronger than the death comin’ soon
isn’t that something to hold on to 
something to believe in
looming death yet i’m still dreamin’ 
so you keep singing 
keep on shining

Monday, July 16, 2012

in pickup trucks and the least of these

i am a weak soul
and i believe the good lord knows so
because he does things


yes i believe he takes pleasure
in restoring
that soul to its place of strength -
when it walked in the garden with Adam;
i was there,
with him;
as a skin cell,
or perhaps
his index finger nail,
but there
for nameless amounts of sunrises,
naming animals
and attending to the earth,
there when god came, and
opened us up to make Eve,
when she,
took part in our flesh;
and when we
thought we
could be like God.


it was then
i fell
with him, and apart
cast to the earth;
swept up in dust blood
of a younger son
and falling rain;
drifting through the firmament
in flood waters and ebbing tide,
washed ashore a beach in texas;
to wait within the sand
for a man
deep beneath his hands
digging into the loose grained floor -
till skin tore,
for me
to enter his blood stream
while he found love and camping,
the road back home ending
his spring break and singleness;
he laughed at her stories
and thought her the firework,
an explosion
from which our face glowed,
and i grew
from love to boy, now man
in the blood stains
of imperfection -
and the memory of my first home,


he wants to restore me to,
so he does things,
like sending bus drivers beyond my eyes
on a morning where there is only one,
then pours grace into my upturned thumb,
he does things,
like cause the sun to press gently
into a sunday sky
and hide its glow inside
a hawks breeze,
he does things,
like harmonize the compassion
of heat and wind,
and rest it on my exposed eyelids,


from which the sight flooding my present
is full rainbows
at every bearing of the compass,
the world is spinning
and God is watching,
like he does see after all,
like he knows that i need that kind of attention,
even if only for a downhill;
like he knows my memory of the garden and he wants to remind it's still waiting,
like he knows i'm desperate to find it and so he's leaving clues,
like he hears me losing and wants me to feel what it's like to be picked first,
to score the game winner
at the buzzer
with a girl in the bleachers,
like he knows my X's are bureaucrats and intellectuals
and he put the treasure in pickup trucks and the least of these,
in the unseen,
in the small things,
like roundabouts and handshakes,
their shotgun holding uniforms,
now fathers coming home to mothers,
the 24 hour shifts,
and the 24 hours later,
their so-long smiles and companion hearts.


God put his treasure in hearts,
and sometimes, on missed bus mornings
he lets it glow,
like stars when the power's down,
like white teeth against a black light,
as new as everyday
as bright as always


like the kingdom of god is here;
it costs us everything,
and we can afford it,
because there's treasure hidden,
still to be discovered,
and it's not in our t.v. screens,
and it's not in the church pews,
not in lady gaga's lyrics,
nor the third chorus of 'mighty to save',
it's the love we have for others,
and it's only ever known fully when
everything is forsaken, but love for our brother,
and sister.


if the kingdom of god is the edge of town;
i keep imagining myself as the guy
showing people houses,
not making sales or anything,
just taking people around the block;
and i'm meeting folks
that need grace,
like it changes something,
like it makes them wealthy enough
to shop on this side of the tracks,
and their eyes light up
like they've never known luxury,
like they've never knowing something
that couldn't be taken away
by something or someone else,
and i just get to walk them around all day,
and enjoy their smiles and faces;


and when we're all finished with the tour,
we each hop out the back
of a white nissan frontier
slap hands and pound it, before
saying our 'see you mondays,'
as they head toward families,
and i to the other side of the roundabout
to flag down the 202 to San Salvador.

Monday, July 9, 2012

Coffee Dry Milling: Parchment Remover


The task for today was to complete the two remaining videos of the different components within the hulling station at Beneficio El Manzano, and as I began my day, I attempted to look up a credible source or two that might lay out a somewhat scientific explanation of the happenings within two of the machines we were focusing on. 

I scratched and pawed my way through cyberspace, only to find vaguely worded descriptions of this process. Upon emailing the manufacturers however, Emilio and I scratched our heads for several minutes attempting to make sense of the complex description we’d received, of exactly what is happening within the density grading process of green coffee processing. (Seriously, they sent us a book). 

Now, to the layman, we present a scientific explanation of each of the different components within green coffee processing, from parchment to export, without sailing anywhere near the top of your head. 

The first aspect of dry milling we’ll focus on is the hulling, which simply refers to the removing of the outer skin from the green coffee; before it is  graded, categorized, and sorted by other various machines. 
Parchment Coffee

Within hulling the task is two-fold. First, since the coffees are coming to the machinery exactly as they were bagged from the patio, they, must be screened of any foreign objects, be they rocks, leaves, sticks, etc.  Therefore, as the parchment coffee is loaded into a hopper, it is first transported to a machine within acts as a screen and destoner. This machine is a metal plate containing multiple holes, that allow the parchment coffee to pass through, while retaining all foreign objects. 
Screen/De-Stoner

Secondly, the task within hulling is the strip the green coffee of its external parchment. As coffee leaves the screen/de-stoner, it is transported via bucket elevator to the huller itself, which receives the coffee from a hopper located above. 

There are multiple types of hullers; however the function is to use friction as a means of separating the coffee bean from the parchment without damaging or cracking the bean, and allowing it to continue processing and sorting, while removing and channeling out, the now removed parchment. 
Green Coffee

To accomplish this, parchment coffee is put within a cylindrical chamber, which contains a second notched rotating cylinder; meaning the parchment is only able to pass within the space between the inner wall of the stationary cylinder, and the outer, notched wall of the rotating cylinder. It is at this point where it comes in contact with both, and the friction caused by the pressure and rotation, forces the parchment off of the green coffee. 
Parchment Remover

Gravity naturally pulls the green coffee down, however the parchment is removed by a vacuum positioned above the rotating cylinder which, as the parchment is separated from the bean, draws out the parchment and channels it out of the machinery, and deposits it into a holding tank to await later use. 
Rotary Plate

As it exits the cylindrical huller, green coffee is sifted by a rotary plate, which sorts out any parchment coffee still remaining in the batch, and cycles it back up into the huller for a second pass. The green coffee continues through the cleaning process, exiting a channel in the rotary plate, and into the machine which will grade the coffee according to weight. 

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

the ones you keep

Kiddo: Kerrington Lynn Smith
Established:  January 23, 2010
by: Rusty & Janice Smith




you better believe i kicked myself when i realized i only had 3 photos, outside the cell phone i used in the states, now abandoned at the farm with me in san sal. for tonight we have the memory, of a princess who turned my heart liquid when she let me help her pick out what dress she would wear one morning i had stopped by the house; the memory of a girl who was the first to make me truly want to be a father, and feel but a fraction of what it must be like to be one, and have she for a daughter. 

Monday, July 2, 2012

Green Coffee Processing: Size Grading


Video from this weeks dry milling at Beneficio El Manzano. 

Set to Idioteque by Radiohead.