Salmon Creek Farm

“I feel there is no essential difference between what is called "creativity" and what isn't; the real difference is between work that comes from my personal power and work that doesn't” —Country Women, Issue 24: Personal Power (1977)Hard to concisely write about my time at Salmon Creek Farm. I can’t remember how I first discovered it (on Instagram, but through who? and when?), but the pull was immediate. To preserve a commune and pull it into the 21st century — a dream. And when it was finally opened to the public to stay, I jumped at the chance. Had to make it happen. To further my exploration in alternative living. To live communally on a land with others. To forsake time, to bathe in the forrest (or as the Japanese call it “shinrin-yoku”) and breathe in phytoncides (airborne chemicals that plants give off to protect themselves and when people breathe these in, our bodies respond by increasing the number and activity of a type of white blood cells). To find the natural rhythm of a day and take care of my soft animal body. To make art for art sake. To tend to a fire every night. To be aghast, then in awe of the absolute silence existing in the redwoods by the ocean (shedding the city static). To share food and drink wine with strangers—now friends—and laugh around fires until our sides hurt. A week wasn’t enough. An extreme privilege this was on so many levels and I love knowing my stay goes toward funding the newly-formed non-profit to offer artist residencies to BIPOC and queer artists (starting in 2024). Thanks to all the beautiful folks that shared this week, to Fritz Haeg for re-cultivating and honoring this space on Pomo land.