Small Town America: Sidewalk Vines

Sidewalk Vines, Pearl River, NY.

Food: Farming

By now, we've read the articles and seen the news stories about GMO Frankenfoods that threaten our health, and contribute to a lack of biodiversity that is the agricultural form of extinction. Monsanto controls seeds and food production, Tyson muscles farmers through their production schedules, resulting in horrible food factories that don't even feel like farming to the farmers they pay, and the old lady who wants a pear out of season (the same one who clips coupons and haggles for a bargain), is the same person who eats produce that's traveled further than she will ever travel in lifetime, having been flown in exclusively for her consumption all the way from Chile. It's a bizarre mindset that needs to change, and it slowly has.

I've posted items on my Facebook page (https://www.facebook.com/pages/Illuminations/371196022892113), with sayings like "Growing food is like printing your own money", and how collecting rainwater is now illegal in some states, to illustrate the growing separation between food production and our day-to-day lives. Do you want to cede that power to a huge business conglomerate? Would they have your best interests at heart? Of course not. Their executives aren't paid to do that like your family doctor is, because they're paid to sell you stuff.

Into the growing debate come visionary doctors who speak out, like Dr. Joseph Mercola (http://www.mercola.com/). It's in this very climate that I've begun to see the land around us as a huge opportunity for change. When I walked by a corn patch growing in front of a modest home last week, it reminded me that I grew up surrounded by farms: the small one next door to our house, my mother's humble garden, the little orchard that used to be part of the farm next door, and fruit trees in such natural profusion, that I still find apple and cherry trees growing right by sidewalks in town (http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2013/06/nature-edibles.html, and http://mariedoucette.blogspot.com/2011/10/fall-harvest.html).

We have a chance to redefine our access to fresh, local, in season and affordable foods by supporting local farms, farmers, and producers through frequenting nearby farmer markets with locally made goods. Which brings me to the next motto that's gathered steam: you have three opportunities to vote every day when you decide what to eat. 
We can't always make the best decisions, for a variety of reasons (economics, availability, poor health, etc.), but thinking precedes action, and by questioning our mindsets, we've already started down the path towards change.

What will you choose to eat today?

Small Town America: Summer Storms

Storm clouds gather in the afternoon...

People often forget how humid our climate actually is, because tourist pictures of Manhattan skyscrapers rarely capture the water that surrounds us here on all sides, down in the tri-state area. Every summer afternoon holds the promise (or a threat, depending upon your weather-related phobias) of a sudden, gushing downpour. 

...and build, but not always with rain.

It provides a climate that causes green to thrive like a tropical rain forest, but sometimes the thick dampness becomes so oppressive, you break out in an uncomfortably sweaty, sticky, prickly heat on the back of your neck that can only be cooled by swimming in a deep, cool body of water. That's what these images remind me of: walking along hot country roads shimmering with heat waves that radiate off the pavement, with an eye to the sky that prays for a rain to break through and wash it all away. What does your summer sky look like?

Nature: Summer Solstice

Lazing in the grass.

Sometimes these events just creep up on us. A friend of mine in Nova Scotia didn't realize summer started when he absentmindedly watched an early morning sunrise last week.

Watching the clouds go by.

I was fortunately aware of the days' significance, and it inspired a few quiet, classically summer photos to mark the occasion.

“Hippies” like me enjoy nature!

That's what photography does for us: it permanently captures moments forever, those times that are unique to us, never to happen again. 

How do you mark the passage of time?

Cooking With (No) Gas: Eggs-periment!

#1 - Find a good specimen.

In the interest of science and fun, I endeavored to cook a egg in a  microwave to see what happened, with the not-so-secret desire that it would explode. 

#2 - Place egg in bowl of water.

My little experiment proved to be no disappointment. It popped with a satisfyingly loud "BLAM!", but I did discover that it was indeed cooked all the way through.

#3 - Set timer and let it cook.

Next time, I'll monitor it more closely with better results, because you can't be a good cook without breaking a few of eggs. 

#4 - BLAM! Satisfying explosion occurred.

Oh, and this entire experiment was inspired by the many Peeps trials, long may they live in book form and on the internet, forever and ever, as an inspiration to all. Amen.

Inspiration: The Great Peeps Experiments.

Books: The New York Botanical Garden

The New York Botanical Garden, Abrams (2006).

A couple of mornings ago, I spied this on a shelf and I just had to look through it, because it called out loudly to me. The book turned out to be a two day deal: the night before, and then waking up to an open spread the next morning. 

It's an incredible layout, and the subject matter was so inspiring, it informed the photos I took around town this week of edible plants and gardens. Add in this unexpected nod to illuminated manuscripts, and that's the incredible power a great book has over us. It's unforgettable on so many levels. I use that power wisely.

What do books inspire you to do?

Nature: Edibles

Wild onions by the side of the road.

Years ago, when I was a little girl, my grandmother told me she used to gather dandelions with her family from the side of the road in New York City; hard to believe but true, because I asked her how that could be done.

Small apple orchard at the local park.

She explained to me that roads were a lot less traveled back then; fewer cars meant less exhaust, and besides, my grandmother said, most people still had horse carts or used the trains. She and my grandfather were avid canoers, too. They met through a pre-arranged date for just such an excursion. She said they often went swimming in the East River back then, when it was clean enough to do so.

Wild mushrooms on someone's front lawn.

She said that they made salad from dandelion greens, and home brewed dandelion wine. When she was a little girl, her mother bought a rabbit from the market and kept it in the bathroom tub. She loved the little bunny, and was horrified to come home to a meal of rabbit stew simmering away on the stove, which she refused to eat. She thought the bunny was her pet because she named it.

More wild mushrooms growing near the sidewalk.

Since then, I've been aware of the environment around me as food. As Girl Scouts, we learn all about edibles during outings: which birch tree was the original root beer, that then we peeled with our pocket knives and smelled, wild onions, wild carrots, and mushrooms, which are trickier because some are poisonous. 

Someone gathered a nice collection on a park bench.

I've always wanted to gather some items to cook, but so far I've been too shy to do so. It's weird enough picking flowers and walking these days, let alone taking out a camera, then collecting specimens in a bag. Talk about being in the spotlight! Today though, the spotlight shines on these local beauties I found. Please don't eat anything you collect in the wild without consulting an experts' opinion first.

 Happy hunting!

Street Art: NYC

Street pole in Pearl River, N.Y.

Small Town America: Raise the Flag

Old stone garages, in Pearl River, New York.

Small Town America: The Butterfly Garden

 

 

Scenes from The Butterfly Garden in Nyack, New York.

Small Town America: Cemeteries

It's no secret I love cemeteries: they're old, they're cool, and they're usually really beautiful, kind of like sculpture parks for the dead. They're fun to explore, and because they're taboo, they're usually devoid of humans, too (live ones, that is). 

Walking back and forth from the local library, I caught street signs for the town cemetery, and one day when I had more free time, I took a detour to look at the headstones. It did not disappoint. You can learn a lot about a local area's history looking at the names and dates.

I found some old French names among the oldest stones, which made me happy, believe it or not. Being an Acadian is sort of a rare thing in lower New York, so seeing signs of earlier settlers with perhaps the same lineage comforted me, especially since this town is now predominantly Irish, and not in hyphenated form. 

As much as I love that part of my ancestry, it is not present in my surname, which makes my family history rather hard to explain to someone of decidedly singular Western European stock. It's a bit epic, and the story of who I am is not always well received. I was glad to see that I wasn't the first one to walk these parts.

It also took me back to the hikes of my childhood, hunting down old graveyards in the wilderness of long-abandoned towns, so we could do charcoal rubbings of the headstone designs. I thought they were incredible then, and I still do. If you get the chance, why not take a walk through history sometime? You might just find your roots.

Small Town America: Flood Zone

Flooding near the Palisades Center, in West Nyack, New York

Every year during this time, we have pouring, flooding rain storms, and every year the exact same people complain about it. 

The funny thing is, it's the same type of folks who watch the evening news and get angry over residents living out west in the tornado zones: "Why would anyone live there?!" 

For the exact same reason we live near the coast, at sea level: because a) we love it here, b) it's our home, c) our families, friends, and loved ones live here, d) no place on Earth is really safe (because life isn't like that), and e) because we love it. We love it here, and it's our home. There. Now you know.

Second Chances

There's an old adage that says it's never too late, and I've always taken that to mean we are never too old to truly live. Once we decide that our lives are over (for whatever reasons, be it sickness or grief or trauma), we become a shell waiting to die, trapped in a unnatural stasis that's a purgatory of our own making; taking up space, maybe feeling worthless or hopeless, slowly leading up to the final ending in death. 

To falsely entomb ourselves in an amber where nothing ever changes is to deny the essence of life itself: we change, we breathe, we move, we adapt. It is constant, and that can be quite comforting. The world keeps on spinning, despite the trivial happenings here on earth, because the universe endures forever, or so it seems to one small human on one small planet moving through a seemingly infinite (to us) vastness of time and space.

We are actually part of a much bigger miracle, so when I saw this lovely piece about empty nesters who are giving new life, and getting a new life, by raising another person's child (now their child) with their resources, I know they're the type of people who get the message. Despite the touchy-feely, nonjudgmental credos that exist in pop culture, there are basic concepts like right and wrong, and good vs. evil. I believe at the end of the day, no matter how much mud I walk through, it's the goodness in people that ultimately triumphs, because it's who we are as part of a greater divinity that sings and dances to the eternal music of the heavens.

How do you know it when you see it? Because it feels really good, and it is beautiful. What can you do today that adds to the greater good? Go out there and do it! Get in the game before it really is too late, because every day that you're alive, it's not the end.

http://www.nbcnews.com/video/nightly-news/52051170#52051170

Nature: Brood II

5th-century silver cicada brooches, at The Morgan Library Museum

Many of you may have noticed the return of Brood II. Intergalactic space aliens, evilly hatching from hidden eggs that were transported on UFO's and buried in the Mohave desert years ago, with the intent of destroying the human race and taking over our world? No, they are cicadas with 17 year breeding cycles, laying dormant in the ground, which is a miraculous feat in and of itself, and an amazingly rare life cycle for most species on our planet. The ones we saw in recent weeks are the same type Thomas Jefferson documented at Monticello.

I saw a few very large (and dead) ones squashed right outside and inside the entrance to an office park in Pomona two weeks ago, with bright red eyes and deep dark blue bodies. They were huge, and I just had to point them out to my mom. We'd never seen bugs that big before. If you get the chance to see one, try to conquer your fear for a closer look. They don't come around often, maybe only every 17 years or so.

 http://science.time.com/2013/06/01/7-things-you-didnt-know-about-cicadas/ 

Osu!

Over the years, I've trained in martial arts, and because of that, I've collected a nice set of belts in different forms. Years ago I started it off proper with Taoist Tai Chi, but I didn't receive any belt rankings.

Fast forward years later, and I began a fitness course towards kickboxing and then grappling that became MMA, which got me into Jiu Jitsu. It was fun, but the injuries suck when you aren't getting paid to be hurt and the bills keep coming in, so I took time off.

Recently I've gotten back into Tai Chi, in a shorter form that incorporates animal styles, Wushu, and Qi Gong. It's a blast, and its actually hard for me, because it's the exact opposite of MMA. Whereas one style needs twitchy muscles and quick explosive action, the other strives for precise, carefully considered hand-and-foot placement, slowed down to an almost inhumanly graceful art form. It's the "Yang" to the "Yin"—the total opposite—and I'm finding muscle control and limb placement as challenging as the very first time I threw a punching combo. 

But none of these forms would amount to any kind of sense for me if I hadn't undergone some serious ballet training as a girl. I liked it, but I didn't love it as passionately as an artist has to, in order to make a living from it. I left it behind, not looking back, to continue wrestling and fighting with my bro. We loved martial arts, but none of the strip mall places around our town appealed to us at the time, in the more common dojo forms of Judo and Tae Kwon Do. My middle bro would go on to belt in TKD, BJJ (twice), and even Krav Maga, but it wasn't until we put everything together in an MMA class that it finally made sense to us as a fight form.

I hope I go back to it at some point, but for now, I'm belting in Tai Chi Ch'uan, and staying in the moment, enjoying an art form that I didn't know had masters who gave out belt rankings in service to it. Here's my tally so far:

Taoist Tai Chi: 1 year, no belts
Tiger Schulmann's: 2 years, 6 belts
BJJ: 10 mos, 1 belt
Tai Chi Ch'uan: a month's reintroduction, 1 belt. I have 2 belts.
UPDATE: got a 2nd belt in tai chi ch'uan at the end of the summer
-----------------
Total: 8 belts   Make that 9. Nope! Make that 10!

And I want more.

What's your favorite cover?

So the very next question I get after "What do you do for a living?" is: "What's your favorite book cover?" The answer is blessedly, and somewhat surprisingly simple, given my expert and professional familiarity with all things book-related:

It's the first story we know of in Old English (along with The Canterbury Tales), and it remains the defining, classically mythic tale of a warrior, a monster, and a quest. Along the way, Beowulf encounters every pitfall an epic hero must face: the trials, the tribulations, the doubts, the tests of character, the feats of strengths, and then the one flaw in his character leading to failure that, while momentary, results in an enormous fall from grace, and finally his battle and ultimate triumph of good over evil, which is the life every great person leads. It's the story of humanity, the stuff of legends, and it is the very nature of life itself. You don't get better than that.

Incidentally, while I'm here at home in the country, amongst the places I was raised, it seems fitting for me to thank my senior year H.S. English Lit teacher Mr. Bennett, for making us read aloud in class the original fable in Old English before we read the translation. It was hard, it was painful, and it was a lot of work, but in the end, I wouldn't be the publisher I am without that rock solid foundation. It formed the basis for my deep love and appreciation of the English language that has never abated, much maligned as it is worldwide as the blunt, simplistic business language of Capitalism, commerce, and money. To those of us who know this tongue well on a very deep and intimate level, it is every bit as mysterious, seductive, romantic, powerful, poetic, strong, lyrical and beautiful as the Indo-European, Norman, and Anglo-Saxon roots it sprung from, remaining an anomaly amongst the Romance and Latin-based languages of Western Europe. Rock on to Kublai Khan, Mr. Bennett. You are one cool dude. 

PS-Me and Karen totally spotted you riding your old car with the windows down on Main Street in Nyack back in the day (1987), shirtless and smiling. We waved to you and you waved back. What a great model you are for a purpose driven life. Kudos!

What do you do?

For me, the question is this simple, and it's this hard:



Welcome to Monday, people.