Well, that was easy

This calls for an illustration:

As I’ve mentioned, nearly three weeks ago I decided to go sugar-free and vegan.  As you can see from the “before” and “after” photos, the new diet is really working for me.  I feel awesome.

I posted this image on Facebook and received several questions in the comments and via private messages about what I’m eating and how I’m negotiating this with family meals, and I thought I’d explain here.

First, Fang and Lucas aren’t vegan, nor are they vegetarian or sugar-free.  They’re continuing to eat in their own ways.  Fang lost a lot of weight over the last year by moving to eating more raw, whole foods–mostly fruits–and Lucas likes his milk, meat, fruits, veggies, and carbs.  I’m not going to mess with what works for them.

We eat meals together as a family, but even before I went vegan and sugar-free, none of us was eating exactly the same meal–and Fang doesn’t really do dinner anyway; he prefers to have a piece of fruit.  I’m already used to fixing Lucas and me slightly different entrées, so the switch wasn’t that big a deal in terms of meal prep.  As a 21-year vegetarian, I also was accustomed to eating around the edges when we have guests, so when we recently had folks over for dinner, I fixed chicken parmesan, breaded eggplant, a vegan green salad, asparagus, and bread. I ate everything but the chicken and still had a nutritious meal.

While I enjoy cooking occasionally for guests, for the most part I prepare very simple meals.  Most of our meals were, and continue to be, cooked on the stovetop: simple stir-fry dishes, pasta, and steamed veggies are the norm.  Instead of preparing cheese ravioli and asparagus for a simple typical dinner, I now fix whole-wheat pasta (or, on special occasions, the pricey vegan butternut squash ravioli from the fancy natural market that recently opened in town).  I make sure the pasta doesn’t have any egg in it, and I don’t add parmesan; if I use marinara from a jar, I make sure to get a variety without added sugar.  Otherwise, everything is pretty much the same.

The switch has also meant that I take my lunch to work more often than I was before.  I’ll take a couple pieces of fruit, some carrots or bell pepper slices, maybe some nuts, and water.  If I’m still hungry after eating fruits and veggies, I go buy a bagel, and sometimes I bring from home a chunk of very whole-grain bread (the kind with pumpkin seeds–yum!).  This means I’m eating dramatically less fat, as the things I was buying on campus tended to be pretty loaded with cheese.

Lots of folks have asked me about calcium and protein.  I’m taking a calcium supplement, just to be safe, but many of the foods I eat have calcium or are calcium-fortified, so I’m not worried about it too much.  Similarly, I can get all the protein I need from my diet.  If you’re curious, here’s a chart showing where a vegan’s protein might come from on any given day, and here’s an article listing various sources of vitamins and minerals in a vegan diet.  I’ve been taking a multivitamin each day for years, so I don’t worry too much about getting the exactly appropriate nutrients each and every day, as long as everything averages out over the week.

Giving up refined sugar also means I’m not eating any treats.  If I want a treat, I eat a few vegan blue corn or sweet potato chips.  Now that I haven’t had sugar or a lot of fat for weeks, my palate works differently, and I’m finding simple foods such as fruits and veggies–even the mediocre ones found here in the country’s most isolated city of its size–to be more flavorful and enjoyable.

It has been difficult to find some things without added sugar, so I have had to compromise a bit.  For example, I’ve been using soy milk for years, and I’ve tried different kinds of it in my cereal, and the unsweetened varieties just don’t do it for me, so the one I use contains evaporated cane juice.  I like almond milk, but it doesn’t have as much protein as soy milk, so I’m sticking with soy for the most part.  I like raspberries in my cereal, but fresh raspberries aren’t available year-round and they tend to be pricey here, so I use frozen raspberries, and I can’t find any locally that are sugar-free.  As you might imagine, breakfast is the sweetest part of my day.  I have switched from cereal with sugar to a couple different kinds of shredded wheat cereals that have only one ingredient—wheat—plus a preservative.

I craved sugar for the first two weeks, but now I’m fine.  I don’t miss the dairy at all.

Although I’m committed to this diet for now–I have so much more energy, my skin feels both softer and more elastic, and I’ve lost a significant (for me) amount of weight (as well as two pants sizes)–I’d be depressed if I said I will never have another slice of cheesecake, cake, or fruit crisp.  Accordingly, I’m taking things one day at a time.

Now that the semester is winding down and I should have a little more leisure time, I’m also recommitting to an exercise regimen.  Trying to tame an out-of-control garden and yard is already helping me to feel more fit.

If you have any other questions, feel free to leave ’em in the comments.  I’m still feeling my way around this new diet, but I’m happy to share what’s working for me because I really do feel great.

Random bullets of updates

. . . aaaaaand scene!  I’ve turned in my grades for the semester, so now I can focus on grant proposals that are due waaaay too soon.  (Someday I’m gonna get me some of that big humanities money, folks.)

So. . .where have I been lately?

I’ve been serving hard time in solitary in Grading Jail, with occasional time off to work as a plagiarism prosecutor.  For the first time ever, I had a student plagiarize an in-class, handwritten final exam.  That’s dedication, my friends.  Tip for future undergraduates: if we don’t discuss Montesquieu in class, it’s probably best to leave him out of your final.  BWOOP! BWOOP! <—-the sound of my plagiarism alarm being triggered.

I went to the Smithsonian’s National Museum of Natural History to check out a couple new-to-me exhibits. Unfortunately, after 10 years of trying to photograph museum exhibits, I’m still crappy at it, but here’s a glimpse of the newish ocean hall:

There’s also a good new human evolution exhibit, as well as a thoughtful one about race in America.  But many other exhibits are in need of updating; for example, 1965 called, and it wants its diorama dinosaurs back:

As my crappy museum photos suggest, I took a lightning trip during finals week to D.C.  Tip for D.C. travelers: Don’t stay in a hotel on a traffic circle, and especially not this one.  I had forgotten how much drivers in D.C. like to honk.  Side note: my room had an exterior door to a shared, hotel-long walkway. It didn’t have a lock on it, and it could be opened from the outside wide enough for someone to peek into the room and possibly throw the improperly installed swing-bar “door guard.” Look, I took a crappy picture of it with my phone one night:

After Christmas, much of my energy will go into planning for my spring course, Women in the American West.  Every student in the 40-person course will be loaned an iPad2, and we’ll be building an online exhibit? presence? experience? about the history of Idaho women’s arts and crafts. I’m talking plein air painting, needlework, Victorian ornaments made of human hair, and taxidermy. Yes–taxidermy! I’m tossing aside the traditional, individually authored research paper for this class in favor of one enormous final digital humanities project co-authored by 40 undergrads.  It could be a total nightmare, but I think my nefarious plans will work.

Intellectually, the end of the summer and first part of the fall was tough, but in the past week I received two invitations to revise and resubmit, one of them relatively simple.  Yay for that.  I also have fellowship funding to travel to archives during both spring and summer breaks, and my teaching schedule in the spring is only two days a week.  This fall it was four days a week, and it ends up such a schedule makes it hard to find time to write.  Who knew?

In family news:

I’m watching my child grow like a weed.  At his last doctor’s visit, he was in the 97th percentile for height, and today we measured him: 4 feet, 3 inches at 6 years, 3 months.  He’s enjoying kindergarten and is becoming totally obsessed with birds and crafting objects out of recycled materials.  Today I taught him how to do running and whip stitches, and he was all about the sewing.  He also seems to be finally catching on to this whole “literacy” thing.  Thank you, Dr. Seuss!

Fang normally does not look forward to the holidays–too much travel, too many obligations–but has been surprisingly chipper this week.

Our 100-pound Lab/Golden Retriever mix–he’ll be 2 years old in February–remains hilariously dumb and blocks our paths through the house most of the time, but is exceptionally sweet and enthusiastic.  His head is so large and cinderblock-esque that he has taken to resting it awkwardly on horizontal surfaces around the house. He keeps us laughing.  Here he is next to the boy, for scale:

What’s going on in your neck of the woods?

An experiment in online course evaluation

Back when I was in the cube farm of academic technology, we tried an experiment within our then-new course management system: we had a large class (hundreds upon hundreds of students) pilot a mid-semester evaluation.  The instructor emphasized the importance of the evaluation and reminded students to take it, but our return rate was still only 8 percent.  It pretty much soured me on online evaluations, as such a low return rate renders the evals useless.  (At UC Davis at the time, veterinary students did get an invitation to chat with the dean personally if they didn’t fill out their course evals. Otherwise, there wasn’t any institutional effort to “incentivize”* students–that is, the registrar wouldn’t withhold a student’s grades until she had filled out her course evals.)

Fast forward to today. Boise State is offering online course evaluations, but recently the university announced that whether or not a course participates is not up to the instructor; each department either has to stick with in-class, paper-based evaluations or go all in with the online evals.  In the department meeting where we discussed the issue, we were leaning toward paper, and then one colleague said he had piloted online evals and was getting response rates of 90 percent.  I’d like to see the evidence of that, but whatever. . . it was persuasive enough that the sense of the meeting shifted toward a semester trial of online evaluations.

We’ve been told we should “incentivize” student participation in online evaluations, for example by offering perks (e.g. students could bring a 3″ x 5″ note card with them to the final exam or we’d drop the lowest quiz grade) if the class return rate reached, say, 80 percent.  And yes–those are the actual suggestions from the administration.  Never mind that I don’t give quizzes, and my students already can bring essay outlines on notecards to the final–I’m not going to reward students for doing something that I see as part of fulfilling the social and intellectual contract for the course.

So instead of offering to bribe my survey students, I spent an entire class talking (as I often do, but this time more frankly and comprehensively) about why I’ve taught History 111–U.S. history to 1877–the way I have.

Topics covered, and student reactions to each one:

  • memories of high school history, what they learned, and what they’ve used since then: mostly not good, dates and events, and not much, respectively.
  • experiences with, and feelings about, lectures in college, regardless of discipline: mostly bad, crappy PowerPoint presentations; suspicions that a professor or two is bullshitting them full-time.
  • political versus social and cultural history: prior to college, students haven’t been exposed, by and large, to social and cultural histories, except in very small amounts; they find it refreshing, particularly if we’re doing “history from below.”
  • students as vessels to be filled with “content”**  and the relation of this approach to online courses and pedagogies of scale: resentment, boredom, disbelief.
  • survey textbooks***: expensive, unreadable, useless–pretty much unadulterated loathing.

Our conversation lasted 45 minutes, and at the end I made another pitch for them to fill out course evaluations, saying that their feedback is not only valuable to me individually, but it also allows instructors to make a case to deans and provosts and beyond that customers students do think about learning in ways that should matter to us.  I then reiterated to them that I really do make changes in my course structure and teaching style based on student feedback, and that since I may have 30 more years (!!!!) in the classroom, they have the opportunity to make a big impact on future students’ learning experiences.  I encouraged them to take ten minutes or so to fill out the evaluation as soon as possible.

This class’s online response rate thus far, more than halfway through the response window? Twenty-one percent.  Anyone care to guess how little that number will rise, even with repeated urgings, by the time the survey closes on Friday evening?  Leave your bets in the comments.

* Worst word ever?  Possibly.

** Remember when we used to say “knowledge” instead of “content”?

*** For the record, I used  Major Problems in American History, Volume I by Elizabeth Cobbs Hoffman et. al.; Abraham in Arms by Ann Little; Mongrel Nation by Clarence Walker; and They Saw the Elephant by Joann Levy.  Each book takes a very different approach to history, with Little’s being the most traditional (yet also very readable!), Walker’s serving as a witty and searing examination of why different American demographic groups view the Jefferson-Hemings liaison in divergent ways, Levy’s book offering thematic chapters but not footnotes or endnotes, and Major Problems bringing together eight to ten primary sources in each chapter with two essays usually excerpted from books by academic historians.  My students found Little’s book challenging at first but conceded they enjoyed each chapter more than the previous ones.  Walker’s book was puzzling but made for the best class discussion because it was the most explicitly provocative. Levy’s book was the most accessible, and my Idaho students seemed to appreciate its focus on western women’s history, as their exposure to regional women’s history (or, actually, any women’s history) previously was via pioneer wives and Sacajawea.  I suspect most students stopped reading the essays in Major Problems as early as a third of the way into the semester, and many students needed a great deal of guidance in interpreting primary sources.

Whiteboard image by Skye Christensen, and used under a Creative Commons license.

Notes for the Book of Me (Grading Edition)

Havi Brooks has a really useful practice she calls The Book of Me; basically it’s a notebook where she jots down things she notices about herself–her feelings, body, attitudes, productivity, and more–so that she can revisit her observations and improve her future experiences with a place, event, person, etc.  You can read more about it in her post The Book of You, although if you search her blog for the phrase “book of me,” you’ll find quite a bit of elaboration on, and examples of, the practice.

I’ve been taking mental notes for The Book of Me for quite some time, but I admit I’ve been pretty lazy about writing them down.

That ends today.

One of my recurring frustrations is–surprise!–grading my students’ essays.  You’d think that after 12 years of being in the college classroom, including three years as a faculty consultant where I helped professors improve their own grading practices, that I’d have a better sense of what works for me.

Nope!

Every time I have to comment on undergraduate student work, I end up with a giant stack of essays the night before I wish to return them to students.  (Note: Despite the practices I’m about to describe, I am pretty successful at returning essays within one week if the class has fewer than 40 students; more than that and I tend to need nine days.)

At that point I’m usually worn down, both by my actual work and the thought of having to do all that grading.  Then I read the first really awful essay and start to spiral into a depression.  This feeling is made worse when I’ve taken the time (as I do 95% of the time) to coach students on how to construct an argument and support it with evidence from primary and secondary sources–because hey, then I’ve failed, too.

I took some notes for the Book of (Grading) Me when I was 35 essays into my most recent 45-paper stack, in the hopes they help me avoid some discomfort at semester’s end, when the next big batch comes in.  Here they are:

Even though the end is in sight, I’m teetering on that brink of depression thanks to all the frustration and anger I let myself feel.

My Facebook status currently expresses my desire to scrawl “WTF?!?” across several pages of students’ papers.  (It also reads “GRADING HULK SMASH BULLSHITTING ABOUT PURITANS.”)

I’d like to remind myself, then, of a few things that ease the process.  Some of these I discovered on my own; some were tips from wiser faculty than myself; and others I learned from Havi (can you tell I’m a big fan of hers?):

Things that help:

  • a timer with a nice chime (iPhone for the win)
  • a cushion on the chair if I’m sitting in the kitchen
  •  Shiva Nata
  • dancing to release anger and frustration
  • stretching to release pent-up stress in neck and back
  • rolling around on the floor (my version of Old Turkish Lady yoga)
  • entry and exit rituals (gentleness vs.”steeling myself”)
  • iced tea or hot chocolate
  • fresh fruit and/or yogurt

Things that don’t help:

  • soda, sugar, and high-carb foods in general
  • avoidance
  • staying up very late to grade (waking up early works better, in an emergency)
  • trying to grade with Lucas sitting in the same room (there will be cuteness and conversation)
  • beating myself up for procrastinating
  • having a computer nearby to check for plagiarism, as I will inevitably drift elsewhere online

What about you?  What works for you when you’re facing a stiff sentence in grading jail?

Sky and. . .sky?

We’re having a crappy air quality week here in Boise.  Here’s what the sky looked like last week:

And here’s what the sky looked like this afternoon:

There are supposed to be foothills and mountains on the near horizon in that photo.  Ugh.

Sometimes driving through Boise is like driving through the Los Angeles basin in the late 1970s.  I’m guessing in California this would be an “orange” air alert.  Here it’s yellow, and there’s only a “voluntary burn ban.”  Ick, ick, ick.

Cookie blogging

It ends up my grandmother’s memorial/family reunion is scheduled for the day we’re having Lucas’s birthday party.  We won’t, therefore, be attending.

Accordingly, I’m memorializing my grandmother in other small ways.

When I was a kid, she and I used to make cookies together–and even once I was an adult, when she knew I was visiting Long Beach she’d make a big batch of frosted sugar cookies for me.  (They were so addictive–I swear she slipped nicotine in them.)

Anyway, I secured the recipe from her years ago, and Lucas and I are making them today as both a way to remember my grandmother* and as a treat to take to this evening’s picnic at his new school.

The cookies are so tasty** that I thought I’d share the recipe here.  (Pictures coming once they’re frosted. . .)

These a simple cookies, but they do take many hours to make.

You will need:

  • 2 c flour
  • 1/2 tsp baking powder
  • 1/8 tsp salt
  • 1 c sugar
  • 1 c butter, softened (room temp)
  • 1 egg
  • 1 tsp vanilla

To make the dough:

  • Beat the sugar and butter until creamy.
  • Add egg and vanilla.
  • Add flour, salt, and baking powder as one.
  • Add a bit more flour if you’re planning to cut the cookies into shapes.  (Dammit–I forgot this step today!)

Chill the dough for at least an hour in the fridge.  I like to divide it into a couple of batches, wrapped in plastic wrap, so that I can pull out one batch at a time when I’m rolling out the dough and cutting it into shapes.

Preheat the oven to 375°.

Flour the surface on which you’ll be rolling the cookies.  (I use a large wooden cutting board, and I always put down more flour than I think I’m going to need; this dough gets sticky.)

Roll the dough out in small batches–I usually roll it to be between 1/4″ and 3/8″ thick–and cut into shapes using cookie cutters or, if you’re really artistic, freehand with a sharp knife.

Grandma instructed me to place the cookies on the bottom rack of the oven first, and move them to the top rack after five minutes.  I usually just leave them on one rack, but you do need to keep an eye on them so that they don’t brown too much.

Let the cookies cool.

To make frosting:

Beat together half a cube of melted butter (note: if you like lots of frosting, use a whole cube) with powdered sugar until it forms a thick paste.  Add warm milk slowly until you reach a consistency you like.  Add vanilla or mint extract, or fresh-squeezed orange or lemon juice (and zest), depending on your flavor preferences.  Add food coloring if you’d like.

Spread frosting on cookies.  Add sprinkles if you party that way; these cookies are really tasty with a few of those red hots (cinnamon candy dots) on top.

Let the cookies sit out for a while to let the frosting dry a bit; if you stack them up too soon, they’ll stick together and make a mess.

Keep in an airtight container.  I’m guessing these will last about a week in a sealed container, but usually we eat them all within a few days.  :)

* Grandmother + cookies = cliché, I know, but it rings true in this case.  She was an awesome baker of treats.

** especially to grad students, I’ve found. . .

New moan ya

I save all my best illnesses for the late spring and early summer, apparently.

There was the time I caught the flu–a really bad flu that almost killed me–in July.  (Now I get flu shots every year.)

Whooping cough hit me in late May.  (I recently had the vaccine for that, too.)

Yet apparently I have not been vaccinated for the bacteria flourishing in my right lung this week.

That’s right, friends–I’ve managed to get pneumonia.  This is a new low, even for my lungs, which like to throw out the welcome mat for any passing bacteria or virus.

Sunday afternoon was bad.  Yesterday was worse.  Fang took me to the urgent care clinic in the morning, and when a breathing treatment didn’t raise my blood oxygen, the PA ordered a chest x-ray. And thus I added a new word to my (thankfully slim) personal medical vocabulary: infiltrates!*

Today the antibiotics appear to have kicked in a bit, and I can sit up in a chair.  I decided to water our little garden, and that about exhausted my energy.

Tomorrow I hope to be able to stand up for five minutes–in a row!  Wish me luck. . .

*Other terms I wish I didn’t know: triiodothyronine, thyroxine, thyroid-stimulating hormone, propylthiouracil, iodine-131, propranolol (see iodine-131), levothyroxine. Share your own “faves” in the comments. . .

Summer writing

Although this is my first “summer break” in years–I was in staff positions from 2006-2010, and I taught during summers when I was a grad student before then–I’m working harder at research and writing than I have in a long time. You see, I’m considering this my Summer of Strategy.

Lucas is in preschool through mid-August, so I have childcare taken care of for this summer–but it’s the last one where that’s assured, so I want to get as much writing done as possible.

My department’s (admittedly kind of low) bar for tenure is three articles in good journals.  Before I arrived here, I published one that will carry some weight, but I still want to have at least three strong articles when I go up for tenure in year 4 or 5 (yes, it’s quick here).

I sent out one article yesterday–a major revision of the article where one reviewer said I needed to familiarize myself with the work of (ahem) Leslie Madsen-Brooks. I reacquainted myself with my own work, cut about 70 percent of the content from the article, recrafted its argument, and rewrote the rest.  It was a beast, and I’m glad to send it off, though I do so feeling both relief and dread.

Today I’m looking at another article I revised a bit earlier this spring.  It looks to be in pretty good shape, so I’m hoping to get it out in the next week or so.

I’m also working on a giant grant. Seriously, it’s enormous in every sense. Overwhelming, really.

Plus I’m traveling to archives in Southern California in July ,and maybe in early August as well, for a third article.  The research for this third article–which remains a largely undefined nebulous mass–is making for some interesting reading.  This morning I was reading the annual report of the California State Board of Horticulture for 1889.  It’s a hoot and a half, and florid in the way of feminist utopian novels written during the same era.  A sampling from Mrs. Flora M. Kimball’s welcome address:

You come to us, gentlemen, not as horticulturists alone, but as apostles of the gospel of fruit, trees, and flowers. We recognize the truth that planting trees, garnering fruits, and developing new forms of vegetation, is not your highest work.  A richer harvest than the merely economic awaits your labors. We rejoice in your presence to-day, not so much from anticipated benefits to our horticultural industries as from the richer harvest of morality, beauty, and religion that will spring from the scattered seed of thought you have brought to us.  No nature is so depraved that it does not respond to the refining influence of trees, flowers, and fruits. (331)

God, I love the 1880s and 1890s U.S.  I need to spend more time there.

Gardening in what is, apparently, the Arctic circle

Gardening: I like it, but in a spend-a-few-minutes-a-day-on-it, minor hobby kind of way.  After all, I rent, so it’s not as if I can tear up the front or back lawns in favor of large raised beds or rows.  (I did make a couple of raised beds in the backyard in Davis, but the landlord dinged our security deposit for the cost of removing them.  Lesson learned.)  I’m stuck, then, planting around the edges of the yards, even though I currently have a rather huge lawn; we live on a corner, so we have grass on all four sides of the house.  It’s a push-mower nightmare, I assure you, and I’d much rather plow it under.

All my life, I’ve been able to treat gardening as an afterthought because of where I grew up.  My mom worked hard in her garden, but she could grow things year-round with relative ease because Long Beach is in USDA hardiness zone 10b and Sunset climate zone 23.  (Tomatoes at Christmas!)  In Davis, I enjoyed USDA hardiness zone of 9b–the same as Tucson, folks–and Sunset climate zone 14.

Here in Boise, I’m in USDA zone 6a and Sunset zone 2b.  My gardening season has gone from 11 months to maybe 4.

This makes gardening a bit, erm, challenging for someone whose idea of gardening long has been:

  1. Dig hole.
  2. Toss in some potting soil.
  3. Stick in plant or seed, regardless of season.
  4. Tamp down soil.
  5. Water regularly.
  6. Ignore.
  7. Harvest food.

Here, folks say not to put tomatoes in the ground until the snow is off Shafer Butte (elevation ~7600 feet).  I can see the butte from my house, and after administering last rites to tomatoes I planted much too optimistically early, I’ve been eagerly watching the snow recede.

Then yesterday morning we had a rain/snow mix in the valley and the damn peak is covered in snow again.  It didn’t help my mood that a colleague then mentioned it occasionally flurries here on the 4th of July.

I’m twitching from wanting to get something growing.  So yesterday Lucas and I went to a gardening center and bought some of those little plastic trays for starting seeds.  Some of the varieties we planted are supposed to germinate within the week.  We’ll see.

Our yard has a mix of sun and shade, tree canopies of differing densities, and fences of 3 different materials and heights.  So there are definitely crazily local microclimates to contend with. We’ll be experimenting wildly to see what works.  It’s kind of fruitless (ha!) because I’d like to move to another neighborhood within the next year, and all my experiments probably won’t apply in my new location.  Still, it’s What Passes For Science Around Here.

(Consider the rest of this post a bit of a gardening journal.)

Because we’ve passed the last average frost date, I put in seven new tomato plants today–a mix of heirloom and conventional–and I noticed that even the frost-killed tomatoes aren’t fully dead; they’re sprouting new leaves.  3 zombie tomato plants + 7 (for now) healthy tomato plants = a lot of tomatoes, I’m hoping.

I also have about 20 strawberry plants, one raspberry cane, and 4″ starts of a few kinds of squash, plus eggplant and two kinds of bell pepper.  The strawberries are out in the sun and seem pretty happy, but the others are still sensitive and spend nights under the patio roof.  (Well, the raspberry went into the ground too early and may or may not survive.)  The potted cilantro is thriving despite the cold; the two kinds of potted basil (Genovese and Thai) not so much.

We started seeds for two kinds of radishes (scarlet globe and French breakfast), broccoli, two kinds of basil (sweet and dark opal purple), acorn squash, pumpkin, two kinds of eggplant (Black Beauty and early long purple), cantaloupe, a mix of five kinds of salad greens, and oregano.  If I knew I was going to be gardening in this yard next year, I’d plant asparagus and artichoke–I wouldn’t think they’d thrive here, but my friend Barbara Ganley is a total inspiration in that regard (and many others).  And I’m glad to see that my much more knowledgeable partner in Pacific Northwest horticulture, Gardengrrrl, is blogging again.*

This weekend I plan to weed the beds in the front yard and scatter flower seeds of various sorts on a small sunny berm there, then put some sweet peas and beans along one of our fences in the backyard.

We may get a chest freezer for the garage. I’ve added a book on preserving foods to my Kindle reading list, so if I’m feeling inspired late this summer and early in the fall, I may try my hand at putting up some jars of stuff or drying out some herbs instead of tossing fruit and veggies in the freezer. Maybe I’ll even make jam for the first time ever.

That’s crazy talk.

I’ll post photos once seeds have germinated and when I have more stuff in the ground.

* I totally envy her Sunset climate zone 6 and USDA zone 8a.

Not lost

One hypothetical I play with all the time is where I’d go if I had one chance to travel back through time–if I could visit any time and place in human history for, say, a week.*  Typically I decide I’d visit the 1893 Columbian Exposition because I’m all about the wackiness of the 1890s U.S.

Every once in a while, however, my resolve–to taste the first Cracker Jacks, walk through Machinery Hall, and sip Pabst before it won that blue ribbon–wavers.

Tonight is one of those moments.

See, it’s pretty easy for me to develop a good deal of affection for the long-dead women scientists I study, but occasionally one proves standoffish, and I can’t seem to crack her shell.  In a sense, in my searching for her, she refuses to be found.

Tonight, however, I managed to fall in love a little with Lester Rowntree (1879-1979), who studied and sustainably collected the seeds of native Californian plants.

In 1939, when she was 60, Rowntree wrote a fabulous article in The Atlantic Monthly about her travels around the state. (In her 50s she had gone through an apparently ugly divorce and found herself deliciously free of the concerns that had plagued her for decades, so she opted for largely solitary travel and exploration.)

Her article is so damn delightful, and it speaks to me not just as an historian, but as an English major because so many of her stories do important metaphorical work for this historian-come-lately.  Her anecdotes remind me of the importance of taking calculated risks, which is something I sometimes forget to do when I’m comfortably ensconced in my windowless, fluorescent-lit office in the history department.

Here’s Rowntree writing about her next adventure:

I expect the going will be tougher than anything I’ve had so far, but I’ve heard so many terrible tales about the dangers to a lone woman on desolate Mexican byways that I’ve stopped believing any of them–things cannot be as bad as they say. At any rate I’m surely going to find new flowers and see new country, and as my friends often remind me, ‘Sensible people don’t have adventures.’

And then there’s this anecdote:

“Are you the woman that’s lost in the mountains?” [one of the two men picking their way through the chaparral] yelled.
“No!” I said indignantly.
“You must be,” they said.
“I’m not!” I shouted.
Ignoring this, they announced, “We’ve come to find you.”
“You can’t,” I said, “because I”m not lost.” […]
“Better come with us,” they pleaded.” […]
“I won’t,” I said firmly. “I’m not lost and I won’t be found.”

Excuse me for a moment–I’m setting the dials of my time machine to 1939; I’m going to explore Mexican byways with Lester Rowntree.  I’ll let you know when I return.

*What about you?  Where would you go in a time machine?  And would you travel forward or backward in time?  I’m curious.