Month: May 2009

First Harvest

Despite the ravaging neighborhood creatures, we managing to grow things. Our plot behind the house is struggling a bit,

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but our squash, zucchini, melons, and onions in front of the house are doing very well.

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Some are even flowering.

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In fact, we’ve kept one thing in the ground long enough to have a harvest: radishes. A few are almost as big as a ping pong ball, and K explains that we have to pick those now, else they’ll be no good. “They don’t taste as good when they’re bigger.” Not knowing the first thing about growing radishes, I nod my head in approval.

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Radishes are a like dill for me: they make me think of summer in Poland.

We use the radishes to make a creamy cheese spread: diced radish mixed in with farmer’s cheese. A simple thing, but then, many of the tastiest foods are “simple things.”

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The cheese is a highligh of our Sunday-morning breakfast. The Girl as her usual: French toast and Maple syrup.

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Then we notice our back bed has been visited again.

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Enormous holes, spread through the bed. “It’s the worst it’s ever been,” K sighs.

Our raccoon neighbor? Dogs?

It’s hard not to take it personally. “What did we ever do to you?” A useless thought — best to start planning how to keep out of our garden dogs, chickens, raccoons, squirrels, bears, elephants, and whatever else might be lurking in the neighborhood.

“Like Home”

“There are places one returns to as if returning to home.” Thus begins a sweet little montage of photos from the school in Poland in which I taught for seven years. Images of life in the school are interspersed with youthful sentimentality.

I know few of the students, but they’re all familiar: all Polish students become familiar at a certain point. There’s just a look about them. K and I see a woman walking down the street here in Greenville and almost simultaneously say, “She looks like a Pole.”

The halls, the classrooms — all so warm and familiar.

The text belies the author: a young graduate, somewhat longing for the simplicity of high school:

“There are people whom one never forgets,” followed by images of teachers I worked with, one of whom was a student when I first arrived in 1996.

“These people will always been in our hearts.” Sentimentality is excusable when one is young. It should probably be so when one is old, as well.

“There are moments which we will always remember.” They pile up, though, and act like a sieve: things we thought we’d never forget, never get over, sift to the bottom and are all but forgotten about. This young film maker probably hasn’t realized that yet. Maybe he/she will never have to.

The final words: “All of this is in one place, and that’s here.” Cut to an elevated image of the school, and a smile on my face.

I wrote a quick note to the YouTube user who posted it: “I taught at that school for seven years — I appreciate your video. You have at least one picture in the video of students I taught.” No response.

Still, I watch the video from time to time, and it always makes me smile and read my journal from my time in Poland.

Now who’s being sentimental?

xtranormal in Action

I mentioned earlier my efforts to use xtranormal.com — the free animation site — in school. Here are a couple of examples from students who used the site to animate research done on selected topics about Victorian England.

Education in Victorian England

Repair Work

L’s bike seat needed some adjustment. She was eager to help.

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“Hand me that,” I could ask, and she would, occasionally. More often, I was asking her to take this instead of that, asking her to bring this back, calling her name out several times in rapid succession when she was reaching for a nut or bolt I’d be needing shortly.

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Required: a seat adjustment.

Reason: it’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s grown significantly since the last time she pedaled around. I raised the seat about two inches.

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An initial fitting showed that a raised seat wouldn’t suffice. I slide the saddle back as far as it would go.

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Result: a happy little girl.

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Yet another image that hints at a five-year-old L.

Happy Cows

Growing up, I drank milk my mother purchased from a small farm about fifteen miles from our home in Virginia. When I went with my mother, I often got a “tour” from Mrs. Campbell. Chickens, cows, a horse or two. The cows wandered about the pasture, grazing and lazing all day long. They moved slowly and seemed totally relaxed.

For a suburbanite like me, it was heaven.

Then there was the milk: always thick and delicious. Vigorous shaking was prerequisite to pouring. And a taste that was radically different from the nonsense I drank in school.

When we stopped our milk runs and turned to store-bought milk, I was initially disappointed with the taste but eventually grew used to it. Trying to remember that taste was like trying to remember an odor: it lingered in the mind just long enough to taunt me with the realization that I can’t truly remember it at all.

I’ve had the opportunity to taste that milk again, here.

It turns out, there’s a local dairy farm and creamery that runs on the same principles: no hormones or antibiotics; free-range grazing; stress-free, healthy living.

Further, it turns out they give tours.

We arrived just after twelve, stepped out of our car and suddenly felt we were back in K’s home village. The odor of a farm is international, and strangely warm and heartening.

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The farm is Trantham’s Twelve Aprils, and the tour convinced me of one thing: buy their milk or no one else’s. No growth hormones, no antibiotics, no stress, grass-fed — pretty much what I grew up on.

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K had heard about the tours, so she arranged a few families to get together for a tour and some strawberry picking afterward.

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Sitting in a trailer behind a tractor being dragged all around a farm doesn’t seem like it would be terribly enjoyable, but learning about simple but revolutionary grazing techniques and the resulting product was, in fact, almost a blast. L was entertained by the simple fact of being pulled by a tractor. Having a farm coloring book helped as well.

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The milk is available only in South Carolina, but given the small size of the operation (they have, if memory serves, eighty milking cows right now) relative to the size of the output is fairly stunning.

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After the tour, we got a chance to sample the milk. They have three products: buttermilk, regular, whole milk, and chocolate milk. I’ve never, in my life, been a fan of buttermilk, but theirs was delicious.

“Mega-dairies add things to their buttermilk to sour it,” the guide/farmer explained. “The result is a strongly acidic taste. Ours doesn’t have that.”

She was certainly right.

Finally, it was time for strawberry picking. “You might not find much after the school kids we had coming through here this week,” the owner’s daughter said.

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L helped by serving as a quality assurance specialist and general run-around-the-farm-laughing consultant.

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Just before packing up, we were able to see the pregnant cows. “We’ve got fifteen due in July,” the guide/farmer said. “It’ll be a busy time.”

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As always, L stood, fascinated with the animals. Last summer in Poland, “I want to see the cows” was a common refrain.

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The fascination hasn’t waned in the intervening year.

Growth and Stillness

I took a walk around our property to document the growth of our onions, radishes, tomatoes, potatoes, squash, melons, and flowers.

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Our hanging cherry tomatoes are growing wildly, though the experimental upside down one is hesitant.

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Our onions and radishes are onioning and radishing wonderfuly.

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Our squash has its first flower.

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And Bida is catching chipmunks and taking them into our basement, where they stop playing dead and hide in the piles of things stored in the corners.

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Anyone know how to catch a chipmunk?

Summer Plans Begin

In Polska, K and I were both avid cyclers. Here, we haven’t been so much. Having a beast of 2.5 years makes that difficult.

The solution has always lingered in the back of our mind, brought forward afresh each time we were at a park with bike trails: buy a trailer for the Girl.

Add to this equation the decision we’ve made to have a relaxing, travel-resistant vacation on Edisto Island and one has all the impetus necessary to buy a trailer.

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First, we had to sell her on the whole idea. That was not too difficult: we’d been pointing out such trailers every time we go to a park, asking, “L, would you like to ride in something like that?” The answer was always, “Yes.” (Or, until recently, “Tak.”)

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She played and played, went in and out and in again — “You close it, please?” “Open it, please.” “You close it, please?” Finally, we attached the wheels and pulled her around downstairs.

Monday, at last, we took her on the road.

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Verdict: fun, but only when Mama’s around.

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Digging in the Dirt

An afternoon with friends led L and Franio to discover (or for L, to rediscover) the joys of mucking about with gardening tools. Our host stayed in the backyard with the kids for a bit, teaching them how safely to use semi-dangerous equipment. Naturally, I felt they might as well be playing with chainsaws and strychnine.

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It became an object lesson for the Girl: bigger kids can do things younger children simply can’t. Or at least shouldn’t. Not when Tata is around, anyway. L was delicately working.

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Franio was putting his back into it.

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“I do it like Franio, Tata!” L squealed several times. “No, you do it gently,” Tata replied.

It was another of many “you can’t protect them forever but ‘forever’ is not now” moments.

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More significant than the digging or other fun was the sharing. Spontaneous, unsolicited sharing. “You try now,” was a common refrain.

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The adults did the parental love and horror stories routine with the new parents. With us, all that advice and thos endless anecdotes do little except provide reassurance. Yet we tell the stories anyway.

Ben Folds in Boston

Ben Folds is coming to play at Symphony Hall in Boston with the Boston Pops. If it’s anything like his performance with the Western Australia Symphony Orchestra, it’s likely to be one of the best shows in Boston this year.

If only it had been ten years earlier…

[Video blocked.]

Anti-Squirrel Device

It was squirrels digging up our garden, and being the eco-friendly folks we are, we went with a non-lethal but hopefully highly annoying and perhaps frightening deterrent: a motion-activated sprinkler.

It turned out to be great fun for the Girl as well.

Carrots and Chocolate

For dessert today, we had that Polish favorite, shredded carrots and apples topped with chocolate. Chocolate and carrots are a popular culinary combination in Poland, though cabbage and chocolate is a little more classy and the all-time spring favorite is chocolate covered radishes.

Ah, the things we do to try to ween the Girl from this and that…

Longing

kayahWhen I moved back to America from Poland in 1999, I had a difficult time adjusting. I missed my friends in Poland; I missed my students and working with them; I missed the adventure.

It was a rough time.

Listening to the last album purchased before leaving Poland, Kayah i Bregovic, didn’t help.

Kayah is a Polish pop star; Goran Bregovic is a composer from the Balkans. An odd pairing, but effective. It became the best-selling album in Polish history, if memory serves.

You’ll find no other popular music so utterly filled with yearning as this one.

All the tracks have at the very least a ting of longing, but one drips it: “Trudno Kochac” (“Hard to Love”). Though obviously a love song, the refrain captured the duality of my feelings for Poland:

Tak trudno kochac
Lecz trudniej jest
Nie kochac wcale cie

What a summary of the love-hate relationship many of us have with Poland: difficult to love, difficult not to love.

Mystery

One evening, not long ago, I strolled out to dump some potato peels and other goodies on the enclosed pile when I saw motion in the bin — it was not yet totally closed up. Since our cat had wiggled her way in there once before, I thought it was the cat. I removed the wire-mesh cover, a shadow jumped out, and I gave it a not-quite-light, certainly-not-swift kick. In the dark, it was hard to discern much of anything other than the fact that the shape moved away from our house, toward our neighbors fence. It climbed the fence and turned to look at me. Our bandit was just that: a raccoon. I’d thought to reach my hand into the composter and grab the “cat” by the scruff of the neck; I was certainly glad I didn’t when I realized who our “visitor” was.

We’re going crazy with the compost, though, because we’ve been trying out our green thumbs, only to find them to be a paler green than we’d really like. We planted some melons and squash in a patch in front of the house where I pulled up some diseased boxwoods. Started from seeds, they were smallish, but we didn’t really they were too underdeveloped for planting — especially the squash. Still, almost two weeks later, despite careful watering, sixty percent of the squash is dead and forty percent of the melons. The soil was quality; the seedlings looked healthy — who knows.

The bigger mystery is in the backyard, where we have our raised bed, which houses some onions, radishes, and a few other goodies. We were walking around the house this evening when we saw this:

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Something absolutely ravaged our garden. There were seemingly countless deep, narrow holes along the landscaping timbers.

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Lens cap for scale, not horticultural technique

It’s certainly not a dog, for canine-dug holes aren’t so precise.

My bet: the raccoon. Squirrels could be another good bet, but we’re not sure exactly when the raid took place. Any ideas?

xtranormal Shakespeare

I’ve been playing with xtranormal.com, the site that allows you to create a movie merely from text. I’m thinking I might use it somehow next year with my English I Honors class when we work on Shakespeare.

Something like this:

The pronunciation is a bit off at times, but otherwise, a potentially useful tool.

I’m just not quite sure how to use it…