TOMATO!

My life has been a little crazy lately---a rollercoaster of ups and downs, really. But, this little guy has made me ridiculously happy.







Now, I don't like tomatos, actually. I like tomato sauce and a lot of tomato based items, but a regular tomato I could do without. So, R. will be the recipient of this little guy, but just the fact that I grew him and have more growing I feel is a real accomplishment.

Patio Garden July 10th

Wow, there's been some changes in the garden in just a week! My Chinese Five-Color Pepper began it's bloom. It's really quite a pretty flower! Unfortunately I couldn't seem to get a decent shot of it, so what's below is a bit blurry. But, my Tumbling Tom is starting to get some color, so hopefully soon it will be ready to be plucked and eaten as my first grown edible!




The Chinese Five-Color Pepper and it's pretty, purple bloom




The ever-ripening Tumbling Tom... Can't wait to eat him up

Patio Garden: July 3rd

I haven't done a very good job of keeping track of my growing vegetables. I water them, check their progress, but haven't kept tabs on what's doing well, what's struggling, what's blooming and when, etc.

So, here's my first attempt to at least keep some visual records of what's going on in my "mini-farm" as it's been dubbed.

My "Strawberry Temptation" never did grow. Not sure what happened, but it just never came up. Of course, this was the plant I was looking most forward to. Oh well, everything else came up so I can't complain!





This is a poor picture of my "Tumbling Tom Red" tomatoes. I planted about five plants and they are all either showing off smalll green toms, or are blooming and will offer tomatoes soon.




Another poor picture, this time of my "Strawberry Popcorn" plant. Tassles are beginning to show and it's great fun to watch this large plant shoot up on my deck



The whole she-bang. The other plants are two kinds of peppers (one hot--Chinese 5-color; and one sweet---Golden Marconi), not yet flowering or fruiting, but growing taller and sturdier each day.

If I Had A Million Dollars

This weekend, most of my immediate family went up to Iowa to visit my Grandparents. One set of grandparents lives in a small town-- a very typical, rural, Iowa town. It is populated mostly by the (now) elderly who left their farms in the '50s and '60s because it was no longer economically feasible to live on the farm.

About 100 years after my ancestors built the house and began to farm the land, my Grandparents and their children moved into this small town and off of the farm that both my Grandpa and Great-Grandfather had grown up in. From what I can gather, the farm house stayed in the family until the 70s--with different tennants, before it was bought from my Grandfather by a friend.

In the 1990s, both men well into their seventies, struck a deal where the farmhouse would go back to my Grandpa. The house is about 30 years past being livable, and probably a few more years past that of being "nice." Over the years, my Grandpa has done all he could to repair the home of his youth and his children's youth, but unfortunately the house needed much more than the paint and the patch-work a 70 and 80 year old man could provide.

Usually, my parents and whichever grandchildren want to participate, head out with my Grandpa to the farmhouse about once a year. Generally, we walk around the outside while Grandpa or Dad tells stories. On much fewer occassions we're allowed inside to roam what once was your typical Iowa farmhouse. I suppose, in a way, it remains the typical Iowa farmhouse--abandoned and falling apart.



Over the years, my Grandpa has brought odds and ends out to the old farmhouse. The living room is practically furnished with a chair and a sofa and an incredibly old piano with keys and pieces missing. Grandpa likes to go out here and tinker around, play the piano, and I suppose remember what it once was. At 84, with numerous physical ailments, there's very little he can do to avoid the continual decay of his beloved home.



Saturday morning we drove out, and after walking around the home that I could so easily see as once being beautiful, we assembled in the living room as if it were a functional room. Grandpa and Dad told stories and, for me, it was so easy to see what once had been. While they were remembering, I could imagine. As my Grandfather turned to the piano and played a hymn on sticking keys, I felt tears in my own eyes. The sadness in the room was overwhelming. It was as if the air was full of all the people who had once lived in this home---who had once so lovingly cared for it--were all there mourning the decay and loss. For every time I could see it's potential in my minds eye, reality was right there waiting with rotting walls and caved in ceilings.

There are places in this world where I feel connected--but it's more of a belonging--as if I was always meant to be there. But this was new, different--it was more a connection to the people of my past. I'm not much of one to believe in ghosts or spirits, but in that room there was a presence from people long gone. A sad, mourning presence that sunk over me in a way that was both comforting for it's connection yet... devestating from its sadness.

There's always talk in my family, if we ever have some disposable income we'd fix up that house. I think as much for Grandpa as for ourselves. But, disposable income isn't easy to come by in this world. The time and money and effort to fix a house so far gone is well beyond our abilities. But I know, when the old question comes around, exactly what I'd do if I had a million dollars.


My Grandpa and Dad discussing property lines

Let's Go! Let's Go! Let's zzzzzzzzzzzz

Last week as I voracioulsy attacked the new Kingsolver book I had ideas! and inspiration! and motivation! and excitement! popping up everywhere. Then, around Thursday I began to feel under the weather which lead to a weekend of feeling not quite right. I didn't feel sick totally, instead had the off and on symptoms of a sore throat, a temperamental stomach, and extreme fatigue.

Needless to say, though today I'm finally feeling normal, all those exciting ideas and motivations kind of went down the toilet. And though physically I'm feeling fine, mentally I'm feeling sluggish and lazy. There's a million things I NEED to do...and probably as many things I WANT to do, but I can't get mind, body and motivation on the same page.

In somewhat exciting news, my tomato plant is flowering like crazy and I have a few mini tomatoes starting to grow! I'm not sure if any other of my plants are going to produce, so it is exciting to see something actually bearing some fruit. Also it make me happy that my tomato plant is the one bearing because when I started my container garden venture, someone told me that there would be no way I could grow tomatoes in a pot. So :P I showed them. =)

Making a Difference

There are many reasons why I buy every book Barbara Kingsolver comes out with. I enjoy her writing style, she writes, most often, about things I enjoy/care about, and I feel so often as I read her words that "aha" or "yes" moment. A moment where either I agree so completely it's amazing or a moment where her words so perfectly describe my feelings and therefore makes them that more tangible and expressable.

There's another part of that equation--whether it's her fiction, nonfiction, or creative nonfiction, she has the ability to make problems seem surmountable. I'd say this goes double for her writing on environmental and food issues.

Changing the world is no easy task, and I think we live in a culture where (despite David and Goliath parable) chnage is viewed as negative and nearly impossible. If we put a conservative Republican and a liberal Democrat in a room together--do we really expect peace or a calm resolution of some political problem? Perish the thought.

I have often felt that I will never change a person's opinion, I could never have the kind of influence to save something of importantce, and no manner of talking, writing, expressing will change the government, the policies, the ideas, the beliefs of the world in which I leave. And because of all that it's so easy to say, WHY BOTHER? My voice doesn't matter and it won't ever matter. The end. This is a philosophy that goes beyond my own personal crusades. Something won't turn out like I want it to, why bother? It's a habit ingrained in my own personality and ingrained in some portion in the culture in which I grew up.

However, reading Barbara Kingsolver often makes me realize that it's not so much the results as it is the try. I may not make a world of difference, but a person of difference works can be just as important.

"Small, stepwise changes in personal habits aren't trivial. Ultimately they will, or won't, add up to having been the thing that mattered." "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle."

I especially would recommend this book because of one simple fact: it isn't all about giving up. It's not about sacrifice or deprevation. It's about what you can do if you try. It wasn't about totally changing to local food and cutting everything else off. It was about trying to change and making more responsible choices. If you feel you must have something you can't obtain locally--try to find organic, free trade options.

I have to remind myself that change is not a over-the-night thing. There's so many things I'd like to change about myself--that I've tried to change for years--and still haven't succeeded. I can't expect to go local and be done with it. But, making smarter choices and integrating a different food ethic will help start taking steps toward change...and right now, that's the best I can do.

And there's nothing wrong with that.

One Meal a Week Challenge

Now that Farmer's Market season is starting around here, I have been trying to find farmer's markets in my areas. I have found a few that claim to be farmer's markets in my direct area, but sell mainly California or other imported food stuffs. Because of the summer followed by winter weather we had in March/April, a lot of fruit growers in the area suffered--and according to a local article, fruit is where the moneys at. So, call in California. This isn't to say they won't carry ANY local food, just not very much.

There are some fairly decent farmer's markets in my extended area. And by extended I mean upwards 30+ miles away from me and nasty construction and traffic on the way. As I'm not much of a driver, especially a city driver, I like to avoid those areas if possible. I know that radius still means it's local food, and likely food from closer to my apartment than it is to the city, but nevertheless I'm not to the point where I'm willing to make that drive at least once a week. (Yet, anyway).

I found a possible Farmer's Market a little bit closer, so R. and I are going to go check it out on Saturday morning. And, I'm like a little kid ready for a trip to Florida. I keep reminding R. we're going, lest he forget. And, currently, it looks to be the highlight of my week.

I have been reading Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, as I mentioned earlier. There are a lot of statistics included, and typically I distrust statistics because it's so easy to manipulate a number, or to conduct research in a way that makes whatever you have to say seem authoritative or to find statistics to back up ANY opinion under the sun. But, I found this statistic particular interesting, even if it's only partially true. "If every U.S citizen ate just one meal a week (any meal) composed of locally and organically raised meats and produce, we could reduce our country's oil consumption by over 1.1 million barrels of oil every week."

That's a lot of people doing one small thing and making a big difference, no matter how you look at it. I'm not at a point in my life where I think I can make a drastic change like living a month on local goods or even a week. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to go totally local--partially because I am a very picky eater and partially because I am notoriously lazy. But, I feel one meal a week is COMPLETELY doable. And it could lead to two meals a week--a meal a day--and on and on until maybe my diet is mainly composed of local.

Now is the perfect time to start this challenge. Farmer's Markets are opening up everywhere and the summer bounty will soon be upon us (I had my first tomato flower pop up on Sunday!). If we're not really eating locally at all, why not try just one meal a week. It could be something as easy as 2 locally laid eggs and perhaps a piece of locally grown fruit for breakfast.

My success will depend on what we find at the Farmer's Market on Saturday and my ability to convince R. to try this little experiment with me (and continue to return to the Farmer's Market). (I promised to do a few things for him if he promised to read the book when I am finished with it).

If there's anyone out there still not integrating local foods into their diet, I think this would be an excellent first step.

The History Dork Within

In order to get to many places (my job, my parents house, etc), I have to cross part of the Missouri River. I've mentioned before my fear of bridges, which is especially heightened on this particular bridge for some reason. I guess the narrow lanes or some such. Nevertheless, I feel a little less nervous when someone else is driving and I can look out onto the river.

The other night, R. and I were heading to my sister's softball game. The night was very humid and foggy. As I looked out onto the darkening Missouri River, I got this flash of what it must have felt like before these bridges and buildings. The dark fog of an early summer night. The uncomfortable humidity and irritating bugs. In my mind I could visualize the Lewis and Clark Expedition camping, sailing, doing the things they did back in this time when very little of our world existed.

This happens to me in certain places--my history studies + imagination on overload I suppose. Not many in my family/friend circle enjoy history the way I do, so it's an odd, inner way of enjoying what I know of history...and wondering what it must have been like to live so long ago.

In other news, I bought Barbara Kingsolver's new book "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle." I am so excited! And, as a warning, it's bound to inspire many political, food growing and philosophical type posts. Be prepared.

=)

Pink Lady Slipper

I'm sure I've mentioned (oh, about eleventy-million times) that as a young girl I spent many a spring and summer week at my Grandma's house in the Iowa woodlands. Regardless of the season, we would often walk the woods and creek, but in the spring wildflowers were our first priority.

There were certain flowers that were the old standby (Spring Beauties, Sweet William, Dutchman's Brithces). Certain flowers that only grew in one area (Virginia Bluebells, Buttercups) and some that we rarely or never found.

My Grandma often talked about Lady Slippers--both yellow and pink. We'd search for either, and never found either while we together. I believe she once found a yellow Lady Slipper when I wasn't there, but the Pink Lady Slipper was somewhat our Holy Grail so to speak--something we searched for and never found.

I'd never seen one before last weekend. On our fated Bear-Poop hike I saw what had elluded me for so many years. Something I'd very nearly forgotten about--until I saw a clump of these pink beauties at the edge of a trail deep in the Smoky Mountains.



Just as normal as could be, their pink little heads stood there at the side of the trail as my breath caught in my throat. I couldn't help but look up at the sky through the trees and feel my Grandma hiking along with me. Surely she saw it too.

Poop

Probably the most related tale of our Smoky Mountain trip revolves around these 2 pictures:





The first is a tree limb that had fallen over the trail and looked suspiciously as if it had been scratched up by a bear. The trail was off a gravel, one-way, mountain road that only had one other car on it that we saw the entire 14 miles. R. was a little concerned by this, but it didn't bother me overmuch. We continued to walk along this trail a ways and then saw the second picture. Luckily, we had been at the visitor's center not too long before and had seen a replica of Bear scat. This had exactly the same look. R. was ready to throw in the towel, but I waved it off. It was just some poop after all.

We went another 1/4 of a mile or so and discovered another lump of scat--also right on the trail. This time I agreed with R.--time to head back. We didn't see any bears, but neither of us wanted to chance it. We'd rather see a bear from the confines of our own car.

And, that we did, the next day. Cade's Cove is a driving loop in the Smokies that is fairly popular. We were trying to get out, stuck in some nasty traffic, before we saw two park rangers by the road, directing traffic. We thought maybe some kind of fender bender, but as we passed we saw 3 black bears in the clearing right off the road. I tried to take a picture, but as the park rangers were waving us on (and we didn't think to stop for a second to disobey them) I never did get a shot of them.

Still, it was neat to see them (from afar)! I couldn't help but wonder if they felt a bit like a circus sideshow with all the people gawking from their cars.

Still Expecting Mountains

I really love the mountains. This is a problem being a lifelong midwesterner who will probably stay a lifelong midwesterner, but I love the midwest too, so I suppose it all works out. It's just, I keep thinking I'm going to look at the horizon and see mountains, but I just see flat-flat-flat.

We got back yesterday, tired and sore. We hiked only about 11 or 12 miles worth of trails, but were on our feet or in the car the whole time. The only time we were in our hotel was to shower and sleep. So, all in all, a successful trip.

We've decided that a return trip to Gatlinburg isn't very likely. We'd already done most of the museums (which, most, are very neat) on our first trip, so we were disappointed with the less than steller options on this trip. We love the Smokies, but Gatlinburg is too busy, cigarette smoky, and has a certain element of unpleasant people (which we found on this trip, not the one before). So hopefully we'll make it back to the park and bypass Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge altogether.

I'll have a more detailed post of our drive and hikes throughout the week. Right now I am stuffed full of BBQ and still a bit exhausted from the trip. But, I'll leave you with some pictures. =)

Impromptu Vacation

Well, kind of at the last minute, R. decided to take Thursday off and we are heading down to Gatlinburg, Tennessee tomorrow through Sunday. We have been there once before back in October of 2005. We're staying in the same place (a great little place outside of Gatlinburg in the midst of the mountains with rooms that are basically condos), but have different things on our itinerary from last visit.

We loved it there, because there's so much to do. Basically, our plan last time was to hike by day, walk around Gatlinburg by night. It worked out well, though by the end of each day my legs were killing me.

Our plan is virtually the same this time, but we are going to try for some lesser visited areas within the park. And, since we only have a few days, we'll be spending most of our time enjoying the Smokies rather than the museums and entertainment of Gatlinburg (though last time we were surprised at the entertainment value of some of those). I am determined to see sunset and sunrise in the park, so there are definitely some long days ahead of us.

I'm hoping my legs hold out this time.

Anywhoo, I'll be back Sunday/Monday with lots of pictures, hopefully, and lots of fun to relate.

Two Worlds

I have always been fascinated by sunsets--the blaze of color, cloud, sky. The intricate flames of day slowly fading into night.

One of my favorite parts of the sunset is towards the end, when half of the world is accepting night--dark, with stars and moon, and the other half still holds onto the day. The sun gone, but light still shining, the colors of the sunset beautifully pale and subtle--colors I would never be able to catch on film... just bare tints of orange and pink. I love that groves of trees look dark, but the sky behind them is glowing.

I feel magic as this dusk approaches--traveling through two worlds: night and day.

Sometimes it is the simplest pleasures that procure the deepest reaction.

Strawberries!

Thursday R. and I both had the day off and R. heard that a farm about 45 miles away was having a pick your own strawberry deal. The same farm had apples back in the fall that we went and picked a gajillion of, so we decided to head out to pick strawberries.



It was an absolutely beautiful and perfect day weather wise. Low 70's, blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds. It could not have been more perfect. We ended up picking 12 pounds of strawberries!! I kept telling R. to stop, but he was obsessed. So we gave 1/2 to R.'s family and some to mine as well.





It was a fun outing and the strawberries are absolutely delicious. I've been eating strawberries as snacks, deserts, drizzled in melted chocolate. There's no white middle--it's all deliciously red. I learned that nothing tastes as good as a strawberry warmed by the sun. DELICIOUS.

I'm Back, For Good

I didn't expect the last few weeks to be so crazy, but maybe I should have. With the end of school, my sister graduating college, visitors and project upon project, I've been running around like crazy trying to get everything accomplished and in order. Thus, no brain or time for posting.

Well, school is over until the fall (when I'll be student teaching). And I have a few weeks before my job goes to full time. So, I'm hoping I can get a lot accomplished and organized for the upcoming summer rather than wasting my time away... like I usually do with a break in schedule.

All of my grand plans for a more eco-friendly life have, admitedly, gone by the wayside in the time being. I've been thinking more about making enough money this summer to support myself while I student teach in the fall than about how I can stop using ziploc bags or eat organic and locally produced food. I want to get back into the mindset where I'm trying to be a more responsible consumer--both in the sense of buying and eating.

Luckily, some REAL farmer's markets should be opening up around the area soon. In fact, tomorrow R. and I are going to go to a pick your own farm and pick some strawberries. Some storms rolled in last night leaving the next few days in the low seventies--rather than the mid-high eighties we were having. So, it will hopefully be a lovely day.

My vegetables are doing fairly well. I'm at the point where I am getting impatient...which is why I'm not the best gardener in the world. I don't need results immediately, but waiting a handful of months drives me a little crazy. Especially since this is my first attempt, they are in containers, and they don't get quite as much sun as they probably should. I just want to know that some are going to produce.

So, anyway, enough of my ramblings. I should be back to posting fairly regularly and hopefully more interestingly!

Farmer's Market Travesty

So, I've mentioned a few times that there was a farmer's market getting ready to open fairly close to my apartment. I've been excited, eagerly looking for new signs as I drove by.

It opened May 1st, so R. and I headed over yesterday to see what they had. Obviously, it's still really early for most fresh produce, but I was still... optimistic.

We walk in and there's a stand of bags of chips. At first, I think they must be organic chips or something... but nope, regular old Tostidos and Lays. Huh. Then there's a display of soda. Okay.

I quickly move to the produce with a sinking feeling. There's displays of mangoes, plums, pears... all things that I know can't be Fresh or Local. I begin to read tags: Product of California, Georgia, MEXICO. The signs say "Fresh" and "Delisious" (spelled with an s, yes). But, THESE ARE NOT FRESH--THEY HAVE BEEN SHIPPED FROM MEXICO.

Needless to say I was angry. Angry because I got my hopes up, but also because the place claims to be a "FARMER'S market" and... I guess maybe the produce came from a farm SOMEWHERE, but I don't think the farmer is reaping the rewards of a sale. And the signs say FRESH--something from Mexico CAN'T BE FRESH.

But, the saddest part is, I don't think the owners are trying to trick people. They just don't think about it. Food is food is food. It's fresh if it looks ripe, but they're not really thinking about the trip it took that Mango to get here from Mexico. They're thinking, hey let's put a cute little market right here. Let's sell produce. Cool.

So, I'm disappointed and irritated that they're calling themselves a farmer's market. R. thinks it's a mob front, but being a police officer shifts his paranoia into overdrive =)

Looks like I'll be searching out somewhere else to get my local produce this summer. I just hope I can find somewhere not too far out of my way.

Cameras

It's been a busy few weeks since Easter, between work and school and other obligations, I haven't felt like I've had a whole lot of "sit" time. But, about a week after Easter I realized my camera was missing. I couldn't find it anywhere. We had gone to Iowa for Easter, so after a week+ of searching, I was convinced I'd somehow lost it in the travel there or back.

Monday, my mother returned to Iowa to put flowers on my Grandmother's grave for her birthday. She also helped my Grandpa by going through some of my Grandmother's things. Tuesday was my birthday, and my Mom brought me back a little something of my Grandma's: her Polaroid camera. She brought this for me not because I'd lost my camera, but because I'd loved that little (or rather, big!) Polaroid and that's about the only camera I can remember my Grandma using.

My Grandma bought my a Polaroid camera for Christmas one year, and though I used it as much as possible, it's long since been gone or shoved in a box somewhere after multiple moves and the advance of technology.

After lunch with R. and my parents and having Mom give me the camera, I had to go to class. As I was driving I was thinking about how this old, clunky Polaroid came into my life when my camera was missing--and wasn't that just a bit of a coincidence? Hadn't my Grandma always had a way with filling whatever particular void I was feeling. The thought made me happy.

I got to class a bit early, so sat in the hall and pulled out a book to read. I realized I couldn't find my cell phone, so I was pawing through my purse, when I felt something in the zippered pouch I so rarely use.

My camera.

The moment I felt okay about losing the camera, I found it. The moment I'd felt as if my Grandma's presense was a tangible thing, the camera reappeared. It was as good a birthday present as any.

Spring is REALLY here

Wow, real spring weather finally arrived and I'm practically giddy with it. It's not too hot like it was in March, but not too cold like the winter we had in April. It's sunny, sixties with a cool enough breeze to necessitate a jacket. My favorite kind of weather.

I've been getting my seedlings transplanted in pots, hoping the meager sun and meager space will do well enough for some of them to give something. I'm not looking for enough to live off of by any means, but a tomato or pepper or two would be nice. My strawberry seedlings never popped up, so that was a bit disappointing. I might see if I can find a strawberry plant somewhere instead of trying to grow them from seed.

I'm eagerly awaiting the opening of a farmer's market down the street. It's not quite close enough to walk to, but it is close enough that it makes sense to make regular trips for fruits and vegetables, instead of getting them from the grocery store. And, it's on the way to the grocery store, so it makes sense to stop by there first, then continue on to the store for other necessities. I am very excited about supporting some local farmers and getting some delicious, healthy food out of the deal!

I want to start making my own bread, though admitedly I am a bit intimidated by the whole process. It seems like bread takes a lot of patience, and I do not have a wealth of that! But, I think that will be my project for this weekend/week.

I've fallen off my projects lately. Funks and fogs are not really conduscive to making changes. So, I've been indulging in things like kiwis from Greece and fast food and sitting around, ignoring all the little things I should do. I'm trying to break out of that and get myself together. I need to get back on track with all aspects of my life, being more conscientious in my environmental decisions is just a small part of that.

Hopefully this weather will help get my butt in gear =)

My Soapbox on Violence

I have tried not to think much about the Virginia Tech tragedy. As someone who attends a University as a Masters student, someone who will be teaching in a high school come fall, someone with large amounts of friends and family doing both those things, it's hard to think about without becoming afraid as much as sad. So, it's easier to cope with the things I have to do by putting it away.

But, it's easier said than done, and what keeps coming back to my mind when I hear about this horrible tragedy, is an essay I often use for a lesson plan I teach for creative nonfiction. I use this essay because it addresses the Columbine High School shooting, it adresses violence--and all these things are pertinent not just to everyone--but especially to young people who should be able to go to school without fear, but many cannot.

The essay is from the book of essays Small Wonder by Barbara Kingsolver. It is called, "Life is Precious, Or Its Not." I don't know that I agree with everything Kingsolver discusses in her essay, it's still an issue I'm working out on where I stand--but regardless of that stand I think we all need to think about violence and how we approach it in our homes and as a society. And, I think this paragraph that ends her essay is something that should be taken into consideration.

"For all of us who are clamoring for meaning, aching for the loss of these precious young lives in Littleton to mean something, my strongest instinct is to use the event to nail a permanent benchmark into our hearts: Life is that precious, period. It is possible to establish zero tolerance for murder as a solution to anything. Those of us who agree to this contract can start by removing from our households and lives every television program, video game, film, book, toy and CD that presents the killing of humans (however symbolic) as an entertainment option, rather than the apalling loss it really is..... Sound extreme? Let's be honest. DEATH is extreme, and the children are paying attention."

Really, I could quote the whole essay, because it raises some tough, tough questions that I myself can't even answer. When I have children, I don't know that I'll have the mindset to rid every movie and video game and CD that depicts killing. But, I think in this Kingsolver makes an excellent point, so much out there depicts killing, murder, violence--think of how hard it would be to rid your lives of it.

We are bombarded with images--on TV, news, movies, papers, and so on and so on of death. It's not all used as "entertainment" per se. And it's not all "bad" in my mind, but when we see nothing but death, I can't help but feel we come desensitized to it.

For example, I was watching a show on the history channel about the JFK assasination and it showed a clip of the Oliver Stone film JFK, where the moment the bullet hits JFK's head is repeated over and over. My stomach turned, I looked away, but I also found myself looking back--a little squeamish, but overall intranced. Consequently, watching the Discovery Earth show, I can't bear to watch another animal kill another animal. Shouldn't it be the other way around?

Again, I come to no real, concrete answers. Only the question that I think Kingsolver puts so eloquently in her essay: "Why would any student, however frustrated with mean-spirited tormentors, believe that bombs and guns were the answer?" Why does ANYONE feel that guns and bombs are the answer? What does death, violence, strife solve?

And I think, in the wake of continuing tragedy, not just here in the US, not just in our schools, but across the world, we need to start attempting to answer these questions--face these difficult questions with truth and fact and honesty, and then work toward answers.

I don't believe we can eradicate violence from this Earth. I don't think bad things will ever cease to happen, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't try. That doesn't mean we shouldn't attempt to change things--and I don't mean just attempting to make our schools safer--I mean trying to change this mindset that murder is an answer. We can install metal detectors, give kids ID badges, guard the school with police with guns--but I think if anything history proves it's that there's always a way to get around the precautions we throw up.

Change is not about fixing what we do--it's about fixing how we think.

With It, I'm Not

I guess I'm going through some sort of delayed winter funk (since it's very nearly winter temperatures here). I'm feeling foggy, down, and just not with it. I imagine that's how the poor huddling tulips feel in this dreary, cold, windy weather. Where's the sun to come cheer us up?

April has long been my favorite month. It usually had Easter, sometimes Spring Break--which meant a trip to my Grandma T's, always my Birthday, and my Grandma's birthday a day before mine.

My Grandma passed away last July. She had been sick for a long time, but it was and is still very hard. I had a very special relationship with my Grandma and I'm not sure there's a day that goes by now that I don't think about her in one way or another.

April brings those memories to the forefront even moreso than perhaps any other time in the past months since she's been gone. Even when I couldn't visit, April was always our month. We'd talk about what wildflowers were blooming in her woods, what the sunsets were looking like. When I'd visit we'd hunt for Dutchman's Britches, violets, Spring Beauties, Anemones, and any other early bloomer. In the evening, we'd sit on her couch in front of her large window and watch the sun set over the wooded hill. I was her only Grandchild that really got into the wildflowers and the sunsets and the hikes through wet woods. And, now that she's gone I don't have anyone to share that with.

Maybe that's as much the funk I'm in than anything else, I'm missing that time with her and feeling a bit empty because of it.


Violets at My Grandma's house a few years ago: