Back on Solid Ground

it takes restraint to not forage constantly with ripe and ready blueberries at my feet

I lounge now in our cool (amazing 68 F this morning) Pville house all calm and relaxed and thinking about baking zucchini bread.  It is a good morning for it after all the heat.  Sinking into the patterns of summer, I realize that I haven’t written anything for this blog in months.  I mean, geeze….  Months!   And so much has happened.  I suppose field-work is mostly to blame, but in general, I just find myself distracted.  Garden, kitchen, science, family, friends, house.  Where do people find the time?  And I don’t even have kids…. Yet…..

Syncrude processing plant with sulfur mounds

I just returned from Alberta where the days are long and warm and the bugs are blood-thirsty and vicious.  I have remnants of black fly evidence all over my what was once a head-net-covered maligned melon. The little bastards found ways to sneak past my defenses while I distractedly did my job collecting plants from the bogs which flank the center of the oil sands activity north of Fort McMurray.  This is what we lovingly call our field work.

Kel, Cara, Brian, and Nate getting ready

It was a great trip.  I mean, really….  One of the best.  How many people get to spend two days  helicopter hopscotching from bog to bog hoping to hop out into sloggy wet?  Me thinks not many.  But we were able to get our entire crew of 14 up at one point or another and it was an experience not soon to be forgotten by any of us. 

me. copilot.

As co-pilot all weekend, I got to hang in the front of the chopper enjoying great views, but also embracing the occasionally heavy responsibility of actually finding the bogs and directing us to them, and this is not necessarily as easy as it may sound.  We naively thought we were totally prepared with gps’ed sites gleaned from satellite images, but as we flew, it was clear that the bogs were not going to make it that easy for us.  You see… I won’t go into the details of it all, but suffice it to say, bogs and rich fens look remarkably alike on satellite images, and man, I can assure you: there are a lot of rich fens up in Alberta.   

momma with twins

Ultimately, we accomplished our goals, and I am happy to say that in the process, our helicopter befuddled and bewildered 5 moose from our sky vantage.  We saw beautifully big rich fens that stretched to the horizon, patterned poor fens ridged and ringed with vibrant colors, uplands and bogs and a myriad of greens.  Alternately, we also saw the massive destruction of the processing centers, tailings ponds, slag piles, massive mounds of bright yellow sulfur with their negative pH’s and spontaneous flare-ups, demolished landscapes, open flames, cutlines and pads, oozing pipes, oily slicks, great smelly clouds of pollution.  Such contrast of breathtaking beauty surrounding and yielding to bitter destruction made for a very sensory and complicated experience.

theorhetically, there should be no oil in this mess....  but there is....

I hope to again, one day, rise into the sky to absorb the natural beauty spared from the cumulative efforts we are currently waging, seemingly hell-bent to destroy these intricate and fragile ecosystems.   The Boreal forest is a beautiful thing. 

patterned poor fen with a tiny little bit of bog maybe....beautiful views

Frazzled April into Glimmering May

Well….     2 months without a blip, a blurb, so much as a noun.  Not that I’m in high demand, but my psyche misses it.  My immediate circumstances leave me with good intentions of talking about the rhubarb I have marinating in grapefruit juice/rinds and sugar for jam, or the pies, or our lovely garden that is sprouting green beans and raspberries and lettuce, but alas….I’m knee deep – or neck-deep, bogged down and mired is more like it – in prep for field work:  it is taking over my brain.  It is almost as if there is no end in sight, though I know that is not true.  A new project is in the works and it is a monster. NSF has kindly given us 1.2-ish million dollars to discover some things over the next few years, and we are feverishly prepping to lay the ground-work for it.  We’ve said we’d do quite a bit.  More than what most of us argued we could do, from the get-go, but it turns out writing mentality and implementing mentality are two very different things.  Arguing about minutia and dribs and drabs when no one wants, or has time, to focus on such slop is not how I would have liked to move forward.  Thankfully, I hope and think we are past that and onto making it all happen.  The truck leaves in 11 days.  Even if we wanted to, we have no more time.

Long term, we are at a point where I am not worried.  The sites will be set up.  The research will be accomplished with our normal grace and skill, and it will be good.    

If you’ve never set up a million dollar research project in the middle of nowhere, I assure you, expenditures are front-end heavy.  We are currently $4 million deep in projects up there, so this is nothing new, but we are ramping.  We have a lot going on.  I just received a quote for 700 rough-hewn 2x6x10’s that need to be delivered to gps coordinate-identified spots and then we will tromp the lumber into wetlands, cut it with chain saws, and nail it together into plots which are spread across central/northern Alberta (a feat that will be mostly accomplished by variously-skilled and patiently-taught (hopefully) graduate and undergraduate students… ).  I have bought $7000 in weather stations….  Thousands of dollars in electrical bear fence supplies….  You don’t want to know how much pvc of all sizes…  over 3000 crank wires… 200 plastic buckets…  temperature buttons, temperature probes, hand-held thermometers…  DI water…. Gas standards…  bags, bottles, books…. oh my.  The list is growing and this isn’t even the half of it.   

So, a big sigh.  I’m just now seeing a glimmer before the next real-life-make-it-happen-obstacle slams me in the head.  Wish us all luck.  If you care to follow our adventures this summer, I have set up a blog for the research group to share their thoughts (http://55parallel.blogspot.com/).  We shall see how it goes, and hopefully the group will be posting some fun things over the field season for what is probably Meanook’s last hoorah (sad, so sad).  I’ll try to keep up, as well.  You’ll find me in Alberta soon.   For now, the garden really does grow, and the Peony in my backyard just started blooming today.  The bats are back, and spring is manifest in many many ways.  I will strive for non-work before the work takes over in a few weeks again, in earnest. 

Chillin' with the Mayans

A clipped healed-over iguana tail stuck out of the wall from between the 2000-year-old carved Mayan stones of an ancient ruin.  He seemed content to chill there in the shade and let us watch him and contemplate his fate.  He lives now where a great civilization once thrived.  Today, along with the lizards, this is a place teeming with awed tourists and hustlers probing for pesos.  Chichen Itza, with its massive storied pyramid and carved stone structures is a city-reminder of how an advanced culture can suddenly and inexplicably disappear.  We are left to decipher their lives from what we uncover in the forests, from ancient stories written in pictorial relief on the walls, from geometry and architecture and art.  Their skills in astronomy were unprecedented, and if we are to believe the science in their structures, their math skills were outstanding.  They enjoyed lives rich with symbolic metaphor.   I struggled to grasp our transient nature and to get a grip on a tiny piece of the big picture.  This was vacation.

The ancient city of Chichen Itza was a highlight of our vitamin D-rich escape.  Other highlights included anchoring my feet in the fine white sands where drips of sunlight freckled my skin; staring out at the rolling turquoise ocean from beneath a rustling palm frond; eating fresh pineapple and kiwis as large as my fist; cooling off in the pool where drinks at the swim-up bar were made to order; imagining myself as the frigatebird or pelican flying weightless in the on-shore breeze overhead.  The grey dreariness of PA was burned out of our brains by day two, and the white sands and blue blue waters calmed the frenzied brainwaves.  We had disconnected.  No internet.  No news.  No life except the one in the sun. 

And so….   Note to self:   a late winter vacation to warm sunny climes should happen every year.     I’m back now, and while my productivity is still surprisingly high, I can feel the world encroaching again on my good vibes.  I cling yet to the still-tactile sense of well-being.  Tempus fugit, but I am reminded that there really are ways to recharge and stop time for just a moment.   I am reminded to define my life instead of waiting for it to define me.  I am reminded that there is a big picture to appreciate and I don’t do nearly enough of that.  I am reminded of the vastness of this tiny pale blue dot and that unless I turn around in, and every once in a while leave my crack in the wall, I’ll miss quite a lot.

Best Granola EVER

I had hoped to x-country ski today, but my fears of being overly optimistic have come true.  Unlike my brother and sister-in-law in Boston who are happily snowed in, we got a whopping inch.  Maybe 2 if you squint really hard.  It is not enough to shake a shovel at, but it was nice last night to watch it snow for a while, anyway.

On a sunny post snow day, there is nothing better than the smell of baking granola wafting from the kitchen.  Unfortunately for me, Scotty made it yesterday, before I got home from work.   I missed the prep, but I can reap the benefits of his efforts today, and thought I would share the recipe.  I have not found a person yet who doesn’t like this stuff, and we have had multiple requests for the recipe.

Trust me.  It is the best granola ever.  Hyperbole aside, I’m pretty sure the olive oil that makes it all tender crunchy, mixed with the maple syrup and the bit of salt that balances it all out create some sort of kismet gestalt thing that puts this granola over the top.  I’m not a huge fan of granola in general, but I can eat this stuff by the handful. 

I forget where I first read the recipe… on some other blog, I think… but I do know it is a riff on Nekisia Davis’ Early Bird Granola.  Of course, I have modified the recipe a bit as all granolas are up for creative tweaks.   For example, I’m not a big fan of coconut, but the original recipe calls for chunks of the stuff.  I like it a tiny bit less sweet.  And a little bit more salty. And I throw in whatever raw nuts we have hanging around most of the time.  Always, though, Always stick with the pecans.    Here is my version:

Granola

4 C rolled oats

1 C raw pepitas (hulled)

1 C raw pecans

1 C raw sunflower seeds (hulled)

¼ C light brown sugar

¾ C maple syrup (dark B grade is my go-to)

¾ C light olive oil

1 rounded tsp salt

Preheat oven to 300 and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.  In a large bowl combine all the dry ingredients.  Mix the olive oil and maple syrup together until you get a lovely thick slurry.  Add this to the dry ingredients and stir until well combined.  Dump this out onto parchment covered baking sheet and bake low and slow until the granola is lightly roasted.  This will take about 40 minutes making sure you stir it every 10 minutes or so….  This is important because the bottom and edges will brown quicker and you don’t want to be like me when I have had to pick out overcooked nuts burned from neglect….  The more you stir, the less chance you have of that tragedy.  By the end, the granola will smell fantastic and be nicely golden.  Let cool completely before you put into airtight container.  Scotty likes to mix in dried cranberries post baking, but I like it straight up.  No fruit necessary.  They say this will last about a month, but we wouldn’t know.  We go through a batch almost every other week and it is a staple in our kitchen.

Let Freedom Ring

The Second Inaugural of Barack Obama (public version, noted).  Martin Luther King, Jr. Day Of Service.  The kismet of this historical duality -  along with the impending flurries - leaves my heart a little lighter.  

Last spring, I took a trip to the MLK Memorial where cherry petals covered the Earth like a layer of pink pure snow.  I remember that visit and wish just a little bit that I were there today to celebrate the ringing in of the President.  Of course, the idea of being surrounded by the throngs of undoubtedly much taller-than-me-people, has me instead planted solidly on my red couch with hot beverages at my fingertips. 

Scotty brought me a cup of coffee in bed this morning, and as I leisurely rose, I thought I would listen to the seminal I Have a Dream speech before I turned on the media coverage.  I forget how long it really is... and how full of hope and melancholy.  How times have changed since August of 1963.  I think Martin Luther King Jr. would be proud to share this day with President Obama.  

If you have a moment, and care to read the transcript (though if you listen to the speech recordings, you'll find it is slightly different), I've posted it below (courtesy of teachingamericanhistory.org).

Regardless of how you feel about the politics of President Barack Obama, the historical significance of this day rings wild and loud with the promise of democracy. With malice toward none and charity for all, we stand in the shadow of a massive history. 

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves, who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity. But one hundred years later, we must face the tragic fact that the Negro is still not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination.

One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition.

In a sense we have come to our nation’s Capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir.

This note was a promise that all men would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism.

Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy.

Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice.

Now is the time to open the doors of opportunity to all God’s children.

Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment and to underestimate the determination of the Negro. This sweltering summer of the Negro’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual.

There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrong deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities.

We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one.

We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote, and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote.

No, no we are not satisfied and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by storms of persecutions and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our modern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream.

It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed. "We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day out on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state sweltering with the heat and injustice of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor’s lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plains and the crooked places will be made straight and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope.

With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood.

With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with new meaning "My country ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring!"

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.

Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks of California.

But not only that, let freedom, ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last, free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last."