Three days ago I carefully chose 1.5 pounds of beautiful ground sirloin from the meat market. I had big plans for that meat. And by “big” I mean burgers. But when I returned home I discovered only a mere five or six ounces of charcoal left in the bottom of the bag on our patio.
“No problem,” Mick said. “I’ll pick up a bag when I get groceries on Sunday afternoon and we’ll have them for dinner.”
Three days in the refrigerator is about as long as I want to go with freshly ground meat, so I agreed. Flash forward three days. Mick returned with all the groceries except one thing: charcoal.
“No problem,” I said. “I’ll just turn that meat into really good taco meat and we’ll have it for wraps and taco salad over the next few days. The garden lettuce is ready to eat and the grape tomatoes are prolific. That will be fine.”
Five minutes later I had exhausted the search in my pantry for the two packets of taco seasoning I was sure I had recently seen. Mick and I retraced our steps and realized those suckers go fast when you’re using them on pulled pork for lots of people and you really only had one instead of two.
“No problem,” I said. “I’ll just make chili.”
By now you can probably get a sense of our preferential hierarchy for fast hamburger meals: grilled hamburgers win, with tacos coming in an easy second, and only because it was pretty hot outside chili was pulling up the rear position.
So I browned the hamburger meat while I chopped the last of my garlic and some of my beautiful onions I harvested earlier this year. I like to pretend I’m the only woman in 1947s going to the Cordon Bleu Culinary School in France just like Julia Child, and I chop my onions like I’m competing with the entire line of disapproving male students. When my knife is sharpened to it’s finest edge, I can SPANK those onions!
I drained the beef, blotted any remnants of grease, returned it to the pan, tossed in the garlic, the onions, the cumin, the salt, the paprika and…wait. Where was the chili powder? I searched more and more frantically until I finally breathed a sigh of relief. “THERE you are,” I said to the jar of chili powder…that had about 1.5 tablespoons in it! “Crud,” I thought to myself. “Am I going to have to turn this into stew?”
It’s like me to occasionally run out of taco seasoning packets. But it’s really not like me to run out of chili powder. I cook a great deal of chili and am constantly scoping out the “Clearance Spice Bins” at any store I visit. My two mainstays are Italian Seasoning and Chili Powder. I had to have more. So, I searched again. And finally, behind the salt, silver decorative pearls, the bulk garlic powder and my precious Muscavado Sugar was a jumbo sized chili powder container.
Yes!
I secretly saluted all the time I had spent digging through the spice bins, finished my chili and ate dinner.
For dessert, I had a slice of cake that included ingredients I had cleaned out of no less than four little plastic bags in my freezer. And for tomorrow? I think we’re combining at least five or six packages of leftovers for a “clean out the fridge before Mick leaves town” meal.
“Necessity” is indeed a beautiful thing that fosters the highest caliber “Invention” in our kitchen every week of every year. And boy, is she a great teacher, or what?
Ten years ago, I used to get a little freaked out about airplane flights. Perhaps because my children were younger and my mothering instinct was hyperactively feeding me thoughts prior to take off. The sequence would go something like this: “I’m sure this plane is safe. What if it’s not? They don’t even have those little kiosks for plane crash insurance in the airport like they used to…if they did, I would have gotten some. If the plane starts going down, will I have enough time to write Mick instructions about all the kids’ activities at school and special circumstances regarding our mommy car pool? Why am I thinking this – of COURSE the plane is safe!…But what if it’s not?”
I also used to politely look at the flight attendant providing instructions for a “water landing” when they were giving their schpiel prior to take off. I used to purchase airport food more often because I didn’t think about eating before I went in or about packing snacks in my purse. I used to over pack. I used to check my ticket fifty times each flight and think about what the next step might be when we landed, such as finding the baggage claim area or the bathrooms.
I used to do a lot of things that drained most of my mental energies and kept me from enjoying my trips when I flew somewhere for business. Not any more. A combination of grown children, flying three or four places per year over the past decade, and becoming familiar with most of the major U.S. airports has done wonders for my psychological state during business trips.
Yesterday I flew to Atlanta. I normally allow myself one luxury item per trip and that usually takes the form of some fiction paperback I can finish on the first day. I had already purchased my copy of John Grisham’s “Ford County Stories” for the flight (you know, Grisham – because I was headed to the South?) and was walking toward the Delta gate when I spied a small Sonic in the fast-food conglomerate past the bookstore. “Sweet tea. All I need to top off this delightful reading experience on my way to Atlanta is a Route 44 iced tea from Sonic,” I thought. I careened left, changing lanes across the packed aisles of walking traffic in the airport and slid into the fast food line safely.
My ½ and ½ tea (I can’t drink straight sweet tea, I ask them to mix it with half unsweetened) was good for having been purchased at a place sporting 90% fried stuff on the menu. I boarded the plane and began my book. I don’t remember the flight starting. I hadn’t really paid attention to the person who was sitting beside me. I think at one point my right and her left elbows were jockeying for position on the arm rest. And I was not cognizant of how long the flight would take or even that we had taken off. I was already deeply entrenched in “Chapter One: Blood Drive;” I was being transported to a scene in a small town where three young men took a detour on their way to give blood for a local friend who had been injured. I was in fiction heaven.
I was in the middle of “Chapter Three: Fish Files,” page 110 when the plane landed. I reluctantly closed my book and said hello to the person sitting at my side. She was from Norman, OK and was headed to Amsterdam to see her son. I noticed she had a designer bag, perfect make-up and probably dyed her hair based upon the age of her face. She looked cool and started a conversation with me; she talked cool too. We chatted for a minute and I reached down to grab my tea.
Having rested in the magazine holder for the entire flight, a film of condensation had begun covering the outside of my Route 44 Sonic Cup and no sooner had I picked it up then it slipped from my fingers and fell to floor of the plane. I sighed with relief as it landed because the cup remained in an upright position. “Lucky break of the day,” I thought. That thought had come too quickly, however, because when I picked the cup up an erratic stream of ½ and ½ tea began to leak out in two different directions. Huh? I looked at the bottom of the cup to see my extra long straw had somehow been harpooned right through the bottom of the cup upon impact. I quickly thought about shoving it into my purse…no! I looked around and decided to put it back on the floor to utilize the pressure of the carpet, somewhat like you would when applying a tourniquet to a bleeding wound. I turned around to look for any leftover cup the flight attendant missed and was met with a barf bag hovering right in front of my face.
“Barf bag!” my cool seat mate exclaimed, “Try this!” Perfect. I slipped the plastic coated bag underneath my Sonic cup and the situation was immediately contained. I glanced back at my cool seat mate to thank her. She winked knowingly. “Those things are really handy,” she said, “For lots of reasons.”
I agreed and made a note to myself to Remember The Barf Bags. As we headed down the plane aisle I glanced back at my seatmate. She was reading as she walked in line out the door.
“She must have been flying for TWENTY years,” I thought with admiration. I saluted her in my head while gripping my barf bag and headed into the airport.
~~
Editor’s Update: 12/7/2010 – make sure and check out our Barf Bag “Throwdown” follow up post written later this fall.
School legend buzz passed down from varsity level big brothers or sisters to elementary siblings is a powerful thing. By the time the eldest child in a family gets through their K-12 education, the rest know what to expect. And regardless if the information is exact or not, it still helps. It helps the younger children set their expectations. They learn a person can actually survive high school regardless of their fear of the unknown. They learn about the teachers, the environment, the traditions, the rivalries and the territory.
And in complementary fashion, the school learns about the students. The staff learns the younger siblings are “connected” to former students of earlier years. The faculty get to know the parents, the family style, the support structures and unique characteristics. They gain an understanding of a given family legacy.
If a multiple sibling lineage isn’t in place, however, traditional school buzz is still passed along. Sometimes parents of single children share stories. Neighborhood children have “teaching” times where they fill in the new kid on the block regarding the school scoop. And sometimes, the teachers even fill this role themselves. They might share with a new group of students “what was done before,” or examples of “prior rituals or ideas from former years.” In other words – an educational culture is developed and propitiated by those who manage it, who progress through it, and who contribute to its support.
Group trekking across the open praire, pulling their handcarts as they go
But educational cultures don’t just happen in schools. They develop within families themselves, extra-curricular venues, and within spiritual formal or activity-based settings. We’ll call this type of education a “naturally occurring” learning system: a system that has been in place for a period of time, that’s accepted by a group or society and is expected based upon precedent.
Naturally occurring lessons are a comfortable and “natural” way to learn about life…and in this post, lifetime relationships.
Such is the case with the Hand Cart Trail excursions planned, managed, populated and supported by families and teens within the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Or, as the members of the culture refer to themselves: The “LDS.” The history, traditions, rituals and legacies woven into the fabric of these Hand Cart Trails encompasses many educational threads.
These teens were given a baby to protect as they navigated the trails
Another essay could be written about character qualities such as determination, planning or leadership. However, this one is about relationship education for the participating LDS teens.
These Hand Cart Trails provide a three day “workshop” for much of what is needed to prepare for intimate partnerships in the future of those who make the trek. One location for these journeys taking place is right here in northeastern Oklahoma…on an 80,000 acre Pawhuska ranch owned by the Sooner Cattle Company.
History of the Hand Cart Trails
People of the Mormon faith used handcarts to move their belongings and supplies across the U.S. in the mid 1800s as they made their journey toward Salt Lake City. There were many hardships, joys and challenges experienced along these treks. As part of a historically based “coming of age” transition into adolescence, LDS groups across the U.S. now re-enact the Handcart Treks. Included in these 3 or 4 day journeys are games, lessons and activities. However, the learning many times takes on a life of it’s own. Relationship education lessons are taught to hundreds of LDS adolescents although the concepts are never named as such.
Lessons Learned on the Trail
The open prarie terrain can get rough, and pulling the hand carts is no easy task
The learning context for these teens is hard core. One thing you’ll notice by the photos is that the participants don period dress for the journey. Although treks can take place at various times of the year, the featured excursion happened in early summer and temperatures hit the 90s…or higher. And, just as their ancestors did years ago, those involved pull the handcarts by hand across the bumpy bunches of Love and Native prairie grasses for three full days.
The terrain is rough, the wind is hot, the clothes are heavy…and a few of the lessons taken in are detailed in the following text, along with the explanation of how they are delivered:
The role of mentors – New experiences such as this particular trek can throw adolescents for a loop. Although they are equipped with the energy and the attitudes to accomplish the task before them, they have not yet covered the territory. The mothers, fathers, or community leaders accompanying them on the journey have. The proper supplies to pack, contingency planning, expectations for particular parts of the journey, and how to set the pace are all lessons the mentors have previously learned. And, as they hand over that knowledge to those who have never made the trip, they also build relationships with the teens.
As the teens learn to trust the mentors, they learn they are readily accessible resources for life wisdom beyond the open prairie. Therefore, when rough patches come along in the future, the teens will have already had a history of working with mentors – seeking out advice while navigating the bumps along the proverbial future-marriage trail.
Negotiations of Responsibilities
In order for any large operation to be successful, there is a dividing up and a negotiation of various roles and responsibilities. If someone in charge of water neglects their duties, the group suffers. If someone in charge of repairs isn’t providing regular maintenance checks on the carts and equipment, the group could later be halted until repairs are made. If the cooks aren’t prepared, then the group isn’t energized for the next leg of the trek.
Roles and responsibilities are one of the twelve core areas marriage preparatory education should cover (Olsen & Olsen-Sigg, 2000). Practicing under the big sky…and being successful…lays the groundwork for future hope of success.
Fun and Friendship
One of the major components of the Prevention and Relationship Enhancement Program (PREP) is a lesson entitled “Fun and Friendship” (Stanley, Markman & Jenkins, 2004). So how did this particular group experience a little fun on the grueling, sweltering trail? Well, it so happens that they came upon a river just about the time they felt they couldn’t go any further.
A young pioneer rests in the shade after cooling off in the river
If you know anything about teens on a hot day with a water source around, you know what happened next. Was this supported by the mentors? Absolutely. They joined in as well.
Will they teens remember this? Absolutely. Will they remember that they adults joined in the fun? I’m not sure, but their instincts may remember. At some point when things get tough in their future marriages and they see a “river” ahead, instinctively taking the option to jump in could be enough to kick-start their relationship with relief and renewal. Resting together doesn’t hurt either.
Empathetic Response Toward Each Other
One of the most intense and “grown up” lessons learned on the trail took place as a surprise to the members who were on their first trek. As happens in traditional “ropes courses” during a team building exercise, there are certain elements that have a high level of difficulty. The trail was no different.
About half-way through day two, the group encountered an exceptionally steep drop of approximately 75-100 feet down the face of a ridge in order to continue on their journey. And…they there was an equal rise to go back up on the other side…to get through the entire area and back onto the trail.
It took all the energy, ingenuity and resourcefulness the group could muster to move the entire cart train down the face and back up again. They struggled, problem solved and stopped to rest when they could balance the carts in a safe place…all the while facing the reality that if someone slipped or stumbled, it could impact many others in front or behind them.
Cavalry commissioning males into the Morman Battalion. Yes, the guy looks like Wilford Brimley.
As the last of the group pulled up and over the second ridge, they were met by soldiers dressed in Cavalry uniforms. It was quiet on the prairie as the sweating and exhausted pioneers waited to see what was going to happen. The answer was unexpected, as was the next set of instructions.
The leader of the Cavalry told the group that all the men must go with them immediately – that they had been called into service and they needed to report right away. With hardly time to say goodbye, they were urged to leave “at once.”
Receiving instructions at the point the Cavalry met the group.
Even worse, the women were instructed that they couldn’t keep the cart train in the high place they were currently positioned. They would have to turn around and cover the exact terrain they had just navigated without the men.
A description provided by one of the fathers on the trail filled in details of what emotions the young men began experiencing at that point. His daughter filled in the gaps with the perspective of the women left behind…
From the men’s perspective: They knew how difficult the journey had just been for the entire group. Their thoughts immediately turned toward their female counterparts. They worried about them taking the entire train back up and down the ridge. They worried about how they would manage the tasks they had been assigned. They worried about their safety. It was difficult for them to think about their own responsibilities – to protect their territory and hold their commissioned position, when they knew that their counterparts had just taken on twice the load as they had before the change in plans.
Their empathetic response toward those they had befriended on the trail was nurtured. And, they were able to talk about their struggles with the older mentors who were at their side.
From the female’s perspective: Although the Cavalry commission was “pretend,” the females experienced at least a portion of what it might be like to say goodbye to a partner who might not return – who was leaving on a call of duty and may face danger or challenges unknown. It wasn’t real, but they could imagine what it must feel like for their male counterparts to face life-threatening work. Again – the empathetic responses toward those they had befriended on the trail was nurtured. And, they were able to talk about their struggles with the older female mentors who were at their side.
The women also experienced overwhelming feelings of not being able to accomplish their challenge at hand. When they watched half their group leave, and arguably the physically stronger half, the situation seemed daunting – maybe impossible.
Women pulling carts back up the ridge to safety.
At this point, the oldest female on the trail rallied the troupes. She gave them what was basically a vigorous pep talk. She said, “Well ladies – come on! We know what we have to do, so let’s get to it. We can do this…I know we can. YOU can do this!” To look upon a mentor three or even four times their age and see the confidence conveyed was evidently a powerful thing for the young women.
They figured out what they needed to do, they reassigned responsibilities, they grabbed the handcarts…and with every ounce of strength left in their bodies they returned the entire train to a safer place for camp.
Summary
Naturally occurring family life education happens every day. The Hand Cart Treks provide three challenging days full of memorable experiences that include all the lessons detailed here, and many more.
This article isn’t a scientific analysis of the efficacy of naturally occurring relationship education. It is, however, an illustration of one of the many ways this phenomenon happens. And, as many varieties there are of groups and cultures that exist, there are ways in which this education can be delivered. So my question for you is this: Where in your own community can you help instill or enhance life changing relationship education for the adolescents in your life?
If you come to an answer, then I encourage you to rally the troupes, make the plans, negotiate the roles and set out on the trail to make it happen. You never know when you’ll meet a river, or be called into duty during your adventure.
If you’ve had children who are 20-something, you probably recognize this routine:
Grieve when they graduate high school, move them to college, insert several years of school and several moves in here. Okay, maybe one move back home, then another out. Love develops, marriage ensues, graduation happens, and then? Another move – THIS time into their first home…the summary of my eldest’s last few years.
If you take that first paragraph and move around the sentences, delete college and insert hair school, no marriage yet, move into a rental home with roommates, and add helping with fix-it jobs around the home, then we’ve summarized my second child’s life. And, if you’ve been through this process at least once, you know your own home may, at times, serve as a furniture exchange service and holding company.
When relatives die, the furniture gets divvied up among the family members. A pair of aunts or an uncle look a piece of furniture up and down, talk amongst themselves, then declare, “Here, THIS table might be good for Rylee when she moves out.” Thus, a Duncan Fyffe table and chairs, plus matching occasional tables gets put where? You got it. Into the Mick and Kelly Roberts furniture depository (MKRFD).
Another relative or perhaps my child is at a garage sale and spies a “can’t-refuse” deal that will go nicely in the bedroom “whenever they get their own home someday,” and forthwith the piece is shipped to the MKRFD (single-car garage wing) and logged into the inventory for future withdrawal by said child.
Curiously, however, children continue to grow and make their way into the world and suddenly, days like today come along. Promptly withdrawn from the MKRFD this morning was: a dining room table and chairs we’re giving the kids as a housewarming gift; Rachel’s bed she’s had since she was three or four, a painted and antiqued china buffet, four chairs we got from a business office giveaway, a micro-fiber sectional and matching pillows, an old antique dresser and mirror rescued from a great-uncle, and….
Wait. Our house can breathe…yes! On second thought…our house is empty! You know what that means, right? Time to redecorate!
And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is where I could use your help. Over the next year or two, I’ll be redoing our two “now” guest bedrooms and creating a new office in what used to be a formal dining room. The office project is first. Here is a photo of the space:
This afternoon I was canning. Nothing out of the ordinary was going on. A rote, repetitive “chop, chop, peel, peel, stuff, stuff, garlic…salt and lid” process was taking place at my kitchen island. Over and over, nine half-pints full.
I was on auto-pilot.
But as I started the hot water bath, the natural science of heat transfer, water evaporation, and magic woke my numb mind up. I had forgotten about the Misty Canning Faery Sprites. But there they were; steam flickers dancing across every gleaming tin lid of every clattering jar.
They didn’t stay for long. Quickly appearing in a different form every time, they would flirt with me then disappear as fast as they came. I had forgotten about them and was dull, but the faeries reminded me of the kitchen magic waiting to be rediscovered every time I cook.
So now I’m sharing them with you…tiny moments of the faery dance I saw on top of the lids of my canned peppers this afternoon. I hope you enjoy it as much as I.
My “awakening” was unexpected, and crinkled the corners of my eyes…curled up my mouth and lifted my spirits.
Let’s pretend for a moment, shall we? Here’s the scenario: Creativity, Ingenuity, Possibility and Camaraderie are sitting in a room together and they’re deeply entrenched in a discussion. On the coffee table lies a deck of Polaroid cards, each representing a “turning point” in the time-space continuum of Life. All night long they’ve been shuffling the deck, cutting it, then taking turns drawing their next subject.
Their game? To decide which of them was most influential in the particular scenario at hand. Their current discussion revolves around this card, a snapshot of a red haired teen at a rock concert. Here’s the turning point:
George Salisbury is a seventeen year-old kid who had been working in a screen-printing shop. He had just produced a good number of Flaming Lips t-shirts, gone to one of their shows, somehow got to Wayne Coyne and said, “I’ve got this box of Lips shirts here, um, I just want to sell them and split the profits with you.” And Coyne replies, “Well, we’re out of shirts – so, okay.”
Possibility suggests it was him, mixed with a degree of Risk. He made that moment work, turning it into what eventually became a long-standing relationship with the Flaming Lips as the contemporary driving force behind all their visually creative production (posters, videos, Gummy Skulls, etc.). Creativity and Ingenuity roll their eyes and posit that there wouldn’t have been a product in the box had it not been for them. Continue reading Delo Creative: A Masterful Mix of Art, Vision and Edge→
I put seven pounds of carrots through the food processor in order to turn them into carrot cake for the 4th of July, and carrot hummus for a healthy evening snack to enjoy with homegrown cucumbers.
To make carrot hummus, simply puree well in a blender or food processor: 1 c shredded carrots; 1/4 c. tahini; 1 can drained chickpeas; 2 quartered garlic cloves; 3 T rough chopped parsley; 1-2 T. olive oil; salt to taste; 1 T. lemon juice. To arrange like photo, simply peel cucumbers, scoop out seed-pulp, and fill seed space with hummus. Best served chilled.
Nature is heralding the summer heat in Oklahoma with fortissimo intensity. At night, the tree frogs talk to the world with their throats wide open and their volume buttons cranked full to the right. During the day the locusts (you say cicadas, I say locusts?) track the heat waves by vibrating their deafening buzz into rhythmic rolls. In my hot, damp garden soil millions of microbial bugs and extra-small spiders or beetles are working overtime, fueled by perfect conditions to break down a rotten tomato here, or a forgotten carrot there.
My senses are keenly aware of this exorbitant activity of Life as I work beneath the large rhubarb leaves to eradicate weeds, or pull back a curtain of tangled yellow cherry tomato vines to discover the last of the onions.
The Summer is alive, pulsating, pushing and stretching all the plant life in My Little Victory Garden; my efforts to match the production yet keep order sometimes continue until the last ray of sunlight says, “Stop. We’ll start again tomorrow.” I’m glad the Light knows my limits because when I stand up and stretch my tired back, or rest my shaking legs – taxed from assuming a squatting position for too long while checking every pepper plant, I’m surprised that Dusk is already here.
The locusts fade, the frogs take over, and the tiny microbials may still be scurrying but I can no longer see them. There is no denying that the Earth is using all her energy to feed the Cycle of Life right now. But I know a secret…
I know that sometime when the days are shorter, the frogs will eventually change their song for slumber. The locusts will have laid their eggs, moved on or died, and given their bodies back to the earth. And I’ll be spending more time inside the house as the weather changes to a cooler flavor. And THAT, my friends, is when I’ll need a smudging ceremony. My living area will need to be cleansed of the lurking spirits of Worry about my dissertation, the lingering shadows of summer that mock what Wasn’t Completed and must wait until next year, the dread of Time spent in research when I desperately want to run away and sleep for four days and then read forty books.
I’m preparing for that time by drying my beautiful sage I pulled from the garden today. I’m also saving just a bit for recipes I might find that would allow for some dried sage in lieu of fresh. And I’m predicting that when that time comes in late fall or early winter, I’ll walk over to my firebox to build the evening fire, see my smudge sticks and then smile. I love finding winter stores I’ve forgotten.
Tuesday, 8:35 a.m., she opens her e-mail and reads that, “…tomorrow, June 6, 2012 [is] INTEGRIS Thunder Spirit Day!” She notices her place of employment used not one, but TWO exclamation marks in an official “wear Thunder clothes to work tomorrow” message. She’s now certain that a good portion of her brain will be completely preoccupied by the impending Oklahoma City Thunder-San Antonio Spurs GAME 6 for every remaining second of the day.
11:30 p.m. that evening, she rolls over to stare at the alarm clock and groans. “Uhhhnnnnnhhh!” she thinks to herself, “I was right! C’mon brain, shut it off. You’ve got to rest up and save your energy for TOMORROW, the real and actual bona fide game day. Ugh.” Five minutes later, she starts thinking over again the problem of which “Thunder Wear” she’ll don for work tomorrow. Would it be her official NBA Kevin Durant Jersey? Or should she go casual and wear her “Thunder U” tee? She rolls over to stare at the alarm clock again and it’s 11:48. The last cognition she can recall had all periods between the words: “Must. Stop. Thinking….Cripes.”
Wednesday morning, 9:40 a.m. She has already explained to two people what “Thunder U” means and why her t-shirt IS indeed an appropriate choice for the day. As she whisks into her office to grab her massive “Thunder Power Flowers” she stops dead in her tracks, her gaze focusing on the weather outside her large picture window. Was that….thunder she heard? What!? Rain was pouring down the windows and the question in her head was answered with a second roll of thunder, louder this time and immediately influencing a ridiculously large smile across her face. Yes. It was an omen.
Wednesday afternoon, she strolls the halls to find someone, anyone, who will prognosticate about tonight’s game. She finds at least three people who help relieve her anxiety for a full four minutes.
Wednesday evening, 5:15 p.m. she calls her husband to carefully plan the food they will consume during the game. She pulls into Ted’s Cafe Escondido parking lot thirty minutes later to pick up a “set up” (salsa, cheese dip, chips and tortillas) to accompany the chicken fajitas and guacamole her husband was preparing at home. She was third in line at the “To Go” counter and realized her idea was also replicated by no fewer than the two others in line, one person calling in an order on the phone, and three people sitting in chairs staring menacingly at those who had actually planned to call ahead. Ted’s Set Ups were going like hot cakes…it seemed as if the whole world needed Mexican food to survive the game – now only two hours and fifteen minutes away. As she left the restaurant, she decided not to ruin the good karma for the Thunder by smiling triumphantly and holding up HER set up in front of those still waiting on theirs.
6:30 p.m. She and her husband are still in the kitchen, running around as if they were just learning to cook. They’re beyond distracted with the pre-game shows, the tension building up in their guts, and the fact that they had to have everything completely perfect so that every single brain cell could focus on the game once it started. They COULD NOT leave something undone in the food, pet care, plant watering and general chores department….it would be impossible to perform these tasks during the commercials. If someone had peeked in the window to observe, there might very well have been little blurs of people appearing to be moving in “fast forward” mode. GAME TIME was almost here!
This is me, playing with a hulahoop in Walgreens the evening after I finished my last doctoral coursework assignment a couple of weeks ago.
Letter to the RDC Community:
When I started the Red Dirt Chronicles two years ago, I had one primary purpose in mind: to develop a project that was positive and honest that highlighted snapshots of Oklahoma culture. Two years later, I think that has been done… to the degree that someone can who has the help and support of very special contributors and about 20 hours per week to donate to a project.
That same 20 hours per week was dedicated for five years prior to the start of the RDC in a different way. I worked with the Oklahoma Association for Marriage and Family Therapy in the capacity of President Elect and President, helping to run the volunteer organization and promote the profession of Marriage and Family Therapy within the state and the nation through advocacy.
Now, however, I’m going to be working on a different project very soon that will again take about 20 hours per week, and as the title of the Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson film says, “Something’s Gotta Give.” I’ve completed my doctoral coursework required for my particular degree program over the past four years and it is now time to begin my dissertation. And while working on coursework can be a bear, it’s also cyclical. It ebbs and flows along with the required reading and assignments. My upcoming dissertation work, however, will not. It will be a slow and steady work until the final page is written. And, will take approximately…? You guessed it: 20 hours per week.
I cannot create time that doesn’t exist any more than I can ask reality to change into fiction for my life. After thinking over solutions for approximately two months prior to today, I’ve decided that if I’m going to complete my academic and professional goal of writing my dissertation, then I cannot continue to manage the RDC. The reason I know this is that if there is an academic deadline and a RDC deadline, I’ll choose the RDC every single time. I love it too much and I care about the RDC community too much. And what THAT means is, my work on this project could keep me from completing my dissertation work. It’s that simple…and I know myself too well to think that I would do things differently. I’m 48 so I’ve had a while to get to know myself. I love to work on this project, and would choose it almost every time – pushing back my dissertation and slowing down that work until I timed out all my extensions.
Therefore, I’m writing this post to let you know that very soon we may be having a “difference” here on the RDC. I’m not sure what that will be – it could be that someone else will take it over. It could be that I will “suspend” it for a while. Or, it could be that posts will slow down or it will become a single contributor project. But “something will give” and it will happen soon. And, we’ll let you know as soon as we know what that will be.
We had a gift waiting for us six months after we built our home. I’m so glad I discovered it serendipitously. To have known about the magnetic call of our back yard whippoorwill before the bird revealed itself would have been less magical and made the first time we heard the sound expected. The way our whippoorwill revealed itself, however, was to become the difference in an evening chorus of tree frogs and lingering day songs from the birds who were almost done for the evening.
When the human brains register a “difference,” the first notion is to test the new feedback out. “Did you hear that?” I asked Mick as we worked in the last hint of light, raking up twigs in our back yard?
“What? No, I didn’t hear anything,” he replied.
I heard it again, ever so slightly more pronounced. “THAT,” I said. “That sound. It’s a bird call I’ve not heard before.”
When rakes stop scratching and attention is completely directed toward the collection of incoming sounds, then the world changes. Here is exactly the sound we heard together after pausing that evening:
And, we are blessed to hear it every Spring around this time. All told, I’ve enjoyed eight years on our back porch listening to the call of the whippoorwill end the day. He comes into auditory range when it reaches the bottom of our hill around the creek. The beautiful sound grows more pronounced as the bird gradually moves along the treeline up the hill, passes across our back yard, and then continues on its path until it is out of range for our ears as it crests the top of the hill.
The process, in some ways, is like a one-hour long doppler effect. Barely there, and heard at different wavelengths than when in immediate proximity, then changing again as it goes away. The sound is beautiful, but the bird is by and large elusive. It stops singing if you approach the area where it rests. After all, WE are not the mate it is looking for.
But when she responds, and they mate somewhere outside the range of our eyes or ears, the result is one or two eggs that will eventually hatch into more birds with hauntingly beautiful voices. The sound is so powerful that some Native American lore states that when people die, the whippoorwill catches the soul as it leaves their body. Continue reading Lessons From The Whippoorwill→
This past week has been strange for me. This past Monday was my last day at Oklahoma State University. And, although I’ve only worked there eight years, I also attended grad school there for my master’s degree, and again for my doctoral degree. I’ve spent more time at OSU, therefore, than in any one of the homes Mick and I have owned. And so leaving there was a bittersweet event.
My garden, however, was a constant in my life and very therapeutic for me during this time. I returned to it every day and the growth of the plants, the production of new vegetables and the continued needs it required of me was familiar among the change…and that is a good, good thing.
I’m so grateful for the jumbled mass of English peas that are now providing sweet and tender early morsels for our salads. I pick them and then put them in my pockets to carry back to the kitchen, but sometimes they don’t make it to the house. Rather, they leap into my mouth, as if possessed by an uncanny lifeforce and are eaten raw, whole and rapidly.
This week has also been about “fails,” however. I made a little video of my garden to give you a tour, and now cannot figure out how to get the video file from my Android phone to my new Macbook Air. Fail score = +1. I purchased some beautiful Stilwell strawberries last week from the Urban Agrarian and made strawberry-balsamic-black pepper preserves. The taste is delightful, but the pectin level was too low, or I didn’t cook them down enough. Either way, I have a batch of delicious tasting, runny preserves on my hands. Fail score = +1/2.
And, I had to thin all my cabbage plants so I got this GREAT idea to make stuffed cabbage rolls with the big green leaves. What I didn’t realize is that cabbage outer leaves are much tougher than the main portions of cabbage heads, so although I cooked them for 45 minutes, they were still tough when I pulled them out of the oven. Fail score = +2 (for all the time and work I put into them). Total fails this week? At least +3.5 points worth. Where do I get the point values? From thin air, just like I get some of my great cooking ideas…and some of my really, really bad cooking ideas.
These brilliant ideas gone good OR bad usually start with these three questions:
1. What does my garden have to offer this week?
2. What do I have in my freezer that needs to be used?
3. What does the local farmer’s market have in season to help the situation?
The total sum of these answers always gets me my ideas for weekly food to feed my family. But not always are those ideas as brilliant as they seem in my head when they are born.
We have a gender problem in Oklahoma. And when I write “gender,” I also mean sex. Sex in that there are some male/female balance issues. But gender, in terms of societal and identified population self-defined roles.
Okay, the majority of these problems exist no only here but across the United States. The lack of answers, however, don’t effect me as much as they do locally. So, I figure…start here, and work outward. It’s always easier to change yourself than it is to change someone who lives 2,000 miles away.
The reason the Red Dirt Chronicles was created was to highlight various aspects of Oklahoma culture, and to share the ideas and work of authors who are Oklahoman. But we have problems in Oklahoma just like any state and one of the most notable to me, right now, right here, is our lack of female legislators. And, our lack of male human service employees.
First, the legislative problem. Although we now have a state that is well over the ten percent mark (and some would argue hovers around the 15% mark) in Hispanic populations, our legislative body not representative of this fact. Other ethnicities (Black, Asian, American Indian, etc.) are equally under-represented. However, our Oklahoma population is roughly half female, but we only have (according to an interactive map deployed in 2009) 13% female legislators. So, if you calculate the disparity in percentages, women are quite possibly the most underrepresented demographic of all. Want to know more? Read this.
I’m not going to write an argument about what a greater percentage of women could add to our state management, lawmaking and problem-solving process. I think you know the answer to that if you just sit down and give it some thought. I’m just pointing this out because if one person who reads this considers having a discussion of how to get more women into our governing body, then the deployment of this post was successful.
But the lack of women legislators isn’t the only gender problem in Oklahoma. There are many more and I will probably write about others in the future. Today, however, I want to point out the lack of men in the human and social services careers. I just completed an eight year career training Child and Family Services students for their professional lives. I coordinated approximately 100 interns per year (800 total) who went into the field of non-profit work, social services work, family life education, etc. Of my one-hundred students, I generally had between two and four men per year. The rest – a full 95-96% were women.
These facts are undisputed and cannot be changed.
So, ladies: Please think about entering public service by running for House and Senate seats in the State Legislative body. Men, please consider working “with the people” who need help to find ways to help themselves. A better balance creates better environments, better solutions, and better perspectives.
This past week has been one of the grandest growing, cooking and discovery weeks for all good things I’ve had since early last October. But I’m not going to write about any of it. I’m leaving my position at Oklahoma State University tomorrow and will be starting a new career with the Great Plains Integris residency program in two weeks. But today I’m not going to write about that either. I’m going to write about my eldest who is finishing up her undergraduate work at the University of Oklahoma. And, I’m going to show you what she did.
Rachel’s love for photography began at Edmond Memorial High School when she joined the Yearbook team. She then started her college career at the Kansas City Art Institute and completed two years of a highly rigorous program. There was a boy, however, and a family and culture she missed. So she returned to Oklahoma and eventually found her way to the right university program to complete her good work there.
I’ll be honest. I’m a complete sap when it comes describing my tender feelings toward my offspring. I treasure Rachel’s photography, pottery, fibers and art history growing experience in so many ways. But I may have found the beacon my heart will return to for years to come. That beacon emits from the deserts of the West where she traveled with a group of peers for a photography shoot. Their destinations included Death Valley, the Painted Desert and the Mohave Desert.
University of Oklahoma Photography Trip, 2012. Rachel Apple, senior Photography major.
I had downloaded an entire album of Native American flute music to put in the background of this film. However, I just couldn’t do it. Rather, I decided to use a song my youngest introduced me to a few years ago by Copeland called “Brightest.” Rachel, today both you and your work are the “brightest fireflies in my jar.” I love you, and am very happy for you. – “Mams,” aka [kelly]
The photographs in this video are copyrighted by Rachel Apple. If you are interested in purchasing a print, you may reach her through our “Contact” form on this site, or write us and we’ll send you her contact information. Thanks.
The last time I heard a poem about the Osage, I cried. The last time I heard a story passed to me by an Osage grandmother, I marveled at the power of history and meaning. The last time I stood in the oldest tribally-owned museum in Pawhuska, I was full on Indian Tacos and humbled by the art and history.
This Saturday, you can learn about the Osage heritage and culture by attending something very special. Read about it here…and let us know if you go, okay? ~ RDK
Pawhuska, Okla. – The Osage Tribal Museum, Library & Archives, the oldest tribally-owned museum in the country, will commemorate the unveiling of the final Osage bust of THE OSAGE TEN on Saturday, April 28, 2012 at 10:00 a.m. at the Constantine Theatre , 110 W. Main, in Pawhuska, Oklahoma.
Among the distinguished guests are former Osage Principal Chief George Tallchief; former Osage Principal Chief Charles Tillman; former Osage Principal Chief James Gray; renowned Osage poet, Carter Revard, Ph.D., who has created a poem, especially for this occasion; David Hunt, Ph.D., of the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C., as well as representatives from many American Indian tribes and nations.
The creation of The Osage Ten began over 100 years ago in Pawhuska when molds and pictures were made of ten live models from the Osage Tribe and cast into full-size plaster busts by Smithsonian Institution’s Department of Natural History. The Smithsonian created this collection to be displayed at the California-Panama Canal Exposition in 1915-16 as part of “The Evolution of Man” exhibit. Millions of people from around the world attended this historical event.
During the past seven years, the Osage Tribal Museum has been collaborating with the Smithsonian in obtaining replicas of The Osage Ten to be permanently displayed at the museum. This exhibit collection will bring to life again these Osage tribal members and, in a sense, bring them home to be honored and remembered of an era long ago.
Descendants of Albert Penn, the first replica bust to be unveiled in 2005, retrieved and donated their ancestors bust to the Osage Tribal Museum . The other busts that have been donated in the past six years are: Shun-kah-mo-lah, Charles McDougan, Wah-To-Ke-Ah (William Fletcher), Henry Pratt, Ah-Hu-Shin-Kah (Little Wing), Che-Sho-Wah-Ke-Pah (Fidelis Cole), Wa-Xthi-Zhi (Charles Wah-Hre-She), and Wah-Noh-She-Shin-Ki (Principal Chief Fred Lookout).
Editor’s Note: Since this article was written, Oklahoma Facts changed their platform. Rather than recode our website, we decided to remove it from our masthead but can point you to this Facebook location where you can find updates: OKLAHOMA FACTS ~ You can also find their link on our “suggested links” at the lower right-hand corner of our site. Thanks, RDK
*****
About six months ago, I started noticing a few cool trivia tidbits blipping over the Twitter radar. They were put out by an entity called, “Oklahoma Facts.”
As I monitored them, I continued to think things like: “That sounds like something I would put out myself to our readers,” or “I’m glad they’re doing this kind of thing.”
So, I called them and spoke with their founder, Tim Berry. Who is Tim Berry, you might ask? Well, I have the answer for you providing by the dude himself:
“Tim Berry is a fourth generation Oklahoman. His great-grandfather was the first of his family born in Colbert, Indian Territory. Tim was raised in Poteau, OK and received his B.A. in History from Northeastern State University in Tahlequah. He started Oklahoma Facts in August of 2011. With the help of high school friend Jason Green, the Oklahoma Facts website was created in September of 2011. With impressive growing trend of FB and Twitter followers, Oklahoma Facts has seen much development in less than one year’s time.”
Tim said he got the idea from the popular OMG Facts project, and wanted to do the same thing (on a local scale) for Oklahoma.
So what do I say to that? Cool! And, I thought it was so cool I decided to add them to the Red Dirt Chronicles as a partner by building them a page. You can find it on our front page in the center, and the button to get there looks like this:
It’s white, with the little Oklahoma State logo image.
The Red Dirt Chronicles is basically a cultural “all things Oklahoma” site. And, we want to partner with projects and people who can help tell the story of Oklahoma in ways that are generally positive, but also – always – as truthful and clear as possible. And, Tim’s Oklahoma History pieces are an interesting read.
So, I encourage you to visit their site, and also check on their posts or Twitter feeds from time to time, simply by using the tool we’ve built here to take you straight to the source.
I hope this Wednesday brings you peace and good tidings. I’m trying to calm myself right now because I have a root canal and crown process waiting for me this morning. I have dentist-phobia. I really, really hate going. So – I’m also wishing myself peace and good tidings!
To say that I’ve become an Oklahoma City Thunder fan since we got our team four years ago would be an understatement. I follow the players on Twitter. I go to the games, listen to them on the radio or watch them on TV. I coach them from my kitchen while cooking meals.
In other words? I’ve got Thunder fever and am naming it AND claiming it. I make no apologies for being grateful for my now hometown NBA team, so yesterday this generally emotionally regulated momma lost it. During the first half of the OKC Thunder-Lakers game, World Peace (formerly known as Ron Artest) went up for a basket, came down to celebrate, and in the heat of the moment drew his arm back and knocked James Harden down with what can only be described or construed as a recently discussed bounty hit.
It was mean, it was out of control, and it really hurt Harden. So much so that although the LA team docs first thought Harden could play in the second half, they later withdrew their decision and Harden saw no more court time for the rest of the game. Now it appears that he does indeed have a concussion from the blow and may miss more than a few games.
Time will tell. Time will also tell how the NBA will deal more long term with World Peace’s actions.
But suffice it to say, this momma bear AIN’T happy. World Peace, you hurt my player. You were out of control and you hurt another person in an action that was completely avoidable. You beat on your chest, you argued that it wasn’t your fault, and it was only after the game that you showed some degree of contrition.
I’m mad at you, World Peace. You need to do better, or you need to stay off the court.
There are a couple of things I’ve noticed about social media.
First, I really am influenced by messages I receive throughout the week about what I might want to buy for cooking meals, where I might wish to plan my next trip, or how I decide to choose spend some of my discretionary funds to purchase a book for upcoming summer reading.
For example, this week I saw that Stilwell Strawberries had just been received at the Urban Agrarian, I “Tweeted” them a question asking if they would be bringing some to the Edmond Farmer’s Market opening day, and received this reply back: “Absolutely.” Immediately, I began planning what to cook for my family on Sunday night, but more so, I COULD begin that planning because of the social tools we now use today. I had heard a “rally cry” that began in the eastern Oklahoma strawberry fields and had been carried through the central OKC relay system, with the end result landing on my kitchen table.
Second, because of social media, the producers in Oklahoma have become personal to me. I’ve intentionally shifted my food budget from approximately 10-15% local purchases two years ago, to approximately 50% or more local purchases today. Every month when I read the Oklahoma Food Cooperative‘s “Producer Notes” I get to hear what is going on at the farm/ranch level. I get to learn how it is that I have new product choices or why it is that certain weather or economic factors influence what I choose for a particular month.
I can plan my own garden because I know I’m more or less likely to get certain crops at the market every year at pretty decent prices, therefore I plant to harvest what I know will help me save money and I have the best chance of growing successfully….and that complements what I can already get through our local food distributions systems here in the state. I can ask questions about certain products or swap recipes (or send photographs of the final products!) to my connections on Facebook and Twitter which then helps all of us gain more ideas about how to manage and balance our food purchases and inventory.
In other words, just two years after I started building a social media network comprised of locally focused resources that interest me, I feel more informed and competent about running my own household and my own life here in central Oklahoma. And, I have a much greater sense of connection to those in Oklahoma who are producing healthy, local food. And finally, I count myself in that bunch to a degree because I really enjoy the goodness I get from my garden in so many ways.
I’m writing this post because I’ve recently received a few messages from people who feel “inadequate” in terms of growing gardens or cooking locally. The majority of these notes were from people younger than I who expressed self-doubts about whether or not they could “grow anything.” Continue reading My Little Victory Garden: Everyone Begins Somewhere→
Most of the time, you’ll find first person commentary on the Red Dirt Chronicles. Today, however, I’m going to share with you a “third person” report in full because it explores a specific question directly related to a cause for higher divorce: That is, marrying at younger ages than the general national average.
In Oklahoma, our average age at first marriage has measured steadily for the last 10-15 years around 18 months to 2 years younger than the national average. And, research shows that those who marry in the 18-22 (approx) age bracket tend to get divorced more, and more quickly, than those who marry a little later (25-26ish). Professor Emeritus Robert Spector of the University of Oklahoma once said in his family law lecture, “There is one solution to immediately affect the divorce rate in a downward trend. Simply raise the legal age of marriage in the State of Oklahoma to 21.” And although this statement was provided in a way where those in the classroom understood it was not a change likely to happen, the truth still remains: By and large, young Oklahomans make decisions to enter marriages earlier than their national peers and our divorce rate is generally one of the top three in the nation.
Of course many factors are in play related to this situation. Some cite religious factors related to the struggle between being encouraged to abstain from sexual intercourse versus the physical strife to do so in speeding up the decision to marry. Others cite more traditional views and modeling of parents who also married young and see no problem, many times rightfully so, in marrying at younger ages. And finally, many anecdotal conversations with youth under thirty cite varying degrees of pressure (and many cite extreme degrees) from their families of origin – encouraging them to “make the next step” toward their life narrative of finishing school, getting married and having children. And there is always the factor of teenage pregnancy sometimes leading to marriage.
Two years ago I was contacted by a Family and Consumer Sciences Extension educator in Dewey county. She was concerned because anecdotal observations in her particular area led her to believe that students may be marrying even younger than they were a decade ago. She asked me to consider setting up a study to investigate this question. I hired an undergraduate research assistant to pull a clean copy of marriage and divorce records for the state so we could see if there were shifts toward a downward age trend. I’d like to note that this study was funded by the Oklahoma Marriage Initiative and we are very grateful for their contribution to our efforts.
While our findings showed that there were no shifts toward marrying younger, we did decide to look into the general questions of “why.” We felt if we understood factors related to decision making about marriage, we could then consider what was, and was not within, the control of any intervention to make change. So, Dan Hubler, my graduate research assistant and Kate Kirk, my undergraduate assistant and I went on road trips. Three to be exact. Continue reading Young Oklahomans Speak: How Do You Decide The Appropriate Age For Marriage?→
The first official day of Spring Break was almost over, as was the rain that had been pouring down all day long. So much had come from the clouds in so little time I almost called and cancelled dinner plans. The plans, you see, included some navigation on an Oklahoma dirt road to reach my destination and I wasn’t sure my little white Jetta was up for the slide-and-react task left by gully washers.
But late that afternoon, the hostess for our evening sent out a message: “the roads drain well, so dinner is still on.” The note was all the encouragement I needed. I needed to de-stress from a busy semester, I already had a reservation for that night at Roman Nose, and I wanted to meet this particular group of young farmers who were coming together to see the completed Base Vines and Cattle Schoolhouse in Geary, OK.
To say Aaron and Jennifer Base have sweat equity in their newly restored eighty year-old, one-room Schoolhouse is an understatement. They’ve infused every piece of lumber, all the nails, the foundation blocks and gallons of paint with love and hours of work.
