Food is beautiful. View and discuss.
http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/peter_reinhart_on_bread.html
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
do you think teenagers are boring?
Given the choice I would probably spend my entire life out of doors. I feel comfortable outside, whereas my time spent indoors is normally marked by twitchiness and irritability. It makes teaching difficult, and sometimes I have no choice but to relocate my classes outside for the whole week.
This past winter was hard. The long stretches of cold were not conducive to outdoor excursions and I finished off the season paler and crankier than usual.
But now spring is truly here. True, this is Alberta and winter is likely to rear it's head a time or two before July, but I don't really mind: now that the days are longer the world has become more pleasant and a bit of snow and cold is less likely to slow me down.
Which puts me in interesting contrast to my students. The last couple of times that I took my classes outside were met with hostility and whining - it's seems that the sunlight makes the screens of their laptops more difficult to read.
Not, of course, that they're actually working on their computers - for the most part they're trying to email the kid sitting next to them. Truth be told, I don't get all that upset if I take them outside and they don't work - I resist the attitude that every minute of the school day should be filled with work - but couldn't they be a little more creative about it?
I was one of those kids that liked school: I did well, I think my teachers liked me, and I had classes that I looked forward to. But looking back a big part of what I learned came out of being a teenager with time on his hands.
I'll admit, when I was in junior high and high school I was what some people may call a "nerd," and I was a pretty straight laced one at that - I didn't go to bush parties or sneak off to Memorial Park to buy drugs and have sex in the school parking lot. For the most part my friends were in the same category as me. But when we had free time we used it to joust with rolling office chairs and brooms or to smuggle slurpees through the french classroom window. Once we stole a classroom door. It was fun, but we had to think to pull it all off.
I don't want to sound crotchety and old before my time (and yes, dear reader, I do realize that that's exactly what I sound like) but how boring have kids gotten that the best they can do is spend their time trying to text their buddy across the room?
Maybe, in some way, it can be construed as an improvement in society - some would suggest that it shows the violence, prejudice, sexism, etc that marked a lot of the school shenanigans of the past have disappeared. But you can't tell me that the kids have gotten nicer, that bullying has disappeared, or that respect is more widespread.
To say such a thing is horse shit. Kids are nastier, bully harder, and have less respect that I remember and others will tell you the same. Through the widespread introduction of technology into society we have simply added another dimension of alienation to already alienated youth.
I could rant and rave for hours about this. I don't want to.
One day I will have kids of my own. I look forward to meeting them. I hope they'll be good people.
And when the time comes (although I'll probably think differently by then) I hope they get themselves into some trouble.
Because if they don't life could get pretty damn boring.
This past winter was hard. The long stretches of cold were not conducive to outdoor excursions and I finished off the season paler and crankier than usual.
But now spring is truly here. True, this is Alberta and winter is likely to rear it's head a time or two before July, but I don't really mind: now that the days are longer the world has become more pleasant and a bit of snow and cold is less likely to slow me down.
Which puts me in interesting contrast to my students. The last couple of times that I took my classes outside were met with hostility and whining - it's seems that the sunlight makes the screens of their laptops more difficult to read.
Not, of course, that they're actually working on their computers - for the most part they're trying to email the kid sitting next to them. Truth be told, I don't get all that upset if I take them outside and they don't work - I resist the attitude that every minute of the school day should be filled with work - but couldn't they be a little more creative about it?
I was one of those kids that liked school: I did well, I think my teachers liked me, and I had classes that I looked forward to. But looking back a big part of what I learned came out of being a teenager with time on his hands.
I'll admit, when I was in junior high and high school I was what some people may call a "nerd," and I was a pretty straight laced one at that - I didn't go to bush parties or sneak off to Memorial Park to buy drugs and have sex in the school parking lot. For the most part my friends were in the same category as me. But when we had free time we used it to joust with rolling office chairs and brooms or to smuggle slurpees through the french classroom window. Once we stole a classroom door. It was fun, but we had to think to pull it all off.
I don't want to sound crotchety and old before my time (and yes, dear reader, I do realize that that's exactly what I sound like) but how boring have kids gotten that the best they can do is spend their time trying to text their buddy across the room?
Maybe, in some way, it can be construed as an improvement in society - some would suggest that it shows the violence, prejudice, sexism, etc that marked a lot of the school shenanigans of the past have disappeared. But you can't tell me that the kids have gotten nicer, that bullying has disappeared, or that respect is more widespread.
To say such a thing is horse shit. Kids are nastier, bully harder, and have less respect that I remember and others will tell you the same. Through the widespread introduction of technology into society we have simply added another dimension of alienation to already alienated youth.
I could rant and rave for hours about this. I don't want to.
One day I will have kids of my own. I look forward to meeting them. I hope they'll be good people.
And when the time comes (although I'll probably think differently by then) I hope they get themselves into some trouble.
Because if they don't life could get pretty damn boring.
Monday, April 20, 2009
obligatory monday morning post
This is my first day back at work after a week of Easter holidays. As such, it is only natural that I am exhausted and ready for a break.
I like my time off - it's when I get to do so many of those things that I miss when I'm teaching: working cattle, small construction projects, clearing brush, etc tend to fall by the wayside during school. And education not being a physical profession, I often fail to maintain the level of fitness required for farm labour: the past few days have left me stiff, limping, and sleepy.
But what a productive week it was: I read a couple of books, constructed an outdoor chicken enclosure, cleared brush from our garden, tagged calves, moved cattle, and covered a good seven or eight miles every day on foot. It was glorious.
"But Stu," you ask, "in all that time you failed to post a single thing to your blog. Isn't that neglecting your blogger-duty?"
Ah dear reader, you may be correct. I did fail to post anything in that week. And I'm happy for it.
Because I think that a lot of bloggers become caught up in the self-important delusion that what they post is of vital importance to society.
The one thing I promised myself when I began this blog was that I wouldn't start believing in my own moral/literary/political/intellectual superiority.
Am I succeeding? I sure hope so - thus far I think I've maintained an air of humility.
But you'll have to excuse me now: I feel a twinge of self-righteousness coming on and I need to quash it before it becomes a full blown ego trip.
Until next time, regards from Alberta's brush plain.
I like my time off - it's when I get to do so many of those things that I miss when I'm teaching: working cattle, small construction projects, clearing brush, etc tend to fall by the wayside during school. And education not being a physical profession, I often fail to maintain the level of fitness required for farm labour: the past few days have left me stiff, limping, and sleepy.
But what a productive week it was: I read a couple of books, constructed an outdoor chicken enclosure, cleared brush from our garden, tagged calves, moved cattle, and covered a good seven or eight miles every day on foot. It was glorious.
"But Stu," you ask, "in all that time you failed to post a single thing to your blog. Isn't that neglecting your blogger-duty?"
Ah dear reader, you may be correct. I did fail to post anything in that week. And I'm happy for it.
Because I think that a lot of bloggers become caught up in the self-important delusion that what they post is of vital importance to society.
The one thing I promised myself when I began this blog was that I wouldn't start believing in my own moral/literary/political/intellectual superiority.
Am I succeeding? I sure hope so - thus far I think I've maintained an air of humility.
But you'll have to excuse me now: I feel a twinge of self-righteousness coming on and I need to quash it before it becomes a full blown ego trip.
Until next time, regards from Alberta's brush plain.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
hi-ho silver!
I should've been a cowboy.
Other than a line from a great country song, I often feel that this is the truth.
Some of the more astute of you may have noticed that, during all this talk about farming, I rarely speak about the joys of growing grain. There is a simple explanation for this - I find very little joy in dirt-farming.
Now, I can't write off grain farming as complete torture - I love combining in the fall and seeing that grain pour into the hopper - but in general I find grain to be a dirty, machine-infested business that I would prefer to avoid.
I am, at heart, a cattleman. I belong on the back of a horse loping across the prairie in pursuit of escaped cattle. And I look really good in giant hats.
There is, of course, more to it than my love of headwear. Grain-farming is about changing the land and making it work for you, and sometimes that land comes back for revenge: ranching, or at least some forms of it, requires you to work with nature and make concessions from time to time.
But the real reason may be that, in my experience, scratch a cowboy and you find a guy or gal working hard at something they enjoy. I have a lot of respect for that.
There are, of course, a few things preventing me from turning cowboy right now. Number 1 - I am suffering a lack of horse at the moment and refuse to be one of these pick-up truck bound cowpunchers; Number 2 - my hat is a bit too big and keeps blowing off; Number 3 - I specialize in roping fence posts and empty oil barrels, both of which are known to behave differently from cattle on the range.
I guess that for now I'll content myself by going to horse sales, listening to Corb Lund and dreaming of the day that I'll have a fine string of horses out back, some longhorns out on the prairies, and a whole day of cowboying ahead of me.
Regards from the brush plain.
Monday, April 6, 2009
the great turkey saga continues
I've mentioned it before: turkeys are extraordinarily hard to come by.
That fact has been driven home again today - my small turkey order, secured and supposedly ready to be delivered, has fallen through.
It probably wouldn't be that hard to get my hands on turkeys if I was willing to lower my standards, but I'm firm on my original position that I do not want white turkeys and I do not want to order them in increments of 20. I want four or five brown, preferably heritage, turkeys.
Is that so much to ask?
Apparently it is. Because I am not willing to drive the 100 - 150 miles to pick up a small number of birds from the hatchery. Nor am I willing to spend money on a white bird that doesn't possess the instinct required to drink water and is incapable of reproducing naturally.
As I said before, I take it as another sign of the death of a tradition - that of the family farm.
And apparently the disappearance of small family farms is even closer than I had originally thought.
When you live out in the rural areas you receive a large number of free newsletters produced by various agricultural groups. One such recent newsletter contained an article citing a report to the federal government stating that Canada needs to eliminate small, unprofitable farms and farms supported by off-farm income.
Which simply illustrates the fundamentally flawed philosophy that presently guides government attitude to agriculture - that it should be regarded as an industry and governed as such: when it's time to cut the fat, farms should be treated the same as other businesses.
But really, when we look around and see the large-scale failure of the industrial model, does it make since to apply the label of 'industry' to a way of life that has existed in one form or another since civilization first began? Because to me 'industry' denotes large scale, centralized production and/or control of a sector, ie. the automotives industry; the mobile communications industry; etc.
By their very nature traditional farms are small to medium in size, local, hostile to centralization, and difficult to place under umbrella terms. They represent some of the few situations where the anyone maintains ownership of the goods they produce. They cannot follow 'good business models' because it is impossible to separate the assets of the 'business' side of a farm from the assets of the 'family' side.
It baffles me that, as it becomes obvious that the solution to widespread collapse is decentralization, diversification, and a focus on 'small,' government continues to support the corporatization of agriculture.
Which I think has an interesting reflection on my situation - it is unlikely that I will ever be able to rely solely on farming to support my family. I will always need some sort of off-farm income to fend off debt (because the thought of large-scale debt makes my skin crawl). That's not to say that our farm is poor - in fact it's one of the better, larger ones in this neck of the woods. But with skyrocketing input costs, unreliable markets, and little government support I don't think that we'll be able to hold out against large feedlots and industrial agriculture forever.
"But Stu," you ask, "if it looks so bad, why don't you just give up?"
Ah, dear reader, never mind me - I'm a natural born pessimist; it's in my genetics - the Scots were never accused of being too cheerful: we're the people who gave you bagpipes and the raincoat, neither of which speak of hope for the future.
When I step back and look at it, it really doesn't seem too bad - the focus of buying local speaks of good things to come for those family farms willing to step in; the lifestyle is hard to beat (no boss, no interoffice email, never have to ask for time off); and there are few other jobs where you can point out the fruits of your labour for all to see and say with pride "I did that!"
And so, dear reader, as a symbol of my hope for the future I will not give up in my search for turkeys - already I have a line on a few gobblers not too far away. I am not beaten yet: I shall be persistent like a ...umm...a very persistent thing.
Remember, we're all in this together.
That fact has been driven home again today - my small turkey order, secured and supposedly ready to be delivered, has fallen through.
It probably wouldn't be that hard to get my hands on turkeys if I was willing to lower my standards, but I'm firm on my original position that I do not want white turkeys and I do not want to order them in increments of 20. I want four or five brown, preferably heritage, turkeys.
Is that so much to ask?
Apparently it is. Because I am not willing to drive the 100 - 150 miles to pick up a small number of birds from the hatchery. Nor am I willing to spend money on a white bird that doesn't possess the instinct required to drink water and is incapable of reproducing naturally.
As I said before, I take it as another sign of the death of a tradition - that of the family farm.
And apparently the disappearance of small family farms is even closer than I had originally thought.
When you live out in the rural areas you receive a large number of free newsletters produced by various agricultural groups. One such recent newsletter contained an article citing a report to the federal government stating that Canada needs to eliminate small, unprofitable farms and farms supported by off-farm income.
Which simply illustrates the fundamentally flawed philosophy that presently guides government attitude to agriculture - that it should be regarded as an industry and governed as such: when it's time to cut the fat, farms should be treated the same as other businesses.
But really, when we look around and see the large-scale failure of the industrial model, does it make since to apply the label of 'industry' to a way of life that has existed in one form or another since civilization first began? Because to me 'industry' denotes large scale, centralized production and/or control of a sector, ie. the automotives industry; the mobile communications industry; etc.
By their very nature traditional farms are small to medium in size, local, hostile to centralization, and difficult to place under umbrella terms. They represent some of the few situations where the anyone maintains ownership of the goods they produce. They cannot follow 'good business models' because it is impossible to separate the assets of the 'business' side of a farm from the assets of the 'family' side.
It baffles me that, as it becomes obvious that the solution to widespread collapse is decentralization, diversification, and a focus on 'small,' government continues to support the corporatization of agriculture.
Which I think has an interesting reflection on my situation - it is unlikely that I will ever be able to rely solely on farming to support my family. I will always need some sort of off-farm income to fend off debt (because the thought of large-scale debt makes my skin crawl). That's not to say that our farm is poor - in fact it's one of the better, larger ones in this neck of the woods. But with skyrocketing input costs, unreliable markets, and little government support I don't think that we'll be able to hold out against large feedlots and industrial agriculture forever.
"But Stu," you ask, "if it looks so bad, why don't you just give up?"
Ah, dear reader, never mind me - I'm a natural born pessimist; it's in my genetics - the Scots were never accused of being too cheerful: we're the people who gave you bagpipes and the raincoat, neither of which speak of hope for the future.
When I step back and look at it, it really doesn't seem too bad - the focus of buying local speaks of good things to come for those family farms willing to step in; the lifestyle is hard to beat (no boss, no interoffice email, never have to ask for time off); and there are few other jobs where you can point out the fruits of your labour for all to see and say with pride "I did that!"
And so, dear reader, as a symbol of my hope for the future I will not give up in my search for turkeys - already I have a line on a few gobblers not too far away. I am not beaten yet: I shall be persistent like a ...umm...a very persistent thing.
Remember, we're all in this together.
Friday, April 3, 2009
canada: northern nation with an identity crisis.
It is, yet again, a grey and dreary day out here on the brush plain and to be completely honest with you I'm starting to get a bit sick of this.
Not that I'm one to complain about cold weather - in general I'm the first one to complain when the temperature beats 25 degrees Celsius. As my excuse I'll cite my northern genetics - when your ancestors hail from the hills of Scotland and the swamps of northern Ontario you tend to be predisposed to cool and wet.
But this is simply ridiculous - the only time I've seen the sun for days now has been when it comes out to blind me on the drive to work in the morning. If mother nature's having a laugh it's about damn time she got over herself and smartened up.
So, as a silent protest, I've decided to wear sandals all week long.
I can tell you that it hasn't been easy - there's always that tense moment when I have to cross the snow bank between the school doors and the parking lot. So far I've only fallen in twice, and the frostbite went away quickly both times.
My students look at me like I'm nuts, and maybe their right, but this is Canada - we have a very long tradition of pretending to live somewhere in the tropics. Perhaps that's just our way of recovering from the nine months of winter.
I read somewhere once that Canada, alone amongst the northern nations, spends a lot of time and effort pretending to be in the south.
I see their point - Scandinavians spend a lot of time whipping each other in saunas (actually, I'm not too sure about this one - I think I saw it on an episode of Inspector Gadget); Russians adopt enormous fur hats as part of their national dress; Canadians insistently wear board shorts from the vernal equinox to the winter solstice (at which point the risk of death from wind chill becomes far too great and we switch to capris or those zip-off cargo pants).
Maybe it's because we're a young country - still insecure with our place in the world - but I think that before we can really come to a consensus on things like Canadian identity we need to make our peace with the north.
"But Stu," you ask, "if you're all down with the north and whatnot, why are you still wearing sandals? Is this not a tad hypocritical?"
Well dear reader, I suppose it is. But consider this - I may be wearing sandals, but I'm also wearing two sweaters and a toque.
Which makes me significantly more in tune with the north than the kid I saw earlier today wearing board shorts and a t-shirt.
But not as in tune as the other guy I saw wearing moose-hide moccasins and a sheepskin hat.
Regards from Alberta's brush plain.
Not that I'm one to complain about cold weather - in general I'm the first one to complain when the temperature beats 25 degrees Celsius. As my excuse I'll cite my northern genetics - when your ancestors hail from the hills of Scotland and the swamps of northern Ontario you tend to be predisposed to cool and wet.
But this is simply ridiculous - the only time I've seen the sun for days now has been when it comes out to blind me on the drive to work in the morning. If mother nature's having a laugh it's about damn time she got over herself and smartened up.
So, as a silent protest, I've decided to wear sandals all week long.
I can tell you that it hasn't been easy - there's always that tense moment when I have to cross the snow bank between the school doors and the parking lot. So far I've only fallen in twice, and the frostbite went away quickly both times.
My students look at me like I'm nuts, and maybe their right, but this is Canada - we have a very long tradition of pretending to live somewhere in the tropics. Perhaps that's just our way of recovering from the nine months of winter.
I read somewhere once that Canada, alone amongst the northern nations, spends a lot of time and effort pretending to be in the south.
I see their point - Scandinavians spend a lot of time whipping each other in saunas (actually, I'm not too sure about this one - I think I saw it on an episode of Inspector Gadget); Russians adopt enormous fur hats as part of their national dress; Canadians insistently wear board shorts from the vernal equinox to the winter solstice (at which point the risk of death from wind chill becomes far too great and we switch to capris or those zip-off cargo pants).
Maybe it's because we're a young country - still insecure with our place in the world - but I think that before we can really come to a consensus on things like Canadian identity we need to make our peace with the north.
"But Stu," you ask, "if you're all down with the north and whatnot, why are you still wearing sandals? Is this not a tad hypocritical?"
Well dear reader, I suppose it is. But consider this - I may be wearing sandals, but I'm also wearing two sweaters and a toque.
Which makes me significantly more in tune with the north than the kid I saw earlier today wearing board shorts and a t-shirt.
But not as in tune as the other guy I saw wearing moose-hide moccasins and a sheepskin hat.
Regards from Alberta's brush plain.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
things that go bump and screech and howl in the night.
Something strange has been happening.
Maybe it's because the climate is changing; maybe it's because of increased development along the foothills and mountains; maybe it's because there are fewer people to chase them away but the wildlife has been changing in my neck of the woods.
This past Tuesday on our way into Red Deer we came across a herd of four elk just on the other side of Mackenzie Crossing near Big Valley - before that I had only seen elk in the west country. For them to be wandering wild so close to our home boggles the mind.
Perhaps it's not that strange for elk to run across the grasslands of Central Alberta again - I believe that at one time it was part of their range anyway: but how about this; every month or so we hear reports of bears in the neighbourhood. Now, I don't think that I'd even heard stories of bear near Endiang before, but glimpses of shaggy black creatures far off in a coulee have convinced me the sightings might be real.
Moose, deer, bears, elk, raccoons - we have them all now. Some people even say there's wolves in the hills to the west: I'm inclined to disbelieve those particular claims, but after I heard howling that sounded a bit, shall we say, wolf-ier than coyotes I'm willing to give some truth to the claim.
I guess it's a side effect of the continued depopulation of the region, as well as the continued suppression of the prairie fires that used to restrict the brush to small pockets here and there.
My question is this: is this a change to bemoan because it speaks of the decline of an area, or should I be happy because nature's taking back what's hers?
I think for now I'm just going to enjoy it- it's a few more footprints to learn, a few new sounds to recognize.
But one thing I know - if I go out in the woods to day, I'm in for a big surprise.
And yes, dear reader, have no fear: if I go out in the woods to day, I'll be sure to go in disguise...
Maybe it's because the climate is changing; maybe it's because of increased development along the foothills and mountains; maybe it's because there are fewer people to chase them away but the wildlife has been changing in my neck of the woods.
This past Tuesday on our way into Red Deer we came across a herd of four elk just on the other side of Mackenzie Crossing near Big Valley - before that I had only seen elk in the west country. For them to be wandering wild so close to our home boggles the mind.
Perhaps it's not that strange for elk to run across the grasslands of Central Alberta again - I believe that at one time it was part of their range anyway: but how about this; every month or so we hear reports of bears in the neighbourhood. Now, I don't think that I'd even heard stories of bear near Endiang before, but glimpses of shaggy black creatures far off in a coulee have convinced me the sightings might be real.
Moose, deer, bears, elk, raccoons - we have them all now. Some people even say there's wolves in the hills to the west: I'm inclined to disbelieve those particular claims, but after I heard howling that sounded a bit, shall we say, wolf-ier than coyotes I'm willing to give some truth to the claim.
I guess it's a side effect of the continued depopulation of the region, as well as the continued suppression of the prairie fires that used to restrict the brush to small pockets here and there.
My question is this: is this a change to bemoan because it speaks of the decline of an area, or should I be happy because nature's taking back what's hers?
I think for now I'm just going to enjoy it- it's a few more footprints to learn, a few new sounds to recognize.
But one thing I know - if I go out in the woods to day, I'm in for a big surprise.
And yes, dear reader, have no fear: if I go out in the woods to day, I'll be sure to go in disguise...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)