Thursday, March 19, 2015

Tea, Coffee and Castles

Dunnottar Castle, Stonehaven, Scotland
Nescafé.  Mmm mm mm.  The only time I drink it is outside the US.  Tea can't seem meet my coffee addiction needs as I thought it could.  This morning, finding a jar of Nescafe kernels in my grandfather's cabinet was further celebrated by  "best used by August 2015".  I knew my grandmother had often kept a jar both for herself occasionally and if visitors stopped by who preferred coffee to tea.

When in Scotland, one must watch the weather in order to have a chance of finding a sunny spot to visit.  We thought yesterday was the day of sun!  Therefore, my mom, cousin, and I drove along the twisty windy roads passed Fife and beyond Perth up to Stonehaven, where we visited the castle of Dunnottar.  Within an hour of walking around, the sea mist began rolling in.  It settled all around us between the time it took me to walk from one window to another.  Once it comes in, the scenery disappears: the castle and the cliffs are gone.

All you can hear is the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks.

The strategic location of Dunnottar had been used throughout the middle ages as property of the Keiths, a hiding spot for Scottish crown jewels, a refuge for the Jacobites, and the seat of Earl Marischal until he forfeited his title in the 18th century.   Through every window, one can look down at the rocky descent into the ocean.  We read in the admission booklet about how over a hundred Covenanters were imprisoned for nine weeks in a tiny windowless space, having to take turns to get air.  What a bloody history.

The mist stuck around while we drove to Stonehaven and found a respite to eat food and drink drink.  That's where I realized an americano and cappuccino can lift the fog in my brain better than tea.

Yes, I do actually order an americano - and yes, it feels cliché (a white americano, in fact).

After a walk around the harbor draped in a gray cloth, we drove back to my grandfather's castle: a tiny stucco fortress with all the comforts one could want.  Despite the striking scenery and sites to see, I find myself eager to sit in his own wee castle to drink Nescafé while he reads the paper.

What could be more epic that spending time with a walking history book?

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

glasgow's 50 shades of gray

Scotland looks good in gray.  Outsiders think it's atmospheric, especially in the highlands.  Insiders have various words for rain:

A wee spit
Spittin
Peltin
Bucketin
Stokin
A fine rain
Dreich
Spurtin

Those are just a few.  There's plenty more ways to describe the rain, mist, fog and shades of gray of this top half of a very big island.  Here are some photos from a city full of art, character and history:

St. Andrew's Metropolitan Church

Garden Outside St. Andrew's (the patron Saint of Scotland) Metropolitan Church

Down the street

Colorful bridge

No Parking

Shelter from the rain

Dome Designs

Salmon colored buildings

Church

Badminton

Walking

Hilghlander

Magical

Splash of color

Art everywhere

John Knox's grave on the hill

Straggly trees

Towards the Necropolis

Ivy

Bridge

Necropolis

Stone on stone

Dome

Stone

Get it!

Waffle

Symbols of Glasgow: Bell, Fish, Bird

Shopping

Sunday, March 15, 2015

my childhood has strings from another culture

The decor of the hallway of Glasgow Airport is a forest (with sounds).  Welcome to creative, quirky and clever Scotland. 

On the drive down to New Jersey Friday, I heard an episode of Fresh Air with Ethan Hawke and Patricia Arquette talking about Boyhood.  Ethan Hawke described early conversations with Linklater of how the story was born:

"It's strange.  It was hard not to think about - when Rick first told me about this idea, you know, he was talking about how there's this lie in every film - even the best ones - about childhood, this little, tiny lie you have to accept that somehow, some enlightenment moment happens in one moment, rather than being in a series of moments when we come of age. You know, they may come to feel like one, but he was saying, wouldn't it be amazing to make a movie where we actually just captured all the little moments? The feeling of growing up could actually be tactile."

This morning, our plane flew over the green misty lowlands of Scotland as the Sun was rising.  This has been a familiar sight for me since I was six - when I first remember traveling over to Britain.  To many, heading to Scotland is an exotic vacation.  But to me, it feels like going home.

To conceptualize what traveling here was like for me as a child, I must start with ketchup.  I distinctly remember going for breakfast, once we were off the plane, and noticing that strangely the ketchup tasted more like tomatoes.  I remember my grandparent's house smelled like toast.  I rollerbladed in the street and ran out from the dinner table to buy a 99 from the ice cream truck.  We turned as red as lobsters with our cousins at the beach in England.  My mom's cousins made my brother and I drinks when we were in high school (shh).  We spent a New Years in the streets of Biggar, with gale force winds, as a bonfire swallowed the town, the bottom of my jeans freezing to a puddle.  I rode on the back of my uncle's motorcycle through the yellow rape flower fields of Kent.  I spent a week with my grandparents where I understood their WWII generation much better after scrimping in Uganda.  My mother and I have driven on the blustery roads through the Cairngorms and I've witnessed a mist hide a mountain within seconds.  There are so many bits that have shaped my girlhood over the years.

It's so good to be back.

Tuesday, March 10, 2015

Ode to Winter Vegetables



Winter VEGETABLES!

How you have provided us with such STRENGTH this season.  How your roots have rooted our immunity.  How your CARROTS have grown richer - your PARSNIPS!  TURNIPS!

I rejoice in being able to tell the difference between all of you.

And SQUASH!  How many of you there were.  How we had to look you up to know what to do with you!  From PIE SQUASH (what??) to BUTTERNUT to WHO-KNOWS-WHAT.  You were all there!

And ARUGULA.  Oh, it's been nice to see you come about.  So STRONG you are and so BITTER when I shove so much of you in my mouth at one time.  It BURNS!

And the WATERMELON radish!  What a delight it was to cut you to pieces - to find that you resemble a WATERMELON inside!

And the CABBAGE!  The purple cabbage; you were a tough one.  I didn't know what to do with you, so I didn't do much.  For this, I apologize.

And CELERIAC!  Same thing as the cabbage; see above.

And the RHUBARB... same thing as the cabbage and celeriac.

LEEKS!  I think you may have dried up in our fridge as well...

POTATOES!  How could we forget?  You came in all different colors: purple, yellow, and lighter yellow!  We roasted you time and time again.

APPLES!  I didn't know you could grow for so many months.  So frigid, so cold.

KALE.  Where have you been?  I haven't seen you in weeks.  I feel that you abandoned us.  For that, I am... sad.  I hope we see you again soon.

OH and the BRUSSEL SPROUTS!  I nearly forgot; you've disappeared as well.

That reminds me: CAULIFLOWER and ITALIAN CAULIFLOWER!  I love you guys.  Miss you.

GENERAL GREENS!  You tasted like grass sometimes.  I couldn't quite get excited about you.  But SPINACH I feel I failed you.  I know you went bad in our fridge.  I'm sorry.

What ELSE?!

FROZEN STRAWBERRIES!

TOMATO SAUCE!

ONIONS!

THANK YOU EVERYONE for joining us throughout these FIVE MONTHS.  You have all been so wonderful to have around.  I hope to see you again next year.

<3


Sunday, March 8, 2015

Night Light


One of my roommates brought home a night light: three mushroom and two leaves fading through different pastel shades.  At a winter retreat a long time ago, someone gazed up at the sparks from the bonfire and told me that the sparks were eating up the darkness.  I imagine this is what the night light will do, too. 

Good things I did today:

  1. Watched the night light eat the darkness.
  2. Sped time forward. 
  3. Saw Spring.

Seems like the night light is doing it's job after all. 

Here's to more darkness being eaten day by day...

Now it's time for bed. 

Thursday, March 5, 2015

Biophilia/Biophobia

Almost that Spring evening light over the Beaver Pond. 

"Our annual melt is the wild, messy, glorious loosening of everything tight.  It is gravity's ecstasy, as water seeks its own level on every level, and the noise of water running fills day and night.  Down Ragged Mountain the streams rush, cutting through ice and snow, peeling away Winter's cold layers: rush, trickle, rush.  Busy water moves all day and all night, never tired, cutting away the corrupt detritus of Winter; fingers of bare earth extend down the hillsides; south sides of trees extend bare patches, farther every day; root-pattern rivulets, melting, gather downhill to form brief streams; dirt roads slog and driveways turn swamps.

Then it dries; last snow melts; trees bud green; soft air turns. Who can believe in Winter now?"

Donald Hall, Seasons at Eagle Pond

What a specific and glorious depiction of thaw.  It reminds me of the consistency and longevity of the seasons - how they smell, look and feel for us.

In my Theory of Adventure class the other day, we were discussing Biophilia (what?). This is a theory that holds that people have innate responses to nature.  There are nine of them:

Naturalistic - You can benefit from nature mentally, emotionally, physically
Dominionistic - You like to be challenged by nature and overcome it
Utilitarian - You use nature's resources
Negativistic - You are afraid of nature or don't like it
Symbolic - You resonate with spirit animals and symbols from nature
Humanistic - You have a relationship with nature
Moralistic - You feel we all have a responsibility to care for nature because we all belong to it
Aesthetic - You think nature is beautiful and benefit from flowing water, bubbling brooks
Scientific - You study nature in order to use processes to human life

It was easy to talk about how great it is to be Naturalistic and Moralistic about nature.  We even took tests which showed as a class that this is where we stood: Moralistic, Naturalistic, Humanistic and Aesthetic were somewhere around the top while Dominionistic, Utilitarian, Negativistic and Symbolic sank to the bottom.

We talked about other cultures that may identify these bottom values.  People who use the land all the time, are aware of the natural elements (and fearful of them), and work to have dominion over their land.  Farmers and people living in "developing" areas that depend on the natural resources around them and hope for good weather may share these responses.  We talked about fisherman who are famous for superstitions about the sea.  They hold to certain rituals in order to be successful, in a symbolic way.  But the conversation also shifted to how often these kinds of people do care about the land.  What I thought about in my own head was, "Probably better than we do."  People who live in it know how it can be; they are tied to it in a way that we forget.

As Outdoor Education students, we pride ourselves on cutting edge gear to deal with the outdoors, buy stoves so we can "leave no trace" in the wilderness, or invest in water-resistant tarps and tents for nastier elements.  Our sleeping bags can keep us warm in freezing temperatures and our backpacks are gorgeous.  These items all come from nature somewhere down the line - even Gortex - and we own so many of them.  They're probably from Taiwan.

We are so removed from so many things.  Many of us are removed from nature enough so that we can choose when we want to be in it and when we don't.  The moment the heat or the electricity go off in the winter, then we are brought a little closer to the reality of resources.

It's okay to live in houses that are warm and pride ourselves on technological advances.  But let's not forget how long it took us to get there and why we did - through generations of humans.  I believe that the presence of healthy fear can mean there's a space for growth.  I think if we're honest, we'll find how deeply terrified and awed we are of our ever-changing natural world.

I wonder how we can keep that fear alive.

Monday, March 2, 2015

Eskimo Snowshoeing


The ocean is one of my favorite creatures.  Although we classify only animals and humans as those who have physical hearts, I would say that the ocean has one too, somewhere, and is a living, thriving, terrifying creature who also has a calming presence.  The size of it alone reminds me of the vastness and depths of human experience and that there is always so much more to know. 

Snowshoeing along a rocky shoreline combines two beautiful colors on a sunny day: a blinding white and the boldest blue.  I wonder how many places you can do this type of walking in the world where two sides of the same compound of nature meet at the beach: water and snow.  

In Spanish, the word blue is azul and somehow that "z" does the New England winter blue more justice.  It adds an extra zealous quality.  It sounds stronger and bolder.  I can also see why tribes in Alaska distinguish kinds of snow with their words: 

Aput: Snow on the ground  
Qana: Falling snow  
Piqsorpoq: Drifting snow  
Qimuqsuq: Snow drift  
(+ up to 40 more)

Or sea ice:

Utuqaq: Ice that lasts year after year
Siguliaksraq: "Patchwork layer of crystals that form as the sea begins to freeze"
Auniq: "Ice that is filled with holes, like Swiss Cheese"

The words we use reflect the way we see the world. 

This winter, I noticed that the snow was very light and fluffy when it first fell.  I would term this "best-shoveling-snow" as an everyday resident but "powder" as a skier or "terrible-snowman-building-snow" as a child.  I've also noticed the flakes this year.  At times, they look more as how the flakes looked in Oregon: Dippin Dots, the ice cream that is made up of a bunch of tiny compacted kernals.  Or perhaps they are "tiny eggs from the sky" or "soft white beads". 

By the end of the day it compacts to a denser snow.  After days and weeks the top layer becomes a crunchy icy skin, like cake with frozen butter icing that you break into with your fork.  "Wedding cake snow", "nails on a chalkboard snow", "caramel topping" or "hardened icing".  

Crunch. 

This snow will be gone before we know it and my snowshoes will return to the trunk of my car.  Back to the ocean all of this snow will go - melting away and becoming water again.  I can only imagine the puddles that Spring will bring.  

The snow will reinvent itself into something new, just as we do everyday.