The CSA: Weeks 16-18

September 29, 2008


And just like that, we’re done.

This week, our vegetables came with a note. “Thanks for everything, sign up for the Fall CSA.” Or something like that. It wasn’t a sad, misty-eyed moment or anything, but it felt like a grand experiment had come to an end.

It hadn’t, though. Instead, a new habit formed. Over the past 18 weeks, we’ve been lucky enough to have fresh, locally grown produce for half of what it would cost at the grocery store. We received a constant supply of whatever was in season. Carrots. Onions. Radishes. Whatever was ready for harvest, we were ready to receive.

And we learned a lot about vegetables. Naturally.

We are thankful that some of our veggies lasted longer than a few weeks. Some are still lasting right now. We have stocked up on potatoes and onions and other root vegetables. Like, for a month. Or more. They’re just sitting there, staring at us with all of those eyes.

Looking back, I discovered a love for raw carrots – garden carrots, naturally – that I had always suspected but was enforced by constant availability. I never knew there could be so many different types of potatoes and onions. I came to the realization that you can have too many tomatoes. That you can have too many of anything, really.

We changed our cooking habits. We were used to the typical vegetarian style of generic, quick cooking, which throws several different types of produce together in one stir-fry/stew type dish. Over the summer, unknowing as we were, we sought out recipes for beets and kohlrabi and pumpkin and found ourselves creating nearly single-vegetable dedicated meals.

We learned to cook more simply. With the vegetables we received, we had to enforce a more simple approach. We had little need to go to the grocery store. Instead, we pulled from our large stockpile of pantry staples, finally finding a use for things we had purchased long ago and never used. Our grocery bills went down – not just because we weren’t purchasing produce, but because we were simply using what we had. It was the beginnings of a pantry raid. And it has served to change our outlook on cooking meals.

Still, we have a lot of work ahead of us. Planning meals is hit and miss. The uncertainty of knowing exactly what we got left us to plan on Sunday, which often just left us not planning at all. To take full advantage of a bag full of potatoes, knowing full well that another bag will be coming in just seven days, has the feeling of a work deadline.

Above all, it just felt good to reap the CSA harvest. To me, it was always more than just food. It was more than an extended garden, a supplement to the mess we have growing in the backyard. Instead, I saw this as giving back, to supporting someone who is tethered to the ever-changing roller coaster cycle of farming, who depends on weather that has no need to cooperate and factors that live off of a farm’s suffering.

Even if it was just a couple hundred dollars, only about $10 a week for nearly 20 weeks, it was our way of supporting a small farm. And in return for that support, we received the fruits (vegetables?) of their harvest, the lifeblood of the independent farmer: produce, fresh from the ground, plucked from the vine, ripened naturally, stored on site and treated to only water, fertilizer and love.

It was worth it. On so many levels. And now the only thing I wonder is what next year will bring.

Tags: Food, Sioux Falls |

Comment

Thoughts on the 2008 SD Festival of Books

September 29, 2008


This year’s South Dakota Festival of Books landed during a busy time of weddings and prior engagements, so I was unable to make the most of the weekend. However, in addition to the Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me taping, I was able to ramble around downtown Sioux Falls enough to gather a few thoughts on writing, publishing and new books to read. (I’ll bold the authors, so you can skip to what you care about.)

Friday Night

Friday night’s panel featured Carl Kasell as moderator to Louise Erdrich, Kenneth Davis, Otto Penzler and Spring Warren as they spoke about the writing process and how they found their way into writing and reading in the first place. Several mentions of the importance of Bookmobiles led to each author (and editor – Otto Penzler is the Grand Puba of mystery/suspense literature) talking about their favorite books.

The thing I always forget is that writing is storytelling. It’s that simple. It’s not just writing, it’s animating and creating. The language of life. Spring Warren put it simply by explaining that when you’re young, you don’t think of authors as storytellers. You just think of the stories. The authors are invisible – they’re not writers as much as they’re just a name on the book. The stories are all that matters, and the style of writing is transparent, revealing the characters and plot and action in a way that seems natural, like each story was just sitting there in nature and someone found it, picked it up and published it.

Saturday Morning

Saturday morning’s breakfast featured Kim Ode, author of Breakfast with the St. Paul Bread Club. She talked about bread – both the art of baking and the pull of community that occurs as a result – and it was inspirational in the way that everyone probably ran to the store (as Kerrie did the next night) to purchase wheat germ and rye flour. But what stuck out wasn’t the speaker, but the way everyone in the audience had their own story, their own techniques and history. Every baker is touched in some way by the calming nature of kneading and mixing and baking. It’s a true community event.

We headed over to the Orpheum to catch Carl Kasell again, who hasn’t written a book but writes news every day. He talked about his life, we asked some questions, and that was that. He’s a humble man with ties to some major players – he gave Katie Couric her first job. Most surprisingly, South Dakota Public Broadcasting introduced him with an excerpt of my post on Kasell, without my knowing ahead of time. As in, “Here’s a post by Corey Vilhauer…” (I sheepishly raise my hand) “Oh! He’s here!” Weird, kind of cool, very humbling in its own right.

Thrity Umrigar’s break out session on finding the root of the story turned into more of a discussion on how she writes about what she knows. As a woman from India now living in the United States, she has seen her focus go from primarily Indian characters to fully American characters, her time away from her native country leading her to lose confidence in the validity of her characters. As for tips, she said that her career as a journalist helped her write on a deadline and write concisely. She has a sense of ethos on writing – it’s a job, not an art form (admittedly, an artistic job that requires creativity, but not the artistic mindset of “I’ll get to it when I’m inspired”) so roll up your sleeves and get to work.

Saturday Afternoon

A panel of authors (Brian Bedard, Ron Carlson and Kent Meyers) gave suggestions on how to stay on track when writing short stories. First, know the forms. Know what can be made into a short story, and what needs a full novel. It’s intuition and instinct, the natural ability to know what is valid. Surprise or reversal is a key element in a short story – you have short time span, and readers come into a story with expectations. Don’t meet those expectations. Do something different, and it will be remembered. Finally, reading is not writing. Reading is turning on a light. Writing is being in the dark, where you’re unsure of the final destination. Stay committed, and you’ll make your way through the dark.

Finally, I had the honor of seeing Pete Dexter again. He’s a kind, big-hearted man with a subtle, sarcastic sense of humor. He’s a weird guy at first glance, one of those eccentric author types, but he’s straight forward and grounded in what can seem like an industry filled with egos and pretentiousness. Dexter talked extensively about how Norman Mailer had the gall to claim righteous damnation on whichever writers he felt were “minor writers” (Mailer, of course, is a major writer, in his humble opinion). Dexter also took several questions about his screenplays, both those that were successful and those that seemingly took years off of his life through stress and Hollywood politics.

Overall, another success for the South Dakota Humanities Council, with everything coming together in an organized manner and a wide array of interesting authors and events. The Festival of Books has certainly come a long way from five years ago, when I first saw it as a bunch of tents in the middle of the street. It’s legit, now – an event worth waiting for.

And I’m not just saying that because I’m supposed to.

Tags: Books, Journalism, Literature, Sioux Falls, Writers, Writing |

2 Comments

Voices of truth

September 26, 2008


To hear a radio voice in person is to peek behind the glass. It’s like focusing a blurred image, the subject coming into clearer focus but not really changing. It’s surreal, to say the least, a disembodied voice finding a home, moving in and looking completely at rest, natural and complete.

We saw it firsthand last night at the Sioux Falls taping of Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me.

People on the radio never look like you think they do. Radio masks the physical attributes that we all use as landmarks and renders them illegible. So to see Peter Sagal walk on stage was like seeing a complete stranger who had stolen your favorite shirt. There’s something familiar, but it takes a while to figure out what it is.

The night went as you’d think it would. You see the inner workings of a radio production – the gaffes, the banter, the re-recorded pick-ups at the end. (These pick-ups, by the way, are the most surreal thing you can see – Peter Sagal, re-voicing his script to, well, no one. He even re-voiced some questions to Sen. George McGovern, our “Not My Job” guest. Or, at least, to the empty chair Sen. McGovern was sitting in earlier.)

The event was fantastic. The talent was gracious, genuinely impressed with the reception they received and willing to meet and greet after taping ended. Mo Rocca was there, as was Tom Bodett and Kyrie O’Connor.

The start of the night, however, was Carl Kasell. More to the point, his voice.

Carl Kasell is a public radio legend. Part of an older generation of news radio voices that focused on nothing but news, Kasell reads engagingly, yet without biased. It’s Walter Cronkite filtered down without the visuals. Sports radio has Dan “Duke” Davis to fill this role. But it’s all the same - an old radio man standing to the side, ready for updates and specializing in playing the straight man to the typical personality-driven programs.

At the top of the hour and every twenty minutes after, you can be assured of what you’ll get. Unfiltered radio. Straight talk. Nothing but news, nothing but that voice, nothing but the most familiar thing you’ll ever encounter.

Hearing Carl Kasell is moving in the way that it’s like family. Comforting. You can’t imagine any other voice taking its place. It’s the voice of a man who has seen everything, who has written about event that have shaped the world, brought us to tears and led us to rage. They are both a gentle grandfather and a sage business partner, a college professor and a moving narrator. They are the voice of reason. The voice of history. The voice of change.

The voice of the news. Talking not in bold print or all caps, but in a solid stream of Times New Roman, 12 point font, occasional italics for emphasis. Nothing fancy, but completely solid; nothing forced, just smooth effortless news, life unfolding from pen to paper to mouth to airwaves.

With a voice like Carl Kasell, there’s no need for the fame. Just the real, unfiltered news, a small spot every hour, to keep you grounded.

A voice that’s not sensational or misleading. Simply the voice of truth.

Tags: Concerts, Journalism |

1 Comment

BMOWP Classic Album - Do You Know Who You Are?

September 24, 2008


Do You Know Who You Are?Do You Know Who You Are? by Texas is the Reason

You can’t go back again.

You hear it over and over again. You simply can’t go back again. The past is the past, you have to let it go. Nothing in the world will recapture the times you’ve lost – no amount of memorializing and nostalgia tripping can deliver the same richness and spontaneity as that distant memory you’re struggling to keep alive.

But sometimes, you can get close.

For me, it happens every time Texas is the Reason’s sole full-length, Do You Know Who You Are?, comes on. Any song. Any lyric. Hell, just seeing the cover. It’s 1996 all over again. And there I am, standing outside the Pomp Room, waiting in the cold, anticipating another show by another band that I’m totally in love with.

I identified, like many who grew to love music during the post-hardcore pre-emo stage of melodic indie rock, with Texas is the Reason’s attitude. Music to play music, breaking free of the typical stereotypes and rocking without abandon. Texas is the Reason was the cool kid in school who didn’t try to be cool. He was just real. You know. Real cool.

It was emo (at least, the last 90s version of the word, before it became the asshattery it is now) and hardcore. It was mainstream and indie. They were courted by major labels, held up as one of the best of the underground. They put out just a handful of songs – one four-song EP, one full-length, two 7” splits – and nothing was bad.

Do You Know Who You Are? was the peak of the genre. It was also a high-water time in my life, with the emotions of being in a band, of being recognizable for the first time, of falling in love with music in a way I’ve never overcome. It was where I formed my first true opinions, where I started to gain direction on what I enjoyed and would drive to become. I stopped eating meat. I had my heart broken twice, using it to fuel a new love: writing. It felt like I was living. Like life had finally woken up. Like I finally had an identity.

I went to college the next year. A new songbook opened. It was 1997. My tastes began to hone themselves. But Do You Know Who You Are? still spoke to me. Stronger than ever.

And then, just like that, it was over. The players split, moving to other bands, none of which recaptured the spirit outside of drummer Chris Daly’s Jets to Brazil. Hundreds tried to replicate the feeling – thousands of garage rockers, searching for inspiration, looking to recapture the energy. The band even got back together, nearly ten years later, for one night. Thanksgiving. 2006. New York City.

I’m sure a lot of the people in attendance tonight felt an electricity in the air. I’m sure some exclaimed that it was the best they had ever heard. A few new fans might have been made, a few old friends impressed, a few lives touched by music that had lasted longer than the band. Music that transcended the scene. Music that just rocked, without pretensions, without classification.

But for the most part, I’m guessing everyone was given a peek into the past. They realized that things weren’t as perfect as they are now made out to be. They saw their broken hearts, their scars long healed over, and made peace with the idea of reliving that time. They watched Texas is the Reason, for most certainly the last time, and moved on.

With the music still playing, you can look at it with new ears. As if you were hearing it again for the first time, without the pretenses of nostalgia clouding the sound. It still sounds good. No. It still sounds great.

And that’s why, long after the memories of 1996 have passed, the album will still live on in select circles. It’s an amazing album that managed to break through the typical tired sound. It has aged well.

It’s a testament to what most bands hope to accomplish. To still be known, to still be loved, long after the melody of nostalgia has finally escaped.

“I’ve sung the same song/I’ve sang it for way too long/And now the melody is finally escaping me.”
“There’s No Way I’m Talking Myself Out Of This One Tonight (The Drinking Song)” - Texas is the Reason

Tags: Music |

Comment

We’ve got ourselves a reader

September 22, 2008


I was sitting at the computer last week when I realized that things had gotten quiet. Sierra, happily playing with whatever toy she had found, was silent. It’s clichéd, but it’s true – when your child is quiet, you naturally wonder what has happened.

Yet, all I needed to do was turn around. There Sierra sat, surrounded by a pile of books. Opening each cover. Turning each page. Pointing at each puppy, each duck, each ball, each recognizable item illustrated by each illustrators hand.

Sierra was reading.

Kind of.

Sierra ReadingAnd I watched. She was completely enthralled. She’d finish looking at one and grab another. She’d pile them up in a circle around her chair, reach for another, begin again. We have a bottom shelf filled with her books – a discovery she’s always known about but has just begun taking advantage of – and when that was empty, it’s contents dumped in various states around the room, she moved up a shelf, erroneously grabbing Walden, followed by the biography of Edward R. Murrow.

She wasn’t impressed. She turned back to My Two Hands. She had no idea I was staring at her.

Kerrie has noticed this as well. And it seems all so natural. We’re a family of readers by nature. In action, the reading has trailed off, what with our available time used to relax and catch up. But by nature, it’s what we do. Almost by nature, it’s what she’s doing.

So to see this sends me into overdrive. I’m Proud Parent Number One. I’m already planning the next steps.

Ramona Quimby. Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing. Where the Red Fern Grows. Harry Potter. And later on, John Steinbeck. Dave Eggers. Or will she turn to Jhumpa Lahiri and Zadie Smith? Will she buck the entire family and latch onto Jane Austin?

When you have a child, you naturally wonder what he or she will grow up to be. Will she be kind? Wily? Quick-tempered? Intelligent? You wonder if he or she will be artistically inclined, or technically motivated. Cars and electronics or books and paints?

And you naturally create your ideal view. Knowing you’ll love her either way. But also knowing how cool it would be to have a friend with similar interests, someone who shares your same desires, someone you can connect with on more than just familial bonds.

I have always believed in acting as a gentle but caring father, who will stand by Sierra without forcing her hand, who will lead without making choices for her. I expect nothing more than for her to do her best. I refuse to get caught up in the typical child rearing competition. And aside from reading books each night, we haven’t influenced this in any way.

I mean, she sure didn’t get it from us, the way we read anymore.

But Sierra is reading. Or, at least, taking the first steps toward reading, by focusing on the books, opening them and studying them and becoming completely lost in them, just as her mother and father do, just as her grandmother has always done, just as everyone before her has mastered.

And it’s amazing.

Tags: 16-Page Read, Books, Sierra |

Comment

Steinbeck on Steroids - 9.22.08

September 22, 2008


I was pumped to begin working out again; pumped mainly because I had fallen back in love with music, and the idea of listening to Steinbeck the iPod for 45 minutes, three times a week seemed like a habit I could get into.

I even went as far as to post my first playlist: Steinbeck on Steroids, a play off of the Steinbeck on Random posts.

And then, schedules were rearranged. Day care was switched. The days seemingly became more packed. Vacation threw things for a loop. And I haven’t been to the fitness center in over a month and a half.

I went back today, and the only thing I could think of is “which Metallica album is more likely to rock my way back into heavy elliptical use?”

It turns out it was Master of Puppets. Today’s playlist:
“Battery” by Metallica
“Master of Puppets” by Metallica
“Welcome Home (Sanitarium)” by Metallica
“Disposable Heroes” by Metallica
“Leper Messiah” by Metallica

Metallica fans will notice two things.

First, there’s no “The Thing that Should Not Be.” That’s on purpose - I skipped it, knowing that it was ill-equipped to handle the metal ways of elliptical pounding. It’s too sludgy, too dark and slow. I wanted my Metallica the way it was best - fast, blistering solos and nod-along time changes.

Second, this is only about 30 minutes worth of music. Yeah. I only did 30 minutes worth of working out.

I’ve noticed over the past month that my tendencies toward Metallica have improved considerably. I find myself gently humming Kirk Hammett’s solo from “The Unforgiven.” I long for the noise of …And Justice for All. I have given in to my middle school being, memorializing the best albums from their catalog and embraced them, as I always should have.

I was wondering yesterday, which wickedly metal album is best to mow the lawn to: Metallica’s …And Justice For All or Metallica’s Master of Puppets.

I compromised. I played Metallica’s Live Shit: Binge and Purge. And got the best of both worlds.

Tags: Music, Steinbeck on Random |

Comment

On anticipating fall

September 21, 2008


The only thing I can hope is that with the smell of falling leaves comes a similarly windswept busyness, that things will mellow out, that we’ll face the lowering of the temperature with a lowering of energy, torporing our way into the typical droll autumn attitudes.

Because the weeks seem to be going to fast. Sierra’s shooting up like a milkweed unchecked, a full inch and a half in just a month and a half. New experiences. Hot days. Shorts, grill-outs, a series of backyards and porches and patios. Summer lights up, blinds us – forces us to blink – and when we’re standing with our eyes finally open again we notice that it’s already September. It’s already time to say goodbye. As if we never even knew it.

I love each beautiful day, but with the cacophony of grunts and football banter flowing in each weekend, I can’t help but long for the crispness of October. My birth month. The first month I learned to love, with the anticipation of Halloween and the great candy and the changing of the colors and the cooling of the weather, the winds and grayness serving as a cold shower to our over-excited lives.

Leaves. Wind. Cold rain. Overcast. Hoodies. Jeans. The puffy vest everyone gets tired of seeing after a few weeks. Hot coffee during a still dark morning.

I’m sorry. I should appreciate these days while they’re still here.

But life is moving a little faster than we expected, and I can only hope that this fall helps cool things down. Because our engines can’t run on overdrive for too long without running out of gas and sputtering to a halt. We can’t miss a thing. Sometimes it feels like we’re missing it all.

I’m stuck between a season I love and a season I need.

Tags: On..., Sierra, Vilhauer |

Comment

Next Page →