I'm back in New England and back to winter! And back to the Eastern Time Zone with no clue any longer about when my favorite TV programs are on. The occasion is a college accreditation review for the New England Association of Schools and Colleges, and I am here from Sunday until Wednesday. The accreditation visit is so crammed full of activities that this is the first chance I have had to blog. The good aspect about a wireless laptop is that I am still able to keep up with my online class. The students don't even know I am on the road! As far as that goes, I don't think they even know that I don't live in the Hartford area any longer.
I am missing the Texas spring!
31 March 2009
28 March 2009
Cedar Fever
The early months of the year are the days when some people suffer—mightily—from cedar fever, a malady unknown anywhere except in Central Texas. When I last lived in this part of the country, I found that immune system protected me against the ravages of cedar fever. Knowing, however, that allergic reactions can change over time, I held my breath (so to speak) for the cedar fever season to see if the immunity still held—and also to see if N would be spared. Hallelujah! We have been spared! What have we been spared from? Here is a description of the malady from Texas Monthly:
The signs are unmistakable: the eyes burn and turn fiery red; the nose
runs; the insides of the ears itch. Incessant sneezing--up to
two or three hundred times a day--leaves some victims exhausted. On top of
this, an insidious malaise sets in, making it hard to do anything but
stare vacantly at the wall, while at the same time a nagging little voice
says, "Get up. It's just an allergy."
But cedar fever is not just any allergy. It's a scourge, a plague that
smites the just and the unjust who have the misfortune to live anywhere in
a broad strip of Central Texas that stretches from the Red River to the
Rio Grande. The progenitor of all this misery is a medium-sized, frankly
undistinguished tree with sinewy limbs covered in shaggy bark that vaguely
resembles orangutan fur. Despite its common name, the mountain cedar is
actually a juniper (Juniperus ashei). Every year around December, we
blunder into the midst of the cedar's mating ritual. It begins with the
appearance of the male cones--embarrassingly small, amber-colored
structures no larger than a grain of rice. In good years (or bad,
depending on your viewpoint) they blanket the tops of the trees, turning
them an aggressive tawny orange. When the wind rises, great gritty clouds
of the pollen drift aloft, making the woods look like they are aflame.
This airborne milt can waft for miles until it runs into something sticky,
like the small green cone of the female tree or the inside of your nose.
Once cedar pollen gets into your system, its evil nature is revealed.
Compared with it, ragweed is a wimp. The key is the biochemical structure
of cedar pollen's protein coat, which appears to have properties that make
it unusually noxious. Then there's the sheer quantity of the grains. In a
rainy year the trees produce tons, and the pollen count, the Richter scale
of allergy, goes through the roof.
It would be impossible to clear out all the “cedar” trees—there are millions of them. Those susceptible to the ravages of cedar fever simply have to wait out the pollination process each year. I guess it’s one of the costs of living in this beautiful area.
The signs are unmistakable: the eyes burn and turn fiery red; the nose
runs; the insides of the ears itch. Incessant sneezing--up to
two or three hundred times a day--leaves some victims exhausted. On top of
this, an insidious malaise sets in, making it hard to do anything but
stare vacantly at the wall, while at the same time a nagging little voice
says, "Get up. It's just an allergy."
But cedar fever is not just any allergy. It's a scourge, a plague that
smites the just and the unjust who have the misfortune to live anywhere in
a broad strip of Central Texas that stretches from the Red River to the
Rio Grande. The progenitor of all this misery is a medium-sized, frankly
undistinguished tree with sinewy limbs covered in shaggy bark that vaguely
resembles orangutan fur. Despite its common name, the mountain cedar is
actually a juniper (Juniperus ashei). Every year around December, we
blunder into the midst of the cedar's mating ritual. It begins with the
appearance of the male cones--embarrassingly small, amber-colored
structures no larger than a grain of rice. In good years (or bad,
depending on your viewpoint) they blanket the tops of the trees, turning
them an aggressive tawny orange. When the wind rises, great gritty clouds
of the pollen drift aloft, making the woods look like they are aflame.
This airborne milt can waft for miles until it runs into something sticky,
like the small green cone of the female tree or the inside of your nose.
Once cedar pollen gets into your system, its evil nature is revealed.
Compared with it, ragweed is a wimp. The key is the biochemical structure
of cedar pollen's protein coat, which appears to have properties that make
it unusually noxious. Then there's the sheer quantity of the grains. In a
rainy year the trees produce tons, and the pollen count, the Richter scale
of allergy, goes through the roof.
It would be impossible to clear out all the “cedar” trees—there are millions of them. Those susceptible to the ravages of cedar fever simply have to wait out the pollination process each year. I guess it’s one of the costs of living in this beautiful area.
26 March 2009
Rosemary!
This blog entry is written for one of my most faithful readers.
Ah, rosemary! Delightful, delectable herb, but successful cooks know that a little bit goes a long way. Rosemary belongs in every kitchen garden, so there is always a little fresh rosemary to put into the appropriate dish—pork, chicken, and, of course, lamb. I love the pine-like fragrance of rosemary which is overwhelming when you run your fingers over it or even when watering the plant in the garden. We always have had a “kitchen garden” with essential herbs near the back door, ready for a quick snip before dinner. Rosemary belongs there, of course, along with parsley, basil, and thyme.
Nurseries in Connecticut display rosemary plants—along with all the other bedding plants—as soon as the weather allows, ready to be transplanted into the garden. Fancy rosemary plants always appear in the stores in Connecticut before Christmas, sculpted to look like miniature Christmas trees—sometimes even sporting miniature ornaments or red bows. These plants come with specific directions on how to keep your rosemary plant alive in the house, but I never knew of anyone who was successful with rosemary as a houseplant—unless, that is, they lived in a hothouse. Rosemary simply requires too much moisture for the usual house heated by a furnace in the winter.
In the north, rosemary is an annual, as it dies back as soon as a killing frost announces that winter is nigh. Since moving to Central Texas, however, I have found that rosemary is perennial, and there are bushes of rosemary everywhere. Why is rosemary so abundant? Because deer hate it. Those people who have surrendered to the local deer population and have given up trying to garden nevertheless find they can have dependable greenery in the yard. Plant rosemary! It comes in upright form (the kind sculpted for mini Christmas trees in the north) and prostrate form which drapes gracefully over stone walls. And when it is really happy, it produces little azure flowers.
In Central Texas, rosemary appears to be the perfect plant. Oh yes, it comes “sculpted” here as well. Pictured is the rosemary “wreath” that I bought just before Christmas, now located in the yard. If you look closely, you will see that the rosemary wreath is framing one of the abundant cactus plants that pop up in the back yard.
Ah, rosemary! Delightful, delectable herb, but successful cooks know that a little bit goes a long way. Rosemary belongs in every kitchen garden, so there is always a little fresh rosemary to put into the appropriate dish—pork, chicken, and, of course, lamb. I love the pine-like fragrance of rosemary which is overwhelming when you run your fingers over it or even when watering the plant in the garden. We always have had a “kitchen garden” with essential herbs near the back door, ready for a quick snip before dinner. Rosemary belongs there, of course, along with parsley, basil, and thyme.
Nurseries in Connecticut display rosemary plants—along with all the other bedding plants—as soon as the weather allows, ready to be transplanted into the garden. Fancy rosemary plants always appear in the stores in Connecticut before Christmas, sculpted to look like miniature Christmas trees—sometimes even sporting miniature ornaments or red bows. These plants come with specific directions on how to keep your rosemary plant alive in the house, but I never knew of anyone who was successful with rosemary as a houseplant—unless, that is, they lived in a hothouse. Rosemary simply requires too much moisture for the usual house heated by a furnace in the winter.
In the north, rosemary is an annual, as it dies back as soon as a killing frost announces that winter is nigh. Since moving to Central Texas, however, I have found that rosemary is perennial, and there are bushes of rosemary everywhere. Why is rosemary so abundant? Because deer hate it. Those people who have surrendered to the local deer population and have given up trying to garden nevertheless find they can have dependable greenery in the yard. Plant rosemary! It comes in upright form (the kind sculpted for mini Christmas trees in the north) and prostrate form which drapes gracefully over stone walls. And when it is really happy, it produces little azure flowers.
In Central Texas, rosemary appears to be the perfect plant. Oh yes, it comes “sculpted” here as well. Pictured is the rosemary “wreath” that I bought just before Christmas, now located in the yard. If you look closely, you will see that the rosemary wreath is framing one of the abundant cactus plants that pop up in the back yard.
24 March 2009
Just How German is Central Texas?
In a word, very.
Today N brought home a plant from “the Plant Haus.” The local cigar bar is called “The Tobacco Haus.” It is next door to the “Quilt Haus.” Get the picture? In New Braunfels, House is spelled Haus.
There is a restaurant in town called “Oma’s Kitchen.” Oma is the German word for Grandma.
The local newspaper is called the “Herald Zeitung.” Don’t know the word “Zeitung”? This is the German word for newspaper. I understand that the “Herald Zeitung” was published in German until the 1950s.
People tell me that I am not going to believe the size and scope of the “Wurst Fest” next fall (sausage festival). I can hardly wait!
Today N brought home a plant from “the Plant Haus.” The local cigar bar is called “The Tobacco Haus.” It is next door to the “Quilt Haus.” Get the picture? In New Braunfels, House is spelled Haus.
There is a restaurant in town called “Oma’s Kitchen.” Oma is the German word for Grandma.
The local newspaper is called the “Herald Zeitung.” Don’t know the word “Zeitung”? This is the German word for newspaper. I understand that the “Herald Zeitung” was published in German until the 1950s.
People tell me that I am not going to believe the size and scope of the “Wurst Fest” next fall (sausage festival). I can hardly wait!
22 March 2009
Deer Update
I said I would update my organic deer repellent—especially if I had more damage. Okay, here goes.
Having transplanted a bed full of cannas to a new bed, a couple of weeks later I discovered two cannas that I missed, so I dug them up and replanted them. Then we had rain (wonderful!) and I failed to give the new transplanted cannas a shot of my potion. Result? One of the cannas was pulled from the ground and chewed up. The telltale footprints next to the dead plant left no doubt as to the culprit. Lesson learned!
I have since done a lot more planting (including some tasty seedlings I started myself) and all plantings have received a shot of the smelly potion (pretty much just smells like sour milk). So far that one canna is the only damage since the planting started in mid January.
Our next door neighbors (also new to the neighborhood) have been doing some gardening as well, and they had buds on a rosebush nibbled one night last week. I sprayed their other rose bushes the next day and mixed up a batch of concentrate for them to use. So far, the deer have not returned—or if they returned, they decided not to snack.
Stay tuned!
Having transplanted a bed full of cannas to a new bed, a couple of weeks later I discovered two cannas that I missed, so I dug them up and replanted them. Then we had rain (wonderful!) and I failed to give the new transplanted cannas a shot of my potion. Result? One of the cannas was pulled from the ground and chewed up. The telltale footprints next to the dead plant left no doubt as to the culprit. Lesson learned!
I have since done a lot more planting (including some tasty seedlings I started myself) and all plantings have received a shot of the smelly potion (pretty much just smells like sour milk). So far that one canna is the only damage since the planting started in mid January.
Our next door neighbors (also new to the neighborhood) have been doing some gardening as well, and they had buds on a rosebush nibbled one night last week. I sprayed their other rose bushes the next day and mixed up a batch of concentrate for them to use. So far, the deer have not returned—or if they returned, they decided not to snack.
Stay tuned!
20 March 2009
St. Patrick's Day on the River
When you have a true son of the auld sod in your home on St. Patrick’s Day, naturally you want to celebrate appropriately. We started the day by listening to Don Gabbert’s rendition of that fine old Texas classic—“Tejas Go Bragh!” What! You don’t know that classic Texas song? Take a moment to turn up your speakers and listen for yourself:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pLNeHJPgil0
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pLNeHJPgil0
A bratwurst wrapped in a tortilla and washed down with a Guinness. That's Texas!
Needless to say, that got us in the mood for barbecue, so after doing the outlet shops we headed toward Rudy’s. It says something about Rudy’s (and about us) that we managed two trips to Rudy’s during Al’s visit.
In the evening we headed down to San Antonio to the Riverwalk. N had heard that the San Antonio River had been dyed green for the occasion, and that was all it took for us. My, my, that was certainly the place to be in South Texas that evening. If everyone wasn’t your friend when you got there, they were by the time you left. Somehow, like iron filings drawn to a magnet, we were attracted to Durty Nelly’s pub, where a raucous crowd was celebrating the holy day with lively liturgical music and green-tinted libations. The piano man there really knew how to work a crowd (I’ve never seen a piano with two tip jars!)
A fine St. Patrick’s Day indeed!
Needless to say, that got us in the mood for barbecue, so after doing the outlet shops we headed toward Rudy’s. It says something about Rudy’s (and about us) that we managed two trips to Rudy’s during Al’s visit.
In the evening we headed down to San Antonio to the Riverwalk. N had heard that the San Antonio River had been dyed green for the occasion, and that was all it took for us. My, my, that was certainly the place to be in South Texas that evening. If everyone wasn’t your friend when you got there, they were by the time you left. Somehow, like iron filings drawn to a magnet, we were attracted to Durty Nelly’s pub, where a raucous crowd was celebrating the holy day with lively liturgical music and green-tinted libations. The piano man there really knew how to work a crowd (I’ve never seen a piano with two tip jars!)
A fine St. Patrick’s Day indeed!
18 March 2009
Sightseeing in the Hill Country
We wanted to show Al more of the delights of the Hill Country, but that meant some driving, so we decided that I would stay at home with our menagerie and N would take Al out into the hills. They visited Wimberley and Fredericksburg and saw a lot of country during a long day’s drive. Al declared the highlight of the day, however, was the Nimitz Museum in Fredericksburg.
Admiral Chester Nimitz was born in the Hill Country town of Fredericksburg, so to honor his service and achievement, the community created the Admiral Nimitz Museum in the Nimitz Hotel. What began as a tribute to one man has changed its scope, for the museum is now called the National Museum of the Pacific War, the only national institution in the continental states dedicated to telling the stories of the Pacific Theater battles. You can take a virtual tour of the museum through their website:
http://www.nimitz-museum.org/
After a week of cool weather and rain, the day was sunny and warm, and we celebrated with our first dinner eaten in the casita.
Admiral Chester Nimitz was born in the Hill Country town of Fredericksburg, so to honor his service and achievement, the community created the Admiral Nimitz Museum in the Nimitz Hotel. What began as a tribute to one man has changed its scope, for the museum is now called the National Museum of the Pacific War, the only national institution in the continental states dedicated to telling the stories of the Pacific Theater battles. You can take a virtual tour of the museum through their website:
http://www.nimitz-museum.org/
After a week of cool weather and rain, the day was sunny and warm, and we celebrated with our first dinner eaten in the casita.
17 March 2009
Three Dogs (and a Cat)
In addition to our favorite houseguest, Al, we have two dogs for the week. E and his family took the occasion of spring break to go to Florida for a week, so we are watching Sallie--the 10 year old chocolate lab with arthritic hips, and Izzie, the little yippee Yorkie. In addition to Sammy and Molly, that makes...three dogs and a cat!
Walking the dogs is a major production! Poor Al did not know what he was signing onto when he came for a quiet week in the Hill Country!
16 March 2009
Texas History
We continued our tour through Texas history with a visit to the Texas History Museum in Austin. This is a newer museum which was not even contemplated when I was here in graduate school. Now it is a three story facility with theatres and interactive exhibits all focused on telling the story of Texas.
The museum is laid out chronologically, starting with the Karankawa Indians on the first floor and their first encounters with Spanish explorers, and wending its way up to the third floor where cowboys, oil and gas, and space exploration are all detailed.
We bought tickets for the film on the history of Texas, presented in an IMAX-type theatre—wraparound screens and multimedia. I was not prepared for the Galveston hurricane (if you visit, bring along a towel!), the grasshopper plague (watch your hair), but especially not prepared when a character on the screen tossed a lighted stick of dynamite down a hole filled with rattlesnakes!
I’m afraid Texas history when I was in 7th grade was just a matter of textbooks and papier mâché. We’ve come a long way in telling the stories of the past.
The museum is laid out chronologically, starting with the Karankawa Indians on the first floor and their first encounters with Spanish explorers, and wending its way up to the third floor where cowboys, oil and gas, and space exploration are all detailed.
We bought tickets for the film on the history of Texas, presented in an IMAX-type theatre—wraparound screens and multimedia. I was not prepared for the Galveston hurricane (if you visit, bring along a towel!), the grasshopper plague (watch your hair), but especially not prepared when a character on the screen tossed a lighted stick of dynamite down a hole filled with rattlesnakes!
I’m afraid Texas history when I was in 7th grade was just a matter of textbooks and papier mâché. We’ve come a long way in telling the stories of the past.
14 March 2009
The Alamo
Al has come for a visit, which gives us an excuse to see all the touristy attractions in the area that we have not yet visited. Yesterday it was the Alamo. I don’t know when the last time was that I visited the Alamo, but I was unprepared for the emotional response at being back on this sacred ground.
Thanks to wild west legends (and Hollywood, of course) there have been many myths and tales that have arisen about the Alamo—aided a half century ago by the Disney-created cult of Davy Crockett—coonskin cap and all. In spite of it all, the Alamo is a place that inspires quiet and awe. We didn’t use to use the term “freedom fighters” to describe the martyrs of the Alamo, but that is what we would call the defenders of this mission church today.
For the Alamo was a church—one of a string of missions built to minister to the needs of indigenous peoples as well as new immigrants. The visitor to the Alamo is reminded of this fact when stepping through the door, as visitors are reminded to remove their hats and cautioned against photography.
The names of the defenders of the Alamo are all recorded within the shrine, and I was impressed once again with the backgrounds of this motley crew. There were citizens of Germany, Wales, and England, to be sure, but a large number of soldiers from Ireland and Scotland. And immigrants to this frontier land from many states of the United States. Also, there was a single black “freed man,” John, whose last name was not recorded.
The Alamo is small and modest, but its story has captured the imaginations of people from 1836 to the present day. There was a lump in my throat as I left.
Thanks to wild west legends (and Hollywood, of course) there have been many myths and tales that have arisen about the Alamo—aided a half century ago by the Disney-created cult of Davy Crockett—coonskin cap and all. In spite of it all, the Alamo is a place that inspires quiet and awe. We didn’t use to use the term “freedom fighters” to describe the martyrs of the Alamo, but that is what we would call the defenders of this mission church today.
For the Alamo was a church—one of a string of missions built to minister to the needs of indigenous peoples as well as new immigrants. The visitor to the Alamo is reminded of this fact when stepping through the door, as visitors are reminded to remove their hats and cautioned against photography.
The names of the defenders of the Alamo are all recorded within the shrine, and I was impressed once again with the backgrounds of this motley crew. There were citizens of Germany, Wales, and England, to be sure, but a large number of soldiers from Ireland and Scotland. And immigrants to this frontier land from many states of the United States. Also, there was a single black “freed man,” John, whose last name was not recorded.
The Alamo is small and modest, but its story has captured the imaginations of people from 1836 to the present day. There was a lump in my throat as I left.
11 March 2009
James Avery
I first discovered James Avery, an artist in metal, when I was a graduate student in Austin in the late 1960s. His jewelry was distinctive—who else was creating pendants and rings that exclusively utilized Christian motifs and symbols—and it was affordable for a graduate student who had little disposable income. At that time the only place I knew which stocked Avery’s goods was the gift shop at St. David’s Church in downtown Austin (Lady Bird Johnson’s home parish). I remember doing a lot of looking (and a little buying) but even after I left Austin for Kansas City I sought out James Avery jewelry because of that personal commitment that seemed to be in every piece. There was no internet then, but there was a simple catalog.
Though I knew that Avery was located in Kerrville, in the Texas Hill Country. I never visited his headquarters until our recent trip west (along back roads). What a surprise to find the “campus” (no other word seems to fit) for the Avery enterprises. James Avery is no longer a simple craftsman making goods with a religious motif but an artist in metal with a small army of local artisans crafting all types of jewelry in silver and gold.
There is a shop (of course) displaying all kinds of jewelry for sale, but there is also a visitors’ center which features big picture windows where one can watch craftsmen at work on items that will later be for sale and an interesting video on the various techniques used to make jewelry out of gold and silver. The display cases in the visitors’ center held a number of fascinating artifacts, such as the chalice and paten Avery fashioned for the visit of Pope John Paul II to San Antonio in 1987. The most touching, however, was a handwritten note from the wife of Rick Husband, commander of the Columbia Shuttle, written while the flight was in progress. Mrs. Husband proudly told James Avery that Rick carried two of Avery’s crosses with him on his mission into space. Columbia disintegrated over Texas on 1 February 2003 as it began its re-entry into the earth’s atmosphere.
For more about James Avery, you may consult his website:
http://secure.jamesavery.com/about/index.jsp
Though I knew that Avery was located in Kerrville, in the Texas Hill Country. I never visited his headquarters until our recent trip west (along back roads). What a surprise to find the “campus” (no other word seems to fit) for the Avery enterprises. James Avery is no longer a simple craftsman making goods with a religious motif but an artist in metal with a small army of local artisans crafting all types of jewelry in silver and gold.
There is a shop (of course) displaying all kinds of jewelry for sale, but there is also a visitors’ center which features big picture windows where one can watch craftsmen at work on items that will later be for sale and an interesting video on the various techniques used to make jewelry out of gold and silver. The display cases in the visitors’ center held a number of fascinating artifacts, such as the chalice and paten Avery fashioned for the visit of Pope John Paul II to San Antonio in 1987. The most touching, however, was a handwritten note from the wife of Rick Husband, commander of the Columbia Shuttle, written while the flight was in progress. Mrs. Husband proudly told James Avery that Rick carried two of Avery’s crosses with him on his mission into space. Columbia disintegrated over Texas on 1 February 2003 as it began its re-entry into the earth’s atmosphere.
For more about James Avery, you may consult his website:
http://secure.jamesavery.com/about/index.jsp
10 March 2009
Blue Highways
“Blue Highways” is at the same time a memory of a wonderful book that first appeared in 1982 with this title by a writer named William Least Heat Moon and a metaphor for our retirement adventures. I was attracted to the book when it first came out because Least Heat Moon was a local writer (I was living in Kansas City at the time) and because Least Heat Moon used his moniker from Boy Scout days when he and his father and brother were members of the Tribe of Mic-O-Say. Reading the book was a sheer delight, traveling with Least Heat Moon as he explored the back roads of the nation.
The title came from the practice of cartographers at one time to represent major roads in red and minor roads in blue. Contemporary computer-enhanced maps may use different colors, but the term “blue highways” still suggests the back roads that connect forgotten villages and hamlets that travelers today avoid at any cost—the kinds of towns in which the highway is invariably the main street of town.
Our idea is the see the Hill Country—and that does not mean use of an interstate. We do have an interstate—I-35, that mighty road that runs the length of the country north to south from Duluth, Minnesota to Laredo, Texas. I’ve driven most of the length of this highway and have seen both termini, but I hope never to have to drive all of it in one long trip. Interstate highways are designed to get travelers from one place to another quickly, and they do not lend themselves to sightseeing. I-35 takes us to our Austin son in about 40-50 minutes if we travel north and to our San Antonio son in 35-40 minutes when we travel south, so it is very useful.
When we planned a day trip to Kerrville, southwest of New Braunfels, I did what everyone does today—consulted an online mapping service. Surprise—Google maps took us on 35 south to San Antonio and then on I-10 northwest to Kerrville! I tried seeking directions several ways, but always got the interstate routes. Then I realized that the Google default must be the interstate—Mr. Google assuming that anyone who seeks directions must want the most modern highway system available.
I resorted to an old-fashioned map, and found a “blue” highway system that took us into Kerrville one way and another system that brought us home a different way. Wouldn’t you know, we experienced some of our most spectacular and memorable scenery since we entered the Hill Country several months ago. Least Heat Moon was onto something!
The title came from the practice of cartographers at one time to represent major roads in red and minor roads in blue. Contemporary computer-enhanced maps may use different colors, but the term “blue highways” still suggests the back roads that connect forgotten villages and hamlets that travelers today avoid at any cost—the kinds of towns in which the highway is invariably the main street of town.
Our idea is the see the Hill Country—and that does not mean use of an interstate. We do have an interstate—I-35, that mighty road that runs the length of the country north to south from Duluth, Minnesota to Laredo, Texas. I’ve driven most of the length of this highway and have seen both termini, but I hope never to have to drive all of it in one long trip. Interstate highways are designed to get travelers from one place to another quickly, and they do not lend themselves to sightseeing. I-35 takes us to our Austin son in about 40-50 minutes if we travel north and to our San Antonio son in 35-40 minutes when we travel south, so it is very useful.
When we planned a day trip to Kerrville, southwest of New Braunfels, I did what everyone does today—consulted an online mapping service. Surprise—Google maps took us on 35 south to San Antonio and then on I-10 northwest to Kerrville! I tried seeking directions several ways, but always got the interstate routes. Then I realized that the Google default must be the interstate—Mr. Google assuming that anyone who seeks directions must want the most modern highway system available.
I resorted to an old-fashioned map, and found a “blue” highway system that took us into Kerrville one way and another system that brought us home a different way. Wouldn’t you know, we experienced some of our most spectacular and memorable scenery since we entered the Hill Country several months ago. Least Heat Moon was onto something!
08 March 2009
Interactivity on the Blog
Regular readers of my blog (or even the occasional reader) will notice that I do not use my name or family names on the blog. I also do not show pictures of family members. The reason is simple: the blog is open to anyone to read. Unlike other internet sites, you do not have to be my "friend" to read the blog. Because the internet is open, I think it is a good idea to maintain some sense of privacy--at least the privacy of others. Hence, the absence of names and personal photographs.
You may, of course, respond--and it's nice when you do to agree, disagree, or just comment. At the end of each entry there is the word "comment" (in orange, I believe). If you click on "comment," a screen will appear for you to add a comment.
The host of the blog is Google, and Google does require that anyone who comments be registered with Google. It's easy and painless to register, and you only have to do it once. I have not been bombarded by advertisements or come ons from Google, and I do not think that anyone who registers with them has anything to fear.
I welcome your comments!
06 March 2009
SOS New Braunfels
This week Michelle Obama and I had something in common: we both distributed food to the needy. I hope Michelle’s example inspires many others; food banks and soup kitchens can use the help.
Food distribution in New Braunfels is coordinated through an ecumenical effort called SOS (Spirit of Sharing). Though the organization has its own governing board and volunteer leadership, the effort was the result of area churches agreeing to work together to address issues of hunger over 20 years ago. Judging from what I saw on Wednesday, not only does SOS meet needs, but it also enjoys a broad base of support.
Each church in town has a date during the month that volunteers from that church run the food bank. On Wednesday there were about 10 of us from St. John’s performing all the various tasks—filling bags, stocking shelves, processing clients, and accepting donations. The latter aspect—accepting donations—is worth a special note. Late in the afternoon the doorbell at the rear of the building rang and we found that it was a truck full of food donations. The source? The New Braunfels Public Library! It seems the library has a policy that patrons can substitute canned goods for fines for overdue library books, and a truck from the library unloaded several hundred pounds of canned goods for distribution to those who needed it.
The clients were young and old, families and singles, Anglos and Hispanics. All were treated with respect, and all that I met expressed gratitude for what they received. SOS also has a shelf of Bibles in the waiting room with a sign “Free—Take One.” Obviously, SOS is committed to feeding both the body and the soul.
Food distribution in New Braunfels is coordinated through an ecumenical effort called SOS (Spirit of Sharing). Though the organization has its own governing board and volunteer leadership, the effort was the result of area churches agreeing to work together to address issues of hunger over 20 years ago. Judging from what I saw on Wednesday, not only does SOS meet needs, but it also enjoys a broad base of support.
Each church in town has a date during the month that volunteers from that church run the food bank. On Wednesday there were about 10 of us from St. John’s performing all the various tasks—filling bags, stocking shelves, processing clients, and accepting donations. The latter aspect—accepting donations—is worth a special note. Late in the afternoon the doorbell at the rear of the building rang and we found that it was a truck full of food donations. The source? The New Braunfels Public Library! It seems the library has a policy that patrons can substitute canned goods for fines for overdue library books, and a truck from the library unloaded several hundred pounds of canned goods for distribution to those who needed it.
The clients were young and old, families and singles, Anglos and Hispanics. All were treated with respect, and all that I met expressed gratitude for what they received. SOS also has a shelf of Bibles in the waiting room with a sign “Free—Take One.” Obviously, SOS is committed to feeding both the body and the soul.
04 March 2009
Canyon Lake Gorge
One of the reasons that our area is a vacation destination is Canyon Lake, a body of water created from the water of the Guadalupe River by the Corps of Engineers in 1964. We looked at homes along Canyon Lake when we were house hunting but did not find anything that suited our needs. Now we are learning about the area, and one of the most fascinating elements of the lake is what is now called Canyon Lake Gorge. How Canyon Lake Gorge came into being is a story worth telling.
During one week in the summer of 2002, 35 inches of rain fell on the upper watershed of the Guadalupe River (that’s more rain than the area averages in a year). The torrents of rain created a flood of biblical proportions in the area northwest of New Braunfels, sending the water down the Guadalupe into the already-swollen Canyon Lake, which then gushed over its spillway for the first time in the history of the lake. The resulting inundation sliced open the ground beneath the spillway creating a 64 acre gorge exposing ancient rock, crustaceous limestone, fossils, and dinosaur footprints that had not seen the light of day for 110 million years.
People who observed the phenomenon still speak in awe of what they saw—an avalanche of water flowing at the rate of 67,000 cubic feet per second—a total that is estimated at 185 billion gallons, enough to fill the lake 1 ½ times its normal level—obliterating everything in its path. After it all ended, what was once a gentle depression below the lake was now a gorge about 1000 feet wide and 45 feet deep, exposing the Trinity Aquifer, and revealing faults, fractures, and seeps in the limestone.
After the flood, local residents, realizing the treasure that had been created, banded together and formed the Gorge Preservation Society, which today maintains this natural classroom and offers guided tours. As soon as we heard the story of the flood, we decided to see for ourselves and signed up for a tour that lasts three hours and which is akin to a tutorial in geology.
It is fascinating to see fossils, but then we can see a lot of fossils in the limestone of our back yard. For me what was most exciting was to view the footprints of a dinosaur, and to learn that from the prints, archaeologists and paleobiologists can identify the creature as acrocanthosaurus, and even know its prey, the sauropod.
Canyon Lake Gorge was an excellent introduction to our new region.
During one week in the summer of 2002, 35 inches of rain fell on the upper watershed of the Guadalupe River (that’s more rain than the area averages in a year). The torrents of rain created a flood of biblical proportions in the area northwest of New Braunfels, sending the water down the Guadalupe into the already-swollen Canyon Lake, which then gushed over its spillway for the first time in the history of the lake. The resulting inundation sliced open the ground beneath the spillway creating a 64 acre gorge exposing ancient rock, crustaceous limestone, fossils, and dinosaur footprints that had not seen the light of day for 110 million years.
People who observed the phenomenon still speak in awe of what they saw—an avalanche of water flowing at the rate of 67,000 cubic feet per second—a total that is estimated at 185 billion gallons, enough to fill the lake 1 ½ times its normal level—obliterating everything in its path. After it all ended, what was once a gentle depression below the lake was now a gorge about 1000 feet wide and 45 feet deep, exposing the Trinity Aquifer, and revealing faults, fractures, and seeps in the limestone.
After the flood, local residents, realizing the treasure that had been created, banded together and formed the Gorge Preservation Society, which today maintains this natural classroom and offers guided tours. As soon as we heard the story of the flood, we decided to see for ourselves and signed up for a tour that lasts three hours and which is akin to a tutorial in geology.
It is fascinating to see fossils, but then we can see a lot of fossils in the limestone of our back yard. For me what was most exciting was to view the footprints of a dinosaur, and to learn that from the prints, archaeologists and paleobiologists can identify the creature as acrocanthosaurus, and even know its prey, the sauropod.
Canyon Lake Gorge was an excellent introduction to our new region.
02 March 2009
Texas Independence Day
On the 2nd of March, 1836, a group of people we would today call Freedom Fighters declared that Texas was a free and sovereign nation. The Texas Revolution had begun the preceding fall with the Battle of Gonzales, and the momentum built up to the Constitutional Convention and the declaration of independence. The Republic of Texas lasted from 1836-1845, when, after a national vote, the citizens agreed to become a part of the United States of America. There are many (Texas-sized) myths about the union with the United States, but the historical reality is that Texas has, in fact, been under six flags throughout its history—as a part of Spain, France, Mexico, as a sovereign nation, and as a part of the Confederacy and of the United States. It’s fun to be back in Texas after so many years away!
01 March 2009
A Day on Interstate 35
A day to remember on I-35!
My first experience was not so bad--a drive to church (about 15 minutes). Coming home was another story--1 1/2 hours for the return trip. It was clear that there was a major problem up ahead but no clue as to what it was.
Later in the day I headed up to Austin (traveling in the other direction on I-35) for dinner with E and his family. The normal 50 minute door-to-door drive (38 miles) took--you guessed it! An hour and a half!
Finally, tonight on the late news I learned that a tanker full of gasoline turned over at our exit on I-35 and that the road was closed both ways for seven hours.
Today's experience showed me how much we rely on major arteries--and how very vulnerable they are.
My first experience was not so bad--a drive to church (about 15 minutes). Coming home was another story--1 1/2 hours for the return trip. It was clear that there was a major problem up ahead but no clue as to what it was.
Later in the day I headed up to Austin (traveling in the other direction on I-35) for dinner with E and his family. The normal 50 minute door-to-door drive (38 miles) took--you guessed it! An hour and a half!
Finally, tonight on the late news I learned that a tanker full of gasoline turned over at our exit on I-35 and that the road was closed both ways for seven hours.
Today's experience showed me how much we rely on major arteries--and how very vulnerable they are.
Mulch
When we moved to New Braunfels, our realtor told us that the town provides free mulch. Considering how much mulch we used to buy in Connecticut, this news was music to our ears!
She also said we would have to buy a pickup truck like everyone else in town so that we could go help ourselves. This advice was not music to our ears. I don’t want another vehicle, and I do not want to get rid of the Pathfinder to replace it with a truck. So I just put the thought of mulch aside.
A couple of days ago my next door neighbor drove up with his truck full of mulch and volunteered to get a load for me. I made a deal that I would help him with his mulch in return for his getting a load for me. What a great deal.
So we drove our to the mulch center where I saw the largest pile of mulch I have ever seen, and trucks and trailers lined up to be filled with newly-ground mulch. What a great deal indeed.
Now, I wonder, how many times this season can I impose on this good neighbor to make the drive again? For now, however, I have my work cut out for me.
She also said we would have to buy a pickup truck like everyone else in town so that we could go help ourselves. This advice was not music to our ears. I don’t want another vehicle, and I do not want to get rid of the Pathfinder to replace it with a truck. So I just put the thought of mulch aside.
A couple of days ago my next door neighbor drove up with his truck full of mulch and volunteered to get a load for me. I made a deal that I would help him with his mulch in return for his getting a load for me. What a great deal.
So we drove our to the mulch center where I saw the largest pile of mulch I have ever seen, and trucks and trailers lined up to be filled with newly-ground mulch. What a great deal indeed.
Now, I wonder, how many times this season can I impose on this good neighbor to make the drive again? For now, however, I have my work cut out for me.
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