It's the Bees' Knees

            Bluebird Acres Farm in Friendship NY just acquired a bee hive. I guess my son and daughter in law decided their free range chickens needed company. “Biodiversity and pollination,” my son replied when his citified, garden-phobic mom asked him why they needed to expose themselves to multiple stingers. I was told they happily buzz around people in their search for nectar and really don’t pose a hazard. Deb said they were very polite as they kept her company when she harvested in one of their raised beds.

          Well, I’ll take their word for it since I really don’t need more to worry about.

But speaking of bees, I was reminded of the colony collapse disorder that’s been recently in the news, where bees are abandoning their hives in huge numbers. According to one resource, NRDC Natural Resources Defense Council, “nearly one-third of all honey bee colonies in the country have vanished.”  That means, without pollination compliments of bees, we can say good-bye to apples, cucumbers, broccoli, onions, carrots and more – about three fourths of our current vegetable diet. 

          One bee keeper quoted in our local newspaper said he would breathe easy when the dandelions come into bloom because then he knows the bees will have a good source of nectar.

          Last year I wrote about why I believed the lowly dandelion should acquire flower status. I pointed out they make a tasty salad as well as wine and the University of Rochester has claimed the dandelion as its own with such events as “Dandelion Days.” Now I have another reason to let my lawn run wild with that little yellow flower. I’m feeding bees which cross pollinate plants so we can enjoy a bountiful harvest of veggies. 

          Now Good Neighbor Dave has a fine garden and I’m sure he will appreciate  all that cross pollination compliments of bees dining on dandelions next door.

          I can’t wait to tell him the good news.

Birth of a Bookworm

            I admit it. I’m a bookworm. I like the feel of books, the way pages turn, even the smell of the paper and glue; and that’s not to mention the joy I get from reading anything – fiction or nonfiction.

            It must have been before I was three because we were living in the city at the time when the first library I entered was in an old, dark building with a side entrance.  Many of the books on the lower two shelves (that I could reach) had little gold stars stuck on their binders. I have no idea why those stars were there or why I decided to remove as many as I could while my mother browsed.  I recall we made a fast exit.

            Shortly after that we migrated with the other post war families to the ‘burbs and it soon became apparent a local library was needed.  As an interim measure, the town set up a “library” of sorts in the back room of a department store anchored in one of those new fangled shopping centers. B.Forman Company was an upscale store that specialized in more fashionable clothing lines and right past the shoe department was that magical room.

            It was large enough to house only 5 rows of books, one small table with chairs and one checkout desk. But to me, it was a room full of reading adventures. It was small, cozy and the library lady was very nice as she used a pencil to check out my books. I could stop in any time because it was on the route I walked daily to my school. (Which may I point out, was about a mile away from my home and we were NOT bussed – not even when I was in kindergarten. We walked in bunches and there was one crossing lady. Period.)

            Anyway, now I live in a much larger town and our huge library is one of my favorite places BUT it can’t give the sense of anticipation the back room of the B.Forman Company gave the littlest bookworm.  

Sinkhole Buries Corvettes

Images of Corvettes, looking like a bratty kid had tossed them into a big hole, filled my mailbox. Indeed, the sinkhole in Bowling Green, Kentucky ate the floor of the National Corvette Museum and digested 8 of those classic American cars. Here’s a link to photos and video. http://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/massive-sinkhole-swallows-vintage-corvettes-n28416

       Hubby was especially shocked because over 50 years ago he and his friend Al Frederick founded the Rochester Corvette Club. I wasn’t married to him at the time, but I’ve heard stories about those grand old days when a handful of die-hard ‘Vette enthusiasts put on rallys, car shows, and rode in parades for the first time.

    Fast forward to today and the once fledgling club now has over 400 members who race, rally, judge, run car shows, picnic and otherwise know how to have a great time with their Corvettes. Most are hard working middle class folks who enjoy each other’s company as much as the low growl of their engines. They work hard, get their hands dirty and know how to celebrate life too.

 

Above all, I find their generosity endearing. They annually select a charity that will get a 4 figure check after all the fun has been had for the year. Additionally, every Christmas party brings members bearing gifts for battered and abused women and their children. 

 

This is a club with a heart as big as their collective engine displacements. They may treasure their hard earned cars but these people value people as well. A big sinkhole can destroy metal and leather, but that’s not what’s really precious – Corvette owners who treasure others while they enjoy their iconic slices of Americana.

 

Groundhog Day

            We’re coming up on my favorite holiday – Groundhog Day.  I like it because it’s not commercialized. I don’t see many Groundhog Day cards and there’s no official menu (like an Easter ham or Thanksgiving turkey) so we can chow down on comfort food because it’s still cold, snowy and windy and we need a little extra pizza, cake, popcorn, wine or cheesecake to chase away the doldrums.

            Besides, I like the little varmint. We had a resident groundhog that lived under the trees and amid  the bushes and brush at the far end of our backyard. He was chunky with a large behind and we enjoyed watching him waddle quickly along the perimeter. We named him Wally. After a while we noticed another groundhog and we figured found a mate - “Walletta.” They made a cute pair but Good Neighbor Dave didn’t agree. It seems they decided their growing family needed more shelter and they found it under his shed.

            Nevertheless, I get a kick out of Puxatony Phil every year.  Whether he sees his shadow or not, I know winter is half over. There’s something corny and homey about the good people of Puxatony, PA as they gather around the gentleman dressed in top hat and old time suit as he holds up the furry critter. Where else is nonsense celebrated so well?

Some people rent the movie Groundhog Day for February 2^nd. Not a bad idea; it is one of those heartwarming movies that stays in your mind for years.

            Have a happy Groundhog Day and remember this winter WILL end.

 

Three Cheers for Cheerios Cereal

            There’s a huge war going on in state legislatures across America over making producers of the food we eat put the presence of genetically modified organisms (GMOs) on their food labels. Big agribusiness is spending mucho bucks to block this initiative yet millions of Americans are speaking up. You would think this is a David and Goliath story with Goliath about to take home all the marbles.

 But no. Despite the money and rhetoric flooding the legislatures, there is one card we consumers hold and that is our purchasing power. I’ve noticed our grocery stores are offering more and more organic choices and people are willing to pay a little more to avoid chemicals with every bite. General Mills got an earful when it claimed Cheerios was healthy and we said, in essence, not if it contains GMOs.

            Now General Mills is bringing out non GMO Cheerios – only the original formula, mind you. You know - the stuff we ate in the 50’s. Yum. Yum. Now we need to literally put our money where our mouth is.

            Personally, I say even if you HATE Cheerios buy a box of non GMO Cheerios anyway, even if you feed it to the birds.  If grocers can’t keep the stuff on the shelves, we consumers will have won a battle that no amount of agri- bucks could have purchased.

            It’s all about truth in labeling. Now, get out your cereal bowl and milk and eat your darn Cheerios.  This time they’re better for you than you think!

The Duck Dynasty Series

                I must confess I’m hooked on the reality show Duck Dynasty. I accidently discovered it because I collect wooden ducks, both decoys and decoratively hand carved specimens, so the title jumped out at me one evening when I was scanning the TV listings. I had to check it out.  

                There’s this family of Louisiana rednecks who became fabulously wealthy by making those gizmos hunters blow into to mimic a duck’s call. I read that the father of the Robertson clan, Phillip, used his product while hunting one day and his friend exclaimed, “You didn’t call that duck. You commanded it!” And so they named their company “Duck Commander.”

                Three bearded, long haired sons with gorgeous blonde wives, a crazy like a fox uncle, Dad (Phillip) and Mom (Miss Kay), plus a few interesting employees as well as a passel of grandchildren and pets, make up the cast of characters.  The family owns acres upon acres of land, on which they work, live and play.  

                Like when Phil decided an old trailer would make a great deer stand once his sons and Duck Commander employees got it hoisted and camouflaged high up into some trees. It did look inviting and far more comfortable than freezing on a few elevated two by fours while waiting for Bambi to saunter by.

                Besides the interplay and the running comments family members make about each other, I find the Southern redneck culture the Robertson family celebrates charming. This is regional America at its best. It doesn’t take long to realize this family, is neither stupid nor uneducated.

 Son Willie runs the company with skills he acquired from his business degree. Grandfather Phil, bearded like all the Robertson men, summons his grandchildren to his home and teaches them life skills while he gets “free labor” from them. Clearly the teens do not appreciate the tasks Phil assigns but they are respectful and do his bidding. (Phil may have crossed the line on career day when he taught a classroom of 8^th graders  how to eviscerate a duck…..but with our current Congress, hey, you never know when that  may come in handy.)

This series is about a family, once poor and now wealthy because they embraced the American values of belief in God, family, and hard work. Every segment ends with family prayer before a meal and a comment on loving each other.

I have come to appreciate the special view Duck Dynasty offers into a culture that has endured for years and, judging by its popularity, America is learning to appreciate as well.

 

Trust Your Instincts

                Vincent VanGough wrote to his brother Theo and mentioned he had painted “Sunset at Montmajour” on July 4, 1888. Apparently he wasn’t too pleased with the result. According to an article by Toby Sterling (Associated Press), the artist shipped the painting to his brother and in 1908 it found its way to a neophyte art collector. Unfortunately the Norwegian industrialist/collector was told by a so-called expert that the painting was a fake and so it languished in the collector’s attic until it was discovered as part of his estate in 1970. It was then determined that the painting was an original VanGough after all.

                There’s a lesson there for me in that sad story. If the collector had valued the painting because it spoke to him in some way, if the brush strokes captured his imagination, or simply made him feel good, perhaps he would have ignored the erroneous appraisal and hung the painting where he could enjoy it. Something must have caught his eye for him to have purchased it in the first place. But because someone else denigrated it as a mere copy, the work of art was relegated to obscurity and the owner lost almost 70 years of pleasure. How sad. For that collector, its value lay only in its provenance and not its intrinsic beauty. A rather shallow assessment if you ask me.

                Here’s to the “stuff” we love! Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and “worth” has many levels, money being sometimes the lowest for those who trust and value their personal preferences over cash.