Waiting for the storm

Back in the days when the only warnings of serious weather came shortly before the event from sky, air, or movements of animals, John Greenleaf Whittier wrote what may have been his masterwork, Snowbound: A Winter Idyll.

After a dedication-- 

To the Memory of the Household It Describes
This Poem is Dedicated by the Author

 --and quotations from Agrippa's Occult Philosophy and Emerson's poem "Snow Storm", the poem itself begins:

The sun that brief December day

Rose cheerless over hills of gray,

And, darkly circled, gave at noon

A sadder light than waning moon.

Slow tracing down the thickening sky

Its mute and ominous prophecy,

A portent seeming less than threat,

It sank from sight before it set.

Snowbound was published in 1866, soon after the Civil War and, with its vivid descriptions of a powerful storm and the contrasting warmth and intimacy of storytelling around the fireplace, proved hugely popular.

It was one of my favorite poems as a child, and these days its themes of memory, loss, and changing times mean much more to me than when I first read and loved it.  But it's been years since I read its many verses all the way through.

Tomorrow--as a storm blankets the East Coast with the kind of snow that may one day be only a distant memory--will be a good time to immerse myself in Snowbound once more. 

Marchellus Shale: The Talking Band's latest

Of all the theater companies whose work I've seen in New York over the years, none has meant more to me than The Talking Band. I try to catch all their shows, but given the short runs--typically three weeks or less, once or twice a year--I sometimes miss one. Among my favorites: Delicious Rivers, Flip Side, The Walk Across America for Mother Earth, Hot Lunch Apostles. Not everything they do is equally brilliant, but their work is unfailingly intelligent and even their weakest shows leave you with much to think about and moments to remember.

Their latest, Marcellus Shale, written and directed by Paul Zimet with music and sound design by Ellen Maddow, is, to my mind, one of their most powerful, and it deals with an issue some members of the company face, living as they do in areas threatened by fracking. It's set in a community in which many folks have leased their lands to gas companies and have been living with the consequences. Through the windows of their houses, we see those lands, thanks to some extraordinary video design by Anna Kiraly, and the ghostly figures that walk across them--as the characters struggle to find a way out--haunt my imagination.

You have to have till Sunday, June 9, to see this amazing show at La Mama.


http://talkingband.org

Bidder 70

"Sentiment without action is the ruin of the soul," said Tim DeChristopher, quoting Edward Abbey.

On December 19, 2008, in Salt Lake City, Utah, at a federal auction of oil and gas leases during the lame duck days of the Bush administration, DeChristopher, an economics student, turned his sentiment into action. Rather than joining the protest outside the auction--of parcels of public lands near Arches and Canyonlands National Parks and other sensitive areas--he entered the auction, and began bidding. By the time the auction was halted, he'd won parcels with bids amounting to $1.7 million--and bid up the prices of the rest.

The Obama administration eventually invalidated the auction, but nonetheless chose to prosecute DeChristopher.

Bidder 70, produced and directed by Beth and George Gage, tells DeChristopher's story, from his extraordinary action to his trial and its aftermath, and his influence on others, including the organization he co-founded, Peaceful Uprising--"committed to defending a livable future through empowering nonviolent action".

It's one of the most powerful, riveting, and potentially life-changing documentaries I've seen, and a labor of love on the part of the filmmakers.

You have till Thursday, May 23, to see Bidder 70 at the Quad in New York City.

After that, go to:


http://www.bidder70film.com/

GASLAND

Gasland is an award-winning documentary--Special Jury prize at Sundance 1010--that had trouble attracting a distributor, and probably won't be playing at a theater near you anytime soon.

But the environmental horror story it recounts may be already: hydraulic fracturing (fracking)--a radically destructive method of extracting natural gas--is happening all over the country, from California to Wyoming (on the edge of Yellowstone) to Texas to Florida to Tennessee to Virginia to Pennsylvania.

If you're a New York City resident, like me, you, too, have a lot to worry about.

Director Josh Fox began the investigations that led to Gasland after getting an offer to lease his land in Pennsylvania for gas drilling.

First he hears of ominous effects in nearby towns, including water that has turned flammable since drilling began.

Then he sets out across the country--making a real-life, blacker-than-black comedy/horror road movie.

He witnesses many drinking water-lighting shows, learns of people living in homes that could explode, and suffering the effects of toxic air and toxic water, hears about company officials that visit those whose water they've ruined, assuring them the water's safe but refusing to drink it, and delves into the science and politics of Fracking.

Fracking works by injecting millions of gallons of water, along with 80 to 300 tons of chemicals, vertically into a gas well or horizontally into an area that couldn't have been drilled before, to fracture shale, releasing natural gas.

Thanks to the Bush/Cheney Energy Policy Act of 2005 (known as the Halliburton Loophole), the natural gas extraction industry is now exempt from the Safe Water Drinking Act. The chemical stews they use are considered "proprietary," and not subject to any kind of regulation.

An EPA official speaking to Fox off the record tells him, "We're not permitted as a government agency to answer your legitimate question."

A bill to overturn the exemption--the Fracturing Responsibility and Awareness of Chemicals Act--has been introduced in both houses of Congress, as S. 1215 and H. 2766, but languishes in committee.

We need to do our best to make sure it passes.

For information about the film, the issue, how close you live to fracking sites, and ways of helping to stop it, check out:

gaslandthemovie.com

Through 2012, you can catch Gasland on HBO; the DVD will be out in December.

Farm Stand at School

When I first discovered PS 11's Wednesday morning farm stand last year, it was nominally open 8 till noon, and I could drop by at 11 and still find terrific fruits and vegetables at great prices.

But word has spread, and now most stuff is gone by 10--some things sell out earlier.

Half the fun of shopping at the stand is being served by 3rd graders, watching them absorbing lessons in customer service along with arithmetic. The kids also learn about their wares--from the certified organic Stoneledge farm in the Catskills--how they're grown and how to cook them.

The stand operates from early June through late September, and this year, the kids have been there every week I've gone, even during vacation.

What I got this week: a bunch of scrumptious summer spinach ($1.50), 3 peaches($1), a cucumber (50 cents), and 2 peppers on their way to red ($1). I still had a patty pan squash from last week, when I bought other summer squash, eggplant, tomatoes, and a bunch of young leeks.

You'll find the stand in front of the school, at 320 W. 21st St. I understand the chefs show up by 8:00.

For further information about the stand, the farm, and recipes, check out:

http://ps11farmmkt.wordpress.com

and

http://www.stoneledgefarmny.com

Snowflake Shadows

It started with the lightest of touches: tiny crystals, pinpricks of light, danced before us like part of our personal 3D movie, as we left the late show of Avatar.

The big snow that saw out January in Richmond didn't have winds forceful enough to earn the name of blizzard, nor were we exactly snowbound, but by morning there was sure a lot of it.

From upstairs windows, we watched a stuck car shimmying in the middle of the block, wheels sunk halfway into the snow, while a few yards further on, some young folks pushed a truck across its path.

It was well past noon when Jim and I finally bestirred ourselves and, fortified with French toast and fried potatoes, ventured outside, he to shovel the sidewalks and I to play.

The snow was dry, so instead of a snowman, I heaped and pressed it into a castle, which ended up looking a bit like a lopsided wedding cake ensconced in a wagon wheel. I used a stick to poke it full of windows, and stuck some twigs in it to stand for ramparts or flags.

Late in the afternoon, we tromped around the neighborhood. Amazingly, the wine store was open so we of course supported our local merchant by buying a bottle.

Down the block, even more amazingly, a placard outside Taste Buds declared it to be opening at 5. It was already 6 and the place was empty.

"We could save the soup for tomorrow," I said, "and support our local restaurant." Jim thought that would be a fine idea as long as I we went there right away, after turning off the soup, without showering or changing.

That we did, and as we walked back to Taste Buds through light but steady snow, on the road ahead we saw something neither of us remembered ever having seen before: 

Gray spots, shadows of large snowflakes, dipped and twirled, then disappeared in an instant, as the flakes landed on their bed of snow.  It felt like watching candles going out, but these were anti-candles. 

Magical, mysterious, hypnotic--they held our eyes till we stepped inside, and I missed them when they were gone.   

I wish we could have filmed them--surely someone has (Maya Deren, Stan Brakhage, Michael Snow?). Later I searched YouTube for Snowflake Shadows, but found only constructed snowflakes--mobiles and stationery and stuff.  

I'm still looking.

Recycling at the Park Slope Food Coop, Part III: Reward

"So you spent four dollars and two hours to do that," said Jim after I told him about my recycling adventure. Actually, it was more like slightly under four-fifty and four hours.

But I got something out of it, and not just the satisfaction of the recycling itself. I used the trip as an artist's date in Brooklyn--and a shopping opp.

My first thought was to explore some thrift stores and vintage shops, and I'd taken down a few names and addresses before embarking on my journey.

I only made it to one: Hooti Couture, 321 Flatbush at 7th Avenue, just north of the coop. I cooled off there, scanned the colorful wares, and chatted with the charming proprietor, but didn't buy anything.

Walking up Flatbush, I ventured into the New York Chess & Game Shop. It occurred to me that they might have an innovative board game I'd read about recently, which is notable for rewarding collaborative activities rather than cutthroat competition. Unfortunately I didn't remember the name. But from my vague description, they recognized The Settlers of Catan--sold out but on order.

At the triangle formed by Flatbush, Atlantic, and Pacific, I found a little community garden, densely planted, filled with delicate floral perfumes.

I had in mind to find some Middle-Eastern treats on Atlantic Avenue, but instead I found Blue Marble, and rewarded myself with a coffee and ginger ice cream cone. Only on the way out, did I learn that they use biodegradable utensils and cups for their organic ice cream.

Finally, I ended up at Trader Joe's on Atlantic Avenue, more spacious and far less crowded than the one on Union Square, and returned home laden with artichokes, coffee, cookies, humus, etc., etc.

At home, I put the big empty bag in which I'd toted my recyclables back on the chair in the kitchen, and began filling it up again.

newyorkchessandgameshop.com

bluemarbleicecream.com

foodcoop.com

Recycling at Park Slope Food Coop, Part II: Delivery

Getting There

Sunday morning I called the coop to find out if recycling was still happening--it was.

Earlier in the week, I'd gotten directions from Google Maps: change at W. 4th, take B train to 7th Ave. , then walk to Union Street. Saturday I'd checked the MTA web site for possible service changes on the B line--there weren't any.

I figured an hour would be way more than enough time to get there. Aiming to arrive by 1:45--which the coop requires to allow time for inspection of recyclables--I left at 12:45.

Waiting for my first train in the 8th Ave. station, I checked the legend at the bottom of the subway map to see how often the B runs on a Sunday, and got an unpleasant surprise--it doesn't run. No wonder there weren't any service changes.

The MTA's recommended alternatives were the D and the A, both a much greater distance from the coop. Suddenly my diminishing hour felt a lot shorter--would I end up missing the deadline and lugging my bag back in the heat?

A few panicky minutes later, I was on a train, checking the map again, trying to figure out what to do.

"Where are you going?" asked an elderly man.

"The Park Slope food coop," I said and explained my predicament.

He took in my bag. "Want my advice?"

"Sure," I said.

"Leave that on the train, and forget about it."

I decided to try the F train--it goes to the other end of Park Slope, but I'm a fast walker--then learned I could take the D to Pacific and change to the Q, which goes to 7th Avenue.

The D was fast and fun, with some unusual onboard entertainment--a guy skillfully miming, first boxing, then music playing and singing. If my Spanish were better, I might have figured out which fighters and musicians he was imitating.

At Pacific, I asked someone about the frequency of the Q, and with 20 minutes to spare, decided I'd be better off hoofing it.

Steamy though the day was, the walk wasn't bad, and I arrived with ten minutes or so to spare.

The Process

There were several people stationed on the sidewalk outside the coop to receive plastic recyclables. When I arrived, the lines were short, so the process went quickly.

First I handed one of the collectors my bag of #5s--these get screened individually by hand and must be free of labels. I noticed a woman at an adjacent table cutting labels off with an exacto knife.

Here I overheard something that isn't on the coop's website: they will take sturdy plastic containers used for heating and serving meals, even if they're the wrong number, to give to a homeless shelter. But they only collect these till they've filled a particular container, so if you want to bring any, come early.

On the other side of the table, a woman was collecting transparent #1 containers in a clear plastic bag even bigger than mine. I knew I'd brought a lot of these, but was amazed to see how many came out once I started dumping.

Finally, my bag was empty. I handed some transparent plastic wrap to a guy who was collecting that; he rejected a stiff circular piece--the only thing they didn't take.

Feeling lighthearted--almost giddy--but still sweating, I walked away.

Your next chance to recycle will be Saturday, August 8, 10 am-2 pm. You'll save time if you presort your stuff.

For requirements and other information, see foodcoop.com

Recycling at the Park Slope Food Coop. Part I: Intention

How far would you go to recycle?

Until Sunday, the farthest I'd gone is the ground floor of my building or a nearby container in another place.

In principle, though, I was willing to go farther.

Two years or so ago, I learned that the Park Slope Food Coop recycles some forms of plastic that New York City does not. So I started saving all those take-out and fruit and vegetable containers I'd been tossing, thinking I'd bring them there. . . one of these days.

At first I stuck them in rear corners of kitchen cabinets. Soon the cabinets were so full that stuff started tumbling out when I opened a door. There wasn't any extra floor space in the kitchen, so I moved them to a humongous plastic bag, which I set on a chair in the kitchen.

The bag


The bag inside the bag

The bag grew and grew as if it had a life of its own. I'd taken to explaining what it was to guests, in case it looked as strange to them as it did to me.

A few months ago, I got serious and checked the coop website. I learned that they take #1 and 6 transparent plastic, but not bottles (labels are okay); and #5 containers without labels and "specifically marked" lids. All need to be clean and dry.

I went through the stuff I'd collected: lots of #1s (those fruit and vegetable baskets), a few 5s and 6s, and some the coop doesn't take (2, 4, 7, and unmarked). I discovered that those little amber prescription bottles are #5s and that their labels usually come off pretty easily. I put the 5s in a smaller bag within the bigger bag.

There are only three chances a month to recycle at the coop-- the second Saurday., 10 AM-2 PM; third Thursday, 7 PM-9 PM; and last Sunday, 10 AM-2 PM. I figured I'd aim for one of the Thursdays, and was all set to go in April, until I got invited to a friend's birthday dinner.

Finally last week, I realized that the last Sunday was approaching, and that I'd be here with no conflicting obligations. I called to make sure it would be happening.

"They do it the last Sunday, and this is the last Sunday, so yes," a woman told me.

Rain or shine? I asked. She thought so.

www.foodcoop.com

Trashing the School Cafeteria

While folks in the film industry are trying to make film production more environmentally friendly, I've just seen signs of an opposite trend in New York City schools.

Last Friday, on my fifth substitute teaching gig, I found myself in a gloomy middle school basement cafeteria, where the trays are styrofoam, the utensils are disposable plastic, the floor gets covered with litter minutes after a janitor sweeps it, and even recyclables get tossed.

My forty minutes of cafeteria duty consisted mostly of gathering the kids' trays after they finished eating (or not eating), and tossing them, along with many uneaten apples.

Seems that this school instituted the teacher-as-busboy practice to prevent food fights, and according to the dean who told me about the policy, it's been working. "We've only had a couple of food fights since," he said.

Unfortunately, it's also teaching the kids that they're not responsible for cleaning up after themselves--a great addition to the model of environmental negligence that the failure to reuse and recycle provides.

I wonder whether teachers or students ever discuss the practices of their very own cafeteterias during the inevitable environmental unit--and whether there are any schools still using washable trays . . .