Starbucks’ Best Idea

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You want it in there?

The barista peered into my stained, but clean reusable cup.

Yes.

I bought it at a Starbucks in Casper, Wyoming almost three years ago and have seldom used one of their paper cups since.  It cost a dollar, is made of hard plastic, looks just like the standard cup, and gets me a ten-cent discount every time I use it.  In between flat whites I use it to store snacks in my backpack or for free refills at the drinking fountain in the airport.

I can’t figure out why I never see anyone else in line at Starbucks using one.

This US Today article, published at the outset of the program, was skeptical it would change behavior.   Starbucks revised their initial goal of  serving 25% of their drinks in reusable cups by 2015 down to 5%.

Maybe these newly designed cups will inspire a few more coffee drinkers to make the switch, but I suspect it will be a lot like the plastic bag ban in Santa Fe.  For a while the city tried the honor system, encouraging but not penalizing those of us who forgot our reusable bags.  It didn’t work and this summer they implemented a charge:  ten-cents a bag.  Suddenly we got a lot better at remembering.

 

 

Let’s Talk Turkey (originally posted November 26, 2015)

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Thanksgiving 2023. Today I had lasagna at an Italian restaurant to celebrate Thanksgiving and I thought of Calvin Trillin and this post I wrote 8 years ago. Here’s a link to Trillin reading his Thanksgiving essay (starts about 4 minutes 45 seconds into the podcast) and my 2015 post.

Photo Credit: bschmove via Compfight cc
Photo Credit: bschmove via Compfight cc

It was a revelation to my family many years ago when we realized we could go out for dinner on Thanksgiving Day (not an option in the small town where I grew up).  From there it wasn’t much of a leap to discover that we were free to order anything off the menu.  It turns out some of us, Mom included, weren’t crazy about turkey.

Calvin Trillin proposes spaghetti carbonara (pasta with eggs, bacon, and parmesan) as an alternative in his funny, frequently-referenced (especially in food blogs around Thanksgiving) 1981 essay*. He says, ” . . . my spaghetti carbonara campaign . . .  had been inspired partly by my belief that turkey is basically something college dormitories use to punish students for hanging around on Sunday.”

My favorite stand in for the traditional turkey dinner: enchiladas, smothered in red and green (we call it “Christmas” in New Mexico) chile, pinto beans and posole on the side with a honey-drizzled sopapilla for dessert.

But I’m not sure what I’ll have today. My family and I will sit down at a table in a seafood restaurant in California to celebrate and give thanks.  A couple of us will likely order the traditional platter of white and dark meat with dressing, cranberries, mashed potatoes and gravy, all topped off with a slice of pumpkin pie, but  I’ll be looking for something different, maybe crab cakes.

How ever you choose to commemorate the holiday, may you and your family have a blessed and happy Thanksgiving!

*To read the entire essay look for Trillin’s book The Tummy Trilogy.

Unbranded

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Photo Credit: ericwagner via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: ericwagner via Compfight cc

Wild horses, often referred to as mustangs, are part of the landscape in New Mexico.  For me the thrill of seeing them is always tinged with worry about their welfare.  They are protected by the Wild Free-Roaming Horses and Burros Act of 1971, but in reality there are too many of them competing for too little grass and water on the open range they inhabit.  This recent article in the Santa Fe Reporter covered the dilemma in New Mexico, but it’s not a problem unique to our state. Many other western states are dealing with the same issue.

Enter Ben Masters, a wildlife biologist, recently graduated from Texas A & M.  When budget constraints forced him to rely on a few of these wild equines (supplementing his domestic horses) on a trek along the Continental Divide, he discovered that they made great trail horses.  It was then that Masters hatched the idea of an expedition on horseback traveling from Mexico to Canada using only mustangs.

Starting in Arizona, Ben and three college buddies and more than a dozen adopted, recently-trained horses set out across the country.  Their adventure is captured in the new documentary Unbranded.  Along the way the audience also hears viewpoints from various stakeholders in the debate—ranchers, government officials, animal rights activists.

By the time the lights came up I was convinced I must adopt a burro, but have yet to figure out where to keep it.

For more about the making of the documentary check out this  Radio Café interview with Phill Baribeau, the filmmaker.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Buck Stopped Here

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HUNT0375Thinking the bears were probably all fast asleep up on the mountain, I broke out the bird food about a week ago.

HUNT0387On Sunday morning I was surprised to find  the entire seed cake missing, but it hadn’t gone far.  It was under the birdbath, chewed on by something bigger than a chipmunk. I figured a bear would have devoured the entire thing, so I hung it back up.

HUNT0511It wasn’t until Monday when the food disappeared again (this time not a bite was left) that  I checked the wildlife camera to find out who the culprit was.

HUNT0526The young buck had come and gone several times starting Saturday morning, returning Sunday night at ten and again at midnight, which was probably when he finished the sunflower chips and millet.

HUNT0552

He made one more visit before daybreak on Monday to make sure he hadn’t missed anything and even risked getting his antlers tangled in the chains of the birdbath to have a drink.

I haven’t seen any sign of  him since.

Gaudi and Nature

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“The great book, always open and which we should make an effort to read, is that of Nature” —Antoni Gaudí

Door Detail-La Sagrada Familia Photo by: Paula Nixon

Door Detail-Sagrada Familia
Photo by: Paula Nixon

Still woozy with jet lag, Dave and I stopped as we emerged from the metro tunnel to take in our first view of La Sagrada Familia.  The day was sunny and hot, busloads of tourists swarmed, and sidewalk vendors clicked bright red castanets attached to their fingers, hoping to entice us to buy a souvenir.   I gazed up and tried to find the words to describe it.

The unfinished cathedral, designed by Catalan architect Antoni Gaudí, with its numerous bell towers is prominent on the Barcelona skyline. He took over the project in 1883 when the original architect resigned.  It became his life’s work.

Dave photographed it from all sides and every angle he could get to—outside the fence.  Entry tickets were sold out for the day.  It was a good thing.  I wasn’t ready to fully appreciate Gaudí’s masterpiece.

Another metro trip and we emerged in the much calmer Gracia neighborhood and lined up for the tour of Casa Mila, a Gaudí design originally built as a private residence/apartment house.  We started on the roof, took pictures of each other standing in tile-wrapped arches, and admired the fanciful chimney and vent covers.

Chimneys at Casa Mila. Photo by Paula Nixon

Chimneys at Casa Mila.
Photo by Paula Nixon

By the time we descended into the attic, framed with catenary arches, I was enchanted.  Originally used to hang the laundry, the space is now filled with exhibits outlining Gaudí’s design methods and highlighting his influences, many directly from nature.  I studied the skeleton of a snake housed in a glass case.  It looked strikingly similar to the arches we were standing under.

A few days later, rested, with tickets in hand we returned to La Sagrada Familia.  Two hours, three hours, I lost track of  time trying to take in the intricacies of Gaudí’s design—doors covered with leaves populated with beetles and butterflies; columns designed to mimic the structure of trees; gargoyles, in the form of lizards and frogs, represented creatures displaced by the construction of the massive cathedral.

Back  home I continued to think about Gaudí and his devotion to nature.  In Gijs Van Hensbergen’s 2001 biography of the architect he addresses the extremes that Gaudí went to.  “When preparing the decoration of the façade, what [he] wanted was an exact copy of nature, so he roamed the parish for years looking for the right models.”

This search for the perfect models went beyond humans and extended to animal depictions as well:

“Chickens and turkeys were chloroformed, greased and quickly cast in plaster before coming round again. [A] donkey was trussed up and lifted in a harness, where it could be more easily modelled. A dead owl found one morning was quickly used by Gaudí as a perfect emblem for Night.”

The architect’s life was cut short when he was killed by a trolley car in 1926, leaving La Sagrada Familia unfinished.  But the work continues.  By the time we turned in our audio tour headsets late in the afternoon the tile setters and stone masons had returned from lunch to pick up where they had left off–bringing to life the vision of Antoni Gaudí.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Crossing the Ocean

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Passage
by Cale Young Rice
A dark sail,
Like a wild-goose wing,
Where the sunset was.
The moon soon will silver its sinewy flight.
Thro the night watches,
And the far flight
Of those immortal migrants,
The ever-returning stars.

Yesterday Dave and I returned from a trip to Spain.  As our flight approached the East Coast, I tracked our path on a satellite map of the world.  Night was descending on Europe, pursuing us across the Atlantic.  By the time we reached New Mexico, it had caught up with us.

On our drive home from the airport we craned our necks to watch the first quarter moon, hanging low in the western sky, disappear.   In the east Orion signaled the changing seasons, welcomed us home.

Good Garlic

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. . . if you grow good garlic people will love you for it.
Stanley Crawford

Photo Credit: P. Nixon

Photo Credit: P. Nixon

“Are you Stan?”  I blurted out the words before I had time to think it through.

Tuesday morning at the farmers’ market—I have not yet settled on one shopping strategy.  Should I look at every string bean and head of lettuce and then return to make my purchases, or should  I buy whatever strikes my fancy on the first pass.  Both have their merits but on this day, at the height of the growing season, I opted for the former and found that the gorgeous tomato with purple streaks I had admired as I walked by the first time was in someone else’s hand when I returned.

My tomato regret was forgotten by the time I got back to Crawford’s garlic stand.  I had noticed the  mounds of fragrant bulbs as I strolled by and somewhere along the way, without consciously working it out, all of the pieces had assembled themselves in my mind by the time I returned.

Mr. Crawford, seated at the rear of the stand behind the lug crates heaped with garlic, was gracious.  He nodded in answer to my question and inquired who I was.  Slightly embarrassed, I introduced myself and told him I had read his books about farming in New Mexico—ten or fifteen years ago.

Crawford’s garlic bears little resemblance to the dried out bulbs from the grocery store that I make do with too many months of the year.  One of my favorite ways to appreciate this local treasure is to  top thick slices of fresh-baked farmhouse or sourdough bread with a mix of chopped heirloom tomatoes (purple streaks optional), a clove or two of peeled and minced garlic, a sprinkle of  salt, a drizzle of olive oil, a splash of balsamic vinegar.  This summer treat is best savored outdoors, sitting in the sun.

On my next trip to the market I’ll take my copy of A Garlic Testament for Stan to sign and I’ll try not to ask any stupid questions about vampires.

 

A Surfeit of Skunks

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Thunder, lightning, and a good rain finished off a busy July weekend in Santa Fe.  By the time Dave and I went out to make a quick run to the post office it was dark and wet and quiet, no sign of the gibbous moon.

Dave spotted the slow moving ball of black and white fur before I did.  In the headlights it first appeared to be one creature.  He slowed to make sure it didn’t spook and run in front of the car.  Then we saw it was really two, three, four small skunks.  A family, he said.  A double date, I replied.

The group kept a wary eye on us and moved slowly, all bunched together, up the street.  I didn’t even consider rolling down my window to take a photo.  Cute as they were, I didn’t want to alarm them.

Finally, they found an opening in the wall and scurried into some unsuspecting resident’s yard.  It was then that we realized there were five.  Dave was probably right: a mother and her kits.

Weekly Roundup – Kids Rule!

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Monty_EleanorW

Note:  If the links to Facebook do not open automatically below, click on the date and you will be directed to the post.

Earlier this year I was a judge for the third annual Mexican wolf pup naming contest.  The drawings and essays submitted by kids from around the country amazed me with their knowledge and thoughtfulness.  Pictured above is one of the winning entries.  Eleanor’s name, Monty, was given to male pup (mp)1386 (his official identification) a member of the Prieto Pack, a family of wolves that runs and hunts in the mountains of New Mexico.

A former winner in the naming contest, Turner Burns, started a Facebook page, Kids for Wolves,  several years ago after meeting Atka, one of the ambassador wolves at the Wolf Conservation Center (WCC).  Today, he has over 4000 followers and uses his page to educate both kids and adults about wolves in the United States and Canada.  In a post earlier this week, he reminded me that I needed to make a call to my representative in Congress about a pending bill that would remove protections for  endangered wolves.

Atka is also an inspiration to Peyton, seen howling in this video with the Arctic wolf.

Run Like A Wolf

11 year-old Peyton is helping to save the wolves by running 13.1 miles this October to support the Wolf Conservation Center and raise awareness for the importance and plight of the wild predators. Please check out Peyton’s CrowdRise page and support his effort here: http://bit.ly/1FIrv2bWith kiddos like Peyton, the world is looking a little brighter, Thank you, Peyton!

Posted by Wolf Conservation Center on Sunday, June 28, 2015

 

But it’s not just wolves.  Every few days I see stories about kids finding creative ways to help wildlife, trees, homeless pets.

Best friends, Caroline and Claire, raised money with a bake sale and donated the money to Friends of the Urban Forest in San Francisco.

Caroline (a sixth-grader) and Claire (a fifth-grader) sent us a donation accompanied by this adorable note. Thank you!Inspired? We appreciate donations of any amount: http://fuf.net/donate

Posted by Friends of the Urban Forest on Tuesday, May 26, 2015

In New Mexico Dezirae saves her money from chores to give to the Santa Fe Animal Shelter.

We are so thankful for Dezirae! This 15-year-old amazing teen saves her money from chores and donates incredible treats,…

Posted by Santa Fe Animal Shelter & Humane Society on Friday, July 3, 2015

It starts with field trips and camp outs: kids learning about  bats and butterflies, sunflowers and saguaros. I wouldn’t be surprised to see this little guy doing something great in the next few years!

Here’s a cute video of a kid telling us all about what he learned about bats with us here during Pollinator Week!

Posted by Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge on Wednesday, July 1, 2015

Thanks to each one of these kids for being an inspiration to us all!

Summer Vacation: Beignets and Bullfrogs

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“Back in 5 minutes,” said the note taped on the door.

I checked my watch.  I had time to wait. Finally, I was going to see the inside of Caravan Book Store.  The small storefront on South Grand Street in downtown Los Angeles has a window full of old and rare books, but my visits were always off—too early or too late.

20150627_125059-1I perused the crowded shelves filled with treasures, but in the end returned to the front and bought Our Vanishing Wilderness, the first book that had caught my eye when I walked in. Filled with photographs of wild places and the creatures that inhabit them, the book was published in 1969—the year I turned eleven.

Flipping through its pages took me back to the family vacations of my youth.

In the 60s my folks purchased a small camping trailer and we began taking trips to the national forests in Colorado and New Mexico, an easy day’s drive from our home in western Kansas.   Once Dad located the perfect campsite, we kids were eager to finish the chores—gathering firewood and hauling water.  Free to explore, we climbed boulders, forded snow-cold streams, chased chipmunks.

At the Grand Canyon 1971

Grand Canyon 1971

In the 70s we started venturing farther, starting with a vacation to Arizona and Nevada.  We hiked the rim of the Grand Canyon, played on a beach at Lake Mead, were dazzled by the lights of Las Vegas.  A few years later we went to California, camped in an orange grove and saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time.

Our last big trip before I left for college was to New Orleans where we savored powdered-sugar dusted beignets, listened to jazz at Preservation Hall, and got our first glimpse of the  Mississippi River.  My most vivid memory of the trip occurred at some forgotten campsite in northern Louisiana where we spent a night on our way south. The landscape was unfamiliar to us—trees were draped in Spanish moss, long-necked white birds perched on the backs of cows, and water didn’t move.  After dark sitting around the campfire, the heavy air was split open with the voice of a lone bullfrog.  Soon another joined and then another until the night was filled with an entire choir, singing a hoarse serenade.

Written and photographed in the mid-60s Our Vanishing Wilderness marked the beginning of our country’s awareness of what we were about to lose. Within four years of its publication the Endangered Species Act was law and Earth Day an annual celebration.

Its words remind me to pick up my binoculars, to check on the pair of robins nesting in a piñon tree outside my bathroom window, and to never take for granted the croak of a bullfrog.