PRICE $XO.XO
THE
DEC. 25, 2016
NEW NORKER
“Just try saying unique New York five times fast!”
DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF JANN G. MARSON, JR. without whom this publication would not exist. The first edition of the New Norker was produced on Jann’s ancient Mac in the back bedroom of our little white house in Caldwell. There Jann taught me the basics of book (magazine) design: margins, gutters, good typography, spreads, etc. Skills I would take into my future, eventually even landing a book design job with Jann’s former employer, Caxton. The nuances of book mechanics were a tiny part of what Jann taught me. He was passionate about art, music, film, history, literature, fashion, food…so many things. And he shared those passions with me, and everyone who came to know him. Too, he shared an almost saint-like spirit of kindness and generosity, never faltering in patience and understanding for others, and maintained a sweet humor, daring creativity, and a wicked intelligence. Though our paths would diverge, I never stopped loving and admiring Jann. I always considered him part of our family and the dearest of friends and I know he felt the same way about me, and all the extended Robertson clan. When we were together, no matter how poor we were we had a tradition of traveling and spending New Year’s in a different place. “Always start a new year looking at a new horizon,” he would say. This year, it is with tremendous sadness that I look towards a horizon, a future and a world without Jann in it.
GOINGS ON ABOUT TOWN TABLES FOR TWO, OR MORE
COPINE Seattle, WA The best restaurant in Seattle opened this year, well maybe not the best restaurant for babies. One thing has been true for Mijanou her whole life – She loves going to restaurants. The lights, the music, the people, the busier the better. Some like MKT seem to be endlessly entertaining. She loves being able to watch the cooks, dishwasher, wait staff and the customers and sing to the music at the same time. We haven’t been able to go to as many restaurants as we used to. Her early bedtime makes it hard to eat and get home on time. But we have tried to keep taking her out whenever possible. We kept hearing about Copine opening. We’d run into Shaun or Jill and they would tell us they were still working on it. Finally in May the restaurant opened to excellent reviews. We went out for the first time without Mijanou and told the babysitter we would be home around 8. We forgot this is a fine dining restaurant. There are not
very many of them in Seattle and Copine is lovely. The restaurant is comfortable and elegant. The service is excellent and unpretentious. The food is beautiful, surprising and delicious. Luckily there were 4 of us at dinner so we were able to order almost everything. There are amuses, intermezzos and palate cleaners. They bake their own rolls. At 8 we had had been eating steadily but we hadn’t gotten to the main course yet. We texted the nanny: looks like it will be 9! My favorite dish was the mushroom risotto with Parmesan mousseline. It was almost as excellent as the lobster risotto Shaun made at Book Bindery. The tuna and watermelon tartar with puffed rice and serranos was also amazing. I loved the black cod and the light as air salmon croquettes. After a dessert medley and some petit fours with the check we left the restaurant at 9:15 very satisfied. So why wouldn’t we take Mijanou there? She would love the food and getting to see the cooks in the kitchen. “We’ll make the early reservation and when we get there we’ll tell them we just came in for a couple dishes,” Will explained. They tucked us into a nice seat with a view of the kitchen. Mijanou was happy we waved to the chefs. The kitchen is quiet, orderly and unhurried. There is no flaming or steaming or clanking. The restaurant is one of the very few that has noise reducers. There are no rushing waiters or clanking glasses. You can have a intimate conversation or hear
your child squealing across the entire restaurant. Mijanou loved everything we fed her and she was game for the first four courses. She ate tuna and beets and corn soup and risotto. She loved the rolls. But our “couple plates” became dish after dish and soon only one of us could sit at the table. Almost every seat in the restaurants had filled since we’d arrived. And Mijanou was thrilled with how well her voice carried across the crowd. We still hadn’t heard anything about our main courses so Mijanou and I headed out to view the waterfall in the courtyard. We came back in from our tour and our main courses were served. Mijanou couldn’t stand it anymore. She was on the floor crying and not even a pacifier would make her happy. We gulped down a few bites. Our neighbors at the next table over encouraged us, “You are doing the right thing. Our daughter eats everything now she is 29. We took her to lots of great restaurants.” But stares from other tables were directed our way. Will said, “You are going to just have to take her out of here. I will get the bill.” We took a tour and waved goodbye. Mijanou’s face was tear-streaked. “Leaving already?” Ruven at the bar asked, “Well it’s past bedtime, we need to get home.” Mijanou waved. I would recommend Copine to everyone. Just don’t take your baby. You can’t just go to a fine dining restaurant and get a “couple plates.” ~ Bijou Robertson
QUEEN MARY 2 Atlantic Ocean Soup is the indicator, soup is the judge. There is a story about a visit to Mimi, just trying to get to know Alex, she peppered him with questions. Alex obliged for a pleasant time but just as he was taking leave, she pressed him for one more answer, “Alex, do you like to make soup?” This question led to several questions about his methods. Don’t we agree that soups are as individual as your morning egg? We are finicky about texture, thickness, as much as flavor; the depth of a soup, the flavor texture, may even be the predictor of a good cook, or, a good son-in-law! On the Queen Mary 2, I experienced a cold pink champagne watermelon soup from the Canyon Ranch menu. SVELTE is the word I’m looking for to embody the experience. Every Canyon Ranch menu has a waistline offering from the onboard SPA. I felt thin and pampered which is a lot to ask from a soup after a week onboard of breakfast, lunch, dinner, OH! and teatime! From the regular menu, I enjoyed a sublime roasted cauliflower with wild mushroom soup, perfect in its smoothness, and delicacy of flavors, a classic velouté. French onion and minestrone were classics, but ordering soup was not easy, because, soup was included in the First Course section which offered pate, lox, salmon morsels, garlicky, buttery escargot, different every evening. Not only that, but, the soups were an indicator of a new level of expertise in the ship’s cuisine. Nicolas Oldroyd and his twin brother, from York-
shire, have elevated the status of cuisine to star level since our last trip. We took the Galley tour and marveled, (God, I hope I wasn’t drooling), at the organization, but also, a tray of composed salads ready for luncheon. We spoke with the pasty dessert chef; he has 18 chefflings under his direction. The day before the tour, meandering through the King’s (food) Court before tea time, a truly astounding array of desserts was on display overlooked by a chocolate fountain with dipping sticks and freshlymade marshmallows, plus: the chocolate sculptures, one of a candy shop with chef and shelves of candies. Marzipan played its part, too. Then there were small dark chocolate cups holding mousse with a chocolate decor garnish, and pink Italian panacotta, I could wear one to Formal
night they were so pretty. Two statuesque layer cakes, one shiny chocolate, and more. Yes, if I tell you everything you wouldn’t believe it anyway; let’s just say we thought of our children and grandchildren at that moment, our eyes were bulging and our mouths were watering. Teo stood at our table with hands on the backs of chairs. He looked fine in his tuxedo and smile and he looked around the table and said appetizingly,” Ladies and Gentlemen tonight we have some wonderful selections for you. The Venison and the Seabass are looking especially nice.” Then, he would hand around menus and scamper off to the next table. Not “queezine” anymore on this ship. Even during our 30 ft. swell storm, the glasses for wine did not budge and neither did our stomachs. The menu has expanded to
“Well, I told you not to give the ball to Derby...” ~ Will Fernandes
include world cuisine, Indian, French, Pacific Rim treatments. Teo came back for each of our course orders, appetizer, salad, main, (a separate menu for desserts). Each of us got exactly as we ordered, never a mistake, and with such hospitable professionalism. Where in the whole world could you duplicate the consistency (1200 specific from the menu suppers for two seatings, flawless), plus the quality, variety, choice, visual delight, service? The hard part is recalling the number of pleasures, walking the deck four miles a day so you can indulge!! Now I haven’t talked about who was sharing these delights, but they added another dimension, and our hopes are that everyone reading this review will share this stellar adventure soon. ~ Leslie Robertson THE PICKLE BARREL Chattanooga, TN (2003) Bobbing for pickles, anyone? You can try it if you don’t mind a face full of grease vat. When in the ‘nooga, check this place out, and definitely try the fried pickle. Located at 1012 Market Street in the Park Plaza building, originally constructed in 1893 as the administrative offices for Southern Railway, this triangular shaped building makes for a unique casual dining experience. Nothing extra fancy here, though, just the usual Reuben with homemade kraut, Philly cheesesteak, and hamburgers. But, they’re right next to Warehouse row, and they’re open late. So, if you’ve got time to shop and wanna eat some slop, order the pickle and a pop. ~ Jann G. Marson, Jr.
CODY COFFEE Cody, WY When Jesse said he was opening a crepe shop at the old Cody airport, we all thought he was crazy. Jesse roasts some delicious coffee, and we all figured his crepes would be great. But, the old airport? Really? Not on Main Street? Well, it turns out, Jesse had it figured out. Cody Coffee is situated in the private airport of Cody (aka the busiest airport in Wyoming), which services all the rich people with ranchettes. And hungry fire crews on per diem. And all us ordinary folk who want to sit on the tarmac while sipping a cappuccino and pretending to have a private jet. Jesse knew what was up. When you walk in, delicious roasting coffee smells fill your nose. Jesse’s giant smile and warm welcome boom out from behind the counter and you can’t help but grin back at his friendliness and with anticipation of your crepe and coffee. In front of you lie three crepe irons. It’s delightful to watch Jesse and his staff ladle out batter, swirl it delicately with a paddle, let it cook, fill it with delicacies, and serve it carefully to you with some java. Every day, two specials line the butcher paper board: a savory and a sweet option. For savory, you’re bound to be treated to prosciutto with pear and mozzarella or, for international coffee day, creme de menthe crepe with cafe au lait. Or, if you’re hotshot, the Firefighter filled with scrambled eggs, bacon, onions, peppers, cheese, and Sriracha is bound to fill the belly for a moment or two. Brian’s a fan of the ham and cheese (thick slices of
ham with melted swiss) whereas I often go for some version with nutella (and a giant pile of whipped cream). One of my favorite times to go is Saturday morning after yoga class. Nothing gets the day off to a better start than centering over “om” and then filling up with a warm coffee, crepe, and conversation with friends. These days, the line goes out the door and every table is full. But even so, Jesse has made sure there is always room for everyone and something delicious to crave on the menu. Even for those strange people who are less enthused about crepes. For them, Cody Coffee also has a full menu of sandwiches, madefrom-scratch soups, pastries, and salads. Just last week I had an amazing beef and spaghetti squash soup and a sugar crepe, because, well, why not? It’s a real treat to have a fine spot like Cody Coffee to go to in our rural part of Yellowstone Country. Like a fine taste of France with spins of home. A cuppa joe that packs a punch, and a crepe to fill the tummy. You’ll always leave full and craving for more. Speaking of which, is it the weekend yet for coffee and crepes? ~ Nancy Patterson
B’S CRACKLIN’ BARBEQUE Savannah, GA Apparently, Savannah isn’t known for its barbeque. It’s known for other Southern specialties, mostly involving seafood prepared with as much fat as possible: fried, smothered in cream sauces, swimming in butter and/or topped or stuffed with more seafood and cheese. These things, as you might imagine, are all incredibly delicious, as Dave and I found on a 3-daywhirlwind tour of the city. But it was our last meal, a non-seafood affair at 3 pm on a Friday afternoon, on our way out of town, that really knocked our socks off. Bryan Furman, Head Pitmaster and owner of B’s Cracklin’ Barbeque, has only been in the meat business since 2014 (his original restaurant burned down in June of 2015). In less than two years he’s been named in the Top 50 of The South’s Best BBQ by Southern Living and Garden & Gun listed B’s as part of “Five Barbecue Joints You Can’t Miss.” I was tipped off by Bon Appetit, who referenced Furman in their May issue, “Welder-turned-pitmaster Bryan Furman uses local pasture-raised, heritage-breed whole hogs, cooked over oak and cherrywood for 12 hours. The firmer fat of the Berkshire-Yorkshire hybrid melts into the meat, as if Furman were basting with butter.” The restaurant is a humble
spot in a mini-mall in an ugly part of a mostly beautiful city. The chalkboard menu features a pork plate, a rib plate, a brisket plate or a sampler plate (pork, chicken, ribs) and a variety of the expected sides: barbecue beans, collard greens, mac & cheese, fried okra, slaw and corn bread. Pepsi or sweet tea are the only drink options. Bryan’s wife, Nikki, takes your order and charges you a ridiculously small price (less than $25 for a meal for 2) and brings your food to the table in red plastic baskets and styro cups. There is a roll of paper towels on the table and two plastic squirt bottles: one filled with a glowing yelloworange sauce, the other with a garlicky vinaigrette. We ordered the sampler plate with collards, mac & cheese, and beans. Don’t forget the cornbread! Within minutes we were scarfing it as fast as we could: a bite of chicken, then pork, then ribs, move on to macaroni, have a taste of collards. More sauce, more sauce. Man that sauce is GOOD, the ribs, the meat falling off the bone, the smoky chicken with it’s chewy crispy skin, the flaky salty pork followed up with a shot of warm sweet beans and the bouncy creamy mac. Cleanse your palate with a bite of greens. It was delicious, no, phenomenal: the sugary tanginess, the savory caramelized bits, the melty fats, warm, buttery, spicy, puckery. It was like a professional orchestra of flavors, playing your favorite song. Halfway through we were already groaning about how full we were and we just kept eating. And eating.
We rolled out of Savannah with a belly full of barbecue and drove the scenic route down the coast to Jacksonville. There was a church on every corner and a Trump sign in every yard. Georgia’s claim to fame may not be barbecue yet but soon enough I’m guessing B’s Cracklin Barbecue will be something me and Southerners can agree on. ~ Jocelyn Robertson CLUB PARIS Anchorage, AK Anchorage’s classic steakhouse used to be a morgue, and even though the place is all dark wood and smokey mirrors rather than clinical stainless steel, it’s hard not to picture a gold-mining cadaver on the bar. If you can blink that thought away, you’ll be instantly enchanted by the curved marble bar with rounded wooden edging, which appears to be salvaged from Captain Cook’s quarters, and delighted by the array of bottles behind their little brass railings. I asked the bartender if there were any drink specials and he said “I can make anything you like and I can make it very well.” I ordered a Manhattan because the evening was calling for whiskey and the pile of maraschino cherries at the end of the bar made me feel like a kid in an old-fashioned ice cream parlor (yes, the vibe moved between morgue, steakhouse, British pub and ice cream parlor by the time I ordered my first drink). I say the evening was calling for whiskey, but honestly it was 4:30 in the afternoon. My friends had a plane to catch that night and we had to make reservations at Club Paris for the
“Now Cruzen have you picked up ALL the rocks in the vineyard yet?” decidedly early bird time of 5:30, at which time we were promptly called away from the bar and escorted to our booth where we ordered a bottle of bubbly. The bottle came with a shiny ice bucket and the appropriate stemware, but we toasted over individually wrapped dry breadsticks caked in sesame seeds. We suddenly went from ladies’ night out to Sunday dinner with grandpa. The menu is classic and simple, centered around aged 4” filets: filet mignon or petit filet, filet with king crab legs, filet and prawns or the halibut. All dinners are served with a baked potato with butter and sour cream and chives and bacon bits. The dinner rolls are small but endless and served with real butter. Your entree will run you upwards of $46 for the full market price surf and turf experience. That doesn’t include the moody cocktail or the cheery bubbles, but there’s a certain sense that you’ve paid the price of admission for an Alaskan amusement park rather than a meal and that makes the whole experience quite satisfying. ~ Jennifer Pemberton
PERSEPHONE BAKERY, BOULANGERIE AND CAFE Jackson, WY This place is very busy: it has been discovered by locals and tourists alike. I started going there when it just opened but it is always packed now, and for good reason. Persephone has a French farm café look. Simple chic décor that is not fancy, but is stylish and has a look that is not cowboy western rustic like so many other places in Jackson. Their food is similar to the décor. Simple and good ingredients, traditional yet trendy flavor combinations and an on-point menu with items that change seasonally. They have a beautiful counter stacked high with fresh baked pastries: Kouign-amann, described as “a flourette of laminated croissant dough coated in caramelized sugar,” cinnamon brioche, a selection of croissants and a sweet or savory scone. Savory please! If you go later in the day, they have an entire menu of “late morning pastries,” which includes cookies, monkey bread, tartlets and chocolate bundt cake. I usually start with
a counter order of a chocolate croissant or morning glory muffin, an Americano and then also order something from the menu. It’s good to get a little nibble right away in case you have to wait for your food. I order an egg sandwich that comes with a side of roasted new potatoes and Brussels sprouts or a Croque Madame that is served on fresh baked crusty French bread and SLC Cremenilli ham. I only just recently started ordering eggs out, and here I do so without hesitation. Their Herbed Farm Fresh Omelette for instance is served with roasted cauliflower, watermelon radish and, but of course, a Dijon cream sauce. How decadent. Luckily there is outside seating and because puffy jackets are standard issue for anyone and everyone in JH you can sit outside in the chilly summer morning without too much discomfort. You can bring your dog and enjoy sharing multiple pastries and then dine on a fine, very not greasy spoon Frenchy café breakfast. If you visit JH WY, you must go! Breakfast and lunch served on-site and bread and pastries to go. ~ Hadley Robertson
BOOKS, BRIEFLY NOTED
THE ABSOLUTELY TRUE DIARY OF A PART-TIME INDIAN by Sherman Alexie Sherman Alexie is a magic writer. In The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, Alexie pulls together the diary of a boy named Junior growing up between the Spokane Rez and white rural life. Junior is incredibly bright, and for whatever reason, the universe has decided to give him a real chance to escape the violence, abuse, and tragedy of the reservation to attend high school in a rural town in the Palouse, where the only other Indian at school is the mascot. The book chronicles Junior’s adventures learning how to live in both worlds. One, where abuse is a constant reality but his family bonds are strong and loving. And another where he’s rewarded with mad respect for his basketball skills, and moderately for his brains and love of reading, but must contend with new bullies at school. He must figure out how to balance these worlds, especially
when “life is a constant struggle between being an individual and being a member of the community.” In the white community, Junior can be an individual, but on the Rez, he must be a member of community. Except that his decision to leave it in favor of school elsewhere sets him apart and draws divides in his community at home. To make his way through these challenges, Junior’s journal is full of witty writing and humorous drawings that document his life. When faced with the many challenges of growing up in two foreign worlds, Junior reflects, “I think the world is a series of broken dams and floods, and my cartoons are tiny little lifeboats.” Alexie deals with difficult themes throughout this young adult novel. Racism, alcohol and drug abuse, hunger, loneliness, bullying, poverty, friendship, suicide, and death are constant characters to the story. But, Junior’s unfailing good humor offer some light in the darkness. He manages to turn these heavy topics in ways that slam-dunk them in the heart and mind of the reader. Junior makes his way through joy and tragedy. He starts to realize that the world, while still black and white, is more nuanced than he expected. He states, “‘I used to think the world was broken down by tribes,’ I said. ‘By Black and White. By Indian and White. But I know this isn’t true. The world is only broken into two tribes: the people who are assholes and the people who are not.’” Tragedy upon tragedy besets Junior. But, even though he moves through grief, he keeps
his spirits about him. He finds ways to make it through the obstacles of pain of loss. He describes it in words and cartoons saying “grief is when you feel so helpless and stupid that you think nothing will ever be right again, and your macaroni and cheese tastes like sawdust, and you can’t even jerk off because it seems like too much trouble.” Over the course of time, he begins to come back out of the tunnel of grief. The people around him helped fill in the hole in his heart. He reflects, “If you let people into your life a little bit, they can be pretty damn amazing.” And, in those moments when pain is still raw and he has seen more than his life’s worth of heartbreak, he realizes that no matter what, he needs his community around him. And his community is more complex and wonderful than he ever dreamed of imagining. “I realized that, sure, I was a Spokane Indian. I belonged to that tribe. But I also belonged to the tribe of American immigrants. And to the tribe of basketball players. And to the tribe of bookworms. And the tribe of cartoonists. And the tribe of chronic masturbators. And the tribe of teenage boys. And the tribe of small-town kids. And the tribe of Pacific Northwesterners. And the tribe of tortilla chipsand-salsa lovers. And the tribe of poverty. And the tribe of funeralgoers. And the tribe of beloved sons. And the tribe of boys who really missed their best friends. It was a huge realization. And that’s when I knew that I was going to be okay.” ~ Nancy Patterson
THE NIGGER OF THE NARCISSUS by Joseph Conrad One windy January night I started a journey on the Narcissus out of Bombay Harbour crossing the Indian Ocean. Joseph Conrad captained a motley crew, Donkin, Craik, Little Belfast, two “baby-faced Swedes, Old Singleton, Wamibo and one James Wait, calm, cool, towering superb. I belong to the ship. He enuniated distinctly.” The crew took him in and nicknamed him the Nigger. One of the last sentences of the story reads: “Haven’t we together and upon immortal sea, wrung out a meaning from our sinful lives? Good-bye brothers you were a good crowd as ever fisted with wild cries the beating canvas of a heavy foresail; or tossing aloft, invisible night, gave back yell for yell to a westerly gale.” I survived the storm too, and the disturbed unruliness of the ships crew and determined to write out a sentence review as skillfully as Joseph Conrad: Haven’t we together, opened up stories of enduring wisdom, penetrating significant memories for our transitory lives? Good-bye to characters
you were loath to leave, turbulent exclaimers as ever grabbed with beating heart turned pages of heavy action; or storming Nor’Easter, occluded nights, gasped yea for yea to a gripping tale. ~Leslie Robertson THE EMERALD MILE: THE EPIC STORY OF THE FASTEST RIDE IN HISTORY THROUGH THE HEART OF THE GRAND CANYON by Kevin Fedarko While floating down the Salmon River last summer, Captain Jeff mentioned an audio book he had recently enjoyed. Of course I immediately ordered it up at the library and plugged it in during many hours spent driving between Seattle, Twisp and Idaho. Holy Macaroly!! What an amazing book. I have never been on the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon, but I tell you I’ve felt the spray of the white water and the cramped muscles from holding on for dear life! Kevin Fedarko is a parttime river guide on the Grand Canyon and writes travel narratives for Outside magazine. The title of the book says it all: Kenton Grua, a mythic figure in the rafting world, nicknamed
‘The Factor’ (“frequently brilliant, sometimes insane, usually intense...always a factor”), along with two fellow guides, broke the speed record by running the Grand Canyon in a wooden dory named Emerald Mile in 36 hours, 38 minutes, 29 seconds. In the spring of 1983, the Glen Canyon dam was straining to hold back an unprecedented snow melt and was in peril of failing, requiring ever greater releases of water. Grua launched in the middle of the night (all rafters having been banned from the river) at Lees Ferry, 15 miles below the Glen Canyon dam, and finished 277 miles later at Grand Wash Cliffs, with the river running at 92,000 cfs at one point. While the story of Grua and the other guides is exciting beyond imagination and written so well you feel every toss and turn of the river and unbridled terror at the infamous rapid known as Crystal, it is a small part of this tome about the struggle between man and nature. The book begins with the history of Cardenas, a Spanish explorer, and his team looking for gold in the North American southwest during the 1500s, but instead finding the Grand Canyon. We meet and get to know John Wesley Powell, a one-armed explorer who travelled down the then-undammed Colorado River on crude cargo rafts in 1869. We learn about the fascinating Martin Litton, founder of Grand Canyon Dories, and one of the first ecological activists, leading the Sierra Club to prevent further damming of the river as well as fighting to control air tours, uranium mining, and ATVs, as well as saving the redwoods and many of this
country’s natural wonders. The book teaches geology, hydrology, boatbuilding, dam building, native American history, and the history of the American Southwest. It is lengthy, but the prose is captivating. I recommend the audiobook because you can close your eyes (well, not while driving…) and be transported from riding horseback along the canyon rim in the 1500’s with mouth agape, to the bow of the dory with the cliffs high above your head. It’s a wonderful experience! ~ Marty Greer THE NIGHTINGALE by Kristin Hannah This is a historic novel but there’s no doubt that this IS the experience of so many during WWII, which makes it a heartbreaking read. This novel follows a French family as they live the war, telling the story of two sisters who are inextricably linked but who approach the war differently. Vianne is the older sister who has a husband who is called to the Front. Isabelle is younger and independent. They have never been close and are more or less estranged from their father. Vianne is desperate to keep a low profile in her town and await the return of her husband Antoine. She teaches at the local school and has a young daughter and never believes the Germans will invade France. As WWII progresses, Isabelle is forced by her father to live with her sister Vianne in the small French town of Carriveau. As Isabelle flees Paris with thousands of others seek-
ing distance from the Germans, her opposition to the Nazi occupation is heightened and she becomes determined to fight. She finds herself involved with a group that is spreading anti-Nazi Resistance literature. Meanwhile, a Nazi captain commandeers a room at Vianne’s home and she has no choice but to house this soldier or lose everything. Isabelle’s reckless involvement with the Resistance and the proximity to this German captain puts the entire family at a huge risk. Isabelle eventually makes her way back to Paris and begins to lead downed airmen across the Pyranees in the Nightingale project as part of the Resistance. Vianne continues at home trying to survive everyday and protect young orphaned children from being taken to concentration camps. We get an intimate picture of the profound suffering as we journey with these two women through the trials of WWII. Isabelle, risking her life and many others to cross the Pyranees to save allies over and over again and Vianne anxious, starving and scared at the hands of a rabid Nazi. It seems like everyone around them dies and yet they endure. They experience things humans should never have to experience and although they outlast the war and so many of their compatriots they lose immensely as well. This book affected me emotionally more than any other story ever has. Its beautifully written and although a painful read, a must read page-turner. ~ Hadley Robertson
THE 10,000 THINGS by Maria Dermout “A son murdered by the head-hunters of Ceram. Three ghost-sisters playing on an empty beach. The curiosity cabinet and its contents. As the story circles on itself, they number in the thousands, so that anything once loved is eternal, beautiful, unchanged.”– Linda Spalding, in Lost Classics After her husband robs and abandons her, Felicia and her young son return to the Indonesian island where she grew up with her Dutch grandmother. Known as the “young lady of the small garden, Felicia quickly reacclimates to the pace and customs of the island. Her life takes a tragic turn when her son Himpies, now grown and a soldier, is killed. This straight-forward narrative is then abandoned by Dermout who brings in new characters with disparate paths, it isn’t until the last chapter that she weaves Felicia back in. This book haunts me and every couple of years I’ll find myself picking it up to reread, but unlike other tomes I’ve revisited as literary comfort food, I don’t love The 10,000 Things.
It’s weirdly beautiful and dreamy but also disturbing. It’s a shimmering fairy tale, equal parts dark reality and magic light, that is, at heart, a reflection on the persistence of death. It is not just the story of the mourning of a beloved child, but how our lives and experiences are saturated with the dead and dying – all around us are superstitions, ghosts, gravestones, stories and memories. It is a mysterious work, at once familiar and intimate and exotic and unsettling. It offers no clarity, no solution, no comfort but instead presents an understanding of the world as it actually is: lush and lovely layers, fine as dust, sandwiched with the tar of sadness, fear and a history (and future) impossible to escape. I cannot recommend The 10,000 Things but I suggest you read it. ~ Jocelyn Robertson COMING INTO THE COUNTRY by John McPhee “With a clannish sense of place characteristic of the bush, people in the region of the upper Yukon refer to their part of Alaska as ‘the country.’ A stranger appearing among them is said to have ‘come into the country.’” The third section of Coming into the Country begins with this explanation. John McPhee’s 1977 book about America’s final frontier is requisite reading for anyone who’s ever thought about starting a whole new life in the wilderness, off-the-grid, relying on yourself for survival. It’s also on the must-read list for anyone new to the state even if being new means you have a cushy office job funded by a federal grant. It’s a work of non-fiction
that reads like a boy’s adventure book. There are Arctic river trips, vivid descriptions of prospectors and homesteaders, close encounters with brown bears, nefarious politicians and a convincing overall picture of all the people, rugged landscape and wildlife that make up the clan that is Alaska. Coming into the Country is the book you need to read to feel at home in a place that was never really intended to be your home. ~ Jennifer Pemberton THE PINE BARRENS by John McPhee (originally appeared in the New Yorker in 1967) The Pine Barrens region is a nearly unbroken 650,000 acre forest situated on a self contained watershed that recharges the 17 trillion gallon KirkwoodCohansey aquifer, one of the purest in the nation. The region is home to 850 species of plants, 39 species of mammals, 300 species of birds, 59 species of reptiles and amphibians and 91 species of fish. Human residents live mostly in a few small forest towns amid vast tracts of wilderness. The population density of the region, when the book was published, was 15 people per square mile, which is a bit less than the population density of Idaho, which ranks 44th in the nation. A half century later that figure is almost unchanged. Remarkably, the Pine Barrens exist in southern New Jersey on the doorstep to Philadelphia and New York and at the heart of the Boston-Washington corridor. In this book, as in much of his work, McPhee vividly captures a place in time. In this case it is a time in which two
very different possible futures loom for the Pine Barrens. In one future, the Pine Barrens are protected as America’s first National Reserve, preserving the region’s rural character, agricultural economy and wild spaces. In the other a massive supersonic airport is built to service the nearby metropolitan areas creating jobs for thousands, while fracturing some of the last great expanses of forest on the Eastern Seaboard. But the uncertain future described in the book just adds drama to a highly entertaining, meandering yet thoroughly researched piece of journalism. In one chapter, McPhee describes the story of the mansion built by Italian prince Constantino di Ruspoli in the pines after marrying an American beauty whose family owned property there. The prince entertained statesmen, barons of industry and royalty at the opulent estate before retuning to his home country. Locals had visions of the mansion becoming the center of a new tourist economy, but without the consistent influx of old European money, the mansion deteriorated before eventually
vanishing almost completely. In another McPhee reproduces excerpts of a faithfully maintained journal from a glass manufacturing plant, which includes gossipy descriptions of drunken workers’ strikes and week-long shutdowns due to employees fleeing to the beach. McPhee’s book makes the Pine Barrens seem like an exceptionally fascinating place. I feel that this is a testament more to his great writing and singular style, though, and that there are many weird corners of our world just waiting for similar treatment. We are just fortunate to have the words of such a wonderful craftsman to enjoy, even fifty years later. ~ Alex Hartman
MIXED MEDIA
THE BIG SHORT I saw the movie, The Big Short, twice. The first time was last Christmas in a crowded theater in Tacoma. We ended up sitting in the front row left, and halfway through the movie I got such extreme motion sickness, that I spent the last half “watching” with eyes closed and feet flat on the floor (fortunately, I knew a bit about the vestibular system, and knew that I had to be grounded in gravity to ori-
ent myself). Anyway, I had read the book, so could follow along quite well. I watched it again on DVD, and at that point got a better feel for how this book about the mortgage crisis got turned into a Hollywood movie. The author of the book, Michael Lewis, is mainly a financial journalist, and this book was about the financial meltdown of 2008. It was published in 2010 amid rave reviews (Malcolm Gladwell, writing for the New York Times, called it “one of the best business books of the past two decades”). Lewis is a very engaging writer with the rare ability of making esoteric information available to the lay person. He is also funny and entertaining, and The Big Short was a hoot to read, in spite of the difficult subject matter. It’s a complicated story, and I still don’t pretend to understand the details of such things as bundled mortgage-backed securities, credit default swaps (which I think is what Lewis refers to as “shorting”), collateralized debt, or securitization – all terms thrown about in both the book and the movie. But a reading of the book, followed by a couple of viewings of the movie, certainly helped this listener/reader to understand that a combination of greed, laziness, and fear of job loss helped create what turned into a world-wide economic collapse. (Lewis wrote a followup book, Boomerang, in which he explored the results of the crash on five other countries – an equally compelling read.) Adam McKay co-wrote and directed this movie, and he got amazing performances out of his lead characters. Chris-
tian Bale, playing the one-eyed M.D with Aspergers, Michael Burry, is brilliant, and you can watch his thought processes as he shuffles and stammers in his effort to figure out the numbers. Steve Carell, playing Mike Baum (Steve Eisman in real life), struggles with anger and frustration as he tries to understand the inconsistencies between what he’s observing and what he’s being told. And a largely unrecognizable Brad Pitt, playing a character based on Ben Hockett, a retired banker/investor, helps a couple of young men turn their $110,000 initial investment into an $80 million dollar windfall, by betting against the mortgage bonds. McKay sets up several brilliant scenes. The chef Anthony Bourdain explains bundling by describing combining three-dayold fish with fresher product to serve as a fish stew. Melissa Leo has a delicious bit as a Standard and Poors agent trying to explain why they didn’t catch the risky nature of the bundled mortgages. And, in one of the final scenes, a harried, rude, angry Mark Baum (Carell) interrupts a speaker at a securitization forum in Las Vegas with question after question, then loudly takes a call on his cell phone and walks out speaking to his wife. This really happened, to the consternation of the members of the audience. The movie (and also the book) is alternately exciting, hilarious, and deeply depressing. ~ Sally Perrine
MAJOR LEAGUE BASEBALL I started watching baseball in earnest about 10 years ago. I can’t remember how or why. Having not watched sports as a kid or young adult becoming a fan in my 30s was a surprise to me, and pretty much everyone that knows me. You watch baseball? Yes, I do. So, why baseball, you ask? The sport, once solidly the most popular sport in the country, has declined in popularity over the decades as football fandom and soccer enthusiasm has grown, probably because keeping track of what’s happening during the very long season requires a dedicated fan and who has that kind of time anymore? The regular baseball season consists of 162 games, typically beginning the first week in April and ending some time in October. Let me restate that. Each team, during the regular season, plays 162 games, teams are scheduled to play 19 games against each division opponent for a total of 76 games, and six or seven games against each team from the other two divisions in its league for a total of 66 games, or 5-6 games A WEEK. You can literally turn on the TV at any point between April and October and have your choice of games. That’s a lot of baseball. Which is one of the reasons I like it: I don’t have to make time during the week for “the big game,” I can watch when I want and if I miss a game there will be another, or three, tomorrow. Baseball is a team sport that stars individual players, and those individual players are very often real characters. Take Hunter Pence, a right-fielder
for the San Francisco Giants. Pence is 6 ft. 4 in. with a messy red afro, he likes to hitch up his long pants above his knees and makes crazy faces with his eyes rolling and tongue sticking out, especially when making a difficult catch or at bat. Or Aroldis Chapman, a 28-year-old Cuban pitcher who plays for the Cubs, also known as the “Cuban missile.” Chapman cuts an intimidating figure with neck tattoos and his hat worn low down over his sea-deep black eyes. In 2015 Chapman threw the 62 fastest pitches of the season, topping out at 103.92 miles per hour. You wouldn’t want to compete in a chili cookoff with this guy, let alone have him stare you down from the pitching mound. More than any other sport, baseball allows for variety in it’s athletes: you can be short (Astro’s Tony Kemp is 5’4”) or tall (Kansas City’s Chris Young is 6’10”), you can be skinny or fat, and to play this most American of sports you don’t even have to be American: 25% of MLB players are born outside of the United States with players coming from around the globe: Venezuela, Mexico, Japan, South Korea, the Netherlands, etc. Baseball players can have long careers and often the older players are the most exciting to watch: we marveled at 41-yearold Bartolo Colon when he pitched for the Mets in the 2015 World Series. The 5’11”, 285 lb. Colon would saunter up to the mound, chewing a giant wad of gum, and proceed to throw strike out after strike out without ever changing his facial expression. He’s still playing major league ball at 43.
If the characters don’t keep you watching, maybe the names will. Where else would you find a Joe Panik, Coco Crisp, Angel Pagan, Buster Posey, Socrates Brito and Mookie Betts? Certainly not playing hockey. I usually limit my baseball watching to a few games during the main season and then near obsessive consumption of the World Series. I LOVE watching the World Series. But, I reached a new level of fandom this year when I sprung for the MLB package ($100 for the season) which inspired me to watch baseball, baseball and increasingly more baseball as the summer progressed. I like baseball, too, because I don’t actually have to “watch” it. Baseball is one of the few sports, that if you have a good commentator, can be just as exciting to listen to. I’ll turn on the TV, up loud enough to hear in my kitchen, and I’ll cook or clean, while listening to the game. “My teams” are the San Francisco Giants and the Kansas City Royals, both of which have triumphed at the World Series in the last few years, so I was disappointed when neither of the made it to the final this year. In the end though, it was for the best, as the long-suffering Chicago Cubs, who hadn’t won a Series since 1908 triumphed over the Cleveland Indians in a nail-biter of a game. The Cubs, coming back from a 3 game loss, won game 7 in extra innings, after a rain delay mid-game. In baseball, as in life, anything can happen. It gives you hope. ~ Jocelyn Robertson
DEEPWATER HORIZON When I was in Anchorage in October meeting my Energy Desk colleagues the first time, this movie came out about the gulf oil spill initiated by the drill rig Deepwater Horizon, so of course we had to go…for research. For a film with movie stars like Mark Wahlberg and John Malkovich, Deepwater Horizon was remarkably educational. I could have done with fewer explosions and gratuitous portrayals of the kinds of injuries that surely did result from an oil rig exploding multiple times after drowning people in oil, but damn, as a work of science communication that conveyed the logistics of tapping a crude oil well at the bottom of the ocean, it was truly engrossing. Maybe John Malkovich was too perfectly villainous a BP exec, but most of those guys are too evil to be true even in real life. We stayed up way too late that night reading the New York Times articles that the movie was based on and wondering how we could manage to tell stories about Alaska’s energy industry in such a gripping, heart-pounding Hollywood way…but, you know, for public radio. ~ Jennifer Pemberton
HUNT FOR THE WILDERPEOPLE Hands down the best movie I watched all year. Set up in chapters, Hunt for the Wilderpeople directed by Taika Waitit is a coming of age movie about a foster child, Ricky Baker, and his foster family Bella and Hector. Ricky Baker is a scrappy kid who, as Paula from Child Support says is a “real bad egg. We’re talking … disobedience. Stealing. Spitting. Running away. Throwing rocks. Kicking stuff. Defacing stuff. Burning stuff. Loitering. And graffiti-ing. And that’s just the stuff we know about.” But it turns out, Ricky Baker has lived the skuxx, or rough gangster life, but he’s a pretty good kid. He shows up at Bella and Hec’s house kitted out in white sneaks and sweatshirt with a hood that zips over his face. He’s fat and ill-suited to a life in the woods. Bella and Hec are scrappers too. And they’re a bit of outcasts, just like Ricky. But unlike Ricky, they know how to survive by the “knack.” Well, maybe Ricky has the knack too but in different ways. Set in the bush in New Zealand, for the first time Ricky is surrounded by nature and by people who know how to survive in a bush as impenetrable as that surrounding Bella and Hec’s farm. It’s clear that Ricky has had a hard life. And from the look of Hec and Bella, they have too. They know how to survive the wilderness. Bella’s warm smile and instant acceptance to Ricky shows through in every moment of the film. Through hot water bottles to homemade birthday cake to listening to Ricky’s
haikus, she makes it clear that he is home now. Gradually, Ricky comes to accept it, believe it, and feel loved for the first time. Hec, on the other hand, is decidedly uncomfortable about the boy that has moved in with them. Then, tragedy strikes. Ricky and Hec are left on their own. Child support is planning to take Ricky back into an orphanage. No one else wants him. Hec plans to escape into the bush to deal with loss in his own way. But what is Ricky to do? He decides to abandon his former life and run off to the woods, to find the lake in the sky and find healing from loss on his own. Within minutes, Ricky is lost. He spends days wandering until Hec finds him. A series of unfortunate events waylay them in the bush where weeks later they find out Hec is wanted for kidnapping Ricky. The two take off on a months-long journey to escape conventional life, grief, and tragedy. They take child support and the entire New Zealand army on a wild goose chase, always having the upper hand. It’s a goose chase of overcoming grief as well. Ricky does it through reading, his haikus, and deepening family bond with Hec. And Hector does it through listening to the books, drawing, and teaching Ricky about survival. They depend on each other. At one point, after months on the run, Ricky shares one of his haikus with Hec, “Trees. Birds. Rivers. Sky. / Running with my Uncle Hec / Living forever.” It gives them both pause, the power in those words. Throughout, the two show bravery, resilience, ingenuity and
fullness of spirit only found in those with nothing to lose. They become best friends, even if Hec doesn’t want to admit it. But also demonstrate the fragility of bonds under stress. In the end, convention catches up with them and they have to figure out how to survive a new system. Hec to prison and Ricky to a new and great foster family. In the end, Ricky comes to find Hec at a halfway house and offers him a new home with his family. Hec almost turns him down, and then stops Ricky in his tracks. He’s learned something from Ricky. He has learned the value of words. Using Ricky’s powerful haiku technique, he says, “Me and this fat kid / We ran we ate and read books / And it was the best.” Eventually, they find themselves back in the bush. They look at each other, these two scrappers. “We didn’t choose the skuxx life,” says Ricky. “The skuxx life chose us,” finishes Hec. And with that these two wilderpeople disappear on their next adventure into the bush together. ~Nancy Patterson
TRAVELS, TASTES & TREASURES
DUCK MEATBALLS ¾ cup breadcrumbs ¾ cup cream divided 1 ½ lbs. skin-on duck breasts, partially frozen ¼ pound pork back fat (optional), partially frozen 1 medium onion, chopped 1 large egg, beaten 2 teaspoons salt ½ teaspoon black pepper ¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg 1 tablespoon butter ½ pound mushrooms, sliced ½ cup sherry 2 tablespoons parsley, chopped
Heat oven to 400 degrees. Moisten breadcrumbs with ¼ cup of the cream and set aside. Cut duck breasts into 1 inch pieces and run through meat grinder set with the small die. If ducks are lean cut back fat into pieces and send through grinder with the duck. Add breadcrumb mixture, onion, egg, salt, pepper and nutmeg to meat and mix with hands until well combined. Do not over mix. Form 1½ inch meatballs (I use an ice cream scoop). Heat cast iron pan on stovetop over medium heat. Melt butter in pan and add meatballs, turning occasionally until browned all over. Put pan into oven and bake until just cooked through. Remove pan from oven and remove meatballs to a bowl, reserving liquid in pan. Spoon out all but one or two tablespoons of fat from pan and add mushrooms, sautéing over medium heat until lightly browned. Add sherry and reduce by half. Add remaining cream and parsley. Add meatballs back to pan and stir to coat with the sauce. ~ Alex Hartman
~ Will Fernandes
ERETHIZON ENCHILADAS 8-10 servings While this delightful recipe in its proper form is a very expensive delicacy, and only for those with a heavily padded pocketbook, its expense comes not from rare or difficult to obtain ingredients, as each ingredient on its own is rather humble and ordinary. The expense comes instead from the long and expensive process necessary to gather one specific ingredient, in my particular case nearing 800 dollars. The preparation is not simple, although those cooks who have made enchiladas on previous occasions will not be particularly challenged during the assembly and cooking sections of this recipe. Because of the labor and expense involved, the meal is very special, and because the enchiladas reheat well this dish is best prepared in large batches and frozen and reheated later. Although the ingredients are fairly ordinary and expensive and complicated to acquire, the results of these enchiladas are not especially delicious. They have an unusual taste, and are a bit greasy with notes of pine and musk. Why then, might you ask, would a chef would go to such great lengths and expense to prepare an unusual but unsavory fare? For one reason: the incomparable taste of revenge.
Ingredients: 30 corn tortillas 1 28 oz. can of green enchilada sauce 1 large onion, finely diced 2 cups grated Cotija cheese 1 large fresh tomato chopped 1 bunch cilantro chopped (reserving some for garnish) 1 tsp Mexican oregano 1 bay leaf 1 clove of garlic 1 large jalapeĂąo diced 1 medium porcupine, gutted and skinned 1 15 oz. can of black beans, drained 1 15 oz. can of whole corn, drained To properly prepare the porcupine: Take your dog on a walk in areas known to have porcupines. Let the dog scamper free. With luck you will soon hear signs of violent struggle and shrieks of pain. Recapture quilled dog. Carefully try and hold down writhing, crying and bleeding dog. Pry open the mouth and try to remove as many quills from the roof of the mouth and tongue before the dog refuses further treatment. Return to the scene of attack and see if the porcupine requires further violence to render it dead. Find a large stick if only mortally wounded. Aim quick blows to the head to limit further damage to meat. Ignore protests from
wife to leave carcass in the forest. Carefully carry the porcupine by the feet and hold away from the body to prevent unnecessary quills in your pants. Call veterinarian. Take dog to vet. Open wallet. (While less traumatic methods of acquiring porcupines are possible in order for this dish to have full complexity these steps are required). Now having acquired a suitably expensive porcupine, gut and skin as with other small mammals. Take care to avoid being poked by the needle sharp quills. Fortunately the underside of the porcupine is free from quills and skinning and gutting is only marginally harder than with other creatures. Cook the carcass in a pressure cooker with Mexican oregano, garlic, bay leaf and 1 cup of the green enchilada sauce until the meat falls from the bone, about 15 minutes. After removing the porcupine from the pot gently simmer remaining broth and reduce. Pick the meat from the bones (take care to find the many small bones and cartilage) and mix with remaining ingredients and enough of the reduced broth to make the mixture moist. Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Heat corn tortillas one at a time on a low temperature skillet until pliable. Spoon filling into tortillas and roll and pack tightly in a greased casserole dish. Pour the remaining broth and enchilada sauce over the top, making sure to cover any edges of tortillas that stick up. Sprinkle with Cotija and bake until golden brown and hot in the center. Garnish with cilantro. Serve with cold beer. Taste the revenge. ~ Peter Robertson
CANOE TRIP, JULY 2016 Last summer John and I had the opportunity to participate in a Coeur d’Alene tribe canoe trip from Benewah Lake to Kettle Falls, a distance of 130 miles. John worked on the actual construction of the canoe, which was a year-long-project from start to finish. I’m not going to go into details here about this process, only to say that it was an extraordinary experience for the many people who were involved in turning a 40-foot-long, 27,000 pound log into a hollowed-out cedar canoe capable of transporting eight people. The real story, for my purposes, was what occurred after the canoe was finished. The Coeur d’Alene tribe has traditionally been dependent on salmon, as have the other inland tribes in this area. Therefore, the proposed trip using hand-made canoes involved five Indian tribes meeting and converging at the traditional fishing site of Kettle Falls – a non-falls at this point, due to the damming of the Columbia River – for a celebration of culture and tradition. John went as a tribal employee, who had been very much a participant in the building of the canoe. And I went as support “staff” to help with meals. Our first big meal was a picnic on the shore of Lake Coeur d’Alene after a two-day paddle from Benewah Lake. In true Indian fashion, everyone at the park – participant or not – was invited to share in the meal; it was an open invitation to the whole town of Coeur d’Alene. We fried hamburgers and hotdogs, and served salads and condiments to 400-or-so people; hardly traditional native fare, but
easy food that could be prepared with a minimum of fuss. The meal was preceded by prayers from the elders, and drumming, singing, and dancing. When the canoes pulled in to the dock, it was surprisingly moving, as this was both the culmination of a year-long project and also the start of a rather epic journey. After the big canoe was transported to Two Rivers Park near Davenport to proceed up the Columbia, I rejoined the tribal members for the first night camp out. I arrived hungry, and was served a huge plate of salmon and elk, and a pile of macaroni salad – a half traditional meal, which I ate with gusto. I and others spent the next five days preparing three meals a day for the paddlers, who had the hard job of rowing a 1000-pound canoe upstream approximately 15 miles/day. We were joined along the way by the Spokane tribal members, then the Colvilles, each with their own canoes. Every day we worked our way north, with the cook crew starting by preparing a large breakfast, then putting together sack lunches for the paddlers. After breakfast, we broke camp and drove to the next campsite, where we set up our tents and the kitchen and started fixing the evening meal. By the final two nights, we were cooking for approximately 100
people, and had portable gas stoves and ovens from all three tribes, all preparing and sharing in this communal food preparation and feasting. Upon our arrival at Kettle Falls, the canoeists were met by two northern tribes, members of the Kootenai and the Kalispels, each with a cedar canoe. All five large cedar canoes and several smaller hand-made sturgeonnosed canoes converged on the opposite bank, and then with ceremony and prayers, met and rowed together toward the opposite beach. This was not my tribe; I was support staff. But it was incredibly moving to be a participant, and I felt honored to have been able to help in such an epic endeavor. There were many tears and hugs, and friendships were forged over the five days of working and living together in such close proximity. Addendum: When the NoDAPL gathering was in full swing this autumn, members of the Coeur d’Alene tribe joined others and transported their canoes to paddle the Missouri River to North Dakota in support of the water protectors. Over 200 tribes have been gathered there in opposition to the “black snake”— the pipeline from the Bakken oil fields. But that’s another story. ~ Sally Perrine
HOT MINTY WHISKEY There was this falafel shop in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, that made real deal molassesy sweet tea but with a strong mint tea instead of Lipton. It had the kick of a double espresso and was sickly filling enough to skip the baklava after lunch. But with a jigger of bourbon, that iced tea became the ultimate poor-man’s mint julep. Here’s my wintertime take on that drink. I fix one almost every night to warm my core and soothe my soul before bed. I like the sweetness of bourbon paired with mint, but an Irish whiskey or rye will work for anyone who doesn’t have that much of a sweet tooth. Ingredients: 1 mint tea bag 1 tablespoon honey 2 fingers whiskey hot tea water from a kettle (don’t let the water boil or it will threaten the booziness of your whiskey) Serve in an insulated pint glass so you remember it’s a cocktail and not your grandma’s nightly cup of herbal bedtime tea. ~ Jennifer Pemberton
WHO YOU ARE by Bev Walker You are the end of a million generations foraging for food and shelter. Thousands of times, over and over, famine has wiped out whole nations. Each time, one of your family survived. Or – you wouldn’t be here. You are the end of a million generations devastated by disease and storm. For a million years, in a million places, through showers of meteors, Thousands of times, over and over, while all around them died, One of your family was left standing, and had to bury the rest. You are the end of a million generations torn apart by earthquake, flood, tornado, Arctic blizzard, every terror you can imagine, whole nations buried beneath every desert, Whole civilizations lost beneath sea and jungle, now known only to birds and fishes. Whole races gone, all gone....except one of your family. The result is you.
You are the end of a million generations destroyed by war after war Marauding armies determined to wipe out all in their path, Somehow, one after another, century after century One of your family made it through all that you are the proof. Neither they, nor you, made it because you’re the smartest, healthiest, or bravest. “Survival of the fittest” went out the window the first time someone reached out To the wounded,an orphan, a cripple, the sick. that’s the difference between you and the ant and the crocodile. Through a thousand ice ages, Through whole continents ablaze, There stood one who is still a small part of you. Yes, you, and your neighbor, whatever your ilk. You are the end result of a million miracles. A treasure, a pearl; of great price Note from Aunt B.: The more I read history, and listen to the news – the more astounded I am that we’re still here at all!
NOTABLE & QUOTABLE: POST-ELECTION PICASSO Readers of the New Norker are a mixed group politically, but we are a devoted group socially. We are all patriotic Americans and none of us would trade any of us to a foreign power! Well, maybe the Scottish! Given the divisive election, no matter the results, I post this excerpt from Joshua Whitfield, writing in “Why I took my daughter to an art museum after the election,” Nov. 16 in the Dallas Morning News: We walked among art, Spanish mostly Miro, Picasso, Dali, others. We wondered, we imagined, we talked about what is, what might be, what could be – about art, that is. We shared favorites, asked questions, giggled at the nudes, wondered what on earth a few things were.... I think it was a good thing to do, and I recommend it to you, to my fellow parents wondering what to say to your children. The danger is that we use our children to assuage our angst, recycling our anger through them, weeking in them the validation of our fears or the vindication of our bitterness. We forget that our children are not us, and so we foist upon them opinions and fears for which they›re unready, ruining their purposeful innocence with our foolish seriousness – lecturing, sentimentalizing, manipulating. Sometimes when talking to our children, we talk too much. We try to make the world right with words when we know we can’t. Which is why I chose art instead. It speaks better than me, teaches better. And it›s why I think that instead of talking politics, (religion*) with your children, you should take them to experience (underline experience) experience beauty wherever you may find it--your nearest art museum, your nearest artist. ~ Leslie Robertson CAPTAINS COURAGEOUS, STATE & LEMP, QUEEN MARY 2, ETC. Jocelyn could not read the handwriting on my lengthy submission so she asked me to cut it down to the size of one of Will’s cartoons. Now I’m trying to win the New Norker prize for the most words and the least interesting post. My object was to encompass my story with the last movie I saw from 1937, Captains Courageous: as you stare from the 7th deck of the Queen Mary at the 20 ft. swells, all bluish-grey-green and foam you wonder how long Harvey (Freddy Bartholomew) could last in the water until the Portugese cod fisherman (Spencer Tracy) retrieved him from the N. Atlantic. People sure wonder why the Queen Mary? At $100 each for the greatest food, wine and luxury experience once you’ve done it, you’ll try never to fly or back from Europe. Lesie has given you the low down on food, etc. but I’ll try and tell you how it compares with George Dahlinger’s 59th birthday at State & Lemp in Boise this past fall. For 4 people the bill was just about the same for
1 on the Queen Mary for 7 days. Maybe not a complete comparison but on the Mary if they said steak, lobster, haddock, frog legs or slugs, you didn’t question what you were getting, visually and taste. At State & Lemp, Lobster was indecipherable from peas, dishes were lined up in pretty parallel lines but 3 or 4 fork bits were followed by another pretty presentation. Alas, one big whiff and voila another complicated dish with eye appeal but no lip or mouth pleasure. Finally, recognizing a very good year at Hells Canyon thanks to mom and three daughters. Pete ran Jen off again but we now have a Doctor in the family. I loved the defense in Logan and I fooled the professors or were they like me, laughing at the Catholics! We miss Mimi, Grace, Pete, Eva, and Bopo, they all would fall in love with our new Mijanou and Cruz. And alas, our sympathies go with Jocelyn on our loss of an old but young friend, Jann Marson. In closing, best for this year, it looks like we’ll all be in Juneau for Christmas 2017, or at least halibut season. One proud Dad, ~ Stephen C. Robertson
GOODBYE, GOOD DOG Ask anyone that knew him and they will relate a tale of his life, The Sheriff was a character and he made an impression, he had friends and experiences all his own; The Sheriff was MY dog, but he was HIS own dog, too. From the time he got run over by a mini-van at 15 and then, in an unrelated episode, had 10 of his teeth removed, I thought perhaps my constant companion, my dear friend, the sprightly mini-schnau, had a limited time left on the planet. But, as I often did, I underestimated his cheerful will, resilience and indomitable spirit. The Sheriff had many more adventures planned, some with me and some without, years of adventures, in fact, to go. And when he reached 18, 19, 20 and was still spry and diligent and curious, part of me thought maybe he’d outlive us all. The Sheriff didn’t slow down until this, the summer of his 21st birthday, a record-breaking lifetime. In his later years he was a gentleman, thoughtful and kind, and I think he knew that I would suffer too greatly to watch him die so he waited until I went out of town and he went into hospice with Hadley and Mom. He died peacefully in his sleep and was buried on the berm where many of our faithful pets lie. I miss him everyday, and might for the next 20 years, but mostly I feel lucky. The Sheriff was a once-in-a-lifetime pet and he shared that lifetime with me. ~ Jocelyn Robertson