Our USA ®
magazine
Charming Stories & Photos Created by remarkable Americans just like you! Spotlighting “Made in America” page 32
Our Country - Our People - Our Stories ourusamagazine.com
our country, our people, our stories
Fall 2012
FEATURES
6 Reasons to
16 You Are In
24 JFK’s White
Unsure, scared, lonely? Read these words of inspiration, motivation and celebration.
Next year will mark the 50th anniversary of JFK’s death, but the memory still lingers in the hearts of many Americans.
The Best of Times
Serve
This group believes in the inherent generosity of others and their aim is to ignite that spirit of service.
20 Letting Go Watching them leave the nest is difficult for any nurturing parent, but should you encourage it?
10 Maryknoll
Serves the World’s Poor for 100 years
A rare look at the magnificent seminary in Ossining, NY
22 One Word They say one picture is worth a thousand words. See what these images speak to you.
14 Share Your Stuff
“When we share, we walk more lightly on the earth and often improve our quality of life.”
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.
Picket Fence
25 A Mother’s Worth
“A son went to war today. Packed his bags without delay. His mother prayed to the Lord. Bring him home she implored.”
36 Women
Making A Difference
Entrepreneurial women taking a chance, and following their passion.
DEPARTMENTS 4 Photographers 5 Contributors 9 19 Point of View Morning Mountain Reflection
29 Artistic Homage Being Conservative
34 Profile Hanky Panky
42 Photo Montage “A person’s a person
Dinner
There is a trend afoot that is helping us to relearn ancient skills and reclaim our roots, literally and figuratively.
32 We Just
Can’t Live Without It
no matter how small.”
38 American
Sign Museum A nostalgic look at America’s past.
Teenage Life Forms
40 My Little
Ipecac Girl
For this medic, answering a 911 call always gets the adrenalin rushing, but when it concerns a child he goes into overdrive.
“Made in USA” – Do these three words still offer the hope and promise of the American dream?
45 I’m Just Sayin’
46 The
Sandman
“Now,” she thought. “I look like everyone else. Now I’m normal.”
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26 A Harvest
50 Photo Montage America the Beautiful
52 My Hometown
First Falls
54 Back In The Day 56 Etsy Artisans Our USA Magazine
“W
hen you carry out acts of kindness you get a wonderful feeling inside. It is as though something inside your body responds and says, yes, this is how I ought to feel.”~Rabbi H. Kushner This issue is dedicated to all those wonderful serving, sharing, caring individuals and organizations that reach out beyond themselves and embrace all humanity. Starting with the Maryknolls, the American Catholic organization, which celebrates 100 years of serving those less fortunate around the world. They foster self-worth and dignity among marginalized peoples everywhere. There is also the group Service Space which believes in the inherent generosity of others (as do we) and aim to ignite that spirit of service. Then there is the wonderful group of people at Shareable.net who are proponents of the belief that “sharing builds our ties with other people and strengthens our society and culture.” We are very proud of our collaboration with groups like The Ark of Taste Program, Slow Food USA and Madaras Design Garden Studio to help spread awareness about celebrating our country’s diverse biological, cultural and culinary heritage. And last but not least, we are extemely proud of our association with the Made in America Movement, and all the wonderful people and organizations that we have become associated with in the process: Made in America Movement, Made in USA Certified, American Made Matters, How Americans Can Buy American, American Made Heroes, Internet Radio America, Buy American, Made in USA Challenge, I Make America, and so many more! We hope you enjoy this issue and thank you for being part of our community!
Enjoy ~ Cher
Our USA Magazine
Cover Photo - Amber Wallace fotofocusbyasw.blogspot.com Back Cover Photo MJ Valentino mjvalentino.com
Cher Valentino, Editor
Center Spread - Aurora Borealis Ellen Powell watersquaw.smugmug.com
CJ, Production Manager
P. 6 Terry Finch Dancing Diamonds http://on.fb.me/SrfmqD
Wendy Junker, Marketing Director Debra Jennings, Text Editing Bubba, Director of Goodwill
P. 10 Desiree Turner 12 Maryknoll Seminary 13 Maryknoll Seminary P. 14 Amber Wallace 43 fotofocusbyasw.blogspot.com P. 17 Robert Oswald 19 http://on.fb.me/JBpk76 P. 20 Melody Kristensen Fly Away ariaimagesphotography.com P. 26 Douglas Madaras 27 Misty Farm 28 Misty Farm MadarasDesign.com P. 34 Brian Goldman Hanky Panky GoldmanPictures.com P. 38 Scott Beseler 39 Denny Gibson American Sign Museum signmuseum.org P. 42 Maryellen Godinez multipleblessingsphotography.com P. 50 Elise Marie Fallon Bright P. 51 Trevor Gass Nature trevgstudios.com P. 59 Jack Wagner http://jackwagner.us
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Fall ‘12 Copyright © 2012
All rights reserved. Reproduction in any manner, in whole or part is prohibited.
Meet Some of Our Contributors Amber Wallace Amber S. Wallace, a photographer in the foothills of North Carolina, thoroughly enjoys all of the creative aspects that are involved in the art of photography. Amber’s personal ambition in a photo is to show her unique art style through a combination of location, fashion, props, models, mood and light. You can follow her new blog at fotofocusbyasw.blogspot.com or find her on Facebook: Amber S. Wallace Photography.
Tama J. Kieves Tama Kieves is the best selling author of “This Time I Dance! Creating the Work You Love!” and “Inspired & Unstoppable: Wildly Succeeding in Your Life’s Work!” As a sought after speaker and career coach, she has helped thousands worldwide to discover, launch and live the work and life of their dreams. Visit her at TamaKieves.com and sign up for her free “Inspired Success Launch You Kit” and free mojo-messages. And join her Facebook tribe!
Angela Madaras I am happily married to partner-artist Douglas Madaras, while healing my way through life with the help of loved ones, meditation, playing in the lake, organic gardening, cooking, and a strong belief in living life with joy and gratitude. I am incredibly blessed to be alive, and love sharing my journey with others through writing, growing food for our CSA family, and sharing recipes. You can find me at angelasguide.com
Logan Beam Logan Beam is the Director of Marketing and Communications at the All American Clothing Co. A recent graduate of Wittenberg University, Logan is passionate about starting a career that allows him to make a difference in the creation of U.S. jobs with the All American Clothing Co. As a writer his work has been featured on CBS Moneywatch, The Boston Globe, Wall Street Journal, and many other publications. allamericanclothing.com
Michael Cyra Michael Cyra is a writer, scrimshaw artist and educator with over 20 years experience working in Emergency Medicine and Surgery. Michael lives in Seattle, Washington with Tansy, his high school sweetheart and the love of his life for more than 30 years.He has two web sites. One featuring his artwork, home.earthlink.net/~michaelc42/cyraart, and the other featuring his writing and humorous stories, home.earthlink.net/~medicalhumor.
Roger Simmermaker Roger Simmermaker is the author of How Americans Can Buy American: The Power of Consumer Patriotism and writes “Buy American Mention of the Week” articles for his website howtobuy american.com and WorldNetDaily.com. Roger has a degree in Electronics Engineering Technology and is the vice president of his local Machinists Union (IAM&AW). He has been a frequent guest on Fox News, CNN and MSNBC. Our USA Magazine
Reasons to Serve By Nipun Mehta
Dancing Diamonds Photem by Terry Finch
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A
t the height of the dot-com boom in 1999, a few tech-savvy friends and I walked into a homeless shelter to give without any strings attached. Our motivation? We just wanted to serve, and quickly discovered that such a practice of selfless giving is something that we all have access to, no matter who we are or what we do. Our trip to the homeless shelter led to us building a website for them at no charge. That experiment in giving blossomed into an organization called ServiceSpace, which went on to develop and gift websites to thousands of small nonprofits. But the ripples didn’t stop there. ServiceSpace has now evolved into a remarkable incubator for dozens of projects, including an online good news portal, “Smile Cards” that spread kindness, and a gift-economy restaurant in Berkeley and rickshaw in India—all touching millions of people. While the external impact of these projects is tremendous, what is most striking is the fact that ServiceSpace doesn’t fundraise, has no staff, and remains 100 percent volunteerrun. Everyone involved is driven simply by the volition to grow in service. In a world dominated by financial incentives that appeal to a consumption mindset, ServiceSpace is a counterculture invitation to engage in small acts of generosity, continually shifting towards a mindset of inspired contribution. It’s a beautiful fact that in practicing kindness, we can’t help but deepen our understanding of how inner and outer change are fundamentally intertwined. Here are five reasons to serve that we’ve discovered through our own journey.
1. Serve to discover abundance: the radical shift from “me” to “we.” When you serve, you discover that often the most important things you have to offer are not things at all. You start to uncover the full range of resources at your disposal—your time, presence, attention—and recognize that the ability to give stems from a state of mind and heart, a place much deeper than the material. Inspired by the possibilities this opens up in every moment, you begin to discover humble opportunities to serve—everywhere. This process begins a shift from a me-orientation to a we-orientation. You start to look at people and situations with an eye for what you can offer them, and not vice versa. You break the tiresome tyranny of questions like “What’s in it for me?” The mindset shifts from consumption to contribution. Paradoxically, when serving in this way, you are no longer operating from a space of scarcity. Your cup fills and overflows. 2. Serve to express gratitude. When you acknowledge the fullness of your life, you can manifest a heart of service in any situation. In that sense, service doesn’t start when we have something to give— it blossoms naturally when we have nothing left to take. And that is a powerful place to be.
It’s not just what we do that matters, but the inner impetus behind our action that really counts.
Yes, external change is required for the world to progress, but when coupled with inner transformation, it can affect the world in a radically different way. “We can do no great things—only small things with great love,” maintained Mother Teresa, a woman who made a difference in the lives of millions. It’s a matter of what we focus on. In other words, it’s not just what we do that matters, but the inner impetus behind our action that really counts. We begin to play our part—first, by becoming conscious of the offerings we receive, then by feeling gratitude for them, and finally by continuing to pay forward our gifts with a heart of joy.
3. Serve to transform yourself. Any time we practice the smallest act of service—even if it’s only holding a door for somebody with a full heart that says, “May I be of use to this person”—that kind of giving changes the deeply embedded habit of self-centeredness. In that brief moment, we experience other-centeredness. That other-centeredness relaxes the patterns of the ego, a collection of unexamined, self-oriented tendencies that subtly influence our choices. This is why no true act of service, however small, can ever really be wasted. To serve unconditionally in this way takes practice and constant effort. But with time and sharpened awareness, we begin to brush against the potential for transformation that is embedded in every act of generosity. It’s a realization that when you give, you actually receive. You begin to internalize this, not at the intellectual level but by experience. Our USA Magazine
4. Serve to honor our profound interconnection. Over time, all of those small acts, those small moments, lead to a different state of being—a state in which service becomes increasingly effortless. And as this awareness grows, you inevitably start to perceive beyond individualistic patterns: Each small act of service is an unending ripple that synergizes with countless others. As Rachel Naomi Remen puts it, “When you help, you see life as weak. When you fix, you see life as broken. When you serve, you see life as whole.” With that understanding, we begin to play our part—first, by becoming conscious of the offerings we receive, then by feeling gratitude for them, and finally by continuing to pay forward our gifts with a heart of joy. Each of us has such gifts: skills, material resources, connections, presence—everything we consider ourselves privileged to have. And when we actually start to use our gifts as tools to facilitate giving, we deepen our understanding of relationships and start to sync up with this vast “inner-net.” 5. Serve to align with a natural unfolding. When we increasingly choose to remain in that space of service, we start to see new things. The needs of the current situation become clearer, we become instruments of a greater order and consequently our actions become more effortless. When a group of people perform this kind of service as a practice, it creates an ecosystem that holds a space, allowing value to emerge organically. All of this indirect value, the ripple effect, has space and time to add up, synergize with other ripples, and multiply into something completely unexpected. In humble fashion these ripples continue to seed unpredictable manifestations. Such an ecosystem can have its plans and strategies, but places more emphasis on emergent co-creation. So a lot of the ripples will remain unseen for years; some perhaps will be the basis for a seventh-generation philanthropy. It doesn’t matter, because they are unconditional gifts. What each of us can do, on a personal level, is make such small offerings of service that ultimately create the field for deeper change. The revolution starts with you and me. Nipun Mehta is the founder of Servicespace.org, an incubator of gift-economy projects that aims to shift our collective narrative towards greater generosity. This article is a result of a collaborative effort that included several ServiceSpace coordinators. Nipun was honored in the Winter 2012 issue of YES! Magazine as one of The YES! Breakthrough 15. Hevajra Mandala This is a huge sand mandala. Those fortunate few who view this image are said to be very blessed.
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More of Our Contributors Shelly Gail Morris Shelly Gail Morris is “everybody’s girlfriend.” A southern girl, Shelly was born in Atlanta, Georgia and now resides in good, old Nashville, Tennessee. She has been married for 26 years and has two boys and two dogs. She enjoys writing about strong women pursuing their dreams and following their hearts. Her new book, “Mae’s Open Arms,” is available now from Oak Tara Publishing. www.ShellyGailMorris.com.
Jack Wagner Photography has been Jack’s passion since the mid-1960s. After retiring from his executive role at IBM after 34 years, he launched his “Behind the Lens” photography business. He has been capturing the progress of the World Trade Center site since 9/11 with his images. Sharing his work with others is his greatest pleasure. In addition to photography, Jack is also an adjunct professor at NJIT in the School of Management. www.jackwagner.us
Samantha Perez Samantha Perez is a 2-year-old student living in Cape Coral, Fl. She attends Florida Gulf Coast University and is currently studying Theater with a minor in Education. She wrote the article Sandman for a class assignment. It is based on how she first met her best friend Sarah. Sarah and Samantha are friends to this day. www.little-dancing-princess.tumblr.com
Mark Barkawitz Mark Barkawitz has earned awards for his fiction, poetry, essays and screenwriting. His work has appeared in newspapers, magazines, literary journals, ‘zines and on dozens of websites. He has IMDb feature film credits as screenwriter, actor and associate producer. He has taught creative writing classes, coached a championship track team of student/athletes, and ran the 2001 L.A. Marathon. He lives with his wife and two children in Pasadena, CA . www.woofbooks.com
Larry W. Fish Larry was born and raised in the beautiful Pocono Mountains of northeastern Pennsylvania. In 2004 he moved to North Carolina with his wife, Lina. He enjoys writing short stories of his youth, politics, nature, and scary fictional stories. Follow Larry on his blog, “Writing by Fish” www.lwfish62.blogspot.com
Mike Virgintino Mike Virgintino is a marketing communications executive who has directed corporate, nonprofit and product branding initiatives that rely on public relations, public affairs, corporate social responsibility, community relations and related strategies. Mike also has provided communication services for historical sites and organizations, combining his communications skills with his interest in the Revolutionary War and Civil War. http://sites.google.com/site/michaelrvirgintino Our USA Magazine
Maryknoll Serves The World’s Poor For 100 Years By Mike Virgintino
Photos - Desiree Turner 10
Our USA Magazine
W
hen Father James Anthony Walsh founded the Catholic Foreign Mission Bureau during 1907, his aim was to awaken the role of mission within the United States Catholic Church. In many ways, cultivating mission as a responsibility among U.S. Catholics was a bold and innovative move, because during those early days of the last century the Catholic Church still looked at the United States, with its waves of immigration, as fertile territory for missioners from Europe.
With this approval, Father Walsh and Father Price traveled to Rome to present their vision of mission. They received the blessing of Pope Pius X on June 29, 1911 (the feast of Saints Peter and Paul) for the Catholic Foreign Mission Society of America that, over the years, has become more well-known as the Maryknoll Fathers and Brothers. For 100 years now, Maryknoll has followed Jesus in serving the poor and others in need around the world.
As the Boston-raised Walsh collected money to support foreign mission, he also began to develop his vision of a modernized version of mission for a mature U.S. Church that was eager to fulfill exciting and joyful missionary responsibilities around the world. Along with the Catholic Foreign Mission Bureau, Father Walsh founded The Field Afar magazine, a monthly publication sent to benefactors that explained the foreign mission work of the worldwide Catholic Church. Years later, this magazine would become the Maryknoll magazine that continues to be published today along with its bilingual counterpart Revista Maryknoll.
New York Roots
During 1910, at the 21st Eucharistic Conference in Montreal, Father Walsh shared his vision of U.S. Catholic mission with Father Thomas Frederick Price of Wilmington, North Carolina. Realizing a shared common call to mission, they collaborated on plans for a mission society within the U.S. Catholic Church. Soon after, the bishops of the United States formally sanctioned the pursuit of their vision to recruit, send and support U.S. missioners around the world.
Father James A. Walsh
The first home for the Maryknoll Society was established during 1912 in an old house located in Hawthorne, New York, about 15 miles north of Manhattan in the then semi-rural area of Westchester County. A class of six men had been accepted to enter the Maryknoll seminary during September 1912, but even before they arrived the house was deemed too small to accommodate them. Father Walsh and Father Price searched for a larger home in Westchester County and they soon signed a contract with a landowner to purchase a 53-acre property adjoining an estate owned by a wealthy industrialist. John D. Rockefeller, however, did not want the new Catholic society as a neighbor, so he sent an agent to raise the bid to acquire the land.
Father Thomas F. Price
In hindsight, this setback proved to be a blessing. Maryknoll sued and eventually received an $8,000 out-of-court settlement. The lessons learned from this first attempt to find a permanent home helped Maryknoll better manage the next
All B/W photos courtesy Maryknoll Mission Archives Our USA Magazine 11
opportunity – a 93-acre property in the Westchester County community of Ossining near the Hudson River. Maryknoll occupied this property for less than a decade when it realized that its members and seminarians had outgrown all the original farm buildings. A large facility was required, and construction began on the Seminary building that today dominates the grounds. The structure is considered to be the largest fieldstone building in the country. The immense and expensive project to build a 210,000 square-foot H-shaped building took almost three decades to complete. The task sometimes forged ahead, but it often stopped during the depression, World War II and the Korean War. Throughout the years, Maryknoll had to balance financing for its
overseas missioners and other building projects throughout the U.S. as it managed the ebb and flow of donations. The Society slogan became: “Go slowly on building, economize until it hurts, reduce the debt, and pray hard for more benefactors.” The Seminary Building was not completed until May 8, 1956 when Our Lady Queen of Apostles Chapel was blessed by Francis Cardinal Spellman. The tombs of Maryknoll’s co-founders were placed in the crypt below the altar. During the formative years, Maryknoll’s co-founders agreed that China was the land that would benefit most from U.S. missioners. On September 8, 1918, the first group of Marykollers left for Yeungkong. Father Price led three young priests to this first mission that was far
from attractive. The territory mostly was rural and English was of little use. Dispersed among a population of one million Chinese, 680 Catholics lived in small communities. The missioners faced long and harsh winters, typhoons during summer, a variety of vermin and disease, poor living conditions and, eventually, the Communist takeover.
The beginning of Maryknoll’s service to Latin America dates to 1938, when missions were established in Central America and South America. The first Maryknollers assigned south of the U.S. border were sent to Boliva. Another group soon departed for Peru. Then, additional Maryknoll missioners were assigned to Chile. Today, the Maryknoll
Color photos by Desiree Turner 12
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Fathers and Brothers serve in Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, Mexico and Peru. For more than 40 years at its Cochabamba, Bolivia, mission center, the Maryknoll Society has operated the Maryknoll Language Institute. Known for immersion in standard Spanish with clear pronunciation, the Maryknoll Language Institute assists people with linguistic and cultural preparation for intercultural service. Since 1965, more than 10,000 people, religious and non-religious preparing for mission around the world, have studied Spanish and the Andean languages.
Many additional remembrances were held at the U.S. home dioceses of Maryknoll missioners and at dioceses that partner with Maryknoll in mission to serve people in need at home and abroad. The year-long commemoration included a Mass of Thanksgiving at New York City’s Cathedral of Saint Patrick last October.
The Maryknoll Society’s entrance into Africa was delayed by World War II. Soon after the war, missioners were invited to work in the northern section of Tanganyika on the shores of Lake Victoria. Their vision in Africa today is the same as it was then – to preach the Good News of the Gospel by both word and action, and to establish the church where it did not yet exist. When European missioners left Africa, the Vatican asked Maryknoll to accept additional responsibility for the adjoining districts of Maswa and Shinyanga. Today, Maryknoll serves in Ethiopia, Kenya, Namibia, Sudan, South Sudan and Tanzania. The Future Of Mission During 2011, the Maryknoll Fathers and Brothers commemorated its centennial. The year began with a liturgy service at the chapel in New York that was completed more than 50 years ago. Commemorations throughout the year were celebrated in all the countries where Maryknoll currently serves in mission.
1918, Society’s 1st Departure
1922, Maryknoll Sisters in S. China
As Maryknoll closed its first century of mission and re-dedicated itself to another 100 years of mission, the Catholic Foreign Mission Society of America also unveiled a plan for mission for the future. The next century, as the world evolves, will engage a different version of a Maryknoll missioner who will follow a new path to mission. This path, to be explored by and for Maryknoll and the U.S. Church, will include a pastoral approach that will be embraced to continue to help the poor, the underserved and the underrepresented around the world.
Fr. Patrick Byrne leaves for Korea
Maryknollers at work in Philippines Our USA Magazine 13
Share Your Stuff
By Jeremy Adam Smith
Photo - Amber S. Wallace
S
haring stuff and services saves money, but the benefits go far beyond the financial.
When our goal is to own stuff, to amass square footage and cars and boats and electronic devices, our carbon footprint swells and we produce more junk. But when we share as much stuff as possible, we walk more lightly on the earth and often improve our quality of life. Sharing also builds our ties with other people and strengthens our society and culture. This in turn adds to the resilience of our communities in the face of economic calamity, natural disasters, and energy constraints. Historical and scientific evidence suggests that cooperation and sharing, not fortifying and hoarding, help people survive catastrophe. The first step to creating a more shareable life is to do an inventory and look at the ways you’re already sharing. Then ask yourself, how else can I share? Here are three ideas: 1. Share your ride. It’s easier than ever to share a car or bike—and thus reduce your carbon footprint. There are now almost 200 citywide bikesharing programs around the world. Most of them use GPS, internet, and mobile-phone technology to connect people with bikes. For example, each bicycle in Denver’s new B-Cycle program can track mileage, calories burned, and amount of carbon offset—so each user is able to monitor their own fitness and see their contributions to the city’s sustainability, according to the B-Cycle website (denver.bcycle.com).
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Still need a car for some trips? Instead of buying one, you can join a carsharing service. Between 2007 and 2009, membership in North American services like Zipcar and the nonprofit City Carshare rose by 117 percent—and is projected to hit 4.4 million within six years. Own a set of wheels? You can still share them. We’re seeing a proliferation of new peer-to-peer carsharing services like RelayRides, Spride Share, and WhipCar, which let you rent your car directly to strangers or share a single car among several friends. Let’s say, for example, that you’re visiting Cambridge, MA for a day and need a car for touring the city. You’d look at the RelayRides website, find the nearest participant who is renting out her car, check availability and reserve the time, and then go get your ride. There are also many new companies—such as Avego, Zebigo, and Carticipate—that connect carpoolers over the Internet. The environmental benefits of carsharing are enormous. Research by the consulting firm Frost & Sullivan estimates that, “on average, each shared vehicle replaced 15 personally owned vehicles in 2009 and carsharing members drove 31 percent less than when they owned a personal vehicle. These two factors translate into 482,170 fewer tons of CO2 emissions and less travel congestion in urban areas.” 2. Invest in the sock exchange. My wife walked into a laundromat seeking change for a dollar, and there she discovered the “sock exchange,” a board where customers pin single socks for anyone to take and match. Such gestures make city
living more fun, and they suggest another way to live, where resources (like socks!) are conserved and shared.
One person’s trash is really another person’s treasure! There are lots of ways to share your old duds or get your hands on someone else’s recycled fashions. In addition to conventional routes— buying from or donating to Goodwill—you can swap clothes online at sites like thredUP and Freecycle. At thredUP, for example, participants list what clothes they want to share on the company’s site and exchange items through the mail. Clothing-swap parties are easy to organize and are becoming popular throughout the country—round up your old clothes, invite your friends over, and swap apparel. In New York, a group called Score! organizes mega-clothing exchanges and parties across the city. They bring DJs, artists, and fashion photographers to take pictures of attendees in their “scored” outfits. 3. Know how to do something? Trade it. Are you an expert on homebrews, bicycle repair, or mending clothes? Teach your skills to somebody else and learn something from them in the process. Brooklyn Skillshare in New York organizes meet-ups where people share their personal expertise.
“Everyone really has something to teach and something to learn,” writes Meg Wachter on Shareable. net. “The seeds for the Brooklyn Skillshare began in the spring of of 2009 when I attended a similar event in Boston and was inspired by the weekend-long workshops offered on a regular basis, free of charge.” Another Brooklyn-based project, the Fixers’ Collective, brings neighbors together once a week to help each other fix broken goods that would ordinarily get thrown away. And as long as you’re sharing skills, why not also share stuff on a community-wide basis? Share Tompkins, a volunteer-run group based in Ithaca, NY organizes monthly Community Swap Meets. “People give away and barter everything from homemade apple butter and original art to music lessons and massage,” writes Shira Golding on Shareable.net. Beyond the tangible activities, writes Golding, “We feel we are contributing to the creation of a social fabric rich in giving and sharing.” It’s such a simple, fun thing, and yet through neighborhood-level activities like skill shares and swap meets, I think we can glimpse another, even more shareable society.
Jeremy Adam Smith wrote this article for A Resilient Community, the Fall 2010 issue of YES! Magazine. Jeremy is the editor of Shareable.net, author of “The Daddy Shift,” and co-editor of two new science anthologies, “Are We Born Racist?” and “The Compassionate Instinct.” USA
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I’
m growing/making changes in my business and life. “Reinvention” is a lovely term. It sounds like I know what I’m doing. Like some Lexus engineer in a white lab coat, retooling designs based on crash tests, forecasts, and a genius’ scratch pads. All I’ve got is scratch pads. I need to take actions, but there are many choices and they mean so much. I feel like a contestant on a game show, where it’s all on the line. Choose the wrong thing and you’re buzzed off the show, kicked from the candy store, in front of millions of people who criticize you. Damn, I want to wake up in the palace already, where life is handled and champagne is served at 4:00 p.m. upon a golden tray. Some days, I don’t want to be a hero. I want a butler. I don’t want to find my secret strength. I want to watch re-runs of “Gray’s Anatomy.” I know you know what I’m talking about. It’s not always easy to be really alive, knowing something bigger calls you, knowing you can’t stay where you are, and knowing you don’t always feel up to the assignment of “being great.” And just so you know, I already have amazing success at doing work I love. But the quest is the quest. It’s the journey to continually realize more of who you are, fly higher, burn brighter, shed excuses. One day, seeing as the “Gray’s Anatomy” life plan was out, I wrote a letter to the frightened part of myself. I’m going to share it with you. I want to speak to all the frightened parts of all the heroes at large, some hiding under the covers, others feverishly searching the Internet for what they think will answer them. 16
Our USA Magazine
I want to help you put things in perspective. Help you run another mile. Take another breath. And not just survive – rejoice. “Dear One, I know you just want to get through this time. But I want you to woo this time. Don’t rush. Take your time, because nothing that is yours, is a matter of harried timing. Everything occurs in its own right hour and you simply can’t breach the laws of Reality. I am proud of you. You will make all the right decisions for you. And you will make new ones on the spot with new information. You will have a thousand chances. Everything is a chance. Step out of linear time into inspired time. Let padlocks burst off ancient doors, dried rivers flow again and flood, payments and contracts come in ways you can’t imagine – and know that anything is possible for you. Discover a path you can’t imagine by following your desire. This is not a life of calculation, but one of revelation. The voice that tells you that you only have one chance to get this right is a voice that only has one gnarly, decaying brain cell in its head. It only has one agenda, the agenda to make you wrong. Really, do you think this voice is “protecting” you by shaming and threatening you? Any advice that torments or limits you is not advice. It’s damnation.
I am here to tell you that you are
made of astonishment. You are finding your way, even when you are losing it. You will prevail. You will always end up where you belong. It’s in your soul’s DNA and the programming of every particle of
life dust. It’s not about the facts of your situation. It’s about the blossoming. You are learning to tune in to the signal that will take you all the way. You are learning to listen to nothing in this life, but that which strengthens you. So will you – right now – thank yourself for everything, everything, everything, and I mean everything, past, present, and to come, no matter what? Now that’s a viable prayer. It’s all that matters in the end. It’s what the journey’s all about. Besides, there are a thousand outcomes that will help you thrive. There is no outcome that will not bless you. You bring the light with you. You’re the homecoming queen thinking she needs to win the election. You’ve already won. You’re already chosen. It’s already done. The whole world is simply waiting for you to choose yourself. It will wait forever with baited breath. You are that valuable and necessary. We all are. No matter where you find yourself, you can always choose again. As long as you have breath, you have choice and chances. There is no maze, there is only this moment. There is no cheese in the distance. The cheese is here. It’s everywhere. It’s only complex when you do not breathe in self-appreciation and self-forgiveness. You’re not meant to be in a maze. You are meant to be in amazement. Do take in the privilege of being alive, having choices, drama and desires. There are those who are dying right now that would give anything to test their metals once again, explore their capacities, reach for the highest within them, be engaged in the fray of living. They would give anything to be where you are. There are those who
You Are in the Best of Times
By Tama J. Kieves
Photo - Robert Oswald Our USA Magazine 17
are aching to have the chance you have right now—the chance to encourage themselves and try new things and keep going no matter what, until the light runs out. There are those who are fondly looking back to times in their lives, when they stood where you stand right now. The times you are trying to run from, some say were the best in all their lives.
open, shaken, touched, moved, for something you wanted, something you believed in, something you trusted in the deepest part of your being. You won’t look back and wish you’d tucked your tail in and given up. You won’t wish you’d sat it out and watched the others on television live amazing lives. You wanted to get wet. You wanted to know. You did know.
Acknowledge your courage. It is not easy to be born strong and to crave higher ground. You have an adventurer in you. You are made of quester fabric. You knew there were wonders and you came with a satchel. You would never be happy at the end of your days, having played it airtight and guarded, never knowing where your adventure could have gone. Especially since you do know where the power of love is meant to take you.
Yes, dear one, it’s good to be afraid. It’s important that you’re living a life that matters.”
You know this world is not quite what it seems, not stable and made of mortar and brick, but really constructed of ideas and thoughts and preferences, nuances and choices. You know it’s made of magic. You want to realize the power of your thoughts. You know you didn’t come here just to buy a nice car. You came to have a ride. Of course you’re frightened–but it’s because you’re in the game. Your blood pumps and your breath quickens. You’ll bleed if the knife cuts and that’s a good thing. It means you haven’t given up. You’re still invested. You didn’t come into this lifetime to avoid desire and risk and get to the finish line without a smudge, a scar, or a difference in your point of view. You want to have dared. You want to have put everything into it. You want to have been broken 18
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That’s what I wrote. That’s what I know. That’s what I’m holding for myself–and all the awakening hearts who are gathering in this revolution–of evolution. We are many, by the way. Now I’ll leave you with what Edward Abbey wrote in The Benediction: “May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds. May your rivers flow without end, meandering through pastoral valleys tinkling with bells, past temples and castles and poets’ towers into a dark primeval forest where tigers belch and monkeys howl, through miasmal and mysterious swamps and down into a desert of red rock, blue mesas, domes and pinnacles and grottos of endless stone, and down again into a deep vast ancient unknown chasm where bars of sunlight blaze on profiled cliffs, where deer walk across the white sand beaches, where storms come and go as lightning clangs upon the high crags, where something strange and more beautiful and more full of wonder than your deepest dreams waits for you beyond the next turning of the canyon walls.”
Tama Kieves is the best selling author of “This Time I Dance! Creating the Work You Love!” and “Inspired & Unstoppable: Wildly Succeeding in Your Life’s Work!”. As a sought after speaker and career coach she has helped thousands worldwide to discover, launch, and live the work and life of their dreams. Visit her at www. Tama Kieves.com and sign up for her free Inspired Success Launch You Kit and free mojo-messages. And join her Facebook tribe!
morning mountain reflections
H
By Kate Martin
ow I wish you could see our mountain this morning! The sun is rising, casting hues of pink, in a sky scattered with clouds. It is almost a snow day. You know the one I mean. It just looks like snow! There is a brisk feeling in the air. One can almost taste or smell the snow as it approaches. It is almost time for hot chocolate for me, and coffee for my spouse. The whipped cream will swirl in the cup, as the steam escapes. The house is very quiet, except for the oof-beat snores of the dog beside me, and the quiet breathing of my spouse. What a time of joy! As I write, the sky has changed into yellows and purples. Sunrise is almost complete. The landscape now is almost austere, but I love its simplicity. Each tree casts a shadow, and each fleck of sunrise, a hope for tomorrow. Some people think this time of year is bleak, but I love it! It is as though all the trees and birds have stories to tell. If I listen, I can hear what they have to say. As it becomes daylight, the clouds part, and float into oblivion. It is now morning and I have work to do. As my morning begins, there are many people in my thoughts. I know I will enjoy each part of this day. As I do, I will wish the people in my thoughts could be here. Welcome to my mountain morning!
Photo - Robert Oswald Our USA Magazine 19
Letting Go I
By Judy Buczek
look over my shoulder every few minutes to see how my five passengers are handling their first ride in an animal carrier in the back of my pickup truck. They have webbed feet which are firmly planted so they can constantly adjust to the turns and stops of the truck. The air flows smoothly across their sleek dappled gray and white feathers, occasionally ruffling the feathers of their necks as they turn to look at each other, and toward me. They look like commuters on a train with not a trace of anxiety, only curiosity about where they are going, and a studied determination to stay on their feet. One is an adult seagull who was injured and nursed back to health at the Sarvey Wildlife Center in Washington and is now ready to try it again. The other four are this year’s baby seagulls, now called “juveniles,” ready to discover the world for the first time. Although I am finishing my third year of volunteer work at Sarvey, these are the first baby seagulls I had ever seen, and despite what anyone might think about adult seagulls, these babies were full of personality and adorable. Releasing orphaned animals and birds into the wild is tricky because, although we try to take over the role of their parents, there is so much we cannot teach them. We can’t give them too much attention because we don’t want to risk their imprinting on humans. Yet they cannot be raised in total isolation either. I Will Fly Away Photo by Melody Kristensen 20
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We get better every year at coming up with the correct baby formulas for each species, and creating spaces where they can try out wings or climbing skills, and to some extent learn what their food in the wild will look like, but they will never be as prepared as their parents could make them. I worry about this stuff every year, so much so that I haven’t been to many “releases” because I have been afraid to let go of all these little guys knowing they aren’t as ready as they could be. But today I am going to actually do it and see for myself what happens. I transport the carrier down to the edge of the cliff at my home on Camano Island. When I open the door, all five hop out immediately. The adult, apparently anxious to separate himself from the novices, strikes out on his own, but on foot, down the trail. I watch him hop up on a mound of dirt to survey his new home. He cocks his head listening to the sounds of other gulls, and when he’s ready, he is airborne and gone from sight in just seconds. The four juveniles are milling about, huddling together and obviously overwhelmed at the amount of open space. One of them catches a worm, to my amazement, and I decide to stop worrying about whether they will find things to eat. Unsure of what to do next, I try walking toward them with my arms out forcing them closer to the edge. It doesn’t seem like a nice thing to do, but it’s about three o’clock in the afternoon and they have a lot of things to get used to before the sun goes down. Two of them take off immediately and fly out over the bay. They
instantly get the idea, and within a few minutes they have blended in with the flocks of gulls. A third flies off the edge into a tree, and crashes down a few branches until he recovers and flies off.
Be like the bird who, pausing in her flight awhile on boughs too slight, feels them give way beneath her, and yet sings, knowing she hath wings. ~Victor Hugo
When I turn around to find the last one, he’s gone—and I didn’t see where he went. This won’t do. What if I didn’t see him crash and he’s hurt? I never expected that I would lose one! What will I tell Kaye? I don’t see him anywhere, so I take the trail to the marsh. Climbing over a big log, I see him (or her) sitting in the marsh grass. I am so relieved! But he hasn’t gotten a handle on this flying thing and that won’t do either. His real mother could take her time with this, but I’ve only got a few hours. I try walking toward him, and he does a series of hop-flights getting about five feet further out each time. Then he realizes that he knows how to stay up! He gains some altitude, but, in contrast to his friends, he seems to want to stay in sight of me in case this new skill doesn’t work out. He’s up pretty high now and making long circling flights with me as the center, looking down at me every once in a while to see if I’m still there. There isn’t any place in the world I would rather be right now! I am laughing and cheering him on. Then I notice that the absence of space at the Wildlife Center for long distance flying, gliding, and soaring is starting to show up. He’s getting tired and panting a little.
But before I can panic, I see the look on his face at the precise moment when he discovers that if he just leaves his wings straight out, he can rest and not fall out of the sky! He has just learned how to glide and I saw it all. I am so proud. He cuts one circle a little close and almost hits a tree limb. After this near miss he decides to come down and do his first long approach landing. He’s wobbly and uncertain where his feet should be to hit the marsh grass just right, but he does it perfectly! We both sit down with relief and look at each other with complete satisfaction. What a wonderful afternoon this has been. A few minutes later when he is rested he tries the whole thing again, improving with each circle around me. When he comes down the next time, he lands on a log about twenty feet away, and I know he is as ready as he can be with only human help. I send the Universe a little message to take very good care of all five of them, but especially this little one.
Sarvey Wildlife Care Center is located in Arlington, Washington part of Snohomish County. It is a nonprofit organization. Their primary purpose is to help our wildlife population continue, and assure immediate medical attention, food, and shelter for injured and orphaned wildlife. It is just as comforting to the person who finds an animal in distress as it is to the animal. Having to leave an animal to die in pain and fear is incredibly disturbing; having someone to turn to for help is a welcome relief. sarveywildlife.org Our USA Magazine 21
One Word
HISTORY SECURITY
By Jack Wagner
In 2012, with the memory of the London Summer Olympics fresh in our minds, and the anticipation of the presidential election looming in November, “flag waving” continues to be very much in the media. It is always great to see the flag of the United States being flown, but we must remember that it is not just a once in every four year event. It is an ongoing process in towns across America, in the battlefields of Afghanistan, in local picnics and parades, in our schools, and in all parts of our lives. Many words will be used during the presidential campaign to describe patriotism and America, but very often fewer words can be more expressive. Images very often speak louder than words, and the following pictures have been put together to demonstrate what the flag and our country means to us. I am confident that you will agree “One Word” can be the right approach to describing these pictures and what they represent to all Americans. Let the pictures speak for themselves because sometimes less is just more.
USA
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R E S P E C T H O N O R
CELEBRATION
F O R E V E R
STEADFAST
FREEDOM
FAMILY
F U N
THANKS
FUTURE Our USA Magazine 23
M
The White Picket Fence
y brother has given me hundreds of slides that I find myself going through one at a time. Each one holds a memory–some of places long ago visited, some of people long gone from my life–but each slide tells a story. I came across a few from the grave of President Kennedy taken a week after he was buried. The slides show that white picket fence which surrounded his grave, the flowers, the hats from all the armed services, the evergreen boughs that covered the grave, and the eternal flame that was burning so brightly. I closed my eyes and remembered those days that have been etched in the memory of all who lived through it. I remember exactly where I was when the word came that President Kennedy had been shot. I was in my 6th grade English class – Mr. Faust’s English class to be exact. I remember that he cried when he heard the news, and for some reason I didn’t find that disconcerting; it sort of made him human to me. The school sent us home early, and I remember sitting in front of a small black and white television screen for the next three days with my mother, just watching the black and white images on the screen and seeing my mother cry–one of the few times in my life I would witness this show of emotion. 24
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By Barbara Hamp-Weicksel
We watched everything that the television stations of 1963 had to offer. We didn’t miss a moment. When they went off the air, we went to bed, when they came on in the morning, mother woke me so I could see this part of American history.
Mother got it in her head that she wanted my father to drive us to Washington DC so we could walk past the casket as it lay in the rotunda of the Capital. My father didn’t seem to share her enthusiasm for such an outing, and kept finding reasons not to go. Finally, after an entire day of mother insisting we go and my father insisting we not, he caved and we started to dress for the drive and the standing in line. As mother was packing sandwiches, they announced on the television that they were not allowing anyone else to get in line to view the casket. As you can imagine – mother was not pleased and my father acted like he was also not pleased, but we all knew he was happy he didn’t have to make that drive in the middle of the night!
The deal he made with mother was that he would drive us down to Arlington National Cemetery the following weekend so we could walk past the grave. He kept his word, and I remember it like it was yesterday. I was only 11, but some things, some places, some emotions never leave you. If I’m still enough and quiet enough while looking at these slides, I can still hear the soft sounds of women weeping, and I can see grown men wiping their eyes, and servicemen standing at attention saluting the grave of their fallen comrade and President. I can hear the sounds of people softly walking on the wooden walkway that had been built so the public could walk by, and I can hear the snow crunch as they walk over it. More than anything, I remember how quiet it was. Hundreds of people, dressed in their Sunday best, paying their respects to their fallen President. It was history, and I’m so thrilled to have been a part of it. As sad as it was, I’m so honored to have seen that white picket fence and flowers and evergreen boughs and armed services hats, and that ever burning flame. My mother, God love her, insisted.
American Son By T.M. Battles
A son went to war today, Packed his bags without delay. His mother prayed to the Lord, Bring him home she implored. She knew before the call ever came, That her life wouldn’t be the same. The truth was she would miss his voice, She knew he made his choice. His smile would never fade from her mind, Because of this she wished she were blind. Her son watched while she cursed her life, Watched as she formed the words to tell his wife. He knew he had to send a message some way, So he came to her in a dream that day. He wrote a letter in the sky, It said mama don’t cry. I served my time in Hell, And this is my farewell. I belong to a kingdom I now call home, But don’t ever think you’re alone. Know we are never far apart, All you have to do is look within your heart. Just look up high, You’ll find your Ranger in the sky. I am lucky to have called you mother, Please give my love to my brother. Together I stood with an Army of one, And I am proud to have died an American son.
I
A Mother’s Worth By Tonya Battles
t’s hard to tell someone else’s story because the truth is you really can’t. Unless you magically trade places with them and live their life, their memories, their joy and their pain, the story you tell will never do their story justice. For the sake of this article, I will tell my side of the story and do my best to share how I felt and what I think this particular Gold Star mother must be feeling on a daily basis. I’ll start by saying this mother is also my cousin. Her name is Wendy. Her son was my second cousin. We knew him as Rob, but others knew him as Sgt. Robert D. Sanchez. No matter what name he went by he was always the same carefree individual we all loved, and whose love touched more lives than we can even begin to imagine. Rob was killed in action on October 1, 2009. He was struck by a road-side bomb. I didn’t get the call from my parents bearing this news until almost a week later. How and when Wendy received notice is a memory she alone holds, and I don’t know if anyone has ever been brave enough to ask her all the details. I know I wasn’t. The weeks leading up to the funeral were a blur. I had vivid dreams of conversations with Rob telling me he was OK, and that he was safe. I would awaken in the middle of the night with tears in my eyes. I imagine for Wendy there was no sleep and nothing but tears all the time. Even now she may lie awake thinking of Robert, when sleep won‘t come but tears are abundant.
Wendy is a Gold Star Mother to be proud of. Wendy sat composed as the 21-gun salute echoed throughout the cemetery. She continued to sit that way even as they folded up the flag and placed it in her hands. The only sign of her inner turmoil were the tears hanging from her lashes and the pain and heartache etched upon her face. After the funeral, quietly and privately, Wendy requested to view her son’s remains. I can’t imagine what it would be like to stare down at a face that used to bring you such joy and laughter and know that you will never hear that laughter or see that smile again. Wendy is without question one of the bravest and strongest women that not only do I have the honor of knowing, but also the privilege of being related to.
Our family doesn’t mourn Robert’s death but instead we choose to celebrate his life. We share his memories and keep him alive in our hearts this way. Robert was a lot of things...a son... a grandson... a brother... a nephew... a cousin.. a friend... but most importantly he was a U.S. Army Ranger and our hero. And Wendy, his mom and my cousin, was his hero. She was his mother, and a woman I admire for her strength and endurance. A woman who continues to deal with her loss on a daily basis and still face the world head on. She is the epitome of a Gold Star Mother, and I know Robert is proud that she was his mother, a mother worth her gold. USA Our USA Magazine 25
P
A Harvest Dinner
reserving farms, food and heritage seems to be the buzz lately. In addition to Slow Food USA, many other organizations have been around for years educating people on heritage breed animals, heirloom variety plants, and traditional foods prepared as they did in the old world. Food preservation techniques have become more popular as well, with canning parties and community kitchens, while preservation courses and chicken coop construction classes are just a sampling of what is happening throughout many communities in the US and abroad. Organic gardening workshops have increased as has “Do It Yourself� sales in most hardware stores and farmer supply 26
Our USA Magazine
By Angela Madaras
stores. Tractor supply stores now carries heritage breed chickens in partnership with American Heritage Livestock Breeds Conservancy.
Even cookbooks, food TV shows, food blogs and books on all things food have grown in popularity through online retail stores and at the local library. I find a longer waiting list for books in these areas. The good news is that this trend is helping an entire nation retool its sheds, relearn ancient skills and reclaim our roots. It is helping urban areas by supporting urban gardens, which feed school kids and people in under-served urban neighborhoods for whom fresh produce used to be a distant dream. Employment and hands-on training for volunteers offer a new economy driven by skilled growers, chefs, artisans, trades, etc. The value is at the core of what it means to be a steward of the earth.
Miraculous things happen when people are taught how to raise their own food, store it properly for winter, prepare it in healthy and tasty ways, save seeds, and pass it along for others to enjoy. There are many benefits found in raising and preserving one’s food: more exercise, time spent outside, money spent wisely and better health. Fewer trips to the doctor and pharmacy mean lower medical costs. One could also make a case for less fast food bucks spent and less fuel used to ship in food from other countries. This all makes for a healthier nation in the long run. Additionally, we find that when children are fed wholesome meals, their test scores go up and they stand a better chance of succeeding academically, therefore making a higher salary as an adult. Economics and agriculture go hand in hand. As Wendell Berry once stated, “Eating is an agricultural act.” It is also an economic one. All of this popularity in all things food has spurred on many movements: support local food, farm to table, farm to school, and sustainable agriculture. Even prime time and day- time TV is turning to cooking and DIY programs, like “The Chew” and “Hell’s Kitchen” thus cashing in on the movement.
One phenomenon that has grown out of these movements is the “Dinner on the Farm–In the Barn” concept happening all over the countryside. “Outstanding in the Field” is a group of trained chefs/ cooks/foodies who drive around the country in a portable kitchen bus. They arrange dinners with farmers and chefs at each stop, and invite people to join–for a hefty ticket price–in a farm fresh and locally sourced meal prepared by a group of cooks who understand the importance of gathering together in sup-
port of the farm-to-table movement. Tickets sell out online months before the actual meal. These meals are similar to traditional “harvest celebrations,” but ironic considering the transport costs of shuttling chefs around in a gas guzzling bus. But they get bonus points for bringing attention back to the farmers who grow the food, their fields, and the structures that hold the bounty and house the livestock. Harvest dinners have been going on since the first barn was raised.
During the end of the growing season, people gather in celebration on farms in rural communities throughout the countryside. Think of going to a cider mill for cider and doughnuts or taking a hay ride through a pumpkin patch. Those of you raised on a farm remember getting out of school to harvest the fields with the whole family and community. Farmers raised barns together where they broke bread after a long day gathering feed and food to dry, save, eat and feed livestock. Thanksgiving is the ultimate harvest meal. Add to that a cozy barn setting, a long harvest table, and people you love, and you have a memory to last a lifetime. It is a way of celebrating the bounty. Misty Farm in Ann Arbor, Michigan is just the place for this type of celebration. A group of farmers, food lovers and preservationists celebrated with a fall harvest dinner at a 17’ douglas fir harvest table with 6 pine-beam stools seating a total of 22 people. And room for many more at folding tables in an area made for dancing. They regularly host weddings and special dinners on their private grounds. We decided to dine in the smaller of the two barns where the harvest table took center stage. Preservation, local food, farmers Our USA Magazine 27
and community was our focus as we ate and drank through the evening, sharing stories and hearing from Chef Doug Hewitt and Chef Mike Lutz, of Terry B’s restaurant in Dexter, Michigan, the importance of sourcing food from area farmers, growers, purveyors and even foragers and wild crafters. Discussion also centered on Slow Food’s Ark of Taste varieties and breeds from our region consisting of American Chinchilla Rabbit, Plymouth Rock Chicken, Lake Michigan Whitefish and many heirloom varieties of vegetables. Slow Food Huron Valley’s representative was present to answer questions regarding the group’s Great Lakes Seed Trial and Ark of Taste program. Farmers sat among invited guests sharing their knowledge on sustainable agriculture and animal husbandry, knowing that a portion of the proceeds would benefit a local 4-H club. While the ideals and values of what we were celebrating came first, we simply wanted to enjoy the talents of these young chefs utilizing our own food grown with love and a lot of work, sometimes against all odds, and for little financial reward. Some of my favorite dishes on the menu were Rabbit Bulgogi with kim chi (pictured), Rustic French Casoulet, smoked whitefish pate and sausage, several custom cured pork-chicken-rabbit sausages (rabbit and Michigan cherry being the favorite), and a wild mushroom chicken with caramelized winter squash and braised greens. Pickles made of everything from Okra to Pepper were prepared throughout August-September as the chefs were challenged to preserve food for the meal in October. Chef Doug made a smoked applesauce that 28
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Begin your quest and it will lead you to where you need to be.
was amazing! They proved that with a little creativity and skill, food can be prepared throughout the season for winter consumption in a variety of ways: smoking, drying, curing, pickling and canning. Well done indeed. At the end of the evening we chatted amongst ourselves, with distant sounds of the piano coming from the other end of the barnyard, and agreed to come back in a year for another celebration and meal. The night was warm for October in Michigan and the moon at 90 percent lit the way to a full harvest moon meal experience none of us will forget...or at least until after the next one. We ended by giving thanks to all who made it possible and to the hands that lovingly grew food, raised livestock, prepared food, preserved the barn, crafted interior from salvaged goods, played music, poured wine and potted flowers. Check out the following web sites if you are interested in hosting your own barn-farm meal with locally sourced heirloom, heritage and Ark of Taste varieties, or, if you would like to grow and raise these varieties yourself. I encourage you to educate yourself and share the knowledge with your community and family. It is never too early or too late to become a farmer and preservationist!
The Ark is an international catalog of foods that are threatened by industrial standardization, the regulations of large-scale distribution, and environmental damage. In an effort to cultivate consumer demand—key to agricultural conservation—only the best tasting endangered foods make it onto the Ark. Since 1996, more than 800 products from over 50 countries have been added to the international Ark of Taste. The U.S. Ark of Taste profiles over 200 rare regional foods, and is a tool that helps farmers, ranchers, fishers, chefs, retail grocers, educators and consumers celebrate our country’s diverse biological, cultural and culinary heritage. • Slow Food USA • Ark of Taste Program • LocalHarvest.com • RealTimeFarms.com • Outstanding in the Fields • EdibleCommunities.com • Capella CSA Farm • Lesser Family Farms • Happy Peasant Creamery • Terry B’s Restaurant • Madaras-Design Garden Studio • Red Gate Farm • Firesign Farm • Scio Valley American Chinchilla Rabbits • Scio Valley Produce Stand • Preserving Traditions • Calder Dairy • The Farmers Marketer • Legacy Land Conservancy • Michigan Heritage Trail • Misty Farm • Seed Savers • Seeds of Change • American Livestock Breeds Conservancy • 4-H and future farmer organizations and groups all over the U.S. All Photos - Douglas Madaras
F
Being Conservative
ar from the bejeweled city of Asheville, NC, where most of my architectural design and renovation work is located, I now reside in a picturesque agricultural area west of Ann Arbor, MI. This area is rich in local history and farming culture, but is fading with each generation and every new housing development. It is on this edge of agriculture and rural zoned areas where I co-manage a small family “farmlette” raising heritage rare-breed animals and organic heirloom vegetables. To pay the bills, I resurrect weathered barn material and industrial findings out of ruin; re-purposing salvaged items into architectural details and artful creations. The disintegrating barns that have stood the test of time may not exist in 10 years, but parts of them will live on in my works of art, architecture and renovated spaces. In this way I help others cherish a part of local history and heritage. I am a self educated designer/builder and artist, most known for salvaged art and sculpted spaces. My earlier life in the military taught me much about hard work, discipline and being of service. I am still finding ways of being in service to our country, yet I realize the best way
By Douglas Madaras
for me to do this is in finding ways of conserving our resources for future generations through re-use and re-purposing. Our society’s “throw away” mentality is reflected in our crumbling cities, fading farmland, overflowing landfills and disappearing natural resources. What I strive for through my work is to make people aware of the availability of material that already exists in structures of yesteryear. Landfills, salvage yards and construction dumpsters are the goldmines of the future. To convey my idea of being a “conservative” is to use reclaimed mate-
rial in my art and spatial designs. When someone views one of my works, they are transfixed by the elements which are used in ways that are of beauty and function. Conser-vation and respect for our children’s future and the natural world which will hopefully sustain them, drives me to engage the public through my creations. During the 2010-11 academic year, the University of Michigan Health Staff, together with University of Michigan School of Art & Design students, professor Anne Mondro and I created a permanent art piece that now resides in the main corridor on the first floor of the University of Michigan Hospital. UMHS employees contributed mementos and stories for U of M students to make into art. From these objects, each student created an original artwork and installed it within a specially designed box, which I fabricated from architectural materials I collected through the years: door casings, brass rod, corrugated tin and assorted fittings. Twenty boxes in all tell different stories, all related through a network of connections and materials. USA
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Aurora Borealis. This photograph was taken at the Sand Bar State Park in Milton VT early in the morning of July 15, 2012. 30
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Photo - Ellen Powell Experts are saying that this year will rival or surpass 1958. There has been nothing close to 1958’s activity since then. Our USA Magazine 31
We Just Can’t Live Without It By Logan Beam
Part of a Tradition
T
he phrase
“Made in USA” is perhaps the second most important set of three words in our country’s history, arguably coming in behind our founding father’s famous three words, “We the people,” that grew and maintained our country. The phrase “Made in USA” is a staple of American tradition. It is more important than Toby Keith, baseball, and Mom’s apple pie. These words are what built America during the Industrial Revolution. “Made in USA” is what gave people from all over the world a vision of the American Dream. From the auto industry workers on the assembly line, to the farmers who harvest our food, to the cotton mill workers who create the fabric used for our clothing—the days of the Industrial Revolution created millions of American jobs with three words we just can’t live without—“Made in USA.” The Few, The Proud, The Jobs Today, there are very few companies that can still say their products are “Made in USA.” In a way they are a proud part of the history that stretches from the Industrial Revolution. When you see a tag that says “Made in USA” it was made by American workers, from American 32
Our USA Magazine
materials, and helped the creation of American jobs. According to the U.S. Census Bureau, the American population was estimated at 313,793,643 as of June 2012. If every American in our population spent $50 on one USA-Made garment a year, it would create an estimated $15.7 billion in revenue. This number alone would create thousands of jobs for Americans. A job allows citizens to get an education, support the military, police, firemen and emergency personal. Jobs also support our municipal needs such as food, electricity, water, garbage removal, social security and savings that allow citizens to take the family on that memorable vacation. These needs are only met if our citizens have a job. Jobs allow them to live. A Dying Tradition There once was a time when we took pride in having products
“Made in USA;” when it was a traditon to have that label on all of our items, when there was a promise of the American Dream through American manufacturing that provided jobs for U.S. citizens; and when industries like the apparel industry thrived on being one of the leading job suppliers for citizens in the United States. Those days are over. The American manufacturing industry is on the brink of extinction. According to the United States Bureau of Labor Statistics, the American apparel industry alone accumulated 938,600 jobs in 1990. Today, that number has plummeted to 150,300 jobs. Along with other industries, American manufactuing in the apparel industry is slowly dying, racking up an 84 percent loss of 788,300 jobs. If this trend continues, Americans will continue to lose jobs, the national debt will continue to plunge, and someday we will never see tags on our clothing that say “Made in USA.” With the current unemployment rate at 8.2 percent (Source: U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics), we are living in the worst economic crisis since the Great Depression. The need to supply American citizens a job in an American manufacturing industry is more important than ever for both our citizens and our economy.
Under these current conditions, citizens are finding it harder to live. College graduates cannot find a job, parents are supporting their children into their 20s, and even military men and women cannot find a job after they return home from duty. Sad, But True We have military men and women overseas risking their lives. Right now, they are serving the ultimate sacrifice so that American citizens can enjoy the freedoms our founding fathers instilled in this great nation. And what do we do with that freedom? A citizen uses his freedom to buy a shirt that is Made in China because it saves him a dollar. A business owner uses his freedom in taking his company overseas so he can also make an extra dollar. This trend continues for the milions
of Americans in our country. Then, when our servicemen and women return home from duty, they sadly come home to no jobs. We are the ones to blame. It’s sad to think that we have men and women who are willing to die for our country, but we are not willing to buy for it. Made in USA: There is Still Hope If we continue to manufacture overseas and support foreign made items, the trends mentioned above will continue. The debt will only worsen and our manufacturing industries will continue to plummet. Not only will these trends destroy our economy, but Americans will be left out of jobs for one simple reason. We didn’t collectively stand up for an extremely important cause. We must take a stand and make an
effort to support ourselves. Our American manufacturing leaders should stand up to do the right thing and bring manufacturing back to the United States. Our citizens should support the effort to buy at least one USA-made item a year at $50 to create up to $15.7 billion in revenue. There is still hope. If we collectively come together and start buying USA-made items, America will begin to flourish like it once did during the Industrial Revolution. We can turn $15.7 billion in our first year into $30 billion in the next. We can ultimately improve our efforts year in and year out. We have to. We have no choice. We must buy ‘Made in USA.’ We just can’t live without it. USA
Men pulling racks of clothing on busy sidewalk in Garment District, NYC World Telegram & Sun photo by Al Ravenna, 1955. Source: Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division, New York World-Telegram & Sun Newspaper Photograph Collection
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Park Avenue is the home of Hanky Panky’s corporate and administrative offices, sample room and showroom. It is also the locus of creativity where designers combine their understanding of market wants with creative vision to develop the latest from everyday wares to the “after midnight” unmentionables. Thread and cut sheets. Manhattan.
Women Making A Difference
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anky Panky is the creation of Gale Epstein and Lida Orzeck and evolved out of a gift that Gale gave to Lida which Gale made out of hand-embroidered handkerchiefs. The women have since gained an international reputation as makers of the finest in women’s lingerie. Customers are passionate about Hanky Panky. Hanky Panky was established in Manhattan in 1977, and is one of the sole manufacturers of ladies lingerie making their product exclusively in the USA. Photographer Brian Goldman was recently commissioned to capture a portrait of the company, its people and processes. This is a very edited look at a most interesting peek inside the company. To see more go to goldmanpictures.com.
The sample-making area is wall-towall thread and bolts of fabric with cut sheets hanging here and there. The cut sheets specify the details of each sample to be made.
Makeda, one of Hanky Panky’s Senior Designers.
A pattern maker creates the templates for the new designs, which are then given to the sample room. Samples are made so that the production team will know exactly what the production garment should look like. Sample making is very similar to production sewing, but is done on a much smaller scale and by hand. The samples have to be perfect. Whatever flaws come out of sampling (there are none) could lead to a flawed production run.
Maggie, Hanky Panky’s Sample Cutter 34
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After the garment is finished in production sewing, it leaves the contractor to be quality inspected and inventoried. Some styles may be embellished with crystals depicting Collegiate logos or Hello Kitty indicia.
Products Proudly Made in the USA - For Years L. C. King Manufacturing in Bristol TN makes the Pointer Brand High Back, Low Back and Carpenter Overalls, and a wide array of other denim products. All are Made in the USA with American source raw materials. Established in 1913, the company remains owned by the founding family four generations later. www.pointerbrand.com
Hanky Panky, the lingerie phenomenon coveted by celebrities and fashion conscious women worldwide, is dedicated to innovative design, comfort, quality and U.S. production. Born in New York and still producing domestically in its 34th year. www.hankypanky.com
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Marketing
Mindset That Clicks
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By Roger Simmermaker
Women Making A Difference
t’s not often that American-made intersects with American theater and the result brings a new brickand-mortar store to life, but oddly enough that’s exactly what happened in Barrington, Illinois. And it’s part of the story of the start of possibly the first ever brick-and-mortar store in America to sell only American goods. Barrington is just a few miles northwest of Chicago, and Chicago is home to the Steppenwolf Theater Company. In 2003, they staged an adaptation of Barbara Ehrenreich’s book, “Nickel and Dimed: On (Not) Getting By in America.” Playing the role of Ehrenreich was a talented actress named Deborah Leydig, and during that time Deborah started realizing how much of American manufacturing had gravitated to offshore locations. And so Deborah did the same thing many Americans do once they have their patriotic “made in America” moment, she started researching and making a list of what she could find that is made in the USA. One day, while still compiling that list of American-made items, Deborah found herself driving past
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a familiar building in Barrington – an old livery barn – that had just gone up for sale. Right then she was struck with an idea: why not take that American-made list, and whatever might be added to it in the future, and offer all those products in a store that sold only Americanmade goods? Flash forward to just six months later. Deborah has purchased the old livery barn–she and her brother did much of the fixing-up and cleaning– and she opened Norton’s USA in June 2007.
The same survey found 81 percent of people in the same age group buy American because they believe it helps our economy. So what might you find while browsing Norton’s USA’s store filled with American-made items? There’s quite a lot to be found, from accessories; baby products; cleaning products; clothing for kids, men and women; flags and patriotic decor (of course); food; candy; gardening products; home goods; housewares; pet supplies; soaps; lotions; stationery; tools; and toys. If you’re into gardening, get your green thumb into gear with the no less than 26 Americanmade gardening tools and accessories from Norton’s USA.
The store started with just 80 items and has now swelled to almost 2,000. And although owner Deborah Leydig knows foreign goods can tend to be cheaper since they’re produced in lower-cost labor countries, she notes, “My customers really want to buy American, so they will pay more if they have to, and of course they get the Americanmade quality as well.” Statistics certainly support the idea that more Americans want to buy American. According to Perception Research Services International, 72 percent of consumers between the ages of 50 through 64 say that the “Made in the USA” label greatly influences their purchasing decisions.
Another category that caught my eye was their sensational selection of American-made Halloween items. These holiday items aren’t easy to find produced domestically, but Norton’s USA has them, and they’re all made in the USA. Finding American-made products at brick-and-mortar stores is becoming more common as these stores spring up across the nation. But big kudos go to Norton’s USA, as they were an early pioneer in what is becoming one of today’s national trends. nortonusa.com
cangles.com
The true inspiration for which the idea of custom Braille jewelry transpired is our son Kingston. He was born with C.H.A.R.G.E. syndrome and has had quite the struggle to be alive today. This little boy wasn’t given three out of the five very precious senses, but has managed to embrace the world with exactly what he has been given.
Generating fashionably green jewelry from cast-off cans was the mission. Cangles, inspired from a combination of the words can and bangles became the namesake of the enterprise. The design and construction of the jewelry is based on the three R’sReusing, Renewing, and Recyclingand uses a reliable and safe manufacturing process to create unique handmade gifts for men and women. Proceeds from four specially designed custom bracelets, commissioned by the Save the Earth Foundation and available on Cangles website directly aid the foundation’s environmental and education efforts. Additionally, a portion of each purchase made is donated to charities that help the environment or provide services to people in need – and their pets. The Wounded Warrior Project, Pet FriendZ, Autism Speaks™, and Susan G. Komen for the Cure® are included.
Deborah Krupp was a successful engineer for more than 30 years, working for businesses all over the Atlanta metro area, with some of the most technical and complicated systems of her field. In 2007, the problems began. Krupp was diagnosed with a hemiplegic migraine, characterized by difficulty in speaking and an over-sensitivity to light. Her career was finished and Krupp had to find other means to make ends meet.
Kingston will never experience the gift of sight and is in the process of learning Braille and American Sign Language. Thoughts With Dots was created with aspirations of his friends and family learning the Braille language to communicate with him directly - with braille dots placed directly on the jewelry. thoughtswithdots.com
That’s when she started her company, Gem Assist. Traveling from doctor to doctor, she needed a quick and efficient way to transfer information about her medical conditon. She settled on the unique solution of using a piece of jewelry.
Women Making A Difference
In August 2009, after taking a heartbreaking drive through once thriving neighborhoods where this family had lived for three generations, the idea of creating a business to positively impact the environment and the community was born.
gemassist.org
Made to look like a pendant, a durable, waterproof USB drive has been designed to hang from a necklace, and can contain all the important files necessary for medical treatment, especially if the wearer has trouble communicating. The doctor can simply take the USB key and plug it into his computer. Though the USB is purchased off-shore, the jewelry, accessories and adornments, along with the packaging are all Made in the USA. A portion of the profits from sales of the jewelry goes to brain research. Our USA Magazine 37
‘nuff said
Main Street - Photo Scott Beseler
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Everyone’s Favorite Big Boy
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ave you ever REALLY noticed the signs around you? They not only show us the way and invite us in, they reflect the history, technology, commerce, and culture of our communities. Signs and the sign industry have their own stories to tell, and they are being lost to redevelopment and ‘beautification’ projects everywhere. Tod Swormstedt, former editor and publisher of Signs of the Times magazine, wanted to capture these stories before they were lost forever, and so he founded the National Signs of the Times Museum in 1999 as his selfproclaimed mid-life crisis project. With the help of a few early believers, the renamed American Sign Museum opened its doors in Spring, 2005. Now boasting close to 4,000 items, it opened at its new home in the Camp Washington neighborhood of Cincinnati on June 23, 2012. signmuseum.org
Timeline Wall - Photo Denny Gibson Event Space with iconic Cincinnati Pops & Mail Pouch Signs Our USA Magazine 39
My Little Ipecac Girl By Mike Cyra
Photo - Scott Liddell
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nytime I received a call about a child in distress, I always drove my ambulance a little bit faster than any other emergency call I responded to. This 911 call was reported to us as a four-year-old female, possible overdose. My ambulance, another aid unit, and a fire engine were dispatched to the scene. When we arrived, the typical mother, in tears and urging us to hurry please, greeted us at the door. As instructed, we hurried into the living room to find a small blond girl with a worried, “I can tell I’ve done something wrong but I don’t know what it is yet” look on her cute little face. All she knew was that suddenly seven very large, very strange men carrying all sorts of equipment were rushing toward her. She did the best offense / defense maneuver ever devised—she burst out crying. I could just imagine how scared she must have been. My initial assessment was that she was in no immediate distress. She was crying loudly, so her airway was intact and she probably had good oxygen saturation. She was standing with her arms outstretched to her mother, who was right on our heels. She had a steady gait (the little girl, that is; her moms gait wasn’t doing so well), so I knew her neuro-motor functions were ok. Her skin was warm and dry and she had good color. Her eyes were wide open and following everyone around and I could see that her pupils were the same size and not pin points. She also had a good strong, steady pulse. 40
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After performing a physical exam, getting a blood pressure, and taking the history of what happened, we spent some time gently talking to our little patient and reassuring her mother. This made both of them relax and the girl started warming up to us. Soon she was smiling, laughing, and really enjoying all the unexpected attention.
We got out our bottle of ipecac and convinced her it was something very good by having two firemen pretend to drink some. She happily drank the appropriate dose for us. We immediately looked at our watches, knowing that at any moment she would not be smiling and she certainly would not like us anymore.
I could tell she was relieved that she wasn’t going to get her butt spanked after being so certain she had done something terribly wrong. It was obvious she thought this was turning out just fine. Little did she know what we had in store for her. If she had, she would have taken off like a rabbit.
Right on schedule the ipecac began to do its job.
The story we got from her mother was that she found her little girl in the bathroom, up on the sink, with the medicine cabinet open and an empty bottle of adult strength codeine cough syrup in her tiny hand. Red sticky syrup was all over her face. The mother was certain that the bottle was nearly full since she got it…TWO YEARS AGO! Just a reminder to everyone, especially if you have children, if you are no longer using medication, throw the stuff away—get it away from the children, please! I explained to mom that we had to induce vomiting, but we would be right there and everything would be ok.. I found a large plastic trash bag, tore a hole in it, and put it around the girl’s neck. This was great fun for her and she stood there smiling like it was Christmas. She just knew she was going to get some type of present. Sure enough, we were going to give her one. One she wouldn’t forget.
One minute she was standing there with the most beautiful smile on her face, and then, instantly, it vanished. Her eyes grew to twice their size. She looked at her former friends as if to say, “What’s this? Something is going on in my tummy!” She even touched her stomach with both hands and looked down at her tummy. Her bulging eyes gazed up at us with absolute confusion as a little gurgle and burp escaped her lips. I will never forget the look she gave us next. It was something to the effect of, “YOU AREN’T NICE MEN, YOU’RE BAD MEN. YOU GAVE ME SOMETHING BAD!” It was a look of total betrayal. If her transformation hadn’t been so funny, I might have been hurt. She gurgled again and the seven brave medical men started moving backward. We had been using the technique of getting down to eye level with the child to make her feel more comfortable. This was about to backfire on us. The girl took a deep breath, her eyes now two huge circles of white. One of the EMTs behind me yelled, “SHE’S GONNA BLOW!”
Instantly, and with more force than the space shuttle lifting off, she exploded in vomit. As children sometimes do, she did not aim for the hefty bag but vomited an incredible amount of fluid directly at us. The seven brave men reacted instantly. Half of them falling over each other running for cover and the others frantically reaching for the hefty bag in a vain attempt to catch as much vomit as possible. The spewing little girl’s stomach contents rained down upon everything and everybody in sight. I was unaware that so much vomit could come from so small a person. After seeing so many amusing things — her face turning from “happy little girl” to “you are bad men,” witnessing seven grown men run like panic-stricken turkeys, and seeing a tiny little girl spray vomit like a broken water main—we all caught a bad case of the giggles. We giggled so hard we took turns going outside to get control of ourselves. But one look at that empty trash bag with a little head poking through it and a living room splattered with puke, I had to go back outside. My little ipecac girl stood there in the middle of her destruction with a satisfied grin on her face and said, “I’m done now, I feel better.” We transported mother and daughter to the hospital for observation. I had looked death in the face and it had puked all over me. But, I had lived to tell about it.
USA
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Proud to be a daughter of an American Soldier
Photos - Mary Ellen Godinez
I wanna be just like Daddy
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“A person’s a person, no matter how small.”~ Dr. Seuss
Photos - Amber Wallace
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I’m Just Sayin’ H
umans between the ages of thirteen and nineteen are most definitely alien creatures. One day they are polite, neat, well-mannered, and considerate. The next they are rude slobs who are so self centered it’s impossible to be around them. Sometimes it can even change from minute to minute. I have days where I swear I am doing a great job of raising them. Before I can even pat myself on the back, I experience a day where I feel like I have totally screwed up. I have moments where I picture them posing in a suit and tie on the front steps of the White House. And then there are days that I imagine them behind bars doing pushups all day long. It’s maddening. Relating to them is so difficult. Discipline is challenging. Compromising is imminent. When they were little I could take away a Batman or send them to their rooms. Now they’re bigger than me and time out just won’t suffice. Overnight they went from children to stubborn adult wanna bee’s who positively know it all. My boys became creatures from another planet and communication is paradoxical. Daily I struggle to conquer the alien language. If my son said he’ll hit me up later, I’m pretty sure that he’s gonna call me and not
By Shelly Gail Morris
beat the daylights out of me. If I hear him on the phone and he’s planning to hook up with some-
one, I’m pretty positive that it’s not a boat but another human or alien likeness. When my boys say something is “sick” that’s actually a good thing—strange as it seems. Last time I was really sick, it was not a good thing. I’ve learned that Jaguar’s are sick and Camaro’s too. Legit and for real are kind of the same thing. Lebron James is legit. Barak Obama is for real. A song or clothing can be dope—kind of the same as sick. In my day it was cool. The Fonz was cool, not dope! Below, me with my two aliens.
Bank is money. Christian Bale makes bank. Creepin’ is when you go through their pockets or spend hours reading their Facebook posts. I’m a professional creeper. There really should be handbook, and I just wanted to school you on a few terms I’ve become familiar with. It helps to relate to them if you speak their language. And it helps to decipher what their up to if you understand the lingo. Please know that using the language yourself is completely prohibited. You will get looks of complete horror if you utter fo sho (for sure). Teenager language is only allowed for teenagers. You can probably pull it off until you’re about twenty-four, then you must give it up. As far as moms and dads go–use it at your own risk! And in the words of an Earthly lyrical poet, Vanilla Ice:
“Stop, Collaborate and LISTEN.”
Those strange little space beings are trying to communicate with you. Open your ears and spend some time deciphering their actions. You must always try to know what the little aliens are into. I’m just sayin’.
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Sandman
By Samantha Perez
Photo - Wikimedia 46
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he day I became friends with Sarah Pierre-Dean, she was sitting in a sandbox, staring at the dusty colored specks and letting them seep through her fingers, like a waterfall crashing against a bed of rocks. Four perfectly placed pigtails were perched preciously on the top of her head, like a tiara. She looked like a princess, trapped in a tower, waiting for someone to save her. I stared at the princess wondering why she was alone, for who wouldn’t want to play with a princess?
Ring! The screams of the the recess bell always made the girl’s heart stop; a twinge of sadness slowly engulfing the organ, persuading her heart to start beating in a rapid rhythmic pace, like the one of a marathon runner making his last sprint to the finish line. In class she was never taunted by the backs of her fellow classmates, or the laughter of some secret joke that she would never be a part of. In class she could just doodle on the page and listen to the droned out voice of the teacher. She didn’t have to look at anybody either, talk to anybody, or even smile; she could just stare at the window and escape to the colorful, imaginary world that was her own thoughts. Thoughts of candy and pools, and talking dinosaurs, a world of laughter, and sparkling sunsets over mountains covered in ice cream; a world where everyone was her friend and everyone had her skin– her chocolate covered skin that was so different from the others in the classroom, the darkness of it seeming to frighten the others from even sitting with her at the small oasis of a table in the back of the class, where she would escape to her own worlds. Now it was recess. The most dreaded part of her day. The isolation she was to embark on was a journey she did not want to take.
The last one out of the bright neon green door, the girl shielded her eyes from the blazing Florida sun and yearned to go back into the dim florescent lighted hallway. This world of plastic and color did not excite her like the others, with their light blonde and brown hair tousled against the wind as they flew down the bright sunshine yellow slide, their blue, green eyes shimmering as they reached intangible heights on the gleaming, silver steel swings; their pink lips on their tan faces gaped wide with laughter as they ran around the dusty green playhouse, all things she could never be a part of. She passed this forbidden world, the sound of the brown strips of wood crunching under the soles of her shoes, and arrived to a black plastic box filled to the brim with dirty, grainy tan particles, like those you find on a beach, and collapsed into it like one on a deserted island after their last attempt of rescue was abolished. She grabbed a handful of her small island and let the light tan particles run through her fingers. Again and again, and again and again, she let it collapse into a small model of her isolated island. She looked down at the mound of tan that she sat upon. The grainy substance was the same color as all of the other children, if only it could seep into her, engulf her with that color, and morph her into what she had always dreamed of being. “Maybe then they’ll play with me?” She grabbed some of the tiny island and began to cascade it over her head. It sprinkled down her back and spilled over the side of her head, like a waterfall, trickling to her shoulders and down the front of her blouse.
She grabbed another handful and poured it over her again, feeling it tickle her scalp and rush down her back like a million tiny ants running for shelter. Over and over, again and again, she poured the sand, letting it cascade over her until she felt that she was covered from head to toe. “Now,” she thought. “I look like everyone else. Now I’m normal.” The bell to end recess rang, with a terrible long cry. As the children ran to the lime green door the little sand covered girl skipped all the way, a dazzling smile spread across her face. Sadly, she did not realize that everyone else was staring at her with a look of utter confusion and humor. Two girls whispering, in hushed tones, giggles escaping into the air, caught the eye of the girl. With confidence gained from the grainy specks covering her, she went up top them, trying to be a part of whatever joke they were sharing. The burst of laughter turned into screams as the two girls ran, their blonde hair bobbing behind them and their perfectly pink lips screaming. “Here comes the sandman! Don’t let the sandman get you!” The sand-covered girl looked at them in bewilderment for a moment; then, thinking it was only a game, she ran after the girls, her heart rejoicing that she was finally included. She was about to touch a curly, blond strand of hair when suddenly she heard, “Sarah Simon PierreDean! Get that sand off you this minute!” Sarah froze for a second, hand still Our USA Magazine 47
extended, fingers poised as if she were about to snatch the end of a breeze. How dare the teacher tell her to go back to the way she was, back to being just part of the sandbox? Couldn’t she see that the others finally wanted to play with her?
who had not seen land in years. She began to pour it over her head, letting the tan specks disguise her, enclose her in the image she wished to be. Once she felt she had enough, she began to run home, not wanting the magic of the sand to wear off.
“I mean it, Sarah, go to the bathroom and clean up this minute.”
“Sarah dear, why are you covered in sand?” asked her mother as Sarah raced passed her, a carpet of sand trailing behind her.
Not wanting to get in trouble, Sarah sulked away; tiny grains of sand dropping from the tip of her braids, leaving a crumpling trail behind her. The reflection, a picture of a small girl covered in sand, with dark brown braids speckled with the tan flecks, encircling her hair like a crown, was not the picture she hoped to see. “I’m a sandman,” her words echoing off the bathroom’s porcelain sinks and bouncing back toward her face, entangling her in a truth she did not wish to know. “Have a great afternoon everyone,” said the teacher, waving happily to the protruding backs of her students. All were excited to go home, except Sarah, who was still upset after the failure of her plan to fit in. She walked alone down the sidewalk, thinking that if only the sand had worked, a crowd of friends would be walking with her at this very moment. “Maybe I didn’t put enough on,” she said to herself. This perked up her spirits, making her eyes light up with hope and her back straighten with pride at this thought. She raced to the sandbox, her sneakers pounding, her backpack bouncing against her back, a look of pure joy beaming from her face. She reached the small box and kneeled upon it, grabbing the tiny grains like a man 48
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“I changed my skin so the other children would play with me,” she explained in an excited tone, a smile spread across her face as the sand began to tumble down revealing her rich, dark, vibrant, brown skin. As I stared at the princess beginning to dig her way out of her tower, I decided to save her from her box of sadness and went on my quest to rescue her. I slid down the yellow dragon’s tail, scurried around the forest of the flying silver chairs, and went through the witches’ cottage, barely making it out before one of her minions captured me. Once I arrived to her fortress I smiled my famous toothy grin. I had made it through the dangers of the playground, and would now be granted the honor of playing with the beautiful dark princess. “Hi!” I screamed hoping to catch her attention. She looked up at me, a look of surprise on her face and a twinkle of hope shining out of the corner of her eye. “Do you want to play?” She looked to be in a state of shock at first, not moving an inch as she stared at me, her almost black eyes morphing from surprise into a gleam of happiness. “OK,” she said in an elegant hushed tone that only a princess could have.
“Tag, you’re it!” I screamed as I ran from her in a fit of laughter. I turned around to see her slowly standing up, a pile of sand in her hand running through her fingers back to its original home, as she stepped out of her fortress and began to chase me through our pre-school kingdom. The afternoon after I saved the princess from her fortress, Sarah skipped back to her house, her braids bouncing with every move she made. When her mother saw her humming happily to herself she asked “So what happened to the sand?” Sarah beamed happily to her mother and ran to hug her around her waist. “Not today Mama!” she exclaimed happily.” “And why’s that?” her mother asked as Sarah rushed toward her toys. “Well today I made a friend” she explained, beginning to play with one of her dolls, holding and caressing it as if it were her own child.
“Oh, and what is your friend’s name?” asked her mother. “I don’t remember, but she’s a little black girl! Just like me!” DING DONG, rang the doorbell. Sarah raced to answer it and gave a squeal of joy as she revealed the guest. “This is my new friend, Mama.” Sarah announced with joy. Sarah’s mother stood in shock as I walked into the house, my curly brown hair pulled into a ponytail above my head with a bright pink bow placed in the center, my brown eyes sparkling with joy and childfilled cheer, my pink lips spread into a gleaming smile. She stared with her mouth ajar at my light suntanned hand intertwined with her daughter’s dark brown fingers.
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May your joys be as bright as the morning, and your sorrows merely be shadows that fade in the sunlight of love. May you have enough happiness to keep you sweet, enough trials to keep you strong, enough sorrow to keep you human, and enough hope to keep you happy. ~Irish Blessing
Photos - Elise Marie Fallon
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Photos - Trevor Gass
Look deep into nature,
and then you will understand everything better. ~Albert Einstein
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My Hometown By Mark Barkawitz
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here are two ways to get up to First Falls in Eaton Canyon, just outside of Pasadena, CA. You can start at the Nature Center and hike 1.1 miles up the canyon trail to the White Bridge, then drop down to the creek and continue hiking for another half-mile up the switchback canyon into the San Gabriel Mountains. Or on Pinecrest Drive in Altadena, you can take the shortcut down the entrance to the Mount Wilson Toll Road. Then at the White Bridge, likewise drop down into the canyon and follow the creek on the winding, dirt trail that parallels and crisscrosses it. The mountains are steep on each side back there, making it impossible to see beyond the next switch-back turn. Spring is the best time to go, when the winter run-off fills the creek. But be careful off-trail, where the poison oak is lush that time of year (you don’t want to mess with that stuff). I still remember the first time I hiked up there with my little brother Bruce, and our St. Philip the Apostle classmates “Thick” Dick Alfano and Pat Lawrence, who wore cokebottle eyeglasses and his hair parted down the middle. As we hurried around turn after turn, we began to wonder if there really was a waterfall—as we’d heard through the grammar school grapevine—within walking distance of our Pasadena homes. As we tired, we slowed and complained, laying blame on each other for this wild water chase. But then a faint, rumbling sound gradually became audible. It grew louder as we continued deeper into the mountains. Once again, we quickened our pace. Suddenly, there it was: a real, live waterfall!
Admittedly, it was no Niagara Falls. But the creek water above cascaded thirty-or-so feet down into a swimming pool-sized pond that was plenty deep enough for swimming where the course sand bottom graduated deeply toward the waterfall. We stripped down to our boxer shorts, stepped cautiously over the rocks in the shallows, and waded out into the cool water, taking turns dog-paddling under the pounding falls for as long as we each could stand it. We laughed and dunked one another. We climbed a dead tree that leaned conveniently against the wall, then hung and dropped from its only limb into deep water. When the afternoon sun passed across the top of Razorback Ridge—on the southwestern mountain peak—it cast us in cool shadows. We shivered with goosebumps and dressed while still wet, and then ran back down the canyon, vaulting ourselves off boulders, our feet soggy in Jack Purcell tennies and JC Penney desert boots. As we grew into our later teens, we brought our girlfriends, backpacks full of munchies, and dogs up into
My Dog Summa
the canyon for a day of fun and passing sun at First Falls. But some things have changed since my youth. Due to landslides on the Mount Wilson Toll Road, the chainlink gate on Pinecrest Drive that guards its entrance is sometimes padlocked, with razor-wire looped atop the fencing. And because of our state’s budgetary constraints, it often remains so for months, even years. On the Eaton Canyon Trail, road directions are now affixed atop metal posts like street corner signs, making it seem less of an adventure, merely an enjoyable hike. North of the White Bridge, where the switchbacks isolate its visitors, many of the large boulders—stoic remains of melting glaciers at the end of the Ice Age—are now defaced with gang graffiti. The park rangers do their best to prime out the offending tags—the spray-painted fingerprints of gangbangers—with a rockcolored gray. It’s safe enough up there when the foot traffic is heavy. But like the rattlesnakes that occasionally sun themselves on a hot summer day, you need to be aware of their presence. I usually take along my golden retrievers (which the dogs appreciate) and strap a big hunting knife conspicuously on my side. Like the Boy Scouts—I’m prepared. That tree limb walking stick I hunt up when I’m deep in the canyon—it isn’t really for walking at all. (Know what I mean, jellybean?). And that old, dead tree that used to lean vertically, conveniently against the wall at First Falls has disappeared completely, no longer accommodating the daredevil antics of adolescence. USA
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S
Back in the Day
ometimes a story just pops into my head with a flash like a bolt of lightning. Something I do today can put my thoughts back between 50 and 60 years. For the younger generation, it is hard for them to understand, but for us who are now in our senior years, it happens often. Today I picked up my cell phone to check my messages. My little phone, I was holding in my hand. It weighs all of three ounces. I turned around in my chair and stared at one of the old telephones from the 1950s era. The only thing we could do with that phone was to make or receive a phone call. It was large and heavy and was a corded phone. There were no cordless phones back then either. I just weighed that old phone. It is 4 pounds 9.5 ounces.
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By Larry W. Fish
I also have a phone that now runs through my computer. There was no thought of that 50 or 60 years ago because personal computers were not even a dream. I guess that I am old fashioned, but all I want is to make a phone call. I don’t need to check the weather, check my email, or send text messages. People now have phones that hang on their ear. When I first saw that I thought the man was talking to no one but
It was done by snail mail, and would take weeks to get a return letter. How happy I was to open up the envelope and see a photo of a young friend in another country. I first saw the light of day on the last day of September 1948. Things have really changed since that day. I don’t personally remember, but a postage stamp then was three cents. Depending on where you lived in the country a gallon of gas varied, but it was somewhere around fifteen to twenty cents a gallon. Wages were low in 1948, with the minimum wage of forty cents an hour. I remember I started my first full time job when I graduated high school in 1966. My starting wage was one dollar and fifty cents an hour. After one full year of employment there, I was rewarded with a nickel raise.
No push buttons either, just a large round dial that you put your fingers in to turn. I’m sure that younger people look at that and think it was so primitive. I guess by today’s standards it was. I’ve asked numerous young people. “Do you know what a party line is?” They all had no idea. The party line is now past history. A party line was when a few houses were on the same phone line.
himself. I actually thought the man was a little crazy. Just shows how far behind the times I am.
We could have had a short ring, a long ring, or a combination of a short and a long ring. It was nothing in those days to pick up the phone and listen in on one of your neighbor’s conversations.
Those days many years ago were simple, and I often long for the simple times in my life. If I was writing a story back then it would have been on a manual typewriter. I was looking at TV shows in black
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and white. I had no idea back then that someday I would be able to have an email chat with someone half way around the world. I had pen pals when I was in school.
It was a long time ago when I grew up in rural Pennsylvania. However, no matter where I live I will always remember my time as a little boy enjoying the Pocono Mountains. It was a life without all of today’s technology. Life will never again be like it was then, but in my mind I have memories that can never be taken away. USA
Rural school children. San Augustine County, Texas, April 1943. Photo by John Vachon. Prints and Photographs Division, Library of Congress
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