Food for Thought: The Amazing World of Podcasts
We sat in a circle, eight of us, listening intently as the distant calls of moose in the Hoh Rain Forest filled the small room. “Silence—the absence of manmade sounds—is an endangered species,” acoustical ecologist Gordon Hempton explained. “Quiet is the think tank of the soul.” This spring I taught a class on podcasts at the nearby Osher Lifelong Learning Institute (OLLI) at Southern Oregon University, and Hempton’s conversation with On Being host Krista Tippett lit up our last meeting. I’ve fancied podcasts since 2014, when Sara Koenig’s investigation of a 1999 Baltimore high school murder became a break through hit, launching the award-winning podcast Serial. . .
Rescued Horses: Equamore Horse Sanctuary
Today, I became a sponsor for a draft horse named Gandalf, a rescue horse who lives at the Equamore Sanctuary three miles from our house. He’s black with a white spot between his eyes, stands almost 16 hands (5.3 feet), weighs 1,700 lbs., and believes in second chances. As a girl, I never went horse crazy like my nextdoor neighbor, Eliza, who kept an imaginary pony. It wasn’t that I didn’t like horses, it just seemed that they didn’t like me. I fell for Gandalf on a recent visit to Equamore, my second after curiosity led me there last November. Founded in 1991, Equamore is home to 54 horses—hungry, neglected, abused, surrendered—who live out the rest of their lives in the sanctuary’s embrace. . .
Beauty and Protest in Central Oregon
The far-flung town of Burns in Central Oregon, is not, strictly speaking, where followers of Ammon and Ryan Bundy plotted the overthrow of the American government in 2016. That is 30 flat and lonely miles south. Still, Burns is out there, in the middle of nowhere. It’s the population hub (at 2,800) of Harney County, the largest county in Oregon (at 10,000 square miles) and one of the largest in the country, where cattle outnumber the 7,400 residents 14 – 1. I’ve been fascinated by Oregon’s most rural territories since we first arrived in the Rogue Valley. And I’ve been fascinated by Burns. The standoff at the nearby Malheur National Wildlife Refuge captivated me as I watched the events unfold on the television in our cramped Brooklyn apartment. . .
The Really Big One: Tsunamis and the Oregon Coast
Here in the Pacific Northwest, a risk no one wants to think about is The Really Big One: a magnitude 9 earthquake along a 700-mile stretch of coast—from Mendocino in Northern California to Vancouver Island in Canada—followed by waves reaching 100 feet high. Seismologists call it the Cascadia subduction zone, where the oceanic Juan de Fuca Plate moves to the east and slides below the much larger, mostly continental North American Plate. Kathryn Schulz’s astonishing article in The New Yorker in July 2015 about this geological time bomb quoted the FEMA director responsible for Oregon and Washington: “Our operating assumption is that everything west of Interstate 5 [which runs north and south roughly 50 miles east of the Pacific] will be toast.” . . .
Lattes and Decency at Starbucks
“That sounds like a crow!” I said to Tony as we entered Ashland’s Starbucks early the other morning. I scanned the room, with its small tables bunched together and a half dozen guests, most familiar to us. We passed Josh, who parks a 1970s Chevy van loaded with his life’s belongings in front of Starbucks every morning and holds court. Inside, John was drying his clothes from last night’s unexpected rainstorm; he sleeps in the woods. Hugh, who always tells my husband that he reminds him of the actor Christopher Walken, was charging his phone, and Matt sorted through his backpack and wondered, “Is this all I have?” My eyes settled on two women fighting sleep at a corner table. Their heads were shaved, and there was no wash in their wear. One of the two suddenly raised her head, looked toward the ceiling, and let out a raucous “C-a-w!” . . .
Standing with Young Activists Against Gun Violence
Despite the sunshine that fills Southern Oregon these last days of summer, it feels like we’re living in a darkly satirical novel about the near future, when mass shootings have become so frequent that they are part of the daily routine. This August, a grassroots movement of young people—led by survivors of the Parkland High School shooting, the deadliest school massacre in United States history—unveiled their “Peace Plan for a Safer America.” Determined and audacious, they propose a ban on assault-style weapons and high-capacity magazines, a national licensing and gun registry, a mandatory gun buyback program for assault-style weapons, and a vigorous licensing system. They address not only mass shootings, but also other horrors they know firsthand: domestic and community violence, and suicide. The students call their group “March for Our Lives.”. . .
Student Climate Strikers: Ashland and Beyond
“I’ve often wondered why I didn’t protest more as a teen-ager,” writes Alexandra Schwartz, a child of the nineties, in this week’s New Yorker. “Surely there was a lot to be mad about.” Here in Ashland this Friday the 20th, approximately 200 local high school students joined their peers worldwide in marching and speeches. They gathered in the town’s Lithia Plaza, where 100 years ago settlers would hitch their horses, trade wheat for flour or purchase lumber.When I arrived, the plaza was filled with aging boomers like me (of which there are many in Ashland), some of whom may have cut their protest teeth in antiwar demonstrations 50 years ago. To be sure, there were some families and Millennials cheering on the youth, but it was a work day, and the retired and semi-retired made the most noise and carried the best signs. . .
Great Public Spaces: Lithia Park
Central Park is to New York City as Lithia Park is to . . . Ashland. With its 93 acres of curving walkways, woodsy paths, and cascading water, Lithia Park draws a million visitors a year, in a town of 21,000. Designed over a century ago by Golden Gate Park’s Superintendent McLaren, The American Planning Association calls it one of “10 Great Public Spaces in America.” Most mornings, Tony and I head for a cardio hike in the forested mountains behind our house. On those afternoons when the world piles up, though, we head to Lithia Park, where we breathe deeply, exchange greetings with walkers we do not know, and watch the Ashland Creek hurl downward. Last Sunday afternoon, it was photographing the fall foliage, not walking, that drew me to Lithia Park. . .
A Celebration for the Ages: Halloween Ashland Style
In the 1950’s, when I was growing up in New Jersey, Halloween was not a family affair. I couldn’t imagine my father dressing up as Captain America or my mother as a poodle-skirted Dream Girl and getting in on the action—nor, I’m sure, could they. What I remember, actually, was the night before Halloween, called Mischief Night, when my friends and I (then pre-teens) roamed the neighborhood putting trick before treat. Thursday’s Halloween Parade down Ashland’s main street was a decidedly 21st century affair. Phantasmagoric characters—like a 6’5″ Frankenstein flanked by two middle-aged maidens covered in ruffles—and social statements—a misshapen GMO pumpkin, a zombie tethered to its iPad—shared the runway with young families dressed as a team, from cowboys to creatures. . .
Carrots and Ponies: Fall Harvest at the Growers Market
Farmers’ markets are the fasting growing segment of the U.S. food marketplace, with over 8,000 nationwide. USA Today just named the Rogue Valley Growers & Crafters Market, “our” market, one of the ten best in the country. The first Tuesday after Tony and I landed in Ashland, we headed to the weekly Rogue Valley Growers & Market (RVGCM) a mile from our new house, with more than 150 vendors. It was early April and asparagus, kale, and ramps were the stars. Come fall, the offerings—and tempo—changed. Carrots, cauliflower, and squash anchored the vegetable stands, while a miniature pony on a leash made friends with everyone. In a world where Amazon promises to deliver fresh vegetables “straight to your door,” public squares built around local, organic food seem more necessary than ever. We must keep both our farmers and neighbors close. . .
A Voice for the Voiceless: Agnes Baker Pilgrim, 95
At age 95, Agnes Pilgrim Baker deserves the title “living cultural legend” as much as anyone I almost know. After watching hours of videos of her talking about being a “voice for the voiceless,” I’m a big fan. Grandma Aggie, as she is known, is the oldest living female left of the Rogue River Indians, the Takelmas, who lived in Southern Oregon for over 20,000 years. She has travelled the world being a voice for the voiceless: “All things created need a voice. I am called to pray for the Bengal tigers, for animals in Africa, for wolves, for salmon, and for the Ganges River in India.” Water is sacred, she reminds us. “We are born in water, it’s in our blood, our tears, our brain. We must thank the water every day of our lives: the river, the lake near our house, the glass of water we’re holding in her hand.”. . .
Christmas Arrives in Oregon
The winter holiday season is here and for some of us dedicated to an annual hunt for the best Christmas tree, the debate continues: real evergreen or faux. The National Christmas Tree Association estimates that more than three-quarters of the Christmas trees on display in 2019 will be artificial. People who prefer artificial trees say they are better for allergies, more convenient, and less likely to get knocked over by cats and toddlers. Maybe they’ve heard Teddy Roosevelt’s 1901 declaration: “It’s not good to cut down trees for mere decoration.” Here in Oregon, however, live Christmas trees are a serious business. This year, Oregon will harvest over 5 million Christmas trees. Oregon is the biggest producer and exporter of Christmas trees of any state in the US. . .