My Nana's advice on how to not raise birds.

The nest on my porch has been coming together beautifully. I think the builders are wrens, not sparrows. I haven't seen them working on it lately, and there aren't any eggs in it yet, so I'm not sure where exactly they are in the whole continuance of their species process, but I guess only time will tell.

I mentioned to my Nana in an email that I had birds building on my porch. This is my Nana...
Besides being an all around fantastic grandmother and human being, she writes the world's best emails. She replied to my tale of invading birds with one of her own. I can't say I haven't been warned:

About 15 years ago, I had a robin building her nest in one of the wreaths on my front porch. What fun, I thought to watch this whole process from scraggly twigs to darling little chirpies. I could stand in the entrance hall....if I snuck up quietly enough perhaps, and espy momma regurgitating food into their tiny little mouths et cetera. I even posted a sign on one of the poles on the porch directing visitors to the back door so they wouldn't scare the birds!!

I did not foresee.....silly me... that the little tiny birds become as big as full sized robins before they are wont to leave the nest, that they make an awful racket...and more to the point, they make a helluva mess deficating all over the grillwork, the glass, the wreath, the door mat etc.

Then the ornithological genius in the neighborhood explained to me that robins will sometimes bring forth several issue before the summer is spent, so once this crop leaves, I had better take down the wreaths or they will build anew. Soooooo....good luck, Honey Babes

"Make sure you hit him with a frying pan of hot grits"

In lieu of writing anything timely, as I'm feeling the need to spend more of my hours of life doing things other than sitting in front of the computer screen, today I'll be posting a collection of student quotes collected over the past weeks. Enjoy.

One of my kids, who is brilliantly dead pan, raises his hand. The class is working independently, so I go over to answer his question. Mr. Archey is my co-teaching partner. We are not dating, but our students like to pretend/assume that we are. So my kid calls me over, waits a beat, and with no introduction asks:

"So am I invited to you and Mr. Archey's wedding? I'm just asking because I've got to get my suit, and get the date on my calendar. And also, I need to know what are the colors? And can I see some swatches?"

I laugh, and walk away to answer the question of a child who is actually interested in learning about the differences between criminal and civil trials. Maybe five minutes go by, and my student raises his hand again. So, I walk over to him...

"What's your question?"

"Ms. Andersen. When you and Mr. Archey get married, which I know you will, and when you want to divorce him, cause he's cheating on you, which I know he will, and you divorce him, would that be civil law?"

"Yes! It would! Very good!"

"Ok, just make sure you hit him with a frying pan of hot grits."

And, in the continuing series of kids making strange comments about my physical appearance:

"Man Ms. Andersen, lookit those big ol' eyes. I should call those your, hm. Green eyes...green eggs and ham eyes!"

Or about the food I eat:

[As I'm eating granola from a ziploc bag.]

"What are you eating, Ms. Andersen?"

"Granola."

"It look like bird food. Bird seed. You be eating like a bird."

"It's granola. Lots of people eat granola."

"Yeah, but you always eat like a bird. I bet when you lie down at home you turn into an owl."

One of my favorite kids made this observation about how white and black people buy groceries:

"White people be buying, like...okay. Say you see some plums in the grocery, and we got some over here for like 69 cents, and then we got some other plums over here, look exactly the same, but they like, $1. 25. Black people, we get the 69 cent ones, cause they the same damn plums. But you be like, no no, I want these ones over here, they look better! White people buy stuff like, they be the exact same thing, but they got some nice packaging on there, and so they be like, oh, these look nice, when like, the packaging cost more than the food."

And another of my favorite kids walked into class one Tuesday after being absent on Monday:

Me: Kevin! Where were you yesterday?

Kevin [not his name, of course]: At your house.

Me: Really. What were you doing at my house?

Kevin: Eating your cereal.

Me: So that's why my Rice Chex were gone this morning?

Kevin: Yep, I ate 'em all.

And from the same student...

Kevin: You’ve been to Europe?

Me: Yep, I went in college.

Kevin: You been to France? I heard they got people being kidnapped all over the place there.

Me: What? Um, yes I’ve been to France but I don’t know about the kidnapping.

Kevin: You didn’t get kidnapped?

Me: No.

Kevin: Well, Ms. Andersen, you ever get kidnapped over there, I want you to call me. You hear? You call me before you call the police. They can’t be doing that to Molly. I be over there and I get you outta there. Me before the police, alright? I got you, Ms. Andersen.

Wildlife invades my home

This morning I stepped out into the small porch room that opens into my kitchen and was startled by a sparrow who seemed to be messing around on the storage shelf. The sparrow quickly darted out the hole in the wall (meant for a dryer to vent) and I continued poking through my compost bin.
After a minute or so I noticed that the birds outside were making a lot of angry squawking and chirping, and I kind of half-thought, are they that upset I scared one sparrow out of my porch? Then the sparrow flew back in the hole again, darted out when I looked up, and continued scolding me from outside. Okay, I thought, I guess I should cover this hole. So I propped up a piece of cardboard against it and finished with my worm bin. But the birds kept yelling at me. I glanced up at the shelf the sparrow had been fussing over, and it dawned on me.
See it? Look closer.
The little buggers are building a nest in my bubble wrap. I imagine that a rational person would just block the hole in the wall and throw out the nest, but anyone who knows me knows that's not what I'm going to do. There are going to be little baby birds on my porch! Awesome!

What is a little annoying is that I like to keep my kitchen door open, and rely on the outer screen door to keep the bugs out. Now that I've got birds flying in and out of the porch, I'm a little worried they might decide to explore my kitchen, and I'm not about to have frantic sparrows flapping around inside my house. So...I'll be picking up a big piece of some meshy fabric this weekend to hang over my kitchen door. To keep the birds out.

In other local wildlife news...my anole friend from the summer is back! She was sunning herself on my back stoop when I got home from school on Thursday. The end of her tail looks a little beat up, but otherwise seemingly no worse for the wear after winter.

Bad Christian T-shirt Puns

I got my new issue of Christianity Today in the mail this afternoon, and they've got several articles about worship - what it should be, how it looks in the modern church, etc. One piece is an interview with a professor at Grove City, a gray-haired little guy with wire rimmed glasses, a buzz cut, and a bow tie, who has written a book called Why Johnny Can't Sing Hymns. T. David Gordon is his name.

"Many believe that kind of [pop-influenced] music is more 'seeker-friendly,'" the interviewer suggests.

I guess I just really liked his response:

"But it's like reaching the rich young ruler by throwing money at him. . . I'm not so sure that accommodation to an individual's consumerist preferences is consistent with the gospel call. . . I'm not sure we should say, 'Well, what kind of music do you like? After all, we're just worshiping God here, and we have no standards other than what you like.' Saying 'it's all about you' isn't the way to go about evangelism. It might be better to say, 'You may wonder why we sang a hymn today written by Bernard of Clairvaux in the 12th century. We do it because we think it's a good reflection on what our Redeemer did. We don't really care whether it's new or old.' That might cause a person to say. 'Here's one institution in the entirety of our culture that isn't driven by consumer preference. Isn't that curious?'"

He put into words something that kept bugging me when I was church shopping last summer: our culture's obsession with consuming product after product after product has filtered into even our churches and our worship. Organizations whose motivation is profit, economic engines chugging along trying to make a buck, naturally bend to the whim of the consumer, as it's the whim of the consumer that determines the success or failure of their ultimate goal: making money. But what is the ultimate goal of a church, small 'c'? Getting as many bodies into pews every Sunday as possible? Growing big enough that you need four services and a satellite campus? Drawing thousands every Sunday by offering the most attractive spiritual product? Should faith be treated as another consumer good, when the ultimate success of the Church, big 'C', is not determined by consumer behavior, or by how many people prefer the Christian brand over the Jewish or Muslim brand in a blind taste-test.


I never liked those Christian t-shirts that make bad puns out of brand names. Besides the fact that they're sometimes embarrassingly cringe-inducing, I think what always made me pass over them at Christian youth events was that they seemed to be saying, "Hey! There's nothing wrong with a consumer-driven culture where our goal is to consume more and more, and where we identify ourselves with the brands we wear. Just make sure your brand is 'Jesus!'"
Shouldn't the Church's approach to culture be something more substantive than taking whatever we find around us and subbing in Christian words for the cuss words, and pictures of sunsets and butterflies for pictures of sexy women? Obviously the t-shirts are silly and innocuous, but I think Mr. T. David Gordon is on to something in suggesting that the Church should be something qualitatively different from its surroundings, something not driven by every marketing trend and consumer preference. Something that seeks the beautiful and the true, and not just the cool or the comfortable. No?

Strawberries, and Carolina BBQ Pork

Two successes for the day. One, I bought a strawberry plant at the farmer's market this morning. I think if you had asked me to describe how strawberries grew, I'd have fumbled around trying to remember if they were a bush, or creeping thorny plant, or if the berries grew in clusters, or what exactly. But I know what a strawberry looks like, and when I saw a plant full of them, in various stages of development, I bought it.
Five bucks! The farmer who sold it to me promised it would produce continually until about June, or whenever it starts getting really hot. Then, he said, it sends out daughter plants! So I buy one plant for five bucks, get all its strawberries, plus the little baby plants it'll make. All I do is win.
Second success: pork! Specifically, Carolina-style pulled pork. I used this recipe, and a three-pound Boston butt roast I had in the freezer from Windy Hill Farms.
I covered the pork with its dry rub on Thursday night, Saran-ed it and left it in the fridge until this morning. I took it out, let it rest an hour, seared it, and threw it in a low oven for the long haul. So, while I graded students' work, ate a leisurely lunch (reading Omnivore's Dilemma), and took a nap in the grass outside my apartment, my pork cooked slowly into a mass of soft, flavorful shreds of meat. It was beyond falling-off-the-bone. The whole thing was so tender the bone actually fell out of the meat, and not the other way around.
Gorgeous. Generously doused in vinegar-based bbq sauce....mmm.


In other news, there are 13 school days left in the third quarter. And tomorrow I get an extra hour of daylight to enjoy after teaching every day. Summer is getting achingly close. Eight weeks of total freedom! I am so much more excited about the summer as a high school teacher than I ever was as a high school student.

Gluten-free Blueberry Muffins

In celebration of my 60th day on my new diet, my fingers decided to be sore this morning with no explanation. Really just my right thumb, but still enough to catch me off guard when I tried to use said thumb to hit snooze at 5am and discovered it wouldn't bend. I didn't eat anything new yesterday, except these really tasty cornmeal/blueberry muffins I'd made the day before (gluten-free!).
I have tested corn a couple times, and am pretty confident it's okay, but I also used some gluten-free Bisquick mix I hadn't tried before, so it's maybe possible something in that threw me off? It's also possible that although my symptoms are pretty much gone, my body still might not be 100% perfect, and little minor flare-ups might have to be okay for now. My hands were fine by the time I got to school, except for a little residual soreness in the one thumb joint, so all in all, hardly a big deal.

And I will put in another plug for the barefoot running. I've been absolutely loving it. I went for a 2 mile run on Sunday after we got a bunch of rain, so I got to run through puddles and mud, which was just SO much more fun than running in shoes. If you wear sneakers and run through puddles, you get squishy wet socks that slosh around for the rest of your run. If you're in your bare feet, you can leave barefooted footprints in the mud and splash as you run. I might have to break down and buy those ridiculous Vibram five-toe foot-condom shoes once it gets to be winter, but for now I can't imagine giving up the feeling of mud and water and grass and asphalt on my feet. I did another two miles yesterday, and cut my time down by a minute without feeling any extra effort (16:30). Running has always been one of those things I had to make myself do because I knew it was good for me. Since I took off my shoes, it's become something I want to do because it feels good.

Here's my recipe for gluten-free muffins that might have made my joints hurt but maybe not (adapted from this one that my aunt sent me - because I couldn't find almond flour). They have the grainy texture of cornbread, but are just sweet enough to be dessert-y.

Blueberry-Cornmeal Muffins (Gluten-free)

4 eggs
1/4 cup water

1 stick melted butter

1 cup Bisquick gluten-free baking mix

1 cup whole-grain corn meal

1/3 cup brown sugar

1/4 cup honey

cinnamon (several shakes...a couple teaspoons?)

blueberries (I dumped a bunch in...maybe a cup?)

2 tsp baking powder

pinch of salt

Pre-heat your oven to 350. Mix the dries, add the wets. Fold in the blueberries last. Taste it, and add more sweetener (either the sugar or honey) if you want. Batter should be pretty thick. Spatula the batter into a 12-muffin tin - you can fill the muffin cups up almost full because they don't rise too crazy much. Bake for 15-20 minutes, or until the tops are golden brown and a knife inserted into a muffin comes out of the middle clean. Cold pat of butter and a drizzle of honey...

"I haven't picked up too much roadkill lately..."

I went to the Organic Grower's School yesterday, at UNC Asheville. It was a big conference for bearded 20-something hippies, organic farmers in overalls, middle aged women in clogs and fleece vests and craft fair jewelry, and me. To give you an idea of the classes offered, you can check out the schedule here. I went to "Why Primitive Skills?" and "Canning Jams" and "Gluten-Free Cooking: A Restorative Approach" and "Growing an Herb Tea Garden." I learned a ton in all of them, but for now I'm just going to tell you about the primitive skills class, because it was the most inspiring, and most philosophical, and also the coolest because we met in a lean-to outdoors while it rained.
Our instructor's last name was Bogwalker. I have no idea if that is her given name, but I am guessing it is not. Doesn't really matter though, because it's a cool name and it made me think of the Marsh-wiggles in the Narnia books. We huddled in the wooden lean-to, and listened as Natalie talked to us about why it's important to learn things like how to make tools by hand, and how to make vessels and clothing and shelter. Unlike some people in the primitivist/anti-civ camp, she wasn't dogmatic or judgmental, and freely admitted that she picked and chose what things worked for her lifestyle and wouldn't judge anyone for doing the same. She brought some accoutrement to show and tell... some baskets she had made, animal skin clothing, pots and spoons made from clay and bone. It was quite the collection.

Among the things we talked about that especially resonated with me was (bear with the crunchy jargon) the idea that we, as modern people, have forgotten how to "be in our bodies." I know, gag, right? And I think if I'd heard her say that a month or two ago I'd probably have rolled my eyes and said, yeah, whatever. But since I've started running barefoot, I've been continually amazed at how easy it feels, and at how little I have any desire to ever run in big clunky shoes again. Not just because I like being able to feel the actual ground on my skin, but because the whole mechanics of running is easier - I don't think about my stride, I haven't felt shin splints starting (knock on wood) like I always did eventually when running in shoes, and I can go longer without feeling so winded because I'm not working as hard to move forward. It made me think how readily we assume that the newest technology foisted upon us by our culture is automatically an improvement, and that we couldn't do "X" without it, whether "it" is high-tech running shoes, or high-tech nutrition in our food, or iphones, or truly ridiculous things like individually wrapped prunes. And we become so dependent on whatever it is, that we can't possibly imagine functioning without it; running without shoes? That can't be good for you! Nevermind that humans have been around for 2 million years and high-tech sneakers have been around for maybe 40 years. (She also pointed out that agriculture has been around maybe 10,000 years...a very short period of time evolutionarily. I might write about this later, given the effect that wheat has on my joints.)

Another thing she talked about that I thought was dead on was the fact that, in today's culture, it is entirely possible to live by yourself without interacting face-to-face with other people. We can work from home, buy our goods from home, drive alone in our cars, communicate online, exercise in front of a DVD and fill all of our basic needs without every needing anyone else. She contrasted this with 'primitive' or 'traditional' cultures where the sense of community is much stronger because people actually depend on one another for survival. I guess it just made me think a little about what we've sacrificed in the name of convenience and independence. And about whether the American ideal of individualism is really all that ideal.

She also talked about collecting and eating roadkill. I think I draw the line there. "These modern primitivists," she said, talking about her friends, "tend to pick up roadkill, and I haven't done too much of that lately, cause I've had more hunted animals in my life lately." Neato. She tans her own deer hides and makes buckskin clothing, but apparently she gets her hides from butchers who process deer for hunters. I guess a lot of hunters want the jerky but not the hide. Then she went on to talk about what would happen if "suddenly the petroleum infrastructure broke down..." and about how she'd be out trying to find tools and supplies that already existed, rather than scrounging in the woods for a piece of flint to make a blade from. I liked her.

The other workshops were very cool too. The gluten-free class was less a cooking class and more a class about food and nutrition, which I've become very interested in lately out of necessity. I am all inspired to try fermenting things at home now, like kefir and sauerkraut. I love the idea of living foods. The two women who taught the class also talked about raw milk ("bought from an undisclosed source"). After class, I overheard one of them giving some contact information to a man: "You can tell them I sent you, but just make sure you say you want the milk for pet food. You want it for your dog, or something." Evidently raw dairy is legal in NC but only for animal consumption. Kind of like how glass pipes and bongs are legal as long as they're sold for use with tobacco only. It's a funny country we live in, sometimes.

ftw

Hannah: also, have you ever tried evaporated cane juice?
Me: no, i have not
Hannah: i might see if i can find it somewhere...maybe trader joes...
Me: why?
Hannah: i'm supposed to make muffins for mom's ascls meeting saturday morning. it's at the house and i'm looking up recipes
Me: oh...cool. hey, you should make these muffins amanda sent me a recipe for. theyre made out of almond meal. gluten-free.
you could test them.
except they might be weird.
i dont know.
but. i'm gonna go run barefoot for a mile real quick before the sun goes down and it gets chilly on my toes.
Hannah: haha, they might be weird...i'm trying to be fairly traditional for these people, but i feel like this cane juice stuff should be good
hahaha hippiesssss
honestly just look at this conversation

sheesh
Me: haha...hahaha...yes. you're right.
Hannah: evaporated cane juice and barefoot running ftw
Me: in face, i might copy-paste this into my blog later
only what the hell is ftw?
Hannah: what the hell is "in face," i should be asking
(in fact, i know)
it's "for the win"
you should copy that part too. the part where you don't understand internet lingo


I did, in fact, go for a mile-long run barefoot. And it was lovely. My calves aren't in agony, and I felt like I could have done another mile. I restrained myself, because I know better (after past shin splits and knee pain) not to do too much in one go. But I was encouraged at how easy it felt, and also felt like I was less tired at the end of a mile than I would have been in shoes. Not that a mile is very far, but it just felt so much easier. I had to watch out for a couple pebble driveways that had dribbled into the sidewalk, but the asphalt on the road was still warm from the sun and felt great on barefeet. Warm asphalt is a pleasure you wouldn't even know existed if you only ever wore shoes.