Past Blogs

Good things can happen when people work together. In the case of Charlevoix, Michigan, a small town on the northeastern shore of Lake Michigan, a sensational thing has happened.

In 1982, a town meeting was held to brainstorm ideas for making the town more attractive. Mundane ideas were suggested until Dale Boss, a retired milkman, brought up his idea. He suggested that five miles of petunias be planted between the curb and the terrace grass all along the length of US 31 which runs through the town.

His idea brings to mind a quote from Daniel Burnham, the great architect and Director of Works for the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago. “Make no little plans; they have no magic to stir men’s blood…”

Apparently blood was stirred as five miles of narrow beds were dug, filled with good soil and fertilized. Volunteer crews planted thousands of petunias, and Mr. Boss in a watering truck gave the plants a drink every morning starting at 4:00 AM.

Fast forward thirty years to 2013 and Operation Petunia as it is called had its thirtieth anniversary. The beds have been widened, the petunias are up to 62,000 (1,200 flats) and the community is on its fourth watering truck. Mr. Boss still gets up at 3:45 AM to water the blooms seven days a week…..except if there has been rain.

Last Thursday, May 29, 2014, we were heading into Charlevoix at 11:00 AM. When we hit the northern edge of town, NO PETUNIAS were in sight as in past years. There were cultivated beds with perfectly evenly spaced holes in them. The empty beds spanned the entire town.

We continued on our road trip, petunia-less, to Traverse City, Interlochen and Lake Michigan enjoying the blossoming fruit orchards and tidy vineyards. By seven in the evening, we were again approaching Charlevoix on our way back north. We could hardly believe our eyes. The petunias were all in place, all five, perky, colorful miles of them. And then we saw the banner that read:

The planting had been delayed a week due to an extremely late spring. 800 plus volunteers had put all the petunias in the ground. And to top it all off, we saw the watering truck coming down the road, spraying the newly planted flowers as it went.

We circled back and followed it for a while. Teamwork can work wonders.

“I think we are in trouble menu-wise,” I said to my husband at the end of a recent week. I had just returned home from the Milwaukee Art Museum where I had unsuccessfully attempted to have a light lunch after doing a school tour.

The posted menu had many meaty items including a featured entree of pork belly. I don’t want to impose my almost vegetarian eating style on others, but I do appreciate a few non beast entrees on a menu.

That entire week had been an eye opener. I had stopped at a charming coffee shop in Madison to get a drink and snack before my long drive home. Cold pork and quinoa salad was the lunch special. Pulled pork loomed large on the following day’s noon menu. By Friday I was convinced that a menu without three pork concoctions was considered declasse.

My hunch was confirmed when we were out of the state the following week. We stopped in a delightful looking restaurant named Prep and Pastry for breakfast. The limited breakfast menu featured two pork belly items; a breakfast sandwich with pork belly, cheese and eggs and a pork belly biscuit. We ordered eggs and toast, but wanted to try a pastry; after all, this establishment had the word “pastry” in its name. My husband went to the pastry trays to select one for us. He came back with no pastry and a troubled look on his face.

“The one I picked out turned out to be a bacon croissant,” he explained, “so I decided to pass.”

What can I say except that piggy menu items are very, very trendy now. And if I were a pig, I would be running for the hills.

“If you find a piece of red beach glass, you will be having a red letter day,” I recently remarked to a friend. And then a question spontaneously popped into my brain…..why do we call special days red letter ones?

The answer was easy to find and dates back to the 1400’s. Since the peasants couldn’t read, the church fathers printed the special feast days on ecclesiastical calendars with red ink. And here we are, six hundred years later, still having red letter days.

Red is an assertive color. First on the visible spectrum of light, it has the longest wave length of all the colors. Red is hard to ignore and evokes strong responses.

On the positive side we have those red letter days and we can get the red carpet treatment or be a red blooded male. Red is the color associated with love and Valentines Day. Christmas without red is unthinkable. In Asia it is the good luck color seen everywhere at New Year’s time and wedding celebrations.

But red has numerous negative connotations as well. It is not good to see red, be in the red, be caught red handed or have to deal with red tape, red cents or red herring. Scarlet letters have a vastly different meaning than red letter days. Red is also associated with danger, therefore, Homeland Security does not issue mauve alerts.

During the day, red is bold, flamboyant and screaming for attention. But when the sun starts to set, red is the first color to retreat into the shadows. Those red sails at sunset aren’t red.

Scientifically, red, green and blue are the primary additive colors of light and produce white when mixed together. Red, yellow and blue are the primary colors of pigment. They produce brown (mud color, as I tell my students) when mixed together. This is all confusing, but in both science and art, red stands out. It’s the drama queen of colors.

Food is not medicine. I recoil every time I hear it defined that way. And I most certainly want to avoid eating any meal prepared by someone who thinks food is the equivalent of a prescription. The only people who eagerly look forward to taking medicine are called addicts, hooked on oxycontin or other drugs.

Medicine is used to cure, not nourish, and should be used wisely and sparingly. Food, on the other hand, is the fuel of life and a feast for the senses. If we decide not to eat (by going on a fad diet for example) our bodies send us hunger pangs and cravings, reminders that something essential is missing.

I look forward to every meal, every day, and I view cooking as an edible art project. Authors who write about the pleasures of the table, such as M.F.K. Fischer, Ruth Reichel and Julia Child, are among my favorite writers. Sample a few of their words plus those of Michael Pollan:

“If you’re concerned about your health, you should probably avoid products that make health claims. Why? Because a health claim on a food product is a strong indication it’s not really food, and food is what you want to eat.”  Michael Pollan

“I think one of the terrible things today is this deathly fear of food: fear of eggs, say, or fear of butter. Most doctors feel you can  have a little bit of everything.” Julia Child

“Anyone who feels they’re too sophisticated or too grown up to eat caramel corn, is not invited to my house for dinner.”   Ruth Reichel

“A world without tomatoes is like a string quartet without violins.”   Laurie Colwin

“Giving someone a taste of something delicious at exactly the right moment is a fail-safe way to start a good relationship.”   Kim Severson

Food is a purveyor of pleasure as well as sustenance. No spoonful of sugar is necessary to make it go down.

The jazz comes on when the sun goes down. My husband and I agree that jazz is at its best when the world is dark and the day is done.

Neither of us have had any formal schooling in music, a fact we both regret. Having studied the visual arts, I understand that added enjoyment comes with added knowledge.

Our jazz education has been an improvisation. Over the years we have had the good fortune to spend time in New Orleans. We’ve learned by listening to jazz legends at Tipitina’s on Tchoupitoulas Street, The Maple Leaf Bar on Oak Street and Mid-City Lanes Rock ‘n Bowl. The Jazz and Heritage Festival and French Quarter Festivals have provided hours of jazz at its best.

Home here in Wisconsin, we were schooled by many jazz savvy friends. I was a member of Artist Series at the Pabst, a group that brought the best in classical and jazz music to Milwaukee. These friends and fellow board members enriched our lives in so many ways I would need a book, not a blog, to tell the story.

Now that we live far from the big city, the jazz arrives nightly just before we sit down for dinner. Our beloved CDs are in retirement because of an amazing radio station, Radio Swiss Jazz. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, this station streams jazz in the styles we love most. I recently learned that the station’s playlists are the result of constant listener feedback. I would love to meet these mellow jazz fans.

If you are also a jazz lover, check out Radio Swiss Jazz…..even during the day. More Radio Swiss Jazz options are here.