Book 26 for 2025: “How the World Eats”, Julian Baggini


Although the subtitle says “A Global Food Philosophy”, most of it is an analysis of actually how the world does eat, including some rather remote tribal people, rarities in this contemporary world. This how also includes an analysis of how food affects health in different parts of the world, noting that although contemporary recommendations push vegetables and the Mediterranean diet, some people have no access to vegetables and eat mainly meat and fat and remain healthy. In other cases, like the Masai, cattle provide everything in their diet. The reader gets a broad based view of the best and the worse of diets and food practices worldwide.

A substantial portion of this tome–it is nearly 400 pages long with notes and index of more than 50 pages, looks at industrialized nations and world food supply, including the monopoly large food producing corporations maintain over what is available at grocery stores. Food is big business. The different definitions of food processing is covered as well as the good and bad. He debunks some common beliefs about food and health and notes that while people go hungry in some parts of the world, there is a surplus of food in others.

After all the analyzing and discussions, the last chapter covers “A Global Food Philosophy”. This includes recommendations for what we can do to create a healthier and more equitable worldwide food system while also saving the environment. He lists seven principles one of which is that our food management should be compassionate toward animals if we are going to eat them.

“Barbie Doll”–in honor of my mother


Barbara Lewis Duke, pretty, petite, blue-eyed and blond, my

mother, one fearless, controlling woman. Long after Mom’s

death, Dad said, “Barbara was afraid of absolutely on one

and nothing.” They married late, 34 & 38. He adored her

unconditionally. She filled my life with horses, music, love,

cornfields, hay rides, books, and ambition. Whatever she felt she

had missed, my sister and I were going to possess: books,

piano lessons, a college education. Her father, who died long

before I was born, loved fancy, fast horses. So did she. During

my preschool, croupy years, she quieted my hysterical night

coughing with stories of run away horses pulling her in a wagon.

With less than one hundred pounds and lots of determination,

she stopped them, a tiny Barbie Doll flying across the Missouri

River Bottom, strong, willful, free.

Note: This was first published in an anthology and later in my poetry memoir, “On the Rim of Wonder.” My mom loved the color pink and roses, had a rose garden. In the summer there were always crystal bowls on the dining table with roses floating. Today I have roses floating in two stemmed crystal bowls in my kitchen.

Book 13 for 2025: “Honey Hunger”, Zahran Alqasmi


This Omani author has won prizes for his fiction. Only a few of his books have been translated into English. This one takes the reader into the remote villages and mountain regions of the interior of Oman. Azzan, the main character, had received highest honors as a child and teen for his academic excellence but fails to win a coveted scholarship to travel abroad for college. His father, who is mainly absent during his growing up, berates him, and Azzan turns to alcohol and addiction. Eventually, he saves himself by becoming a beekeeper. He finds solace in the more remote, wild regions rather than the narrow confines of village life which is controlled by gossip and tradition.

In these wild areas he meets two other men. Although they do not keep domestic bees, they go camping together in the far mountain areas hunting for the prized honey from wild bees. One of these men is a Bedouin who trains prized racing camels. Through him and his wife and friends, he learns how much freer Bedouin culture is compared to that of the settled villages. He learns to dance and talk more freely with women. While in one remote area, he meets a woman, Thamna, who too has escaped the traditional village life and roams the wadis and mountains with her herd of goats always looking for better pasture. He becomes obsessed with her, always on the outlook as he keeps his bees and roams the interior of Oman hunting bees.

This story is not only about Azzan, but also his friends, traditional Omani village life, bee culture, and Bedouin life. For those interested in bee keeping, the author provides detailed descriptions of bee keeping. The language is poetic and infinitely descriptive. I could feel the wind, smell the different wild flowers and the taste of the honey created from them, see the Bedouin dancing, and feel Azzan’s heartbreak when disaster hits.

Although this novel describes a culture far different from that of the US and Europe, I found some things not all that dissimilar: the strict rules of small town life, the greater freedom found in nature, how people develop and lose interpersonal relationships. The language used makes the reader feel there in the moment being described. Plus I learned that bee keeping is very labor intensive and wrought with many things that can go wrong. I eat honey daily and now will have a greater appreciation of what goes into its production and harvesting.

Simple Pleasures


Taste the honey on your tongue

avocado, dark brown

clover, golden

so many shades, textures

sweetness

pleasure

Feel the breeze caress your cheeks

bringing scents

honeysuckle

lilacs

peach blossoms

pleasure

Touch the silken fabric of your scarf

wind softness around you

midnight and snow

rainbows

desert sunsets

pleasure

Listen to the birds outside your window

mockingbird love songs

a rapture’s scream

the whir of hummingbird wings

emerald, indigo, grey

pleasure

Look at flowers blooming everywhere

crimson bougainvillea

roses, sunshine colors

pale pink, vermillion

beauty

pleasure

Sing a song of Gratitude

April Is Poetry Month–3 poems for the first three days


I am a bit behind so decided to share three poems I wrote more than ten years ago about my favorite animal obsession, pumas. These poems were first published in my poetry memoir, On the Rim of Wonder, which is available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

I

My neighbor walked out her door

found a puma lying in the lawn.

Puma rose, stretched, disappeared.

At night when I open my gate

I wonder if she lurks

behind the cedar trees,

Pounce ready.

My daughter dreams puma dreams:

a puma chases her up a tree.

There are no trees here big enough to climb.

A Zuni puma fetish guards my sleep.

I run with puma

Night wild

Free.

I scream and howl

Moonstruck

Bloodborn.

I hike the canyon,

stroll around my house,

look for puma tracks.

I see none.

I would rather die by puma

than in a car wreck.

II

I watch for eyes, blue changing to amber and back.

I put my palm, fingers stretched to measure, into the footprint.

Too small, bobcat.

No puma.

My thin body squeezes between the rocks,

climbing quietly down the cliff.

Watching, listening, searching.

No puma.

Pale amber rushes across my vision line.

My heart quakes.

I watch; I wait.

It is Isabella, a golden whir chasing rabbits.

No puma.

At sunrise, I walk the rim,

watching.

At sunset, I walk the rim,

waiting.

At night, I walk the rim,

dreaming.

No puma, not yet.

III

I want

to walk

with you

in my dreams

scream your screams

feel your blood

rushing

your heartbeat

mine

soft golden fur

wound in my hair

your amber eyes

glowing

through my brown

death defying

together walking

moonlit

wild

free

Note: My puma obsession continues. This painting and several others of pumas hang in my house. I now have two puma Zuni fetishes. I hike in the mountains hoping to see one in the wild.

Book Two for 2025: “Memory Wall Stories”, Anthony Doerr


While wandering around in the library, I found this book. His two more recent novels, ” All the Light We Cannot See” and “Cloud Cuckoo Land” remain two of the most touching and fascinating novels I have ever read so decided to try what he started with, short stories. These stories do not disappoint.

The title of the book comes from the first of the stories. It is a combination of science fiction and paleontology. Via an operation to his head a young boy in South Africa possesses the memories of an old woman. Through her memories he learns of a her deceased husband’s interest in rocks and fossils. This allows him to make a discovery that changes lives. In the next story, due to the death of her parents, a young girl in Kansas has to move to Lithuania to live with her grandfather and makes a myth come true. The following story, “Village 113”, won the O. Henry Prize. It details what happens to one woman, a keeper of seeds for an entire village, when the Three Gorges Dam was built in China. Another story tells what happens to a couple in Wyoming when they desperately want a child but cannot conceive. The shortest of the stories, “The Demilitarized Zone”, is well about that–sort of. The final story, like several others, is about memory, in this case the memories of a Holocaust survivor, who like many who survive horrible events when others they know do not, wonders why her.

I liked these stories so much that I ordered his earlier collection of short stories, “The Shell Collector.” He has won the O. Henry Prize for short stories five times and the Pulitzer for “Cloud Cuckoo Land” in 2015. I keep wondering how he knows so much about so many places. His short stories and novels are set in countries all over the world. The research must never end.

Book 28 for 2024: “Gun Island”, Amitav Ghosh


A tale based on a Bengali legend about a merchant called the Gun Merchant, Bonduki Sadagar, this novel not only takes place in the mangrove swamps of the Sundarbans but also in Venice. It has nothing to do with guns but demonstrates how differences in language use among languages and translations can lead to total mistranslation. The narrator is an older, male, Bengali, rare book dealer who grew up in Kolkata but now lives in Brooklyn most of the year and goes back “home” occasionally. When he meets a distant relative by chance at a party, he finds himself enmeshed in the Gun Merchant tale and finds himself in search of a remote shrine where a king cobra lives. His adventure leads him to meet two young men and reconnect with an old friend, an Italian woman who is a famous historian.

What fascinated me most about this novel was learning all about the immense number of historical connections between the Bengali part of India and Venice especially related to trade and persons of Jewish descent. It is also filled with lessons in relationships among languages and history. For example, I learned the origin of the word ghetto. During the 17th century a part of Venice, Getto, was where their large and prosperous Jewish population was forced to live, Venice being one of few European cities where Jews were safe. Thus the word designating a part of the city became the word ghetto.

It is also a story about the risks and dangers of immigrants trying to get to Europe. I learned many Bengalis, mostly from Bangladesh, live in Venice and the numerous historical connections between the Bengali speaking areas of the world and Venice.

Book 24 for 2024: “Inland”, Téa Obreht


While I found her first book, “The Tiger’s Wife” fascinating, I remain uncertain regarding this one. First it is long, 374 pages (I do read long books); second, it tells two different stories which do not interconnect at all until the end of the book. I kept wondering, asking myself, “What?” For me at least, the story picked up about half way through and my interest greatly increased.

One storyline is the life of one homesteading family in rural Arizona in the 1850s told mostly from the viewpoint of the wife. Her husband tends to wander off for long periods of time leaving her on her own with their children. His latest adventure is not only their homestead but also owning and running the local newspaper in the nearest town. The reader also meets some rather powerful but unsavory characters who want to own all the cattle and all the land.

The second storyline deals with the men who were hired by the government to bring camels to the West and manage them, one of whose story–a real historical person–is told. His name was Ali, a Syrian cameleer, who died in 1902. He was called Hi Jolly because people in US seemed unable or unwilling to pronounce his real name correctly. This part is told from the viewpoint of another cameleer, Hi Jolly’s friend, who has a criminal history and is trying to elude the law. Camels were brought to the US by the United States Camel Corps in the 1850s. At that time few roads existed in the Southwest, water was scarce, and camels were known to be able to go long periods without water. The experiment failed so camels were left either in the hands of the individuals who rode and cared for them or left to roam wild. Some of the men, including Hi Jolly, were able to open businesses transporting goods to remote areas via camel. This book details part of that history.

In both storylines one recurring theme is the lack of water. At one point the homesteading family have no water at all. In the other storyline people hire the cameleers to take them to places not realizing that even camels need water occasionally. I find it telling that 175 years later we continue to struggle with water issues in exactly the same part of the country.

Canyon de Chelley–Part Two: Driving into The Bottom


Canyon de Chelley was named by the Spanish who could not quite pronounce the Diné (Navaho) word for it and hence this name which is pronounced like de shay. It is more than 30 miles long and has a river running through it at least a substantial part of the year. In summer native people live there with sheep, horses, etc. even though fewer and fewer of the younger generation choose to do so. To enter the bottom of the canyon, you must acquire a permit and hire a Navaho driver. This is to protect it from the vandalism that occurred in the past. Canyon de Chelley is jointly managed by the National Park Service and the Navaho Nation.

Canyon de Chelley begins at the edge of Chinle, AZ, near the Holiday Inn which, by the way, serves traditional food such as mutton stew and blue corn fry bread. Yes, I ate both. This photo shows the beginning.

It was quite a trip; I sat between two women in the back of a Jeep with a perfect view of everything right in front of me. Oscar, the driver, knew exactly how to traverse the water, the wash (what they call this stream), run up and down the banks.

Driving right up the middle of the wash.

Petroglyphs can be seen in so many places we stopped that I lost count. Oscar said they are nearly endless and can be found throughout the canyon walls.

A few days previous to our arrival it had snowed so everything was green and lush from snow melt.

In addition to petroglyphs, there are etchings in the rock walls.

In this case an etching/rock carving of horses.

Yes, we drove under this overhanging tree limb.

Sometimes the wash was narrower and deeper and we drove up and down steep banks and through deeper water.

Ancient pueblo people lived here for centuries, some more than 5,000 years ago. This is one of the largest pueblo structures in the canyon (The White House–due to a white washed wall which you cannot see from this vantage point). The fence was built to protect it from vandals. We saw many smaller dwelling places and Oscar said there are hundreds in the canyon.

Headed back down the wash. This was a half day trip so only saw less than half of the canyon. You can hire for an all day trip complete with picnic lunch and go all the way to some of the famous formations that can be seen from the road at the edge of the top. There is also a side canyon called Muerto–due to a massacre of the natives that occurred after the Navaho forced long march.

The Jeep needs a bath after this trip.

Note: With a permit and guides, there is camping and horseback riding trips up the canyon in addition to this type of tour.

Poems


I started out thinking I would write a poem per day for National Poetry Month. Well, I’m a bit behind on that, but here are two of several I have written so far.

Spring

The mockingbird awakens me with his song.

A hummingbird, dressed in green with an iridescent

orange collar, flits by my head then sips nectar

from a scarlet bougainvillea blossom.

The neighborhood barn owl hoots at dawn and dusk.

A black and red/orange bird I’ve never seen before

lights on a palo verde limb.

A Western Bluebird dips its beak repeatedly in

the talavera birdbath.

Remember

In this world steeped in senseless violence remember

each day to find a piece of beauty:

-rosebuds opening

-the scent of jasmine

-a friend’s smile

-a bit of birdsong

In this world ravaged by wars remember

each day to find the jewels of joy:

-listen to a child’s laughter

-dance to a favorite song

-walk in the morning sunshine

-tell someone you love them