사랑제일교회 전광훈 목사가 참석한 광화문 집회와 인근의 민주노총 집회에 대해 정부 여당이 다른 기준을 적용하는 거 아니냐는 논란이 커지고 있습니다. 야당은 “이중 잣대”라고 지적하고 진영 행안부 장관도 민노총도 조사할 필요가 있다는 취지로 답변했는데, 당시 두 집회가 어떤 부분이 비슷하고 어떤 부분이 달랐는지, 정치부 최지원 기자와 자세히 따져보겠습니다.
[Ch.19] 사실을 보고 진실을 말합니다.
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Sergio Pitol begins The Journey, a hybrid travelogue and literary chronicle, with an account of his failed attempt to write an essay about Prague, where he lived for six years in the 1980s. His plan was to describe his conversations with professors of literature, his outings to the imperial spas, his walks in the footsteps of Kafka, his viewings of Bauhaus buildings. All these details and more he expects to retrieve from the diaries he kept while he lived in the Czech capital. But when he scans the hundreds of pages he’d written, he finds nothing useful about Prague. Nothing at all.
“It was—and continues to be—incomprehensible to me,” he writes. “As if one morning I looked in the mirror to shave and could no longer see my face, not because I had lost my sight, but because I didn’t have a face.” This disconcerting predicament—comic but tinged with dread—sets in motion a sequence of dislocations, non sequiturs, and strange turns of fate. Since he can’t write about Prague, he decides to write about a trip during the same period that he did record in his diaries. It begins with an invitation to the Soviet republic of Georgia, but as Pitol awaits his departure, he is summoned to Moscow by the Union of Soviet Writers, who take charge of his itinerary, booking him for talks on Mexican literature and trying to persuade him that he really wants to visit Ukraine, not Georgia.
As his stay in Moscow drags on, his mind turns to dreams, which for some reason visit him with inordinate frequency in the Soviet Union. After attending an overwrought production of Gogol’s The Wedding and consuming an excess of pastries, blini, and caviar, he has a dream as strange and suggestive as his most baroque fictions. In it, a minor Mexican playwright of the 1940s convinces him to join her in an interpretive dance performance of the Chekhov novella The Murder. They dance frenetically, desperately: “There were moments of dancing on point and others in which we jumped gaily and closed like accordions as we fell on the floor.” Their exertions are uncannily like those of a writer frantically trying to compress a headful of ideas into the ungainly shape of a book. Finally, exhausted, Pitol escapes from the theater, where he is accosted by a girl who holds a mirror up to his rotten, decomposing face. When he wakes from the dream he is happy, but as he records it, his happiness fades: “Why,…wide-awake, did I think that I had a funny dream, which now, as I transcribe it, causes me unbearable anguish?”
Pitol’s trajectory as a writer was itself roundabout, with much doubling back, self-doubt, and delayed recognition. Born in 1933 in Puebla, Mexico, he began to write in his early twenties in Mexico City, where he studied law alongside Carlos Fuentes. But it wasn’t until 1984, when he won the important Herralde Prize for The Love Parade, the first novel in his Carnival Triptych, that he gained a substantial readership; he reached the height of his career in the 1990s with the publication of The Art of Flight, the first of three literary memoirs in his genre-bending Trilogy of Memory (which also includes The Journey, published in 2000—perhaps the best introduction to Pitol for newcomers—and The Magician of Vienna, published in 2005).
Meanwhile, he was lapped by at least two generations of writers: the Boom, whose members were roughly his age, and successive waves of younger post-Boom writers who appeared on the scene in the 1980s and 1990s. His work wasn’t available in English until 2015 (three years before his death), when Deep Vellum began publishing nearly a book a year in translations—careful and commendable for the most part, but occasionally so close to the Spanish as to be distracting, particularly in the case of The Love Parade—by George Henson.
Pitol’s writing is rooted in midcentury (and even postrevolutionary) Mexico, but he was also shaped by the thirty years he spent living abroad, primarily in Eastern Europe, with important sojourns in Rome, Barcelona, Beijing, and London. For much of that time he had various posts in Mexico’s diplomatic service, but he also made a living translating (from languages including English, Polish, Hungarian, Italian, and Chinese) more books than most people read in a lifetime—swaths of Conrad and Henry James, his beloved Ronald Firbank, Witold Gombrowicz, and Jerzy Andrzejewski, among many others. As a translator and a reader, he took a special interest in those he called “the eccentrics,” among them Firbank and Gombrowicz, as well as Laurence Sterne, Nikolai Gogol, Bruno Schulz, César Aira, Augusto Monterroso, Flann O’Brien, and others. He drew a sharp distinction between avant-gardists and eccentrics: the former cluster in groups and expel outsiders, while the latter are dispersed and solitary, detached from their surroundings, “a group without a group.” Pitol himself, of course, was a classic eccentric: a Mexican at the wrong end of Europe (far from the Paris of his expat compatriots), a writer on the fringe championing other writers on the fringe.
He was the consummate cosmopolitan, but in his Trilogy of Memory he often presents himself as someone whose passage through the world is tentative and half-blind. (Sometimes literally—at the start of The Art of Flight, he tours Venice without his glasses: “As the mist concealed my view of palaces, piazzas, and bridges, my happiness grew.”) In his telling, he’s always starting over in new countries, just missing important political moments (“either they had just occurred when I arrived somewhere, or they were about to happen as I was about to leave”), having to defend himself in the face of Europeans who see him as “the beau savage with Borgesian memories and flashes of Che Guevara.”
Some of the funniest anecdotes in the trilogy involve Pitol’s mortifying encounters with other writers. In The Art of Flight, a long-awaited day with Antonio Tabucchi, whom Pitol greatly admires, goes off the rails. Pitol, deaf in his left ear, allays his own fears that he won’t be able to hear Tabucchi by rambling on for hours about dreams, a Chekhovian cab ride, and a Mexican president from the revolutionary period. I think this is a true story, though it’s hard to be entirely sure in the trilogy, which reads like memoir but is laced with fiction.
Despite his professions of awkwardness, from the very beginning Pitol had formative literary friendships, and reading the criticism in Spanish, it can begin to seem as if there is no writer who hasn’t gone for a memorable stroll with him—a fondness for his person mingles with an appreciation of his writing. A raft of fellow writers (Enrique Vila-Matas, Álvaro Enrigue, Mario Bellatin, Elena Poniatowska, Margo Glantz) usher Pitol into English in introductory or concluding essays. The cultural critic Carlos Monsiváis and the poet and novelist José Emilio Pacheco figure in his accounts of his Mexico City apprenticeship, and even at his lowest point—in Barcelona in the late 1960s, after he resigned from his government post in protest of the Tlatelolco student massacre and was barely scraping by, brushing his teeth with soap and getting tips on free food from hippies in dive bars—he was on the verge of a fortunate encounter with Beatriz de Moura and Oscar Tusquets, founders of the Spanish publishing house Tusquets Editores, where he went on to launch Los Heterodoxos, an influential series specializing in his eccentrics.
The chronology of Pitol’s life is rehearsed over and over again in the trilogy. Sometimes starting from the beginning and other times from an episode along the way, Pitol traces and retraces his literary development (which for him is synonymous with his life story). Dreams, diary entries, lists of readings, accounts of writing processes, random encounters, appreciations of writers and theater productions, travel stories: these are the elements in play. It’s nearly impossible to make an outline of even just the first section of The Art of Flight, because Pitol is constantly interrupting himself, adopting and abandoning one organizing principle after another. The effect is a kind of erudite dizziness. By the end of The Magician of Vienna, the spirals grow tighter as in a span of thirty pages he circles around twice to the beginning of his career—“In 1956 I wrote my first stories, and in 1959 I published my first book”; “I began writing in the middle of the last century. In the year 1956 to be exact”—as if the coils of memory were closing in on the moment of genesis.
These narrative patterns are echoed in the endless overlapping lists he makes of writers and books, an alternate map of his existence. There are the books he reads in his childhood (“all of Verne, Treasure Island…Dickens…Creole Ulysses by Vasconcelos, War and Peace, the Mexican poets of the Contemporáneos group”); the most perfect books (Marcel Schwob’s The Children’s Crusade, Kafka’s The Metamorphosis, Borges’s The Aleph, Augusto Monterroso’s Perpetual Motion); the eccentrics, closest to his heart; the Central European writers he discovered before anyone else in Mexico (Robert Musil, Elias Canetti, Ödön von Horváth, Hermann Broch, Heimito von Doderer, Johannes Urzidil).
Pitol parodies his own list-making at the beginning of The Magician of Vienna, slipping into a fictional mode to skewer Gustavo Esguerra, a maniacal reader who catalogs eighteen authors he loves best (“in order: Shakespeare, Nikolai Gogol, Benito Pérez Galdós, Alfonso Reyes, Henry James…”), only to set them against the authors Esguerra has in fact read most (“Marcel Schwob, Juan Rulfo, Miguel de Cervantes, Tirso de Molina…”). On the one hand, we find ourselves attempting to tease out a deeper understanding of Pitol from this mesh of names, and perhaps to imagine our own bibliographical autobiography. On the other hand, we begin to wonder: What does it even mean to love a book?
Toward the end of 1991, in an attempt to give up smoking, Pitol visited a hypnotherapist who asked him to remember a few important moments in his life. As he describes in The Art of Flight, hundreds of images swarmed his mind, all static, all insignificant: “In spite of the fact that I’m in a trance, it still amazes me that none of these images alludes to an important moment in my life.” The details become more and more banal—jackets, sweaters, coats worn on particular occasions—until suddenly he’s confronted with a vision of himself and his brother Ángel, both crying on a sunny terrace. Pitol is about five and his brother is eight. So begins his recovery of a foundational memory: the death of his mother.
In the highlands of the Sierra Madre Oriental in the Gulf state of Veracruz lies the town of Huatusco, founded by Italian immigrants, among them Pitol’s grandparents. Sometime after the death of Pitol’s father from meningitis in 1937, the family went on an excursion to swim in the nearby Atoyac River. Trips to the river were full-day expeditions, like something out of a Western Hemisphere Passage to India: wicker hampers, peasants clearing a path through the jungle with machetes, women carried across a rope bridge. On this particular trip, when Pitol and his brother arrived with their grandmother to join the party, they were greeted with the news that Pitol’s mother had drowned. A few weeks later, his younger sister died of diphtheria. Pitol and his older brother, orphaned, went to live with his uncle and grandmother at the family’s sugar mill in Potrero, Veracruz.
Pitol’s sudden recollection in the hypnotherapist’s office of the scene of his mother’s death reveals much to him: “Many things had become coherent and explainable: everything in my life had been nothing more than a perpetual flight.” He realizes that he has spent his life protecting himself from the memory of that tragic moment, wrapping himself in armor. This new awareness frees him. Perhaps it’s no coincidence that five years later he published the breakthrough first volume of his Trilogy of Memory. The Art of Flight became an act of arrival, the confident performance of a writer who has recognized and embraced his vulnerabilities and evasions. As he tells the hypnotherapist in an unprompted and rather humorous literary self-analysis before they even embark on the hypnosis, he has built his writing—and, of course, his life—on detours and circumlocution.
This suggests that in The Art of Flight Pitol has finally settled into a kind of freewheeling natural rhythm, and that is perhaps misleading. The trilogy has indeed had a freeing influence on other Spanish-language writers—Pitol’s experimentation with genre, his easy familiarity with far-flung literary worlds, and his utter devotion to literature are regularly cited. But I sense that another reason he is so beloved by his fellow writers is his ability to write so well about—and perhaps embody—the great effort of being a writer. That effort is both Pitol’s curse and the seed of his originality.
Sometimes it interferes with the reader’s enjoyment of his writing. For me, this is especially true when he embarks on longer critical analyses of texts or performances, which tend to lack the excitement or freshness of his more anecdotal literary appreciations. But the works in which they are embedded—the self-deprecating, restless, ongoing narrative of Pitol’s bookish striving—tell a bracing story about the satisfactions of persistence.
The Potrero sugar mill where Pitol spent his childhood was an isolated place. In the short story “Cemetery of Thrushes,” set in a spot very like Potrero, he describes the mill as a kind of castle, surrounded by a “medieval map” of outbuildings. As a boy, he was often confined to bed by repeated bouts of malaria, and sustained by books—“ill from every kind of fever, tropical and literary,” as Poniatowska puts it in her introduction to Mephisto’s Waltz. He was brought up by his grandmother and surrounded by older women—his grandmother’s sister-in-law, her childhood friends, her nearly hundred-year-old nanny—who “did everything possible so the conversation would avoid any contemporary topic and remain frozen in a kind of vanquished utopia, a subverted Eden, the world before the Revolution.”
Characters like Pitol’s grandmother and the women of her generation populate the pages of The Love Parade, the first book in the Carnival Triptych. Miguel del Solar, the novel’s protagonist, is a historian turned amateur sleuth who becomes obsessed with a shooting that happened during a party at the Minerva, a landmark apartment building in Mexico City’s Roma neighborhood, thirty years before, in 1942. His investigations are conducted largely via conversations with difficult older women, all onetime residents of the Minerva: his aunt Eduviges Briones de Díaz Zepeda, a “mountain in perpetual motion wrapped in wool,” whose brother Arnulfo is a shady postrevolutionary player married to a German woman (it’s her son who is shot at the Minerva); Delfina Uribe, urbane gallery owner and scion of a powerful revolutionary family; and Emma Werfel, daughter and executor of Ida Werfel, a German Jewish Hispanist with a fixation on bodily functions. (Her studies of “the relationship between literature and the intestines simply horrified the traditionalists.”)
Pitol’s fascination with the scatological in this playful, baroque trilogy is the unexpected flip side of the decorous, timid persona he presents in much of the Trilogy of Memory. The zenith (or nadir?) of his fixation is reached in the second book in the Carnival Triptych, Domar a la divina garza (Taming the Divine Heron), in which another formidable woman, Marietta Karapetiz, introduces an insufferable young Mexican lawyer to scatological rites she once witnessed in a remote region of Mexico. The novel was inspired by Pitol’s readings of Bakhtin and by incidents in Moscow and Tbilisi, which are also recounted in grotesquely comical detail in The Journey. At one point in the latter book, Pitol attends a lavish, boozy lunch with new friends from Tbilisi’s Writers’ House. Toward the end, overwhelmed by the Georgians’ hospitality and the “bottles of an almost black wine,” he is led to a vast riverside latrine, “a long row of men of all ages, sitting on a never-ending bench.” Pitol, fearing he will faint, “look[s] for that insane pockmarked Virgil that had led me to that fecal circle of hell,” and then promptly flees when he spots his host unbuttoning his pants and heading to one of the holes.
Pitol’s interest in the “lower bodily stratum” comes briefly to the fore in The Love Parade when Martínez, Arnulfo Briones’s thuggish sidekick, is mocked by Ida Werfel for his secret affliction: hemorrhoids. This happens at the fateful party at the Minerva in 1942 and leads to a scuffle (“I saw [Martínez] headbutt her ample bosom”) and shortly thereafter perhaps to the shooting that so preoccupies Miguel del Solar. The novel teases the reader with the notion that this crime will be solved, or at least that its tangled strands (Nazi agents, corrupt postrevolutionary politicians, the Mexican far right, the Mexico City art scene) will be combed out a little, but Pitol’s aim is actually the reverse. Each new conversation is engineered to increase the reader’s disorientation, sending out unresolved tendrils of plot. The reader must cling to the cinematic descriptions of interiors and exteriors (the grandly eccentric Minerva itself; Eduviges’s eighteenth-century house in Coyoacán, crammed with “big oriental urns, bronzes, gilded wood”; Delfina’s rather severe house full of Mexican modernist art) and the dueling figures of Eduviges and Delfina themselves.
Pitol had his own term for his stagy, almost kitschy treatment of his operatic characters and their Mexico City milieu. He called it “cheerful expressionism,” by which he meant a kind of hybrid of personal parody, American movies of the 1930s and 1940s, Fellini, opera, and the comedies of errors of Shakespeare and the Spanish playwright Tirso de Molina. In The Love Parade and its companion volumes, these wide-ranging influences are contained (mostly) in an urban midcentury Mexico, painted in colors garish enough to match the novels’ over-the-top plots. Pitol’s literary experimentation is elaborately masked rather than vulnerably exposed.
Readers who prefer the autofictional play of the Trilogy of Memory will find Pitol engaging in similar games in his later short stories, most of which are collected in the second half of Mephisto’s Waltz. These inside-out fictions, in which the writing process is foregrounded, are like essays come to life, with characters conceived before the reader’s eyes and then dissolved again when they’ve outlived their usefulness.
One of the most striking tales is “The Dark Twin,” which appears in both The Art of Flight and Mephisto’s Waltz, showing its hybrid nature: in the former we read it as essay and in the latter as story. It begins in the first person, with reflections on the writer’s use of personal experience in his fiction, and proceeds to the introduction of a hypothetical protagonist: “I imagine a diplomat who was also a novelist.” This diplomat attends a dinner at the Portuguese embassy in Prague and embarks on a Conradian conversation with the woman to his right, the wife of an ambassador. She tells a story about meeting her future husband on a crumbling estate in Madeira where he is convalescing from a mysterious accident. According to her, it was caused by a mishap with dynamite, absurdly intended to “eliminate an islet that was obstructing the view from the house.”
But when the diplomat later falls into conversation with her husband, the man snarls that in fact he was attacked—by “a pack of hungry she-wolves, of she-wolves that were hyenas and vultures.” They “beat him with belts and straps, threw him to the ground, bit him, and took advantage of him and his purity.” At this intriguing juncture, Pitol takes a step back, imagining how the diplomat-novelist makes use (or fails to make use) of the material he has gathered, discarding everything but a very minor character, a theosophist from Veracruz. After Pitol’s novelist follows the theosophist on a return visit to the town of her birth, where she attempts to secure an inheritance, he imagines that he will return to the story of the ambassador’s wife and even sketches the plot, but at this point the original narrator reappears, informing us that despite the novelist’s plans, the story of the theosophist from Veracruz will eventually wipe out any memory of the conversation with the ambassador’s wife.
I’ve sketched this story at some length because a brief summary doesn’t give a sense of Pitol’s ability, at his best, to manage silky transitions from reality to fiction. At least since Cervantes, authors have been peering into or out of their own tales, but only occasionally do the appearances truly startle us with an illusion of human contact. In a few late stories like “The Dark Twin,” Pitol perfects his sleight of hand, finding the form he so restlessly and relentlessly sought. He slips in and out of these fictions with arresting grace, catching us—and himself—in the act of falling captive to invention.
In the closing pages of The Magician of Vienna, he writes in his diary, in an entry dated May 2004, from a sanatorium near Havana (the parallels with Hans Castorp do not elude him), where he has gone to treat a mysterious illness. Touchingly, he is still dwelling on craft, reading essays on the short story as genre and taking notes while reflecting on the successes of his own final stories:
I perceive a reality and imagination that have soothed their grievances…. Sometimes I imagine I am near the Threshold, that mythical garden where I’ll discover that everything is in all things.
Pitol was suffering, as it turned out, from progressive aphasia, which until his death in 2018 gradually robbed him of the ability to speak or write. His dawning awareness of this bitter fate (“The words escaped me, they came out halfway”) hangs over the final pages of The Magician of Vienna, which concludes with a stray sentence, as if scrawled at the bottom of a page.
May bagong barkong pandigma ang Philippine Navy mula South Korea, ang BRP Jose Rizal. Ito ang isa sa dalawang missile-capable friggate warships ng Navy na magiging bahagi sa pagpapalakas ng ating territorial defense.
But it’s also about setting priorities for that office, using its resources wisely, and bringing the public into that process by using the bully pulpit that a statewide elected office provides to shed light on those individuals and agencies that have failed to live up to their responsibilities.
Chris Dempsey, who has labored both inside and outside state government, understands the difference one person in the right job at the right time can make. He is the right person at the right time in the Sept. 6 Democratic primary contest for state auditor.
Dempsey, 39, a Harvard Business School graduate, burst on the local scene as leader of a grassroots group opposed to Boston’s 2024 summer Olympics bid. Before that, he served as assistant secretary of transportation during the Deval Patrick administration, and if you’ve ever used the MBTA app to check on when the next bus or subway is arriving, well, that was part of his legacy. It surely helped that the Brookline resident was and remains a regular rider of the T.
Dempsey has worked as a private consultant, and prior to entering the auditor’s race he served for four years as head of the advocacy group Transportation for Massachusetts.
Under state law, the auditor’s office — with a staff of some 225 and a budget of more than $20 million a year — is required to audit some 375 state agencies once every three years. And so it’s easy to get lost in the weeds.
Dempsey is committed to doing more — which might well require an expansion of that staff and a special unit dedicated to, say, riding herd over MBTA spending and performance. He has proposed using the recent and highly critical report by the Federal Transportation Administration as a roadmap, checking to see that the report’s goals have been met, including its safety goals.
He has also put the expenditure of some $5.3 billion in federal stimulus funds on his to-do list, telling the Globe editorial board that the traditional auditing practice of tracking money after it’s all been spent only to “realize we didn’t spend the money that well,” doesn’t really work.
“I’m proposing to track those dollars in as close to real time as possible,” he said, “and that is not going to be easy to do.”
But then again he is the guy who proposed tracking buses and subways in real time.
The State Police, subject of a reputation-damaging overtime scandal, is also in Dempsey’s sights.
“I think it’s incredibly important that we shine a light on that agency,” he said. “I’ve heard from the grassroots that they’re concerned about the State Police. They want more oversight. And I look around Beacon Hill, and I don’t see anyone who’s really taking the reins on that issue.”
And, as these pages have already noted, Dempsey has set a new standard for transparency during his campaign, posting his most recent tax return on his campaign website along with his answers to more than a dozen questionnaires put forth by a variety of special interest groups. The promises candidates make too often behind closed doors are important indicators of how they will govern. Dempsey’s commitments are all out there for voters to see.
Such commitments are particularly important as clues to whether the auditor will serve as an honest broker when asked to evaluate privatization contracts — a function reserved for that office under the so-called Pacheco law that governs efforts to contract out certain state services and determine whether that is good or bad for taxpayers.
Dempsey’s primary opponent, state Senator Diana DiZoglio, 39, has helped make the race for an often little noticed down-ballot office lively and issue oriented. Her exposure of how the Legislature has dealt with issues of sexual harassment and its use of nondisclosure agreements has been nothing short of heroic. But her nearly a decade of service in the Legislature is no match for Dempsey’s breadth of experience.
The winner of the primary will face Anthony Amore, who is running uncontested for the GOP nomination, in November. It is a sad fact of Massachusetts political life that an open race for state auditor is pretty much a once-in-a-generation occurrence. Incumbent Suzanne Bump has served 12 years, her predecessor, the late Joe DeNucci, served 24 years. And that’s another reason voters need to take this race seriously.
Chris Dempsey has the experience to do the job with a fresh focus on new priorities fitting the times we live in, and he has never been shy about reaching out to engage the public in issues he believes in. That too is what the job requires, and the Globe is pleased to endorse his candidacy in the Democratic primary.
Editorials represent the views of the Boston Globe Editorial Board. Follow us on Twitter at @GlobeOpinion.
A look behind the scenes with Demi and director Michael D. Ratner’s OBB Pictures as the title sequence for Dancing with the Devil is produced with XR (extended reality). Demi walks through what went into building the world they’ve conquered in each episode’s opening
My name is Jane Olsen and I am a rising junior at Bowdoin College working at the Land Trust for the summer supporting the Tom Settlemire Community Garden. This post is part of my plot holder profiles series, a project where I have been delighted to get to know the over 82 plot holders at the Garden, young and old, with all ranges of gardening experience. Speaking with Jamie Pacheco, Devore Culver and Connie Kniffin, whether as staff or volunteer, each provide significant contributions to the garden beyond the maintenance of their personal plot.
Jamie Pacheco
Jamie Pacheco is the Program Manager at BTLT and after almost five years of working at the Land Trust, this is her third year with a plot at the Tom Settlemire Community Garden. In her plot this year, she is growing carrots, garlic, onions, spinach, lettuce, tomatoes, broccoli, cauliflower, and sweet potatoes.
Raised on an old dairy farm in Winthrop, Maine, Jamie was surrounded by agriculture from an early age. She didn’t get into gardening herself until she was around 15 when she began helping her Dad grow vegetables and perennials. Her interest has grown from installing planters on the deck of her apartment after college, to the gardening beds at her current home.
“It can be very frustrating the first season when you’re like, ‘I’m gonna have a garden and it’s gonna be great’ and then you get hit with all these challenges that nature throws at you. So if you know somebody else who is a gardener ask them for their advice.”
Though it can be challenging at times, this process of learning and experimenting was one of Jamie’s favorite parts of her start to gardening. She was also drawn to the activity through an attentiveness to what she puts into her body, how food is grown, and how it impacts the surrounding environment.
“I love to see all these flowers in bloom and other pollinators thriving in this little pocket of the world that I call my own.”
Not only did Jamie recognize her personal impact on land as a gardener, but she also reflected on the institutional privilege and responsibility of the Land Trust.
“We are incredibly lucky as a land organization to have access to so much land. It’s critically important to me that we use that privilege to enable other people to have access to outdoor spaces and serve the needs of the community. I personally love food, so to be able to serve the community and give land access in a way that provides food through the garden and increases resilience is amazing.”
The garden is a bit of a commute from Jamie’s house so she will usually visit the garden to water amidst a day of work at the BTLT office or turn to her dad for watering assistance, as her parents have a plot right next to hers. Watering support like this is common in the garden; Jamie has not only watered her neighbor’s plots, but also exchanged seedlings and vegetable harvests.
“We’re not all gardening in isolation, we’re gardening together and in community. There’s an avenue for an exchange of information and knowledge. It’s so exciting to me that we are able to do that every day and it’s something that we’re going to be able to keep doing.”
Jamie has found ways to extend this community beyond the fences in the garden. She loves to use the produce she grows to cook for friends and family, donate to MCHPP, or even turn her excess produce into compost.
“It’s nice to be able to give what I’ve grown away. To be able to give people that I know or care about food that I spent hours growing and tending is very meaningful to me, I think food that someone has made is one of the most special things to receive from somebody.”
Devore Culver
As a non-profit, BTLT receives support from a range of sources, whether this be full-time staff, board members, or donors. While Jamie Pacheco works hard to support TSCG as the Program Manager at BTLT, Devore Culver has contributed tremendously to the Garden as a volunteer.
While this is only the second year Devore (Dev) Culver has a personal plot, he was previously in charge of the Common Good Garden, and now continues to guide the Garden as a mentor in the BTLT gardening mentor program supporting new gardeners at TSCG.
I met with Dev right before a rainstorm, he transplanted his squash while we talked so he could get them in before it rained. Just as he got the last squash in the ground the storm began to start, giving the squash a good drink while we walked to the shed.
Early on in our conversation, Dev told me: “I garden because it’s something I’ve always done. It’s 20 minutes, 30 minutes at a time of relative solitude.”
As a child raised in Maine, Dev spent a lot of time gardening with his father. As a physician, gardening offered his father a sense of release and therapy. Dev and his siblings find a similar joy in the activity and have all carried on the gardening legacy of their father.
While much of Dev’s time spent at the garden has been shared with the larger community, his “partner in TSCG gardening crime, and life partner” is Melanie Pearson. Outside of the garden, Dev and Melanie have both pursued careers in healthcare. Melanie has been involved with both BTLT and Mid Coast Hunger Prevention Program as well.
Taken in 2019 by Lisa Miller, the TSCG Coordinator at the time, when TSCG had a “sunflower room” as part of its youth education program. While the sunflowers were enriching to this program they are no longer allowed in the garden due to shading neighboring plots and attracting pests with their seeds.
When Dev first moved to Brunswick six years ago, he saw a blurb inviting Common Good Garden volunteers, and joined the team of five. After an enjoyable season, Dev stepped into a leadership position, expanding the Common Good Garden, building bluebird houses, and constructing a hoop house to grow greens and tomatoes, now used by the New Mainers garden. Not only have these investments in the Common Good Garden contributed to hunger prevention efforts, but the community of volunteers has also created a space for intergenerational gardening knowledge.
At the start of the Covid-19 pandemic, the Common Good Garden volunteer group was the most diverse it’s ever been in terms of age; teenagers were able to learn from older volunteers and Master Gardeners, fostering a rich experience all around. Dev has also collaborated with high school gardening research programs in the past, utilizing the garden to learn, build pollinator gardens, and encourage fundamental professional skills.
Dev has gotten to know many of the Common Good Garden volunteers very closely. Many don’t have a plot themselves, but come to the garden because they are committed to the concept of growing food for others. Dev particularly values the connection between the Common Good Garden and MCHPP, expressing that the overlap in volunteers allows for an exchange of feedback regarding which donations from the garden are successful and which are not. While the group of volunteers at the garden is close-knit, they are also extremely welcoming.
“Everybody gets in the dirt. And that’s just the nature of what this is. I think the Land Trust tries very hard to balance a community garden with some social objectives and I think that’s a really good thing.”
A melon snack for volunteers in the Common Good Garden
As for Dev’s own plot, he primarily eats what he grows, but because he is mostly growing melons this year he anticipates needing to give a lot away. Dev expressed that this sharing is one of his favorite parts of the garden, “In prior gardens, elsewhere, my neighbors started to lock their doors and pull the blinds when they saw me coming because I was constantly dropping string beans off.” He also fondly recalled breaks from volunteering in the Common Good Garden at the height of melon season, when the group snacked on freshly cut cantaloupe.
Dev has come to understand the garden from many angles, whether that be a part of the Common Good Garden team or a plot holder, he has accumulated a lot of advice for both new and veteran gardeners:
“Keep it really simple. First year out, don’t try to do 20 or 30 crops, come in realistically, knowing that you’re gonna have problems. Temper that with the understanding that not always gonna be perfect and frequently won’t be perfect at all. The beauty of gardening is that you will fail nine times out of ten, it’s just the way it is. It’s a very humbling experience because you go in knowing full well that you’re gonna fail. But that’s what makes it kind of fun. “
Connie Kniffin
In Connie’s plot this year she’s growing cucumbers, zucchini, tomatoes, eggplant, onions, lettuce and more. She loves to cook, and especially ratatouille.
Similarly to Dev, Connie Kniffin is a tremendous supporter of the Common Good Garden as a volunteer. But before she became established in Brunswick, it was difficult for her to leave home. Originally from Connecticut, Connie used to live in Woolwich, Maine where she had many gardens.
“Before the move [to Brunswick], we were looking at a cottage and then my husband said, let’s take a drive. We came by here and I saw the big community garden and I went, Oh, well this might work.”
While the move to Brunswick away from her land was difficult at first, this is Connie’s fourth year with a plot at TCSG. Her plot at the garden and her gardening responsibilities at Thornton Oaks, a retirement community in Brunswick, have offered her much joy. While she did not grow up gardening, she was a kindergarten teacher for 38 years so she loves being creative outside, something that gardening can offer her.
“The challenge of gardening, the unpredictability of it, you’d never know what’s going to happen and you can’t get defeated by that, which I sometimes do, but I try not to. I love the feeling of independence of growing your own vegetables. It feels good.”
While Connie greatly enjoys navigating the uncertainties of gardening, she also suggests turning to others for advice. Connie is a committed volunteer at the Common Good Garden workdays, collaborating to grow produce to donate to MCHPP. While this is a community service outlet for her, she also learns a lot along the way:
“I love gardening at the Common Good Garden because you just always learn something. Every time I go home afterwards I write down three things I learned from everyone. I believe everyone should take advantage of all the knowledge that’s around here.”
Not only does she learn from other volunteers at the Common Good Garden, but from the observations of other plot holders’ techniques as well. This year, after spotting a friend putting paper bags around her tomatoes, Connie tried the same method to help with wind shelter and moisture retention. Additionally after her zucchini plants began to get decimated by pests, she consulted Julia St.Clair, Agricultural Programs Coordinator at the Land Trust, and together they discussed a solution of row cover over the plants, ultimately saving the zucchini in the end!
While there have already been some ups and downs, Connie expressed her excitement for her plot this season:
“I’m pleased with my garden this year. It looks great. It looks happy. Yeah, that’s the important thing. This is a happy place. You walk in and you just have to be happy.”
From a member of staff, a former garden coordinator, to a committed volunteer, Dev, Jamie, and Connie, reveal the abundance of knowledge at TSCG. Whether one visits the garden once a year or every day, everyone contributes to the strength of this gardening community. We are especially grateful for the time that these three plot holders have contributed to the greater Garden in addition to caring for their plots.
Nashville, Tennessee – Ahead of the team’s first-ever game in Tennessee, the Nashville Stampede (2-5) have announced their starting lineup for the opening night of competition for PBR Stampede Days at Bridgestone Arena on Friday, August 19 when they take on the Carolina Cowboys (3-4). The Bridgestone Arena is located at 501 Broadway, Nashville, TN 37203.
Bridgestone Arena in Nashville, TN – Photo Credit: PBR
The Nashville Stampede (NS) is the newest professional sports team to make their home in Music City, competing in the groundbreaking PBR (Professional Bull Riders) Team Series which transforms the sport of bull riding from an individual event into one where riders compete on teams. Each of the eight founding teams will compete in a rigorous 10-event, 28-game regular season.
In addition to competing at two neutral site events, each team will hold a three-day homestand, with the Stampede being the second to welcome their hometown fans. PBR Stampede Days will take over Bridgestone Arena Aug. 19-21, with each team facing a new opponent for a five-on-five game nightly. The winner of each game will be the team with the top aggregate score.
The starting roster for the Stampede on Friday, Aug. 19 will feature two PBR World Champions in 2018 title holder Kaique Pacheco and the roster’s newest protected rider and three-time PBR World Champion Silvano Alves. The five-man lineup will be completed by Thiago Salgado, Joao Henrique Lucas and Manoelito de Souza Junior. They will go head-to-head with the Carolina Cowboys’ (CC) lineup which will include Boudreaux Campbell, Ramon de Lima, Lane Nobles, Mason Taylor, and Daylon Swearingen.
The rider and bull matchups for the game, in buck order, are as follows:
Following their opening game on August 19, the Stampede will play the Ariat Texas Rattlers (2-5) on Saturday, August 20, and the Kansas City Outlaws (2-5) on Sunday, August 21. The Nashville Stampede is now sixth in the regular season standings, having gone 2-5 in gameplay, amassing 12 bonus round points through the first three events of the season.
On August 19, the additional game matchups are:
The starting rosters for those teams are:
The bull riding action for the 2022 PBR Team Series’ Stampede Days at Bridgestone Arena begins at 7:45 p.m. CDT on Friday, August 19, 6:45 p.m. CDT on Saturday, August 20, and 12:15 p.m. CDT on Sunday, August 21. Prior to Friday’s event, fans will be brought a concert from reigning Rocky Mountain Music Entertainer of the Year, Chancey Williams starting at 6:30 p.m.
Tickets for the three-day event are on sale now and start at $20, taxes and fees not included. Tickets can be purchased online at Ticketmaster.com and PBR.com, at the Bridgestone Arena Box Office, or by calling PBR customer service at 1-800-732-1727. Three-day ticket packages will also be available, offering fans up to a 25% discount on select price levels. For more information about Nashville Stampede, visit pbr.com/teams/stampede/, Nashville Stampede on Facebook, @NashvilleStampede on Instagram, or @Nash_Stampede on Twitter.
The Nashville Stampede will also hold a two-day, free-to-attend fan festival prior to the bull riding on Aug. 19-20, featuring non-stop musical performances. The Stampede Days fan festival will begin at 1:00 p.m. on Friday, August 19, and at 11:00 a.m. on Saturday, August 20. Performers for Friday, August 19 include Shelby Darrall (1:00 p.m.), Walker Montgomery (2:00 p.m.), Catie Offerman (3:00 p.m.), Noah Hicks (4:00 p.m.), and Charly Reynolds (5:00 p.m.), while the lineup for Saturday, August 20 is headlined by John Haywood (11: 00 a.m.), Carson Beyer (12:00 p.m.), Kimberly Kelly (1:00 p.m.), Will Jones (2:30 p.m.), Mae Estes (3:30 p.m.) and Chancie Neal (4:15 p.m.).
Nashville Stampede is based at Bridgestone Arena in Nashville, Tennessee, where the team will hold its inaugural Stampede Days homestand on August 19-21, 2022, the fourth event of the 10-event PBR Team Series regular season. The Stampede is coached by two-time PBR World Champion Justin McBride. Under the leadership of General Manager Tina Battock, the Stampede is owned by Morris Communications Company, LLC (MCC), which is part of a privately held company with diversified holdings in media, real estate, property development, and agribusiness. MCC is based in Augusta, Georgia. MCC’s current media holdings include Morris Media Network (MMN) which reaches millions of consumers with diversified content brands in print, digital, products, and live events including Western Horseman, Barrel Horse News, Quarter Horse News, Road to the Horse, EquiStat and the National Barrel Horse Association. A portfolio of lifestyle publications and digital assets serve outdoor/sporting/travel enthusiasts with Alaska Magazine, Milepost, Gray’s Sporting Journal, Charlotte Magazine, Orlando Magazine, Savannah Magazine, Where Visitor publications, and more, including the Nashville Stampede, one of eight founding teams in the new PBR Team Series.
The PBR Team Series is an elite new league that will feature the world’s top bull riders competing on teams in five-on-five bull riding games during an 11-event season beginning in July and culminating in a team championship at T-Mobile Arena in Las Vegas November 4-6. During the 2022 season, each of the eight teams representing teams in Austin, TX; Fort Worth, TX; Glendale, AZ; Kansas City, MO; Nashville, TN; Oklahoma City, OK; Ridgedale, MO; and Winston-Salem, NC will host a three-day homestand. There will also be neutral site games in Cheyenne, WY, and Anaheim, CA. To determine team rosters, the league held a rider draft on May 23 prior to the start of the 2022 season among any bull riders who have declared for the draft during a league eligibility window. The PBR Team Series builds on the existing structure of professional bull riding with the same basic rules for judging and scoring qualified 8-second bull rides. Events will be staged in a tournament-style format with all teams competing in head-to-head matchups against a different opponent each day. Each game will feature five riders per team squaring off against another team. Full team rosters will be comprised of seven riders on the core roster and three practice squad members. The team with the highest aggregate score of qualified rides among its riders will be declared the winner of each game. The event winner will be the team with the most game wins across an event, with a special bonus round designed as a tie-breaker to determine the final event standings. All PBR Team Series events will be carried on either the CBS Television Network, streaming live on Paramount+, CBS Sports Network, or RidePass on PlutoTV.
The post PBR Stampede Days – Nashville, TN appeared first on Cowboy Lifestyle Network.
Watch Funniest animals / Funny cats and dogs 2022 / #15
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Welcome to my channel Animals Fun.
This video will help you relax after watching the best moments with animals. I guarantee you will laugh. A selection of interesting moments from the life of cats and dogs will make you laugh.
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GREVENSTEINER REZEPTIDEE: ROASTBEEF MIT ROSMARINKARTOFFELN & GRÜNEN BOHNEN
Rezept für 4 Personen:
1,5 kg Roastbeef
50ml Öl
Meersalz, Pfeffer
500g grüne Bohnen
Rosmarin-Kartoffeln:
4-5 Rosmarinzweige
100ml Olivenöl
Meersalz
Kräuterbutter:
1/2 Bund Schnittlauch
1/2 Bund Petersilie
1/2 Stk Butter
1 TL Salz
Zubereitung:
1. Fleisch salzen und pfeffern, dann von allen Seiten scharf anbraten
2. Fleisch in den Ofen schieben (bei 160 Grad 1h)
3. In der Zwischenzeit:
Bohnen waschen und schneiden, Kartoffeln waschen und schneiden
Rosmarinzweige schneiden und auf die Kartoffeln geben. Anschliessend
das Olivenöl verteilen und salzen.
4. Kartoffeln für ca 45 min in den Ofen eine Stufe unter das Fleisch schieben
5. Für die Kräuterbutter Schnittlauch und Petersilie schnippeln und mit der zimmerwarmen Butter vermengen bis sich eine streichzarte Buttermasse ergibt, anschliessend in den Kühlschrank.
6. Fleisch aus dem Ofen holen und aufschneiden.
7. Die Roastbeef Scheiben mit Rosmarin-Kartoffeln, den grünen Bohnen und der in Scheiben geschnittenen Kräuterbutter anrichten
Fertig!
Grevensteiner Landbier wünscht einen guten Appetit!
Tipp:
Je nach gewünschtem Bräunungsgrad kann man die Rosmarin-Kartoffeln kurz vor dem Anrichten nochmals 2-3 Min auf 250 Grad Oberhitze oder Grillfunktion bräunen, indem man ggf. einfach das Kartoffelblech mit dem Roastbeef tauscht.
Weitere Rezeptideen auf www.grevensteiner.de
