Saturday: Shark and Sales

We heaved up early again this Saturday to go yard sale-ing. We were delighted to find what we are wondering is a new trend for summer yard sales or just a reaction to the terribly hot weather lately: indoor yard sales with---air conditioning! To be accurate, one yard sale was a big rummage sale for a school and one was actually a moving sale. A rummage sale is where a lot of people donate their used stuff for sale for a good cause, and a moving sale is, well, a sale people have to get rid of their things when they are moving. I think that a moving sale must be a good way to have someone else clean out your garage and help you get rid of those things that you really don't want to move (like cans of paint and garden hoses), but that aren't strictly speaking, garbage, either. Like a moving sale, an estate sale is also held inside the house, but an important difference is that in an estate sale, usually, the owner has "passed on" rather than moved away. My favorite purchases for the day? A giant ball thing with handles like cow's udders for fifteen cents, and an unopened case of fancy canning jars for $2.


In the evening, we met our new spy friend, Lee Sharkmon. His real name isn't Sharkmon, but who knows what his name really is. He won't show us any ID and he works for the feds (he's a federal agent), so who knows? We had a nice dinner with him (and this was after he met my parents and heard my US immigration policy rant---so you know he's a nice guy). We went walking on the pier and watched a young man reel in a 7-8 foot (2.5m) Bull shark. Bull sharks are interesting because they have the unique ability to survive in both salt and fresh water, so they can swim up rivers, and this is the scary part: they actually attack people. It isn't that the Bull shark is a bad guy, it's just that his 'unique abilities' allow him to be in places where he doesn't belong: in shallow waters where people often are. Or maybe it's the people who aren't "where they belong to be." I haven't any photos of this shark, alas, because I didn't have my camera. I might not have gotten a picture anyway since the shark slipped the hook at the top of the ladder. The fisherman who caught the shark is participating in a tag and release research program, so we were pleased to know that the next shark he catches will be tagged and let go.

The popular bait for catching sharks these days is rays. You can see in the video here how they are caught, handled and put on the hooks. The rays they use are Bull rays. Can you guess why they're called Bull rays? I will give you a hint: it has nothing to do with Bull sharks.

The Tall Ship Eagle

Last Monday morning we biked down to the pier to await the departure of the US Tall Ship, Eagle. A tall ship is a kind of huge sailing ship called a barque, and this particular one was built in Germany in 1936 and used as a training vessel for the German Navy. After World War Two it was taken by the US as one of the spoils of war and is now used by the for training future officers of the US Coast Guard.
A member of the crew of the Eagle told us they expected to leave port at ten, but it actually ended up being after 2 before they set sail and even then, they didn't actually 'set sail;' they fired up the diesel engines. So, we endured more than four hours of waiting in heat that felt like 100 degrees. But it wasn't a bad experience.I had a lot of time to watch the other people who were waiting. The first thing I noticed was that nearly all of those waiting were older than 75--old enough to remember the Nazis and the War-- and many of them understood the importance of the seeing the ship on the 217th anniversary of the US Coast Guard. I wondered if more than a few of them felt as I did, some pride in the ship as a kind of symbol of wrong made right.
I was struck, as always, by how the natural cycle of things demands that we be children, and then when we are old, like children again. By "like children" I do not mean to imply the the simple heartedness or innocence of children in the elderly. I guess I see a kind of vulnerability wrought from physical frailty. There is a similarity in the gait of one learning to walk and one slowly 'forgetting' it and in one who hears the world for the first time and one who having listened to it for 75 years or so, slowly becomes deaf to it. It is interesting for me to consider the child who knows nothing of the world or the infant with his supposed knowledge of the divine or mysterious with whom most of us are fascinated and thrilled by. In contrast, it is the octagenarian who is a repository of real experiences, feelings, thoughts, and dreams whom society seems to find bothersome and dull. It is a great shame, I think, that the world I live in is geared to concern itself more with the selfish wants and comfort of the strongest segment of the population (those 20 to 55) rather than with the needs of the weak or vulnerable. For one thing, there is a great deal to be learned from the experience (both past and present) from whose who have lived longer than we.
We met, too, one man in particular. This man calls himself Professor Robert Butch Wiener, and he made us promise not to call him "a character," so I won't write it. It was apparent from his need to be heard (and that of others who came up to talk to Thomas) that people just want to be listened to. He had interesting stories (and quite a lot of them), and it cost us nothing to attend to him while he talked. Perhaps it is annoying for some to listen to an "old guy go on and on,"
but as the sign in the crypt in Brno says, "As you are, I was. As I am, you will be."

A Land of Contrasts and Extremes

I am always surprised and a little perplexed whenever anyone who isn't a conservative American flag-waving patriot tells me that America is the greatest country on earth, that it is such a great country. Granted, it is great in size. But there are sad things here. Things that are just plain wrong, and wrong for so many who are undeserving of their fate. I often feel put into the position of defending the US, too. As great as we are, as powerful and as envied, and as criticised, there always seems to be an optimism and a faith in America's power and ability to improve things in the hearts of even the harshest critics. And I, I am able only to feel sorry for these critics for their naivete, for their having accepted the all-powerful image that we truck and peddle abroad. They are angry that we do not do more. I am not so sure that the US even CAN do all that much. Nowhere is the limitations of this country, its government and its people as apparent as it is in the huge contrast between the haves and the have nots. The woman we saw on Saturday, who was sleeping on a bench in front of a jewelry store is perfect example. There she was on the bench, with her WalMart bag of personal possessions beside her, sleeping on a sidewalk between a store called "Color Me Happy" on one side of the street, and one announcing "Life is Good: Cottage Furniture" on the other. I confess. I took pictures, thinking you would find the juxaposition of the images shocking, but I decided not to post them. I too, have questions for America, like how can we set up an entire base for fighting and killing on foreign soil in less than 48 hours, yet can neither feed the hungry nor educate the ignorant?

Southern Stingrays and Mantas

Watch these amazingly graceful rays. There were hundreds of them circling around the pier today. Apparently this is something that happens here every few years. Nomally at this time, it is jellyfish that we see in such numbers under the pier. Jellyfish, rays, sharks and strong currents are why you do NOT want to swim in the waters of the sound. None of us were any too pleased by the unsupervised boys who were trying to catch them so they could cut the 'wings' off and throw them back into the water to draw sharks. Bram was especially angry at them.

Casino Pool

This is the Casino Pool where I swim every day that I possibly can, and this is where I will be every day this week. The temperatures are expected to be in the mid to upper 90s (about 35 Celsius) with the heat index at around 119 degrees (48 Celsius). I started counting my laps a couple of weeks ago and at first set a goal of 5 laps per day (each lap is 25 meters.) On Thursday, for the fifth time, I swam 15 laps. Yesterday I swam 21 laps, and today, I made it to thirty two! You can see how close the ocean is. It's a great view, and several times a week, huge container ships go by. Sometimes, however, little crabs lose their way and end up in the pool.

Cars! Cars! Cars!

Big, beautiful old American cars! This one is for the menfolk, especially the one with the 'new' Skoda. You know who you are.

Bread in America

There were two things that one of my Czech friends told me she missed most about home when she was here: full service salons and bread. As for the salons, well, I know we have them here, but damned if I can find a reliably good one or a stylist whom I can communicate with in English as well as I can in Czech (and you all know how bad my Czech is). It isn't, of course, that we don't have bread here, or that it is hard to find, or even that it is outrageously expensive, though compared to prices in the Czech Republic, everything here is outrageously expensive. It's just unlike any bread in the world. For one thing, outside of a really big city, fresh bread, really fresh bread such as that trucked into the stores daily even in the provinces of Moravia and Bohemia, is a specialty item here.
The bread that we get in our grocery stores at home is made in a bakery some 3 hours away, and trucked into the grocery stores once a week. It is baked, sliced and packaged in plastic tube-like bags which are then closed with tiny vinyl coated wires called "twist ties," by the industry, and "twisties [twis-teez] by just about everyone else. These ties are different colors--actually only five-- blue, green, red, white or yellow-- and tell you on what day the bread was baked or delivered to the stores. For a while, there was rumor on the internet that it was possible to ensure that you are buying the freshest bread by choosing the correct color twisty (blue meant delivered in Monday, red was brought to the store later in the week), but that myth was debunked by the fine folks at Snopes.com , whose sole purpose is to test the truth of urban legends. According to Snopes, "since you aren't going to encounter a loaf that is more than a few days old," it is not worth the trouble to worry with the colors of the twist ties. Bread to us Americans isn't old or stale when it is several days old. At least not until we live abroad and have the luxury, and yes, it is a luxury, of fresh bread every day.
The texture of our bread is really different, too. It is soft, really soft, a bit more like knedlik or cake than typical chleb. The reason for this is the difference between American and European wheats and the milling processes. American breads are "enriched" (?!!) with fats and dairy products, salt and even sugar, whereas Europeans pretty much just use the flour, water, salt and rising agents. But to get a more European style bread, we have to pay more, a lot more. I suppose that the absence of preservatives also adds to the expense, since unlike typical American white bread, a leaner bread without them will get stale sooner. It is now possible for us to buy "fresh" bread (actually cooked from frozen dough shipped in ???) in our local store. The price for a ciabatta role is 46 cents each: about 10 Czech crowns! For one roll! Isn't it outrageous? And I have noticed that this 'fresh baked' bread isn't replenished daily. A loaf of bread is between $1.40 (30Kc) and $4.00 (60Kc) per loaf, depending on the brand. We usually pay just under $2.00 for ours.
There is another big difference and that is in variety. If you click on the photo below, you will see what I mean. The most popular is plain white or 'light' bread, and that is what most of the bread offered is, though you might also choose from one of 7 or so wheat breads, or rye, potato, oat, mixed grains, or various loaves enriched with extra fiber or made with reduced fat or sugar or salt.
It really isn't that I think that our bread is bad or even that I dislike it (Hey, I actually cried on the plane home last year when I took my first bite of a BLT-bacon, lettuce and tomato- sandwich, made with that soft American bread). It's just a matter of taste. And what you get used to. I have just gotten used to other breads. And now I miss them.

English Practice Time

Hi, Ya'll. This Heather. Wasn't it nice of her to agree send a message to you?
What can I say? She is a Georgian.

Community Garden Plots

Not everyone likes to garden and those who do tend a garden like it for differing reasons. The yards around the houses here on the island are about the same size as the house gardens in Zabovresky, and like in Brno, there is a community garden with plots that residents can rent by the year to grow vegetables, fruits, flowers and herbs. The plots are about 4 meters by 8-9 meters. They are not separated from each other by fences and don't have building structures on them, but there is normal garden architecture like trellises for running vines and espaliered fruit trees, wood frames for raised beds, and scarecrows and decorative statues like gnomes and saints and frogs. No one here camps out in the gardens, though there is a little area called "Palmetto Room" with barely functional tables and chairs tucked just inside the little wood at the south end of the garden. I have never seen anyone in there. My parents have two plots this year. For them, the sole purpose of their garden is to grow food to eat now and to freeze for the winter. Others rent their plots for fruit and herbs and/or flowers or to have a quiet place to sit. One woman even plants a 'memorial garden' in honor of her mother, though much to the chagrin of my own mother and of others, the daughter never harvests the vegetables. So for her, I suppose, the pleasure is in making the garden, tending it, and accepting nothing from it. On the way to the garden last week Thomas suggested that you might enjoy some photos of the community garden here. Since I derived so much pleasure from going to the gardens with Lenka in Brno, I agreed. So, here are a few images for you.

A Noticing Trip

Before we saw the headline in today's paper announcing a 60% decline in sea turtle nests on Jekyll Island, Thomas and I spotted a turtle in the canal when we were returning from the garden. We fetched Bram from the house and spent a long time doing some noticing from the footbridge. "Noticing trips" is something we have always done with Bram; it involves going outside and and paying attention to what we see. Thinking about it is a must. Talking about it isn't necessary, nor is the sketching that usually follows it, but what is the value of joy if it can't be shared?
This morning we were all heartened to see how abundant and healthy the life in and around the canal is. We watched the giant bullfrog tadpoles, which Bram says are "the wonder of [his] world these days" and tiny minnows make rings in a reflected sky, listened to the sounds of breezes and birds and bees and to the intermittent bellowing of a lone bullfrog, out of sync with the other frogs who won't "sing" until dusk. "He's got jet lag," one of us said, as a jet took off across the field. As the morning heated up, we saw more and more dragonflies, in electrified blues and chili pepper reds as they skirted the banks and rode swaying reeds. I guess most people would call this kind of experience "enjoying simple pleasures," yet neither the things we saw nor the pleasure we took in them were 'simple.'