SAT, NOV 21 2009
17:01:40
Tuesday March 3 2009
Eck, Joe and Wayne Winterrowd. Our Life in Gardens. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2009.
Practical and prophetic, particular and poetic, and entirely personal, Our Life in Gardens is a book well worth reading. Part memoir, and part garden book, it is a completely engaging and riveting book to enjoy, perhaps while sitting in a favorite chair in the garden on a sunny afternoon, or by the fire on a cool, wet day, when gardening might be more of an intellectual pursuit. Composed of nearly 50 essays arranged in alphabetical order, the book is termed by its authors a “gypsy trunk of this and that.” I’d think of it more as an old-time curiosity cabinet, a curio full of treasures to be pulled out and carefully savored, one by one.
Our Life in Gardens is written by Joe Eck and Wayne Winterrowd, founders of the Vermont garden design firm North Hill. They are also the authors of two other collaborative works, including A Year at North Hill: Four Seasons in a Vermont Garden and Living Seasonally; The Kitchen Garden and the Table at North Hill. (Each has also written books individually). North Hill, which is a primary topic - but not the exclusive subject - of this book, is the creation of nature and Eck and Winterrowd. It is regarded by many people as one of the finest private gardens in the United States.
This book reads like an iterative conversation occurring during a friendly visit, incorporating a fine meal, and an informative (and informed) walk around the garden at North Hill. I often felt as if I were in the garden with Eck and Winterrowd. While the book is co-authored, it appears to be penned in a single, unified voice, the result perhaps, of the authors’ lifetime of shared personal and professional experiences, many of which have occurred within the context of the gardens they have cultivated together.
Again, the book is a highly practical gardening guide, which provides incredible detail about different kinds of plants and Eck and Winterrowd’s experiences with cultivating them. The authors are incredibly observant and provide much valuable information about garden design, as well. Descriptions are complete, Latin names are provided, and the illustration provided at the beginning of each essay is handsomely rendered.
Recently, I have been writing about the ephemeral nature of gardens. Eck and Winterrowd also note this in several places in the book. There is a certain poignancy to Eck and Winterrowd’s writing about the passage of time, an intimacy that is both heart warming and heart rending, the sharing of something as personal as a garden made together…a life made together.
As I read, I was with Eck and Winterrowd as they enjoyed their early gardening efforts in a “grand” apartment located at 89 Beacon Street, across from the Public Garden, sharing their joy in the chickens they raised there. (Chickens in a Beacon Street apartment…see, you must read the book). I learned about their Xanthrorrhoea Quadrangulata, an Australian native they acquired during a visit to the Los Angeles Arboretum, and which has grown into “a great potted ox of a plant” at their home in Vermont. They note and carefully (lovingly) describe the growth of individual plants, including a Japanese apricot, the way I note and describe the growth of my daughter.
Eck and Winterrowd have produced an extraordinary book that provides valuable and practical information about any number of plants, and about gardens, their design, and their value in our lives. This book moved and humbled me, because of its incredible combination of all things practical and the personal experiences it shares. For Eck and Winterrowd have written with an authentic voice about the sacred and ordinary act of gardening, about home, their favorite tools and things, domestic life, vocation and avocation, seasons, and journeys they have taken, together.
Eck and Winterrowd understand something key that draws so many of us into gardening: that fact that “gardens are infinitely imaginable.” But Eck and Winterrowd have also provided a window into the other kinds of journeys that we as gardeners take when we carefully, lovingly cultivate gardens, stepping into possibility, the journeys of the heart that all true gardeners – and those who aspire to garden – know.
"A Garden for Everyone. Everyone in a Garden."
Tags: book review (3), Eck (1), gardens (1), Los Angeles Arboretum (1), North Hill (1), Winterrowd (1)
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Thursday February 5 2009
Cardello, Hank with Doug Garr. Stuffed: An Insider’s Look at Who’s {Really} Making America Fat. New York: HarpersCollins Publishers, 2009.
Hank Cardello knows a great deal about the food industry; for more than three decades, he helped some of the world’s largest companies sell their products to you. In his book, Stuffed: An Insider’s Look at Who’s {Really} Making America Fat, Cardello shares his vast knowledge about the industry in a readable, organized and highly accessible fashion. There is some extremely good information in the book; I learned a great deal.
Cardello opens with a bit of history about the creation of the Swanson frozen turkey dinner, and its impact on the food industry. I’ve heard this story before. Cardello believes that in this “one single moment, the face of food” in America began to shift. As an historian, I’d say think longer trends and arcs, but fixing on that turkey dinner (my husband recently confessed to having loved this TV dinner as a child) is certainly a great hook.
For the purposes of the book, Cardello breaks the food industry into three segments. “Packagers” are food manufacturers, like Cardello’s old employer, General Mills. “Merchandisers” are supermarkets; they are described as “the gateway to the food industry.” Obviously, packagers and merchandisers have a great deal of interaction. Restaurants are “operators.”
The real value of Cardello’s book is in its depiction of how the food industry works. He was an insider for more than three decades, an integral part of it. The book moves with assurance and authority in those sections that describe the nuts and bolts of the food industry. Despite his own health scare, and the new kind of work Cardello does, he is certainly not strongly challenging food industry orthodoxy in Stuffed. He does, however, do an excellent job of highlighting key issues relating to food systems, including obesity, access, school lunch programs, portion sizing, economics, etc. Cardello notes that all of us are complicit in the current problem.
Cardello has many valuable things to say; I would highly recommend this book to others. However, by no means do I agree with everything he writes. In fact, I would urge readers to be cautious consumers, and to carefully evaluate some of Cardello’s arguments, particularly those relating to public policy. I find some of Cardello’s policy assumptions and suggestions somewhat in opposition with mine. (This doesn’t mean that Cardello is wrong, by any means, only that I think he’s wrong in some cases. I welcome differing viewpoints; they are vital to conducting the real dialog that will move us towards solving the very serious problems in our food system. Cardello is one of the people I’d most like to have coffee with and chat up right now; he clearly knows a lot).
I made a quick trip to Vons, immediately after reading the “What Grocers Don’t Want You to Know” chapter. My awareness of displays, advertising, and the shopping behavior of others (and myself) was greatly heightened. Cardello was spot on about this. I found myself evaluating the “arc of activity” (Cardello explains that this is the six inches above and below five foot six, which is the average height of women). What Cardello shared about “power items” (bread, milk, meats, eggs) is true, and like other shoppers, I found myself pulled through the store to reach these essential items, which are located in the back. Every consumer ought to read this chapter; it alone makes the book worth purchasing.
Other chapters discuss how food executives think; the people behind the menu; how purchasing agents make us fat; food legislation and “the nanny state”; school food policy; consumer behavior; foodonomics; stealth health; future foods; and the quest for healthier food. Each chapter contained information I benefitted from knowing; conversely, each chapter contained conclusions with which I found myself disagreeing.
One conclusion Cardello draws that I strongly disagree with is contained in the chapter entitled “How Big Brother Can (Really) Help.” Cardello argues in more than one place that government is not the “right institution to force the industry’s hand.” He says that the “blunt arm of legislation will only make the transition…harder.” He suggests that based on “priority public health issues” - which the government should determine - general guidelines should be set. Sounds great. But Cardello then argues that the “guidelines should push the industry to solve the problem rather than advancing legislation that results in unintended consequences.” He argues that we ought to “give businesses the opportunity to take the high road,” and ultimately, let the food industry “be the agent of change on the issue of health and food.”
Huh? Why? Because this model has worked so well in other sectors of the American economy lately? Because the food industry, by and large, has already demonstrated its willingness and ability to do this? Hmmm. Call me naïve, but I don’t trust that many corporations will place American health above their bottom line, unless they’re forced to by regulation and oversight or the sheer weight of consumer disfavor. Clearly, the idea that the food industry would voluntarily improve the healthiness and nutrition of their products, at least by and large, hasn’t panned out so well for consumers, at least to date. And unlike Cardello, I don’t think that food systems activists are well-intentioned individuals/agencies/organizations whose work is creating unintended (and unfavorable) consequences. Unfavorable to who, exactly?
To his credit, Cardello does indicate that should industry fail to police itself, government should intervene. He truly believes voluntary measures will work, and holds up his old employer, General Mills, as an example of hope “that the right thing can be done” by food sellers. I want to believe Cardello. I do. I do. I do. But history indicates otherwise. More than a hundred years ago, when segments of the food industry wouldn’t and couldn’t clean themselves up, the federal government stepped in with landmark legislation in the form of the Pure Food and Drug Act in 1906.
Stuffed was a quick, fascinating and extremely provocative read. I was alternately sucked in by Cardello’s clear and detailed description of how the food industry works, and alarmed by some of his conclusions and recommendations. I found myself making all sorts of notations with a pencil on its pages. My notations included words such as: agree; disagree; gross; great idea; and wrong. When I make copious notes in its margins, it’s generally a sign that a book has challenged me, made me think, and will likely impact my thinking and behavior. I’d strongly suggest that people read this book for the nuts and bolts information it provides about the food industry, as well as for some provocative ideas. Readers will learn a great deal. But taking all of Cardello’s public policy recommendations to heart? Perhaps not so much.
There is one argument that Cardello makes with which I am in wholehearted agreement: these are profoundly complex matters and issues that will require a great deal of cooperation and out-of-the-box thinking to resolve.
"A Garden for Everyone. Everyone in a Garden."
Sunday January 4 2009
Like one of the BBQ meals described in its pages, America Eats!, by author/writer Pat Willard is tasty and completely satisfying. It’s a timely book, too: not only because of the material’s origin as a New Deal project (which the nation’s current economic situation has all of us thinking and talking about), but because of the growing interest in American food culture and sustainable food systems. America Eats! is an unusual book. It incorporates extensive pieces of regional manuscripts produced during the Great Depression by the Works Progress Administration with contemporary observations by Willard, who attempted to follow the footsteps of the original WPA authors to discover what remained of the food culture they described, or what corresponded in contemporary experience.
As such, the text weaves back and forth, past and present, an unknown WPA writer, then Willard’s contemporary account. Pay close attention: you won’t want to miss a bite…er, word. One minute I was reading a report from the WPA’s Oregon Office about wild hogs in cane-break, circa the Great Depression. A paragraph later I was learning about modern residents of Oregon, the Erickson family, (who live south of Portland) and their wild fallow deer herd.
This book really represents two writing projects: the WPA’s original project, dating from the 1930s, overlaid with Willard’s 21st century road trip narrative. The original WPA America Eats! project was produced by unemployed writers during the Great Depression. The goal was not to collect recipes, per se, but to understand food and eating as part of American social and cultural life, and to document the development of local cuisine and customs. (There are some recipes in the book, but not all are precise and usable).
The stories written by WPA writers were slices of life: local events where food was served. These included – but weren’t limited to - political, church and community events; religious revivals; teas; fairs; family reunions; rodeos; harvest festivals; national holidays; and memorials. Likely due to their prevalence during the Depression, the food and cultural life of hobo encampments was even included on the list. WPA writers were generally unknown, but many became famous (including Richard Wright and Saul Bellow).
The original WPA project was incredibly ambitious, and was divided into five geographical regions. Willard has provided a truly great service by producing this book, because the original America Eats! was never published. (Some sections have been published previously, but nothing on this scale has been attempted). The America Eats! program was eventually discontinued due to some resistance to the concept generally. With WWII looming, national attention turned elsewhere. The national project stopped in mid-stride; only the Southern region project was completed. While the Library of Congress has some of the holdings, others are spread throughout the United States. Some of the original materials have been destroyed or lost altogether. Willard’s work in highlighting the original project has brought to the fore important observations about American food culture that should inform our lives – and public policy - today.
This book celebrates American cuisine, and the diverse cultural and geographical influences that influenced it. Willard argues that while America’s is a young cuisine in contrast to that of other nations, it suffers from no “poverty” of heritage. The accounts of social life (past and present), and the food presented at these occasions, clearly demonstrate that American cuisine developed – and continues to develop - as a result of what Willard terms “unprecedentedly varied cultural influences,” among other factors, including necessity and “contrasting agendas.”
You can read the first chapter of Willard’s book, free of charge, on Amazon. (America Eats! was one of Amazon’s July picks…a great choice). But you’ll want to buy the book or check it out of the library, because the rest of it is what I regard as required reading. In particular, the last chapter is one every American interested in sustainable food systems and American food culture, including our federal policy makers, should read.
In it, Willard discusses the role of food in creating community, and how important regional cuisines and what she describes as “plain cooking” are to us. Willard makes a strong argument that it’s not the taste of our food, but how we use it, which has been central to the development of our nation’s cuisine, and perhaps, our community life. She also argues that we accept variations in our cuisine with more grace than others. We’re willing to do it our way, and let others do it their way, too, when it comes to food. Food has been an important point of assimilation in American life, and Willard describes the merging of immigrant and regional dishes in a way that should make anthropologists and sociologists take notice.
We each have our own food allegiances. I was born in Pennsylvania to expatriate Southerners. (And like Willard, while I can’t intellectually rationalize the ingredients of Pennsylvania Dutch scrapple, the mere thought of fried scrapple makes my mouth water). The gatherings of my Southern relatives nearly always included gumbos (chicken and shrimp), ham, cornbread, grits casserole, Ambrosia salad, my grandmother’s Million Dollar fudge, trays of pralines, lemon meringue pie, and Jezebel jelly. Oh, and bottles of Coca Cola pulled (at great risk) from the rusty old pop machine my great-grandfather kept in the barn behind his house. I don’t eat most of these foods now (except corn bread, which we eat at least once a week). But the memories of this food, a yard full of exotic relatives (none of whom I see any more), are some of the clearest, purest memories of my childhood. We each have food memories like this. Food shapes us, not only physically, but culturally.
We are beginning a new chapter in our national life, one that will feature some hard times and some hard choices. We’ll be looking back to our past for clues, and Willard’s book provides some important ones. These harder times, these changing times, conversely, will also provide more opportunities to strengthen our communities. Despite the Great Depression, WPA writers found strong communities. Willard found them, too. Food will, and should, play a central role in this new period in American life.
"A Garden for Everyone. Everyone in a Garden."
