On the Horizon: Digging Up History

I’ve always been interested in archeology. If there is a show on television that has anything to do with it, I watch it. History was always one of my favorite subjects in school although I do have to admit, if it’s anything from 1900 forward not so much. It’s too “current” for me to enjoy. I really like the ancient history topics. I even did extra credit in high school by going through an extra history book. It’s just really fascinating to me.

Imagine my surprise while shooting a story for OK Horizon, I was told by a person that I could actually volunteer my time to digging up history. I was certainly excited. The only problem was…I simply didn’t have time. But a few years later after my children grew up and left home, I revisited the thought and looked up the Oklahoma Anthropological Society (OAS) online and found out how I could get involved. They told me about an upcoming dig and said come on out and find out for yourself whether you like it or not. So I did. Well I was hooked and the rest, as they say, was history.

The OAS does two digs a year, one in the Spring and one in the Fall. They do them in conjunction with the Oklahoma Archeological Society. Archeologists and Anthropologists from OU and OSU jointly do the digs and they use the OAS volunteers to help them dig. It’s the one time that school rivalry is set aside and everyone gets along and really enjoy themselves. Volunteers from all walks of life come out for each week-long dig. Some stay all week and some only come for a day or two. They come from all over the state and even a few come from out of state to help.

It is hard work but at the same time, at least for me, it’s a time to de-stress. As you are concentrating so hard on the task in front of you, all thoughts of everything else simply drift away. You use muscles that you’ve forgotten you had. By the end of the time you are there, you are exhausted but enthused. Little objects that come out of the ground make everyone really excited and the thought that no one has seen or held these objects for a thousand years or more is simply awe inspiring.
In today’s video blog, see what it’s like to dig up some Oklahoma history.
Alisa Hines

On the Horizon: Digging Up History from Alisa Hines on Vimeo.

On the Horizon–The Road Less Traveled

Family farms have been a tradition in America for years. From crops to livestock, farmers keep the grocery stores shelves stocked and the clothes racks full.

A trend that is emerging is the average age of farmers is increasing and less and less young farmers are coming up to take their place. With the global population nearing nine billion, a small amount of people are presented with the task of feeding and clothing more with less.

Despite this grim scenario, a young couple in Western Oklahoma are bucking the trends and have a farm and then some. I was able to spend a couple days with the Base family at their farm in Geary, Okla. It was easy to see their passion for agriculture and it was obvious to see how dedicated they are.

In today’s video blog, we take a look at the Base Vines and Cattle farm. Diversity doesn’t begin to describe what the Base family does. They seem to have their hands in all things agriculture. They have a little bit of traditional and a little bit of nontraditional. All in all they are definitely doing their part in feeding the world.

Andy Barth

On the Horizon: Variety on the Farm from Alisa Hines on Vimeo.

My Little Victory Garden: Pesto Party

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Our kitchen smells like buttery toasty garlic-y basil.

Tonight at 8:15 p.m. I was so tired I had contemplated going to bed when I recalled a phone call from my younger daughter a few days earlier.

“I’m going to get a few groceries, mom.  What do I need to make pesto?”

And so the discussion about pine nuts and parmesan began.

So I was sitting there, recalling that discussion about pine nuts and parmesan and  looked over at her.

“Hey, I know it’s 8:15, it’s dark outside, and it feels late…but do you want to make your pesto tonight?”

She’s been living with us since July and I really haven’t had that many meal preps in the kitchen with her.  I felt like I wanted to bond.  To create our own “farm to fork” night right in my kitchen.  The basil in my garden is almost waist high.  The timing was now.

“Yeah,” she said.  “Let’s do it.”

My heart smiled and my legs pushed me out of my comfy chair.  Before long the entire island was covered with parts of a food processor, garlic infused oil she had brought from California a few months earlier, loads of sweet smelling basil, and her groceries.

We deleafed basil, shredded cheese, measured ingredients, chopped, and presto! Or, should I write…PESTO!?

The oily, complex flavor was delicious.

But the time in my kitchen with my daughter working by my side was even better.

My Little Victory Garden: The Sauce Tomato Crucible

PicsArt_1378691620801There are always the less-than-lovelies.  And, they have a purpose.

My sauce tomatoes are not sliced nor diced.  They are not stuffed with glorious salads, nor wedged and placed on top of beautiful pizzas.

My sauce tomatoes have a mission.  They are ridded of spots, bruises, overripe sections and holes bored by grasshoppers.  They are lovingly washed and quartered, then inspected before being packed into my sauté pan.

My sauce tomatoes were born for blending into spicy fresh salsas. Or, for pairing up with herbs from the garden and garlic to reduce into something beautiful.

My sauce tomatoes were made for simmering, for steaming, and for bubbling aromatically.

And tonight’s batch was extra-tangy-amazingly…saucy.

Bravissimo!

My Little Victory Garden: Salsa Like Wine

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Who needs chips?  A spoonful into my mouth, oh my…I close my eyes.

Green coolness, fragrantly salted hits the tip of my tongue and

Garden onion aroma goes up my nose;

Black pepper accompanies the bite 

And as it slides toward my throat I taste

Fire grilled chilis, and a garlic finish.

I exhale to recall the savory essence of my homegrown

Salsa Verde, vintage 2013.

A very garden-y year.

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When Rejection Feels Like a Warm Blanket: How Pixar Let Me Down Oh-So Gently

I decided Katherine Sarafian was the bees knees after watching a film clip of how she guided the historical and topographical research for her Pixar project, “Brave.”

“If anyone would understand my book, Georgie the Giant,” I thought, “it would be her.” Go big or go home, right?

So I reviewed the Pixar website prior to sending her my book. Warnings and kind messages about “not accepting unsolicited materials” were in several places. So I ignored them.

Instead, I did more research, then I wrote this letter:

0109_001By the way, on the other side of the letter, I simply wrote: “I do hope so. Sincerely, Kelly Roberts”

I then lovingly packaged up a copy of Georgie after writing a “fan-note” to Ms. Sarafian on the inside cover, slid my letter into the bundle and headed to the post office.

[Flash Forward Two Weeks] Continue reading When Rejection Feels Like a Warm Blanket: How Pixar Let Me Down Oh-So Gently

My Kitchen Utensils Deserve a Service Award

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This past weekend I was preparing pan fried okra.  I gently lifted one of my range fed eggs from its nest in the carton. My left hand opened the refrigerator, grabbed the milk, and closed the door in one fluid sequence. My fingers slid over the smooth chrome edge as I choose the proper sized mixing bowl.  I instinctively pivoted and opened my kitchen utensil drawer and lowered my hand to grab my Kitchen Aid medium sized whisk.  The muscle memory in my hand was already preparing for the size of its handle and the weight distribution of its shape.

And then my brain jolted.  I stopped my “cooking dance” and pulled the drawer open further.  Where was my whisk?  I searched back, back, back…and…oh.  We had a potluck dinner at work and I had taken it with me to prep the Caprese salad dressing right before serving time.

Bummer.

I poked around in the drawer here and there, dissatisfied.  But then I spied my mother’s old spiral, or spring, whisk.  She had given it to Rylee, and it was back in my drawer now that Ry was living with us for a while.

My best guess was that my mother had received it as a wedding shower gift.  It had certainly been in the family for as long as I could remember.

“Okay,” I thought.  “I’ll give it a whirl.” And then I giggled because I had just made a pun.

About eight seconds later I was looking at a perfectly mixed egg and milk batter with beautiful, frothy bubbles floating on top.

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“Wow! So much for my whining,” I thought to myself.  “Good for you, old spiral whisk.  You’ve still got it in you.”

It’s possible that whisk is fifty years old.  How may meals has it served our family?  How many meals have we served because the whisk served its purpose for us?

I finished my okra, then respectfully washed the whisk and picked up a tea towel to finish the job.  Walking back to my utensil drawer, I decided that the whisk needed a more respectful place and so I rearranged just a bit before closing the drawer again.

Yeah, I’ll give a whirl again.  Very soon.

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Volunteers for Jesus

I re-read the writing prompt for today’s NaBloPoMo post: “Do you enjoy doing volunteer work? Is there anywhere you volunteer right now?”

My gut reactions to these questions were, “I’m not sure” and “Is there anywhere I don’t volunteer right now?” When I’m stressed, I regress. I could tell by the instinctual rolling of my eyes and my gut reaction to these questions that it was 8:18 on Labor Day morning and I was already becoming stressed by innocent writing prompts.

Volunteerism was ingrained by every social element of my childhood. Volunteerism has been encouraged by the church to which I belong for the last thirty years. I have served on professional organization or non-profit boards for the past twelve years, and I was even elected the “Service Learning Faculty of the Year” at Oklahoma State University in 2009. The elements of my volunteerism have become so numerous that when I try to tease them apart with mental tweezers, it’s as if my volunteerism timeline jumps back together into one, sticky, hypermagnatized blob.

And that blob invades my life. And my husband’s life…and my children’s.

Mick mows the yard for neighbors and family when they’re on vacation. My children volunteered for clean-up work after the recent tornado hit Moore, Oklahoma. I continue to provide therapy to at least one client weekly at free or reduced costs, and have for the past ten years. I still volunteer to provide services to low-income or vulnerable population couples at marriage enrichment retreats. I still volunteer to play the piano in our church praise band when I’m able.

“Do you enjoy doing volunteer work?”

Yes. Usually. But the enjoyment generally comes after the work commences. I wrestle with my choices to be at a certain place of responsibility until the moment I begin the work. But then my mind quits struggling with the “whether or nots”, or that particular work-of-the-day and engages with the opportunity, the people, the hope that my efforts and the efforts of those around me make a difference.

“Is there anywhere you volunteer right now?”

Yes. There are places I volunteer right now. And there will always be places I volunteer until I die. And, that sentence I just wrote was not hyperbole, it’s really true.

How can I be so certain? I know this because my family has prepared me for volunteerism, and still does, since I was born and will until they die.

Case in point: Last week my husband was mowing my parents lawn because they are on an extended vacation. So, while he was working I went over to check on my grandmother who had evidently been cooking for a while. As I walked in the door I smelled fried okra, pork chops and gravy. I also spied tomatoes, fresh zuchinni bread, and tea.

“Wow,” I thought. “She’s 92 and she’s just whipped out a full dinner in not a whole lot of time. Cripes!” Continue reading Volunteers for Jesus

Serving is Not My Love Language

“Five more minutes, everyone.  Will that be good enough to wrap up your work?”

General agreement murmured across the classroom by way of a visual cue from approximately twenty percent of my graduate students. Looking up from their group work, they made eye contact with me and affirmatively nodded.

I had been asked by a friend to teach “Family and Developmental Theories” because at the last minute the instructor had to resign.  And when she asked, it was the last-last minute.  Four days before the class began I was running from building to building across campus: checking out room keys from security, filling out a stack of paper for human resources, and furiously absorbing the previous instructor’s syllabus because there was no time to build my own.

So there we were, two weeks into the class and the stranger’s syllabus had scheduled a “Movie Night” wherein my students were to take all their previous knowledge and analyze the movie we watched in class…

All their previous knowledge?  Wait, what?  For some students this was their first graduate course.  Others had graduated in business or other bachelor’s degree areas having nothing to do with the social sciences.  Their brows were furrowed and they were searching through the introductory section of Chapter 1 trying to take any concept they had absorbed and apply it to an interaction they’d just witnessed.

When the final call came, chairs turned toward the class, the group re-settled, and a quiet came over the class.  Once again, I assured them that ‘I understood if they had no previous family or developmental theory education, and that we would take this slowly.’

“So, who would like to go first?”

After three or four seconds passed, an older student in the front of the class raised her hand, “I guess we will…”

“Great,” I replied.  “What would you like to share?”

“Well, we didn’t know any theory, but all four of our group members have learned about Gary Chapman’s Love Languages, so we analyzed the following scenes using them.  First, we noticed that the mother must have ‘Acts of Service’ as her primary Love Language based upon the scene where she was fixing the dishwasher, refereeing the children, talking with her husband on the phone, and cooking dinner…”

The group identified each of the main characters, hypothesized which of the Love Languages might be their primary focus, and backed it up with the “why” analysis that graduate lecturer’s love.

Love…did I just write that?  Yes, I did.  I LOVE that the students were trying to stretch their scholarly wings by spending time in thought as well as time in discussion with our class. Why?  Because Gifts of TIME is my love language…not Acts of Service.

All six groups presented in six different ways, but they all performed higher than the bar their facial expressions had set prior to the assignment time. Continue reading Serving is Not My Love Language