37. Plant families

Yesterday on FB, a friend posted this meme:

 To which he added, "There are many correct (& even more incorrect) answers."

He got a few responses:

Legumes and brassicas—or Fabaceae (Leguminosae, with 765 genera and nearly 20,000 species), aka beans, peas, chickpeas, and lentils, and Brassicaceae, the mustard family, including cabbage, broccoli, brussels sprouts, cauliflower, bok choy, Napa cabbage, and even turnips and radishes, not to mention the plant that canola oil comes from. Alfalfa is a legume, as are beautiful lupines: food for cows, food for the eyes. According to Wikipedia, "Legumes are a significant source of protein, dietary fibre, carbohydrates, and dietary minerals; for example, a 100 gram serving of cooked chickpeas contains 18 percent of the Daily Value (DV) for protein, 30 percent DV for dietary fiber, 43 percent DV for folate, and 52 percent DV for manganese." As for the Brassicas, despite there being some 330 genera and 3,700 species, the most important genus for us is arguably Brassica, of which some 40 different species adorn our dinner tables on a regular basis. 

Others suggested one of those two families plus Poaceae (or Graminae): the grains and grasses, with 780 genera and 12,000 species. Wiki again: "The Poaceae are the most economically important plant family, including staple foods from domesticated cereal crops such as maize, wheat, rice, oats, barley, and millet for people and as feed for meat-producing animals. They provide, through direct human consumption, just over one-half (51%) of all dietary energy; rice provides 20%, wheat supplies 20%, maize (corn) 5.5%, and other grains 6%. Some members of the Poaceae are used as building materials (bamboo, thatch, and straw); others can provide a source of biofuel, primarily via the conversion of maize to ethanol."

And finally Solanaceae, the nightshade family, with 2,700 species—by which we generally mean tomatoes and eggplants, potatoes and peppers, as well as tobacco if you are so inclined, and even the cheery petunia. 

One person responded, "Definitely not Euphorbiaceae," which gives us cassava and castor oil (which in turn gives us ricin), as well as Christmas-time poinsettia and lots of ornamental plants. But yeah, not so good for sustenance.

Me, I responded simply, "No." Not gonna choose. To which my friend commented, "The best answer I’ve heard is 'Apiaceae & Ranunculaceae…because such a life is not worth living.'" Apiaceae—the Umbellifers, which includes carrots, celery, and fennel, caraway, cilantro, and dill; and Ranunculaceae—delphinium, ranunculus, nigella, columbine, anemone. I think this response may have been more about beauty than edibility. Because yes, beauty matters too. 

Some sort of Umbellifer

Pasqueflower (Pulsatilla alpina) achene

Nigella arvensis seed follicle

36. Generations

I'm just going to think out loud a little bit here. From my own very restricted brain-space. 

I saw a reference today to all the harm people of my generation are doing to the planet because we keep denying climate change. 

Well, okay. But people I personally know aren't denying climate change. People I know are installing solar panels and buying electric cars; they are deciding not to fly to farflung vacation spots because of carbon emissions; they're walking to the market to shop. No, no, of course not everybody I know. But enough people for me to say, seriously, is this a generational thing?

I see "boomers" attacked online for all the harm we've done to this country. I don't get it. For one thing, I'm not really seeing what GenXers and GenZers and Millennials, as a mass group, are doing for the country. I don't see young people out at the anti-Trump protests. (Not here in Monterey anyway. Maybe they're out en masse in bigger burgs. I hope so.)

All I really want to say here is, I really wonder how much of our woes are "generational." Yes, different people coming into the world are met with different challenges, and yes, perhaps the "boomers" had it relatively easy. I certainly had it easy compared to my parents, who were born before or during WWI, weathered the Great Depression, lived through WWII, and then got clobbered with the Vietnam War. 

And then there was the Civil Rights movement, which attempted to set things right in this country—and now we're seeing that it's not so easy... because of boomers? Or full-on bigotry.

What I mean to say here is, people are people. We, all of us, have various advantages and disadvantages as we enter the world. Yes, it seems to be harder to find good employment now than it did when I was coming up. But that's not "because of the boomers." It's economics—capitalism. It's the social milieu. It may be because of the billionaires, who knows? 

Workers have been devalued, owning things has been overvalued. Those that have, get more—and then leave it to their kids, who start out life entitled, privileged. 

Life is complicated. Centuries ago, most of us would have been living under some lord's domain. At least things are a bit better than that now. (I think?)

This "generations" thing is an invention of the late 20th century. It's another way of putting us into boxes. Race, check. Gender, check. Generation, check. We're all so different!

When really, shouldn't we be thinking of ourselves as all in this together? 

All human.

As for climate change, whoever could be doing something to change our course—whatever generation—I don't see it happening. 

I don't see it happening.

Blame who you will.

Then again, maybe "blame" is not the best way forward.

P.S. I will say, maybe at least some of us "boomers" are in fact more outraged and traumatized by what the Trump administration is heaping on this country now than any other generation might be. Because we were educated to believe that this country was something great. Which it clearly is not anymore. And might I point out that those in Trump's inner circle are not, in fact, all boomers. Starting with Stephen Miller, who's all of 39. J. D. Vance is 40. What's wrong with that generation?

P.P.S. The cartoon here? It's definitely a fact that students today have it far, far harder than I did, so far as paying for an education goes. That should be addressed, and I hope one day very soon it will be. (Sure won't be during this administration, though.) As for Social Security, so far, since the 1930s, it's something most of us do: pay into a system, and trust we'll get to enjoy some of the benefits when our time comes. I wouldn't say anybody I know thinks that young people somehow owe it to us. If anything, the government owes it to us to keep the system running smoothly. Simply by lifting the cap on the SS tax, they could keep it solvent. The government—this government—just doesn't give a shit.

35. Ontario family reunion

Three years ago, many Canrights converged on a 100-some-acre farm in Ontario, Canada, up near Meaford on the shores of Georgian Bay, Lake Huron. Family reunion!

Last week, we did it again—a somewhat different assortment of people, but just as invigorating. Our superb hosts were Jess and John Zufferli—Jess being my husband's eldest brother's daughter (our niece), John being her awesomely game husband. Hats off to the both of them for a wonderful time. 

We came from all over: two sets of us from central coast California; two sets from Washington state (Edmonds and Wenatchee); North Carolina; Atlanta; and Oslo, as in Norway (we are far-flung). Twenty-two of us in all, ranging in age from 13 to 78. Three generations.

The three remaining sibs:
David (the baby), Geoff, and Patty (the new eldest)

There should have been a couple from Cleveland, Ohio, but Jess's dad—David's big brother (formerly the eldest)—died in March, and his wife, Virge, wasn't up for the trip. We toasted them in their absence. There should also have been one or two from Texas—Jess's brother David and his wife Jeannie—but they were traveled out from a recent trip to Japan. We missed them. 

I posted some photos on FB, which I link to here, with a few highlight photos pulled out for decoration.  

Day 1 (Thursday): Arrival! We got to the farm around noon, after a red-eye flight, and had a delicious few hours on our own with Jess and John (and sweet Sadie the labradoodle). Also, a nap. Others started arriving in the evening, though the Washington contingent kept getting grounded in Cleveland—ironically enough. They finally reached us the next day.

The view from our window in the 165-year-old farm house

Day 2 (Friday): I took a morning walk on the loop through the fields and woods, which is where these pictures are from. Much of the day was spent hanging out, swimming, catching up, and waiting for the Cleveland folks to arrive. And when they did, David, Patty and I went for another loop walk!

Day 3 (Saturday): Today we all (but one) went on a hike through some lovely (if warm) woods, then for pizza, beer, and wine at Coffin Ridge Winery. After that we went various ways. David and I took the opportunity to do a little geocaching. We lost Kolya, Nicole, and Enon, who took off for Toronto to do a little looking around before heading in various directions.

And later on that evening, we played outdoors under a beautiful sky. Frisbee! Sparklers!

Day 4 (Sunday): Today’s hike took us through the woods to Inglis Falls, followed by a picnic and—for some (a couple of the Norwegians)—a visit to Walmart (not documented) while others ended the day with a visit to the lakeshore (Lake Huron’s Georgian Bay) (ditto). Beautiful day.

Yes, there was geocaching!

Day 5 (Monday): Departure day, beginning at 3 a.m. for the other central California contingent. The hubbub of connection and hugs, over and over, was beautiful. Our 7 p.m. flight was on time, and we were home to our Milo at just after midnight. 

What a great few days. I'm so glad to be part of this family.

34. Craig Childs, writer

I am totally copying a couple of things that the writer Craig Childs has posted on FB the past couple of days. Because I want to keep them around. 

The first is from last week. He is visiting his son in Japan now, and they are traveling around. I loved this evocative passage he wrote, which yes, does capture the out-of-body-ness that travel can evoke. (The photo is his; it accompanied this post.)

There’s a point while traveling where I’ve run out of ink in a couple pens and misplaced a couple more, a point of feeling foreign enough I’m embarrassed to be walking around mispronouncing words for water or thank you like I didn’t have enough to do at home already, where my will starts feeling doughy and I’m reading signs in a language that appears to be written by people from a planet with more than one sun and many moons, not like my own language that looks like it was fashioned by kindergartners. I start feeling lost, purposeless, sucking gooey tapioca balls through a straw while sitting next to a rotating desk fan in the back of a shop that feels like an oven. This, I think, is why some people don’t travel. You forget for a moment who you were, if you were anyone to begin with, a feeling that I try to remember to savor because it, too, is why I came. Then, a sudden rain both brightens and darkens the streets at the same time. The sun sets and windows light up. I find myself walking slowly along a narrow space between buildings and it feels like I’ve stepped into a different room inside a dream where my travel companion urges me to stop and look down an alley glowing from rain and once again I’m swimming in possibilities. Standing on a bridge over a river I’ve never heard of, I feel coolness for the first time all day. A heron lands at the water’s edge and stalks just like the herons stalk at home, only its plumage is unfamiliar, as if the artist who makes the world ran out of ink in one color and started again with another.

And this from today, in response to a bit of hate-mongering by hateful Ann Coulter (her exact words: "We didn't kill enough Indians"). Thank you, Craig, for your loving heart:

We are being clouded by hate. Every one of us needs to check ourselves. I think of lines from a Joy Harjo poem:

Each stone of jealousy, each stone
Of fear, greed, envy, and hatred, put out the light.
No one was without a stone in his or her hand.
There we were,
Right back where we had started.
We were bumping into each other
In the dark.

Words are flying these days that need to be renounced, not with hatred, but a flat out no, this is not how we go forward.

Hear, hear. 

I have only read one of Craig's many books, which I reported on here. That one was about flash floods, and deaths—nothing approaching the horrific event of this July 4 on the Guadalupe River in Texas. He conveys well the power of that water, its destructiveness. I need to read more of him.

33. Quelea, with a bit of markhor thrown in

In my off-moments during the day, I sometimes turn to the phone and a quick game of Sudoku: the "hard" category—which isn't especially hard, though it requires a bit of focus. The app I use includes various contests: currently, a Daily Challenge, a First Try Challenge (which gets harder and harder—and believe me, the journey from "hard" to "expert" is no simple slide), and right now, an Independence Day "event." Also, always, an ongoing Tournament, which one enters simply by playing. 

Although I don't bother with any of these, I do sometimes check my (automatic) Tournament standing—because sure, I want to be a winner!—and get a little frisson of pleasure when I manage to make it (momentarily though it might be) into the top 10. Ten being as high as I've ever gotten, and then only on day 1, before the real players get going.

Rather winningly, all of us on the Tournament gameboard have monikers—the current top three being Busy Tiger, Fantastic Moth, and Unusual Moose. (What my moniker is, I have no clue: I'm simply identified as ME. But I hope it's something marvelous: Moonlit Mongoose perhaps, or Luminescent Flamingo.) Today when I checked, I was bemused by a couple of names in the top ten: Powerful Quelea and Alert Markhor (currently numbers 4 and 5). What are these creatures? 

Well, here I am to tell you (per Wikipedia):

Quelea /ˈkwiːliə/ is a genus of small passerine birds that belongs to the weaver family Ploceidae, confined to Africa. These are small-sized, sparrow- or finch-like gregarious birds, with bills adapted to eating seeds. Queleas may be nomadic over vast ranges. The red-billed quelea is said to be the most numerous bird species in the world. 

Until today, I'd never even heard of any kind of quelea, and turns out one of them is the most numerous bird species in the world? Well, knock me over with a (red-billed quelea) feather!

There are three species: the cardinal quelea (Quelea cardinalis), the red-headed quelea (Q. erythrops), and the red-billed quelea (Q. quelea). Though wouldn't you know it—its superabundance should be a clue—the last is a pest on small-grain cereal crops such as rice (corn being too big for its little beak) throughout Africa. Here they are in their abundance and beauty:

Okay, on to the markhor, aka Capra falconeri or "screw-horn goat," found mainly in Pakistan (of which it is the national animal), the Karakoram Range, parts of Afghanistan, and the Himalayas. It may be an ancestor of the domestic goat. Currently listed as near-endangered (its population was estimated at 5,800 in 2013), it has been aided by conservation efforts throughout its range; in 2024 the UN named May 24 as International Day of Markhor. It is featured in an Afghan puppetry tradition known as buz-baz. 

Every day, there's something new and amazing to learn about this world.

32. July 4

It's just tipped into July 4, Independence Day—the day after the deficit-exploding, basic needs–denying, ICE-magnifying MAGA bill (aka BBB) passed the House and headed to the Resolute Desk. David and I just watched Heather Cox Richardson talk about it, in her usual level-headed way. I guess it made me feel a little better—like, this depravity won't last forever. It may last longer than I do, but I can still hope that future generations of Americans manage to steer this ship back on course. Though with young people getting most of their messaging through TikTok and such bubbles, I really can only hope... But I'll be dead, so, to echo those MAGAts, who cares?

Here's the link to Heather's talk today: https://fb.watch/ADfzwPQnHT/.

As she said, misattributing the quote to Harriet Tubman (it was actually Robert Frost), "The only way out is through."

And of course I don't really want to echo anything MAGA folk say. I do care. I just feel powerless. And just maybe I should spend my last years (there may be twenty, even thirty more, there may be just a few: I'm past feeling immortal, though) living life to the fullest. 

And not worrying about bullshit I have zero say over. I will vote. I will write or call my representatives. I will join my fellow dissidents at Window on the Bay to protest. But I can't do much more than that. I am powerless. And worrying doesn't do a damn thing.

Here's a picture of our cats, in a rare moment of mutual civility, having taken over the dog's bed (one of them—he's got others): 

Let them be a model for us going forward.

As they might remind us, the Constitution belongs to us all. And it's our responsibility to keep it intact. However we can.

Happy Independence Day.

31. Sigh

Today the Senate passed the "Big Beautiful Bill"—what a stupid name for something so tawdry coming out of our formerly stolid government. It's gotten me thinking, wondering, about, oh, time. Life. A quick study of history will tell you that upset is more common than peace in human history. Why is that? Why does humankind seem to thrive so on chaos? But it does. Obviously. Our time, right now, is another testament to that. 

I was born in the fifties, and came up during the civil rights movement, the Vietnam war. But I wasn't very aware of all that: I was just going to school, getting good grades. My parents didn't talk about those events. Now, I would love to be able to sit down with them and ask them what they were thinking. How it impacted them. 

My parents were born in 1908 and 1914, respectively, so they lived through WWI, the Depression, WWII. They never talked about all that. Of course, as children, WWI didn't really affect them. During the Depression, my father had found employment with Chevron as a chemical engineer, so he was okay. And then he was hired in the chemistry department at UCLA, arriving in 1939. During WWII he spent some time in Philadelphia on a research project, and was involved in a laboratory explosion that compromised his liver; he ended up in and out of hospital for ten years. 

So yes, my parents encountered more than a little bit of history's ins and outs. I really wish I could talk to them about what they experienced, what they thought.

My father ended his life on the Republican side of the spectrum; my mother remained a stolid FDR Democrat her entire life. I'd love to be able to talk to them about that too: what they believed was right, was necessary. In real terms. From both their perspectives.

I know a lot of people think this BBB is a good thing, though I don't know why. Everything about it is abstract: the people who will be losing health coverage, the billionaires who will be getting even more money, the children who will die from malnutrition. But somehow, people think it will improve their lives? Because, what, of a momentary tax break? 

I find the Republicans in Congress reprehensible. Maybe the Democrats aren't so great themselves—politics is a game, for sure—but at least they voted against this monstrous bill. 

At this point, I have no faith whatsoever in my "government." It is as corrupt as can be. 

I am looking at my life now, how it plays out. I have money enough to survive, even once David and his pension vanish. If we old folks lose Medicare (which I don't find implausible), I may try to seek refuge elsewhere—a medical immigrant.  

A good 344 million people are caught in this travesty. I am not alone in my outrage. Even those who voted for Trump may well feel it soon.

In the meantime, I'll continue to seek out the beauty in life. I do have that. Plenty of beauty. Maybe it will keep me healthy a little while longer.