Dave Winer is celebrating 30 years of blogging at Scripting News.
Everything I wrote five years ago is still true: Dave’s posts, his podcasts, his new tools, his links, his essays, and his drumbeat of requests—textcasting and making news organizations accountable to the citizens—are my daily dose of internet medicine.
I’m still reading Scripting News every day, testing and using Dave’s writing and reading tools, and finding inspiration in the ideas Dave is developing and the questions he is asking.
Some of the ways:
So, once again, a heartfelt “Congratulations, Dave, and thank you!”
In the NYTimes, this article (gift link, so read it free) highlights the growth in replanted pieces of farmland across the middle of the United States.
The restored swaths of land are called prairie strips, and they are part of a growing movement to reduce the environmental harms of farming and help draw down greenhouse gas emissions, while giving fauna a much-needed boost and helping to restore the land.
Last month, when I visited Illinois, I spent an afternoon with my Aunt Ginger and Uncle Stoddard at their farm in Cortland. Stoddard, my cousin Tom, and I walked outside for an hour, talking about the chicken coop and pigeon roost, the concord grapes, the black walnut and other trees Stoddard has planted over 50 years, and the strip of wildflowers and native grasses that he put between the house and the corn field to the east. You can clearly see Stoddard’s prairie strip in the satellite image above.
As he identified the cone flowers and bluestem grass, pointed to a butterfly that landed nearby, and demonstrated how to crush a seedpod and scatter seeds, he was visibly proud of this strip of life. I knew he would be—he’s been teaching me about flowers and trees for more than half my life. In 2002, I wrote this on my blog:
Back on the highway, I frequently tried to snap pictures of the swatches of wildflower color that burst into my vision as I sped along. The red poppies were my favorite, but the fields of yellow or purple or white were pleasant, too. These wildflowers reminded me of my Uncle Stoddard Allen, who loves to plant flowers and trees. When I worked with him on the farm 10 years ago, my favorite task was to sprinkle wildflower seeds among the fields of prairie grass. Uncle Stoddard, the husband of my mother’s sister, Ginger, is the one who arrested Uncle John Zuiker when he chained himself to a condemned tree at Northern Illinois University, where Stoddard was a policeman. Uncle John these days takes care of trees for Fairfax County in Virginia.
Stoddard is still inspiring me. (Uncle John is retired from the tree work, but he’s the one who was in Raleigh last week for bluegrass.) Behind my own house, in view from the bedroom window, is my own patch of wildflowers, planted with seed from Garrett Wildflower Seed Farm (a North Carolina company). This week, I’ll be working on a strip of land for yellow Indiangrass.
In another sign of the times, the field to north of the Allen house, land once owned by Stoddard’s parents, is now a solar farm (look again at that photo above).
Our local wine shop, just over the hill in the Southern Village development, is called Rocks & Acid. Erin and I were there a few months ago for a tasting of “wines from the Levant” (Cypress, Lebanon, and Israel). We were there again last night, invited by friends to celebrate a birthday with tastings of New Zealand wines—a few Sauvignon Blanc (the Sandy Cove 2023, with a vibrant scent of kiwi, was quite drinkable), a Gruner Veltliner, and the excellent te Pā Pinot Noir made by a Maori winemaker.
Erin and I once toured New Zealand by campervan, stopping into wineries in Hawkes Bay and Marlborough. I feel damn lucky to have seen those islands alongside Erin.
Much of the discussion around the tasting table last night was about the destruction and rebuilding in Western North Carolina, along with talk of music; our hosts were off to see a favorite band at the Shakori Hills Grassroots Festival of Music and Dance in nearby Pittsboro. Considering my love of live music, it’s a shame I’ve never made the effort to get to this festival.
With the tasting done, I went to the shelves to look for a Slovenian wine similar to the one I’d had at dinner earlier in the week. What caught my eye, though, was a bottle of white by Domaine du Bagnol, a winery Erin and I had walked to during our fabulous stay in the French town of Cassis. Ever since that 2016 trip to Provence, I have searched the wine shelves here in North Carolina for bottles of the wines we enjoyed in Cassis. I walked out of Rocks and Acid with two bottles
Laura, the shop’s general manager, also showed me a Slovenian bottle, so I took that, too.
This month, Erin is marking the 10-year anniversary of her boutique law practice and partnership, Huggins & Zuiker, LLP, but also known as HuZu Law. Erin and Molly are quite good at what they do, and I am in awe of how hard they have worked to serve their clients.
There’s no special anniversary event planned so Erin and I will celebrate throughout the month.
So, the two of us went for an early dinner at Tesoro, a cozy restaurant in Carrboro. I had a great view of the open kitchen and watched Chef David Peretin and his sous chef calmly, quietly, cooly prepare and plate our dishes and others. The foccacia to start was delicious, and the Slovenian wine I selected — Vina Stekar Sivi Pinot 2021, somewhere in the rosé and orange world — was dry and simple and earthy. Our pasta dishes were tasty, although the smokiness of the rigatoni with tomato and eggplant (the eggplant had been smoked) dish I ordered surprised us. Another glass of that wine would have been perfect.
I quite liked Tesoro and look forward to returning.
I almost made it through the month of September with a blog post each night, but last night I was too tired to formulate a coherent sentence, let along a few paragraphs. It had been an active day in a busy weekend: Friday night with Ed Sheeran, Saturday at the bluegrass festival, and then Sunday for soccer, hot sauce, and more live music.
On my way to the regular pick-up soccer game (we’re playing in Chapel Hill for a few months while our usual Durham pitch, which had deteriorated to unsafe conditions, finally gets renovated), I listened to the Planet Money segment The billion dollar war behind U.S. rum about the ‘rum wars’ in the USVI and Puerto Rico. Given my regular visit to the Cruzan Rum distillery whenever we visit St. Croix, I was interested in this.
Back home, I made another batch of homemade hot sauce in the garage. The final step is to fill the canning jars. I did this in the kitchen, but Erin and I agreed I should find a way do the canning step in the garage as well since even a few minutes fills the house with the vinegary fumes.
After the kitchen was cleaned and I’d watched the Tottenham-ManU match, Erin dropped me in town for the Carrboro Music Festival. For a few hours I walked from stage to stage, enjoying the bands and short conversations with few co-workers I came upon. We had beautiful weather.
Later, when I sat down to check the news, even more photos and videos documented the devastation in Asheville and Boone and the NC mountains. I felt happy from the weekend’s activities but sobered by the destruction. One of my best NC memories (and possibly the best photo I’ve ever taken) is the week Erin and the girls and I spent in West Jefferson, NC, where we attended the Ola Belle Reed Festival.
Now Ashe County is reeling from the rains of Helene. Soon as it is safe to visit western NC again, I hope I can get there to help in one way or another.
Raleigh had perfect weather for the final day of the IBMA Bluegrass Live! Festival, even as many commented on the devastation in Western North Carolina (floods and mudslides from Helene).
I got downtown around 2:30 and headed straight for the Come Hear NC Stage on hear Unspoken Tradition. Then, into the convention center to listen to the youngsters. Later, I met my uncle John at Red Hat Amphitheater for the evening performances: Danny Paisley (IBMA male vocalist of the year), Amythyst Kiah (amazing voice, reminded me of seeing a young Tracy Chapman), Sierra Hull (fabulous!), and Raleigh’s own Chatham County Line to end the night (Steep Canyon Rangers was supposed to be the top billing but the storm kept them from traveling).
This annual bluegrass festival in Raleigh for the past dozen years has been much fun to attend. The musicians are so damn talented!
Next year, this festival will be in Chattanooga, Tennessee.
The remnants of Hurricane Helene came through this morning, dumping a couple of inches of rain on Chapel Hill. As Erin I and I left our dental appointments together, our phones buzzed with tornado warnings. We got home safely, and the skies cleared by noon. Western North Carolina, and Florida and Georgia, got hit much worse.
The clear Piedmont skies meant that Duke University could go ahead with its centennial Founder’s Day Celebration and Concert starring pop star Ed Sheeran. I barely got tickets so Erin and I were able to go though we were confined to the end zone area without a view of the stage. Still, we got to watch Sheeran on the big screen and hear the one-man show just fine. It was fun and even the short rain squall didn’t matter. As I noted over at Wan Smol Blog, I loved Sheeran’s duet with Andrea Bocelli. Sheeran did sing Perfect tonight.
Walking back to our car across Duke’s West Campus, I told Erin I am proud to have worked for this excellent institution for 17 years. I’m glad to have contributed to the Duke story in my own small way (and as a Tar Heel, to boot).
I’m watching the series Shogun, a couple of episodes each night after the day’s work and cooking and cleaning and other activities.
There was an earlier television miniseries based on James Clavell’s novel of 17th century Japan. For the longest time I’ve remembered that I watched that during my first few nights on St. Croix—we had moved from Idaho to Frederiksted in late March 1983 (just before my 13th birthday) and I was allowed to join a neighbor to watch on a small black-and-white t.v. in the shared open-air courtyard. Over the next few years I read that novel and Clavell’s others (King Rat, Tai Pan, Whirlwind). I still have Clavell’s version of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War.
But looking in Wikipedia to confirm this memory, I now understand that the miniseries playing in America that week in 1983 was actually The Thorn Birds. I’d eventually read that novel, too.
I was a voracious reader as a teen. We didn’t have a t.v. for much of my youth in Idaho, on St. Croix, and Illinois. Now I have subscriptions to multiple streaming services, though this year I have given myself time to enjoy reading once again (here and here).
I was looking for a link to a feature story I wrote about a sea turtle researcher but I didn’t find it in this blog, so I want to list some of the articles I’ve contributed to Duke publications to make it easier to find the links in the future.
The “vivid vision” for my next five years, which I mentioned in my recent post, includes this goal:
Each year, I write a profile of an interesting and accomplished individual. This helps me more fully see the diversity of humankind.
I’m on the search for my next subject and open to suggestions.
At some point in the last 10 years, I volunteered to be the family historian and archivist, so my father and mother have sent me many boxes of photographs, slides, negatives, transparencies, and Super-8 video reels. These images document my family, my childhood, my father’s Peace Corps service in the Dominican Republic, and even my grandfather’s travels in the 1940s.
There’s a lot of family history to organize and file away on the family tree.
I finally ordered a new flatbed scanner.
Today I unboxed an Epson Perfection V600 and reached to the stack of photos on my desk. On top was the image you see above, an instant photo of me and Erin in Provence taken by the proprietor of Maison º9 took during our stay at that lovely inn. That stay in Cassis was part of our memorable trip to France to celebrate our twentieth anniversary.
My plan is to spend this winter organizing the materials and scan what I can, blogging along the way.
A work day, and Oliver’s evening soccer game, and daily chores around the house, and other people and issues to focus on, so no blog post of substance tonight.
Oliver joined me for an overnight trip to the Wilmington area so we could visit my brother, Joel, who is acting in a community-theater performance of a play called Shakers Revised, by the playwright Rose-Mary Harrington. Joel played two parts, and he was good. The play, about the start of the Shaker religious sect and its emigration to America, was interesting. I was reminded how a black-box theatre can be used to show and tell stories.
Before the play, Oliver and I walked through downtown Wilmington and along the river walk. It was beautiful evening and the city was humming with people on dates, lined up for the One Tree Hill reunions, or like us in search of ice cream.
This morning, after breakfast and goodbyes—Joel had a matinee performance to get to—Oliver and I went to Topsail Beach. The weather was perfect, the waves fun, and the beach not too crowded. So nice. In Surf City, we had lunch at Shaka Tacos, then headed home to Chapel Hill.
The drive to the coast is so easy, and with Joel there always willing to host me, I’m baffled why I don’t head that way more often.
Nearly every week I get an email message from a colleague that uses the word ‘below’ as an adjective, such as the example below:
Your leaders received the below message a few days ago. Please amplify in your departments and units.
Or a sentence on a web page that began “The below map includes …
I’ve noticed that this makes me uneasy. I don’t like it. Below should come after, not before. Using below as an adjective is not wrong, though, according to this Grammarphobia post. Used to be rare, but still acceptable, and clearly rising in use.
Then, this morning, I read the latest issue of Ruhlman’s Newsletter and saw, beneath a photo of a delicious-looking beans, this:
Beans! It’s fun to shout! BEANS! They’re good for the heart! I have a bowl of them beside me as I type these words, leftovers from the above dish, about which more below.
I’ve known Michael for 30 years. I’ve looked up to him and found inspiration and joy and learning from his books and articles and blog posts and newsletters. So if Michael is using these words in ways that feel uncomfortable to me, I oughta up give.
Seriously, I know language changes and evolves. Even that Grammarphobia post mentions how linguists change their minds.
I’ve been changing, too. I’ve been giving more attention to emotions and so have been mindful to how little changes—in my body’s temperature, for example—affect my nervous system and well-being. I’m better attuned, and more relaxed.
So, now I know how to skip over the above pet peeve.
On another note, Michael’s newsletter is entertaining and informative as ever, with a focus on beans and also a confession to “two epic kitchen failures.” What a coincidence! Earlier this week, I cooked a pot of Flageolet beans but I added too much salt and completely ruined the beans.
Lessons learned.
This last week I’ve been sleeping upstairs while Erin recovers from hand surgery—I’m a heavy sleeper, and I don’t want to roll over onto her stitched and bandaged finger—and each night I open the window so I can feel the cool air and listen to the forest.
I’ve heard the barred owls plenty, and the other night I heard a pack of coyotes near the chicken coop.
I texted Sid, a friend who hunts deer on our land each fall and who set up a critter cam, if he’d gotten any photos of the coyote. No, but he’s seen “about 10 raccoons in there” and he’s gotten the fox a few times and also the kitten trying to get a squirrel. I’m sure he’s seen a lot of deer, too, gathering under the oak trees to eat fallen acorns and the corn he’s spread.
Right now I hear crickets and other insects. I image the bats are flying above, feasting on bugs.
At date-night dinner with Erin, at our favorite local spot Pizzeria Mercato, I told Erin how much I’ve been enjoying reading again. Especially novels.
Today, for example I finished Glorious Exploits by the Irish writer Ferdia Lennon. I loved this story about ancient Greece (Syracuse on Sicily, really) told in a contemporary Irish voice. It was funny, both a tribute to classical poetry and theater but also a rumbling middle finger to war. Also a tall tale that reminds us about the value of friendship.
Now I’m about to dig into the latest book by Michael Ruhlman. It’s a young-adult novel about working in a professional kitchen.
© Anton Zuiker