Minor Update (On My Absence, If Nothing Else)

Am not around much because I'm  deep into it (the new book, I mean). I just started a new section of the project, which means reading tons (not quite literally, but almost) of material and getting myself up to speed on homesteading laws, property law in the 20th century, the nature and meaning of "modern" agriculture, more in anti-trust legislation, and other matters that probably don't sound interesting. (Although I intend to make them not just interesting but fascinating for the people who read the book).

I'm also at the point of the project where, for better or worse (and I can never decide which) that my sleep at night is wracked with dreams about the book. When I wrote the beer book, for example, for several months running I dreamed about Frederick Pabst and Adolphus Busch. We took carriage rides together, enjoyed long dinners, shared long conversations. (Yes, it was interesting. Although the meals contained an insane amount of heavy, rich food.)

The new book involves also involves people although  none of them enjoy the several-chapters-long central role played by Pabst and Busch. So my current dreams tend to revolve around Congressional hearings, city streets clogged with livestock, and anonymous ranchers and livestock commission agents.

But that's okay. My dream-mind is enjoying lively conversations and I'm listening to people debate and argue and sometimes shout at each other, and in general go about the business of letting me understand their world. (Although frankly I could do with less shouting; the other night, a heated Congressional investigation of some sort kept waking me up. Maddening.)

I know. I know. It's weird. But it's how my mind works when I'm deep into a subject. So --- back at it. I'd say I'll see you in my dreams, but I dunno. I kind of doubt you'll show up there --- and I bet you wouldn't like it if you did. Back to work.

Kindle versus Nook: The "Smackdown"

The past month or so, new e-reading devices have poured out of the --- I was gonna say "woodwork," but somehow that cliche doesn't quite cut it --- so I'll say instead --- are appearing like mold after a flood. There have been so many that I'm having trouble keeping them straight. But so far the only serious contender  to Amazon's Kindle is, near as I can tell, Barnes and Noble's "Nook." (Yes, if you use one, you're enjoying nookie....)

So this excellent piece today at the Atlantic is  helpful: A summary of the differences, pros, and cons of the two devices. Big tip o' the mug to Dexter for sending the link my way.

The (Mis)Information That Drives Historians Crazy

This is the kind of crap that drives me batty. The other day I was reading something (can't remember now what it was) that led me to The Kitchen Garden Network. According to the site's "About" page, the people at KGN are focused on

the politics and economic forces that influence what reaches the food outlets where we shop for what we eat.

Okay. Fine. If they'd stopped there, I wouldn't have had the urge to bang my head against the wall. Instead, the site's founder goes on to note that

Up until the 1970’s a large portion of our food came from local sources . . . ’   Roadside stands, farmer’s markets, local co-ops and the like were a given. Organic produce had not yet become commonly available. By the 1980’s everything changed. The political climate altered the agricultural landscape in many dramatic and detrimental ways. Many farmers went out of business and farms began to be sold off at a rapid pace.

Oh. Ohhhh..... My aching head. Where should I start to correct the errors? (*1)

Should I begin by changing "1970s" to "1870"? Or explain that prior to the 1970s, few Americans bought their food at "roadside stands, farmer's markets [or] local co-ops"? Or dissect the claim that somehow in the 1980s, "everything changed"?

Or just explain that when I read stuff such uninformed nonsense, first I cringe, and then I worry? Because the current debate about food is being fueled by this kind of inane, inaccurate "information." Worse, substantive discussion about the global food system, climate change, and the like is in danger of being derailed by a lack of insight, context, and history.

It drives historians like me crazy. And frankly, it scares the crap out of me. (If too many cooks ruin the soup,  too many ignorant minds and chattering mouths destroy the debate.) So --- maybe I should choose door number three and get back to work on my current project. Because  the "food fight" needs a historian's input.

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*1:  Mind you, I'm not picking on the people at Kitchen Garden Network. I could have used dozens of other, similar examples. This one just happened to be handy.

Skyscapes, Hawaiian-Style

Have I ever mentioned that I am a serious fan of the sky? I am. I try to spend an hour a day watching the sky: clouds; the various shades of blue, grey, black; the stars. (Yes, slightly more pleasant in warm weather than in cold.) (And, yes, this is  why I never get anything done. But I figure it's good for my soul.) Anyway, now I know why I don't live in Hawaii: I'd really never get anything done because I'd be spending all my time staring up. Astute Reader Dexter, who's been on a roll lately, sent me a link to these photos of Hawaii (Kaaawa, to be precise) at dawn, courtesy of blogger Ian Lind.  Enjoy!

What Happens When Historians Write

Or at least "what happens when this historian writes": Mybrain aches. Literally. It's not a headache in the conventional sense of the word.

Instead . . . my brain actually feels, well, like it's just run a marathon. So tired at the end of a day that I have a hard time "thinking" about much of anything. (This is why I make large portions when I cook and why I own a freezer.) (Although, I have to say that cooking is a near-perfect way to unwind an exhausted brain.)

Anyway, I've been writing. Lots. Thousands of words. I have written, as near as I can tell, about a third of the manuscript in the past two weeks alone. (For those keeping track -- who? ME? Nah. --- near as I can tell, I've now written about half of what will be the final product.)

It's always like this: I spend the first, I dunno, eighteen months of a project thinking and reading and sort of writing. Then I start writing the first chapter and it feels as if I'm trying to push a huge wooden wagon out of a rut. I push. And I push. And I push. And I get nowhere.

And then suddenly, the wagon's wheels lurch forward, just a bit. A tiny jolt of momentum. So I lean into the wagon and push harder. And --- the wagon starts rolling. And it moves faster and faster and faster....

But somehow, the mental part of keeping the wagon moving becomes harder and harder and harder. Not because I get lazy or lose interest, but because by the time the wagon lurches forward, my brain is that much more stuffed with facts and information.

More to the point, it's working furiously, processing that information, relating one seemingly unrelated fact or detail or event to another to another to another.

So, for example, as I was writing chapter three (which mysteriously morphed into chapter four...), I realized that I'd been wrong about something I wrote in chapter one.  I misunderstood the relationship of A to B. And as I re-wrote that part of chapter one, I suddenly realized that the new ideas connected to a major point in chapter two.

Which, you guessed it, meant writing a new section to chapter two. Which caused it to balloon in size and focus, so that what had been the second half of the second chapter became the first half of the third chapter. Which meant the second half of the third chapter became the first half of the fourth chapter. And all of it, in turn, caused me to re-think another section of chapter one, so I re-wrote that. And . . .

You get the picture. At the end of a day, I've written perhaps three thousand words, which are not just words but ideas and analyses. And my brain aches. So that's what I've been doing and where I've been. Oh, my aching brain. Oh, my poor, poor neglected blog.

Beer, History, Persimmons

How's that for a combo? The folks at Fullsteam Brewing (which I can't spell properly because I don't know how to make a backward "F") are smart, lively, and entertaining. As evidenced by this post about persimmon beer. (And no, not just sayin' that 'cause it mentions me.)

This particular post was written by Sean (as in Sean Lilly Wilson); his partner-in-beer is Chris Davis. You can follow them on Twitter as @fullsteam. Check 'em out.