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Sweet fish swim in sweetwater

     Rockfish, bluefish, perch, spot and croaker dominate the summertime fishing news when it comes to recreational species in Maryland. But almost half of all the fishing licenses sold by Maryland Department of Natural Resources are purchased by sweet-water anglers.
    We have at least as many largemouth bass anglers as any other group of devotees. They have a considerable number of bass-specific waters to choose from. The lakes, ponds and impoundments harboring bucketmouths in Maryland number over 100. Most host good populations of sizable bass plus their numerous cousins: the bluegill, crappie, perch and pickerel.
    The headwaters of the Chesapeake and up into the Susquehanna River also provide great bass fishing, as do the higher reaches of the notable big tribs such as the Choptank, the Monocacy, the Potomac and the Pocomoke among at least 25 others listed in DNR inventories. All are prime, non-tidal, large-mouth destinations.
    Trout fishers also swell the ranks of freshwater habitués. Their opportunities are considerable as well. The upper Gunpowder is a blue-ribbon tailwater trout stream. The low temperatures from the regulated water flow of the Prettyboy Dam have resulted in a self-sustaining native trout stream that provides excellent fishing.
    Other trout waters, such as the Savage River (excellent), the Youghiogheny River (almost as good) and the well-rated Casselman as well as another 50 recognized trout streams provide considerable stretches of fishable streamside.
    Jabez Branch off Severn Run is the only self-sustaining native brook-trout fishery in the state, though these gorgeous fish are also released in the Gunpowder and Savage.
    Surprisingly, Baltimore’s Patapsco River births two great trout fishing locations, a three-mile stretch below the Daniels Dam and the Avalon area in Elkridge.
    Over 200 publicly accessible sweet-water environs provide excellent habitat for a multitude of species including brown trout, brook trout and rainbows as well as largemouth, smallmouth and rock bass, walleye pike, chain pickerel, muskellunge, northern pike, yellow perch, black crappie, white crappie, warmouth, bluegill and red-ear sunfish plus flathead and channel catfish.
    Now we can add to that considerable list the infamous and storied snakehead. This invasive reputedly has an excellent table quality. It fights, too, taking top-water lures (especially frog imitations fished among the lily pads) with an extreme violence that has to be experienced to be appreciated. The Potomac River offers the best chances of tangling with these guys.
    Another introduced species — long available just about everywhere there is a body of water — is the common carp. A food staple of Asia, this fish has an established fan base including, most recently, fly anglers. Maryland has also recently added the blue catfish to their list of piscatorial interlopers. Both the carp and the blue cat can approach 100 pounds, which translates into some epic battles. Those who know how to prepare them for the table harvest quantities of excellent eating.
    So if saltwater fishing on the Chesapeake is becoming discouraging there are other options. To loosely paraphrase Bill Waterson’s Calvin character in his memorable last installment, “It’s a wonderful sweetwater world out there. Maybe it’s time to go exploring.”

Here’s to one more summer of reading


     Call me anything but late to the table — unless I’m reading a good book. So I’ve often carried book to table.
    “I’ve spent my life looking over the breakfast table at a book,” my grandmother Florence Martin lamented. “Your grandfather. Your father and his brother. And now you.”
    Or as Florence’s daughter-in-law my mother Elsa would say, “Take your nose out of that book!”
    Both Elsa and Florence were good storytellers, but I couldn’t turn them on as easily as I could open a book. Nor did their stories sweep me away in the flood of sensory details — the color of the light, the rise of the hill, the degree of warmth or chill, the pattern of the dress, the darkness of the well, the despair of the loss. Books drowned me in the flood, tumbling me with thrilling metaphors that made my imagination swim like a fish.
    (I should have prodded more. Now mother and grandmother’s times of life are lost, and to write their books I would have to do a lot of imagining.)
    Out from behind a book, newspaper or racing form, my father told a story as thick with detail as humidity in St. Louis summers. Photographic memories have fallen into the category of improbabilities we’d like to believe. But when Gene Martin’s truculent objections were overcome — “How do you expect me to remember that? It happened 50 years ago,” he’d complain — his eyes looked back into time to report the past as if it were present.
    I’ve always loved the kinds of stories I coaxed from my family and their extended family of friends: How people lived their lives. So the writers I love best immerse me in the unfolding of ordinary lives. Circumstances ordinary or extraordinary; action consequential or trivial — I don’t care, as long as action moves the plot, characters live and sentences sing.
    I’m just as happy to peep in on the domestic dramas wrought by Alexander McCall Smith at 44 Scotland Street as travel exotically with Ann Patchett to the unnamed Latin nation of Bel Canto or the jungles of State of Wonder. I don’t need bombings, murders and the art theft of The Goldfinch to keep me in a book, though I certainly don’t mind page-turning action.
    But I do hate it — don’t you? — when I’m about to close the pages on characters I’ve loved. It’s as if I were closing their coffin, though I know the lives of literary characters last as long readers read.
    So I’m blissed to be spending this summer with the prolific Julia Glass. I discovered her in the New York Times’ Mother’s Day paper, for which she’d written a reflection on how far off her real-life raising of her sons was from her imaginings. She shaped a nice sentence and seemed a nice kind of woman, one who rooted for heart-expanding resolutions while acknowledging the downs, all the way to tragedy. I started with her first, Three Junes, the symmetrical 2002 National Book Award Winner. Then, to my delight, I discovered that some of Junes’ characters lived on in this year’s And the Dark and Sacred Night. Better still, some of these have history I’m now learning in 2006’s The Whole World. And that’s not all …
    This summer, when my husband’s cooking, he announces dinner in an old familiar way: “Are you going to put down that book and come to the table?”


Breaking News: Blue-Eyed Boy
    Julia Glass may have to cool her heels, for breaking news is that Annapolitan Robert Timberg, Naval Academy graduate and former journalist at The Capital and the Baltimore Sun, has just published his long-awaited memoir, Blue-Eyed Boy, about the hard years back to normal life after his grievous wounding as a Marine officer in Vietnam. Bookpage.com calls it “a fascinating look at how a tragedy that would make most men crumble instead drove the author to survive, and on many levels, succeed.”
    I know Timberg slightly, enough to know a bit of his extraordinary story. Now I’ll read more and report back to you — if you haven’t read Blue-Eyed Boy before me.
 

Buying local? Try vinegar lulled for five months in a skipjack’s hull

     The taste of place is about the best translation English can give to the French word terroir. The idea comes from the vineyards of France, so it doesn’t have to jump far into the vinegar barrel.
    Still, it’s a bit of a leap into the hold of the skipjack Rosie Parks, a ­vintage Eastern Shore oyster boat.
    Rosie Parks was built in 1955 by legendary boat builder Bronza Parks of Dorchester County for his brother, Captain Orville Parks, and named for their mother. Her hold was framed to contain oysters, not vinegar. But in 1975 she changed careers to sailing ambassador for Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum and the Bay’s dwindling skipjack fleet. In 39 years, she’s taught many a lesson of maritime terroir. But imparting the terroir of boat and Bay to a barrel of Italian vinegar is a brand new assignment.
    “The Rosie Parks has such rich history on the Chesapeake,” says Bill Acosta, owner of Olivins Aged and Infused Fine Olive Oils and Vinegars Tasting Shop in St. Michael’s, home of the museum and its historic skipjack. “We wanted to create a special balsamic vinegar that gives people a real sense of place, with an exceptional taste and to support the museum in a meaningful way.”
    To create a special vinegar with a real sense of place, on July 10 a five-gallon barrel of Balsamic Modena was loaded into the skipjack’s hull. There it will remain for the next five months, its aging accelerated by the gentle motion of the boat at its dock along the Miles River. And, this year, the not-so-gentle motion as Rosie Parks joins her kind for races in Deal Island on Memorial Day and Cambridge in September.

    “Aging barrels aboard boats started out in history as a necessity, as most trade occurred over waterways,” explains museum chief curator Pete Lesher. “A boat’s movement can speed up the process of aging, whether it’s spirits, vinegar, or another liquid. We’re very excited to taste the results of these efforts.”
    The wooden barrel is made of toasted oak, which will flavor the vinegar. “Even the temperature changes aboard Rosie Parks will influence the taste of this special blend,” said Acosta. “The barrel expands and contracts as the temperatures rise and fall, infusing the vinegar with undertones of toasted oak.”
    Rosie Parks Balsamic Vinegar should be ready for sale the day after Thanksgiving. The 60 six-ounce bottles will, Acosta says, “be antique and nautical looking, labeled with local artist Amy Ostrow’s painting of the Rosie Parks sails up at sunset.” Acosta expects each to be priced at $20 to $25 and sold at his St. Michael’s shop. A portion of each sale goes to the museum.

Back then we had gardens; now we have Whole Foods

     Biggest problem in today’s society? I think electronics. Children watch too much TV. They have too many toys. They should be going outside, learning how to communicate, exercising.
    I grew up in Boston. We would play outside. Football, baseball, hiking. When you’re little, you don’t need video games. I just don’t think you need that. We had cartoons; watched them every once in a while. Not every day; just every once in a while.
    It’s too easy for children today. So when they’re older, they want everything. They expect everything. I think kids get greedy because they are given everything that they want from an early age. Back in the day, we’d fish, we’d get jobs cutting grass or working at the market. You have to work. You can’t expect your mother and father to take care of you. You agree, right?
    Kids have access to all of this information: the Internet, the iPhones, the iPads. You know what’s the best thing in the world? Libraries.
    Oh, and the music was so good back then! Dean Martin, Sinatra. You could understand everything! You can’t even hear a word with these rappers today. On Friday nights, there was a basketball game at the high school. We’d lie on our stomachs and look in through the window because we weren’t old enough to get in. And then there’d always be a big party afterward. That’s where I learned to dance, watching them.
    Back then we had gardens; now we have Whole Foods. We just used to call it nature! One time, my dad told his dad, “Pa, we’ve got green beans in cans now.” Pa said, “This will be the ruination of our country.” He was right. You know how much sodium is in canned foods? He was 89 and he knew that. They were so smart in everything they did, yet they didn’t have any college education.
    It’s such a fast pace in this life. We used to have such simple things to make us happy. We used to sit on the porch and wait for the ice cream truck once a week, you know the ones that play the music? Now that was fun.

Great Spangled Fritillary

     Fritillary butterflies may be the original social butterfly. Dozens appear in June when butterfly weed dazzles into bloom, affably sharing landing space and lunch with tiger swallowtails and clusters of bumblebees.
    Focused on the abundance of summer, the Great Spangled Fritillary — Speyeria cybele — is not unnerved by an amateur photographer. Its stained-glass wings glow bittersweet orange with ornate black tracings. Silvery-white oval spots on the underside inspire its name. The Great Spangled can be nearly four inches across and is seen in most of the United States and southern Canada. It manages two generations per season in the southern part of its range, the second overwintering as larvae. Caterpillars feed at night on violets and milkweed. Tufted wiry spines, set in rows of three, promise any hungry bird a serious case of indigestion.
    Fondness for pink coneflowers and any sort of mint will extend this beauty’s presence in your garden. Leave wild violets to spread and start a patch of milkweed to be your hatchlings’ bed and breakfast next spring.
    Pictured is Asclepias tuberosa, butterfly weed. Very popular with monarch butterflies is Asclepias incarnata, swamp milkweed, with pale pink flowers; it blooms a bit later.

Plenty of solid hits light up nine innings

     Colonial Players’ One-Act Play Festival has been a biyearly summer event since 1999. This year’s installment, THIS AND THAT, presents nine plays across two slates, THIS and THAT, running on alternating dates. The Festival is an occasion for novice directors, production staff and actors to produce known and unknown works under the tutelage of seasoned mentors. Thus, such talents as Rick Wade, past Colonial  Players president and author of the company’s classic A Christmas Carol, appear alongside theater newbies or actors who are cutting their directorial teeth.
    This year’s directors, in the order their shows are listed, include Dave Carter, Timothy Sayles, Rebecca Feibel, Robin Schwartz, Cseni Szabo, Scott Nichols, Dave Walter, Mark T. Allen and Lelia TahaBurt. Their stories range from comedy to tragedy, yet a theme in all but one is that things are not as they seem.

THIS, playing July 25 and 27
     Jerry Casagrande’s Among Shrubs and Ivy, which debuted in 2011 at Silver Spring Stage, follows John (Robert Eversberg) through a decade of vacations at a seaside campground owned by crusty Korean War vet Frank (Martin Hayes). With few but powerful words, they bond over their shared love of the property, their families and the value of continuity in a changing world. With Laurel Kenney, Gregory Anderson and Chloe Kubit.
    Me and My Shadow is a riotous look at duplicity when two classmates reunite with inner voices in-tow, speaking unspeakable thoughts. Playwright Rich Orloff’s forthright comedy follows an insecure writer, Susanne (Bernadette Arvidson), and her Super Ego, Susie (Rosalie Daelemans), to a luncheon with Susanne’s successful publisher friend Jacqueline (Kathryn Huston), and her Id, Jacquie (Peggy Friedman). Even the waitress, Andrea (Laurel Kenney), is funny as Andi (Kubit) expresses her candid thoughts about her customers.
    Sure Thing by David Ives is a take on the dating game reminiscent of Groundhog Day. Bill (Brandon Bentley) and Betty (Sarah Smith) grapple with pick-up lines and small talk, rejecting each other’s overtures with a game show buzzer until they stumble on the right formula for starting a relationship.
    James H. Wise’s comedy Mugger in the Park, voted an Audience Favorite at last year’s Watermelon One-Act Festival in Leonardtown, continues to delight with Kathryn Huston’s portrayal of Selma, the stereotypical little old lady who is stuck up by a thug (Jason Vaughan). Selma prevails with her retinue of complaints, kvetching and clever one-upsmanship. Martin Hayes and Robert Eversberg play Selma’s husband and a second thug.
    In Tough Cookies, by Brett Hursey, a date fizzles when the waiter (Jason Vaughan) can’t supply an entitled jerk, Chaz (Brandon Bentley), with a fortune cookie worthy of its name, while his date, Roxanne (Kenney), racks up paper compliments and blessings.

THAT, playing July 24 and 26
     Queen of the Northern Monkeys, by Jason Vaughan, presents a snippet of life from the 1957 Roman holiday of Danish Baroness Karen Blixen (Carol Cohen), aka Isak Dineson, who wrote the memoir Out of Africa. This lovely episode of her life, exploring her friendship with American literary titan Eugene Walter (Kevin Wallace) and her secretary Clara (Erica Jureckson), feels more like an excerpt from a larger work than a complete work in itself.
    Jeff Stolzer’s award-winning satire Emergency Room pokes fun at the broken healthcare system, pitting a patient (Kim Ethridge) against a corrupt hospital where the doctor and billing clerk (both played by Erica Jureckson) and security guard (Richard Atha-Nicholls) conspire to keep her captive. The exaggerated premise would be funnier if not for the frustration and sick humor.
    Rick Wade’s Foxgloves is a smart intrigue that takes place at an airport bar where widower Dennis (Danny Brooks) and his traveling companion Jerry (Atha-Nicholls) discover how much they have in common. Bernadette Arvidson plays the sympathetic waitress.
    Alien Love Triangle, by Katherine Glover, is a hilarious sci-fi thriller starring Richard Atha-Nicholls and Erica Jureckson as two astronauts studying life and finding love with K’Sh, an amoeba-like creature with three heads (Kubit, Sam Morton and Brooke Penne). 
    Some productions are more polished than others, but each slate offers at least a couple solid wins. It’s summer fun for sultry nights with a seed of surprise.


This and That: One Act Play Festival. Stage Manager: Ernie Morton. Sound: Brittany Rankin and Richard Atha-Nicholls. Lights: Eric Gasior and Shirley Panek. Costumes: Hannah Sturm and Kaelynn Miller. Set: Lyana Morton and Edd Miller.

Playing thru July 27, Th thru Sa at 8pm and Su at 2 at Colonial Players, 108 East St. Annapolis. $10 per slate or $15 for both; rsvp: 410-268-7373; thecolonialplayers.org.
 

Is privacy possible in the Facebook Age?

     Jay (Jason Segel: How I Met Your Mother) and Annie (Cameron Diaz: The Other Woman) were insatiable. Their voracious sex life led to an unplanned pregnancy and marriage. Over a decade later, Jay and Annie still love each other, and they are flourishing professionally and personally, but their sex life has gone belly-up. Though both miss the intimacy, they can’t seem to find time for each other.
    Jay, who works at a radio station, has a complicated musical filing system that requires two iPads. For some reason, it also requires him to purchase new iPads every few months. He distributes his old ones to friends, family and occasionally business associates.
    Writer Annie’s popular blog on ­motherhood has attracted the attention of a huge corporation. They’d like her to be the face of their mommy blog, as long as she promises to keep the material wholesome. Thrilled at a chance to advance her career, which has stalled since the kids arrived, she plans to celebrate with a wild night of passion.
    Alas, Jay and Annie are no longer in synch. Things get awkward until Annie has a brilliant idea: Use Jay’s iPad to make a sex tape and spice up their DOA sex lives.
    Apparently, a camera lens is all you need to fix your marital ennui; the sex tape works like a charm. Happy to have reignited the spark, Annie tells Jay to delete the recording from the iPad. In post-coital bliss, Jay forgets and synchs his iPad to his computer. Now, thanks to the cloud and carelessness, Jay and Annie’s X-rated romp has been loaded onto all the iPads that Jay has given away.
    Can the couple retrieve them before their reputations are ruined? Or should they film a sequel?
    Rude, raunchy and ridiculous, Sex Tape is funny in spite of its plot. The misplaced sex tape has been done in sitcoms over the years, so the concept of a suburban couple terrified that their friends and family will find out that they have sex isn’t a new one. Still, the ease with which information is shared in the digital age could offer up some interesting problems for Annie and Jay.
    Director Jake Kasdan (Bad Teacher) isn’t interested in the implications of our media-obsessed culture. His interest is having Diaz flail and make funny faces while Segel flops from pratfall to pratfall. Nor is the crisis believable given what we know about the characters. It seems improbable that a guy who has cycled through at least six iPads in a year knows almost nothing about the cloud, which Segel’s Jay seems to think is a magical entity. There’s also a way to erase data remotely from synched iPads, but Segel and Diaz are too busy panicking to call tech support.
    Lazy plotting and lazier character development make Sex Tape a substandard film. That doesn’t mean it isn’t funny. Kasdan has stacked the deck with so many weird situations and outrageous lines that you’ll find something funny. Diaz and Segel are veteran comedians who can land a punch line out of sheer will. They are aided by supporting players who wring laughs out of the meager script. Rob Lowe, in particular, does some weird and wonderful work as Diaz’s seemingly conservative boss.
    Watching the movie is a bit like coming across your neighbor’s sex tape: You know you shouldn’t watch it and it probably won’t be that well-made, but that won’t necessarily stop you.

Fair Comedy • R • 94 mins.

Part 2: How to supply nutrients organically

     In organic gardening, all nutrients are supplied through the process of mineralization. As organic matter is decomposed by the microorganisms that digest the cellulose and hemi-cellulose, minerals contained within the cells of the animal or plant tissues are released into the soil. After the microorganisms have digested all digestible cells, they die. Since their bodies consist mostly of proteins, the proteins are broken down by enzymes, releasing more nutrients, mostly nitrogen (N), into the soil. 
    The rate of mineralization is dependent on temperatures in the soil.
    Under laboratory conditions, mineralization rates are measured at room temperature, 72 degrees. Moist soil samples are held in temperature-controlled containers for several days, then the amount of available nitrogen in the soil is measured. This process is repeated until the figures are stable. Mineralization rates are faster at temperatures above room temperature and significantly slower at temperatures below room temperature. At 72 degrees, the mineralization of compost is between eight and 10 percent. Mineralization of organic matter stops when soil temperatures approach the freezing point.
    The rate of mineralization has a major effect on plant growth.
    Because soils are cooler in the early spring, the rate of growth is often reduced for early spring crops such as peas, cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, lettuce and spinach. Cooler soils mean fewer nutrients becoming available. This problem can be minimized by selecting south-facing slopes for early spring and late fall crops. Planting the crops on ridges is another method of encouraging early warming of soils. A soil raised above a natural grade warms faster than a soil that is level on grade. Covering the area to be planted with a sheet of clear polyethylene several weeks before planting, followed by ridging and covering the ridges with black plastic mulch, is labor intensive but will stimulate early mineralization. Soils warm very rapidly under clear plastic due to the greenhouse effect. However, anticipate early growth of spring weeds, requiring light cultivation or spraying with horticultural vinegar. Ridging and mulching with black plastic will also provide weed control.
    Apply no more than four cubic yards of compost or animal manure per 1,000 square feet in any one year. Five percent is one year’s limit for organic matter added to the soil. Excessive applications of either can stimulate excessive vegetative growth and weak spindly plants. With the mineralization rate eight to 10 percent, 90 to 92 percent of the minerals remain in the soil’s organic matter. So repeated applications of compost and organic matter should be based on soil test results.
    If existing soils contain less than three percent organic matter, an initial application of four cubic yards of compost or animal manure the first year followed by repeated applications at two cubic yards in successive years (or on alternate years for sandy soils) can be adequate. In silt or clay loam soils, these levels may be excessive, requiring greater dependency on soil test results.
    Initially, compost or animal manure should be incorporated to a depth of six to eight inches, deeper if possible. Because organic matter reduces the bulk density of soils, deep incorporation promotes deep rooting, making crops more tolerant to drought. As deep incorporation of organic matter promotes deep rooting, the roots that penetrate this region will continue to maintain the organic matter concentration in that region.
    Repeated applications of compost or animal manure should be incorporated only in the upper three inches of soil. This results in concentrating the nutrients in the region where seed germination occurs and where roots of new transplants initiate growth. Leaching will move nutrients deeper into the soil as the growing season progresses.

When fishing is good it is very good; When it is bad, it’s still pretty good

     I’ve suddenly run into a problem I haven’t had in quite some time. I’m having the devil’s own time catching good rockfish. During the long lulls between bites, an explanation has emerged for my difficulties and disappointments.
    I blame it all on last season. Last season was phenomenal. Big fish in quantities rarely seen around the mid-Bay remained all the way through the year. I could rise at 9am, get on the water by 10am and most always have my limit of 10-pounders by noon.
    Last year, the chum bite was astoundingly effective until late June, when live-lining took over and was even better. This year is developing much differently. The schools of big fish that settled all around the mid-Bay are gone.
    Chumming is already dropping off. Live-lining has not developed, what with the dearth of small spot and rockfish being both scarcer and more finicky.
    My attempts to find them where I did last season have wasted a lot of fishing time. Likewise, my insistence on behaving as if they would eventually show up has led more poor performances than I would like to admit.
    Sticking to my schedule of rising late and still expecting to find good fish is proving to be another major error. The summertime heat is apparently shutting down the bite after 10am. My unreasonable expectations (again, based on last season) are causing me unnecessary emotional trauma.
    A smaller quantity of rockfish and the many anglers searching for them means that to be successful one must achieve ideal conditions, fishing better times of day and night plus making it a priority to find where the fish are located. Wait for them to come to you, and they most likely won’t.
    The few rockfish frequenting last year’s traditional locations do not remain long once discovered. Avoid areas of high fishing pressure to get fish in the box.
    In other areas that have proven productive in the past, stripers gather during the dark, quiet hours to feed but flee as soon as the sun rises or boats arrive. Being the first to fish any particular structure or holding area counts.
    To catch fish consistently this year, you’ll want to start very early or very late. I’m talking about being on the water nearer 5am or starting at sundown and fishing into the night. You will encounter more fish at these times, and when you do find them they are much more likely to take your bait or lure.
    If you’re fishing structure by casting or drifting baits, sound discipline is critical, especially in shallow water. Consider electric power or turning off your engine while working an area. Another good tactic is to sit quietly and do nothing for a good five minutes after arriving at the location you intend to fish. You’ll be surprised at the results.
    Fewer fish are in residence this year. The stripers that are here are under heavy pressure, spooked and uncooperative. Anglers will have to be at the top of their game and using every trick in their arsenal when pursuing them.
    On the Chesapeake, when fishing is good it is very, very good, and when it is bad, it’s still pretty good.

How far are you removed from the necessity — and pleasure — of eating local?

    Is Buy Local Week preaching to the choir?    
    If local foods are already a mainstay of your diet, you don’t need persuasion — though a chance for a basket of local goodies and free ice cream in Western Maryland might lure you to post your locavore photos at www.buy-local-challenge.com.
    If your corn comes out of a can, your potatoes out of a box, your year-round apples from who-knows-where and your burgers from anyplace, then what difference does this little-advertised promotion make to you?
    Fast foods taste good. A whole lot of science, consumer testing and marketing goes into the satisfaction quotient of burgers, sodas and fries.
    Convenience feels good. After shucking a dozen ears of corn — especially if I’m then going to cut off the kernels — I can understand why women welcomed first canned and then frozen corn. Me, I feel shucked out after one meal. They prepared three a day, often for big hungry families who’d been working their bodies for necessity rather than exercise. If they were country women, they had almost certainly planted, nourished, weeded and harvested the garden, with their children working alongside.
    The labor of providing plenty was a Genesis story in my maternal Italian family’s immigrant life. Braided onions and garlic hung in the barn rafters, bread baked for the table, wine and wine vinegar worked in wooden barrels. A few pennies worth of meat was a luxury.
    “We were never hungry after we got a cow,” mother told me. From the milk, her mother made cheese and butter. Born in 1921 weeks after her family’s arrival to Southern Illinois, my mother found life’s meaning in hard work. But standing in for her mother, Catherine Olivetti, during a few days hospitalization reduced the vigorous 20-year-old to tears. “I’ve never worked harder in my life,” she told me.
    How many generations are you removed from the necessity and pleasure of eating local? How far have you reverted?
    Does the taste of place make a difference to you? That’s what we’re hoping to recognize when we make a big deal of where our food comes from. Can you taste the locality of the tomatoes now ripening in our gardens? The eggs laid by chickens down the street? The corn, squash and beans grown in our own counties and brought to market by the farmers who planted and tended them to maturity? The beef and lamb raised on local grass or the pork and chicken fortified on table scraps?
    How do you calculate the balance of convenience versus fresh and local?
    Each one of us has our own scale.
    “Back then we had gardens; now we have Whole Foods,” Annapolitan septuagenarian Elizabeth Smith chided youngster Andrew Wildermuth in this week’s In Their Own Words.
    In July, I harvest tomatoes and cucumbers planted by my husband, often slicing them with onions he’s raised. This year’s crop of garlic will last a whole year, though my grandmother’s braiding skill is a lost art. For most else that rises from earth, I shop farmers markets.
    Mid-winter, I’ll certainly shop at Whole Foods, without so many scruples about what’s local. But I’ll want my oysters from Chesapeake Bay just as my crab was in summer.
    All year long I’ll gladly buy avocado, bananas and lemons, cheese and yogurt and spices, hoping I remember to be grateful for my diet’s world-round reach. We’ll order our coffee from Peets, olive oil from California and grapefruit and oranges from Florida.
    The food we eat tells our human story, the necessity and choices of generations, including our own. Eating local, I like to think, is taking a bite out of history. It’s a bigger lesson than you can manage in a week.