While the family told us that they wanted us to share with our students, we were still hesitant to open the wrap and remove it from mint condition. Yesterday was the day.
The students were suitably impressed.
This blog started on a fellowship to Japan as a way to share my experiences with my community back home. It was revitalized as I traveled in Steinbeck's footsteps in the summer of 2011. It's now updated occasionally with items of interest. Look for infrequent posts about technology, libraries, schools, and whatever else catches my fancy.
I’ve had the opportunity to hear him speak twice before, including once at a conference this summer where he spoke exclusively to independent school teachers about making their schools more sustainable. He's a visionary in the field, and he might change your way of interacting with the world around you.
One of the interesting things he said is that people have 10 times more interactions with other people at farmers’ markets compared with grocery stores. The Bradenton Farmers’ Market has now returned for the winter, and last Saturday I spoke with 5 people that I know for four different reasons…and none of those reasons was Saint Stephen’s, which is my largest social circle in the area. As I listened to potential customers ask a farmer about mache (a type of lettuce), I knew that his answers would have a better success rate at getting people to try the item compared with reading about it online. There’s something about the tactile nature of a farmers' market that encourages people to experiment with their eating.
This ties directly into my support for Geraldson’s Community Farm. I like knowing the farmers, watching the plants shoot up from the ground, and having my dinners depend on the weather from the previous months. If you want to learn more about the farm or the types of vegetables you can grow in Florida, you should come to Geraldson’s Open House this weekend from 9am-2pm. There will be games for the children, farm tours for adults, and you’ll leave with your own seedling to plant at home. http://geraldsoncommunityfarm.org/documents/OpenHouseFlyer11.pdf
Enjoy the harvest season in Florida. Eat locally, and take part!


First, let's recognize the aquarium for what it really is. What people encounter there is not nature itself, nor the sea in miniature. It is a series of stage sets and show windows. The more we try to pretend that we are looking through a porthole in Captain Nemo's submarine, the more we see a fish tank. The ecology is compressed, confined. We are at a show. The action on the stage is a tightly controlled representation—a selective "re-presentation"—of nature. The aquarium's exhibits have been filtered through multiple human decisions on the way to creating an illusion. An exhibit succeeds, I think, when we participate in its illusion, as we might in that of a magic show or a play. The tired phrase for this-the one about the suspension of disbelief-implies accurately that an aquarium is really a theater. Even its stage is an illusion: in the aquarium, the surface of the sea has been rotated from horizontal to vertical and, like the biblical waters, parted so we can walk dry-shod through darkened depths.
Like the actors in our human plays, the fish in an aquarium, though doubtless the real thing, are in a kind of ecological disguise. In these artificially simplified habitats, they must lead simpler lives than they would in the wild. But like the human actors who make us see some of life's truths with unnatural clarity, the fishy ones can help us focus on just a few events and relationships out of the welter of them that we would encounter if we were in uncontrived nature. Notice (but for now notice only) how these anchovies school tightly together, but those clown fish keep their distance from one another. Watch (but for now watch only) how these jellyfish drive their way downward while those drift through their descent. The illusions of the tanks, like those of the theater, do not fake, they portray. As a visitor, my opportunity is to see through the aquarium's managed portrayals, into the sometimes unmanageable complexities of life in the sea.
An aquarium, then, is a theater. Alive as its exhibits may be, it can be compared, as well, to that other extremely filtered place, a museum. Even in an aquarium with giant exhibits, such as the Monterey Bay Aquarium or the Aquarium of the Pacific, we are in a museum with fish tanks instead of dioramas or paintings along its walls. And after a while, many aquariums, like many museums, produce the same behavior in most people, that of just moving on. There is so much to see! It is too big a meal. After an hour or two, I almost expect a docent disguised as a waiter to come up and ask me, "Are you still working on it?" And so this habit of trudging on, moving along. I call it "glance and go."


