Starting Where We Live

We plan to take out the rocks and use greywater to water our backyard. 

Glancing at the sweet Tree of Life Valentine card Dan gave me, brings to mind how we have grown together in the past two years. The Tree of Life represents our connection to each other, our community, and the planet.

After giving up on internet dating, I found Dan on Facebook. There were pictures of him mentoring teens in robotics, gazing fondly at his 3D printer, and painting the walls at CoLab workspace. I was impressed by how he was trying to do good in the world, so I asked him for a tour of CoLab. He rushed by me sweating profusely from riding his bike. After showing off CoLab, he offered to give me a tour of “his downtown” – Maker House and Xerocraft. We settled in the courthouse courtyard and talked for 6 hours. I told him about my creative boys, my screenwriting, supporting local filmmakers by organizing film events, and writing reviews of meaningful films. He told me in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t interested in dating. He came to Tucson so he could live inexpensively while working on his many humanitarian projects. The one that was dearest to his heart was “The Pineapple Project” a computer program that would allow subsistence farmers worldwide to use their cell phones to find out what was best to plant on their land.  

That's Gary Nabhan there. We're big fans. 

When we got together a few days later (yeah!), we struggled with finding time for us and all his projects. We are still working on finding the right balance. Dan soon discovered that he needed to apply his program closer to home, so “Sonoran Gardener” was born. Combining my interest in film and his in sustainability, we have gone to just about every sustainability or environmental movie event in Tucson! I even found ways to discuss environmental issues in my movie reviews at Reel Inspiration. 

The Poo looking guilty. 

While I have always recycled and have never driven, I am grateful to Dan for introducing me to sustainable living. It has added so much to the quality of our life together. In addition to not owning a car, Dan makes his own bread (lucky for me and the boys) and we are experimenting with planting heritage foods and edible weeds. (That’s right! Weeds!) The heritage Sonoran winter wheat is growing nicely, but the only one who has eaten any of it is “The Poo,” Dan’s dog. We did enjoy some purslane that was growing behind the neighbor’s fence. (I found a yummy Mexican recipe for a green sauce made of tomatillos, garlic, onions and serrano chiles!) We even tried planting purslane and some wild amaranth in our garden.  We may be the only ones who purposefully plant weeds in our garden!

Purslane (Portulaca oleracea).

Sometimes our environmental efforts conflict with each other. We would like to shop local, but not having a car makes it very time consuming to get to the farmers markets on the far end of town. We do cook some heritage foods that we purchased at Native Seeds:  like Tohono O’odham tepary beans. (Those stubborn little beans took over 24 hours to cook after soaking overnight!), and mesquite flour pancakes with prickly pear syrup. (Yum!) Dan would like to harvest his own mesquite beans, but they always fall to the ground before he gets to it. It’s hard being a programmer/gatherer!

Dan and I are great partners in living sustainably. Though we still struggle with developing daily habits. I squawk at Dan for leaving the water on while he reaches for a fork, “We live in the desert!”  I have learned to turn the water off while brushing my teeth! But I still kick myself for forgetting to bring the reusable grocery bag to the store.

Watershed management workshop.

We have found new ways to water our Tree of Life. Dan introduced me to the Watershed Management Group. We started with a lovely neighborhood tour. And we recently attended the Rainwater and Greywater harvesting classes. We are excited to redesign our yard so we can use washing machine water on our landscape. It’s sure to be hard work, but fun too!

To follow our journey, check out our new blog: http://www.sustainablelivingtucson.org/

Arizona's Real Mining Tradition

Bisbee, Arizona

I always enjoy stepping back in time with a nice day trip to one of Arizona’s charming historic mining towns with miners shacks perched precariously on hill sides. Leafing through an old photo album, I peruse pics of a lovely visit to Bisbee. 

In one, my family wears yellow jackets and hard hats with mining lights. I recall how we straddled a wooden 2X8 seat on the mining train, and were pulled into the narrow rock tunnel to hear stories of courageous men overcoming devastating hardships. The guide (a retired miner) shared awe-inspiring tales of human resourcefulness and ingenuity in conquering nature. I flip to another page. After antiquing in Globe, we traveled past less scenic mining towns with ugly boarded up storefronts and dilapidated houses. I was shocked by the miles and miles of abandoned strip mines. More like - land stripped. Land stripped of trees, or any living thing. Land that will never be able to grow anything again.

Watching Francis Causey’s doc, “Ours is the Land,” made me aware of the plight of the nearby Tohono O’odham with the Rosemont Mining Company. The Canadian mining company (with an abhorrent environmental impact record) is attempting to purchase Tohono O’odham holy land for $5 an acre. (You read that right - $5 an acre. The price is set by antiquated law from 1872). In addition to the damage it will do to the desert habitat (where the Tohono O’odham harvest their daily food), it will contaminate their ground water. And the mine doesn’t just affect the reservation. THE MINE WILL USE UP 20% OF TUCSON’S REMAINING GROUND WATER. How can we consider that, when we already supplement our ground water with Colorado River water?

UPDATE (10/23/2018) 

Meanwhile, in another part of our state, Lake Powell has been contaminated with toxic yellow tailings runoff from an abandoned mine in Colorado. No effort was made on the part of the mining company to dispose of the tailings before they leaked into COLORADO’s Animas River.

Mining is threatening Arizona’s precious water supply! For the past decade Arizona has been experiencing a drought. Climate change is already reducing precipitation needed to replenish the rivers that supply our water. It is predicted that groundwater will decrease by 20-40 percent by mid-century.

Lavender Open Pit Mine, Bisbee

Meanwhile, in another part of the state, the San Carlos Apache and many of Superior’s townspeople are fighting to keep the Oak Flat Mountain from becoming a gigantic crater. Arizona Senators McCain and Flake snuck in a last minute rider on a must-pass annual defense department funding bill that allowed the Australian-English mining companies, Rio Tinto and BHP Billiton, to block-cave the pristine mountain. Oak Flat, which is sacred to the San Carlos Apache, is also protected by law as a national forest. Even the residents of nearby Superior – many miners themselves - don’t want the mine. Besides destroying a favorite recreational area, it will use up the town’s ground water.

So why would Senators McCain and Flake destroy our national park and deplete our precious ground water supply for foreign mine interests? They claim it is to create jobs and improve our economy. But this is a temporary fix at best. Ask the 450 miners at Green Valley-based Sierrita and the 211 miners at Tucson-based Asarco  - who were laid off due to declining profits. The jobs are temporary, but the damage to our planet is long-lasting.

Bisbee Deportation, 1917

Looking back at Arizona history, it’s not hard to see the precedence for this policy. Mining has always been a big part of Arizona’s economy. Arizona was founded on mining interests. (Before that there were only Native Americans and ranchers). But if you look beyond the historic façade, you see a bitter truth – desperate men slaving away and dying in the mines for the profit of a few. Scenic Bisbee is shrouded in suffering. In 1917, 1,286 miners and their supporters who were striking for safer working conditions and fair pay, were arrested by authorities and loaded into cattle cars with three inches of manure on the floor. Although temperatures were in the 90s, no water was supplied. The train stopped 10 miles east of Douglas to take on water. The train was guarded by two deputies with machine guns and 200 armed men. The strikers were finally dropped off 200 miles away.

As much as I like to step back in time to Arizona’s “good ol’ days” by visiting our quaint mining towns, perhaps it’s time to improve on history before Tucson and Phoenix become barren ghost towns too.

Nana's Last Home-cooked Christmas

Sharing Cousin Mindy's Christmas Remembrances

Nana's eyes light up brighter than any tree or ornament.

1996. This was Nana's very last Christmas in the comfort of her own home in Fairgrove, Missouri, with all of her loving family around to support her. There was a thin blanket of snow on the ground, the air had a wintry quality to it; no doubt this was Christmas.

At Nana's Christmas Day meal, she always made everyone's favorite dishes: a crockpot of baked beans, her homemade chicken dumpling stew, pumpkin and apple pie, fudge… My cousin Lonny parked himself by the baked beans and hovered. She home cooked everything, which meant a bit of elbow grease and a lot of love went into every plateful. There was always a strong link between her food and the love she gave.

This Christmas wasn't just about a meal though; this year had a special meaning about it. When it got dark outside, it came time to listen to her old Christmas albums and for the kids to unwrap their gifts. Seeing this always made Nana's eyes light up brighter than any tree or ornament.

When the family gathered round to take Christmas photos, something strange showed up in them. In each picture (taken by me) was a light mist that hovered around the person in it, almost clinging to their happy, cheerful auras. This was an especially odd occurrence, seeing as Nana was very in touch with her soul. This, in my eyes, proved a couple of things I had long thought about Nana. One being that she was, in fact, very spiritual. Nana always had her brothers and sisters around...either in flesh or spirit. I used to catch a glimpse of them around when my guard was down. Almost as if the mist in the pictures was an old friend and they were just chatting about days past. The other thing it proved was that no matter what was going on, what downfalls or uprisings come, that none of these things mattered to her as long as she could celebrate with her family on Christmas.

A Very Blessed Christmas,
Mindy Beall Fitch

No Longer Bound: Author Airyka Edwards Shares from the Heart

By Lorna Kerin Beall

As the president of the Ozarks Pen Masters’ Guild here in Lebanon, Missouri, I always look forward to getting together with my fellow writers.  We chattered happily as we set out our summery refreshments: homemade cookies, fruit salad, iced tea, and lemonade. We had invited the members of the community to hear Airyka Edwards speak about her book No Longer Bound, My Voice, My Freedom. While I was excited about the event, I was also a bit apprehensive. As the president, I would be introducing our guest and I prayed that everything would go well for her sake. At first hardly anyone arrived. I had even started removing chairs. But then people began to trickle in. We ended up having over 50 people! (We hurriedly put the chairs back.) Anxious to get started, I quickly introduced Airyka. I sat at the edge of my seat, eager to have her speak. But she had other ideas. She selected Debby Blades to introduce all of our members and had me lead them in reciting our credo about using our talents, great or small, in hopes that they’ll be an inspiration to others. 
                                                                                                          

Airyka even had our secretary, Ruth Amos, open with prayer. I thought all this emphasis on our guild would bore everybody to death. But what a gift she gave us! Her efforts were instrumental in getting us two new members! (They attended our meeting a month later.) I just needed to let go and enjoy!

I cheekily announced, “Now…here’s what you’ve all been waiting for!” I needn't have worried. Airyka had taken the time to make sure everyone was comfortable and felt at home (herself included.) Then Airyka shared a greater gift. How brave she was – opening up about her tragic childhood. In her book, she fearlessly shared how she and her siblings grew up with an alcoholic mother with no food or heat in the house. It was devastating to hear how her tiny newborn brother froze to death when the small children were left alone. That was just one of the heartbreaking situations they had to endure. But the amazing thing is that Airyka not only endured, but overcame through her faith in God. And she became the warm, outgoing individual, talented author, and friend that she is today!

Airyka’s book, published by Author House, is available through the Author House online bookstore and at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. 

My Storytelling Odyssey

Jana Segal performing at Odyssey Storytelling 

When I first started storytelling, I would try to memorize the whole story – since I was accustomed to memorizing monologues for acting auditions.  Glenda Bonin, my storytelling mentor, kept nudging me to get rid of the script and just tell it.  And there were times when I experienced a glimpse of actual telling – by sheer chance. Like the first time I attempted to tell my pioneer story without reading it. I was still struggling with memorization when I arrived at Bookmans for the performance. The only audience, aside from other storytellers, was a mother and her two children. At some point in the story, my mind went blank. But this little audience was my saving grace. I looked into their eager eyes and told the story just for them.  

Since then I have been working on becoming less nervous and more conversational in my storytelling.  So when Glenda invited me to perform at the Teller of Tales summer gathering, I thought it was a great opportunity to practice just that. I wanted to share something cheerful, so I decided to tell about how my son Josh had made it into the Haidong Gumdo World Championships in Korean sword dance. I brainstormed all the incidents that led up to this accomplishment - like how he was famous for dancing with his French horn in the bleachers at football games or for doing his own version of hip hop in the high school halls during lunch. I outlined (on file cards) all of his creative projects that may have contributed to his Israeli-inspired sword dance – including creating claymation Canaanite characters.  I composed my opening line, “Josh has always marched to the beat of his own drum – especially when he was in the Catalina Magnet High School marching band.”

Joshua Segal at Haidong Gumdo World Championships

As an experiment I went over the list again and again, but purposely didn’t practice it out loud. I wanted to see if it would be more conversational if I just spoke off the top of my head.  I should have at least practiced the opening line because when I got on stage I groped around for it. I eventually warmed up. (I always enjoy performing in front of an audience.) Somewhere along the way, I got side-tracked from my outline, and just started blabbing. I admitted how frustrated I was that my smart, creative son - who was so full of promise - was given mind-numbing drugs right before his trip to Korea.  Caught up in this train of thought, I forgot the big payoff – describing how he honored his Jewish heritage by dancing to Hava Nagila and two other Jewish folk songs. It was so anticlimactic. I wanted to hop back on stage and fix it.  And I would have too, if the MC (Glenda) had let me.

Knowing how frustrated I was, Glenda called the next morning to offer sympathy and advice. She said that it was really brave when I shared my true feelings and that the audience had really connected to it. She suggested that next time I concentrate more on my own feelings and how I was proud of Joshua. She said the audience will really relate to it and that it will make Joshua proud, too.

A few days later Odyssey Storytelling sent out a call for stories about “Detours.” It was an opportunity to put Glenda’s advice into action! Odyssey would give me a chance to practice it twice – at the rehearsal and at the performance. At the rehearsal, the other tellers and facilitators would also give valuable feedback for shaping my story.  This time I was going to make sure to include how proud I was of Josh and fully describe his experience at the sword dance competition.

Characters from Josh (Killetz) Segal's film, "Bronze"  

And I did manage to include it. But I was sort of… off, sort of stiff. One of the storytellers described my performance as episodic – like reciting a list of episodes. He said that I was more engaging when I told the group about Josh afterwards. I had described how Josh focused on himself when he danced, looking down at the floor. That guy said that he could tell so much more about Josh by how I acted out that little bit. The other tellers wanted to see more of me in it - more of how I felt about what happened.  On the bus ride home, I jotted down their great advice.

After that rehearsal, I realized that I needed some way into the story that would propel me to the end. I had planned on practicing some more on the day of the performance – holding a hair brush like a microphone (as they recommended at Odyssey).  But that morning Josh messaged me about his actors backing out on him. He had been rushing to finish his claymation for a screening the next day at The Loft Cinema’s First Friday Shorts. I spent the entire day contacting actors for him.

That became the angle I was looking for. I would start with how I had spent the day helping Josh with his claymation project. I would just share it with the audience like I would a friend. Instead of a last minute (panicked) rehearsal while I dressed, I relaxed with a leisurely shower.  While we waited for the bus, I asked my boyfriend if I could tell him about Josh’s experience. When I got stuck on a word, I stopped to figure it out, then went back to telling the story. A woman at the bus stop was eavesdropping. She looked shocked when I messed up and said, “Shoot! Can I start again?”

Odyssey Storytelling at the Screening Room

My performance wasn’t perfect. I groped for a few words. I have no idea what my free hand was doing. But I really enjoyed sharing Josh’s story with the audience and they seemed to be with me. The thing I am most proud of is that I didn’t beat myself up for my mistakes. I realized it was all a part of the process. In the lobby before the show, I told a friend that I had no idea how this was going to turn out. “It is what it is.” I achieved what I was working on - being less nervous and more conversational. I think it was because I believed in the process.

The next day, I waited nervously as Josh watched a recording of the performance.  He looked thoughtful for a moment, then asked if he could post it on his Facebook page.

Josh was proud. 

What Our History Books Don’t Teach Us: Unsung Heroines

by guest blogger, Anna Yosin

I am pleased to present guest blogger, actress/producer/martial artist Anna Yosin.  Anna discusses two projects she is developing and the importance of sharing stories of incredible women who made history, but weren't included in our history books.

Victoria Woodhull 

When we think of story, we think of entertainment. We think of stories that move us emotionally. We laugh, we cry, we get angry or inspired. But stories also teach and inform us in many ways. We can learn about the past or different cultures through the exposure to stories - whether it be live theater, film, TV, new media or the good ol' book. Often we get history lessons from storytelling and that tradition goes back to before literature existed. But what happens when those stories are skewed by what is left out? We miss out on learning about some of the most inspiring people in history, especially if we depend only on the knowledge we learn in our classrooms. Unfortunately, our history books leave out so much and the content is often politically skewed.

This really hit me about a year ago. I stopped at a truck stop on my way back to LA from Tucson and picked up a few interesting books about women in the West. I found one particularly interesting - “The Bad Girls of the Wild West.” Although the book only touches upon women of notoriety in the days of the Wild West, it was enough to spark my interest. I found myself wondering why, out of all the Western movies and TV shows, these women's stories weren't told in more detail. Some may have appeared in supporting roles, but none of the movies (at least that I am aware of) featured them as the main character. So I started to dig deeper and I found some rare historical gems!

Among the stories that everyone knows like Calamity Jane and Annie Oakley, I found many that we don't hear about. These women played important roles in the history of our country. For example: Stage Coach Mary (the first person to deliver mail for Wells Fargo on a stagecoach), Clara Barton (the founder of the American Red Cross), Elizabeth Bassett and her two daughters (who ran their own ranch, smuggled cotton from Mexico and fought against big ranching companies who were taking over all the smaller ranches… a familiar struggle even today), or how about Maria Rita Quinteros de Valdez, (another rancher who owned a massive stretch of land that is now Beverly Hills), or Toby Riddle (a Native American who stepped in and prevented some deadly battles, then traveled to the east coast educating people about Native American culture). That’s just to name a few, of MANY.

Biddy Mason

Two of these women really stood out for me and I am currently creating projects based on their stories. Biddy Mason, who was a slave for the first 40 years of her life, sued her owner and won her freedom in Southern California in 1856 (a year before the Dread Scott case propelled the country into civil war.) She went on to become one of the wealthiest property owners in Los Angeles, started the first black school and church, donated money to the poor and visited prisoners to bring a little light into their lives. Talk about a philanthropist! My other heroine, Victoria Woodhull,  was the first woman on Wall Street to own a stock brokerage company. She started a revolutionary periodical and wrote articles about the most leading edge controversial issues. She actually ran for President of the United States of America in 1871 - almost 50 years before women were legally allowed to vote!

What? Is this for real? Yes! It's huge! Why isn’t it in our history books? These stories are impressive even by today's standards and are nothing less than inspiring. They are too powerful not to be told. I believe that if more people knew about their challenges and accomplishments, they would be inspired to do more in our modern society. That is why I am so motivated to get these stories out. There are parts of the world where women are not allowed to be educated or even go outside of their homes without their husbands - let alone create their own successful business or run for president. It is my hope that when people hear about the brave women of our past, it will inspire them to research more, uncover more and give them courage to take a stand. When we hear stories of great accomplishments or of crossing new boundaries, it encourages us to believe in ourselves. We are more than capable of accomplishing what may be deemed impossible by society’s standards. The stories of these incredible women give us the courage to leap higher, stretch farther and have trust in humanity.

Reposted from http://www.reelinspiration.blogspot.com/

Mothers Day Gifts

On this mother’s day, I feel blessed to have worked with my mom on her love project honoring her mother, “Model T Biscuits.” You can just feel the love as you read about their cross country trip to find a little farm of their own.  

As I look back, it is really a miracle that I became a writer. When I was in kindergarten, I was so shy that I couldn't even raise my hand to go to the bathroom.  I had great difficulty learning my ABC’s. So they held me back another year. Yes, I flunked Kindergarten.  I was put in a special class for students with learning disabilities. I remember being taught to tell my right hand from my left by holding up the hand I used to salute the flag.  In second grade, I struggled to learn to read by memorizing words, so I doodled on the handouts instead. The teacher complained that I was in my own dream world, put me down another grade and suggested that I be put on drugs. But my mom never gave up on me. She hired a nice young woman to write down my stories while I illustrated them (so I could see the connection between my imagination and words.) My mom was so ahead of her time.  I’m still proud of the resulting picture books, “The Stinky Skunk” and “The Roadwalker.”

The thing I love most about my mom is how she always encouraged us kids to develop our talents. When I was little I spent all my time drawing people.  Despite our limited income, mom always made sure I had art supplies. (Seems like every birthday I got art sets.)  Somehow she convinced a local artist, Jan, to give me free art lessons.  (Jan taught me a trick for drawing faces... Draw an oval with a curved line half way down it. That's where you put the eyes.) She had been commissioned to paint a portrait of our local celebrities Roy Rogers and Dale Evans for their museum. Inspired by her painting, I sketched a picture of them too. I remember mom driving me to Victorville and waiting outside the bowling alley for Roy Rogers so I could give him my little picture. He just looked at it and walked away.

Mom inspired me every day with her passion and dedication to her own writing.  On our birthdays, she brought cupcakes to school and read her story picture books to the class. One year she read a story about a little Mexican boy and brought a lopsided homemade piñata. I loved it! 

When my passion shifted to theater, mom drove me to the next town over to perform in Community Theater. I checked out plays and musical records from the library.  I listened to show tunes on my little record player and belted out the songs. I believe it was that love of plays that helped me to finally overcome my struggle with reading. I started writing show tunes and musicals.  My most cherished memory of my mom is climbing into her bed and singing her my latest creation. Of course, she thought they all were brilliant. On the last day of school before going off to college, I somehow found the courage to sing one of those songs, “At Last” to my choir teacher. He was inspired to write an accompaniment to it right there in the practice room while the rest of the class enjoyed their Christmas party.

Whenever I came home from college, I crawled into bed and sang mom my latest songs. After learning to critique in grad school, we would sprawl out on the couch as I critiqued her latest children’s book. One of those books was, “Model T Biscuits” which I eventually adapted into a screenplay.

directing a scene from "Model T Biscuits"

Mom and I have shared many priceless memories. We attended the Burbank Children's Film Festival and watched as Dee Wallace's acting students performed a stage reading of, “Model T Biscuits.” During the awards dinner, mom was so nervous that her stomach was gurgling. She kept escaping into the bathroom. During one of those visits, she ran into Shelly Long ( from Cheers)! She babbled something about how nervous she was. Shelly admitted that she was nervous too and gave my mom a comforting hug.

Finally, Dee Wallace (the mom from E.T.) announced that we had won the award for best short screenplay. Mom nervously uttered a speech about how her mother had inspired, “Model T Biscuits” with her sisu (Finnish for guts and determination.)  I am so grateful that my mom always showed sisu when it came to encouraging us kids.  That is the greatest gift anyone has ever given me. 

Searching for Tucson's Lost Heritage

I was very inspired by the lectures on border issues at the Tucson Festival of Books. I went to the panel about ranching on the Arizona-Mexican border as research for a screenplay I am working on. I figured I would hear the usual complaints about “illegals” trashing their property or robbing them. (As I had from ranchers around Tombstone.) But I was delighted to find that in all their years of ranching, these three ranchers never had any problems with Mexicans. The female rancher shared how she always felt safe riding across her property alone. She reminisced about the old times when the cows from the Mexican ranchers would roam freely back and forth across the border. And how she and her cowboys would take coffee breaks with the Mexican cowboys. In the eighties, when the government passed stricter laws about undocumented workers, migrant workers were forced to cross the brutal desert in search for work in America. When they crossed their land, these ranchers gave them a meal or temporary work fixing fences and such. The ranchers had nothing but positive experiences.

Tucson's Presidio

Living in Tucson for 25 years, it’s hard for me to understand the current attitudes about undocumented Mexican workers. The Old Pueblo used to be part of Mexico. Mexicans were the first settlers. When the portion of Sonora that contained Tucson was sold to the US, the Mexicans settlers were given a choice between returning to Mexico and receiving a piece of land or becoming full American citizens. Many of these new citizens still had family across the border, so it was common to travel back and forth to visit them.

In the border town of Nogales, there were no walls between the Mexican and American side. It was treated as one city. Their annual Christmas Parade procession crossed the border. Later, hard-working Mexicans were hired as seasonal farm workers, so they were encouraged to migrate across the border. This migration has always been a part of Tucson’s culture. It’s as Tucson as apple chimichangas.

On another panel at the book fest, Peg Bowden, author of “Land of Hard Edges,” reminisced about growing up in the ethnically diverse, culturally rich Tucson. Later Peg told me that the ethnic breakdown was about 20% African American, 30% Latino, and 8% Asian. She heard Spanish and Mandarin spoken in the hallways of her high school. Mexican-Americans were active in politics and were revered. This got me thinking about my first impressions when I moved to Tucson. One of the first things I noticed was memorials with prayer candles and ribbons by the side of the road and altars to Our Lady of Guadalupe. I was struck by the incredible talent in the Latino community represented in art galleries, on murals, Borderland Theater Company, and Tucson Cine Mexico.

The first place we take out-of-town guests are our authentic Mexican restaurants such as El Minuto by the El Tiradito (the castaway) Wishing Shrine in Barrio Viejo. Then we head downtown to the restored Presidio near the Tucson Museum of Art to see the large Mexican nativity, El Nacimiento. The Mexican influence is evident in our cultural events. Tucson school children get two days off every year for rodeo days. 150,000 people gather for the annual rodeo parade to watch Vaqueros sitting high on their saddles, high school bands performing Mexican marches, and Mariachi dancers. 100,000 come out to experience the spectacular Dia de Los Muertos (The All Souls Procession). Mexican culture enriches our community. It is an integral part of our Tucson heritage. 

While researching Mexican culture in Tucson, I discovered that what had once been a thriving, vibrant community had been relegated to a museum exhibit. Before the urban renewal project of 1967 destroyed Tucson’s largest barrio, descendants of Tucson’s Mexican, Chinese and Jewish settlers still lived in their families’ traditional adobe row homes just outside of the Presidio walls. The Mexican barrios were tight-knit communities where family and church were valued. They gathered for holidays in the square. Everyone in the neighborhood knew each other and looked after each other. People shopped in neighborhood stores.  When Peg Bowden was at the U of A Nursing College, she did home visits on Convent and Canal Street. "People had chickens in the backyard and no electricity. They put their food on the back porch at night to keep it cool. They gave me warm tortillas fresh off the griddle when I visited. Great memories."

Politicians used the fact that some of the houses were ramshackle with backyard outhouses and that there was a rough neighborhood. They called the barrios a "blight" on the city. In the name of progress, the barrio was condemned to be replaced by a money-pit: a failed convention center and shopping center. This close knit community was torn apart, leaving some destitute. 

There are remnants of that vibrant barrio in what remains of the Historic Districts in Barrio Viejo including Teatro Carmen, the first venue in Tucson devoted to Spanish language productions and later used as a cinema, meeting hall, ballroom, and boxing arena. In Barrio El Hoyo there is a small garden and plaques that commemorate what used to be the Carrillo Gardens. The eight acres of garden boasted several small lakes and bathhouses fed by natural springs surrounded by cottonwood trees, fruit trees, and roses from around the world. There was a pavilion for music and dancing or skating. There was even a shooting gallery and a small zoo. Every weekend in the park was like a fiesta. 

When the barrio was gutted, Tucson lost much of its charm and history; in fact, its very heart and soul. In this time when politicians create an atmosphere of fear using undocumented workers as scapegoats, it’s important to remember those who built the adobe walls that became the Old Pueblo and their descendants who carry on our shared traditions.

Read more in my blog, "Footprints in the Dirt."  

Dare to Be Mediocre with Children's Writer Katherine Paterson

Tucson Festival of Books

Lorna Kerin Beall 

For years my daughter Jana has invited me to go to the Tucson Festival of Books and I finally went. The fest was amazing.  In addition to street fair vendors, book signings with your favorite authors (500 of them!), entertainment, a science pavilion, and kids’ activities; they had authors speak on every topic imaginable.  I was delighted to find that there were at least twenty-five authors who spoke about writing for children.

The speaker I enjoyed most was two-time Newberry winner, Katharine Paterson, the author of one of my favorite children's books, The Great Gilly Hopkins. I found her encouraging, humorous and humble. She told us that no one thought she had the makings of a writer. In fact, when she was growing up, she wanted to be an actress or missionary. She ended up marrying a minister and joyfully becoming a missionary. But she still harbored thoughts about writing. Then a wise friend (and writer?) said, “Maybe that is something God is calling you to do.” Katherine protested that she didn't want to be mediocre. The friend replied, “If you don’t dare to be mediocre, you won’t be a writer.” 

I’m sure Katherine’s words inspired beginning writers, but they also rang true for me. I believe in plunging ahead and getting that first draft done, warts, typos and all. But I take it a step farther. Some of my friends only write when they’re inspired. Maybe that works for them, but I’d never get anything done.  I've discovered that I've accomplished some of my best writing when I didn't feel like it, and that the writing seems to have more depth. Then I go back later and  smooth out the rough spots. 

          

Katherine’s minister husband became her first supporter and editor. If he had insisted that she strictly maintain the traditional role of a minister’s wife, she would've never found time to write.  He informed his parishioners that she had her own calling!

Listening to Katherine Paterson

I related to this. Having six kids, we often had difficult financial times, but Richard never insisted that I get a job, and he always encouraged me to write. When he sees me puttering around the house, he’s known to  grumble, “Why aren't you in your room writing?”  This was in spite of the fact that I got (and still often get) enough rejection slips to wallpaper that room.

In addition to being inspired by Katherine, I felt a special camaraderie with the other writers.  With free lectures, panels and workshops on writing in every genre, as well as panels on self-publishing, marketing, and getting an agent, I would recommend this free festival to any author or aspiring author.

I was delighted when Katherine held up her brand new book and said, "It's called, The Story of My Life." It touches on both her life and her writing. My hubby claims that I totally ignored my own writing (not to mention cooking and housecleaning) while reading her amazing book. I hope all of you enjoy it too!

Nissa-Nassu

In my work-in-progress children’s pioneer novel, “The Wormy Bean Winter,” six-year old Emmi tells two-year-old Sunni about Aunt Riika’s famous Nissa-Nassu (Finnish Christmas Piggy Cookies) that they always have at their aunts for Thanksgiving. This results in their saying the name both forward and backwards, "Nassu-Nissa...Nissa-Nassa," as well as much noisy “oinking” and even noisier giggling!

Jana attempted to nurture her Finnish heritage by making Piggy Cookies for Christmas.

In the photo they did look “piggy.” (Messy like pigs anyway!), due to coloring the frosting with some seedy raspberry jelly or something to make them pink!  I’m sure they were delicious. And I admire her spirit in fostering our Finnish traditions.

Happy Holidays!

Lorna Kerin Beall

Note from Jana: Inspired by my mom's story, I decided to try my hand at Finnish Piggy Cookies. Dan combined the Finnish tradition of baking ginger cookies with his own love of local Tohono O'odham heritage ingredients by making yummy mesquite-ginger cookies. Unfortunately, the piggy shape and ginger-mesquite taste was covered by the raspberry frosting. I didn't have a pig cookie cutter so I cut out circles and sculpted piggy ears, snout, legs and tail with my fingers. I made another cookie of a piggy face with a raised snout. They sorta looked like pigs until I put the speckled pink frosting on them. I tried making eyes with little dollops of white icing and a shiny round sprinkle. When I applied black eye lasses on it, Dan's mom exclaimed, "Oh! It's a face!"