So yes, after ranting about my cultural identity back to sturgeon... I will hopefully be seeing quite a bit of them over the next three years (me getting my PhD sorta depends on it). Google Atlantic Sturgeon, and you will find that they are big and ugly (and look a bit like they've escaped a Jurassic Park movie) and quite endangered - it seems people got greedy exploiting them for they're meat on the one hand (which apparently tastes quite good, I wouldn't know, I believe that fish are friends not food), and taviar on the other - really? Fish eggs? Whose brilliant idea was that?
Unfortunately for them, they're not a cute as seals or as charismatic as dolphins and whales (dooooooo youuuuuuuuuu speaaaaaaaaaakt whaaaaaaaaaaaales?! I picked some up conversing with the ones migrating down the East African Coast) so they haven't exactly gotten around to replacing Pandas as Greenpeace' new poster child. On the up side, New York and a couple of other States up here are currently working on management plans to help restore populations (this is also quite fortunate for me and my thesis...).
Part of the problem is that Atlantic Sturgeon need about 20 years to mature and reproduce, so we can't just stop fishing (which you're already not allowed to do, but they still get caught by accident) them for a few years and all will be well. Sturgeon's life cycle is similar to that of salmon, in that the females migrate up their natal river (i.e. the river they were born in) to lay their eggs... the young then migrate back towards the coast, usually live in estuaries for a few years and the spend their "juvenile/subadult" stage(s) in coastal aggregations- several studies have shown that protecting them at that stage will have the strongest effect re-establishing populations.
In order to protect them, it's kinda helpful to figure out where they can (still) be found, and what their fine scale migration patterns are. One of the guys I'm working closely with figures that out doing accustic tagging: We pull the sturgeon out of the water, make certain measurements and then surgically implant an acoustic tag (I'll get to this in a bit, that's the funny part of the story so if you don't want to know all the science-y stuff skip there....it starts with "okay, here's he funny story") and toss it back into the water.
So while he's figuring out where they're going, I'll figure out where their coming from. This is actually a kinda cool method - basically while the sturgeon are being measure and tagged, I'll snip off part of their fin, extract the DNA and sequence a little piece of their DNA. I'll be able to use this sequence as a sort of license plate: If you look at the combination of the first few letters on a German license plate you know what city/county the car is from. If you look at this sequence the combination of basepairs will tell you what river they're from. Kinda cool, huh?
Okay, so when we pull a sturgeon (hopefully more than one) out of the water trawling we weigh it (I think the heaviest one I laid eyes on til this point was about almost 30kg so over 60lbs), then we lift it on a measuring board and make some measurements (the longest one we got was 1,4m which is over 4 feet long - and remember, these aren't fully grown yet). Then we scan for a "pit tag" and inject one if it hasn't been tagged yet (that way, however else pulls it out during trawling surveys knows where else it's been), put in another tag We'd do this with three people, our "sturgeon hunter" (that's how he's labeled his gloves) would make the measurements and all that stuff, we had one person taking down all the data on the clipboard and I had the important job of watering the fish (you want to keep the stress levels as low as possible, we're trying to save these fish, not kill them) and holding the fish down the fish when it gets clipped for an ageing sample. These are powerful fish, basically all muscle, fast swimmers (remember, they can migrate UPstream!) and if you remember how tall/short I am and how much I weigh (yes, I know officially you don't know that since I'm a lady...) you'll understand why I view sturgeon wrestling as a completely acceptable alternative to rugby.
Keeping in mind, mine vs. the fish' measurements I was kinda surprised when I was told "Okay, Shannon just transfer the sturgeon to the trough while I get the accustic tags". Maybe because I play rugby with his girlfriend :-) Anyway, a common way of lifting them is grabbing the tail with one hand and supporting the head with the other, something about flipping them on their back/upside down makes them very docile. Unfortunately, I lack the arm span to that with the ones that are a bit larger, so I've developed my own method of cradling them to lift them into this V-shaped wooden trough we use to do "surgery" - getting them in there is als a bit difficult because it on top of a table and so the top rim is about at my should heigth.
Anyway, so we disinfect/locally anesthetize a bit the make an incision about 2 finger-breadths wide, pop in the tag and suture it shut. Yes, I'm writing this like it's the most normal thing to do, but I'll admit - I was surprised the first time I saw one of the accustic tags! They're a bit longer than my middle finger and thicker. It's less popping, more wedging and a little bit of swearing to get the d... f... &*!$## thing in.
(okay, here's the funny story).
On about the third fish we were tagging (this was before I had optimized all my lifting out, transporting etc. techniques), which was also one the larger ones, one of the other girls on the cruise was trying to lift the sturgeon out of the trough. Being my usualy helpful friendly self, upon seeing her struggles I asked if she needed a hand, then stoopd on my tip toes in order to get my hands under the sturgeon (which she was holding by the tail and had so far only managed to flip on it's side)... yes, of course the sturgeon chose that moment to snap up.
You should have seen the "oh crap"-faces on the two girls watching , as they're eyes widened when I took/staggered to steps back from the force of the sturgeon-head butt/sucker punch which caught me just above the chin.
Oh, that sturgeon is luck it's endangered - and my firm belief that fish are friends, not food :-)
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
How moving to my "native country" suddenly made me German...
It recently occurred to me that Sunday is the 4th of July and general convention dictates that I should have plans for the 4th of July. I don't think it matters what kind of plans - just that they exist and somehow make this day different from all others.
People have asked me what we do for the 4th of July in Germany. I generally answer something to the effect of, well if it's a weekday, we do normal weekday stuff and if it falls on a weekend we do weekend stuff.
They usually look confused for a minute or two.
Then understanding sets in and they say, oh yeah that's right, you don't have 4th of July in Germany. I generally cannot help myself but reply, uh, yeah we do. It comes right after July 3rd and until now has always been followed by July 5th - at least to my knowledge.
Though who knows, if Germany looses to Argentina on the 3rd, the world may end and there may really not be a 4th of July in Germany. Okay, I"ll admit, the main reason my parents have managed to swear off watching any World Cup Games this year has to do with the fact that I'm not around to turn the TV on. I like soccer. And when it comes to soccer, I will always stick with Germany. Always have, always will, even when they go head-to-head with the US. I'm invested in the outcome, to the extent that I'll watch the game, cheer if they ("we") do well, groan and roll my eyes if they ("they") start doing stupid stuff. If they win I'll be there for the semi-finals and if they loose... well then they loose.
Actually, I think soccer is the only part of my life, I've actually chosen a country, national/cultural identity if you so will.
Interesting fact(s):
For two decades I was "the American", I had to deal with people mispronouncing my name, people making fun of American stereotypes, being criticized for whatever our former president came up with,... though for the most part, people close to me accepted that I was just me.
For two years on the ship I was "and Shannon..." during our parade of nations (sidenote: PON, which I usually avoided because it confused people to have me in them... had funky music and one by one people would walk on stage in their national costume being introduced as "Akira from Japan, representing the USA Anna-Marie, etc), after people began to accept (after initial hesitation and insisting that one HAD TO BE FROM ONE COUNTRY) that I was just me both German and American and neither.
All of the sudden, I have become German. People ask me where I'm from I usually say I grew up in Germany despite my US Passport. I've never really implied I was German. People are generally surprised by my lack of an accent and I always explain that with both my parents being American we always spoke English at home. But interestingly enough, from several people that I'd known and spent a lot of time with after about half a year they all the sudden were confused about my non-Germanness. (other people on the other hand played rugby with me for half a year and never wondered why people referred to me as "the German").
I don't really care, nor am I particularly bothered. I'm way past cultural crises. I'm still just me, and I reckon at the rate I'm going (and the places I'm might still be interested in going to), things aren't going to get any more simple. But then I've never been, anyway (it's okay, I know what you were all just thinking). Though I do think that sometimes it bothers me how quickly people are ready to "box me" and others up and put a cute little label on it.
Maybe what bothers me more, is the fact that they're are so willing to restrict themselves to their own little box - forgetting minor details such as that while "July 4th" does exist in every other country, it's of little to know importance to them. We're talking about the Birth of a Nation - and there's quite a bit happening beyond that.
Maybe what bothers me is that people are so quick to be content with what is right before their eyes. Yes, I understand that "stereotypes" can be helpful in an initial assessment of the situation, and I love making jokes based on stereotypes (I don't believe in political correctness, it just makes life boring), in my own respectful way. But there is so much more to the world and to people than what initially meets the eye. People and their stories can be so interesting. It usually only takes a little bit of thinking , a few logical steps and deductions to gain a world of understanding. Why is it, that people generally don't think things through? It seems that most people's world ends at the edge of their soup bowl.
I mean really, with a name like Shannon O'Leary how German could I really be?
People have asked me what we do for the 4th of July in Germany. I generally answer something to the effect of, well if it's a weekday, we do normal weekday stuff and if it falls on a weekend we do weekend stuff.
They usually look confused for a minute or two.
Then understanding sets in and they say, oh yeah that's right, you don't have 4th of July in Germany. I generally cannot help myself but reply, uh, yeah we do. It comes right after July 3rd and until now has always been followed by July 5th - at least to my knowledge.
Though who knows, if Germany looses to Argentina on the 3rd, the world may end and there may really not be a 4th of July in Germany. Okay, I"ll admit, the main reason my parents have managed to swear off watching any World Cup Games this year has to do with the fact that I'm not around to turn the TV on. I like soccer. And when it comes to soccer, I will always stick with Germany. Always have, always will, even when they go head-to-head with the US. I'm invested in the outcome, to the extent that I'll watch the game, cheer if they ("we") do well, groan and roll my eyes if they ("they") start doing stupid stuff. If they win I'll be there for the semi-finals and if they loose... well then they loose.
Actually, I think soccer is the only part of my life, I've actually chosen a country, national/cultural identity if you so will.
Interesting fact(s):
For two decades I was "the American", I had to deal with people mispronouncing my name, people making fun of American stereotypes, being criticized for whatever our former president came up with,... though for the most part, people close to me accepted that I was just me.
For two years on the ship I was "and Shannon..." during our parade of nations (sidenote: PON, which I usually avoided because it confused people to have me in them... had funky music and one by one people would walk on stage in their national costume being introduced as "Akira from Japan, representing the USA Anna-Marie, etc), after people began to accept (after initial hesitation and insisting that one HAD TO BE FROM ONE COUNTRY) that I was just me both German and American and neither.
All of the sudden, I have become German. People ask me where I'm from I usually say I grew up in Germany despite my US Passport. I've never really implied I was German. People are generally surprised by my lack of an accent and I always explain that with both my parents being American we always spoke English at home. But interestingly enough, from several people that I'd known and spent a lot of time with after about half a year they all the sudden were confused about my non-Germanness. (other people on the other hand played rugby with me for half a year and never wondered why people referred to me as "the German").
I don't really care, nor am I particularly bothered. I'm way past cultural crises. I'm still just me, and I reckon at the rate I'm going (and the places I'm might still be interested in going to), things aren't going to get any more simple. But then I've never been, anyway (it's okay, I know what you were all just thinking). Though I do think that sometimes it bothers me how quickly people are ready to "box me" and others up and put a cute little label on it.
Maybe what bothers me more, is the fact that they're are so willing to restrict themselves to their own little box - forgetting minor details such as that while "July 4th" does exist in every other country, it's of little to know importance to them. We're talking about the Birth of a Nation - and there's quite a bit happening beyond that.
Maybe what bothers me is that people are so quick to be content with what is right before their eyes. Yes, I understand that "stereotypes" can be helpful in an initial assessment of the situation, and I love making jokes based on stereotypes (I don't believe in political correctness, it just makes life boring), in my own respectful way. But there is so much more to the world and to people than what initially meets the eye. People and their stories can be so interesting. It usually only takes a little bit of thinking , a few logical steps and deductions to gain a world of understanding. Why is it, that people generally don't think things through? It seems that most people's world ends at the edge of their soup bowl.
I mean really, with a name like Shannon O'Leary how German could I really be?
Sunday, June 27, 2010
My first trawling trip
Ok. I'll skip ahead to some "fish stories" and get back to some of my euro-adventures later.
We tagged our sturgeon trawling trip onto the end of the annual Jersey trawl. Four of us plus a truck load of boxes containing foul weather gear (which you don't just wear in foul weather), measuring boards, computers, scanners, tags of various shapes and sizes and a trailer with nets and other important gear headed off towards Jersey City to meet up with the Seawolf (which is "my departments" research vessel).
We were short handed both on the crew and the science party side, so we came in every evening to a little Army Corps of Engineers harbor. In the morning we would steam out right past the Statue of Liberty towards Rockaway Beach. It's a good thing we had a Computer that always shows our latitude and longitude and a map of where we were... this way I'm starting to get aquainted with Long Island's geography from "both sides". Rugby takes care of the land side and as I continue to go out in the field I'll get to know the other side as well. Interestingly enough, after speculating what that bridge was that we could see from the area we were trawling from for several days that Saturday I crossed it to get to the Rockaways 7s tournament!
In principle, trawling is quite simple: You've got a big net wrapped up on a huge winch and two big steel doors on steel ropes. You set in - doors first - and the let the net drag behind the ship for how ever long you see fit (since we're aiming not to do a lot of damage we were doing short trawls of only about 10 minutes give or take), then you pull everything back in and we would dump the contents onto a big table with removable side boards: dogfish (lots of them), horseshoe crabs, various flatfish, spider crabs, more fish,... and our "treasure": STURGEON.
Our first trawl was a test run and longer than usual so when we dumped the net there was more "stuff" than fit in the table - the deck was a flippin' and a floppin' with fish. I'll admit I was a bit surprised and unsure of how exactly we go about this now (remember this was the day jet lag hit me!).
But only for a minute or two: I'll admit I find an odd satisfaction in throwing dogfish (they're a kind of shark) overboard: weeeeeeeeee... they are so aerodynamic and can be thrown with a similar wrist-flicking technique as rugby balls, though I refrain from making "spin passes". We did keep a few to take some fin clippings for genetic studies for my advisor before tossing them back in. Once we've pulled out the species we're interested in, we push the rest right back into the water. Once almost everything is out there's always a few persistent individuals that you have "shoot" into the water. For some reason the combination of slimy fish on a wet table has a very air-hockey-like effect.
We had baskets to collect horseshoe crabs in. There's an ongoing tagging study where we record their sex and size and tag them (you drill a hole in their shell and screw it in). People who find them on the beach or in nets will then hopefully call them them in...
Unfortunately, Murphy decided to come a long for the ride. On Monday, just as we started pulling out 1-3 sturgeons per trawls our net must've gotten snagged by something on the seafloor and was literally split in half. Luckily, we had a second net on board. But first we lost a lot of time swapping them out and then we didn't seem to be able to pull out anymore sturgeon.
The next day follow a similar pattern. We pulled out a few sturgeon, then hit a really muddy patch which tore part of our net. We did mange to keep most of our catch. As we hauled the net aboard and dumped the contents into the table, we all got showered by mud dripping off the net, as we were sorting through the fish (digging around in the mud) we did find a huge sturgeon for our efforts and looked like we had been in a mud fight: As we dug through and tossed fish they'd suddenly start thrashing and flopping and we'd be hit by a wave of mud!
The captain and mate were able to fix the net, but again we weren't catching anything anymore... then a few trawls later I heard the motors run to haul the net back in just minutes after we'd set in. I was a bit confused, then surprised: Wait, shouldn't there be more net than that?
Yeah, so that was that. We headed back to Jersey City and ended up coming home a day early... though I must say steaming through New York and halfway across the North Shore to Port Jefferson gave us a pretty backdrop to scrub all the decks, too!
We tagged our sturgeon trawling trip onto the end of the annual Jersey trawl. Four of us plus a truck load of boxes containing foul weather gear (which you don't just wear in foul weather), measuring boards, computers, scanners, tags of various shapes and sizes and a trailer with nets and other important gear headed off towards Jersey City to meet up with the Seawolf (which is "my departments" research vessel).
We were short handed both on the crew and the science party side, so we came in every evening to a little Army Corps of Engineers harbor. In the morning we would steam out right past the Statue of Liberty towards Rockaway Beach. It's a good thing we had a Computer that always shows our latitude and longitude and a map of where we were... this way I'm starting to get aquainted with Long Island's geography from "both sides". Rugby takes care of the land side and as I continue to go out in the field I'll get to know the other side as well. Interestingly enough, after speculating what that bridge was that we could see from the area we were trawling from for several days that Saturday I crossed it to get to the Rockaways 7s tournament!
In principle, trawling is quite simple: You've got a big net wrapped up on a huge winch and two big steel doors on steel ropes. You set in - doors first - and the let the net drag behind the ship for how ever long you see fit (since we're aiming not to do a lot of damage we were doing short trawls of only about 10 minutes give or take), then you pull everything back in and we would dump the contents onto a big table with removable side boards: dogfish (lots of them), horseshoe crabs, various flatfish, spider crabs, more fish,... and our "treasure": STURGEON.
Our first trawl was a test run and longer than usual so when we dumped the net there was more "stuff" than fit in the table - the deck was a flippin' and a floppin' with fish. I'll admit I was a bit surprised and unsure of how exactly we go about this now (remember this was the day jet lag hit me!).
But only for a minute or two: I'll admit I find an odd satisfaction in throwing dogfish (they're a kind of shark) overboard: weeeeeeeeee... they are so aerodynamic and can be thrown with a similar wrist-flicking technique as rugby balls, though I refrain from making "spin passes". We did keep a few to take some fin clippings for genetic studies for my advisor before tossing them back in. Once we've pulled out the species we're interested in, we push the rest right back into the water. Once almost everything is out there's always a few persistent individuals that you have "shoot" into the water. For some reason the combination of slimy fish on a wet table has a very air-hockey-like effect.
We had baskets to collect horseshoe crabs in. There's an ongoing tagging study where we record their sex and size and tag them (you drill a hole in their shell and screw it in). People who find them on the beach or in nets will then hopefully call them them in...
Unfortunately, Murphy decided to come a long for the ride. On Monday, just as we started pulling out 1-3 sturgeons per trawls our net must've gotten snagged by something on the seafloor and was literally split in half. Luckily, we had a second net on board. But first we lost a lot of time swapping them out and then we didn't seem to be able to pull out anymore sturgeon.
The next day follow a similar pattern. We pulled out a few sturgeon, then hit a really muddy patch which tore part of our net. We did mange to keep most of our catch. As we hauled the net aboard and dumped the contents into the table, we all got showered by mud dripping off the net, as we were sorting through the fish (digging around in the mud) we did find a huge sturgeon for our efforts and looked like we had been in a mud fight: As we dug through and tossed fish they'd suddenly start thrashing and flopping and we'd be hit by a wave of mud!
The captain and mate were able to fix the net, but again we weren't catching anything anymore... then a few trawls later I heard the motors run to haul the net back in just minutes after we'd set in. I was a bit confused, then surprised: Wait, shouldn't there be more net than that?
Yeah, so that was that. We headed back to Jersey City and ended up coming home a day early... though I must say steaming through New York and halfway across the North Shore to Port Jefferson gave us a pretty backdrop to scrub all the decks, too!
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Side note...
There is another fail proof way of telling your in Germany.
WE HAVE MORE BAKERIES THAN THERE ARE STARBUCKS IN THE US.
Yes, I know, many of you do not think this possible. But while it seems there is a starbucks on every corner over here, in Germany there are alleyways in which every shop is a bakery.
Actually in my home town I don't have a favorite bakery - I have a favorite bakery for every kind of my favorite bread.
I kid thee not.
WE HAVE MORE BAKERIES THAN THERE ARE STARBUCKS IN THE US.
Yes, I know, many of you do not think this possible. But while it seems there is a starbucks on every corner over here, in Germany there are alleyways in which every shop is a bakery.
I kid thee not.
On jet lag...
You know what they say about jet lag? All those tips and tricks you can read on how to avoid it, when to sleep, drink eat and stand on your head?
Well, truth be told. Jet lag is a tricky thing, You never know exactly how and when it will set in. I maintain to this very day, that I live in my own private little time zone and the reason why I occasionally sleep during class is that crossing over into the real world leaves me a wee bit jet lagged.
I usually don't have that much problems with jet lag, and in my experience jet lag is always less of a problem when heading east. Which is why, I had come up with a brilliant plan, which involved me arriving Thursday evening (about 12AM my time), staying up a few more hours so as not to rise and shine before 5 or 6am East Coast time, take care of a bunch of little administrative stuff Friday morning and then head out to Pennsylvannia for a rugby weekend, involving a practice session Friday evening and a tournament Saturday with the NRU (the Northeastern Rugby Union). I'd be back Saturday evening. In time to do a quick load of laundry and repack my bags for a 4-5 day "cruise" trawling for sturgeon.
In my defense, I had planned to nap Friday afternoon in the car. That didn't exactly happen and I somehow procrastinated my actual jet lag until Monday when I power-napped between setting the net in and pulling out and sorting through a bunch of fish.
Friday evening is a bit hazy, though apparently I managed not to make a complete fool of myself during practice. Or that evening at the dinner table, when we all sat at a loooooooooong table at one of the coaches house. I remember trying to remember names (I had told the girls that I was completely jet lagged and probably wouldn't remember their names. But I always enjoy meeting new players and looked forward to meetin them again on Saturday). I don't really remember going to bed...
Saturday morning I woke up. It was one of those slow, confused awakenings that are more like re-gaining consciousness than actually waking up. It started with - "why am I still wearing my rugby shorts?" To "where am I and why am I on the floor?" (apparently I'd rolled off the air mattress I was sleeping on) and ended with "Why am I in a strange attic and who are all these people?!".
Such is life. But then doesn't everyone have a crazy story about waking up in a strange attic somewhere?!
Well, truth be told. Jet lag is a tricky thing, You never know exactly how and when it will set in. I maintain to this very day, that I live in my own private little time zone and the reason why I occasionally sleep during class is that crossing over into the real world leaves me a wee bit jet lagged.
I usually don't have that much problems with jet lag, and in my experience jet lag is always less of a problem when heading east. Which is why, I had come up with a brilliant plan, which involved me arriving Thursday evening (about 12AM my time), staying up a few more hours so as not to rise and shine before 5 or 6am East Coast time, take care of a bunch of little administrative stuff Friday morning and then head out to Pennsylvannia for a rugby weekend, involving a practice session Friday evening and a tournament Saturday with the NRU (the Northeastern Rugby Union). I'd be back Saturday evening. In time to do a quick load of laundry and repack my bags for a 4-5 day "cruise" trawling for sturgeon.
In my defense, I had planned to nap Friday afternoon in the car. That didn't exactly happen and I somehow procrastinated my actual jet lag until Monday when I power-napped between setting the net in and pulling out and sorting through a bunch of fish.
Friday evening is a bit hazy, though apparently I managed not to make a complete fool of myself during practice. Or that evening at the dinner table, when we all sat at a loooooooooong table at one of the coaches house. I remember trying to remember names (I had told the girls that I was completely jet lagged and probably wouldn't remember their names. But I always enjoy meeting new players and looked forward to meetin them again on Saturday). I don't really remember going to bed...
Saturday morning I woke up. It was one of those slow, confused awakenings that are more like re-gaining consciousness than actually waking up. It started with - "why am I still wearing my rugby shorts?" To "where am I and why am I on the floor?" (apparently I'd rolled off the air mattress I was sleeping on) and ended with "Why am I in a strange attic and who are all these people?!".
Such is life. But then doesn't everyone have a crazy story about waking up in a strange attic somewhere?!
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Why we call it the ark...
Some people have asked me why my family refers to the "new" (yes, even if it is an old mill it's new for us!) house as The Ark. Now that I think if it, calling a house that is built over a creek and suffered a significant amount of flood damage some years back "The Ark", does have a bit of an ironic undertone!
I guess it's because it's a God Thing. One of those crazy things somebody does for no apparent reason - perhaps even against all human logic. Seriously, now that all four kids have moved out - why acquire a property with several old buildings, lots of lawns to mow, space to take care of? When God told Noah to build an Ark, that sounded like a pretty random idea (especially considering it probably hadn't ever "rained" up until that point), a pretty stupid idea actually. But in the end, it was a good thing that Noah did build an Ark, load it up and sit out the rain and the storms. That's the story behind our Ark in a nutshell, nobody really knows why, or what exactly will become of the Ark - but we're sure that in the end it will be a good thing.
I haven't met anyone yet who has been up to the Ark and hasn't fallen in love with the place. And I can tell who has caught the vision and who just still thinks it's the coolest place ever (which it is, but I'm convinced it'll be more, too!). There's so many doors and rooms and buildings my parents have a box of keys, each one of them labeled making it quite easy to grab a bunch and go explore. One of the is labeled "Seminarraum", the seminar room. If you go outside and halfway around the house you can enter a large "room" beneath the house: It's got a concrete floor, the walls are rough plaster and you can still see damage from the flooding, there are crates with water bottles in against one wall, a little oven off to one side (it's several degrees colder in there than outside or anywhere in the house), a few random things (garden chairs, the drier) there are large windows across the wall to your right and you can see the "back wall" opening up into the garden. At least that's what you would see if you took a picture.
For those of us who've caught the vision you stand in the doorway and you see a big room, well lit from the big windows to your right, a loooooooong table with comfy chairs, a dry board, some instruments and music stands off in one corner, a shelf or two of books, maybe an overhead or digital projector, a fussball table and you can almost hear the excited chatter of people exchanging ideas, little kids running around, music, laughter, ...
And that's just one room bursting with potential. Just imagine what the Ark could become!
I guess it's because it's a God Thing. One of those crazy things somebody does for no apparent reason - perhaps even against all human logic. Seriously, now that all four kids have moved out - why acquire a property with several old buildings, lots of lawns to mow, space to take care of? When God told Noah to build an Ark, that sounded like a pretty random idea (especially considering it probably hadn't ever "rained" up until that point), a pretty stupid idea actually. But in the end, it was a good thing that Noah did build an Ark, load it up and sit out the rain and the storms. That's the story behind our Ark in a nutshell, nobody really knows why, or what exactly will become of the Ark - but we're sure that in the end it will be a good thing.
I haven't met anyone yet who has been up to the Ark and hasn't fallen in love with the place. And I can tell who has caught the vision and who just still thinks it's the coolest place ever (which it is, but I'm convinced it'll be more, too!). There's so many doors and rooms and buildings my parents have a box of keys, each one of them labeled making it quite easy to grab a bunch and go explore. One of the is labeled "Seminarraum", the seminar room. If you go outside and halfway around the house you can enter a large "room" beneath the house: It's got a concrete floor, the walls are rough plaster and you can still see damage from the flooding, there are crates with water bottles in against one wall, a little oven off to one side (it's several degrees colder in there than outside or anywhere in the house), a few random things (garden chairs, the drier) there are large windows across the wall to your right and you can see the "back wall" opening up into the garden. At least that's what you would see if you took a picture.
For those of us who've caught the vision you stand in the doorway and you see a big room, well lit from the big windows to your right, a loooooooong table with comfy chairs, a dry board, some instruments and music stands off in one corner, a shelf or two of books, maybe an overhead or digital projector, a fussball table and you can almost hear the excited chatter of people exchanging ideas, little kids running around, music, laughter, ...
And that's just one room bursting with potential. Just imagine what the Ark could become!
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Why we love visiting French...
I grew up a few hours from the German-French border.
The German-French relationship is interesting in the least, a bit of a love-hate relationship, full of stereotypes, tightly connected through their history - a weighty past full of conflict. The O'Leary-Ladies-France relationship is one of fun times and entertainment...
I believe O'Leary-lady outings in France took their epic beginning while my sister was living near Bordeaux and my Mom and I drove down to see her. We whizzed through the roads of the Dordogne Valley, climbed large dunes, sat in cafes, explored little alleyways, were terrified by the French driving (and how quickly sister had transformed from a formerly timid driver into a crazy French one) and - were highly entertained.
This time we ventured into the Elsass - a place known for quiche, wine, storks, amazing views of the Vogueses, old churches, little towns full of alleys, cafes and tea houses, oh and funky signs.
I think that's part of why we are so entertained. Even though both my sister and I speak a bit of French and know what the signs actually mean, it sometimes is far more entertaining to read into them using our German and English...
Take for example the "Rue de Tetes" - the street of heads. Seriously, this is a country known for guillotines, how can you not imagine where that name came from. Suppose from a time when heads were literally rolling through streets? I'll leave it at that. Of course, once we started joking about that we saw odd heads everywhere... everywhere.
Oh the French. And the O'Learys. What a wonderful mix.
The German-French relationship is interesting in the least, a bit of a love-hate relationship, full of stereotypes, tightly connected through their history - a weighty past full of conflict. The O'Leary-Ladies-France relationship is one of fun times and entertainment...
I believe O'Leary-lady outings in France took their epic beginning while my sister was living near Bordeaux and my Mom and I drove down to see her. We whizzed through the roads of the Dordogne Valley, climbed large dunes, sat in cafes, explored little alleyways, were terrified by the French driving (and how quickly sister had transformed from a formerly timid driver into a crazy French one) and - were highly entertained.
This time we ventured into the Elsass - a place known for quiche, wine, storks, amazing views of the Vogueses, old churches, little towns full of alleys, cafes and tea houses, oh and funky signs.
I think that's part of why we are so entertained. Even though both my sister and I speak a bit of French and know what the signs actually mean, it sometimes is far more entertaining to read into them using our German and English...
Take for example the "Rue de Tetes" - the street of heads. Seriously, this is a country known for guillotines, how can you not imagine where that name came from. Suppose from a time when heads were literally rolling through streets? I'll leave it at that. Of course, once we started joking about that we saw odd heads everywhere... everywhere.
Oh the French. And the O'Learys. What a wonderful mix.
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