There's nothing like a good old-fashioned canoe adventure. Movie poster from "Deliverance." Via Cinema Masterpieces.

An inexpensive alternative to hand-carved wooden canoes (which are very nice thank you, à la Mad River) was inevitable but it was the end of WWII that precipitated the rush. In terms of production it was a perfect storm of war-accelerated technology and idle airplane factories. In terms of demand, there was a new perception and importance placed on leisure after WWII, with young marrieds and their families enjoying their hard fought freedoms.

Fishing, and so canoeing and boating, was one of the activities that exploded in the 50s… look at any Kodachrome collection you can find and damn me if every third plaid-shirted man isn’t holding up a string of trout or stripers with his son in tow.

“The country had been through a long, tough war. Now it wanted to sit back and relax. And it seemed most of the people wanted to do it with a fishing rod in their hands.” –Gadabout Gaddis, The Flying Fisherman

A relaxing day on the water with a best friend and a canoe, New Hampshire. Image by Katie Barnes.

Modern canoe shapes are not a million miles away from the birchbark canoes of the Algonquian Indians. Wood/canvas canoes reigned supreme until the 1940s, when the technicians in the Grumman Aircraft Engineering Corporation turned their aluminum airplane-fabricating talents to canoe building.

Shore leave. A stack of land-bound aluminum canoes. Image from the Wisconsin Historical Society.

According to company lore, after carrying a heavy wood-and-canvas canoe through the Adirondacks, VP William Hoffman had an epiphany: use Grumman’s aluminum to make lightweight canoes. They made fighter planes from it… why not canoes? By 1945 they had produced a 38-pound, 13-foot canoe prototype. The process to create an aluminum canoe is to stretch aluminum sheets over a mold. Gunwale, bow, and stern plates are riveted on and soldered for reinforcement — no artisanal perfection needed. As the war drew down, Grumman gave over 20,000 feet of their factory to manufacturing aluminum canoes, creating a price point below that of wooden canoes.

Several other companies sprang up to fill this new aluminum craft sector, including Lund in Minnesota (started by another aircraft factory worker).

Paddling hard in a wooden canoe.

In 1972 the film version of the novel Deliverance was released. At the least it provides dark commentary on man’s destruction of nature but also his fragility in the face of other forces. Though it has since been (mis)appropriated as shorthand for vile backwoods subcultures, the movie nevertheless spurred another boom in “paddling.” And an aluminum Grumman canoe was used throughout filming. If you haven’t seen the film recently, go read this memoir from Christopher Dickey (son of James Dickey, author of Deliverance and its screenplay). You get a general sense of foreboding during the shot and more information than you cared to know about a certain pivotal scene…

In Canoe passages: Cross-cultural conveyance in United States and Canadian literature, it is noted that as well as the general post-WWII boom in recreation, Canadians took up canoeing in large numbers as a symbol of their cultural independence from the U.S. and Britain (under whom they are Commonwealth subject). File this under “another log on the fire”.

A dog sitting proudly by his pull of Canadian geese while future dead geese mill about. Image by "wildturkeyhunter."

Aluminum has a “memory”, meaning it doesn’t bounce back into shape, and tends to get stuck on rocks. Dents can be fixed with a rubber mallet (or what we call “the persuader” at home) and a wood block, though there will always be a mark. Other drawbacks include the metal being cold to the touch in spring and searing hot in summer. Plus, the nostalgic hollow clang of aluminum against paddle is noisy at any time of year, thus making it less useful for hunting. Aluminum canoe sales still thrive due to their high strength to weight ratio and ease of maintenance. They won’t delam’, waterlog or rot. Field & Stream noted dryly in 1969, “Furthermore, they’re fireproof.”

The languid lifestyle of a canoeing man, as envisioned by Pendleton.

“We virtually kept the canoe from disappearing.” said Greg Harvey, sales manager at Marathon Boat Group (formerly Grumman). He may be right.

Land hunting with a wooden canoe. Image via Shorpy.

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A man's hand dwarfed by the brawny girth of rope.

Rope is the wheel of the ocean. Man has used it to bind together and control materials for millennia, from raftsmen navigating the rabid waters of the Nile to nomadic whale hunters rolling over the dark fathoms of the sea. It is a tool that predates all but the most rudimentary instruments of survival — the sharpened stone, the blunt hand tool — and like these objects, versions of it are found in nature: the vine, the twisted branches of plants, even the muscle fiber beneath your skin.

Rope was there when massive materials were hoisted up to build ancient cities like Baalbek, it was what first tethered Europeans to the New World. Think of that fateful line slinking in the pristine West Indian water, or coarsely tearing up the hands of a desert slave. The cord they severed between you and your mother when you were born, or the line they carefully looped around the throat of John Brown.

Physically strong by nature, rope’s interlocking fibers make a cord that is then braided or twisted in opposite directions over two or more versions of itself. The structure gives it a lightness and tensile strength that cannot be replicated, one that seems to have been drawn on the same board as our muscle, even our DNA.

A man, five small children and a dog pose pensively with some rope for a nautical-themed family portrait.

The strength of each individual fiber is made stronger from being coiled around a linear structure. The resulting unified mass is stronger than its individual parts. Technological advances in materials, starting with Nylon in the 1930s and careening into the polymers and carbon fibers of today, have meant that the best ropes available are largely unbreakable, which is to say we’ve come a long way since the Incas were weaving together grass to make the Bridge of San Luis Rey. Poor Ernesto, the seafaring hopeful of the story, never had a chance to feel the large hemp locks of a ship; he plummeted to his death instead when the lesser line of the footbridge snapped.

University men suited up to play a rousing game of tug-of-war in 1890. Image from the Northfield Mount Hermon archives.

Prevalent as it was in the ancient world, rope has yet to fall by the wayside. In fact, the age-old structure is replacing newer, previously hailed materials. Racing catamarans are the latest weaponry in the America’s Cup races. Unlike the bulky, cumbersome yachts of old, these boats are lightweight, high-speed racers, and rope comprises more and more of the boat — parts that were previously made of something else. Rope is replacing the metal in the wires and the fiberglass in the blocks. The very ground on which the sailors stand, under which the ocean passes as if in a trance, is made up of rope tied into countless knots.

Ogden cigarettes collaborate with the Boy Scouts to teach smokers how to weave eye splices. Image via Off Grid Survival.

NOT EVERYONE CAN BE A BOY SCOUT
Rope is still being made from manila, sisal, hemp, jute, cotton and other natural materials and there’s no reason why it wouldn’t be: they’re readily available, affordable and useful. For most uses, these plant fibers still provide a reliable, workable structure.

Sports like high-speed sail racing demand more from their lines due to the rigors the sailors subject them to: constant, full-tilt use under the destructive forces of sunlight and water. The competitive nature of the sport and the wealth associated with it means that no expense is spared. Braid-on-braid cords are space age, chemically-bonded, intricately woven aramid (popularly known as Kevlar) or high modulus polyethylene coated with Zylon.

A man leisurely dangling from a rope in front of a barge in Gujarat, India. Photo by Didier Ruef.

That’s all well and good when you’re cranking a winch in high wind, the ocean spraying your comrades and threatening to take you all in, but what about the rest of us?  It turns out there are a few things about rope that every man, woman and child should know.

A giant spool of rope. Image via Bartlett Year 1 Architechture.

First is the bowline (pronounced bo-lin) knot. This favorite of sailors is quick to tie, very strong, easy to form a loop with, and easy to undo by breaking its back and loosening the structure.  It’s great if you need to tie something heavy up quick, or form a loop that won’t budge.

The rope climb: perhaps one of America's most mortifying gym exercises. Image via The Art of Manliness.

Next is the eye splice. Knots are great, but tend to weaken the rope’s load bearing capacity by 40% by putting all the pressure on one spot in the rope instead of spreading it out along the line. For more permanent structures, or when losing control of the rope would mean sudden danger or death, such as on a mooring a boat, hoisting a piano, and mounting heavy things on the wall, use a splice. They’re stronger, harder to undo, and more capable of holding a load without breaking.  Practice on some cheap, three-braid nylon rope from the hardware store.

Also, steer clear of any rope that’s frayed, damaged from excessive heat or sun, or been in such a damp and dark spot that it’s molded.

Cowboy Will Rogers has only the best of wishes for Tom Morgan. Image via Angry Elvis, via Rogers Historical Museum.

When used within reason, rope generally doesn’t break but is cut by the friction caused by resting on an edge. Consider it the next time you tie your shoe, or pull down the shade, or come across some in the garage. Grip it with both hands and pull on it as if you’d pull it apart. Take a closer look. Between your fingers, even woven under the skin of your hands, is the stuff that holds everything together in a world that ceaselessly threatens to rip itself apart.

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The Cricket Trailer at work looking space-age and efficient while inventor Garrett Finney plays the Ukulele. Photo by David Bates.

I’d been chattering for a week about spending the summer in a trailer dropped on the smallest patch of grass  and wildflower somewhere Upstate when I came across the Cricket Trailer over at Men and Women of Industry. (If you’re not fantasizing about camping now, you will be once you’ve seen their childhood snaps.) The lightweight, angular trailers were designed by Garrett Finney, an architect who came to camper design by way of NASA, where he worked on the International Space Station’s “Habitation Module” (astronaut-speak for “home”).

Inside the Cricket Trailer. Photo by David Bates.

Clearly, Space is full of space, but you’re not going all the way out there to hang out in your rec room. The Cricket Trailer is built on a similar concept. Finney believes that small spaces make “the ritual of daily life feel more connected to the outdoors.” In 1999, the sheen of outer space had worn off, and he turned to making another exploring machine, but one meant for lands already charted, that anyone could hope to get to within their lifetimes with little more than a car, a pack of hot dogs and a jar of peanut butter.

Showering inside the cricket trailer.

Room enough for two. A sample fold-out bed in the Cricket Trailer, with swivel nightstand. Photo by David Bates.

The Cricket is also environmentally friendly, but more for what it doesn’t have than what it does. Finney didn’t pour years of expensive/intensive research and development into lightweight plastic and futuristic ceramics. It is made mostly of aluminum, wood and steel, which can be recycled. Every angle and corner is used, and the size sits exactly at the point where you don’t need a giant beauty-of-the-outdoors-negating SUV with enormous pulling power, but once it’s hitched, there’s no complicated propping up or assembly required to make it usable. It is small enough to tow by most cars, but you can still walk  straight into it to dry off after a quick jump in a roadside swimming hole.

Floor plans and sample build-outs. Kit out your Cricket the way you want.

The Cricket Trailer perched placidly by a lake.

All photos were taken by David Bates and came via Cricket Trailer.

FURTHER READING
From the Lean-To: Documerica. Outside.
Wildwood

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Grizzly Bears, John James Audubon (1785-1851)

The early American artist-naturalist, after whom the genteel National Audubon Society is named, has recently been in the public spotlight. An original manuscript of his masterpiece, The Birds of America, recently sold for $11.5 million, setting a record for the world’s most expensive printed book. It’s full of the drawings that made Audubon famous, all of which appear to depict animals in nature as if by careful observation. But, while Audubon was certainly an avid observer, he painted from lifeless bodies mounted on his studio wall. Rendering is much easier when your subject can’t move.

A pair of peregrine falcons munching on duck, by John James Audubon.

Born in Haiti in 1785, the illegitimate son of a French captain and a chambermaid, Audubon grew up primarily in Nantes, France. He had no formal art training, just like he had no formal training in science, though as a teenager he did briefly pursue a naval career. After failing the entrance exam for the School of Hydrography, he turned to the interest he’d had since childhood — drawing from nature. He would spend most of life pursuing this passion, educating himself on an as-needed basis.

The young John James posing for a portrait but longing for the hunt. Painting by John Symes, 1826. Courtesy of Ocean's Bridge.

He left for the United States in 1802 to avoid conscription in Napoleon’s army by tending land his father had purchased in Pennsylvania. Eager to explore the anatomy of the specimens in his new home, he learned to gut and stuff animals. At first he strung his subjects up by their wings or feet, but later he began inserting a flexible wire frame into freshly killed animals before stuffing them. This way, he could arrange the corpses in more “lifelike” poses. However, the new technique lent itself to over-the-top theatricality — if he could pose animals at will, he could also take some liberties.

Hand-colored lithograph of a peccary from Audubon's The Viviparous Quadrupeds of North America, published between 1845 and 1848.

Unlike other early American hunter-naturalists who were more interested in the dignity of the hunt than pastoral visions, Audubon was more of an aesthete. He may have been unfazed by killing, but he cared about beauty. As scholar Roswell Eldridge put it, “a bird [for Audubon] was like a rose. You admired the color, you admired the fragrance, and you picked it without much emotional reaction.”

There’s an unnerving amount of rose-picking recorded in Audubon’s journals: woodpeckers, blue jays, grosbeaks, marsh hawks, night hawks, the “extremely wary” red-tailed hawk who seemed to “understand perfectly” the use of a gun. A golden eagle at first refused to die, and its eyes “at one time blazed as if illuminated with fire, and then glazed as if in death.” And it wasn’t only birds that got “picked.” Audubon liked skins too, and skulls. There were buffalo, tortoises, antelope, deer, squirrel, bullfrogs. Certainly, his hunting sometimes had a pragmatic purpose – he had to feed and clothe his family­. But pragmatics seemed secondary to his obsession with collecting and rendering specimens, particularly since he sometimes boasted about killing a hundred birds in a day.

A yellow-throated vireo plucked from life by Audubon himself. Courtesy of The Zoology Museum.

Unintentionally one of the first mavens of mixed-media, Audubon would combine watercolor with pastel, and work with oil, gouache and various engraving techniques. In his drawings, he tended to anthropomorphize his subjects, giving them human-like traits to such an extent that fellow naturalists questioned his legitimacy. A hawk with a writhing rabbit in its beak, or a haughty cross fox lording over a bloody bird, seemed to appeal more to pathos than science. But even if contemporaries and successors questioned his accuracy, no one questioned his inexhaustible productivity. He’d travel with numerous hunting parties throughout his life, and write prolific journal entries about what he saw. In his writings, he would often allude to how specimens of interest tasted.

Much writing about Audubon, including his writing about himself, make him seems heroic in the way Lewis and Clark and Davy Crockett were — not because of his pristine character, but because of the mythic amount of activity they fit into their life. Certainly, he exaggerated, but his Herculean drive was real, and that one man could kill a hundred birds in a day is as awing as the fact that one would want to.

Black Wolf

Free-ranging and insatiable as a young man, the aging Audubon seemed to discover more reasons for anger and to feel more for the animals he’d spent his life shooting, stuffing and mounting. In 1843, at nearly sixty years old, Audubon embarked on a Mississippi River expedition with other hunters and naturalists, and his field notes reveal a disgust and regret altogether uncharacteristic of his younger self. The gusto and thoughtlessness of his companions grated on him. He describes two men, “who may be called hunters,” killing four buffalo, letting one drown, and only salvaging minimal meat and the tongue of one bull before returning to their party. Wrote an angered Audubon, “and thus it is that thousands multiplied by thousands of buffalo are senselessly murdered every year.” On another instance, he lamented, “What a terrible destruction of life, as it were for . . . next to nothing that they were killed,” and began to show a more specific sympathy than ever before: “these poor animals which two hours before were tranquilly feeding are now dead; short work this.”

Audubon never explicitly denounced hunting, but the Mississippi trip was his last major expedition. In a review of recent Audubon biographies, Jennifer J. Baker talked about biographers’ inability to “reconcile the bloodshed to the conservationism, just as others cannot reconcile, say, slaveholding to the Declaration of Independence.” But Baker suggests we “can at least imagine how Audubon…supplied the inspiration and tools for future change.” This may be the case; he was one of the first to recognize the need for conservation at all. Still, the fact remains: animals suffered for Audubon’s work and, in celebrating nature, he also destroyed it. Does that sort of recklessness always have to be part of progress?

Two cats fighting (and a murdered squirrel). John James Audubon, 1826. Courtesy of 2Art Gallery.

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Enamelware Cup, circa 1920

There are so many looks and uses for enamel: jewelry, desk lamps, outdoor grills, tiled walls and subway tunnels. However, we usually interact with enamel in our daily lives in the kitchen; enamel kitchenware products include pitchers, a plethora of bowls, coffee pots, plates, serving spoons and many more.

Brightly colored enamel housewares were mass-produced and appeared in the U.S. market in the late 1800s. These first collections of ladles, baking pans and colanders were stamped out of thin sheets of aluminum, steel or iron before being coated with enamel, giving a touch of porcelain‘s luxury to everyday items.  They were quite popular for being lightweight and durable, and housewives were pleased by how easy it was to clean the smooth, glass-like surface.

"Krenit Bowl" by the Danish Designer Herbert Krenchel (born 1922), circa 1950

Krenit bowl in red and white

If you’ve ever sipped watery hot cocoa from a blue and white speckled camping cup, you’ve experienced the more utilitarian side of enamelware and the casual pleasures of using a no-fuss product of the mass-produced domestic experience. Its first users had a similar feeling back in 1880. You many have also felt the cup becoming too hot to keep holding, this is thanks to the thin material’s heat conducive efficiency. Not great for keeping your fingers from getting too hot, but ideal for slow roasting.

Display with enamelware, 1923, courtesy of Shorpy.

Today enamelware is a bit more sophisticatd: it has a classic, yet modern look and feel, it is tough and colorful, sleek and presentable. The sheer number of high quality enamelware for sale at flea markets and vintage stores is testament to its durability: it is stain resistant and its nonporous surface keeps it nearly germ free.

Finel enamel percolator, designed by Antti Nurmesniemi (1927-2003), courtesy of H is for Home

If you’re a collector, you know that small cracks and rust spots are common on older pieces. Pieces exposed to heat, like teakettles and cookware, are less susceptible to blemishes because the iron bonds to the glass more and more with repeated heating. You may notice vintage spoons stamped out of steel have rust spots because steel is more likely to rust than iron.

Antique enamelware cup, circa 1920

It is recommended that you wash your enamelware by hand using hot soapy water and a soft cloth, do not use brillo pads or anything that might scratch the surface.  Washing by hand will also help avoid banging against other dishes, which can lead to chipping. Enamelware should be dried immediately after washing, as water can cause corrosion and cracks or nicks can rust.

FURTHER READING
“The Fisher Enamels,” The House Beautiful: The American Authority on Household Art. March, 1900.

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All Americans Urged to Grow Victory Gardens

People are returning to home gardening by growing fruits and vegetables on allotments, in community gardens, in pots and planting boxes on apartment balconies and roofs – and returning in droves. While there might be some amongst us growing potatoes and hoarding bottled water in preparation for World War III, the resurgence of urban gardening differs from the Victory Garden movement of the 1940s. Unlike the patriotic zeal that fueled citizens to roll up their sleeves several decades ago, urban gardeners of today are digging toward a different kind of freedom: freedom from reliance on tasteless, long traveled  fruits and vegetables;  freedom from contentious petrochemicals for fertilizer; freedom from mass produced agriculture; and ultimately, the freedom garnered from a return to self-reliance and the pioneer spirit that was once a pillar of American life.

Grow It Yourself

Following the cessation of the war, mass interest in home gardening as a national duty, as well as government support, dried up almost instantly. The post-war shift in agriculture from small and local to large-scale, monoculture meant the increased use of chemical pesticides, shrinking of varieties and genetic modification. Henry Ford was on to something when he proclaimed: “No unemployment insurance can be compared to an alliance between man and a plot of land.” But following WWII, gardening was relegated to a quaint hobby.

I grew up in a family of suburban gardeners and always admired my parents’ ability to grow their own tomatoes, the smell of which, as any enthusiast can tell you, is intoxicating. Cucumbers, rhubarb, pumpkins – all possessing color and texture indescribable to those who have never stepped foot on the loose earth of a home garden. The shapes and sizes, even its mere existence, all dependent on the whim of Mother Nature and the sweat of your brow.

Victory Garden Advertising

I inherited an appreciation for the home-grown from my family yet I only recently broke ground in my first urban garden – after many apathetic years of imported supermarket produce. And while the farmer’s market – now commonplace in every major city – has answered the growing call for farm-fresh, organic produce, the goods on display at these tantalizing markets have always represented an indulgent treat, something of a demonstration of what I’d like to eat, yet couldn’t always afford.

Given the low cost of a pack of seeds, growing your own produce makes economic sense as well as taking the mystery out of our food’s often dubious origins. Yet, what lies at the heart of home gardening, as with any homesteading tradition such as sewing clothes or food preservation, is the feeling of accomplishment that the novice will soon discover upon the emergence of their first seedling or the succulent taste of the summer’s first berry. The delicious, satisfying joy of the fruits of your labor will stick in your memory like the juice running down your chin.

There is community spirit to be nourished through urban gardening, familiar to anyone who has made friends over the allotment fence. The sense of camaraderie gleaned from the nostalgic propaganda material from the Victory Garden era is of course appealing, harkening us back to our agrarian roots. But more immediate than that is the quiet sense of accomplishment and wonder that can be achieved on a windowsill or a fire escape.

FURTHER READING:

Kristin Hohenadel. “Reporting from Paris: Urban Gardening for the design-minded (or yardless)”, Los Angeles Times, January 26, 2010.

David Josar. “Urban gardeners nuture nature in Detroit”, Detroit News, April 24, 2009.

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Blue Banded Bee on a Pin, Courtesy of Padil

Bees are integral to the growth of a variety of crops across the globe. According to biologist, science writer and bee advocate Dr. Reese Halter, bees contribute $44 billion to the US economy alone, pollinating crops food products like almonds, apples, avocados, alfalfa and clover for the beef and dairy industries, as well as cotton for our clothes.  Halter has just released a new book – The Incomparable Honeybee & the Economics of Pollination – that documents the plight of the bees. “They are the most important pollinator on Earth,” writes Halter, “Every third bite on our plate comes from the honeybee”.

Bee Farm, Courtesy of Anarchy Apiaries

As a result of both the dependency and struggle between insect and farmer, the honeybees have become victim to pesticides and industrial farming methods – mono-crop culture rendering their pollen infertile and miticides and chemicals creating a mass demise. In combination with climate change, which has affected the timing of plant-flowering farming, these factors are contributing to what is known as ‘colony collapse disorder’. While scientists are still not quite sure what the definitive cause of the phenomenon is – Halter believes it’s some combination of the above.

So what can you do about the apocalyptic state of the honeybee? Easy – become a beekeeper. While domesticated honeybees might be dying, feral bees’  are fighting for survival, and need safe sanctuary.

Beekeeper, Courtesy of Salvador Photo

Apiculture, as bee-keeping is known, has been in practice for centuries, with pre-historic anthropologic digs uncovering smoking pots and honey extractors amid ancient sites in Greece, Jordan and Egypt. Honey, beeswax and pollinating, these are the triumvirate of contributions the good bees have been granting us since time eternal. This makes the honeybee’s current situation even more heartbreaking.

But there is some good news in all this, as ancient methods of keeping bees are making a decided comeback. Hundreds are donating their time and money to play Florence Nightingale to a species in jeopardy. Recently, New York City, which has long outlawed beekeeping in city limits, lifted its ban and made hundreds of hobby beekeepers, who had been risking $2,000 fines for keeping the bees ‘llegally’ ecstatic. In Los Angeles, various workshops, bloggers, Yahoo-groups and schools are spreading the gospel of urban beekeeping.

Bee Larves in their Hives, Courtesy of The Honey Gatherers

One of the new wave’s loudest advocates is LA’s Kirk Anderson, a 30 year beekeeping vet who espouses no chemical bee-keeping, arguing that the simpler the bee-keeping, the better. “Humans are actually late on the chain compared to the bees,” he says, “bees have had a lot longer to evolve and become perfect little creatures. They need our help right now, mostly just in leaving them well enough alone.”

'The Beekeepers', Pieter Bruegel the Elder, Circa 1567

Anderson is a proponent of a method of beekeeping first introduced by fellow bee-keeper Charles Martin Simon, who avidly encourages what he calls ‘backwards beekeeping‘, which essentially supports the idea of working with nature, not against it, in order to keep natural, chemical free hives. Both Martin and Anderson’s ideas are simple, but they have been huge in helping to inspire a fast-growing number of first-timers. Anderson removes unwanted hives lurking everywhere from garages to backyard bbqs – and relocates them into beekeeper’s backyard hives. He does this all without chemicals and he stresses to his followers – “keep out of the bees way, and they’ll do just fine.”

Brooklyn Beekeeper, Courtesy of Green Brooklyn

“The most important thing is to observe,” explains Anderson, “to watch over the bees and see what they might need. And that watching can be a real pleasure. So many people are out of touch with nature – there are kids out there that don’t know where a potato comes from! We need to connect with nature again and this is one way to do it.”

Bee Beard, 1946, Courtesy of Life Magazine

Aspiring beekeepers can find a myriad of resources online and by going to Kirk’s site and his beekeeping collective to learn more about his methods. For those who don’t have the space or the time to play host to some backyard hives there’s still a lot one can do to lend the bees a hand. Buying organic food and cotton is a huge help to the plight of our honeybee friends, eliminating insecticide and miticide use. Also, planting purple and yellow flowers, two of the honeybee’s favorite colors to pollinate, can attract bees to healthy plants, which equals healthy pollen. In addition, a bowl of water outside keeps the bees hydrated and happy. In the end, even small changes can help the plight of the honeybees. As Anderson says “have a simple goal with chemical free, drug free beekeeping and that goal is to change the world.”

Bee Hunter in Nepal, Courtesy of The Honey Gatherers

FURTHER READING:

Elizabeth Kolbert. “Stung: Where are all the bees?”, The New Yorker. August 6, 2007.

Dr. Reese Halter. “The Incomparable Honeybee & The Economics of Pollination”, 2009

Adrian Higgins. “Bees are busier than ever as disease besieges colonies”, The Washington Post. March 15, 2010.

Eric Tourneret. “Nepal – The Honey Hunt of the Tiger-Men”, The Honey Gatherers.

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Smoking & Barbecuing Fish Filets, 1893, Courtesy of Shorpy (Click on Image for Details)

Of course, the olfactory triggering of remembrances of things past is so ingrained in our collective consciousness, so parsed over and discussed in literature, that even the unemotional and detached ivory tower-dwelling denizens of science are in on the matter, with a number of papers and experiments on the subject. They hypothesize that odor induced memories enjoy a “privileged brain representation“

Butler's Smokehouse Beef Jerky

Looking like a pea pod and located within the inner depths of the brain, the hippocampus appears to be the scientific explanation for what the Madeleine munching Proust knew to be true 100 years earlier. While our senses of touch, hearing and sight make their way to our memory after passing through the thalamus, it is the hippocampus, which manufactures memory and influences spatial navigation, that harbors our olfactory responses to taste and smell.

From "The Old North Trail" by Walter McClintock, 1910

And while this certainly could prove a point of debate, there is something especially evocative about smell – and particularly about the smell of smoke. From the campfires of the old West and countless teen summer camps, to America’s carnivorous love of BBQ and all manners of meat, smoke is uniquely part of American memory, and a uniquely American flavor.

Now is the part of the article where a deep history would be launched, explicitly detailing the origins of smoking foods, for preservation and cooking and tracing its importing to this country built on imports. But whether the first caveman ate smoked Tyrannosaurus gristle or if it was the immigrant Europeans love of smoked fish, or the Native Americans’ tradition of smoking, its entrée into America is not a debate not to be had today.

Smoked Chicken, Courtesy of Odua Farms

Instead, what is it about smoke that is so alluring? Is it the atavistic infusion of the earth and wood into the foods we eat? Or is it our continued love affair with sugar and salt re-written?

Naturally, wood is the main ingredient in the smoking process, and as would be expected, different types of wood, often in the form of chips or sawdust, impart different flavors. Commonly used woods in America are Wild Cherry, Sugar Maple, Red Oak, White Oak, Ash, Northern Hickory, and Eastern Alder (Beech). These hardwoods are made of three main components, cellulose, hemicellulose, and lignin. Those two celluloses are essentially sugars, and when burned caramelize, producing the sweetness and the color. The far more complex lignin, with its vast array of flavor-lending compounds, creates the varied other nuances: whether that be spice, smoke or vanilla essences depending on the individual wood.

Smoked Mackerel, Courtesy John Ross Jr.

Historically, smoking was combined with curing or drying to preserve meat, as the smoking process only adheres to the outer surfaces of the food and doesn’t penetrate the core. In more recent times, the issue of smoking has been one of flavor.

Noting this development of flavor over function, in 1895, a pharmacist named Ernest Wright revolutionized the world of smoking with his invention of liquid smoke. Using a proprietary distillation process similar to that of whiskey, he was able to manufacture, (at first) hand label and sell bottles of condensed liquid smoke. When he moved Kansas City to launch his product, he gave new meaning to the term “grassroots organizing” and started giving bottles to farmers who came to his drugstore. They, and their friends, and friends’ friends kept coming back for more, and the Wright company still makes liquid smoke today.

Traditional Smoking Pit

Liquid smoke remains a feature in kitchens and imparts its subtle flavors in the manufacture of meat, fish, cheeses, tea, salt, pepper and other spices. Not to mention the memories of us all.

FURTHER READING:

Marcel Proust. Swann’s Way: In Search of Lost Time, Penguin Books, 2004. (An excellent translation by Lydia Davis of the Proust classic)

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Carboard Container Advertising 1942

A LITTLE WAVE OF HISTORY

Long before cardboard played house, it played a role in the Industrial Revolution, when the increase in manufactured products signaled a change in the nature of the consumer market. As demand for goods increased, so did the need for a lighter means to transport them. Still, we owe the creation of cardboard and its many uses to a series of small design changes.

Folded Corrugated Carboard Box

It all started when a new process enabled flimsy sheets of paper to be crimped into repeated undulating pattern, creating more rigid, stronger material for packaging fragile goods. Later, in 1856, Edward C. Haley filed a patent on “undulated paper,” finding it useful as a liner for tall hats. Another patent for corrugated cardboard was introduced in 1871, when Albert Jones of New York added a single liner sheet to one side of the undulated paper. This addition would make it more suitable as a wrapping material for Jones’ bottles and glass lanterns. Three years later, G. Smyth invented the first machine for producing large quantities of corrugated cardboard, and yet another gentleman named Oliver Long added liner sheets to both sides. This material is corrugated cardboard as we know it today.

Cardboard Eggholder Patent 1877

A Brooklyn printer and paper-bag maker named Robert Gair can be thanked for boxing it up. In 1890, he invented a carton made of pre-cut flat pieces. Gair’s creation (as with many other innovations) was the result of a happy accident; while he was printing an order of bags, a metal ruler used for creasing shifted in position and cut through the paper. Gair discovered that by simply cutting and creasing cardboard as well, he could make boxes in large quantities.

SEVERAL STRONG POINTS

A little structural engineering goes a long way, it seems. The secret to the strength of cardboard is all in that wave of fluting sandwiched between the flat liner boards and glued together, usually with cornstarch and some chemicals. When used in packaging, stacking boxes so that the flutes line up in the vertical direction greatly increases its strength potential. (It’s even possible to stand on a vertically stacked box, though that same box on its side will collapse.) Still, 70% of its strength is found in the corners of each box, making squarely stacked cartons incredibly strong.

Carboard Box Corner: 70% of the Strength

Cardboard that is used for shipping is tested and rated using two standardized measures. One is the Edge Crush Test (ECT), which determines how well a box will hold up during stacking and is measured in pounds per square inch (psi). The Burst Strength Test (BST) or Mullen Test indicates how much weight a box can hold without failing. Both ratings can be found stamped on one of the bottom flaps of corrugated cardboard boxes in the Box Manufacturer’s Certificate. Higher numbers indicate sturdier boxes.

Stamp on Corrugated Cardboard Box

THE DARK, TOXIC TRUTH

As so often with large production processes that make our lives a bit easier, the manufacturing of cardboard has a dark side. The most obvious danger lies in the unchecked harvesting of pine for paper pulp. The second is even more troubling.

In the nineteenth century, a chemical pulping process was developed that allowed wood (in this case, pine) to be turned into a soluble pulp for strong, relatively long-lasting paper. This chemical pulping is still used, removing all the parts of the wood which are not cellulose. Lignin, a carbohydrate that cements adjacent wood cells together, is taken out in this process.

Originally, wood pulp was cooked in lye alone, but this produced a rather weak paper. The addition of sodium sulfide to the pulp produced a much stronger paper. This process is called the kraft process (from the German word for strong.) About 80% of this kraft pulp is wood and the remaining 20% consists of lye and sodium sulfide. The pulp is cooked, or digested, at 338 degrees Fahrenheit for three hours until most of the lignin is made soluble. The liquid is then drained off and the pulp is washed to remove the chemicals.

The result: a pulp that is dark brown in color. Corrugated cardboard and grocery bags are both made from this kind of paper. (If white paper is desired, the pulp must be bleached.)

The problem with the kraft process is what remains; this black liquid contains lye, soda ash, sodium sulfide, and lignin. In the past, this would have been discharged directly into a lake or river, causing significant water pollution. Today, economical production of kraft paper relies on the recycling of these components in a furnace.

The problem of air quality around kraft paper mills is a continuing one and efforts to reduce emissions are costly to the mills, but many are making it a priority to make the process more efficient. More and more manufacturers use recycled cardboard. For those that do not, there has been a growing number of paper mills that have at least been using FSC (Forest Stewardship Council) certified sources. With the demand for more conscious production, these manufacturers will hopefully meet new strict standards.

Printing on Cardboard Box

HIGH DESIGN

Besides being used to ship product, the versatility of cardboard makes it a perfect candidate for use in design. In the past 40 years, a number of high profile designers and architects began experimenting with cardboard as an alternative to  traditional building materials, using it in shelters and furniture. In 1972, L.A. architect Frank Gehry designed his famous “wiggle chair” completely out of cardboard, and his design continues to sell over thirty years later. In 1995, Japanese architect Shigeru Ban used columns of cardboard tubes in the Takatori Kyokai Church in Kobe, Japan; he later used them in his UN design for refugee shelters in Rwanda in 1999 and in the stunningly beautiful Japan Pavilion in Hannover, Germany for Expo 2000. Most of all, these designs focused on the innovation of non-traditional materials, creating a new set of possibilities.

Cardboard Art: Claude Closky, 'All the ways to close a cardboard box', 1989 / Image Found on closky.info

HANDLE WITH CARE

It goes to show that simple materials such as cardboard can be strong, playful, serious, versatile, and even aesthetically pleasing all at once. Who of us hasn’t used a box as a playhouse during childhood? Moved her entire life’s possessions to a new home in a bunch of boxes found at the local grocery store? Or, sadly, come across the body of someone sleeping on the sidewalk, their feet sticking out of a carton? Cardboard continues to remind us of its steadfast presence in our daily lives, a material that lends itself out readily when we need it the most. Though new innovations will undoubtedly signal the arrival and departure of less-than-natural manufacturing materials, cardboard may continue to serve as a valuable tool for years to come. Ultimately, however, we must respect materials like this one if we’re to continue benefiting from them.

Carboard Conterainer Advertising 1942

Cardboard Container Advertising 1942

Cardboard Container Advertising 1942

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