P.C. Anniversary, Part 2

First Site: Valparaiso

     So, did anyone show up to my first class, teaching by myself? Yes – two. More students showed up over following days and, in the end, it was a wonderful group of women. This was not atypical, as I would learn teaching subsequent courses. Occasionally, I'd have the class announced on the radio before heading to the site since most families had a transistor radio. I realized that was how they knew what time it was. I don't recall seeing clocks on walls, especially in rural sites without electricity, and few had watches.

     Having been drilled my whole life in being punctual, I would learn that other people weren't as ruled by the clock as we Americans are, yet were just as intelligent and had skills I'd never dreamed of, often with little or no formal education, and many that were far more useful than any I possessed. In other words, I would learn patience and humility. Most of the women had families to care for, meals to prepare without refrigerators, a microwave or electric stove – all used wood-burning stoves. Often our meeting site was a great distance, they came on foot, by horseback or mule. Many had animals to care for, as well. Some classes were lean because during harvest seasons, mainly of coffee or cacao.

Uncomfortable

     Being stared at took getting used to. I was different, a foreigner, something most people in rural areas hadn't seen before. And I talked funny, made mistakes with the language, sometimes really funny (stupid) ones, prompting laughter or blank looks. Kids were especially good at staring. It was unnerving at first; I felt like I should be doing something entertaining. But, it was fun to engage them in conversation and soon we'd all be laughing.

     In cities and especially on buses, young men would whistle or practice their few English phrases. “Free love, Miss” was a popular one. “Oo-la-la, Baby” was another. “Gringas” were expected to believe in free love (the '60s had arrived in Latin America!). And/or we were suspected CIA agents. One of my favorite fellow-volunteers was in her 80s. She'd been born in Germany, migrated to the U.S., had a fascinating life and had survived two husbands. Her children were grown and she was a great-grandmother, still open to experiences and adventure. When a man exposed himself to her on the bus one day, she looked him in the eye, shrugged and said she seen much better. Deflating, indeed.

The First Family

     The house I stayed in at Valparaiso was large for the campo (rural area), with various relatives sharing it. It was cement, inside and out, whitewashed, with little furniture other than the basics. Besides a straw mattress on a hard wood bed, I had a chair which served as a nightstand for the candles, book and notebook I always brought along. There were hooks in the wall for hanging clothes. I learned to pack everything I needed for the week in an overnight bag.

     There was no electricity this far up, but water was piped into the house, though laundry and

Boy carries wood for the cob oven

showers were done outdoors. Besides quite a few cattle, there were goats, chickens, turkeys, pigs, cats and dogs running about with the children. There was a cob oven in the “yard.”

     Supper the first night was rice, yucca, beans, an egg and fresh (from just yards away) milk. It would be the same for every meal, though potatoes, fried platano or pasta were served at breakfast and lunch, as well. If there was meat (usually salted and dried, occasionally butchered that day) the Señor and I would get most of it which, of course, made me feel very uncomfortable. I would often claim to be vegetarian, especially in the most remote and poorest sites. Even though, as instructors, we always paid room and board, access to some foods was difficult. Female volunteers tended to gain weight, but, oddly, the fellows lost weight. There were no vegetables or fruits until towards the end of the course at Valparaiso, after we had discussed their importance for almost three weeks. Gardens were rare at this altitude and would be impossible without lots of fencing when you had so many animals, domestic and wild. The lack of refrigeration limited how much you could bring home on the few trips to a market in town. One volunteer in a very remote site ended up with scurvy.

      I'd not picked up the coffee habit in college since it made my face break out. Still, it was offered everywhere in Colombia, by even the poorest families, since they usually grew and roasted it themselves. So, I learned to accept it graciously when offered. A sizable chunk of panela (brown cane sugar) was always added and, since it was quite strong, it was served in demitasse cups. Coffee was the one addiction I picked up in Colombia.

      It would turn out that at every site, with every family, I would be served meals either alone or with the father/husband only. The Señora, no matter how close we had come to be, ate in the kitchen with the other women and children. I always asked if I could eat in the kitchen with them, but it just wasn't done. At Valparaiso, the Señora would come out and stand to visit with me briefly, then I'd hear her tell everyone in the kitchen what I'd said. It was odd and awkward, but just how it was. Often the Señor was uncomfortable too and engaged in little, if any, conversation. Here, he had his transistor radio on, right by his plate, the whole time. We did occasionally comment on a bit of news from the radio. One day we got on the subject of men landing on the moon. He said it didn't really happen, it was all Hollywood. When I brought a Time magazine back with me the following week with photos from the mission, he just looked at me with a smile that said I was a sucker to believe it. It was understandable, given the difficulty in just getting to the nearest village here. Besides, the photos were so amazingly sharp and such beautiful color, even I found myself questioning them. Before leaving the table, he asked me how many days it takes to fly from Bogota to the U.S..

      Since there was no t.v., evenings were often spent with the family, visiting on the porch, sometimes singing, sometimes playing games. When it got dark, everyone went to bed. Volunteers had access to lockers full of books so I always had one with me and would read by candlelight.
     So much for home life. What about the classes?
     We'll head there next. I promise.

Note: as recommended at the time, all my photos were saved as slides and aren't the sharpest, but will help illustrate these stories. Today, volunteers can snap photos on their phones and send them across the globe lickety-split. What would the Señor think of that?

Peace Corps Anniversary

      I was startled to read that the Peace Corps turned 55 on March 1^st. Can that be right? It was celebrating its 10^th anniversary when I entered in 1971. So, well, I guess that is right.

     The anniversary triggered three things: 1) it made me feel old; 2) it confirmed that experiences really do last a lifetime and affect your view of the world; and 3) it prompted pulling out a journal from then which rekindled many memories. 

     Travel and adventure had been strong pulls since childhood. The Peace Corps had been at the top of my list since junior high, so I felt very fortunate to be accepted upon college graduation though, in truth, I wasn't sure I had much to offer. Engaged at the time, my then-fiance understood that I “had to do this” and agreed to delaying marriage for two years. In the end, it didn't work out. Distance does make the heart grow fonder. But, sometimes its for somebody else. It seemed a heavy price at the time, but was probably just as well. It extended my adventures in Latin America for an additional two years.

Assignment

     I was assigned to work for a Colombian organization called SENA (Servicio Nacional de Aprendizaje – the National Service for Learning). SENA offers myriad classes, from business and professional skills in cities, to agriculture and livestock management in rural areas. At the time, the only classes for rural women were pattern-making and sewing. Both are great skills, but weren't my forte, so they allowed me to teach health, nutrition and first-aid. Macrame was included so women had something tangible to take home to husbands or fathers who were sometimes suspicious. I learned after the fact that some women were punished, even beaten, for coming to my classes. That was heart-breaking. Most of the rural women I met had limited education but were incredibly resourceful and clever. El machismo may make it appear it's a man's world, but it was obvious it was often the women who kept homes and families together, and even crops going sometimes. (That's not to say I didn't meet good husbands and fathers too; I did.)
     Most volunteers will tell you you learn far more than you teach. That was certainly my experience. Was that part of President Kennedy's reason for launching the Peace Corps?

Living Out of a Suitcase

    My job, in essence, was serving as an itinerant teacher, assigned to a village or vereda (homes spread across a mountainside or valley) that had requested a course. I'd spend two to four weeks, living with a family, or sometimes in the priest's house (the casa cural) or with the school teacher.during the week. On weekends, I'd usually go back to the city  where I shared an apartment with three other girls. Travel was by bus from the city to the nearest town or village but the last few miles were usually on horseback, mule or foot. There was rarely electricity or running water in the veredas.   Nor did anyone speak English. The women were my best teachers, with their infinite patience and humor. I didn't even realize they were correcting me, at first, they were so subtle. They say when you first dream in the language you are studying, you've grasped it. You're not necessarily fluent then, but are more comfortable and have absorbed its rhythm. It's a memorable morning when you awaken to the realization that you've dreamed in another language.

At another volunteer's house

     Each Peace Corps volunteer's experience is different. None is without its challenges, but those are what make the experience rewarding. Former President Jimmy Carter's mother, a nurse who served in India in her 60s, called Peace Corps service “the toughest job you'll ever love.” She was right.

In honor of the anniversary, I'll share some stories over the coming weeks.

Conflicting Goals

      My brother returned from his military tour in Viet Nam, two days before I left for Peace Corps training in Colombia. While I was eager (yet apprehensive) about what lay ahead, his opinion of my choice was surprisingly negative. He tried to discourage me by saying people didn't want us in their countries. They will hate and resent you, he said. It was sad to see him so negative, but perhaps understandable, given the experience he was exiting. It gave me pause but didn't change my mind. He was about to readjust to life in the U.S. which, for him, as for thousands of others, would not go well. Near the end of his life he received the “new” diagnosis: PTSD. He died waiting for a liver transplant. Alcohol finally killed his ghosts and pain. For some, tragically, their war never ends.

      The Peace Corps didn't end wars either and has been removed from numerous countries over the years because of political strife that put volunteers and those working with them in danger. It pulled out of Colombia in 1981 after 20 years. However, volunteers began to return in 2010, teaching English for Livelihoods.

First Site Sola

      After three months of in-country training, the two of us assigned to work with SENA spent several weeks interning with Colombian instructors in rural areas before being sent out on our own.  Naturally, I was a bit nervous about  my first assignment on my own. It ended up taking the better part of a day to get there, not because of distance so much, but because of a mix up in communication and no transportation for the last leg (this was well before cell phones or internet, and wouldn't be the first time). But, an elderly priest and the mayor of the village at the bottom of the mountain  (a woman) were especially kind and helpful. When they couldn't locate a horse for me to borrow, I offered to walk but they said it was too far and dangerous. Finally the driver and '59 Jeep the drugstore used for deliveries was enlisted and up the mountain we went, with two girls who'd learned of the ride and had family where I was headed. There was no road, just a rocky path. The scenery was stunning but the trip bone-jarring. The Jeep's gas pedal was tied to the steering column with a rope which, amazingly, didn't come undone during the heavy jostling and we had just one flat tire.
     Before settling in with a family, I went to the school house to have the children tell their mothers the course would start the following day.
     Would anyone show up?

Remembering Gratitude

Left in the Dark
     The power went out for no obvious reason the other day and was out for over 3 hours. It wasn't a big deal, at least not as big as it would have been had I been in the middle of baking bread or something you just can't do on the wood stove. (At least I can't. I do know someone who did all her baking in a barbeque grill when they lived off the grid.) For living in the country, our power service is exceptionally good. Power outages are rare; most are related to icy weather or wind storms. Given that we're surrounded by forests, power outages from fallen trees are expected. Turned out that's why the power went out the other day. A large tree from a nearby forest fell across the road, taking down a power line. One from the same forest did the same a couple of months ago. The weather wasn't particularly bad either time, but sometimes trees lean just far enough or aren't as healthy as they appear and boom! - down they go.

     It was late in the afternoon and we expected the power to be out an hour at the most – it's usually back in less than that. Those fellows (all I've seen working on power lines are men, but women surely do the job just as well) are always right on it. I think of them during the worst storms knowing they'll probably have to have to leave their cozy homes or offices to fix downed lines while the rest of us “struggle” without power.

The woodstove provided heat and a wee bit of light

     Having no power can be inconvenient, in varying degrees. If your livelihood or health depends on it, then it's critical. For the rest of us, it's a reminder of how dependent we are on electricity. There were tasks left on my to-do list that day but now I couldn't do them because they required an electrical appliance (vacuum, clothes dryer, stove, etc.) or water. We're on a well and power is required to pump it. You could use what's in the pipeline, but that's unwise unless you're desperate, and we haven't been yet. We heat with a woodstove, so warmth and basic cooking isn't a problem. For longer-term outages we're ok since we have a compost toilet, and a generator to power the refrigerator and freezer if the outage stretches very long. Most years it's not used.
Checklist

     This power outage reminded me to review our checklist of disaster-preparedness. Here in the Pacific Northwest we're aware that “the big one”—a major earthquake—is due anytime and will leave us without power (thus water) for weeks, if not months. Some predict years. It could level buildings and trees, leave roads impassable and result in fires in homes and forests. Not a pretty picture. One can imagine lots of scenarios but we don't know exactly which to prepare for. Will the house collapse? All of it? Or will we be able to access parts of it? Where should we stash emergency supplies? The answers will seem obvious when it hits, but planning is like solving a mystery. Will we be better of out in the country, or worse? What time of year will it hit?

     We have lots of water stashed, so weren't concerned about that in the recent outage, but we realized after two hours that the power might not be on when darkness fell. Candles and oil lamps were gathered and a fire lit in the woodstove. When darkness did fall, I curled up with a couple of candles and a book. It was rather pleasant, actually. Not much else I could do. Hmmmm...that reminded me to add books to our emergency supplies.
Valuable Lessons

     When I was a young Peace Corps volunteer, I worked as an itinerant teacher, living most of the week in rural villages or veredas (homes scattered across mountain sides) in Colombia. None had electricity, though some villages had power for an hour or two a day. Often water was carried to the home by family members or mules from a nearby creek or community well. A few had their own wells. I learned to wash my face, brush my teeth, and do a simple "spit bath" from one very precious glass of water.
Women washed laundry in rivers and I learned that's not as easy as it looks. My first attempt provided many laughs for the women who were showing me how. Showers were always cold and I quickly learned the best time for one was at mid day when I had worked up enough body heat - especially when in the higher foothills of the Andes. Laundry dried best if you did it early in the day since it was hung on bushes, trees, fences or laid on cement patios. I'd never given water—or scarcity of it—much thought before. It was an excellent education. To this day, I never fill a sink full of water to wash dishes as we did when I was a kid. Using one of the bowls you're washing anyway is plenty.
      I have often wondered if part of John F. Kennedy's goal in organizing the Peace Corps was to educate the Americans who participated, as much as those they were supposed to have been teaching. It sure seemed to work that way.

Soggy Srping Beauties

     Winter can be depressing, especially if it's cloudy and days are dark, like they have been recently, and it rains a lot. Ironically, it can be equally depressing if it's not rainy this time of year. Our whole environment here is based on a rainy winters and when the sky is zipped up, it can be scary. Last winter was especially so.
     Of course, it's nice to have sunny, dry days to get out and garden, hike, bike, or just be outdoosr as bonus days in winter. But it's also nice to have enough water that native grasses, plants and trees aren't stressed, ratcheting up fire danger. Wells dry up and rivers shrink, affecting fish, wildlife,  farmers, ranchers, recreation and the economies built around them.
     So, I swore I'd never complain about the rain again - and so far I haven't. Even when our wet-

Wet-weather stream

weather stream flowed over our driveway. We can handle that. The trees the stream flowed through - and even flooded - got a boost to root strength. I hope they're banking moisture for the upcoming dry period.  (OK, the weeds developed better roots too, but we can probably handle them if we get after them at the right time.)


Gifts of Color
     Mother Nature gives us sure signs of spring, no matter where we live. I've seen two already: turtles in the pond at the end of the road (a very full pond, I might add!), and the first wildflowers.  I'm often surprised at how early both arrive. The parade of colorful blooms always starts with what my former neighbor called Spring Beauties. And they are just that. They're tiny, seemingly delicate little purple flowers. In reality, they're pretty doggone hardy because they're stepped on by humans and wildlife. Once you notice the first one, you'll see lots and lots of others that either just magically appeared in that very moment - or went unnoticed. For how long? How could I not notice them?
     Am also seeing signs of flag iris that will appear in another month or so. The bulbs are pushing erect leaves and stems up through the muddy soil, mainly on the south sides of hills. The blossoms will eventually arch with their own weight and bloom in such beautiful purple and blue hues that it will be impossible to resist picking gazillions of bouquets of them.
    People in town are already enjoying spring bulb colors. We're just high enough in the hills that such displays are delayed by weeks. That's just fine; it extends the season since we're in town regularly so enjoy them there first. Besides, there aren't as many wildflowers in town and we'll have a veritable symphony of color (iris, columbines, tiger lilies, Shasta daisies and much more) once they get started.

 Mosses and Lichens

Winds this winter flung lots of mosses and lichens to the ground and I've always found them fascinating. Robin Wall Kemmerer, a professor from the east coast, wrote a beautiful book of essays called Gathering Moss: a natural history of mosses (Oregon State University Press; 2003). I highly recommend it.

  

Our old fruit trees are in their "golden years" and we fear each is their last. But they're hardy! Some branches succumb each year, but even in death there is beauty as lichens and mosses take hold. Birds seem to love them too when they stop by the suet baskets - whether for bugs or nest material, or just to revel in their sensuous "fluff" - who knows? 

Seedy Characters

     I just spent two fascinating days transplanted into another world - one filled with "seedy" people. Really, these folks are passionate about seeds. They're bona fide seed geeks, whether they work in farm fields, home gardens or research labs. Before you roll your eyes, remember that if it weren't for them, you and I wouldn't eat. Even if you're a carnivore, whatever animal you eat relies on plants to survive.
     Best of all, these folks focus on organically-grown seeds.
    This was the 8th biennial conference presented by the   Organic Seed Alliance. Five hundred people came from across the country and around the world.. Another 500 signed up to watch the recorded workshops online. This is especially heartening since there were only about 60 people at their first conference. There were folks of all ages, levels of experience and probably as many women as men.

Many participants are also authors

    Why would they let someone in who has only casually saved a few dill or cilantro seeds (which require no more talent than to shake them into your hand)? I could easily have felt like an interloper, but was never made to feel such. While there were plenty of technical workshops, other topics we are (should) all be interested in: GMOs, seed security, how communities can grow their own seed and food, seed banks, how climate change is affecting our food supply, how can we adapt to change. If you do no more than simply eat food, all of this should concern you.



Frozen
     The keynote speaker, Cary Fowler, known as the "father" of the Svalbard Global Seed Vault sent shivers through the room not with photos of the frigid mountain into which this seed bank is carved, but the precariousness of the seedbanks around the world. Most are quite unsophisticated with little temperature control, cataloging or proper maintenance, putting the world's seed heritage at risk. Risk isn't just from natural disasters, but from human ones. Only one nation has withdrawn seeds from

GrassRoots Books had the last 38 copies of Folwer's first book

safekeeping at Svalbard. That was Syria. Fowler said they had managed to get their collection samples in Svalbard just before chaos hit Aleppo and when those who work with them got to another safe country, they asked for them back to start their research and production again. They will, of course, make another deposit to Svalbard. Most of us may not understand the urgency of saving seeds grown in a given place. We assume we can just send them some of ours and all will be fine. It won't. Our seeds won't work everywhere and besides, ours may well have been adapted from seeds that originated in that country. Most of us have no clue as to the critical interdependence of seeds. Seed "geeks" are responsible for not just our survivability, but our basic health. We owe them far more that we'll ever realize.
Patented Greed
     What most struck me was the fact not once did anyone utter the arrogant phrase "feed the world." That's a catch-phrase commonly used by the likes of  Monsanto and Syngenta to justify their patenting  as much heritage seed as possible in order to control the supply and "improve" it by making it resistant to their herbicides and pesticides. That all boils down to money. Lots of money since no one can survive without food.  I've never been to one of their conferences but can only imagine there is a lot more secrecy, fancy suits, and lawyers. At the Organic Seed Alliance there was just one suit (on an older panelist from Boston), lots of backpacks with juice jars poking out of them and hints of dirt under some fingernails. That's not shameful in this crowd. In fact, it's a tribal badge, it shows you understand and respect where food comes from. Fancy manicures would draw suspicion as much as patented seeds or patent leather shoes.
     Rather than make me feel like an interloper our outlier, this crowd left me with awe and gratitude. They also gave me a feast of food for thought which will feed my writing for years to come.

Cultivating Knowledge and Cohorts

     People may think farmers prop their stockinged feet up by the woodstove in winter, enjoying novels or video games and big bowls of potato chips all day, with nothing to do while it's cold and wet outside. After all, you can't plow mud, and tomatoes don't grow on cold, cloudy days.
     Well, actually tomatoes do grow in winter, but not outside. Farmers and hyper-gardeners have myriad starts under grow-lights in warm spaces or on heated mats already.
     Winter is when farmers are prepping for early planting. They know they've got to have your favorite summer produce--things you might well grow in your own garden--ready when your taste-buds crave them fresh and you just have to have the first local zucchini or tomato - you simply can't wait 'til yours are ready. By late summer when you're sated and are sneaking them on neighbors' porches, they're not gonna' be selling many. And especially if everyone is getting them free from gardening neighbors.
     This is also the time of year that farmers gather with their cohorts at conferences 'cuz they sure can't do it in any other season. Their families barely see them the rest of the year, unless they're working the fields too, which most probably are. One spouse often has a job in town, though.
     Speaking of spouses. When you hear the word farmer, you probably think of a guy, no? Me, too, more often than not, I confess, even though I know numerous women who farm, either on their own, or as part of a family farm. The latest issue of Oregon Tilth magazine, In Good Tilth, is devoted to women farmers and food leaders -  and not just locally. I highly recommend finding a copy (in Corvallis at First Alternative Co-ops, by the produce section. It's free!), or you can read it online.
A Novel Idea
     A decade ago, a group of folks from non-profits that dealt with food recognized the difficulty of food producers and food consumers making critical contact, especially as the local food movement was gaining traction. So, they organized a gathering where farmers, orchardists,  ranchers, processors, grocers, restaurants, schools and others could meet, share concerns and ideas, and exchange business cards. They named it the Local Food Connection.  Not every farm or food producer had a website back then, nor were search engines all that efficient. The idea worked and has grown. Each year, about half the folks attending are there for the first time. It's inspiring to see young people connecting not just with potential customers, but to meet mentors in their own fields (no pun intended).
     One of the highlights is the always-amazing lunch. Ingredients are generously provided by food producers attending and the Lane Community College's culinary arts students prepare an awesome lunch. Even the continental breakfast was excellent: blueberry coffee cake made with local grains and berries, locally-crafted herbal teas, smoothies, keifer, milks, granola, yogurt, hummus, nuts, dried fruit, etc. It's a world away from typical conference fare of glazed donuts and coffee with artificial creamers. (Bleh!)
     While I learned a lot at the workshop featuring chefs with their own farms supplying ingredients (Excelsior Inn & Ristorante of Eugene, .Gathering Together Farm, Philomath, and Agrarian Ales, Coburg), I had a most interesting conversation with a fellow from SnoTemp, a local company that stores and ships so many of the local and regional products that end up at my local food co-op, grocery stores and restaurants. I really hadn't thought much about where businesses stored their foods off season or how they keep them at the best temperatures, be it frozen, cool or warm and dry. "But what happens if the power goes off?" I asked. The manager I talked with said they would be fine for several days if doors weren't opened much because the building is so well-insulated. Interesting!
Seeds of Security
     Monday was spent with farmers and buyers. Friday and Saturday will be spent learning about and from the folks who, literally, are at the very source of it all: seeds. We are truly blessed to have some of the best seed professionals in the world right here in "Cascadia" (northern California to southern British Columbia, Idaho and parts of Montana. Even right here in the Willamette Valley. Stay tuned.

Spring Teaser

     Friday was one of those unpredicted, very unexpected spring-like days in January. For a little while, there was nary a cloud in the blue sky and  the expansive fields of sprouting grasses and wheat were an iridescent green.
     Yes, rivers were swollen from recent rains and many ditches were overflowing, spilling big puddles-almost ponds into some yards and fields, but it was one of those glorious bonuses that makes you smile - makes everyone cheerful.
     But, of course! It all made sense listening to the news later in the day about the storm bearing down on the east coast. It seems that when they get whacked with nasty weather, we enjoy the opposite - and vice versa. Funny how that works. Last year when Boston was almost literally buried in snow, we were enjoying one of the warmest, driest winters in recent memory.

     As luck would have it, I had an interview scheduled on Friday that made the day all the nicer. It was at Peoria Gardens, east of Corvallis. I spent an hour wandering through some of the glass houses of their nursery with the son of the founder - now general manager, Ben Verhoeven, absorbing the history and vibrant colors that are starting to grace gardens of those with the greenest thumbs. Soon, the more fair-weather gardeners, and those just developing an "addiction" to gardening, will be unable to resist the magnetic pull of the 4-inch pots of color lined up at local nurseries. 

    If you find such plants irresistible and live in the Willamette Valley, you've seen Peoria Gardens

tags on flowers, herbs and vegetables for decades in local nurseries or independent businesses. You probably have--or have had--some of them in your garden.
     Or, if you've been through Corvallis in the summer, you've seen their huge, colorful baskets dripping with flowers, hanging from street lamps.
     There's an interesting history and some exceptionally nice people behind all that life and color. You can learn about them in my article on Peoria Gardens that will appear in the spring issue of Take Root magazine, due out April 1st.

    In the meantime, rest assured, the wet-weather streams will dry up, rivers will slow, soil will warm and we'll be surrounded by lots and lots of glorious color and new life.

Update: the article is available now: http://ezine.takerootmagazine.com/HTML5/Duhn-Associates-TAKE-ROOT-Magazine-Spring-2016?pageNum=20.  Better still, get a copy at your favorite store (see website: www.takerootmagazine.com for locations). It's chock full of interesting people and places, well worth keeping for future reference when you're ready to explore this glorious region.