Where Is Ketzel Levine?

Call me Cerberus. You want to get a message to Ketzel, you gotta get past me.

photo credit: Ketzel Levine

 

1:09 PM ET | 01- 5-2009 | permalink

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24/7 Open House At Ketzel.Com

Talking Plants Entry #196

Dear Friends,

I thought it was Fred Rogers I was hearing in my head but I now realize it's Carol Burnett:

I'm so glad we've had this time together. Just to have a laugh or sing a song. Seems we've just get started and before you know it, comes the time we have to say...So long.

Through no fault of my own (management assures me "it's not personal"), I've been laid off from NPR.

Fortunately, it doesn't take a network to manage a website. Starting here, starting now, I've got my own. So nu, what else should I call it? Ketzel Uprooted! And where else would you find it but at WWW.KETZEL.COM!

Come by; we'll pick up where we left off and go places we haven't been. Lord knows I could use a change of scenery.

A word of thanks and three cheers to my online colleagues who I've enjoyed knowing and working with in the pursuit of Talking Plants: Wright Byan! Eyder Peralta! Andy Carvin! Beth Novey! Coburn Dukehart! Joe Matazzoni!

And to the woman who created the original NPR Talking Plants website, Thea Joselow, she who has gone on to far greater things.

Hold up, Thea. Here I come...

Happy trails to you, until we meet again. Old dogs never die.

photo credit: don't remember!

12:45 PM ET | 12-22-2008 | permalink

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Talking Unemployment

In case this is the first you're reading of this, I'd like to confirm the rumor that I've been laid off.

Or, to put it as it suddenly occurs to me, That's no rumor! That's my life!

And on the outside chance you've just stumbled onto this year and a half old blog and want to catch up -- fast -- my name is Ketzel Levine, I'm a senior correspondent for NPR and my job ends January 12th, 2009.

I was given the news 36 hours ago and I've been on the proverbial roller coaster ride ever since. Earlier this morning, when I took my first shot at this blog item, I wrote something to the effect that my being rift was not personal, "it's just what it is." And that, wait for it, "I've been one lucky woman, why should it end now?"

What was she on? I could use some of that tonight, as I look over at the clock and see that in the last hour I've written three sentences and chewed my nails and cuticles down to stumps. I've also been eating compulsively, only the richest most fattening things: organic peanuts, candy-coated toxic peanut M&M's, and for my last act before sleep, organic raw cashews.

In truth, there is no reason on earth why I shouldn't continue having a long and lively career. It could be in radio, in print, online or in public lectures, on tv shows and in books.

But there's a journey in-between and it heads right through the land of loss, which is where I'm reporting from tonight, live! and up to my neck in decades of memories of the people I've met and the places I've been because of this job...and the nail-bitten terror that the loss will drown me and I won't be able to breathe.

Which reminds me of breathing deeply and fully and one of the happiest moments of the last year. And that's how I'm going to get to sleep tonight in anticipation of a far better day sometime soon. Maybe even tomorrow.

On a golden weekend in May on the Grand Ronde River, before the sun and warmth disappeared for another two months, Zoe Mae and I lucked out and ended up on a 6 hour raft trip that made me a lifelong convert to eastern Oregon.

photo credit: Dana Orrick

 

11:20 AM ET | 12-11-2008 | permalink

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When The Cows Don't Come Home

If you happen to be a vegetarian, the news that a farmer's been losing money on his cattle and has decided to sell them is a good thing. The equation's very simple: fewer cows, fewer cows slaughtered.

I'm all for it.

But watching farmer Dave Burt nurse his lame bull and pick corn for his favorite Braunvieh cows -- knowing he was days away from selling his entire herd -- my heart broke for him much the same way it might have if he was about to lose his favorite dog.

Dave Burt inherited his uncle's 1000 acre farm only eight years ago, but from the ripe old age of 8 when he first drove his grandfather's tractor, he was primed to be a farmer. This picture was taken at an uncharacteristically still moment in his generally hectic life.

photo credit: Ketzel Levine, NPR

 

"I guess you'd call them my therapy," he said describing his relationship with his cattle. Having spent a few days with him observing that most of his time is spent behind the wheel of one noisy vehicle or another, I take his point. The quietest and most contemplative part of his working day has clearly been among his cattle, listening to them mooo and graze and watching them nuzzle. (These Braunvieh are so incredibly affectionate!).

I wish I could do a "flip book" version of my nuzzling cow pix, I just couldn't stop snapping shots of them (this cozy trio in particular). The tableau kept changing, as the little one nursed and the big one licked the mid-size mother. Affection? An itch? Mesmorizing, nonetheless.

photo credit: Ketzel Levine, NPR

 

In case you haven't heard the Morning Edition feature on Dave Burt, the reason he's giving up his cattle is because raising them has become unprofitable. His costs have doubled and tripled over the last few years, while cattle prices haven't budged.

Except recently, that is. Now they're plummeting. It appears he got out just in time -- not an entire surprise, since successful 21st century farmers like Burt are as skilled at playing the market as they are about feeding the cows.

Dave Burt worries about the availability of meat should more and more small farmers his age (he's 56) decide their cattle aren't worth the work. If his own 50 and 60-something colleagues are any indication, a whole lot of farmers are poised to give them up.

The happy ending to Dave Burt's story is that the cow he's most attached to -- the one he raised from a bottle -- is going to be living within visiting distance at his good buddy Clem's. I'm particularly happy to report that this animal will be kept in the style she's been accustomed: alive.

photo credit: Ketzel Levine, NPR

 

Incidentally, the real cash cow on Burt Farms is agriculture: corn, wheat, soybeans, sunflowers. So lucrative (she says, tongue firmly planted in cheek), that at the current market price for these commodities, Dave Burt will lose a quarter-million dollars next year if his seed, fertilizer and fuel costs are what they are today.

8:26 PM ET | 12- 7-2008 | permalink

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What Happened to November?

I know it's amusing when death takes a holiday (see: movies, books, musicals, The Sopranos, etc), but infinitely less popular when a blogger does the same. And I didn't even go anywhere, at least not physically, though I do remember enjoying myself with Florence Of Arabia. And unless it was a nightmare, I'm pretty certain I was burgled; certainly, all my jewelry's gone.

As for the garden, it too seemed to have missed November having opted to stay October an extra couple of weeks. That's over now. The gold, pink, orange and red that's been flying like confetti now looks as celebratory as moldy cardboard -- though the bite-size birch leaves do seem scattered like golden coins.

Hang on, something's just come back to me: a trip to the Chinese Garden here in Portland with my mom. Alas, though, I was without my camera, so I didn't think you'd want to hear about the sweet scent of small-flowered osmanthus or the delicate petals of fall-blooming camellia without
being able to see for yourself.

Forgive me if I was wrong and allow me to make amends. If there's still any light left after work today, I'll revisit the delicate camellia and ask her to pose...

2:32 PM ET | 12- 1-2008 | permalink

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WHO? White House Organics, That's W.H.O.

Eat the view! Buy virtual pieces of the White House lawn! Roger the Gardener vs. Joe the Plumber! And now The Who Farm!

Introducing Daniel Bowman Simon and Casey Gustowarow, primary "WhoFarmers", two guys who are joining others in petitioning the White House to use some of its vast waste of a lawn to grow organic food.

Their petition is full of heartfelt recommendations to the Farmer In Chief-elect:

We, the people, respectfully request that an organic farm be planted on the grounds of The White House, at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave, Washington, DC.

The White House Organic Farm (aka TheWhoFarm) will be a model for healthy, economical and sustainable living everywhere. It will serve as an educational tool and economic aid, and as a means to provide food security in the Nation's Capitol. It will reconnect the Office of the Presidency to the self-sufficient agricultural roots of America's Founding Fathers.

The White House Organic Farm Recipe

Article I: The Farmers
Public school children and Americans with disabilities will work The White House Organic Farm, to set an example for the world of hands-on learning and will foster an independent, do-it-yourself work ethic.

Article II: The Eaters
The White House Organic Farm's harvest will provide fresh food for the President, the President's family, and the President's distinguished guests. Just as importantly, it will also supply healthy food to public school lunch programs and food pantries in Washington, DC.

Article III: The Delivery
Food from The White House Organic Farm will be delivered to local public schools and food pantries by volunteers on foot and by bicycle, at a net-zero cost to U.S. taxpayers.

Article IV: The Seeds
The White House organic farmers will plant a diverse mix of heirloom seeds passed down from Thomas Jefferson's farm at Monticello and seeds donated by American farmers and gardeners, to celebrate both the rich agricultural traditions of the Office of the President and the passions of everyday Americans for working her fertile and bountiful land.

Article V: The Soil
The White House Organic Farm will use healthy topsoil, nourished by compost supplements from yard and food waste from all three branches of the federal government; from The White House, from The United States Capitol, and from The United States Supreme Court.

11:12 AM ET | 11-20-2008 | permalink

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The Sun Break Season

Election Day 2008 and the city of Portland feels particularly benevolent today. The sun broke through an hour ago after a long hiatus and is now illuminating the considerable remains of what's been an autumn worthy of the name.

The mood here at my coffee house feels friendlier and more buoyant this morning; here in this bubble, there was never any contest how this town was going to vote. This state, either (as viewed from this bubble, that is). After considerable eavesdropping, I can't say anyone's talking about the election, but I would like to think all my ersatz young office mates are intensely aware of what hangs in the balance.

Anyway, enough stalling. On the outside chance that you've noticed, I've been gone more than a week.

What with my beagle's week-long disappearance, then -- three days later -- the burglary at my house (the dogs and I were sleeping at a friend's) and the unrelated but simultaneous burst of my water heater (a day after I'd moved my entire downtown office into my basement) followed in lock step by the inevitable invasion of my body by a vicious flu that has yet to release me, I've been AWOL from Talking Plants.

But I've a new lease today, in no small way due to this morning's sun break, which shines all that much brighter in a soothing (fine then, gray) climate like ours. And when that light illuminates the leaves of maples, stewartias, euonymous and aronia, you wonder why we're not all walking around dumbstruck by the inherent beauty of this world.

So here's my own campaign promise, before the votes are counted: join me tomorrow for an exclusive tour of one of Portland's finest private gardens and I guarantee -- whatever the outcome of the election! -- an invitation of limitless faith.

Go ahead, you skeptics, Google the Platt Garden! I guarantee you won't find another candidate who's got what I got for you...

2:03 PM ET | 11- 4-2008 | permalink

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Exclusive Interview With Runaway Beagle

Hi, I'm Brooke Gladstone, host of On The Media. Ketzel has overdosed on so many M&M's during this last week of worry over Starlet, her beagle, that I suggested she pass out for the weekend and let me do the heavy lifting. My involvement's not all that far-fetched since I am a distant relative of said beagle. Ketzel is my second cousin and our grandmothers olev hashalom were sisters.

And while I too like dogs very much, having grown up with a memorable Great Dane named Eurydice, I don't exactly share my cousin's sometimes excessive allegiance if not over identification with animals. I'm hoping this detachment will play in my favor, as I ask a few questions that may help us fathom why Starlet Blue Levine left home.

Poised somewhere between disdain and apathy, Starlet (left) wonders why she and the thing (Zoe Mae, right) are being addressed.

photo credit: Ketzel Levine, NPR

 

BG: Hi there Starlet, thanks for getting on the sofa.
SB: Are you here too? Are you eating something?
BG: Actually I wanted to talk to you about your recent disappearance. I understand that you took off Monday evening while Ketzel was out of the house.
SB: Does she have food in her pockets?
BG: In fact she does. Ketzel left and Zoe Mae opened the side door by putting her paws on the handle and jumping. Is that what you remember?
SB: Does she have a bowl outside?
BG: Yes, her bowl is outside. Is that where you were going?
SB: She smells but not much. But there is a smell. I remember now. And the smell gets closer and then it goes in a direction and I go in a direction.
BG: Right. Now from what we've pieced together from eyewitness reports, it seems you were following smells for about two hours before you were picked up. Do you remember where that was?
SB: BIG. SMELL. EVERYWHERE. I eat the smell.
BG: Exactly. You were eating garbage at the KFC on NE. MLK Blvd. Do you recall the people who picked you up and put you in their car?
SB: Are they here too?

Joyce Crabbe and Mike Smith found Starlet at a KFC and brought her to their home. A few days later they took her to the vet's office to be scanned for a microchip, having worried that if they brought her to Animal Control the dog might be confiscated. Turned out Joyce and Mike used the same vet as Ketzel, and so! another victory for the kindness of strangers.

photo credit: Ketzel Levine, NPR

 

BG: Do you recall anything about your four-day stay with the people named Joyce and Mike?
SB: Cat. Food. Drawers. Vomit.
BG: That's what they tell us, too, that you had issues with their cat and that you went through every cabinet in their kitchen. My guess is that you found food and ate it but that it didn't agree with you so you threw up. Does that ring a bell?
SB: Are you here? Do you have food in your pockets?
BG: As a matter of fact, I do have a little something, a blue peanut butter M&M I picked up off Ketzel's bedroom floor. But let's focus for a sec on you. Since coming home and hearing about your friends and family's sleepless nights, the hours of searching, the hundreds of lost dog posters and the paid ads in The Oregonian, what do you think you've learned about running away?
SB: (Stretches.)
BG: Starlet?
SB: (Grunts, circles and lands, curled. Looks at interviewer out of one eye.)
BG: Indeed, Starlet. From your mouth to God's ears: There is no place like home.
SB: (Snores).

A final word: It may be that no one understands Starlet better than the cat who watches her every move. So it's not all that surprising that literary agents are all a-twitter about rumors of a manuscript now making the rounds Watch these pages for more news about STUDIES IN ATTACHMENT DISORDER: My Life With A Beagle, by Lulah Levine.

9:25 PM ET | 10-26-2008 | permalink

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The Beagle Has Landed

That's the headline, the happy ending details TOMORROW!!

8:45 PM ET | 10-24-2008 | permalink

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Where The Hell Is My Dog? Day 3

The excitement of hammering up posters, buying print ads and filling out online Missing Dog reports is over. I am now in limbo.

My dog Starlet's absence -- in any permanent way -- doesn't seem real enough to consider...yet I'm clueless as to what to do next. I am not proud to say I have temporarily given up on Day 3; I'm just sitting her paralyzed with lethargy hoping to simply konk out from so many sleepless nights.

(Don't worry, the money you've just pledged to your member station isn't going to get wasted on my sad self-indulgence. I'm taking a personal day.)

We're heading towards 72 hours of missing dogness. I don't think I've ever had an animal go missing this long before. And I can assure you that the non-ringing of my phone (and this with my number plastered everywhere) has never, never seemed louder.

Are lost dogs and cats like lost socks? Do they just disappear, never to be found?

5:41 PM ET | 10-23-2008 | permalink

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Starlet Still Missing Day 2

If you read yesterday's blog, you'll know that my 9 yr old beagle Starlet is missing. And if you're among the kind people who wrote w/advice and various OMG's!, I thank you from the heart.

I don't believe she's dead, but I do think she's with someone who might not know about microchips. That would explain why she hasn't shown up on anyone's radar. Actually, she has shown up -- I've gotten a few calls in response to the posters around the 'hood -- but they're all telling me where she was last seen, not where she is.

Starlet and I on one of our botanizing trips; doesn't she look the quintessential devoted animal? NOT!

photo credit: Troy Nave

 

Anyone with a beagle will not be surprised to learn that Starry was last seen by the dumpster of a nearby convenient market. So the good news is that whether she's still free-range or tied up in someone's yard, she's still very likely within a half-mile of home.

Cascade Beagle Rescue is coming over this afternoon to help canvas the neighborhood.

4:19 PM ET | 10-22-2008 | permalink

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Starlet The Beagle Is Missing

Not that I think it will help me find her since none of you reading this blog entry are likely to live in my Killingsworth Ave/North Portland neighborhood, but since I can't think about anything else, I thought you should know that my beagle has been missing for 15 long hours.

This is Starry, aka Starlet, the beagle I rescued two years ago. She's often mistaken for a puppy because she's so slim and jaunty, but in fact she's probably 9 yrs old. I was out for a few hours last night (serves me right, not taking the dogs with me, how could I even think of having a life?) and when I came home, my big dog had managed to open the French door in the dining room (she's learned to jump up and land hard on the long handle) and the little one was nowhere to be seen.

photo credit: Ketzel Levine, NPR

 

The worst of it is, she's not wearing her collar. It was in the wash. My one chance of seeing her again is that she's microchipped. Now I have to pray that whoever's found her (and I bet someone has, she's awfully adorable) knows to have her scanned.

Meanwhile, I've done what a good owner's supposed to do: gone to various websites, filled out online forms, called all the local vets, called the microchip company, and put up a few posters along the nearby busy street.

What I hadn't expected was the unsolicited e-mail that's resulted from my online search. I shouldn't be surprised. The "TOP LOST PET TRACKER IN THE US" is now in my inbox, plus a special offer for PREMIUM SERVICE from the otherwise free Petfinder.

Of course if I'd been registered with THE PET RESCUE INTERNATIONAL REGISTRY premium service would be free. But the fact remains ...

WHERE THE HELL IS MY DOG???????

Starlet is definitely the kind of beagle to stop and smell the lilacs...plus anything, everything else.

photo credit: Ketzel Levine, NPR

 

I don't suppose you know someone who knows someone who's seen Starlet?

2:57 PM ET | 10-21-2008 | permalink

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Shivering to Sleeveless in 24 Hours

Before I started to shiver in Wallowa County, eastern Oregon, where my friend Nani and I escaped over the weekend, I grabbed a few shots of my new courtyard now rich with flowing water and fall flowers and where, admittedly, you and I have not spent enough time kicking back.

Then suddenly, Nani and I were through the Blue Mountains and entering La Grange, OR in a bloody snowstorm! Nani grew up in Hawai'i and spent the next few glorious days swaddled in fleece. The landscape was, as ever, relentlessly gorgeous but the winds got so brutal, we had to curtail a hike on Saturday after getting chilled to the bone.

And then unexpectedly, before my Zoe Mae was able to fully realize her inner beast (I have pix to prove it), we were rushing back to Portland so I could make a last minute plane to Chicago where the weather is now fully summer and I'm back in sandals and a sleeveless top.

Global footprint? Embarrassingly large. Stimulus factor? Overwhelming. Sense of gratitude? Off the charts. These last few days have been peopled with astonishing characters everywhere I've gone, some of whom you'll be meeting in my late fall Morning Edition series, AMERICAN MOXIE: HOW WE GET BY.

Right now it's back to the future, with an image from my next destination where today's blog all began.

Red and center, a huge stalk of dahlia blew over and broke so I popped it in the fountain (I'm rethinking all the dahlias I planted so prominently because I don't want to look at stakes). Foliage highlights include black and green taro plus hardy banana to the far right. And that weird white thing on the fountain ledge is a candle; the set designer let that one slip.

photo credit: Ketzel Levine, NPR

 

9:02 AM ET | 10-14-2008 | permalink

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Lady Bird Would Roll In Her Grave

Believe me, I do not invoke the name of the great lady lightly. But Lady Bird Johnson -- the woman behind the Highway Beautification Act of 1965 -- would no doubt consider it the saddest of days if she'd seen these two innocent words married into one terrifying phrase:

VEGETATIVE ADVERTISING.

I just saw it for the first time at The Human Flower Project, an excellent source of human/horticultural tidbits, in a blog entry titled That's No Garden, It's A Billboard. The subject is the easing of highway landscape restrictions that could allow corporate logos to be spelled out in plants. "If a company pays enough, California drivers could be whizzing by flowering signage."

Ponder this composite pix by Christopher Flynn and you'll see why vegetative advertising is a phrase to be feared.

It's not happening yet -- this pix has been photoshopped -- but according to the L.A. Times, the director of the California Department of Transportation (CALTRANS) is hoping for a change in the rules re:freeway advertising.

photo credit: Christopher Flynn

 

One of the best places to keep track of this story is at Scenic America. To get up to speed, here's some background. And if you're somehow involved or can offer us some insight, do post...

11:00 PM ET | 10- 5-2008 | permalink

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The Rosh Hashana Mystery Plant

Happy Jewish New Year! In a few hours, it'll be 5769.

While I wouldn't describe myself as a particularly observant Jew, my Conservative upbringing makes me constitutionally incapable of working on the High Holidays (happily, I can garden). Since Rosh Hashana begins tonight, I won't be blogging tomorrow which gives you an extra day to help me identify this (native?) southern Illinois plant.

I'm hoping this isn't a weed because it was the only plant of integrity growing among morning glories and other invaders but hey, I've been sucker-punched before. Its stems and leaves are fuzzy, it grows in full sun nowhere near water and the soil's thin and powdery gray (truly). Figure 8" tall.

photo credit: Ketzel Levine, NPR

 

Among the changes now ushering in 5769 is a huge improvement in the way we can interact on Talking Plants. Next time you leave a comment, you'll be asked to sign in as a member of the NPR community. Don't balk; it's painless. Fill out your profile, do the confirmation e-mail dance, and voila: in addition to posting, you'll be able to comment on all NPR stories and connect with community-minded NPR staff.

There's also a blog re-design in our future which may enable you to post pix directly to Talking Plants instead of having to go away and post in the TP Flickr pool. You can hardly stand the excitement, right? A toast, then, towards community and connection in the New Year...

12:23 PM ET | 09-29-2008 | permalink

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The Floating Photographer

Couple weeks back, I checked in from eastern Oregon while I was out there on assignment. You can now read the story I was chasing, and better yet, hear it. I love recording natural sound as much as I do talking to people; it doesn't get any better for me when I get to do both.

But I admit, radio can only take you so far when the subject is the visual arts. So be sure to check out the underworld world of Mary Edwards, part biologist, part artist, and yes, part fish.

Mary and I spent a day in dry suits on the Lostine River outside Joseph, OR. It was salmon spawning time and she wanted to shoot some big ones. In the radio story, she finds a slightly beat-up male about 4 years old. The light was dim -- he was under a big log, and she doesn't use a flash -- but a few liquid rays filtered through his tail.

This guy was probably 3' long with an 18" body depth. Mary almost had to touch him before I could discern his shape, he was so thoroughly camouflaged by his clean, clear and oh so cold environment.

photo credit: Mary Edwards

 

She snapped a whole bunch of other pix that day, but I'm now going take up some mega bandwidth on this page to feature a whopping photograph from her trip to Alaska last year. It's a hell of a pix, and hers is a hell of a tale.

To hear it, all you gotta do is CLICK.

Is seeing believing? Guess it depends on what you want to believe. This seemingly impossible shot of underwater fish and above the water bears might be possible, but is way beyond the pay grade of Mary Edwards' camera. Instead, she stitched these two images together in post-production, images she indeed captured in the same Alaskan river within the same hour.

photo credit: Mary Edwards

 

5:41 PM ET | 09- 8-2008 | permalink

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Cat, Roof, Neighbor, Ladder, Labor Day

It's 5:30 am Labor Day morning and I hear Lulah crying. Which is odd, because I let her out at 4:30am and left the door open for her return. The crying continues so I get out of bed and check all exits/entrances. No Lulah, more crying. It takes me a few minutes, but finally I find her.

Lulah against a morning sky with the delicate silhouette of Sophora microphylla, but we're not talking plants this morning, we're talking Lulah's inexplicable trip to the roof in what is the first time in our four years together.

photo credit: Ketzel Levine, NPR

 

Now it's 6:00 am and I take out my only ladder. It's completely inadequate, i.e., total crap. I briefly consider getting out on the ledge below the roof to keep Lulah company, but having recently fallen down my own back stairs only to land on the basement concrete floor, I reluctantly forgo the risk.

I decide to e-mail my neighbor Paul, an early-waking walker who, like me, is often online. Never have I been more grateful for the invention of the Blackberry. Paul gets my message and goes into action.

Paul Anthony, generous neighbor and dependable early riser; elapsed time between distress call and response, 10 minutes.

photo credit: Ketzel Levine, NPR

 

Lulah, bless her, stays put while we prepare for her rescue. For a moment I think she looks amused, but she's not that cerebral. Certainly she's stopped mewing and is no longer pacing in distress.

And so I ascend to her rescue on this well-named labor day. No doubt you'd like to see a better picture of our happy protagonists, but one of them had seriously bad bedhead.

photo credit: Paul Anthony

 

9:28 AM ET | 09- 1-2008 | permalink

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