Inspire Me! blog

Closing down

With many thanks to my loyal readers since the inception of this blog, I’ve made the decision to close it down. I had a health scare recently, and although I’m feeling better now, I really want to concentrate on what’s become my full-time business, that of writing novels. I’ve enjoyed chatting with all of you over the years, and I hope you’ll join me over on my fun, informative and speculative author blog, Roads Guide to the Galaxy, where we look at all things books, book-related travel and adventure, writing and inspiration, strange stories and legends, and all kinds of other ideas that will light up your imagination every week.

Wishing you all the best in life, Erica

Summer harvest

Enticing assortment of produce at a local farmers’ market – photo by E.Jurus, all rights reserved

One of the few parts of summer that I like are the masses of gorgeous vegetables and fruit that burgeon in farms and personal gardens from early in the season and into autumn. There’s something about the bounty of produce that lifts my spirits, that makes me feel like some things are still right in our crazy world.

I grew up on a farm in northern Ontario, and although the growing season was very short compared to the rest of the province, we all lived very close to the land. Neighbours sold us fresh eggs and creamy milk; my brother and I chopped wood for our furnace and our wood-burning stove; I learned how to fish and my dad hunted for fresh game. The nearest grocery store for buying staples was a half-hour away during good weather, over rough, undulating gravel roads, so shopping trips were special events, usually happening only once a month.

Our lives were intimately tied to the landscape, no matter the season. Summers could be surprisingly hot, at which time my dad would drive us all to one of the many surrounding lakes for a swim day. The water was cold, even in the peak of summer, and we’d always finish the day wrapped up warmly in towels and eating sandwiches with hot coffee from a thermos. Summer nights were filled with fireflies and the eerie cry of whip-poor-wills at dusk. August was harvest time, and a shopping trip to buy clothes for the return to school.

Autumn was my favourite season, incredibly beautiful. The weather was usually gorgeous, and walking to school on roads thick with fallen leaves was always a pleasure. Winters were long and intense; there were quite a few days that the snow was so deep we couldn’t make it to school. I remember thick layers of white blanketing everything, and the acrid tang of wood smoke filling the air. At our little school, during recess we built snow forts and had epic battles. Spring, which didn’t make an appearance until April or May, was a welcome relief, marked by the scent of green things and flash floods from the great masses of melting snow. My dad took us sugaring one year, to a friend’s tapping area deep in the woods.

I still love the idea of farm life — the quietness, simple pleasures and garden bounty. Although I don’t have a green thumb myself, I get to enjoy the farm markets that dot southern Ontario, and even when we travel we go looking for markets and harvest festivals.

At the Niagara Falls Botanical Garden, the horticultural students study the cultivation of produce as well as flowers. There’s a small section tucked behind hedges where they each have their own plot. I don’t know how they select what they grow in their wood-edged plots, but their plantings are always much better than anything I ever managed 🙂

One of the student plots at the Botanic Garden – photo by E.Jurus, all rights reserved
I wanted to pluck these grape tomatoes right off the vine – photo by E.Jurus, all rights reserved

Perhaps someone who doesn’t love to cook won’t get as excited by a basket of glistening green beans or plump, multicoloured onions as I do, but as soon as I see such bounty I’m imagining what I want to make with it.

More central on the grounds of the garden, there’s a lush vegetable garden arranged in quadrants, where I just love to wander and look at all the gorgeous growing things. It’s one of my happy places, full of colour, as changeable as the seasons themselves.

A lush crowd of cabbage plants dominates this quadrant, edged by bright yellow Tickseed flowers (coreopsis) – photo by E.Jurus, all rights reserved
Nestled among huge leaves, bright yellow summer squash ripens – photo by E.Jurus, all rights reserved
Tomatillos are a new addition this year – photo by E.Jurus, all rights reserved

The herb garden in an adjacent section, interspersed with flowers, is a delightful place to wander when the sun is shining and the aromas of the herbs permeate the air. Picking a little sample is allowed, and I invariably go home with a small leaf of apple mint, whose aroma is unbelievably wonderful.

photo by E.Jurus, all rights reserved

For those of us who can’t live on a farm (and work our butts off cultivating crops), visiting a garden such as this, or a farm stand out in the countryside, connects us to a way of life that hopefully will never disappear. We’re reminded of where food come from, and it makes us appreciate the farmers who provide what we eat.

And for those of us who don’t like summer, it’s a little piece of mellow tradition that turns into bushels of fall fruit and piles of pumpkins when our favourite season does finally roll around, with cooler sweater weather to enjoy them with, and a kettle for tea waiting at home.

Visiting the Trinity bomb site in New Mexico

Historically-impaired tourists romping around the Trinity ground zero marker – photo by E. Jurus, all rights reserved

Last fall my hubby and I were able to stand where the first nuclear bomb was tested. It’s a sobering place – at least for some visitors.

Others, posing for giggling photos, seemed to think it was some kind of theme park attraction. They clearly had no idea of the significance of where they were prancing around, of the first detonation of the most terrible weapon ever invented. We just shook our heads and tried to ignore them.

The Trinity test site sits way 35 miles out in the middle of the Jornada del Muerto Desert. Meaning “Route of the Dead Man” (labelled as such by Spanish conquistadors), the 400-year-old name seems eerily prescient in the blinding light of what would happen there at 5:29 a.m. on July 16, 1945.

Three years before that, with fears that Germany was already developing their own nuclear weapon, the Manhattan Project was created to develop one faster for the United States. If you go to see the upcoming movie Oppenheimer, you’ll learn much more about the development of “The Gadget”, the deeply-understated name for the bomb whose test launched our world’s entry into nuclear weaponry, than I could post in this blog.

What I can show you is what it’s like to visit the actual site, which is located on the White Sands Missile Range within easy driving distance of Alamogordo, New Mexico. As part of a U.S. military testing area, the Trinity site is open only two days in the entire year, in early April and mid-October. The U.S. Army website has all the information you need to find the Trinity site, either as part of a vehicle caravan from Alamogordo (which accepts only the first 125 vehicles, and departs at a fixed time – around 7:30 a.m. if I remember correctly), or by driving to the northerly Stallion Gate off U.S. 380 any time between 8:00 a.m. and 2:00 p.m. The Trinity Site closes at 3:30 p.m. for another six months. There’s a detailed map on the Army website; we didn’t have any problems finding the Stallion Gate.

Currently there’s an advisory on the Army site that, with the release of the movie later this month, higher visitor numbers are expected in this year’s October “Open House”, so if you’re thinking of going, I’d check the site regularly for updates.

One other thing you should be aware of is the identity requirement. The U.S. is putting in place something called REAL ID, which, according to the Department of Homeland Security website, establishes “minimum security standards for state-issued driver’s licenses and identification cards and prohibits certain federal agencies from accepting for official purposes licenses and identification cards from states that do not meet these standards. These purposes are:

  • Accessing certain federal facilities
  • Boarding federally regulated commercial aircraft
  • Entering nuclear power plants”

The Trinity Test Site falls under “certain federal facilities”. As Canadians planning to visit, we had a very confusing time trying to determine if any of our I.D. would qualify. We ended up using our NEXUS cards, which stymied them a bit at the Gate until we pointed out that the cards are issued by Homeland Security. Anyway, the deadline for the REAL ID implementation has been extended to May 7, 2025 (from this past May), so Canadians and other non-Americans should be able to visit Trinity without difficulty before then. On the Army website it currently says that “Foreign nationals must present a valid passport.” (You can read more about REAL ID on the DHS website).

Once you get to the Stallion Gate, you embark on a long road into a barren landscape surrounded by low mountains that seems the perfect choice to carry out the test.

The road to Trinity – photo by E. Jurus, all rights reserved

However, you’ll probably see protesters crowding the Gate, as we did. Many of them are locals complaining about the residual effects of the nuclear testing to this day on area residents. There was so much internal pressure on the scientists of the Manhattan Project, and complete secrecy, that I get the sense no one worried about the local effects, apart from a general concern that the heat from the test might accidentally set the entire atmosphere of our planet on fire and burn away the oceans – but then, there’d be no one left to complain about it.

Protesters at the Stallion Gate – photo by E. Jurus, all rights reserved

The Trinity site is very hot and dry, and there’s a quarter-mile walk from the rudimentary visitor centre and parking lot to the actual location, so I highly recommend wearing a hat and bringing plenty of water to drink.

The visitor centre, such as it is – photo by E. Jurus, all rights reserved
A long, hot walk ahead – photo by E. Jurus, all rights reserved

In the parking lot, you can see part of the rusted shell of Jumbo, a steel containment vessel in the event of an unsuccessful explosion. The Gadget was originally supposed to have been placed inside Jumbo, from which the bomb’s plutonium could be retrieved if the test fizzled. However, the powers-that-be decided not to use Jumbo after all, because a successful detonation, whose magnitude they had no idea of in advance, might either vaporize the steel casing, making it hard to analyze the effects, or send fragments flying around, which would be dangerous both to the observers and the measuring equipment.

Jumbo’s skeletal torso – photo by E. Jurus, all rights reserved

The bomb was hoisted to the top of a 100-foot steel tower, to approximate being dropped from a bomber (better detonation in the air). Mattresses were laid on the ground below in case the cable holding the bomb were to break.

Scientists and other personnel placed wagers on how well the bomb would actually work, from complete dud to an explosion equivalent to 18 kilotons of TNT. Two men were responsible for taking photographs of the entire thing. Oppenheimer and the other personnel were ranged around the test area in bunkers 5+ miles away.

The end result exceeded the highest estimate by 7 kilotons, and completely vapourized the steel tower supporting the bomb. Apparently the fireball reached 100 million degrees in temperature. The roar of the shock wave was felt over 100 miles away, and the mushroom cloud that was created reached 7.5 miles high. The light from the explosion cycled through different colours, from white, to yellow, then red, then purple.

According to signage on the self-guided tour at Trinity, the explosion made a crater eight feet deep and 800 yards in diameter.

An aerial photo of the local physical effect of the detonation – photo by E. Jurus, all rights reserved

Much of the surrounding sand was instantly turned into a greenish glass that became known as Trinitite. Collectors have made off with most of it over the ensuing decades, until the U.S. Government finally put a stop to that. You can still find small, roughly dime-sized bits around the site if you look very closely. It can be picked up safely, but there are plenty of soldiers on site to ensure you don’t make off with any.

A tiny piece of Trinitite held by my hubby – photo by E. Jurus, all rights reserved
photo by E. Jurus, all rights reserved

Along the back fence there are a series of photographs that graphically illustrate the immense power of the bomb. At only 1/20th of a second – less than a blink of the eye – a massive mushroom cloud had already formed, and in hardly another blink later the photo looks like hell on earth.

In less than the blink of an eye – photo by E. Jurus, all rights reserved
Photo by E. Jurus, all rights reserved

Oppenheimer and the other scientists were elated with their success, but almost 80 years later it just seems horrific. That numerous nations have such power at the push of a button is not a comfortable thought. Let’s hope no one ever uses it. The results at Hiroshima and Nagaski were terrible enough, as well as in places like Shinkolobwe in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, where the bulk of the uranium used in developing the Trinity bomb was mined (regardless of the toxicity to the miners and other community members).

It seems the people of New Mexico have more cause for concern: 2,000 feet deep under their sands, the Waste Isolation Pilot Project is storing massive amounts of nuclear waste. When the facility finally fills up (estimated in ten to twenty years), the rock caverns that contain all the waste will be collapsed and sealed with both soil and concrete. But the waste will remain lethal for over 300,000 years – longer than humans have been walking the earth – and the largest current concern is how to mark the spot and warn of its contents for generations far in the future. You can read more about this eerie project on the BBC Future article How to build a nuclear warning for 10,000 years’ time.

I suppose only far distant time will tell how wise or foolhardy it was to develop nuclear power. Maybe its discovery was inevitable, but there’s a wise old maxim that goes something like this: just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should.

The Case for Travel, Done Correctly

You can’t appreciate magical experiences like dinner around the campfire in the African bush unless you experience them directly. Photo by E. Jurus, all rights reserved

There’s a great line in the Thor: Dark World movie where Thor, a bit down in the dumps after breaking the Bifrost to stop Loki and thus being unable to return to Jane Foster on Earth, comments that “Merriment can sometimes be a heavier burden than battle”, whereupon Heimdall replies, “Then you’re doing one of them incorrectly.”

I wanted to repeat Heimdall’s words to the author of an article in The New Yorker that I read recently titled The Case Against Travel, but I couldn’t find a way to post a comment. So here’s my rebuttal.

There’s a very good reason to love travel, if you approach it with an open mind and a boundless desire to explore the world as it is, not as a theme-park attraction that doesn’t live up to your expectations. Travel is eye-opening, breathtaking, sometimes dismaying, but always an education.

The author, Agnes Callard, quotes a miserable, hide-bound Portuguese writer who clearly misunderstood the point of travel when he wrote, (quoting the article), “I abhor new ways of life and unfamiliar places. . . . The idea of travelling nauseates me. . . . Ah, let those who don’t exist travel! . . . Travel is for those who cannot feel. . . . Only extreme poverty of the imagination justifies having to move around to feel.”

Good lord, what narrow-minded drivel.

Callard seems to view travel as a commodity, i.e. a measurable notch on a belt, but it’s actually a way of learning more about the world around us, of understanding not only the differences in other cultures, which can often be healthier than our own way of life (think slower pace, more time to savour life’s little pleasures), but how much people in other countries are just like us. They’re not the extremists that make the news, they have families, and jobs to support their families, and they want a peaceful existence full of good things.

That was certainly a profound eye-opener for my hubby and me early on in our travels. Callard’s anti-travel heroes believed that travel “divorced us” from our humanity. I’d say it’s done the exact opposite.

When hubby and I went to southern Africa the first time, we were awed by how much the local people love their home country, and want to show it off to visitors. They’re very aware of the reputation countries in Africa have long held for strife, and they’re delighted when visitors ignore all of the bad press and travel there to see for themselves. Our visit was profound and moving, not just for the beauty of the landscapes and the breathtaking views of animals living freely, but for the kindness and hospitality of the residents. We remain friends with one of our safari guides as well as fellow travellers we’ve met on that wonderful continent (we’ve been lucky enough to visit five different countries).

Callard cites as an example a tourist who visits the Grand Canyon and is disappointed if, for whatever reason, it doesn’t live up to his picture-postcard expectations. But one should never travel with expectations. People and places don’t exist only to measure up to our media-driven standards – they exist for themselves, and we enjoy them for what they are!

If you’re a genuine traveller, when you read the article I imagine you’ll be as incensed as I was. Let me know your thoughts!

A Greek tragedy – the arrogance that blinds

In the height of irony, this week’s Titan submersible disaster will probably loom as large in history as the 1912 sinking of the ship it was trying to look at. Both were doomed for the same reason: blinding overconfidence.

I’ve always been fascinated by the story of the Titanic, and it really hit home when my hubby and I visited Belfast a few years ago. When you explore the Titanic Museum, you understand the pride that the people of Belfast had in building the great ship, and their subsequent pain and horror when it sank. Some of the displays in the museum are heartbreaking, like the photos above of a banner showing desperate wireless messages from the sinking vessel.

The Titanic was thought to be the peak of Edwardian-era technology. It was meticulously engineered and built using all the latest materials. The ship was designed to be a gigantic lifeboat – the reason there wasn’t much concern about the lack of sufficient actual lifeboats was because the builders truly thought there’d be no need for them anyway.

And so they were tragically proven wrong when the one thing happened that the builders hadn’t anticipated. The ship was designed to remain afloat even with a front-end collision and four flooded forward compartments in the hold. But the massive collision with the iceberg along the side of the ship tore such a long gash in the hull that more than four compartments flooded, as water cascaded successively over the bulkheads which for some reason didn’t go all the way to the ceiling. As each compartment flooded backwards through the hull, the poor ship quickly became overwhelmed.

I believe the same overconfidence sealed the fate of the Titan submersible. The CEO, Stockton Rush, refused to have outside inspections done, citing that it would be a waste of time to try and explain all his ‘experimental’ technology to people he thought wouldn’t understand. But those outside people, all experts in marine technology, could have played ‘devil’s advocate’, pointing out and questioning things that Rush might not have thought of. He ignored numerous warning messages, just as Captain Smith of the Titanic ignored repeated iceberg warnings.

We wonder why. Clearly Rush was an intelligent man to be in his position. The only explanation I can see is something the ancient Greeks and the Bible identified millennia ago: “hubris”, or dangerous overconfidence that leads to poor decisions. For the Greeks, there were numerous legends of people who displayed hubris, and were always punished by the gods. The Book of Proverbs, 16:18 stated that “pride goeth before destruction”. Even if you’re not into the Bible, you hear the ring of truth in that proverb. We’ve all experienced it ourselves, on a smaller scale – we’ve done something to show off and instead made an ass of ourselves.

I feel terrible for the families of those on board the Titan, and for the passengers themselves when they heard the instrumental warning of imminent, inescapable implosion. Personally, I would never have set foot on board if I had to sign a waiver that said I understood that I was embarking onto a vessel completely experimental and not certified. As much as I like adventure travel, I still want to be pretty damn sure I’m going to live to talk about the experience.

Following the unfolding tragedy this week has been heartbreaking – in large part because, just like the sub’s namesake, the R.M.S. Titanic, the disaster could have been avoided. This modern disaster is going to be analyzed to death (pardon the pun), and questions have already been raised as to whether such a dangerous form of tourism should even be allowed. If any good can come out of this, laws may be changed so that something like this doesn’t happen again, exactly as in the aftermath of the Titanic sinking. The parallels continue to be disturbing.

Africa Day

I’m not sure what my hubby and I expected when we first went on safari in Africa; usually we try to arrive with a clean mental slate. But I can tell you that we didn’t expect Africa to get so deeply under our skin.

I was a biology major in university, and always wanted to go and see all the animals in their natural element some day. When we were finally able to swing the journey, it didn’t take us long to become overwhelmed by the amount of sightings we had – my hubby even cracked a joke about most of them being animatronic versions that got rolled out just ahead of our approach.

But even more than that, we made many friends among the safari guides and other people who lived there – all incredibly warm, welcoming and proud to show off their countries. I wish people in North America could all visit there to see what true community is like.

I’ve never given much thought to why Africa is called ‘Africa’. No one really knows. There are various theories, but at one time the continent was called Alkebulan, a word of possibly Arabic origin that means either ‘the garden of Eden’ or ‘the mother of mankind’.

I like both of those. Africa is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen, and I’m not generalizing – we’ve been to six of its countries. And it is the ‘mother’ of mankind indeed: paleoanthropology (the study of human evolution) has produced evidence that our species, humans, first evolved in Africa as far back in time as 6 million years ago.

When we were on safari in Kenya a number of years ago, we spent several days in Samburu National Reserve, and there was a moment when, standing on the reddish sands surrounded by purplish mountains and a vast blue sky, I felt in touch with the beginning of the world. It’s such a difficult moment to describe, and without waxing too religious, it was as if I’d stepped back in time millions of years to when God walked the Earth. It was remarkably powerful and spiritual, and I wasn’t the only person in our group to experience it.

Make of that what you will, but Africa is in our DNA, literally, and it touches visitors profoundly. It is the mother to all of us, and a wonderful gift. I’m glad there’s a day to honour it. We need to do our best to cherish and preserve as much of it as we can. Find out more on the Global Citizen website.

All photos are by me and all rights are reserved. E. Jurus