By Judi Gallagher

                    A procession of cultures--and flavors--in Santa Fe.

Full discloser: I am the complete opposite of what you might call a cowgirl. The closest I come is that I buy cheese from Cowgirl Creamery, somewhere in California- with green pastures and boutique stalls that sell the high butterfat goat cheese of the gods, wrapped in neat little expensive packages. My idea of a good pepper is the sweet version, sautéed with onions atop a grilled Italian sausage on wonderful Italian bread.

So, what the heck am I doing in the dessert, with hanging red chiles everywhere? 

The Banyan Theater Company serves up a dark comedy with The Beauty Queen of Leenane.

 By Kay Kipling

  Kim Crow and Jessica K. Peterson in The Beauty Queen of Leenane.

The back and forth of their dialogue is amusing and quick, and at first we may wonder if some affection lies behind it. It soon becomes apparent, however, that this mother-daughter relationship is one for the books. Mag is a selfish, exasperating old hag who has made her unmarried daughter’s life miserable, and Maureen has all but given up hope of getting out from under—until an old neighbor, Pato Dooley (Derry Woodhouse), returns for a brief visit from his exile in England. Is there a chance of these two lonely people kindling a love affair that will last? Or will Mag doom the future to repeat the past?

Well, it’s a year later and Tale of Two Cities is history and we’re still here. And that’s what show business is all about.

Next on Bob’s agenda is a production of Nunsense—he brought the script to the party— and that seems to be theater during our perilous times. Nuns. Whenever they need to jack up the box office they bring in the nuns. The Golden Apple changed shows at the last minute and put on the one-person—and hilarious—Late Nite Catechism, now Bob is doing Nunsense, and Joey Panek is doing Nunsense Amen up in Hudson, the one where the nuns are played by men. And Linda DiGabriele confided that the Asolo is rethinking Tale of Two Cities and planning a new “nun” version called Tale of Two Sisters.

Enjoy these pictures from the party, held at New York New York, that new restaurant on Hillview, which provided the food and drink.

By Robert Plunket

(Click here to test your "Decorating Can Be Murder" trivia for the chance to win two tickets to the DCBM party July 10 at Home Resource.)

Click here to see our Real Estate Junkie discuss this 70s gem on ABC7.

Family room

Kitchen

Living Room

Master bedroom

Chandelier

You never know when these impromptu performances will pop up.

By Kim Cartlidge

Expecting us to drop everything for a few minutes and just enjoy ourselves—and in the middle of such worrisome economic times, no less.

Florida Studio Theatre summer camp performers at downtown's farmers market.

At Saturday’s downtown Farmers Market in Sarasota, 75 local kids swarmed upon Lemon Avenue at 9 a.m., and after a wink and a nod from their choreographer, Kelli Karen, staged a spirited surprise dance performance to Disco Inferno. Several dancers started it off, and then more joined in until they were lined up between First Street and Main as astonished vendors and visitors watched. Then, as quickly as they had arrived, they dispersed.

By Robert Plunket

Click here to see our Real Esate Junkie discuss these 55-plus communities on ABC7.

(And don't forget to enter our "Decorating Can Be Murder" trivia contest for the chance to win two tickets to the DCBM party July 10 at Home Resource.)

3710 El Poinier Ct. #512

Sarasota’s Bertha Palmer Centennial revs up.

By Kim Cartlidge

                              Bertha Palmer. Photo: Sarasota County History Center 

Name a socially prominent art collector and entrepreneur who had a huge impact on Sarasota’s development. A historic figure who died owning nearly one-fourth of the land in the county--and who did not own a circus

A year from now, Linda Mansperger hopes Bertha Honore Palmer’s name and her story will be as familiar to residents here as that of circus magnate John Ringling. Mansperger is executive director of Historic Spanish Point, which was part of Palmer’s homestead in the early 1900s

Palmer was the Chicago socialite who married millionaire Potter Palmer at the age of 21. Yet in Sarasota as well as in Chicago, she was no lightweight, but an astute business woman and philanthropist who advocated for women before they could vote. 

Next year is the 100-year anniversary of Bertha Palmer’s arrival in Sarasota, and a high-profile steering committee is planning a year-long celebration of performances, lectures, exhibits and galas to honor her contributions. Sarasota County Commissioner Shannon Staub and Sarasota Mayor Dick Clapp are leading the steering committee, and Hans Johnsson is coordinating all the groups and logistics. It’s all still in the creative planning stages, so there’s time for community organizations and individuals to get involved

Palmer offers a great history lesson, especially for mothers, daughters and grandmothers who appreciate women who were ahead of their time. She left a mark that touches more of Sarasota than most of us realize

One of Palmer’s most powerful positions was that of chairwoman of the Columbian Exposition Board of Lady Managers for the Chicago World’s Fair in 1893, where she oversaw creation of a women’s pavilion to showcase women’s arts. She was a reformer and contemporary of Jane Addams who advocated on behalf of women and children in Chicago. As an art collector, she especially admired the impressionists such as Monet, Degas and Renoir, and her collection is now housed at the Art Institute of Chicago.

In Sarasota, she first visited in 1910 as a widow and purchased tracts of land for her winter estate, which grew to include ranches and orange groves; some of her property was donated to become today’s Myakka State Park. From the time she was widowed in 1902 to the time of her death in 1918, she is said to have doubled the value of her husband’s estate to nearly $16 million

Last month, the Chicago History Museum opened an exhibit in honor of Palmer’s 160^th birthday. Next year, Sarasota will claim her as a pioneer who embodied the spirit of many who followed her—a wealthy, connected, driven, lover of the arts and the Florida landscape who could have lived anywhere but chose Sarasota.

By John Clark

                   The swollen river was no longer safe.

(30 May 2009, L5 Research Station, Kolombangara Island, Solomon Islands). Simon LaGassige was to join us for two days for the “attempt of the crater.” After eight years of working for KFPL, he decided this would be his time to see what was in there.

After much cajoling and prodding, the Forestry boys loaded up and were ready to go. Simon drove us up to the research station, the entrance into the forest.

Rain fell steadily as we began our trek into the forest. We hiked hard and fast. Cool air filled my lungs as we walked, and the hike was stimulating and enjoyable. The forest trails near the research station were easy walking, but we soon came to a steep, muddy slope that became more difficult. Derol, Simon and I continued on, but Peter and Gideon lagged behind. Concerned about the other two, Derol eventually waited behind as Simon and I made our way down into the ravine.

                   A human skull at a sacred site in the forest.

Along the way, we encountered another tabus site. This site was a shrine to a fallen man. His skull was displayed underneath a large flat stone. Apparently this was a common practice prior to the 20th century. I admired the site for a moment and then moved on.

Simon and I reached the bottom and rested by the river. It was the same river that we had explored three days earlier, although we were now much further upstream. Tired from the two-hour hike, we needed the rest along the bank. Rushing water lulled us both into a trance, and I found myself lost in thought for some time.

Twenty minutes later, Simon rustling about in the gravel stirred me from my trance. The others had still not joined us, and he was a little worried. We walked back to the trail and yelled for Derol. No response. Simon yelled again - still nothing. Gideon’s excesses may have got the better of him, and we worried that the trek may have been too much.

After about a half hour, the three men came lumbering down the trail. Gideon looked pale but was otherwise in one piece. We moved on, this time, traversing the river several times as we made our way towards camp.

Water in the river was fairly high, making several crossings difficult. The swift current had worn the huge boulders slick and hard to grip. Upstream, falling rain caused the river to further swell. Derol informed me that as long as the water remained clear, we would be okay. It was when it turned brown that the chance of flash flood would be high. I wondered how much warning we would have if it were to flood.

One particular crossing was extremely difficult. Derol went first, and the swiftly moving water went up to his chest. He powered through and safely made it to the other side. Gideon and Simon jumped in after, attempting to cross at what appeared to be a shallower spot. Simon lost his footing about half way and reached out to grab Gideon for help. They both nearly went under, and Simon lost his footing and was carried down stream. Stepping into the water as fast as I could, I grabbed Simon by the backpack. Gideon, anchored to a rock, now had a tenuous hold on Simon. The three of us struggled to remain steadfast. Peter, too, rushed in and steadied Simon. The four of us then gingerly made our way to the other side, soaking wet and tired, but otherwise unharmed.

Simon looked me in the eyes, and we both smiled. That was a bit of adventure, I thought.

We reached camp about an hour later. The river, now brown and frothing, had swollen remarkably. It was obviously no longer safe to travel along the river so we decided to stay put in for the night.

Despite his mishap in the river, Simon helped set up camp quickly and efficiently.

Rain came down hard as we conducted the miserable affair of setting up camp. With standing water everywhere, it was impossible to keep anything dry. Somehow Derol managed to start a fire, a pretty amazing feat in my book, and he gathered the pot and prepared to make some rice. Peter went into survival mode and began making a pole frame over which to hang a tarp. The skill with which these men mastered the forest was amazing. In no time at all, shelters were set up, a fire was made and rice was cooking.

That evening, I crawled into my tent and changed into a dry shirt and pants. My sleeping bag was warm and cozy and I tried not to think about too much. I just wanted to enjoy the tent and dryness once again and squelched the worries of the harsh conditions we faced ahead. The rain pattered on the fly and I could hear the strong river raging nearby. I fell asleep quickly and slept rather soundly through the night

Day three on Kolombangara.

By John Clark

                               A tabus, or sacred space, where human sacrifices

                               may have been performed.

(28 May 2009, Ringgi, Kolombangara Island, Solomon Islands). Gideon decided at the last minute that he had to go to Gizo for the day. There was apparently a boat going there that would be returning in the afternoon. I bid him farewell and went down to the KFPL offices to begin the day.

Vaeno, after hearing that Gideon would not be with us, generously supplied me with another man for the day, Grayton Saghelama. Derol, Grayton, Peter and I loaded into the Toyota Hylux and hit the road around 8:00 a.m. We were headed to the northeast side of the island to survey another wilderness corridor.

The trip took about an hour along the winding perimeter road. I enjoyed driving the truck, and the bumpy, rugged road was a fun challenge to navigate. My passengers seemed fine with the ride and casually looked out the windows and chatted in Pidgin.

We arrived at the site just after nine and I parked the truck along a steep, open ridge. The area had been logged in the last year or two, and it was open and overrun with weeds.

As always, Derol set off out in front. Grayton followed and Peter joined in after that. I brought up the rear for a time. We walked down a winding ridge, then entered thicker forest along a small river. There was a water intake that presumably led to the nearby village. Rocks had been neatly stacked to channel the water towards the intake and the narrow, 3-inch pipes were protected from debris by chicken wire. We crossed over the river and proceeded up the trail.

                                  The forest was drier on this part of the island.

The forest vegetation along this side of the island was noticeably drier, and the understory was sparser. The area also appeared to be second growth, and probably had been cleared by fire in the recent past.

Peter, ahead of me was struggling. He stopped frequently and gasped for air. After about a half an hour, I chose to pass him and continued on up the trail. I looked back once before making a turn in the trail. Peter had not continued after me.

Derol and Grayton walked on up ahead and I followed closely. The forest was a pleasant change from the dense, mosquito-infested trail of the day before. It was hot, for sure, but the openness of the forest made for an enjoyable trek.

After about 45 minutes hiking, we reached a small clearing and decided to take a break. There was no sign of Peter. We waited for about 10 minutes and then I asked Grayton to go see if he could find him. Grayton returned about 20 minutes later. Peter was not feeling well and had decided to return to the river and wait for us.

Derol, Grayton and I proceeded up the trail. We came across a tabus, or sacred, site. The site was a collection of large river stones that had been carried up from the river below, maybe 3 km from their origin. Arranged in upright positions, the stones were massive, weighing hundreds of kilograms each. Near the center of the site was a large, flat stone. Derol claimed the stone was used for sacrifices. Derol and Grayton cleared vines and other debris from the stones so that we could have a better look. It was an impressive thought that humans may have been ritualistically killed near where I was standing. We looked around the area for a while and I snapped a few shots.

Not long after, we decided to have some lunch. We sat along a pleasant ridge, and a cool breeze was blowing. Both Derol and Grayton spoke very good English, and they each had interesting stories to tell. They were also interested in my research and why I had come all of the way to the Solomon Islands. It was encouraging to have such an engaged and engaging pair along for the hike, and I very much enjoyed the conversation.

Back at the river, we joined up with Peter, who had apparently recovered from whatever ailed him earlier. The four of us climbed into the truck and we returned to KFPL in Ringgi.

Gideon was waiting for us when we arrived back at the guesthouse. He had made it to and from Gizo in one piece. While I sorted my collections and had a little dinner, Peter and Gideon went off to have a few beers. A “few” for them turned into many and the drinking continued on into the next day.

                   Perfect scallops on the Savor Sarasota menu at Mattison's.

Select three of the many restaurants that are participating in Savor Sarasota. Try their special menus and blog about them. And so, my assignment begins.

Pattigeorge’s- (Friday Night)

                             Our buddy, Gary, dives into Mattison's pot roast.

If our first experience is a glimpse of the rest of the week, we are in for an extremely flavorful assignment. Mattison’s Forty- One hit a homerun for us. The menu is creative and abundant in choices. For appetizers we chose the fried artichoke hearts with tomato, lemon and caper butter, sprinkled with Parmesan, and slow roasted duck spring rolls. Both cooked well, not the least bit greasy and a nice portion for beginning the meal.  For my entrée, I went with the server’s recommendation of jumbo sea scallops over pancetta and sweet pea risotto with smoked tomato coulis. Talk about savor! The scallops were cooked perfectly and the pancetta added a salty balance with the smokiness of the coulis. Cajun lime blackened mahi mahi with tropical fruit macedoine and citrus beurre blanc was our second entrée choice. A well-balanced dish. The fish was moist and blackening seasoning not overpowering. Both dishes were plated beautifully.  Dessert was nice, but the wildflower honey just a tad bit overwhelming for the croissant bread pudding. That’s not to say my dinner guest did not clean his plate!

(27 May 2009, Ringgi, Kolombangara Island, Solomon Islands). Woke at about 5:00 a.m. and I felt a bit off. Strange dreams the night before left me sad and homesick. I couldn’t remain still any longer and decided to rise early and face the day.

Darkness filled the room and I blindly searched the floor near my bed, feeling around for my headlamp. KFPL shuts the power off every night at 9:30 p.m. and it remains off until 6:30 a.m. I turned the lamp on and placed it on my head. The light seemed bright to my tired eyes. I walked outside and around the building to the toilet. The air was damp and cool from the rains, but it had stopped pouring sometime through the night.

At the sink outside, I splashed some water on my face and then stumbled to the kitchen to put a pot on for some tea. The matchbox near the gas burner was empty so I returned to my room to look for a new box. After what seemed like several minutes of searching, I located the matches that I had stashed in my bag of toiletries. Constantly going through all of my gear for the smallest thing was getting old; my patience was thin, and I grumbled to myself about my own forgetfulness. Tea was the answer, or at least it was a diversion. I returned to the kitchen, struck a match, and touched it to the gas stream emanating from the burner. With a small puff, the gas ignited as blue flames began to dance. I placed the teakettle on the stove and leaned back against a table, still trying to collect my mind after the fitful dreams.

The smell of the match and the ignition of the gas were pleasant smells to me. They reminded me of my grandmother’s kitchen, the first house I remember having a gas kitchen stove. The smells also reminded me of camping, from the times the family gathered around Dad’s Coleman camp stove to my own early days of backpacking and using a small white gas burner.

The sun was soon up, and the power back on, so I returned to my room and readied myself for the day.

Vehicles were at a premium that day, so Vaeno’s brother, Grey, dropped us off at the entrance to the field site. We arrived at around 9:00 a.m. Grey said he would be waiting for us at a site down river from where we would enter. We jumped out of the truck and quickly crossed the threshold into the dense forest.

It was dark and wet and warm. The elevation was only about 300 meters and mosquitoes and flies swarmed about. I hurried through the understory, trying to keep up with Derol’s quick pace. Spider webs were everywhere, and I continually brushed them from my face, swatting at the bugs and wiping sweat from my brow.

The path we took rapidly led into a narrow, debris-filled gorge. Derol hacked through the brush and rotting logs as we descended further into the darkness of the forest understory. Our progess slowed as the brush grew thicker and thicker. Pools of water in the gorge breed the swarms of mosquitoes and biting insects that plagued every respite. Every moment we delayed, I was swarmed by the little demons that exploited any exposed skin. We trudged on, hoping for a clearing soon.

By mid morning, I was covered in dirt, rotten plants and cobwebs. My eyes stung from the sweat and dirt, and my forehead itched from the mosquito bites. Just when I thought my uncomfortable suffering could not get any worse, a deep burning sensation began on the back of my neck. Somewhere along the trek I had rubbed up against a stinging nettles tree and my flesh was beginning to burn. The pain soon became intense and I wiped at the area, trying to remove any leaves or debris that may have remained. The effort was in vain, as the burning sensation only increased. I struggled to ignore it and slogged onward, across the difficult terrain.

                             The river was a welcome sight.

The gorge finally opened up into a shallow river ravine. Cool air wafted up from the flowing water and I rushed over to it in search of relief. With my hands, I splashed water onto my face and neck. The nettle burn soon subsided, and I cooled from the challenging hike. Calmed, I looked around and took in the beauty of the forest. 

Tall trees with buttressed roots rose from the forest floor. Gigantic ferns filled the understory, and long aroids and other vines hung from the canopy above. The river itself was striking. Clear, sparkling water rushed past polished boulders, some as large as a car. A beautiful swath of sky could be seen above, and huge cumulus clouds drifted past.

We continued our travel upstream. The plant diversity in the area was noteworthy, but I did not see any new cyrtandras. Nonetheless, I surveyed the area well and made notes on various plants and features, notes that I would later use for a summary report to be submitted to KFPL.

                    A remnant of a WWI aircraft in the river.

Derol spotted a large piece of metal protruding from the rocks in the river. It was a piece from a downed WWII aircraft, presumably American. I admired how new the aluminum looked, barely weathered after 60 years. A chunk of attached steel, rusted and worn, was the only sign of the piece’s true age. Derol claimed that more and larger war relics could be seen all along the river.

There were no markings or writing on the piece, but I took detailed photographs of the nuts and bolts and the patterns in the aluminum and steel. I wondered what had happened to the aircraft and to the pilot or crew. The others seemed a little ambivalent, perhaps because they had seen similar things their whole life, or perhaps because it was a piece from my world, not theirs.

I stared at the hunk of metal for a while. I imagined what it must have been like to be shot down over such a remote and rugged tropical island. Had people survived the wreck? If so, had they been injured? How would they make it out of this forest without aid? Troubling thoughts, to be sure. I left the piece alone and wandered back down the river, following the others.

The afternoon was upon us, and we had to make it back to the pick-up site. Derol rushed on and I followed. My legs had become stronger over the last few weeks and I could tell my footing was surer. I had been conditioning myself for jungle life and it was now starting to pay off. On the other hand, Gideon and Peter seemed to be fading fast in the afternoons. No betel, perhaps. Perhaps it was due to working every day. Either way, they nearly slowed to a halt on the way out. I marched on, passing them both as they  struggled with the route.

Derol and I made it to the top, and Grey was there, waiting for us as planned. The Forestry boys soon emerged from the forest and we all traveled back to town in the KFPL truck.

It rained again that afternoon, and the forestry boys napped in their room. I got cleaned up and processed the plants from the day. I also sorted some of my recent photographs and imported them into a PowerPoint presentation. Later that evening, Simmon Lagassige, General Manager at KFPL, took me up to the Research Station to meet Chris Filardi, Albert Uy and the students from Syracuse University. I gave the presentation to the students and then had a great conversation with everyone. Chris and Al were both bird biologists, so we talked at length about plant-animal interactions and pollinators. The potential to do more work in Kolombangara was great; and as I left, I was looking forward to collecting more data.

Back at the guesthouse, I mentioned to Gideon and Peter that we would be working again the next day, but would have a rest on Friday. Saturday we would be embarking into the crater for four days, and all would need ample rest before the big bushwalk. They seemed excited about the prospects of a day off and I hoped it would be enough to keep them going.

___