OurGoods

ROUNDS AND ROSES

by Emcee C.M., Master of None

On Saturday a few of us got together and sang some rounds. It was just so lovely to sing and do your part and hear others simultaneously doing their parts. Rounds are an interesting form. As Laura explained to us, they are usually composed of only one chord, so when people sing different notes because of the overlapping lines of text, they always combine to form different variations of the chord. So you get to be an individual and yet lend your voice to something greater than the sum of the parts. Like democracy! or something. We even went for a delightful wintry walk caroling through the Lower East Side to visit Anne’s friend Brendan. We stood inside a round metal circle and sang a round with him.

Rounds we sang:

Row row row your boat
Gently down the stream
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
Life is but a dream
*
Frère Jacques, frère Jacques,
Dormez-vous? Dormez-vous?
Sonnez les matines! Sonnez les matines!
Din, dan, don. Din, dan, don.
*
Oh how lovely is the evening,
is the evening
When the bells are sweetly ringing,
sweetly ringing
Ding, Dong, Ding, Dong, Ding, Dong
*
I canna zumba zumba zaya,
I canna zumba zumba zee
I canna zumba zumba zaya,
I canna zumba zumba zee
There she is the zulu warrior,
there she is the zulu chief,
chief chief chief chief chief chief chief
*
Hey ho nobody’s home
No mean, nor drink, nor money have I none
Still I will be merry
Hey ho, nobody’s home

Soul cakes, soul cakes
Please good mama a soul cake
An apple a plum a peach or a cherry
Any good thing to make us all merry

Rose, Rose, Rose, Rose
Will I ever see thee red?
I will marry at thy will, sire,
At thy will.

Oh poor bird
Take thy flight
High above the sorrows
Of this sad night

Hey yanna, ho yanna, hey yanna
Hey yanna, ho yanna, hey yanna


Later in the evening, some more people joined us for a foraging walk to collect rose hips and make syrup from them. The walk was great fun. About twelve of us were collecting together, a mad band of strange folk along the median on Houston Street, east of Norfolk Street, with the traffic whizzing by at terrific speeds. It was dark by this time, and very cold, and many of the hips in this particular area were a little past their prime. But we got a colander full of hips between us all.

Back at the classroom, we made our syrup while people told stories about being wild, or being close to the wild things of the world, or about complexities found in sharing public space. Kristine told us about being stranded on a cliff face while climbing, and finding herself about a meter away from a swooping hawk. As she told it I could almost see its talons flashing. Then Bill told us about the time he was camping on an island and came back to find his entire tent underwater. And the icing on the cake was the wild ponies chewing on his feet the next night, once they had moved to higher ground.
Laura had some observations about the architecture at the University of Virginia. Some of the dorms are on a grand central area designed by Thomas Jefferson to be a very public, social space. The students living in them see them as a private space, of course, but at times their public function trumps the private needs of the residents. For example when there is a football game this area is tailgate central and all the dorms are open to the public. Also when tour groups come through the school they feel like actors in a period reenactment of sorts. This is sort of the reverse of the general New York City business practice of using the sidewalk and the street as an extension of the workplace (e.g., notably, in the case of auto repair shops).
Jason and Natasha told about a pigeon named “One,” who they lived with for two months while he grew his flight feathers back. One had the run of the apartment, but he liked to hang out in the bathroom especially. They learned how to care for him through internet research about people going through similar experiences. One taught Jason and Natasha to recognize the different personalities that individual pigeons have, and to tolerate them as our urban neighbors. He also taught them (through their observations) about how feathers grow (the central sheaf first), and about how one gradually can relearn to fly… Maybe we people can too? Anna told about sleeping in a village hut, also in Africa, huddling in a big bed with all the children of the family and also the goat kids and lambs. When they woke up the goats were nibbling on their toes.
Chrissy retold this amazing story that happened to her brother in Zambia where he was helping local farmers build sustainable fisheries:
One day after helping dig ditches till sunset, Harvey had spent the night at one of the farmers homes, sleeping on a mat on the floor. Not having the best night’s sleep, he got up tired and achy and started the 30 kilometer bike ride back to his village. It was June and it was cold. He crested one hill and started down a larger one. He coasted down a long dirt road with the high grasses of the dry season on either side and was going really fast. Groggy, his heavy-lidded eyes spotted a dusty black swirl of a snake in his path, only 10 swiftly approaching feet away. This spitting cobra, all 7 feet in coils, had been sunning. Without enough time and with too much speed to swerve, Harv lifted his legs up as he thumped over the rubbery flesh. The snake struck at him, hitting the crank of his bike. Harvey kept moving and clenched the handlebars trying to keep his bike within his control as he wobbled. When he turned around the cobra was right behind him, 6 feet of it was in the air and 1 foot moved quickly over the dirt path. Harvey pedaled like mad and within 30 feet the cobra gave up the chase and took a hard left into the tall grasses. The cold of the morning could have saved Harvey because it slowed the cobra. Or maybe the bike. Spitting cobras spray their venom in geometric patterns that can reach as far as two meters. The venom is harmless against skin but can cause permanent blindness if it reaches the eye and goes untreated. The cobra is very good at knowing how to get at the eyes of most creatures; but creature and machine was most likely disorienting to this one.
That’s all the stories I remember. Here’s the story with rose hips…

A COMMON RESOURCE: Roses.

Roses are one of the most common ornamental plants in New York City. They are planted all along the medians of the West Side Highway, and in many other areas.

Both the fruits and flowers of roses are edible. The flower petals can be included in salads or candied. The fruit (rose hips) can be eaten raw as a tasty nibble, or cooked down to make syrup or jam, or dried and used for tea.

Ornamental plants in New York City may be sprayed with pesticides and fungicides. Of course many commercially produced vegetables are also sprayed. If you are scrupulous about these things, baking soda and vinegar are recommended for cleaning vegetables before eating.

Rose petals are available during the summer and fall. Rose hips are available year round. They are thought of as a wilderness survival food often, because they stay on the rose bushes through the winter.

Example locations (as of January 27, 2010):
All over medians on Houston Street east of Broadway.
Cadman Plaza near Brooklyn Borough Hall.
West Side Highway from Canal Street to Chelsea.

Technique: collect hips before they dry out if using for syrup. A good mix of very firm and somewhat softer hips is a good idea. The firm ones have more pectin, the softer ones have more flavor.

If people ask what you’re doing, just tell them. You are sharing in a common resource, effectively reclaiming restricted, codified, enclosed public space for shared, common use. Think of it as stewardship, or pruning, if you like. You are participating in a close, local human relationship to nature. In a word, you are commoning.

Recipe: Rose Hip Syrup/Jam

Wash your harvest in cold water (mix in vinegar or baking soda if you like for extra cleaning power). Put rose hips in a wide pan and add just a small amount of water to keep them from burning. Cook over medium heat for several minutes to soften them and release the juices. When soft, rub them through a screen or sieve. The goal is to keep the pulp and the juice, which you want to use, and to separate out the seeds. You can use your hands for this or a wooden spoon or whatever you have.

Now take the pulp/juice mixture and measure it. Add ¾ cup of sugar for each cup of rose hip. Bring to a rapid steady boil, stirring occasionally to prevent sticking. Use a candy thermometer to check for doneness. It should reach 220 degrees Fahrenheit. Alternatively you can take a spoonful out and put it on a plate in the freezer for a minute or two and see if how it firms up. As it boils down it should become less liquid and more thick, like a syrup.

To make it really gel you can add commercial pectin or mix in a pectin-rich fruit, such as crabapples (also widely available as an ornamental plant in NYC), or apples, or grapes. Rose hips will not gel firmly on their own. But keeping it pure rose hips as a thick honey-like syrup has always been satisfactory for me personally.

Hear “Wild Story” and “Hey Ho Yanna Poor Bird” MP3’s.

I asked Emcee C.M., Master of None why he was interested in teaching at Trade School, and he said: “I’m interested in Trade School because it is an accessible, flexible venue that provides infrastructure for peer skill shares to take place. I also liked the idea of trying out working in a shared office space/meeting place with other creative types. I thought it might help motivate me to get more done each day. I’ve found it difficult to manage bouncing between this option and the other spaces I have access to during the month however, and it has contributed to me feeling more scattered at times. Perhaps if it was a permanent office space I would be more willing and able to integrate it into my life. As an event space I think it has been great. The street access, the Manhattan location, and the web interface are all great.”