Katherine Pioli fights fires in the summer, and travels the world and writes for CATALYST the rest of the year.
When I was young, Thanksgiving meant sparkling apple cider. It was the only time of year that I got to sit side by side with my parents and raise a toast with all the other adults, holding up a bubbling golden glass of sweet juice. It was so exciting. I had my very own special beverage, one that only came out during that time of year.
The ski film industry, in the last few years, has been reinventing itself. Gone are the days of 60-minute videos filled with nothing more than gnarly descents, boring bro bra interviews and standard, unimaginative camera work. Valhalla, the latest Sweetgrass production by director Nick Waggoner, with its narrative arc, perfectly framed shots and experimental cinematography, certainly does not stand alone in this age of big, better, prettier ski movies. It does, however, expand expectations of what a ski film can be.
This community was built with diversity in mind," says Lynda Angelastro, her face bright with pride. All around the room, the heads of her neighbors nod in agreement. There's Susan Stewart, a retired third-year resident, sunk deep in a cushioned chair. Hob Calhoun, a sixth year resident hailing from the East Coast, leans in the doorway. Vicky Wason and her teenage daughter Grace sit together on a couch. Lynda continues speaking for the group. "Our neighbors are Mormon and Unitarian. They are from Ghana, England, California, New England. You don't find that anywhere else in Salt Lake."
The women in my family are not plagued by breast cancer. I am not yet 30. I don't often think about my breasts and feel fearful. But an article last month in Orion, "Exposed: the mammogram myth and the pinkwashing of America," by Jennifer Lunden, got my attention. Lunden brought to light the failings of mammogram screenings – questioning the efficacy of the procedure based on, among other things, the rate of false diagnosis that led to unnecessary surgeries coupled with the rate of non-detected malignant tumors.
What's new around town.
—by Katherine Pioli
Before the well-known and respected Wasatch Community Gardens, which offers opportunities for people to learn about urban agriculture, there was Wasatch Fish and Gardens. For many of its founders—Patrick Poulin, Danny Potts, Nick Hershenow —the early-1980s project was inspired by their time in the Peace Corps, in places like Ecuador and Mali. The idea was service, to the community at large, but also and most importantly to Salt Lake’s refugees. Food was the key. There were gardens, just like today, but there was also fish.
For those of you waiting for the news of our second hatching of goslings, we're sorry to say that the goslings never made it.
Three men hunch low to the ground examining something closely. "Western ragweed, 8%," says the white-haired man wearing a floppy fisherman's hat. "Cheatgrass, 5%; hound's tongue, 5%; whitetop 10%," he continues without hesitation. A young woman standing near the scrum scribbles furiously as the plant names are spoken. "Are we doing this in Latin or common names?" asks another of the men. Latin is better, they decide and then move on, continuing with both common and Latin names.
The goslings are growing bigger every day. We haven’t named them yet, though I have suggested calling them “Thanksgiving” and “Christmas.” Dorothy the hen is doing a great job of raising them. She sticks up for the little ones and flies in the face of the dogs or cat or geese when they get too near.
The city counted on creating an overwhelming environment to get what they wanted. We warned them. We told them that we would fight every step of the way," an impassioned Jeff Salt told me during a recent phone interview. The topic of our conversation was one that most Salt Lake citizens forgot about long ago, though it still affects every Salt Lake resident: the battle over the Jordan River soccer complex, as it has come to be known, and the $15.3 million bond citizens passed to pay for it a decade ago.