Archives.3

Today I learned about the dissemination of sanitary knowledge

from

Rich, Edward D. 1913. “How to Construct a Sanitary Dry Earth Closet.” Lansing: Michigan State Board of Health.



These are plans for the construction of a dry earth closet, or, outhouse. By 1913 typhoid fever was considered to be the most inexcusable public health problem. An American city of 100,000 people spent on average 1/2 million dollars per year to treat the disease, which they knew could have been completely solved with the radically new, but simple infrastructural solution of bathroom sanitation. "Our cities have continued to poison themselves..." says Edward Rich, a sanitary engineer for the state of Michigan. "All germs of intestinal diseases, in order to produce infection, must reach us through the stomach and therefore pass in with the food and drink we swallow. The journey of the germ from the privy to the stomach may be made by one of two routes: First, through porous ground to the water supply and, second, on the body of the fly to unprotected food."

The innovations in the plan above are: screen sides and closing seat lids to keep out the flies; iron buckets at least 17 inches below the seat; and piles of dry loamy soil infused with lime chloride to pour on top of the contents of the bucket upon leaving the closet.

If this seems crude, don't bother going to one of the world's top-rated eco turismo hostels in Ecuador, named the Black Sheep Inn. Last September I stayed here and had the opportunity to use their composting bathrooms, as pictured here below.

Archives.2

Today I learned about cheap hotels.

Below is the Motel 6 where I'm staying in Lansing, MI.


When I arrived it was 34 degrees and sleeting.
Today it was 55 degrees and sunny.
Last night there were two Eaton County sheriff cars parked right here all night. I've already seen a DV (domestic violence) incident out in the parking lot, but I don't think the cops were here for them.
It makes me think of what it's like to be poor in a depressed state in a depressed economy.
At least I was smart (read: lucky) enough to get a GM rental car, so I don't feel outcasted too much.
In a couple weeks I'd like to take a trip to Detroit to observe and photograph the landscapes of a soon-to-be-post-industrial wasteland.
Don't worry I'll bring my S&W 357.

Below is one of Lansing's stalled development plots.
It reminds me of this passage from J.R.R. Tolkien's (1954) "The Two Towers," which I've been reading diligently in the evenings:
"[Gollum] led the way, and following him the hobbits climbed down into the gloom. It was not difficult, for the rift was at this point only some fifteen feet deep and about a dozen across." There was running water at the bottom: it was in fact the bed of one of the many small rivers that trickled down from the hills to feed the stagnant pools and mires beyond" (p. 252).

Archives.1

Today I learned how to cut up a hog.

Tuesday my return, and hopefully final, plunge into the archives began in the various holdings of Michigan State University in East Lansing. MSU is the epicenter for historical information about agriculture in Michigan, the focus of one of my dissertation chapters.
Archival research is slow and oppressive, sort of like holding your hand about a foot above a candle flame. At first it's barely noticeable and actually feels nice. Then you start tingling with doubt. Is this really a good idea? Am I actually going to be able to turn all of this random stuff into a coherent story about the geography of digestion? The candle is not too hot, I tell myself. I've been preparing for this moment of collection for years. My eyes and mind have been honed to sift out the worthless, and clasp the potentially relevant without remorse. By now this happens unconsciously, and I have to remind myself to trust myself all day. The candle will not burn my hand. After 7-8 hours of flame, I must stop. My mind is stretched and fogged like a swab of cotton candy on a hot day. My eyes are crossed. It takes an imperceptible but high amount of mental energy to enact the automatic sifter.
Occasionally when I decide that something is not worth looking at, I read it anyways. This is one of the guilty pleasures and secret perks of being a scholar who deals with printed materials. This is how I learned to cut up a hog.

The text below is from "The Michigan Farmer and State Journal of Agriculture" from January, 1891. It is housed in its original print format at the MSU Division of Special Collections.

Enjoy your own butchered hog!

(Simply click on each of these two images to enlarge them to a legible size.)

Swashbucklers

Today I learned about pirates in east Africa.

Langewiesche, William. 2009. The Pirate Latitudes. Vanity Fair, April.

This article was fun to read because it demonstrated the hollowing out of the nation-state's power, highlighting how point to point deals (e.g. ransom) often supersede the bureaucracy of state military. It also flirts with a whimsical take on the importance of food to the French, even when they're being sabotaged by pirates!