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.)
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.)
posted by Nick at
5:48 PM
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