The FDA is on a mission to redefine healthy, and they “want to get it right.” This undertaking stems in […]
Helen Atwater: The First Lady of American Nutrition You’ve Never Heard Of
When I was researching the history of American food guides, I came across one of the earliest resources, “How to […]
On Feeding My Husband with Cancer
I am both a historian of medicine and a practicing physician. This sometimes throws into sharp relief how different medicine […]
But It’s Vintage Lifestyle Change: Surveying the History of American Orthorexia with the Whole30
Before I go any further, let me make one thing perfectly clear: this article is about a diet. Yes, I […]
Making WIC Work
I can spot a WIC participant from three checkout lanes away. There is usually a growing line of unsuspecting shoppers […]
Don’t Eat That, Eat This: The Troubled History of Food Stamps and Nutrition
Lately, it seems like everywhere I turn I see discussions about how poor people use their money, how they should […]
The Nanny State on Your Plate?
In late November, the FDA finalized new rules for calorie counts on menus. In about a year, all food establishments […]
Parenting and Disordered Eating: How I am Trying to Break the Pattern
by Krista Heinitz
My blood pressure is amazing. My fridge and pantry are full of whole fruits and vegetables, whole wheats, and a very small amount of processed food. My family regularly hikes, camps, and actively adventures (whenever grad school isn’t consuming me). We are a healthy family. My body shows the after effects of childbirth — my stomach has some loose skin that sags and is rippled with stretch marks. Years of breastfeeding have changed the landscape of my breasts. All of these things, including my strong legs and back that carried my child, create a body I am proud of and happy to have. As I dig into rich, dark earth with my daughter so that we can sow beet seeds, I do not doubt that I am modeling and creating a healthy life for my child.
Frozen Pipes on the Prairie
By Carolyn Herbst Lewis
We don’t have water. The pipes running through our walls are dry. I discovered this situation nine mornings ago. I woke to visit Aunt Nellie, as my great aunt would say, and, after contemplating the meaning of life, I rose, I flushed, and I washed my hands. Except where water once flowed at my beck and call, now there was none. By the end of the day, the plumbers would deliver the verdict: no water was reaching our meter, and there was no break in any of the lines. After two bouts with the polar vortex, the temps of the previous few days, hovering right around the zero mark, had allowed the frost layer to reach deeper than it had ever been. Roughly three times deeper, in the estimation of the local farmers. Somewhere along the eighty feet of pipe running between our meter and the city main (most probably the section that had been repaired last summer and thus is now sitting in disturbed earth, but no one can say for sure without exploratory digging), there is a freeze. All we can do is hope for a thaw.
