INTEROPERABLE 015 The Big Dig, Farm Dogs, and New Zealand Mountain Huts
Photo: Flowers on the streets of Valldemossa, Mallorca, photo by the author.
Bonjour, hola, and hello dear INTEROPERABLE readers. Welcome to another interstitial edition of this intermittent publication. Thank you for being here!
The Big Dig (Podcast) "There is a cynicism that hangs over the topic of American infrastructure — whether it’s high-speed rail or off-shore wind — it feels like this country can’t build big things anymore. No one project embodies that cynicism quite like Boston’s Big Dig. Infamous for its ever-increasing price tag, this massive highway tunnelling effort became a symbol of waste and corruption. Yet the project delivered on its promise to transform the city. So how did the narrative go so horribly wrong? And what lessons can the Big Dig offer for the ambitious projects of today?
Growing up in a household with a civil engineer, The Big Dig was always a topic that would come up occasionally. However, I had never gotten the whole story until I devoured this brilliantly produced podcast. So much so that I immediately listened to Mr. Coss's equally brain-tickling follow-up: Scratch & Win: the Unlikely Rise of America’s Most Successful Lottery
Time to start saving some coin for a hiking holiday in New Zealand.
Calum on Raasay (YouTube) is another young person trying to build a house—this time on the remote Scottish island of Raasay. I've previously written about Calum's main documentary channel (and misspelt Calum's name) in the 12th edition of INTEROPERABLE. Both are absolutely worth your time. If you have a rainy afternoon to fill, I recommend starting with "I want to build a house on a remote Scottish island" and working forward from there.
George Dunnett (YouTube), is also Scottish and renovating a property. Only this time with somehow ever-dryer humour and cute cats!
✷
American Names
The sharp names that never get fat,
The snakeskin-titles of mining-claims,
The plumed war-bonnet of Medicine Hat,
Tucson and Deadwood and Lost Mule Flat.
But the spoonbowl-metal is thin and worn,
There are English counties like hunting-tunes
Played on the keys of a postboy's horn,
But I will remember where I was born.
Little French Lick and Lundy's Lane,
The Yankee ships and the Yankee dates
And the bullet-towns of Calamity Jane.
I will remember Skunktown Plain.
And a rawhide quirt from Santa Cruz,
I will get me a bottle of Boston sea
And a blue-gum nigger to sing me blues.
I am tired of loving a foreign muse.
Senlis, Pisa, and Blindman's Oast,
It is a magic ghost you guard
But I am sick for a newer ghost,
Harrisburg, Spartanburg, Painted Post.
And Henry and John were always right?
Granted, but when it was time to go
And the tea and the laurels had stood all night,
Did they never watch for Nantucket Light?
I shall not lie easy at Winchelsea.
You may bury my body in Sussex grass,
You may bury my tongue at Champmedy.
I shall not be there. I shall rise and pass.
Bury my heart at Wounded Knee.
✷✷✷✷✷
✷✷✷✷✷
- always be free of charge.
- always be informational/educational by nature.
- always credit and link to sources to the best of the author's ability.
- never be auto-generated or contain AI (LLM) generated content aka slop¹.
- never contain any form of advertisement or undisclosed affiliate links.