It’s the time of year when mosquitos are hatching in preparation to swarm us, bite us, and make us itch. Mosquitos are and always have been not only an annoyance, but also a major health risk. Mosquitos spread diseases such as Yellow Fever, Malaria, and West Nile Virus that can result in death. Many natural products have been used to repel mosquitos with modest results such as citronella candles, smoke, and various plant extracts like eucalyptus oil. The real breakthrough in repellent, however, came from the invention of DEET.
DEET is a synthetic repellent invented by the U.S. Army for use by military personnel in insect-infected areas. Inventor Samuel Gertler of the U.S. Department of Agriculture received a patent in 1946 for using DEET as an insect repellent in the form of a cream, lotion, or powder. DEET was not registered for use by the general public until 1957.
Researchers at University of California Davis discovered that mosquitoes find the smell of DEET unappealing and consequently avoid areas that smell like DEET. Many companies have created an array of insect repellent products, including sprays, sunscreen, wipes, and sticks, containing varying concentrations of DEET. It is estimated that each year 78 million people in the US and 200 million people globally use DEET[i].
Although DEET is generally considered the best mosquito repellent on the market, it is not without concerns. Even though the EPA has determined that it is only “slightly toxic,” products containing DEET have been reported to cause rashes and there have been some cases of children becoming ill from its use[ii]. In extremely strong doses, it is capable of melting plastic and nylon.[iii] Additionally, DEET is expensive for people in places that need it most—such as Africa. The results of a 2010 study by researchers who identified some DEET-insensitive mosquitos are also of concern. They found that the gene adaptation that makes mosquitos insensitive can be passed on to the next mosquito generation.
But have hope! Inventing a more effective synthetic mosquito repellent may be on the horizon. Researchers at the University of California Riverside have identified the olfactory receptors mosquitos use to detect and dislike DEET. They have also identified three compounds in natural products that mimic DEET. The research team’s leader, Anandasankar Ray, said that the compounds they identified “are approved by the Food and Drug Administration for consumption as flavors or fragrances, and are already being used as flavoring agents in some foods. But now they can be applied to bed-nets, clothes, curtains—making them ward off insects.”[iv] “One of them is present in plum,” he says. “The other is present in orange and jasmine oil. Some of them are present in grapes. And, as you can imagine, they smell really nice.[v]”
Unfortunately, the commercial development and production of such DEET-mimicking repellents are still several years away. So it seems that the only comfort from mosquitoes I’ll receive this summer will come from the belief that the invention of an inexpensive, natural, and fully effective mosquito repellant will exist during my lifetime.
This is a guest post by Jennifer Brundage, a National Outreach Manager for Smithsonian Affiliations and a Lemelson Center Advisory Committee member.
Location, location, location. It’s important for real estate as we all know, but as I’m learning, also critical for innovation and invention.
The state of Colorado has no shortage of breathtaking, jaw-dropping locations. In my home state over the holidays, I rediscovered Golden, a town not only full of scenic vistas, but also packed with nuggets of invention. (Excuse the pun! I couldn’t help myself.)
A grand arch spanning the town’s main street welcomes all to Golden.
Golden (“Where the West Lives”!) is situated near the junction of I-70, the highway that leads straight to the Rocky Mountains and the ski resorts (and former mining towns) for which Colorado is so famous. It’s also only 15 miles west of Denver, enough to be close, but not too close, to major transportation lines. During the Gold Rush, Golden quickly became an ideal stopping point between the capital city and the mining industry. In fact, in 1858, David King Wall, Golden’s first resident, innovated a way to divert the pristine mountain water from Clear Creek to irrigate crops of vegetables, providing much-desired fresh produce for city dwellers and miners alike. The access to this same pure water also attracted Golden’s most famous resident, Adolph Coors in 1873. As thePlaces of Invention project repeatedly shows, when access to natural resources, business opportunities, and intellectual capital come together, they create a magnet for even more innovation over time. Golden is no exception. Soon, the Colorado School of Mines started attracting engineers to the town, and mountaineers discovered its benefits as well.
View of the Made in Golden exhibition, showing a diorama of the town from 1938-39, and a list of reasons why over 150 manufacturing businesses call Golden home.
This legacy of invention, stretching into the present day, is the subject of an enlightening exhibition currently on view at the Golden History Center, entitled Made in Golden. After establishing the primacy of location for this community, the exhibition describes how the Coors Brewery decided in the early 1950s that steel—the material chosen for selling beer in cans—was seriously flawed for a variety of reasons, including leakage, contaminants, cost, and most importantly, the unpleasant metallic taste it gave to beer. And so in 1959, Coors invented the two-piece aluminum can, revolutionizing the beverage industry. Coors continued to innovate, creating the internal coating, sterile-fill, and printing processes for aluminum cans that are still the industry standard.
Another view of the Made in Golden exhibition, showing various processes of innovation.
Access and proximity to the mountains also brought innovative adventurers to Golden. In 1981, Patrick Smith survived an avalanche in nearby Berthoud Pass, even though he left his specialized shovel (invented by fellow Golden resident Paul Ramer) in his car because it wouldn’t fit in his backpack. In response, he designed a new kind of pack around the dimensions of a Ramer shovel, and the firm Mountainsmith was born. Mountainsmith used a patented delta suspension system, and produced the best selling lumbar pack for close to ten years. In related gear innovation, climbers and mountaineers alike also flock to the Spyderco knives developed and still produced in Golden, with their trademark holes and pocket clips that make these necessary survival tools easy to carry.
Mountainsmith packs on view in Made in Golden.
Jolly Ranchers were developed in Golden, as a way for ice cream vendors Bill and Dorothy Harmsen to extend their season into the Colorado winter by making candy with best-selling names like Fire Stix. And with only four companies in the world producing low wattage lasers for commercial use, Golden boasts one of them, Epilog, who turned the industry on its head when it invented the first low-cost, small-format laser engraver. It’s like a printer, except instead of paper, one can print on glass, wood, metal, fabric… even eggs!
An Epilog laser-produced metal disk, each visitor’s souvenir from this innovation exhibition.
Golden is not the only place to uncover the state’s history of invention. The History Colorado Center (a Smithsonian Affiliate) chronicles innovations in mining, snow sports and more at its location in downtown Denver. (For example, did you know that the cheeseburger was invented in Denver?) The Lemelson Center’s Places of Invention exhibition already plans to highlight two Colorado stories when it opens in 2015. The Telluride Historical Museum (a Smithsonian Affiliate) will share how the Ames Hydroelectric Generating Plant built in 1891 was the world’s first commercial long distance transmission and use of AC generated power. This breakthrough was critical to operating the silver mines in the often inaccessible terrain of the San Juan mountains of southern Colorado, but also, transformed the industrial capacity of the nation. Fort Collins’ revolutionary inventions in clean energy and socially responsible innovation will be featured as well, showing that Colorado State University, the city, and community businesses actively pursue collaborations that result in local innovations with a global impact.
Another view of the Made in Golden exhibition, showing a lab for visitors to devise their own innovative solutions to city problems.
Colorado is a gold mine of invention, both historically and into the present day. I’m confident future prospecting trips will uncover even deeper veins of innovation. Any ideas on where else to look?!
We crowded together in the narrow passageway at the rear of the Medicine and Science collections storage area. Curator Judy Chelnick slowly opened a drawer in one of the gray metal cabinets and special guest Manny Villafaña’s eyes lit up. He exclaimed: “It’s like being a kid in a candy store!” Before him lay a group of small archival boxes nestled together, each holding a cardiac pacemaker or valve. Judy picked up items one by one for Manny to get a closer peek. She also showed him related objects in glass-fronted storage cabinets around the room. This was a highlight of Manny’s visit to the National Museum of American History in late March. He came to town in part to learn more about the Museum’s collections and why, how, and where we care for both three-dimensional objects and archival documents.
As he oohed and aahed about the array of medical collections, my colleague Chris Gauthier captured Manny’s expert commentary on video while I snapped photographs. Not only does Manny have great familiarity with these objects from his life-long career as an inventor and entrepreneur in the medical-device industry, but also he knows many of their inventors. For example, he had professional connections with the inventors behind two key artifacts for the Places of Invention exhibition’s “Medical Alley” story: a Medtronic 5800 externally wearable cardiac pacemaker and a Chardack-Greatbatch implantable pacemaker model.
Manny talked knowingly about the 5800, which was originally invented by Medtronic, Inc. co-founder Earl Bakken in 1957 and sold commercially starting in 1958 (thus the model number). Manny worked for Earl at Medtronic as its first international sales administrator before starting his first rival company, Cardiac Pacemakers Inc. At the latter, Manny worked closely with engineer Wilson Greatbatch, the inventor of the first successful implantable cardiac pacemaker named for him and surgeon William Chardack. The Chardack-Greatbatch pacemaker model dating from about 1961 has been in the Museum’s care for a long time. Medtronic recently donated the 5800 model dating from about 1972, along with two other recent cardiac pacemakers to help expand the medical sciences collections.
A Chardack-Greatbatch pacemaker.
As part of Manny’s behind-the-scenes tour, archivist Alison Oswald welcomed him to the Museum’s vault to show him a range of archival materials. She explained why we save certain items and how we care for them, from inventors’ notebooks to paper prototypes to marketing brochures. He was surprised about the Archives Center’s interest in collecting ephemera, which the Society of American Archivists defines as “Materials, usually printed documents, created for a specific, limited purpose, and generally designed to be discarded after use….Examples of ephemera include advertisements, tickets, brochures, and receipts.” It got him thinking about how seemingly unimportant papers he has squirreled away might be worth saving. Alison gave him a copy of our Modern Inventors Documentation (MIND) Program brochure to take home for further consideration.
While he was here, we filmed Manny as he shared great stories about his personal collection of pacemakers and heart valves, including some objects he brought along in his jacket pockets. He pulled out a real gem, St. Jude Medical bileaflet mechanical heart valve serial number 1—“the industry’s gold standard”—that he co-invented. (Be sure to watch the full video to see a later set of ATS heart valves, which he co-invented, used as cuff links!) Manny founded St. Jude Medical, Inc. in the 1970s and ATS Medical in the 1980s, and is now the CEO of his seventh company, Kips Bay Medical, Inc. In addition to the video footage of him discussing the Museum’s collections with Judy and talking about his own, I conducted a short video interview with Manny in the Lemelson Center. I asked him questions about his childhood and career, the history of the medical-device industry in Minnesota, and his relationships with some of the key Medical Alley pioneers like Bakken and Dr. C. Walton Lillehei, “the father of open-heart surgery.” Manny’s visit provided a wonderful opportunity to create video documentation to complement the Museum’s medical-device object and archival collections. We also look forward to featuring clips in the Places of Invention exhibition!
During the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries trade cards were commonly used to announce and advertise a company’s product or service. The cards, typically 2” x 4” or 3” x 5” in size were printed with images and other useful information about a specific item or service. Trade cards with enticing images lured in potential customers. Information about the product or service was printed on the back of the card. Many of the cards were chromolithographed, a popular printing process which used multiple lithographic stones. In this example from the Skandia Plow Company of Rockford, Illinois, an anthropomorphic apple wearing slippers was printed in bright yellow, orange, and blue tones. The eye-catching colorful image was intended to promote their iron lever harrow, patented in 1889, to would be plow buyers. An important piece of farm equipment, a harrow leveled the soil and prepared it for seeding. The apple, looking as tough as an iron plow in her rose colored ruffled skirt has her fist raised and is angry. Perhaps she thinks a Skandia harrow will level her apple orchard leaving no trees or worse, she’ll be made into apple sauce. Buy a Skandia plow or else! As the apple shuffles along you can hear her shout the refrain :
The plowman homeward plods his weary way.
Surprising all at tea, with what he has to say
About his troubles with his old inferior plow;
And wondering where he’ll get a better now.
He goes to town and sees across the street,
A sign that dazzles every eye it meets.
He staggers in, and buys himself a Skandia plow,
That somehow tells him, “He’ll be happy now.”
This is a guest post by Joan Boudreau, Curator, Graphic Arts Collection, National Museum of American History.
2014 marks the 150th anniversary of the granting of U.S. patent number 43649, to John Joseph Charles Smith for a “machine for cutting printers type.” Smith’s patent drawing and model offer a view of the invention for his type-cutting machine. The machine sawed individual letters from cast-metal strips. The strips could be made by Smith’s companion invention of the same date, U.S. patent number 43648.
The three-dimensional patent model (measuring approximately 4″x10″x13″) resides in the Graphic Arts Collection at the National Museum of American History alongside some 400 other patent models relating to the printing trade. These patent models have been a part of the national collections since the early 20th century.
Smith’s model is one of 31 patent models recently surveyed for their conservation and preservation treatment needs, thanks to a small “Staff Projects” funding grant from the Lemelson Center for the Study of Invention and Innovation. These small internal grants fund museum work related to invention and innovation at the National Museum of American History and around the Smithsonian.
During the last several years, staff at the Museum have been preparing to load information and photographs of the hundreds of graphic arts-related patent models to the web. (View our work here.) It became clear during this process that a small number of models, which had not seen much use (i.e. for research or display) in the last few decades, were in need of conservation treatment, mostly because of ferrous metal corrosion (or rust, in non-technical terms).
The Staff Projects grant from the Lemelson Center, as well as assistance from the Museum’s Preservation Services team, allowed for the hiring of a conservation specialist who inspected the models needing attention and prepared an in-depth report. The report included treatment needs and a conservator’s time requirements for each model. Now, armed with this important information, we are able to better understand the funds required to actually treat the models, preserving them to a stable condition. We will soon be out applying for grants and seeking other types of funding.
The conservation of objects relating to our American national heritage, including the history of American technology, is good museum practice, and, in fact, one of the missions of the Smithsonian—preserving our nation’s heritage for future generations. The patent models in the Graphic Arts Collection are unique, three-dimensional representations of inventions that factored into the United States’ place of dominance during the Industrial Revolution, which emphasizes the importance of their preservation.
Over 200,000 inventions were patented between the years 1790 and 1880, the period when parent models were a requirement of the patent application process. Some of the inventions and inventors of the first half of the 19th century are represented in a painting commissioned in 1857 entitled “Men of Progress” by Christian Schussele. The painting, a Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery holding, depicts an imaginary gathering of successful inventors—Cyrus McCormick, Charles Goodyear, Samuel Colt, Samuel Morse, Elias Howe, Richard M. Hoe (representing the printing trade), and thirteen others—thought to have “altered the course of contemporary civilization.” The painting, also depicting representative patent models, applauds these men and their contributions to the fields of agriculture, armaments, communications, energy, engineering, medicine, textiles, and transportation.
“Men of Progress” speaks to the depth and breadth of American inventiveness, and to the central role invention and innovation play in the history of the United States. The existence of our patent system is representative of the intellectual property protections offered by the U.S. government, a response to the concept of equal freedoms for all.
Very few patented inventions ever become successful in the marketplace, for a variety of reasons. It is not immediately clear whether John Joseph Charles Smith’s type-cutting invention was ever even manufactured. But we can say that the patent model represents just one of Smith’s many patented inventions (overall, according to Smith’s 1914 obituary in The New York Times, he had been granted 60 U.S. and foreign patents), and more broadly the thousands of inventions patented between 1790 and 1880.
The patent models in the Graphic Arts Collection represent only four percent of the some 10,000 models in the Museum’s collections transferred to the Smithsonian from the U.S. Patent Office in 1908 and 1926. The models reside in various collections at the Museum, in accordance with the subject interests of our different curatorial units. Today you can view about ten percent of the patent model collections online, and patent models dating from 1836 to 1880 are listed in a two volume publication prepared by Barbara Janssen. (Volume 1, Volume 2.)
Richard M. Hoe is depicted in the painting “Men of Progress.” This is a patent model of his flatbed cylinder press dated 1844.
Each of these patent models has a story to tell. Some, like those representing the works of John Joseph Charles Smith, can be told in connection with each other; many more represent the only patented invention of an individual. The Museum’s collection of patent models offers an endless repository of yet-untold stories of American technological history.
“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” Thus pronounced Sir Arthur C. Clarke, the prophetic author of 2001: A Space Odyssey and many other science fiction classics, in his “Third Law” of 1973. The connection between technology and magic can be traced back even farther than the 19th century, when electrical inventors Thomas Edison and Nikola Tesla were popularly known as wizards—a label that neither apparently tried to shed. In the era of Edison and Tesla, magic was part of the mystique of invention, and, frankly, an effective marketing strategy. Both electrical inventors were self-promoters fixated on reputation and market share.
The cover of The Daily Graphic of New York, 9 July 1879, pronounced Edison a “wizard.” SI negative #80-18655
Sir Arthur’s statement prompted me to reflect on if, and how much, times have changed. It seems to me that we are thoroughly accustomed and adapted to today’s electrical devices that have transformed our public and personal lives. They no longer astonish. Yet these gadgets are more powerful, mysterious, and “magical,” than ever. Their inner workings are infinitely miniaturized and shrouded in impenetrable disposable boxes. We are increasingly reliant on latter-day magicians, a priesthood of technicians, to mediate between them and us.
Of all the devices that surround us, the cell phone may qualify as the most magical. Yet, unlike other disruptive technologies—the telegraph, telephone, and light bulb—few people are familiar with the name of its inventor, Martin “Marty” Cooper. I had the privilege of interviewing him in a public forum last month. (Watch the interview on C-SPAN3).
The author (left) interviews cell phone inventor Martin Cooper. Photo by Chris Gauthier.
While working at Motorola, Cooper introduced the public to the first true cell phone in 1973 (the year that Clarke handed down his Third Law), and brought forth what is surely the most ubiquitous technology on the planet. It is estimated that the number of cell phones in use in 2014 will actually exceed the world population of seven billion. A game-changing technology by any measure, it has become the continually-evolving platform for a dizzying array of novel devices whose social impacts are incalculable. We humans are the ultimate social animals and, for good or ill, the cell phone is the perfect tool for addressing our social needs—and neediness.
Yet Marty Cooper refuses to mystify himself or his amazing accomplishment. One of the most down-to-earth people I have ever met, the trim white-haired Cooper is above all a teacher, devoted to building bridges between the public and technology.
During our interview last month, I asked Cooper about his “Eureka moment” in the discovery of the cell phone. He immediately rejoined that there never was such a moment—and added that I should not have expected one. Like almost all major inventions, he said, the cell phone was the culmination of many small, often anonymous improvements made over a long period. He gave ample credit to his coworkers at Motorola as well as to other engineers, and stressed that he never came forth with the mythical “Aha!” It was not magic, but plain hard work. The greatest challenge was reducing the size of the phone, called the Dyna-TAC, from the size of a brick (hence, the nickname) weighing 2.5 pounds. Even after the major breakthrough of the invention of the integrated circuit, shrinking the handset was a long, hard slog.
Two early Motorola “brick” phones and an early flip phone. Photo by Chris Gauthier.
Well, what about your April 3, 1973, public demonstration of the first cell phone in New York City, I asked? Was it anything like Samuel Morse’s first telegraph message, “What hath God wrought?” a line borrowed from the Bible. No, his was hardly a mystical moment, Cooper remembered. He made the call not to a colleague, but to Joel Engel, his rival at AT&T, who was then working on a cellular car phone. Known for his puckish sense of humor, Marty said: “Joel, I’m calling you from a cellular phone, a real cellular phone, a handheld, portable, real cellular phone,” making sure that Engel got the point.
Another major thing Cooper wanted us to know is that a cell phone is not a phone at all. Unlike illusionists who try to distract our gaze when they perform their tricks, he pointed out exactly where we should look. He explained that the cell phone is a special kind of radio, tracing its lineage not to Bell but to radio pioneer Guglielmo Marconi (that’s why the sound you hear when you first turn on your handset isn’t the once-familiar dial tone but the hiss of radio static.) As a communications engineer, this is a lineage that he is clearly proud of.
As for his greatest accomplishment, Cooper is quoted as saying the “personal telephone [is] something that would represent an individual, so you could assign a number not to a place, not to a desk, not to a home, but to a person.” The capability of calling an individual rather than a place, he insists, was the real value of his technical breakthrough. AT&T was focused on the car phone—place, not person. Told repeatedly that the personal cell phone was impossible, Cooper prides himself on his perseverance and faith in himself. No surprise then that he puts great stock in the cell phone as an agent of human individuality in our mass culture. That is its essence and true magic.
Cooper holds up his invention. Photo by Chris Gauthier.
In May, the Lemelson Center will join with Smithsonian Magazine and the Arthur C. Clarke Center for Human Imagination to explore themes of invention both magical and factual. The 2014 “The Future Is Here” festival will focus on “Science Meets Science Fiction: Imagination, Inspiration, and Invention.” We are inviting the public to explore with us the tantalizing realm where the real, the imagined, and the illusory meet, if not in the “Twilight Zone,” at least in the same neighborhood. “Science Meets Science Fiction” will open new vistas on society’s future by highlighting the visionaries in science, invention, and science fiction who epitomize human imagination and creativity. We invite you to join us. But we’ll ask you to silence your cell phones.
As I sliced into a perfectly ripe, farm-fresh, red tomato, thoughts of a hot summer day flashed in my head. To me, there is nothing more satisfying than a juicy, salty, sweet tomato when the August sun is high in a cloudless sky. But it was late May, the temperature was a cool 45 degrees, and this wasn’t a typical tomato. It was grown during the coldest months of winter on a windswept peninsula off the coast of Maine, and it wasn’t grown using pesticides or chemical fertilizers. And guess what? It tasted absolutely divine.
Tomatoes just like these German Johnsons can be grown year-round in an unheated greenhouse. Photo courtesy of Johnny’s Selected Seeds.
“I’ve always been fascinated by the word ‘impossible,’” says Eliot Coleman, the pioneer farmer behind this tomato. It’s a fascination that has lead Coleman to invent, create, and innovate tools and techniques that have taken on the “impossible” in organic farming. His innovations have been instrumental in changing the way people grow food through the coldest winter months. Indeed, without Coleman, the White House probably wouldn’t be growing greens in December.
American consumers’ eating habits are changing, and the latest iteration of the US Department of Agriculture’s Farm Bill reflects that. It’s considered to be one of the most progressive farm bills to come out of Washington in decades. With significant growth in spending on local and regional food systems (from $10 million annually to $30 million), and a new emphasis on organic foods, the 2014 Farm Bill—signed by President Obama in February—goes a long way to supporting the small farmer. Many of the ideas proposed in the bill find their roots in the early organic revolution of the 1960s, which was lead, in part, by Eliot Coleman.
As the son of a Manhattan stockbroker, Coleman came to farming by happenstance. After graduate school in Vermont, he found himself teaching Spanish at a college in New Hampshire, where he met his first wife, Sue. One day while shopping in a general store, Eliot came across the book, “Living the Good Life,” by Helen and Scott Nearing. Struck by the Nearing’s experience living “off the grid” in mid-coast Maine, Coleman was inspired to seek out a similar adventure of his own. He and Sue left New Hampshire in 1968 with $5000 in savings and bought a piece of property from the Nearings in Harborside, Maine. There, with not a structure in sight, some of the least ideal soil for growing crops you could want, and nothing but a few hand tools and boundless energy, the Colemans began what would eventually become Four Seasons Farm, and a new organic year-round farming philosophy emerged.
But Eliot Coleman wouldn’t say that there was anything innovative about the way he approached organic farming. He’d say that it was simply an extension and adaptation of farming techniques that were practiced throughout Europe and the Americas prior to the advent of industrial farming. The old ways of doing things emphasized ecosystem management to be successful: compost, crop rotation, and naturally occurring soil nutrients.
“Using compost and natural systems to grow food was so simple,” he says. “The world’s best fertilizer, compost…is made for free in your backyard from waste products. The soil, the natural world was giving me everything I needed as inputs for this system. This place really is well designed, isn’t it? And it’s only because an awful lot of people haven’t been paying attention to [the fact that the natural world is well designed] is why we have difficulties.”
But what makes Eliot Coleman innovative is that he views with disdain and skepticism many cutting-edge trends in farming, such as relying on chemical fertilizers, monocrops, and industrial-scale tools. Central to his (innovative) philosophy is that there is much more value in diversity and sustainability.
Coleman began his farm by clearing the land by hand and working to make the rocky, acidic soil more balanced and fertile. It was a slow process, one acre giving way to two acres and so on—a process that continues to this day. Along the way there have been countless challenges, giving Coleman many opportunities to be creative in finding solutions.
For example, how do you weed between 30-foot rows of lettuce quickly and without breaking your back? This was a problem Eliot took on headfirst, and he devised the Collinear Hoe:
The Collinear Hoe, from Johnny’s Selected Seeds, a garden and farm supply company that Eliot Coleman works closely with to develop his ideas into production models. Photo courtesy of Johnny’s Selected Seeds.
Watch Eliot Coleman demonstrating how to use the Collinear Hoe here:
Or, how about a quick way to incorporate the right amount of compost within your soil so your compost isn’t too deep or too clumpy? Well, hook up a cordless drill to a tiller with small tines and you get Coleman’s “tilther.” What used to take 25 minutes now takes five.
Eliot Coleman prepares a bed in the garden using his invention, the Tilther, to mix compost into the soil. Photo courtesy of Johnny’s Selected Seeds
Mr. Coleman shares Benjamin Franklin’s belief that “As we benefit from the inventions of others, we should be glad to share our own…freely and gladly.” So, he was never interested in obtaining patents for his inventions. He just wanted a tool that would make farm work a little easier. Any ideas he had, he gave to an engineer or manufacturing company so that they could perfect the tool or product. That way, Eliot and his farmer friends could all benefit from it.
Perhaps his most significant contribution to commercial organic small-scale farming is the moveable hoophouse. The latest iteration is the New Cathedral Modular Tunnel, a structure that allows users to grow crops in progression with the seasons. When one area of the garden needs to be covered, the tunnel or greenhouse is lifted by 4 people and moved, or pushed along tracks that run the length of the fields. This invention is what allows Eliot to grow juicy red tomatoes all year long.
Eliot Coleman poses with his daughter Clara Coleman at Four Season Farm in Harborside, Maine. The two have just completed framing part of the 14’ Gothic Modular Moveable Tunnel, based on Mr. Coleman’s designs. September, 2013 Photo courtesy of Johnny’s Selected Seeds
The latest innovation Mr. Coleman has helped usher is a tool called the Quick Cut Greens Harvester, which, like the tilther, uses a cordless drill as its motor. Most exciting about this invention, which makes harvesting fresh salad greens much easier than the old method of cutting by hand, was that it was invented by a 16-year-old named Jonathan Dysinger, who visited Four Season’s Farm and was encouraged and inspired by Mr. Coleman to pursue the idea.
Watch Eliot Coleman demonstrate the harvester here:
Eliot Coleman’s contributions to small-scale and organic farming are numerous. From his philosophy to the methods and tools used to make it a viable business option, rejecting the conventional and daring to try the impossible are hallmarks of his work and legacy.
The invention of Poutine is claimed by Warwick, Quebec. The ice cream sundae was created in Ithaca, NY. Frog Legs are a uniquely French delicacy. These are universal truths, right? Actually, the origins of these dishes are all in hot dispute. At least four Quebec communities say they invented poutine and several U.S. locations claim they invented the ice cream sundae. Finally, evidence of the first cooked frog legs was found in England. Mon Dieu!
There is intense community pride in inventing a culinary dish, especially if it becomes iconic for a country. After all, food is as representative of a culture and its people as music, architecture, and historical objects. UNESCO, which is a branch of the United Nations is primarily known for designating World Heritage sites, also compiles a list of intangible heritage, which they define as “traditions or living expressions inherited from our ancestors and passed on to our descendants, such as oral traditions, performing arts, social practices, rituals, festive events, knowledge and practices concerning nature and the universe or the knowledge and skills to produce traditional crafts.” Culinary traditions are considered a type of intangible heritage, and listed foods range Northern Croatian gingerbread to broader categories such as the Mediterranean diet and Mexican cuisine.
Poutine—French fries and cheese curds topped with a light brown gravy-like sauce—has become an iconic Canadian dish. In a 2007 CBC/Radio-Canada viewer survey of the greatest Canadian inventions of all time, poutine was ranked number ten, beating the electron microscope, the BlackBerry, and the paint roller, among other items. The province of Quebec gained prestige as the birthplace of one of their nation’s iconic dishes. Obviously there is a lot at stake for the place that invented it, not only in terms of local pride but also marketing power and potential big business. Unfortunately the restaurateur who invented poutine is in dispute.
Some dish disputes are intense, albeit good natured. The ice cream sundae has several claimants for its birthplace; the top two contenders are Two Rivers, Wisconsin and Ithaca, New York. These cities are fighting a “Sundae War.” In 2006, the Ithaca Visitors Bureau offered free sundaes on Sundays for the month of July. The Two Rivers City Council responded with a “resolution formally challenging the city of Ithaca, New York’s claim to be birthplace of the ice cream sundae.” They also encouraged Two Rivers residents to send postcards to Ithaca’s mayor—postcards with a photo of the Two Rivers historical marker that relates the history of the birth of the sundae in a rhyme:
“Ice cream sundaes are sweet …and they give you the shivers.
Just remember they started right here in Two Rivers!”
Ithaca responded with its own historical plaque and declared victory by providing the oldest written advertisement for an ice cream sundae.
Note that being the birthplace of a culinary dish is not always desirable. The English have mocked the French for hundreds of years for eating frog legs, derisively calling them “Frogs” and “frog eaters.”
So there was shock and disbelief across England when archeologists found the burnt leg of a toad at a site in Amesbury dating from 6250BC to 7600BC. This is the earliest evidence of a cooked toad or frog leg, predating evidence in France by a full eight millennia.
As long as people invent new culinary dishes that may become icons of their cities, states, and countries, the importance of their birthplaces cannot be underestimated. And for those places of invention already in dispute, they can take comfort in diners enjoying their iconic dishes and debating which place prepares it best (another debate entirely). Bon appetite!
With a plethora of knitting patterns already on the market, you’d think there’s no room for anything new. However, it is entirely possible to invent your own knitting pattern—and it’s easier than you think. The following steps, similar to the process of invention used in Spark!Lab, can jumpstart your journey to create a piece of fiber art that you’ll be proud to make and wear.
1) Find Your Inspiration
Look at your inspiration; what will translate well into a piece of fiber art? Perhaps the building you work in has interesting architectural detail—you could pick some lines from this detail to base your pattern on. Or perhaps you found a beautiful red leaf in Autumn—the color can be the jumping off point. Maybe you love zombies? What about them could inspire a piece of knitting? The world is full of interesting possibilities; all you have to do is observe. I keep a little notebook with me at all times so I can jot down inspiration when I come upon it.
A zombie dishcloth from digknittydesigns.blogspot.com.
2) Determine Your Skill Level
Do you know how to construct sweaters, or are you just learning to knit and purl? Figure out what your skill level is, and attempt to create a pattern that aligns with the level of knowledge and expertise you already have. If you’re just starting out, a simple scarf or washcloth could be great, while an intricate pullover, maybe with colorwork, would be fun for those more advanced.
Cary Grant trying to knit in the movie Mr. Lucky. From the Lion Brand Yarns blog.
3) Draw It Out
Going from inspiration to finished product doesn’t happen directly. Drawing your pattern idea, based on your inspiration, is a crucial step in writing a pattern. Sometimes when we envision a finished product, it doesn’t turn out exactly how we thought. Sketching out a picture of what you want to create will help you make early decisions about the final product.
4) Write It Down
If you have a pattern with more intricate designs, you might want to use a chart, especially when working with lace. If it’s something easier, you can simply write out the directions. Always start out by writing what kind of fiber you chose (the kind of yarn and the brand), the size of the needles, the gauge, and how many yards you used.
An American flag knitting chart from VickiDesigns.homestead.com
5) Test and Tweak
It’s not uncommon for a pattern to have errors in it. Don’t be too proud to admit a mistake—even professional pattern inventors with many years of experience have patterns with errors in them! Give your pattern to friends or fellow knitters on Ravelry.com to test. Use feedback to correct any problems, and update the written pattern.
6) Decide What To Do With Your Pattern
Many people invent patterns to be given away for free and the enjoyment of all. You can do this, or keep it to enjoy yourself. You can also choose to sell your pattern on many different websites, including Ravelry, Etsy, at farmer’s markets, or through a personal blog.
One of the pleasures of working at the National Museum of American History is discovering the connections between the collections and research. A good example is my recent experience with Ajeeb, the famous chess-checker playing automaton. I learned about this amazing automaton while processing the William L. Bird Holidays on Display Collection. I was immediately smitten with Ajeeb, a ten-foot high, wax and papier-mâché mechanical wonder that won most every game of chess and checkers it played.
Ajeeb, also known as “The Egyptian,” was conceived of by Charles Edward Hooper of England in 1867. First displayed at the Crystal Palace in London, Ajeeb was brought to the United States in 1886 and featured at the Eden Museé, a New York City amusement place which opened in March 1884. Ajeeb is a descendant of earlier chess-checker playing automatons. In 1769, Wolfgang von Kempelen of Austria introduced the Mechanical Turk, which served as the inspiration for Ajeeb. Other automatons with similar abilities and names like Mephisto, Hajeb, and As-Rah also appeared. While the Ajeeb enjoyed a long stint at the Eden Museé (almost forty years), he was not the only Ajeeb on the circuit. Martinka & Company of New York, America’s oldest magic shop sold a chess-playing automaton in its 1898 and 1906 catalogs. Although we don’t know the price or sales figures, the idea that individual consumers could purchase their own Ajeeb is delightful.
The Ajeeb’s chess and checker playing prowess was greatly doubted and debated. Many believed Ajeeb was operated from an adjacent room; others thought that he had a magic brain. Indeed, inside the Ajeeb’s base, cleverly concealed by panels displaying complex machinery, were hidden operators maneuvering the arms, and carefully choreographing every move. The greatest wonder ever invented was an elaborate hoax—a great illusion that entertained crowds all over the world.
Lithographed trade card from Eden Museé, 1896. (AC0060-0000003-01)
Months after discovering the Ajeeb in the collections I was talking with a colleague who was researching the early history of mathematical games played on computers. I mentioned my discovery and she shared my enthusiasm for this mysterious automaton. Several months later I found Ajeeb elsewhere in our collections. While examining a box about vending machines in the Warshaw Collection of Business Americana I found the Ajeeb on a trade card from the Eden Museé. To learn more about our collections, visit the Archives Center website.
“Eden Museé Faces Bankruptcy,” New York Times, p. 17, June 8, 1915.
Ensmenger, Nathan. Is chess the drosophila of artificial intelligence? A social history of an algorithm. Social Studies of Science, 42 (1), pp. 5-30, 2012.
Kobler, John. “Where Are they Now? The Pride of the Eden Musee,” New Yorker, November 20, 1943.
[Trade catalogs from Martinka & Co.], January 27, 1898.