$30M raised to help Texas flood victims, foundation announces
'In just one week, donors from across Texas and beyond have given over $30 million to the Kerr County Flood Relief Fund—a powerful show of support for our neighbors in crisis,' the Community Foundation of the Texas Hill Country wrote in a post on Facebook.
Catastrophic flash flooding from the Guadalupe River struck central Texas over the July 4 weekend, killing at least 120 people, including at least 96 in Kerr County, officials have said. At least 27 were campers and counselors from Camp Mystic, a decades-old Christian girls camp in the city of Hunt located along the river.
More than 160 people remain missing as rescue teams search through debris.
The foundation said the first $5 million in emergency grants are already being distributed to vetted nonprofits across the Hill Country.
According to the post, funds will directly support individuals and families, local businesses, first responders and crisis response efforts.
'The outpouring of support has been amazing, but will be much needed for a long time to come. Thank you to all who donated. Any amount is greatly appreciated,' the official Kerr County account wrote in a Friday post on Facebook.
Another donor lauded the foundation for their work in the local community amid turmoil.
'My heart is so overwhelmed. I am so proud to be a Texan. To call Kerrville my daughter's hometown. And to support this local foundation – who has so compassionately and professionally handled this enormous relief effort,' Geri Magnell wrote in a Facebook post.
'This is light in our darkest times.'
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Chicago Tribune
7 hours ago
- Chicago Tribune
The history (and mystery) of ice cream sundaes, and 6 standout Chicago-area offerings
The origin story behind the ice cream sundae comes swirled with mystery, history, as well as chocolate and even a cherry on top. When Edward Berners died at 75 on July 1, 1939, the Chicago Daily Tribune published an obituary the next day headlined 'Man Who Made First Ice Cream Sundae Is Dead.' The paper wrote that Berners claimed he originated the sundae at his ice cream parlor in Two Rivers, Wisconsin, about 40 years before his death, when George Hallauer asked him to put chocolate soda flavoring directly on a dish of ice cream. But according to the Two Rivers and Wisconsin historical societies, Berners made that first chocolate sundae at Berner's Confectionery in 1881 — nearly 20 years earlier than his obituary estimated. A number of places claim to be the birthplace of the ice cream sundae, including Evanston (William Garwood at Garwood's drugstore in 1890) and Plainfield (Charles Sonntag at his pharmacy, circa 1893). Then there's Ithaca, New York, which says Chester Platt first served a 'Cherry Sunday' at his Platt & Colt's Pharmacy on April 3, 1892. That is, in fact, 11 years after Two Rivers' chocolate sundae. Ithacans, however, cite a paper trail as their evidence. If you were wondering, pharmacists, aka druggists, once made medicinal and recreational soda drinks, sometimes mixing flavorings and cocaine. Those soda fountains became family-friendly social hubs, eventually offering ice cream sodas, then soda-free ice cream sundaes, wherever it was invented. One detail shared across the origin stories is that the name sundae came from Sunday. But theories vary as to why, from respect for the Christian day of worship or due to a decidedly secular trademark attempt. Whatever the story, the ice cream sundae lives on, with old-fashioned chocolate and cherry, which you can find at Margie's Candies with lots of whipped cream, of course, to more modern creations made by top chefs around of summers past stand frozen in time at this Southwest Side ice cream window, where a vintage sign holds the sacred image of a banana split sundae and reads 'good ice cream for good people.' That's the heart of Betty's Ice Cream in Gage Park, where owners Juan and Beatriz Gonzalez for decades have served cold treats with warm smiles. As a first-time visitor, I wasn't sure which direction to take my sundae, but I did make sure to bring cash. Select chocolate, vanilla or strawberry ice cream for the base, and fudge, strawberry or pineapple sauce for the topping, plus adornments such as wafers and maraschino cherries. For me, a crispy waffle cup tied my fudge and peanut-covered scoop together — the perfect treat for an idyllic Chicago summer afternoon. The now-everywhere Dubai chocolate trend can be traced back to a pricey bar of chocolate made by United Arab Emirates-based chocolatier, Fix, which dreamed up a milk chocolate bar filled with shredded phyllo pastry known as kataifi and a pistachio cream filling. The actual name of the bar is 'Can't Get Knafeh of It,' referencing the traditional Palestinian-Jordanian dessert, knafeh, or kunafe, which is made by layering kaitefi with cheese, pistachios and a dousing of rose water syrup. Since it took off on social media, it's been reinvented into everything from pastries, cakes and doughnuts to lattes and cold coffee drinks. At Karak Café in Lisle, Dubai chocolate has become an ice cream sundae. The easily shareable dessert has two scoops of classic vanilla ice cream on a bed of chewy, chocolatey brownie pieces and melted milk chocolate gracing both the brownies and the ice cream. It's topped with a generous drizzle of green pistachio cream. Typically, it's served with a sugar cone on the side or a wafer stick. A solid sundae — indulgent, sweet, texturally pleasing and messier with each dig — but it would be even better with a sprinkle of chopped up pistachios. The unassuming Muslim-owned cafe also makes a halwa sundae, based on a Desi confection with a fudge-like texture. Award-winning pastry chef Dana Cree of Pretty Cool Ice Cream and then-executive chef Max Robbins at Longman & Eagle launched a charitable series that was a beacon in the dark of 2020. Sundae Mondays at L & E in Logan Square, featuring toppings from an extraordinary roster of chefs, restaurateurs and creators — benefiting a charity of their choice — still persists every summer. A recent sundae by chef Won Kim of Kimski offered subtly spicy gochujang caramel with aromatic rice vinegar macerated peaches, crushed Honey Butter Chips, Maldon sea salt and nutty sesame seeds over a soft scoop of vanilla ice cream. It benefited The Montessori School of Englewood (with 70 low-income children ages 3 to 5 years old, many who are unhoused and rely on the school for food, clothing, health care and more), which will have to shut down if it does not receive federal funding by December. Citrus and chocolate are a common Italian duo as well-suited as strawberry is to cream. Some experimental scoop shops blithely sprinkle orange peel or extract in chocolate, but it can feel hollow or overly clever. They might take notes from Monteverde's citrus dark chocolate sundae, which is plated alongside a whirlpool of marmellata, mandarin olive oil and toasted pistachios swirling in an umber cocoa sea. Citrus and chocolate both can dabble in varying intensities of sweet, sour, bitter and florality — here, the focus is textural congruity and balance, not tartness or sweetness. The citrus isn't infused into the ice cream, but that flavor still ripples through every bite, sans acidity, thanks to the shapely and precise pieces of fruit and peel. And the biggest achievement of all? It's actually a dark chocolate sorbet sundae, completely smooth, creamy and devoid of any crystalline ice. The dish is quietly, confidently vegan and gluten-free. The West Loop restaurant offers the dish year-round and has different iterations depending on the citrus season and availability. Some intriguing possibilities include Cara Cara oranges and kumquats. OK, yes, this might be a bit of an unconventional pick. But what makes a sundae a sundae? For the Tribune food team, we settled on there needing to be some sort of ice cream base and, of course, lots of toppings. And Filipino halo-halo is all about the toppings, which can range from sweet beans and fruit to bits of ube jam or even sprinkles of cereal for crunch. Sunda's take — which they do label as a sundae — features plenty of crunchy shaved ice topped with scoops of ube ice cream, chewy pandan coconut gels, red mung beans, lychee and flan. The mixture is well-balanced, served just cold enough so it doesn't all melt into an unsightly ice cream soup. It comes plated beautifully in a glass for the perfect photo opp, but the accompanying bowl allows you to mix everything together just right so you can build the ideal bite without getting too messy. Chefs Tyler Hudec and Dani Kaplan, along with co-owner and general manager Pat Ray, will always have a shot of house-made No-Lört waiting for you at their whimsical Italian American restaurant, but probably not the same dish of ice cream. The seasonal sundae at Void in Avondale changes constantly, utilizing creative techniques, but is always served in a silver coupe. One variation paired tangy-sweet blueberry sorbet with delicately salted vanilla gelato, topped with a crackling cornbread toffee and buttermilk caramel drizzled with the carefree abandon of summer. Here's the scoop: 25 Chicago spots for ice cream and cool sweet treats to beat the heat this summer
Yahoo
3 days ago
- Yahoo
A girl's death in Texas floods is her family's third loss this year. 3 mementos she left help her mom cope
The last time Lindsey McLeod McCrory saw her daughter Blakely alive, the young girl was heading to camp wearing a simple yet profound necklace – one that would later reconnect Blakely to her mother after she died. It was a green-and-white beaded Camp Mystic necklace – a tribute to the legendary Christian girls' camp in the foothills of Texas' Hill Country where Blakely was going. It's the same camp her mother and other women in the family had attended and forged lifelong memories. 'I gave this necklace to my daughter right before camp, and I advised her that if she didn't want to lose it – because she's 8 years old, and of course, they lose jewelry – I told her to wear it … during the whole time at camp,' McCrory told CNN on Friday. Blakely's new necklace served as a reminder of her mother's support at a time of immense loss. Blakely's father died from cancer in March. And just last month, she lost her uncle to illness. But Camp Mystic was a haven where Blakely's grief gave way to joy. 'She was so excited, and it came at such a good time since she lost her daddy,' McCrory said. 'It was a way for her to just heal with that sisterhood and her faith and just all of the fun activities.' Everything changed in the pre-dawn hours of July 4, when torrential rainfall and catastrophic flooding ripped through central Texas – claiming at least 135 lives, many near the Guadalupe River. At Camp Mystic, the cabins with the youngest campers were closest to the river. Blakely, along with 26 other Camp Mystic girls and counselors, perished in the deluge – forcing her family to endure yet another unfathomable tragedy. Despite the anguish, McCrory has found solace – thanks in part to letters that she received from Blakely after she died. Finding her tribe Even though Blakely was a new camper in a cabin full of strangers, she didn't seem nervous about going to camp. 'She loves the outdoors. She loves to fish, horseback ride,' her mother said. In a letter to her mother, Blakely said camp was 'amazing.' She was looking forward to playing tennis, going horseback riding and trying other sports, she wrote. The letter also said Blakely became a 'tonk' – something she had dreamed of. Every new girl at Camp Mystic draws a slip that tells them which 'tribe' they belong to – the Tonkawa or the Kiowa tribe. 'The tribe traditions, which have been handed down since Mystic's beginning' in 1926, 'help to emphasize team spirit, fun competition and good sportsmanship' during games, Camp Mystic's website says. 'After each game, the losing tribe commends the winning tribe who, in turn, compliments the losing tribe. Campers from opposite tribes pair up after each game and go up to Chapel Hill to pray.' Drawing a red slip meant the Tonkawa tribe. A blue slip signified the Kiowa tribe. Blakely 'wanted to be a Tonk really badly,' her mom said. 'Her two cousins are both Tonks. … So she wanted to be a Tonk so she could compete with her cousins' tribe.' The rituals instill 'sportsmanship and competition amongst the girls, which is so great for later on in life,' McCrory said. After Blakely drew a red slip, 'she was just ecstatic,' her mother said. In another letter, Blakely made an urgent request to her mother, who was getting ready to donate items because the family was preparing to move: 'PS. Please don't give my Barbie Dream house,' the 8-year-old scrawled on a colorful piece of paper. McCrory didn't receive those letters until after Blakely died. But the scribbled request forced a smile onto the grieving mother's face. 'It's just funny how a little girl's mind works. And that's why I laughed when I got the letter, because I could just hear her writing her thoughts down,' McCrory said. 'And it was just funny. … It was so Blakely.' 'I dropped the phone on the table, shaking' After sending Blakely off to camp, McCrory joined her sister and two nieces on a trip to Europe. It was the first such outing since the deaths of McCrory's husband, Blake, and her brother, Chanse McLeod – both within the last five months. When news trickled in overseas about some flooding at Camp Mystic, McCrory had no idea how bad it was. 'We were on a boat, and when we docked for lunch, we received some text messages' – including one reporting flooding at Camp Mystic. 'And so what popped in my mind – because we didn't have all of the full reports of the 30-foot surge – (was) that it was like the flood in 1987, when I was a camper.' Back then, 'you had to stay in your cabin for safety,' she said. 'They didn't want people walking in the mud and sliding around since there are so many hills. And they would bring food to us. And so that was what I first imagined it was.' McCrory then lost cell service and didn't receive a call from Camp Mystic. Eventually, she gained access to her voicemails and heard a horrid message: Blakely was missing. 'I just dropped the phone on the table, shaking,' she said. 'I was frozen when I heard that voicemail.' McCrory soon jumped on a plane back to Houston. At the same time, Blakely's half-brother and his mother scoured an evacuation center in Ingram, hoping to find Blakely. For two days, the family waited in anguish as crews trudged through thick mud and debris searching for victims and survivors. Then, on July 7, McCrory received the dreaded news: Blakely's body had been found. She was still wearing the Camp Mystic necklace her mom had given her – a piece of jewelry that helped identify her. Immense gratitude amid the grief For a widow who lost her husband, her only brother and her only daughter in just five months, McCrory is remarkably composed. She exudes an aura of calmness and even optimism. McCrory chalks it up to her faith, her family and her support network – all of which have ties to Camp Mystic. 'My faith is so strong. Actually, I was a camper at Camp Mystic, and I felt so close to my faith attending there as a camper,' she said. 'We had lovely devotionals on the waterfront where the Guadalupe River is, in the mornings, and then in the evenings, on Sundays, we went to Chapel Hill. And just the sisterhood, the faith – it just really brought me closer.' McCrory said she has learned how to cope after each tragedy and takes comfort in knowing her lost loved ones are together again. 'We lost my husband in March, and then my brother in June. So I think that prepared me for Blakely's loss,' she said. 'I'm coping very well. I have amazing love and support from people I know (and) from people I don't know. The mothers of the campers that were lost were on a group text, and were able to share stories and thoughts – and even funny moments.' As she prepared for Blakely's funeral Friday, McCrory wore the beaded necklace that she had given her daughter. 'My good friends from high school had it extended so that I could wear it, so I would have a touchstone close to my heart,' she said. She's also thankful for Blakely – and the fact that her final days were spent doing what she loved. 'She had the best time at camp. She went out on a happy note,' her mother said. And as the water started to rise, a counselor made a keen observation: 'Blakely was encouraging her cabinmates to not be afraid,' McCrory said. 'She was always a leader, encouraging others. So in my heart, I know it happened fast. And I'm just so grateful the life that she lived was so happy.'
National Geographic
4 days ago
- National Geographic
Nun's skeleton reveals that some ancient women were extreme hermits
Head of a holy woman, from a mosaic in Turkey. Photograph By Bridgeman Images Today the most extreme forms of devotion to God in Christianity involve tithing, abstaining from meat on Fridays and during Lent, taking religious orders and devoting oneself to a life of celibacy, and, perhaps, taking vows of poverty or even silence. All of these practices pale next to the forms of asceticism practiced in the Byzantine period, when the most dedicated monks isolated themselves from human contact in the desert, restricted their food and sleep, wrapped themselves in uncomfortable sore-inducing chains, and lived their lives on top of small pillars. Traditionally, the most hardcore ascetics were believed to have been men, but recent scholarly and archeological research has revealed that female monastics were equally devoted to self-mortification. In 1924, excavations at Khirbat el-Masaniʾ near Ramat Shlomo (in Israel) uncovered a Byzantine monastery dating to approximately 350–650 CE. Located just three kilometers northwest of Old Jerusalem, the monastery stood along one of the main roads leading from Jaffa and Lydda to the city. Among the tombs discovered at the site were the remains of an unidentified individual unusually wrapped in a metal chain. During the fifth century CE, as Christian monasticism was on the rise, the practice of self-chaining gained popularity among ascetics in Syria. Asceticism and bodily self-denial was seen as a way of emulating the suffering of Christ and drawing closer to God. At the time the tombs were excavated, it was widely believed that such ascetic practices were exclusive to men. So for nearly a century, scholars assumed this person had been male. However, a recent study employing advanced DNA analysis has revealed that the remains belonged to a woman. This would make this one of the first-ever archaeological finds of extreme asceticism among Byzantine women. (Eight things people get wrong about ancient Rome) Byzantine-style mosaic of the Garden of Eden, part of the Old Testament cycle from the Monreale Cathedral Mosaics in Palermo, Siciliy. The Latin inscription reads, MULIER SUGGESTIONI SERPENTIS TULIT DE FRUCTU ET COMEDIT DEDITQUE VIRO SUO ('At the serpent's suggestion, the woman picked the fruit and ate it, and gave it to the man.') Photograph By Ghigo Roli / Bridgeman Images Byzantine churches were often decorated with shimmering mosaics, portraying events from the life of Christ on their upper walls. This fragmentary head of Christ, with its caring expression, is probably from such a scene. Photograph By Gift of Mary Jaharis, in memory of her late husband, Michael, 2017, The Metropolitan Museum of Art A self-tormenting nun During the original excavation of Khirbat el-Masaniʾ, archaeologists uncovered two crypts containing scattered skeletal remains of multiple individuals—including children, women, and men. Based on the grave goods, burial context, and stratigraphy, these interments were dated to the fifth century CE. A third tomb, which held the highly fragmentary remains of the chained individual, was also discovered. At the time, the bones were too incomplete to determine the individual's sex or age at death. But this spring, a team of Israeli researchers, led by archeological scientists Dr. Paula Kotli from the Weizmann Institute of Science, finally pinned down an identity. By conducting a proteomic analysis on enamel obtained from the only tooth recovered from the tomb, the team determined that burial belonged to an adult aged between 30 and 60 years old at the time of their death. The results, published in the Journal of Archaeological Science, proved that the individual buried in chains in tomb three was actually a woman. As the authors note, 'the ascetic nun symbolizes a phenomenon of isolation, perhaps enclosure, and in extreme cases self-torment. This is the first evidence showing that the Byzantine self-torment ritual was performed by women and not exclusively by men.' The discovery marks a significant advance in the methods used to determine sex in fragmentary remains. Yet, evidence for asceticism among late antique women is more widespread than one might assume. (Christianity struggled to grow—until this skeptic became a believer) Detail of the 'Procession of Virgins' mosaics from the Basilica of Sant'Apollinare Nuovo in Ravenna, Byzantine School, 6th century. Photograph By Leemage/Corbis/Getty Images Dr. Caroline Schroeder, Professor of Women's and Gender Studies and Professor of Data Scholarship at the University of Oklahoma and author of several pioneering studies on monasticism, told National Geographic, 'in late antiquity and Byzantium, people of all genders engaged in a wide variety of ascetic practices. In Egypt in the fourth and fifth centuries we have irrefutable evidence from papyri, monastic letters, and episcopal writings for women who practiced asceticism in their family homes, in homes they themselves owned or rented, and in communities of women [monasteries].' In general, asceticism meant abstaining from sex (even if married), limiting one's food intake, withdrawing from the world, rigorous engagement with prayer, and a life of discomfort and seclusion. These practices were not limited to Egypt. In Syria, we have copious evidence documenting what might be considered more extreme forms of asceticism. Schroeder mentioned a ninth-century male monk who described a women's monastery he encountered where residents lived in seclusion as stylites. Stylites 'were monks who lived for years atop a tall pillar, often exposed to nature's elements and totally dependent upon people on the ground to provide them with food and water,' Schroeder explained. 'The most famous is the original stylite, Symeon the Elder, who lived on his pillar for 36 years, praying, doing prostrations and other exercises, and experiencing physical decay. People came from all over for his blessings, to hear his preaching, and also to request his judgments in disputes between individuals and political leaders.' Stylites were physically constrained by the pillars—they were not able to stretch out fully, there were no bathroom breaks (which caused quite a stench), and they were exposed to the elements—and they also survived on limited sustenance and without the comfort of companionship. Schroeder pointed out that 'a monastery with women stylites is evidence that some women practiced as physically rigorous and severe asceticism as men.' With respect to the new study of the chained woman from outside Jerusalem, Schroeder pointed to an example recorded by fifth-century CE theologian Theodoret of Cyrrhus in his Religious History. In this collection of saint's lives, Theodoret describes visiting two Syriac sisters, Marana and Cyra, who wore heavy iron rings and chains as a form of extreme self-denial. According to Theodoret, these women lived in a roofless house—that exposed them to the unforgiving elements—the door of which had been sealed with mud and stones so that they were shut off from the world and unable to leave. Small windows allowed for food and water to be passed to the women. (Schroeder told me that Theodoret says that, since he was a bishop, they allowed him to dig through the door to see them.) The women wore iron collars, iron belts, and chains on their hands and feet. Even though the two women were secluded from the world, they, like Symeon the Stylite, became ancient Christian celebrities. They attracted pilgrims who travelled to receive their blessing. Saint Donatus, priest and anchorite, from "Les Images De Tous Les Saincts et Saintes de L'Année" (Images of All of the Saints and Religious Events of the Year.) Print By Jacques Callot , The Metropolitan Museum of Art Gender is a complicating question when it comes to asceticism because some women dressed as men when they entered monasteries. Dr. Christine Luckritz Marquis, Associate Professor of Church History at Union Presbyterian Seminary and author of 'Better Off Dead? Violence, Women, and Late Ancient Asceticism,' said 'the reality is that we have many individuals who were trans saints. While some women might merely dress as male monks to safely practice asceticism among men, there is no reason to believe that others did not truly feel themselves trans monks. And some men were castrated, becoming eunuchs for God, so they too did not fit into a simple two-sex binary.' The more fluid gender categories were complicated by the ambivalent attitude that male religious leaders had toward women in general. For commentators like Theodoret, Schroeder added, ascetic women were 'a bit of a paradox… On the one hand, women were viewed as inherently weaker than men and also the gender that carried the guilt of Eve for breaking God's command in the Garden of Eden. But on the other hand, they were capable of such strenuous devotions and, when they achieved them, were seen as even extra holy for going beyond the expectations of their gender.' An anchorhold against the south wall of All Saints church in Norfolk, United Kingdom. Built circa 1500 CE, it would have housed an anchorite devoted to solitary prayer. Photograph By UrbanImages/ Alamy From late antiquity onwards, into the medieval period, women's asceticism persisted. Anchorites—men and women who walled themselves up in permanent enclosures in lifelong solitary confinement—became more common among European women. Many of them lived in small cells, known as anchorholds, that were attached to local churches. In German-speaking regions, bishops would say the office for the dead as the anchorite entered their cell as a symbol of the ascetic's death to the world. Though small windows allowed them a limited view of the church's altar and access to food, water and the Eucharist, anchorites took vows to remain in their cells. The eleventh-century hagiographer Goscelin of Saint-Bertin refers to several anchorites who burned—or came close to burning—alive when the towns in which they lived in were sacked or looted. Other women embraced physical suffering an illness. In her book Holy Feast and Holy Fast, Caroline Walker Bynum documents the centrality of pain and illness to the spiritual lives of late medieval women. For those women even self-inflicted illness was a way of drawing near to God. Bynum writes that 'some Italian saints drank pus or scabs from lepers' sores.' In the German Nonnenbücher, a fourteenth-century collection of inspirational spiritual biographies of nuns authored by women, the desire for illness was so strong that the sisters exposed themselves 'to bitter cold' and prayed 'to be afflicted with leprosy.' The late fourteenth century, French anchoress Jane Mary of Maillé, 'stuck a thorn into her head in remembrance of Christ's crown of thorns.' As late as the sixteenth century, an account of the life of St. Alda of Siena recalled that she slept on a bed of paving stones, whipped herself with chains, and wore a crown of thorns. 'Among the more bizarre female behaviors' in this period, writes Bynum, 'were rolling in broken glass, jumping into ovens, hanging from a gibbet, and praying upside down.' For modern readers the critical question is why late antique people would want to engage in these practices of self-punishment and self-effacement at all. Theodoret characterizes Marana and Cyra's ascetic devotion as a kind of spiritual athleticism. Schroeder explained that the women took on these goals 'on these challenging practices with joy, knowing that the 'goal' or prize of their contests is a 'crown of victory' and eternity with Christ their 'beloved.'' Luckritz Marquis agreed, saying that while there were many reasons that people practiced asceticism, the goal was 'ultimately to be closer to God.'
