Latest news with #tradition
Yahoo
an hour ago
- Automotive
- Yahoo
Gulf Breeze High seniors brave heat and humidity to mark their parking spaces
Neither broiling heat nor sweltering humidity will stop over 330 Gulf Breeze High School seniors from taking part in a nine-year tradition. For the past week or so, the upperclassmen – and sometimes – their parents have spent mornings and evenings personalizing parking spaces at the high school with college logos, tributes to the Blue Angels, popular album covers and even some 1980s-themed artwork like a Pac-Man game board and that 'Don't You Forget About Me' closing scene from 'The Breakfast Club.' One creative senior even painted a MASON-OPOLY game board complete with 'Go To Detention' and 'Collect Diploma As You Pass GO' corners. The annual Painting of the Parking Spots – as it is known – started in 2017 and continues each year with nearly 500 seniors competing for 338 premium parking spaces (245 in the front and 93 in the rear) of the high school. This year, the parking spots went for $120 ($20 for the school parking permit, $100 for the space) and sold out within two and half hours after the sale started on July 1, said Parent Teacher Student Organization parent-volunteer Ashlee Vernon. Proceeds from the sale are used to provide $200 and $400 grants to Gulf Breeze High teachers in the fall and spring semesters. 'The grants have been used to buy air conditioners, a dishwasher, books, calculators and other incentives,' Vernon said. 'These are needs-based grants, and we don't turn anyone down. The teacher only needs to apply.' Hannah Su describes the event as a cherished tradition for seniors. Hannah, the SGA secretary-treasurer, has been waiting four years to decorate her parking space. As a freshman, she helped her older brother, Davin, paint his spot. 'He was into Formula 1 racing and cars so me and my parents helped him paint an F1 logo on his space,' recalled Hannah, who transformed her spot into a coy fish pond. 'I started looking for inspiration at the end of my junior year and finally decided just before the parking spaces went on sale.' For SGA president Brant Peterson, the event is a beloved family tradition. His older brothers, Barrett, 20, and Jase, 22, also painted their parking spots as Gulf Breeze seniors. He said a little bittersweet this year – especially for his parents – Jason and Shanty Peterson. 'I'm the youngest, so this is it for my parents. It's something that they always looked forward to. We all helped my brothers paint their spots as seniors,' said Brant, who emblazoned his spot with a golf ball on a tee. 'I just got into golfing about six months ago and I really enjoy it. And this is a way for me and other seniors to let underclassmen know what's important to us.' Despite temperatures in the mid-90s, Hannah and Brant said the weather wasn't intolerable. 'I started last Thursday and finished up yesterday. The heat wasn't that bad until Monday when it was really hot,' Brant said Tuesday morning when temps were already in the 90s. Hannah said she and her family – parents Viet and Tuy Su and Davin – stayed hydrated and got it done in about two days. 'It's really a lot of fun because you get to see everyone who you haven't seen over the summer. And it's kind of emotional because you realize this is your last year of high school,' she said. Melanie Bell, a Gulf Breeze High algebra II teacher and Class of 2018 alum, recalled the day when she painted her parking spot. The spots were $50 then, Bell said, adding she and her father, Mike Bell, painted a sailboat. 'I was really into sailing and had just moved to Gulf Breeze from Atlanta my junior year. My parents didn't care about the cost because I was so excited,' said Bell, who also met her husband, Cole Wilson, at Gulf Breeze High. 'His parking spot was just two down from mine.' The seniors have yearlong access to the parking spots – starting on the first day of classes until the end of the school year. This article originally appeared on Pensacola News Journal: Gulf Breeze High seniors paint parking spots Solve the daily Crossword
Times
4 hours ago
- Politics
- Times
Calls to ban cow fighting instigates France's latest culture war
Pitting cows against each other is a traditional spectator sport in the French and Swiss Alps, but fans are now locking horns with activists who want it banned on animal welfare grounds. A bill to make cow fighting illegal has been tabled in the National Assembly for the first time. Unlike bullfighting and cockfighting, which are banned in most of France, cow fighting is not a blood sport, according to enthusiasts. The two cows, with blunted horns, engage in a pushing contest until one backs away. The loser from each round is eliminated and taken out of the competition until only one is left and declared the overall winner. The contests, which aficionados call combats de reines, or queen fights, exploit cows' natural instinct to fight for dominance in a herd. Hérens cattle, an Alpine breed known for their combative temperament, are said to make the best fighters. Jean-François Coulomme, the left-wing MP from the Savoie region bordering Switzerland who introduced the bill, said the practice was barbaric. He claimed both cows and spectators risked injury. 'This form of entertainment was only imported into the French Alps less than 30 years ago and cannot claim to be a traditional practice,' Coulomme said. Fans, however, insist that it is an ancestral tradition dating back hundreds of years. Coulomme's private members' bill has been signed by 74 MPs from across the hard-left party France Unbowed, the Greens and President Macron's Renaissance party. Animal rights activists claim pregnant cows are often made to take part in the contests because they are thought to fight more intensely. 'These fights between 800kg animals can be very violent,' said Pauline Di Nicolantonio, the head of the Savoie Association for Animal Justice. 'Videos of the fights are shocking, and it's even more shocking that the cows have to be pregnant to fight better.' Fans of cow fighting, including farmers, residents of the French Alps and a number of local MPs, describe those opposing the practice as city-dwellers who are out of touch with countryside traditions and values. 'Those who are against queen fights are deepening urban-rural divisions because of a lack of understanding,' said Jérôme Garcin, a farmer from Les Houches, a village near Mont Blanc. 'In the high Chamonix valley, these natural contests have been organised for many generations,' Garcin added. 'I can understand that it is shocking for people from places where it hasn't been practised for centuries, but I encourage anyone to come and see how we pamper our cows and treat them like high-level sports contestants.' Xavier Roseren, a centre-right MP for the Mont Blanc area, also described cow fighting as 'part of our living cultural heritage' and said that participating cows were very rarely injured. Bullfighting and cockfighting are banned in France except in areas where there is 'an uninterrupted local tradition'. Cockfighting is therefore allowed in parts of northern France and several overseas territories in the Caribbean and the Indian Ocean. Bullfighting is permitted in parts of southern France where it has been practised for centuries.
New York Times
a day ago
- New York Times
Class and Identity in Hilton Head: The Gullah v. Wealthy Landowners
When Galen Miller wants to visit the South Carolina cemetery where much of his ancestry is buried, he must get permission to enter Hilton Head Plantation, a private, gated community on the north end of Hilton Head Island, where the wealthy jostle for tee times between trips to the beach and sips of gin and tonics. On a recent July morning, a guard waved Mr. Miller through the gate. He meandered past multimillion-dollar homes and lush green fairways to the Talbird Cemetery, now squeezed between a scenic creek and a luxury condominium. 'To be able to come here and visit my family from time to time, it really touches your heart,' Mr. Miller said. 'It also saddens you to see what's happening.' Mr. Miller is Gullah Geechee, a community descended from enslaved West Africans who were forced to work the cotton and rice plantations of the Carolina Lowcountry. The Gullah Geechee are now struggling to preserve sacred traditions as wealthy northerners swallow up valuable waterfront property. A lawsuit filed this spring is accusing the mostly white newcomers, spilling out of gated golf havens in the original Hilton Head developments, of impeding access to burial grounds in a clash of tradition vs. economic development, with racial undertones that date back centuries. 'Oh my God, we went through enough,' said Arlene Covington, 67, a plaintiff in the lawsuit. 'Now we can't even get to the cemetery. What else do you want?' For decades, Mary Mack, 73, would visit the Big House Cemetery on St. Helena Island, S.C., home to one of the region's largest remaining Gullah populations. But in 2023, a newly arrived local resident, Theresa Aigner, placed a gate around her property, blocking access to Everest Road, which leads to the cemetery. Ms. Aigner provided a gate access code to the Gullah and to funeral homes that needed to get to the Big House Cemetery. But in May 2024, when several Gullah families arrived for the annual Mother's Day cleanup, the code had been changed, according to the lawsuit, filed by the Bailey Law Firm and the Center for Constitutional Rights, on behalf of Ms. Mack and several other Gullah. 'It was kind of shocking,' Ms. Mack said. The Gullah tried, to no avail, to persuade Ms. Aigner to give them access. 'So if I want to go see my mom back there I have to talk to you?' Ms. Covington asked rhetorically. 'I'm not a child.' The tipping point came later that month, when five local Black residents died in a car crash. With their families unable to reach the cemetery, some of them were interred 20 miles away. The public and private acrimony that followed captured a larger debate over land use and gentrification raging on St. Helena Island as developers look to expand beyond an almost saturated Hilton Head. In one email exchange between a land preservation activist and Ms. Aigner, the new landowner referred to the local Gullah Geechee as 'a bunch of ungrateful, ungracious, self entitled, hard headed and ignorant people' to whom she owes nothing, according to the legal complaint. The lawsuit, filed April 30 in the gracious old city of Beaufort, S.C., also names two other defendants, Robert Cody Harper and Walter Robert Harper Jr., who erected a gate on property that abuts the cemetery. Ms. Aigner has said that she put up the gate to protect her property after a funeral procession left it damaged. 'I'm so tired of being villainized,' she told The Island Packet, a local outlet, last year. She also insisted that there were other ways to reach the cemetery besides going through her property, including through property owned by a plaintiff in the case. Indeed, her attorney, Gregg Alford, filed a motion on July 18 to dismiss the lawsuit. The motion states that the individual plaintiffs already 'have direct platted and judicially protected access to the cemetery parcel which they claim to own and control.' (Sheila Middleton, another plaintiff, owns the property on which the cemetery sits, according to the lawsuit.) Mr. Alford also argued that Everest Road was not the most convenient route to the cemetery. 'We look forward to resolving this matter,' said Mr. Alford, who also represents the Harpers. 'We want them to be able to honor their ancestors.' While not a part of their official legal complaint, lawyers for the Gullah descendants say county officials are trying to prevent the types of cultural clashes exemplified by this lawsuit. 'Beaufort County, which includes St. Helena Island, has actually enacted provisions as part of its cultural protection overlay that prohibits putting up fences and gates around communities to block access to the cemeteries on the island,' said Emily Early of the Center for Constitutional Rights. These gates can disrupt generations-old practices of visiting and caring for burial grounds, preventing families from performing important spiritual and memorial traditions. For Black South Carolinians, the Lowcountry is a place of unfulfilled promises. Its land fell under Gen. William T. Sherman's Jan. 15, 1865, Special Field Orders 15, made famous by the pledge of 40 acres and a mule to freedmen. The order 'reserved and set apart for the settlement of the negroes now made free,' as a result of the Civil War and the Emancipation Proclamation, 'the islands from Charleston, south, the abandoned rice fields along the rivers for thirty miles back from the sea, and the country bordering the St. Johns River, Florida.' Before that year was out, President Andrew Johnson had pardoned the region's white landowners, who then kicked Black people out. During the Civil War, St. Helena became a staging ground for Reconstruction. In 1861, Union troops occupied the Sea Islands, and enslavers fled. A group of idealistic Harvard-educated Bostonians arrived to educate the formerly enslaved and prove they could thrive as free people. It was known as the Port Royal Experiment. The freedmen 'worked these same fields as enslaved people, and they came to own these lands during the Civil War,' said Robert L. Adams Jr., director of the Penn Center, a cultural site on St. Helena in what was once a school for the formerly enslaved. But in the 1950s, a developer named Charles Fraser had a vision for Hilton Head Island as a top tourist destination. It would become a developer's paradise. Through a combination of underpriced sales, property tax hikes and unfavorable property inheritance rules, the Gullah lost most of their land. Gullah families once owned more than 3,500 acres on Hilton Head Island, according to the nonprofit Lowcountry Gullah. They now own less than 700. Dr. Adams said he sees the Gullahs' fight as part of the larger battles over race, identity and wealth that are roiling the country. 'Democracy is not just about who has the most money,' he said. 'Too often, public policy has relegated African Americans to being placeholders of land. So we occupy land that's considered unuseful' until 'people find a way to make it useful again, or they can buy it really cheap.' Earlier this month, Taiwan Scott, 49, who has a real estate license but considers himself more of a Gullah activist, gestured to a set of beachfront houses on Hilton Head Island. 'Pretty much where all these oceanfront homes are was all Black land,' he said. 'They used to have a couple nightclubs down here.' Many of the Gullah who were once there now live inland in neighborhoods dotted with trailer homes. But Mr. Scott has complicated feelings about development. Newcomers on Hilton Head Island are increasingly professing their own anti-development sentiment, he said, pulling up the drawbridge just as Gullah people are becoming aware of their property rights and how to make money from the few plots of land they still own. Efforts are underway to educate more Gullah about land rights, said Alex Brown, a Gullah who sits on the Hilton Head Island Town Council, so that if development does come to the islands surrounding Hilton Head, such as St. Helena, they can take advantage. For instance, instead of selling their land outright, Mr. Brown recommended that Gullah with valuable waterfront property lease it to developers and share in the profits. Mr. Brown recently stood in the middle of the 18th fairway at Harbour Town Golf Links on Hilton Head Island under a blazing high-noon sun. The 18th is the final hole of the RBC Heritage Classic, a PGA Tour event held the week after the Master's tournament in Augusta, Ga. The fairway sits less than 100 yards from a Gullah gravesite. Newcomers arrive with little understanding or respect for the island's deep Gullah cultural roots, he said, which are the 'heart and soul' of the island. Some residents are unaware that Gullah people even exist on the island. 'Unless it's us, from the Gullah culture, telling the story,' Mr. Brown said, 'there's no mention of the significance of a burial ground that goes back two centuries.' But others still question how any development would benefit the Gullah. They've been burned before. 'Many of our new neighbors come in, and they're about the friendliest group of people you'll ever want to meet until they get settled,' Ms. Mack said. 'And as soon as they're settled in, in come the gates and the locks, and they don't want to speak to you anymore.' She added, 'Enough is enough.'
Yahoo
4 days ago
- Business
- Yahoo
'If we can't it eat, it's not good enough,' says thriving Derby takeaway
The man behind a popular takeaway has spoken out about life behind the counter as they continue to move from strength to strength after more than 20 years in the same Derby street. Keeping with tradition seems to be the way forward for the team at Cavendish Kebabs at Stenson Road in Normanton, which opened its doors in 2005. The owner, who is known to most as just Kami, had spent a period of time working at 3 Chefs in Chaddesden, another prized Derbyshire takeaway, before realising he wanted to open a place of his own. "I've been in the industry since I was just 15, and my older brothers and family have also been in the business since they were just children as well," Kami said. "Working at 3 Chefs was great. The owner Sunny is like an older brother to me, and he started pushing me, showing me the ropes, and giving me the tools I needed to open my own place. So when we opened Cavendish, I knew I had to put everything into it to make it the best it could be." READ MORE: The longstanding Chaddesden takeaway where customers ask the boss to put the prices up READ MORE: Dozens of arts, crafts, food and drink stalls set for Denby Pottery Village event this weekend Cavendish remains traditional to what you'd expect in a classic British takeaway, with pizzas, kebabs, curries and burgers all in abundance, something Kami says is a major factor in Cavendish's success. "We've noticed a change in the way a lot of people do things," Kami added. "Nowadays, you see a lot of places do things like smash burgers and all these fancy dirty fries, which is fine, but we like to keep things traditional. Our customers who have visited us for years still love our food, so why change it? "We are always happy to here feedback if customers aren't happy, these things happen, but we always act on these things and make sure the customer is sorted out afterwards. At the end of the day, if we wouldn't eat the food, then it's not worth serving. "We are also the only place in Derby to stock authentic tubs of Mr Tee ice cream and desserts, which are a huge success, and it's far better than what you can get anywhere else in the city - but we also do old school puddings like chocolate fudge cakes and jam rolly polly." Cavendish Kebabs is one of three Derby takeaways to be on the shortlist for our inaugural Derbyshire Dines awards in the 'best takeaway' category. The Stenson Road site joins McTurk Kebabs in Derby city centre and 3 Chefs in Chaddesden to make the final three. Voting will close at midday on July 31. You can vote near the bottom of this article. Speaking on being named among the best in the county, Kami said: "It's just something I can't put into words, I'm so proud to have been voted as one of the best in the county. We don't even need to win, I'm just so grateful to be named. "Things like this show that you are doing something right. All those years putting everything into the business, all the bad days where things didn't go well, it's all worth it when we get recognised like this. "I feel like I'm the kind of person who never wins anything, so this is really special to me. But it's more than just about me, we have a brilliant team of staff who work so hard, and our customers have played a huge part in appreciating what we do and always coming back for more - a special thank you to them, without them it wouldn't be possible." You can vote for your favourite now from our shortlist using the form below. Votes left in the comments on social media or on our website will not be counted. The shortlist for the Best Takeaway category is: McTurk Kebabs, Morledge Cavendish Kebabs, Stenson Road Three Chefs Original, Chaddesden We will soon be revealing the winners for county's best cafe, restaurant and takeaway. Voting will close at midday on July 31.
CNN
4 days ago
- Business
- CNN
Meet the last woman carving mahjong tiles by hand in Hong Kong
Ho Sau-Mei, one of Hong Kong's last mahjong tile carvers, is getting old. 'My eyesight is fading, and my hands are getting sore,' she says brusquely as she chisels the intricate strokes of a Chinese character or the petals of a flower onto a piece of plastic little bigger than a postage stamp. For over four decades, Ho has been carving mahjong tiles in a tiny roadside shop in Hung Hom, an old harborside district that is now seeing the rapid construction of shiny, new residential high-rises. She started learning the craft at age 13 from her father, who founded the family's tile business, Kam Fat Mahjong, in 1962. Masters who would visit Hong Kong during its manufacturing heyday in the 1970s and 80s also shared their techniques and trained apprentices. Ho Sau-Mei carves mahjong tiles at her shop in Hong Kong. Mahjong is a game for four people similar to rummy and is hugely popular across China and among Chinese communities for which it also serves as a cultural ritual and symbol of tradition. Children learn how to play as they spend time with cousins and friends over Lunar New Year, and among the elderly it's popular all year round. Mahjong tiles are traditionally made of wood, ivory or bamboo, with tile makers cutting, polishing, carving and coloring each piece. In the 1960s, there were more than 20 mahjong tile carvers in Hong Kong — and even an association dedicated to the industry. Now most mahjong tiles are mass-produced in factories in mainland China. Mahjong tiles are stacked on a game table in Hong Kong. The craft was listed as an 'intangible cultural heritage' by the Hong Kong government in 2014, which provides funding for research into and preservation of various protected traditions. But less than a handful of mahjong artisans are still around the city, and among them Ho is the only woman left practicing the craft. Minibuses and double-decker buses zoom past the busy road across her dimly lit ground-floor shop beneath a staircase on Bulkeley Street. The store is barely two meters wide with a grimy glass case on the wall that reaches the ceiling filled with faded photographs and stacks of novelty mahjong tiles. Hovering behind Ho's work stool is a shrine that glows a gentle red hue. Ho starts to carve mahjong tiles in the morning. Pictures of Ho can be found inside her shop. Workers from nearby hardware stores and elderly people she's befriended over the years also banter with her. Pedestrians sometimes slow down to observe Ho deep in work hunched over her small working space. Ho's routine has stayed the same even as the neighborhood developed, with mahjong tiles now mostly made by big factories in mainland China. She's usually already seated at the storefront and lays out her tools for the day just before 10 a.m. At 68 years old, Ho says she only works until about noon these days, sighing that she 'doesn't have the stamina' to carve away all day anymore. She could retire if she wanted to, she says, 'but I'll get bored.' She lays out the Bakelite tiles lined neatly on a heavy wooden tray and prepares her specialized tools on the tiny glass display case that serves as her work desk. Tiles are packaged inside Ho's shop in Hong Kong. Ho uses a traditional tool to carve a tile. A complete mahjong set comes with 144 tiles, including the four suits — bamboo, dots, characters, directional winds (north, south, east and west) — and special tiles depicting flowers, dragons and the four seasons. One of Ho's tools resembles a giant corkscrew and is used to drill the concentric circles on one of the rectangles. Using other tools with varying tips and angles, she holds the blank tiles with her calloused thumb and middle finger and masterfully etches the complicated Chinese characters and flower tiles with surgical precision. Ho paints mahjong tiles inside her store. For the penultimate process, Ho brings out vintage jars of paint, their labels weathered by time. 'Don't go away, this part is fast,' Ho tells us. She brushes red, green and blue colors onto the naked tiles, carefully bringing the engraved symbols to life. A full set costs $245 and takes around 10 to 14 days to make by hand. But if you're planning to order a set from Ho, the entire process is still analogue — and somewhat haphazard. The phone rings a few times during the day with a handful of customers inquiring about the orders they've placed. But Ho doesn't really keep track of the orders. A client speaks with Ho and her assistant. Mahjong tiles are seen in front of a small house temple at Ho's shop. There's no online booking system. Everything is done either by phone or in person, and she scribbles the orders down on a notebook that's torn apart at the spine. One caller, a British man who says his wife ordered a set a couple of weeks ago, phones in to check if the set is ready. Ho asks us to help translate. A shop assistant flips through the notebook and searches for the client's phone number. Turns out, one set will be ready the next week, so that's now reserved for them, Ho says. Ho carves tiles at her shop. It takes her about 10 to 14 days to make a full set. Ho applies red paint to tiles. A complete mahjong set comes with 144 tiles. 'I can't keep up with the orders,' she says. 'It's really down to luck and timing. I'm not a machine.' After the phone calls, Ho finishes painting the tiles, layering different colors on some of the suits. Once that's done, the tiles are left to dry for the afternoon and Ho hurriedly starts to close shop. 'I'm still a woman,' she jokes. 'I have to buy groceries and keep the house running.' Back home, she'll make lunch and dinner, maybe watch a bit of TV and rest her hands that she says are giving her more and more trouble after decades of work. Ho's roadside shop is in Hung Hom, an old harborside district of Hong Kong. As Hong Kong moved from a manufacturing hub to a financial center in the 1990s, the mass production of machine-made tiles moved to mainland China. Some sets sell for just 70 Renminbi ($10) direct from wholesalers online. There's a licensed mahjong parlor a few blocks away from Ho's shop, but they buy the tiles from the mainland, according to the manager who was preparing for customers to start rolling in. Ho used to play regularly with her siblings but rarely finds time these days. Occasionally she gets invites from old friends. Tables are seen inside a dedicated mahjong room that's in the same neighborhood as Ho's store. She believes people will keep playing the game, using tiles bought online or sets that were passed down from generations. But she has no interest in training others how to make tiles the traditional way, she says, despite repeated requests she says she's received over the decades from artists and cultural organizations. 'I was just never interested in teaching,' Ho says candidly, determined to work solely at her own pace. Ho could retire if she wanted to, she said, 'but I'll get bored.' 'Every year, students and journalists come to ask me questions, making more people aware of the dying craft,' she said. 'I don't know how much longer I can do this,' she admits. 'But as long as I can still hold the tools, I can still keep doing it.' The next day, she'll be back on her stool, carving another set, one tile at a time.
