By day I manage the online presence of a public broadcasting station. I promote local TV and radio programs and community events. I develop and edit content and write scripts. I produce faculty interviews and educational forums. I compress videos and author DVDs. I initiate online chats and implement Flash slideshows.

And how do I spend the remainder of my waking hours?

I blog here about newlywed life, and I share food stories and post recipes on The Culinary Couple. I told our wedding story on EAD, and I contribute to the Harrisburg Examiner.

I track my runs on Nike+, and I keep in touch with my family on Skype. I share videos on both YouTube and Vimeo. I have accounts with StumbleUpon and Digg and Newsvine, and I’m connected on LinkedIn.

On delicious, I bookmark my favorite finds and tag them as crafting, data visualization, ecofriendly, fitness, font, gocco, HTML, jQuery, photography, public media, recipes, travel, typography, usability.

I subscribe to over 200 blogs in categories like cooking, baking, design, technology, photography, and social commentary. My Google Reader has not been clear for months.

There is undeniable overlap. I create media. I consume media. I am always immersed in media.

I have a personal Facebook page, and I administer five group pages. I have a personal Twitter account, and I tweet to one professional account.

I’ve been uploading photos to Flickr since 2004, and I recently set up a stream for my station.

I manage no less than six public media websites, and there are always new projects on the horizon. On the side, I maintain four websites for freelance clients.

I feel pressure to be plugged in all hours of the day. It’s an ever-evolving environment, and — GASP — what if I miss something?

What if I don’t check-in on Foursquare or connect via Ning? What if I don’t understand the difference between TweetDeck and HootSuite? What if I don’t use Tumblr or Posterous? What if I don’t share my music preferences on Last.fm or post my restaurant reviews on Yelp? What if I don’t track trends on Slashdot or Mashable?

What then? Nothing. That’s what.

Life will go on. Just as it did when Nick and I both completely unplugged for an entire week last August. No iPhones. No MacBooks. No worries.

I need to make more of an effort to disconnect from technology and reconnect with real life. Do you agree? How do you manage?

And for the past five years I’ve worked in an office within three miles of my apartment. I had it down to a science. Alarm rings at 7:40. Hit snooze until 7:49. Hit snooze again until 7:58. Finally get out of bed at 8:00. Shower, dress, dry hair, apply makeup, eat cereal, take coffee to go. I was at my desk by 9:00.

Oh, the glory days have come to an end. I now live roughly 50 miles from my office. Fortunately, it’s a straight shot on I-99 along the ridge of Bald Eagle Mountain. Unfortunately, it can get very windy and snowy along that ridge, as I witnessed on the second half of the first day of my new commute.

Now that I have to spend just under two hours on the road every weekday, I’m more appreciative of my time at home. I’m encouraged to wake up earlier so I can get home earlier. Last week my alarm rang at 6:15 every day, and surprisingly, I only hit snooze one time on one day.

Nick and I sit down to bowls of cereal by 7:15, and  I’m on the road with a travel mug of coffee by 7:30. Steve Inskeep and Renee Montagne keep me company in the morning, and the good folks of All Things Considered are with me in the evening.

Because I’m out of bed early, I need to be in bed early. Last week we averaged a 10pm bed time. This was particularly easy because we were without distractions like cable and Internet. This week could be a different story, however. Figure skating! Alpine skiing!

Nick doesn’t start his commute for another three weeks. He will be on the road for at least two hours each day, too. This was the compromise. I could keep the job that I love, and Nick took take the job that he wanted, if we were both willing to drive to get there. We’re making it work.

What do you do to get going in the morning?

This was the premise of PASA’s Farming for the Future Conference, The Sustainable Challenge: Providing for a Livable Tomorrow. I attended the 19th annual conference on Friday with 2,000 other folks who are passionate about food and concerned with its origin and quality.

The mission of PASA (Pennsylvania Association for Sustainable Agriculture) is to “transform agriculture and food systems in Pennsylvania and beyond in a way that makes farmers more viable, improves the land, and restores the health and wellbeing of all citizens.”

I bumped elbows (literally, the hall was packed) with traditional Amish farmers and progressive farmers and environmental activists. Some were dressed in flannel and suspenders, others in slacks and cowboy belts, and a few in suits and ties.

These are smart and honest people who are dedicated to the very issues I have read about and have been troubled by. It was invigorating.

My mission was to find out how public media can be used to help promote PASA’s pursuits. I’m fortunate to have spoken to some really influential individuals and look forward to our collaborations.

This was a conference about food, so of course there were some excellent options. All of the meals were provided by local vendors. (I wish such wholesome food was so easily accessible every day — maybe some day.) For lunch I enjoyed a hummus wrap and pasta salad from Gaffron’s Sunrise Bakery in Centre Hall. And I purchased potato salad and applesauce from Eden View Organics to share with Nick later that night.

I also spent a few minutes between workshops sampling treats from Tait Farms (which is where we found our tannenbaum in December). The herbal balsamic vinaigrette was especially tasty and found its way into my brown grocery bag. The next night we drizzled it over organic greens. It can also be used in grilled vegetable and bean salad or warm mushroom and spinach salad. I tasted other items at Tait’s table that I plan to bring home soon, such as sour cherry dark chocolate sauce, ginger peach chutney, and apricot butter.

My final treat of the day was Alaskan sockeye salmon from Wild for Salmon. I purchased the fillet from the young couple who caught it. It’s sustainably harvested, fresh frozen, and vacuum packed. And it was delicious. On Saturday — our final Saturday on Locust Lane — we seasoned it simply with salt and pepper and pan fried it in olive oil. Before serving we squeezed a lemon over top and sprinkled it with parsley. Oh, yum.

I leave you with some food for thought (and encourage you to support local farmers in your community!):

• Eat food produced as close to home as possible.
• Feed thy neighbor as thyself.
• Simplicity is beautiful.
• Feed the world with local food. It may not be easy, but it’s the right thing to do.
• Fair prices will keep nutritious food on our tables.
• Who’s your farmer?

Cynthia suited up with her audio recording devices and I slung the camera over my shoulder and we headed up the hill to the Armory Building. Along the way, I snapped photos of Victorian homes draped in American flags and patriotic bunting. As we walked by the high school, we heard the marching band warming up. (They led the parade down Bishop Street.)

When we arrived at the Armory, we caught the tail-end of the Sergeant’s instructions to his troop. He reminded the men that they needed to remove their cars from the grounds since they would not return for a year. That’s when it hit me — these young guys were leaving home for a full year. And I emphasize “young.” Most appeared to be my age or younger. And I noticed wedding bands on a majority of the hands.

Soon the soldiers stepped into place and the parade began. In front of the band, motorcycles and a color guard cleared the street; fire trucks followed behind the soldiers. I rushed ahead to capture the community members who lined the street.

Construction workers took a break to acknowledge their peers. Employees from Weis Market and Burger King held signs that said “We Support Our Troops.” An elderly man struggled out of his wheel chair to salute the men. Students and teachers and administrators stood in the school’s lawn waving flags and chanting “We Are … America.” Small children from the Christian Academy — dressed in red, white, and blue dresses and trousers — stood with their hands on the hearts. As I entered the downtown area, I noticed fully robed judges who had walked down from the Courthouse and a pit bull with a patriotic handkerchief tied around his neck. At some points the crowd was four people deep. And the closer I got to the train station, the more signs I saw that read “My daddy is my hero” and “We’re proud of our son.”

The camouflaged men marched to the entrance of the park where ladders from two firetrucks formed an arch with an American flag soaring against the bright blue sky. The Sergeant ordered the soldiers to face him and then said, “I now release you to your families.”

Mothers in red cable-knit sweaters and fathers wearing veteran hats and jackets embraced their sons. A little girl with a blond ponytail ran to her father; her hand painted t-shirt said “Daddy’s Little Girl.” Another father scooped up his baby boy who was wearing a camo onesie and cap. Wives who looked younger than me locked arms with their husbands.

Slowly everyone moved into the park. The marching band formed a semicircle around the gazebo, which was draped in bunting. A folding table was filled with chocolate chip and peanut butter cookies baked by the high school home economics class. Several speakers addressed the large crowd, including the Mayor, a State Representative, and a Vietnam Vet.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of one soldier who sat removed the crowd with his wife and young daughter. He bounced the little girl on his knee and let her bare feet touch the cool grass. I couldn’t help but think that the next time he saw her she’d be walking and talking.

I have so much respect for military families. Not only do soldiers risk their lives to fight for our freedoms, but spouses and children and parents and siblings sacrifice, as well. I left Bellefonte that day in amazement of the pride displayed by one small town. More of us should take the time to honor our soldiers and offer support to their families and communities.

Watch the audio slideshow.

emilyjrowlands.com

Beginning in June 2004 — just one month after I graduated from college and one month before I made my first rent payment — the location of my work was an old faculty building at the northwest end of a state university campus. My office was on the third floor of the six story building and had windows overlooking the bus station and the library. My desk was located in the same area as a conference table that tilted if you rested too much weight on its surface and two intern desks with smudged computer screens. Dusty lamps and fans were stored in the corner alongside stacks of university publications. A dry erase board hung from the wall, unused. The temperature outside had no relation to the temperature inside. In the winter, it was too warm, and in the summer, it was too cold. In both situations, I had to leave the window cracked just slightly. The overhead fluorescent lights were unflattering to both the graphics on my computer screen and the freckles on my skin. Despite the less-than-inspiring atmosphere, I had the tools I needed to support my job functions: dual computer monitors, an external hard drive and a scanner, a stash of CDs and DVDs, digital voice recorders and cameras, a tripod and lighting equipment, extra microphones, and a portable podcasting studio. I had a pile of notepads with scribbles from meetings and interviews and online tutorials. A row of photographs from my semester in Europe lined my bulletin board, along with a note from my Grandmother, and a phone list. My padded swivel desk chair was rejected by my colleague, but graciously accepted by me. Sometimes the space felt comfortable and cozy, especially when I set Yahoo radio to “cool as folk” and dove into a web project. During my three and a half years in the office, I led the redesign of two major websites. When immersed in those projects, minutes easily turned into hours. However, there were also many many days when the minute hand moved like cold molasses. Those days seemed even less bearable when both of my only two colleagues were out of the office. Unless I made an effort to interrupt the folks down the hall — and because I live alone — it was possible to go an entire day without opening my mouth. Which brings me back to my point about work reflecting one’s personality. This was not a perfect match.

However, it was an ideal stepping stone between college and career. Upon graduation, I had little direction. Would I be a writer? Or a public relations professional? Or would I return to school and become a teacher? If I hadn’t accepted the offer in 2004, I would not have developed an interest in technology and media. I would not be familiar with PhotoShop and JavaScript and sites like CSS Zen Garden and A List Apart. I would not appreciate clean code and style sheets, heck, I wouldn’t even know how to view web code. I would not have attended and participated in meetings with university administrators. I would not have interviewed scientists about global warming and hydrogen energy. I would not have traveled to conferences in Chicago and Seattle.

I matured in many ways during the the past few years. I polished obvious skills like organization and communication. But, more importantly, I learned to be confident in my ideas and opinions and to interact with diverse personalities. And those assets are applicable far beyond the workplace.