Rockin out to "Ain't that America"

So, I have been living down in "The Holler" at SM's and TM's place for a year now, and to mark the "anniversary" I took SM and TM out on a secret "Anniversary GALA" trip last Saturday night. I planned a sequence of 3 interesting stops, each one stepping it up a notch on the party meter. They didn't know where we were going, but presumably they trusted my judgement because they showed up. I borrowed JN's car so there would be enough seats for everyone, and we were off. First we went by MH's house for a pre-baby visit. We admired the clear, organized fresh house that had a very nice peaceful vibe for the baby boy, who is due be born in 2 weeks. We also (well not MH) drank Bushmill's (Irish whiskey) on the rocks.

Next stop was Hillbilly's, a bluegrass joint down in Del Rio, TN. You turn at The Shack and go what seems like a long way, and follow the signs around many curves through beautiful country and ultimately across a narrow bridge and down a one lane dirt road through the woods to a clearing. You park in a field and go into the barn, where you will find a couple handfuls of old people and a bluegrass band. There was an old man at the door who told me it was $2 a person, and I gave him a $10 for the three of us. He couldn't figure out the change and got a younger girl to help him. We sat and listened at off key bluegrass, watched some really awesome 2 steppin, and marveled at the beauty of the scene. There was a cake walk, which SM and I jumped up to do (yes, I think we are addicted). SM bought some microwave popcorn for a dollar, and apparently she told the snakc bar guy where we came from, because after a while the owner of the place got on the mic and said "We have some new faces here tonight from North Carolina- I believe from Shelton Laurel." And everyone clapped for us. Several people came by and personally welcomed us and asked us to come back again.


Last stop, steppin it up a few notches, was The Shack. Let me just say that Saturday nights at The Shack involved lots of American beer, loud live music (rock and country covers), lots of cigarette smoke, and a whole lot of "special" East Tennessee style. The band of the night was Stryper, and they played rock and country covers. Ladies and men with mullets and other special hair styles danced to both the slow and the fast song. Apprently the bass player had a girlfriend, because some lady was dancing in his face and kissing him the whole time. I decided to drink Miller High Life, which was gross and fun. I admired the scene for a good long while, while SM and TM sometimes had nice slow dances with each other. After 2 or 3 High Lifes, when the band started "Ain't that America," I couldn't contain my excitement any longer and I danced like crazy with a handful of tough looking East Tennessee women. It rocked. I also danced the Electric Slide to "When the Sun Goes Down." SM and TM were really impressed that I knew it. Even the bar tender came out. I wanted to crack up but everyone else was taking it seriously so I didn't.

We left at about midnight to head home, tired and happy and satiated with East Tennessee goodness. I woke up the next day pondering the night before, my latest adventure of my quest to find culture and belonging in this place called The South and this place called America. Somehow, being welcomed at these regular po-dunk places where regular ole people gather for regular ole American music and drink felt really comforting- like maybe I am a step closer to actually beginning to have a clue what all the hype is about.

Cinquefoil yellow

Check out this very lovely specimen of a wild flower that I allowed to naturalize in my garden. Cinquefoil (Potentilla) produces one of my favorite little flowers this time of year. Please notice the most pleasing shade of pale yellow. (That's right, SM, I'm talking about colors...)



Also, I think this is a lovely forellenschluss (spelling?) so I'll stick this photo on there too. Today is a very pleasant and mild spring day. Sunny, slight breeze carrying the smell of wild roses, and the spooky lull of locusts (technically cicadas) singing "pharoh! pharoh!" They hatch in significant quantities every 13 years...

A few of the reasons why my sister is the coolest person on the planet

1. She is the only person I know who can be so endearing with such a dirty mouth.
2. Her sense of humor rocks the galaxy.
3. She does not spend much energy worrying about the past or the future.
4. Her gratitude for the people around her is constant and unfailing.
5. She can ride a horse like nobody's business.
6. She will rag on daddy with me any time, any place (very fun activity).
7. She knows how to get great pleasure out of common everyday stuff.
8. Her brain, sense of humor and general vitality have majorly beat the odds.
Majorly. Basically, she's the toughest cookie I know.

Balm of Gilead

"There is a balm in Gilead, that makes the wounded whole.
There is a balm in Gilead, that heals the sin-sick soul"
-lovely song I remember from church

So I don't know if it's because I'm getting older or because I'm working my body too hard with landscaping, but my joints have been really sore and achy lately. It's to the point where sometimes I wake up in the night aching. I decided to take the bull by the horns and make some special ointment to rub into my joints to try and help with the soreness. I collected some balsam poplar buds (balm of gilead) and decided to make a salve using the otter lard I've been saving in S and T's freezer (bless their vegetarian hearts). I pulled it out and thawed it and then made a double boiler with a tin can on my little camp stove. I heated it up for a long while and then realized it was cooking. Apparently the hunk of lard had a hunk of meat attached to it, and it cooked in there... A little grease came out, but not enough. Luckily, I had a quart of bear lard that Rosemoon gave me, so I added it and the buds and cooked it up for a while. The lard turned a beautiful golden coppery brown. I added a little beeswax, and the whole concoction set nicely. If anyone needs some, just ask. As for the hunk of otter (tail)meat, I tasted it and decided not to eat the rest...

ps

PS. Martha says Hi to everyone..."unforgettably..."

Dirty Hoe Days

So I've been working 2 days a week in Asheville at a great little landscaping company called The Dirty Hoe. I've been enjoying the company- a great lot of hoes they are- and the work- I'm learning stuff. Also, being out and about in different places around Asheville, I've been sneaking little pictures of beautiful life forms. It's nice to know beauty can be found in the big city too. I took my pay check to the bank, and I couldn't figure out why the teller was cracking up. Then she told me she thought it was really funny that I had a check from "The Dirty Hoe..."

Dayton, a quest for self

I love America. I'm glad I live here. That being said there are things about being a modern "American" that I don't like. Like feeling culturally lost, disconnected to a collective heritage or ancestry, not really belonging to a "people" or specific place. I think a lot of us Americans are missing out on what is probably one of the greatest perks of being human- a sense of deep rooted, ancient belonging to an unbroken line of people and tradition. I love where I live and I do the best I can to feel like I belong here. But there is a great void that wants to be filled. Now that I have a brother and a little baby nephew in Dayton (Ohio), which happens to be where I was born, my mother was born, her mother was born, her mother was born (well, Sibina*, Ohio- close enough), and her mother was born (Sibina again), I have motivation enough to travel to that godforsaken part of America, a journey which is asthetically less than pleasing. To make up for the lack of visual appeal, I have taken to searching Dayton for treasures from my German American Ohio roots- I am desperate to uproot any cultural heritage that might help me in my quest to belong to something bigger than myself. Last time I went to Dayton, I explored my family's soap history. I had a semi-religious experience purchasing Lever 2000 and Dove cucumber scented in the local Kroger's (where my great grandmother used to be a cashier). This spring's trip led to to the Dot's, the meat shop that has fed the last 4 generations of my mother's side of the family (and which has not changed in 40 years, according to my GG), the house that my grandfather built to raise his children, and the run down shack of a shop that housed my grandfather's plumbing business for his entire career. Please enjoy the photos, and tell me if you feel like you fit in anywhere in this vast, beautiful, free for all nation.

* Sibina is the home of "Petrified Eugene," a black man who didn't have any family and died poor and wasn't buried, but somehow naturally petrified. Eugene was the limelight of tourism in Sibina when my mom was a kid. I don't know if he is still available for viewing, but I aim to find out the next time I go up there...