Today I was attempting a sincere day of focused productivity. Life in rural Appalachia is somewhat on a different wavelength-- time is slow, nights often are quiet, small town bustling occurs at lunchtime around the local U.S. post office. I live near the town courthouse where the sheriff and the cops and city lawyers congregate in the building with heads stooped to the ground at 9 a.m. and then dismiss themselves with eyes and heads a wablin' around 4 p.m. Even Ben Franklin, the arts and crafts store deemed to stay alive by the community despite it's adversary- the grandose Walmart- sparkles with people throughout the day. People know each other by name..."Judy! Didn't I just see you in here just yesterday?" The definition of a regular. They don't go to shop, they go to be welcomed. I particularly cater to it's fabric section, where i slowly gravitate so each different store worker can reel me into the world of quilt-making. I can't sew great, I just secretly want to hear them speak about their passion, their roots, their love of quilting. Sorta like finding the spark to the fire, and then sharing in its flames. The few eclectic restaurants that exist come alive around 11 a.m, when the older, post-retiree coal miners and wives decide which cafe will subside their hunger for midday. The young, progressive workers at the restaurants take frequent smoke breaks. Always in groups-- they stare at me as i walk by, i return their kindness with a way-overtly widened smile. I know names, but nothing past the friendly hellos. We are fashionable, well-acquainted regular greeters. Nothing in common but our daily passing-bys. The outdoor enthusiasts with kayaks and rock climbing gear nestle their way to the Outdoor store, adjacent to the courthouse. They,too, are regulars. The one stop light to which the town revolves is a people-watching magnet of a haven. People praying, hoping they land on red light so for a moment, they can see the world unravel itself.
Have you ever seen such a thing unfold?
Monday, July 25, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
“I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief... For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.” -Wendell Berry
Wendell Berry is just another common man with some enriched revolutionary sort of heart and mind. He is known as a notable leader of the agrarian movement, detailing how the recovery of agrarian principles is a form of redemption to us and a fresh breath of cultural renewal and well-being. I got into him real good while out at Buckhorn, but I feel like my understanding of everything he stood for had no face to it. Finally about a month ago, I got to go with the ma and pops out to Oregon in an attempt to let them see what I saw, feel what I felt, breathe the air that I felt released me into the family of things. I ended up getting super enriched by their wisdom, and especially their willingness and earnestness to relate with me in this stage, era, whatever of my life. My mom got to tell me about her liberal arts program her first year of college-- a program- which only 35 years later, she had managed to still have ALL her books from that program. One of her monumental books was "Let US Now Praise Famous Men." It's a book written in the late 30s about three tenant families who worked farms in Alabama. It reminisced the daily tasks, ordinary duties to which these men gave of their energy and time on the land of the deep south. Some of the speculation and observation was dull, with somewhat pointless rambling-- but I think that was maybe a subconscious intention. Not a make the book, "interesting" or overtly philosophically and ornately beautiful sounding, because it's not. It's rough. It's raw. It's their lives. But this is where a book is a book. The pictures of these famous man are paper, bound together that sit there on the shelf. Their lives are not perceivable by mere perception. Who really are these men? Is that education? To read, read, read. This is the call to me and the rest of my generation-- with public causes of the environment, technology and human rights--- to put down our damn books, and see the lives of the people around us. Let our movement be the culmination of all the past movements. Not just as Berry puts it, a "public" cause, but let it penetrate deeply, let it encompass in our private lives, daily life. We know the familiar voice-- to go deep, we just have to be willing to tread the land that brings us there.
Wendell Berry is just another common man with some enriched revolutionary sort of heart and mind. He is known as a notable leader of the agrarian movement, detailing how the recovery of agrarian principles is a form of redemption to us and a fresh breath of cultural renewal and well-being. I got into him real good while out at Buckhorn, but I feel like my understanding of everything he stood for had no face to it. Finally about a month ago, I got to go with the ma and pops out to Oregon in an attempt to let them see what I saw, feel what I felt, breathe the air that I felt released me into the family of things. I ended up getting super enriched by their wisdom, and especially their willingness and earnestness to relate with me in this stage, era, whatever of my life. My mom got to tell me about her liberal arts program her first year of college-- a program- which only 35 years later, she had managed to still have ALL her books from that program. One of her monumental books was "Let US Now Praise Famous Men." It's a book written in the late 30s about three tenant families who worked farms in Alabama. It reminisced the daily tasks, ordinary duties to which these men gave of their energy and time on the land of the deep south. Some of the speculation and observation was dull, with somewhat pointless rambling-- but I think that was maybe a subconscious intention. Not a make the book, "interesting" or overtly philosophically and ornately beautiful sounding, because it's not. It's rough. It's raw. It's their lives. But this is where a book is a book. The pictures of these famous man are paper, bound together that sit there on the shelf. Their lives are not perceivable by mere perception. Who really are these men? Is that education? To read, read, read. This is the call to me and the rest of my generation-- with public causes of the environment, technology and human rights--- to put down our damn books, and see the lives of the people around us. Let our movement be the culmination of all the past movements. Not just as Berry puts it, a "public" cause, but let it penetrate deeply, let it encompass in our private lives, daily life. We know the familiar voice-- to go deep, we just have to be willing to tread the land that brings us there.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
My friend Mollie is one of the most fun, clever, nonsensically magical genius artists I've ever known. SHE IS ALMOST THERE WITH LYNDA BARRY. Which, dear God, if you have not experienced the work and writings and super remarkable ride of Lynda Barry, you have not lived. Mollie is a Wisconsin-ite (derr) and she grew up on a farm with Amish neighbors. She calls this "The Evolution of Man". INKKKK. I inked myself... (If you get this, genius..ness is calling your name). LOVE LOVE LOVE
Sunday, July 3, 2011
amen, and amen.
Just take a look at this brilliant creation and ingenuity. It's called the Neo Nurture Incubator.
Every year, 4 million babies worldwide never live to their 1-month birthday. Healthcare specialists believe that 1.8 million babies could be saved if they could be kept sufficiently warm. Kangaroo care would alleviate this mother-to-child problem, but the problem exists that more than half a million mothers die from child-rearing complications and many more unable to provide consistent care. Regular incubators roll in an average pricetag of $30,000. Utilizing a surplus resource, old car parts, reliable incubators can be made cheap and designed geniuosly. Get this: Headlights provide heat; a dashboard fan circulates air; a door-chime and signal light system is recreated into an alarm system that alerts users when troubleshooting or haywire details get awry. Funny, as we're going goo goo for gadgets all over the place, we may have a repurposed purpose for remembering that we're here to stay for a while,.
i love that word: design. It's different than create. Sometimes creating things becomes this inert doing, unexpected, something where you supply the resources, and your inner parts craft their doings. "To design" sounds like this lifetime of intentional creations that make a daring journey out of uncertain parts. It's an elongated source of making it up, improvising, and being willing to follow the path that leads... moment by moment. Well i'm gonna take this moment and go work on my bird feeders-- made out of sticks and old tea cups... well sorta. Today, bird feeders. Who knows? Tomorrow, a flying saucer powered by solar energy that detects other earths in other universes. Life is exciting in this way. Gracias my BFF, UNCERTAINTY.
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