dashboard diaroma - beginning to recount our journey to the northeast usa

Sharing journal notes- Early October in Massachusetts

Today bought 2 apples, 3 garlic cloves and 1 small pumpkin with a lovely twisted vine still attached. Placed them all on the dashboard so that I can see them no matter our location during this journey. Not sure which makes me happier - autumn through my windshield or harvest on my dash.

Days later in Vermont


The dashboard diorama is having trouble holding it together on these forest roads. It doesn't help that there is little room to spare. Now, quartz, 4 wild green apples, an assortment of rocks and acorns, birch bark and 2 pumpkins inhabit the small space, joining the green snake toy who is a permanent resident. James is off wandering in the rain, while I sit knitting - happily....

Following Amish boys on bicycles in Pennsylvania

camping in the catskills

We spent the past few nights camping in various spots throughout the Catskill Mountains in New York. Absolutely lovely. Halfway through a 5 mile hike to a 3200 ft summit two days ago, we encountered our first freezing rain/ sleet of the season. We turned around and to head back to camp before it got worse. The sleet turned to rain and it didn't stop until late in the evening. At some point the rain turned to snow, so the next morning we awoke to flurries and the mountain was covered in white. Unbelievable to see.

Today, has again turned from snow to rain. Tonight promises snow only. What an adventure! My body temperature is way out of whack. Inside I'm sweating due to the all of my clothing layers and the extreme heat of the buildings - outside I'm actually getting used the cold ( a little, maybe.)

drying out

After camping in Massachusetts and Vermont for the past week, we have come to New York to house sit for an artist friend and to regroup. The leaves have been lovely, as has been camping; however, it has been raining nearly every day for some small or large amount of time. This would be okay, except the truck topper is a bit leaky. Our nice comfy sleeping setup has been a bit on the musty side. No real complaining here though, because we have been more than happy and dry enough.

We keep wondering when our last autumn was and we, honestly, can't remember. So, we peep joyfully at leaves and 'oooh' and 'aaah' at the various vistas on our journey. We breathe the fresh, cold fall air and stop at every farm stand and pumpkin field we pass. The truck is filling with evidence of our journey - apples, pumpkins, garlic, acorns, leaves, pine cones, granite, and more - we love them all and squeal with delight at the things that make us happiest - beaver dams, bears eating berries (in the distance), goats, sheep, a moose, nice people, maple syrup, rivers, streams, mountains, deer, chipmunks, honey, jellies, jams.

Sometimes we get tired on the road - when it is hard to find a place to stop for the night or when we wait too long to eat or we get a flat tire, but those are all minor complications and are eventually resolved.

We are satisfied with our journeying and wonder at how few people we see exploring autumn.

Lots of picture taking, but posting won't happen til later.

Postcards from FLA

Hopkins Prairie in Ocala National Forest

Anastasia Island Dunes

On the run in St. Augustine

From Florida with Love.....

A tisket a tasket a tree in a basket

The giant basket arrived by plane with its creator, William Colebrooke (Scrap Iron), and Rasta sculptor, Henry Wallace, in February of 2005. Magnificent though it was (the largest palm frond basket ever sewn on Andros Island) it had trouble written all over it. Customs allowed it to pass from the Bahamas into Florida - apparently the termite damage in the bottom of the basket went unnoticed due to the large number of other crafts, shells and trinkets crammed inside.

The basket traveled up through Florida in a van and arrived at our house in Gainesville with our shivering island friends. Too large for Grinter Gallery, the venue for exhibit, the basket sat in the building's entry and excited many passers-by because of its size. Countless photos were taken of students, faculty and other visitors standing in or around the enormous work of art.

When the exhibit wrapped up in mid-2005, the basket went to live in Micanopy with the co-curator. There it stayed in a small sun room gathering dust for two years, waiting to be sold or for the van to take it on a journey back to the island. In 2007, the co-curator moved and responsibility was passed back to me, the basket was transported to our garage where spiders and cockroaches immediately took up residence. I contacted Scrap Iron who stated emphatically that he never wanted to see the basket on Andros again; it made it off island and its destiny was now to live a different life.

I attempted to find a collector who would love the unique piece, and when that didn't work, a museum that might exhibit it (permanently) and when that didn't work, I offered it to UF for display in various public areas. In the interim it sat. We moved to New Orleans and it continued sitting.   

We returned to Florida and were again faced with the conundrum, "What do we do with the giant basket  in our garage?" Inspired by the work of Steve Siegel, the artist I exhibited for my thesis in 2003, we decided that the work should return to nature and made plans to move it to Luna Oak Grove (LOG), James' property on the Sante Fe River.

We learned of Scrap Iron's death a few days before our next planned trip to the river and thought it appropriate that the basket be placed in his memory. So, on Monday, we drove to High Springs in the rain, and arrived to sunshine and high humidity. James rolled the basket 1/4 mile down a path to the spot we selected, gathering chiggers all the way (17 in all - he is very itchy today). I trailed behind carrying a young sycamore in a bucket, a machete, a serrated knife, and a shovel. While James cleared the area, I cut a plate-sized hole in the bottom of the basket. Together we dug a hole into the earth, placed the basket over said hole, and planted the sapling that we brought from New Orleans. A little gecko kept me company as I squatted low in the basket filling the hole and tamping down the dirt.

Afterward, we sat on the bank of the river watching the sunset and James asked me if I said any words to Scrap Iron while creating his memorial. I answered yes, but that I'd said them quietly because it was just between me and him. "Did you?" I asked. "I was just thinking of him throughout, but I've been thinking about him a lot lately." With that, the stories began, one after another, we each took turns, laughing, talking, remembering, honoring a person very dear to our hearts.

In Memory of Scrap Iron

William Colebrooke (Scrap Iron) in December 2007


We received the news on Saturday that our friend, William Colebrooke (also known as Scrap Iron or Old Iron), died the week before. Scrap Iron was born in Red Bays and was the last of the Black Seminoles on Andros Island. He had no children and to my knowledge, was never married. After spending his teens and early 20s working as a migrant laborer in the US, he decided to stay on the island full-time where he worked as a sponger and fisherman. When the sponge beds were devastated by a hurricane, Scrap Iron began making baskets - the biggest and strongest on the island. James introduced me to him for the first time in 2002; Scrap Iron was sitting on the side of the road in front of his hut weaving a giant circular mat. "No one buys dem." He told me then. "Dey's too big to take home, so I'm gonna stop makin' dem." Two years later, when we lived on Andros, he was weaving and had created his largest basket ever.



Scrap Iron Weaving in 2004


In 2005, he exhibited this and other baskets at the University of Florida and sold some of the pieces he thought would never find their way off-island. Our last visit with Iron was in 2007, he had aged significantly and lost weight. He must have been in his late 70s at the time. He wasn't weaving any longer and was getting by on fish, conch and iguana - living a quiet life in his hut in the bush of Andros Island.

Henry Wallace and Scrap Iron after returning to Andros from their Florida adventure in 2005

crick in my neck

Was it the hours of sitting in front of a computer for multiple years that has caused this horrific crick in my now crooked neck? Or was it the three-week journey by car to my multiple family homes compounded by sleeping in one, two, three too many beds that were not my own? Or is it simply (or not so simply) the mounted tension that I hold in my shoulders? How much yoga and walking and stretching and massaging and walking and yoga and gardening and standing and breathing and walking will it take to get better? I will overcome! Hopefully, sooner rather than later.

wet balls of sand

While I walked on the beach a few days ago, James sat under his beach umbrella making perfect spheres of sand from about two inches in diameter to maybe 9 inches in diameter. He created them one at a time and placed them in a line leading toward the beach starting with the smallest and making each increasingly larger. My walk was about an hour and I returned while he was finishing the 8th sand ball and moving on to the 9th and final one.

"People keep looking at me." He said as he dug sand from the pit in front of him and packed it onto the growing sphere. He nodded toward two children standing with their hands folded staring in our direction. "What do you think they are looking at?" I laughed because I think his question was sincere. I tried to explain how unusual it might look to others - picture the scene - a tall unshaven man sitting by himself under a bright turquoise beach umbrella decorated with fish and seashells, wearing a giant, battered, bahamian straw hat with a homemade sheriff's badge attached to the front, reflective sunglasses, a long-sleeved shirt, and blue floral swimming trunks - and he just happens to making sand balls. James enjoyed the description but didn't really get what was odd about it. After finishing the last one, he stood, brushed himself off and went for a swim.

As soon as he walked away, one of the staring children, a little boy of about 8, ran up to me and asked,"What are those?" My reply. "Sand balls." He wasn't satisfied. "Why did he make them?" My reply. "Because he wanted to." Another question,"What is going to do with them?" My reply. "Nothing - he just wanted to make them." Obviously the boy wanted more, but there was nothing more I could tell him. "Oh," he said and ran back to his sister.

James returned from his swim and we lowered the umbrella. As we picked it up and turned away, two other boys ran along the beach toward the balls. "I think they want the sand balls." I said to James. He didn't believe me. We walked a few more feet, turned and watched as the boys swooped in, each grabbing one of the balls and running away - carefully balancing them. "They are stealing the sand balls!" James exclaimed. Soon a little girl was running toward the balls. We watched in amazement as each ball was removed by a different child and taken to their respective play areas. Children who weren't quick enough cried out at the inequity. Parents did their best to console and distract the losers. Chaos a la James was created on the beach that afternoon and he is still rejoicing in the memories of it.

fer-men-ta-tion

Just because one small jar of salsa exploded three years ago during one of my food experiments, James has declared himself anti-fermentation. Personally, I find great joy in fermenting foods and have returned to my explorations since moving back to Florida. While living on the Apple Farm in 2006, I discovered a number of food books - Wild Fermentation was one of my favorites. Prior to that, I had not considered the health benefits and the flavor enhancing possibilities available in properly aged foods. Since that time, I've made a variety of concoctions - some that are more easily accepted like sauerkraut and sourdough starters for breads, and some that we in the US would not necessarily expect to ferment - like salsas, chutneys, kvass, and other health tonics.

James will sometimes try my fermentations, but mostly, he leaves them for me to eat. Last night, I served a peach chutney as an accompaniment to the pork, green beans, and sweet potatoes that he created. He was supportive yet not enthusiastic. He put a little chutney on his fork, asking repeatedly what was in it and how long it had fermented. Finally, after it passed the smell test,he ate a little with the pork. Victory came when he chose to chew it up and swallow it without spitting it out. He didn't ask for more and acted a bit tortured throughout, but he did, in fact, eat all five pieces of peach and raisins I put on his plate. Progress!

glass lizard in the grass

You might imagine my surprise upon seeing our old friend the glass lizard today. I was sitting on the front porch drinking coffee and talking with James when I saw a movement across the sidewalk. This little snake-ish lizard or its twin sister or relative has lived in the yard for much longer than I've been in Florida. A few times a year, mostly in the summer months, I'll see a shimmer in the mondo grasses by the mailbox and I'll know that the lizard is still about.

Because it looks like a snake, I always imagine how my mom or grandma Mattingly would react to seeing it - much vocalization and swatting would ensue. If a hoe were present, the lizard would most likely meet its end.

Because of knowing James and spending time outside looking at snakes and other creatures in nature, I find that I've been able to turn my fear of slithering things into respectful curiosity. I'm not saying I want to pick them up and cuddle, but I enjoy looking at them and knowing that they do nice things for the world,like keeping the rodent population down.

Though they look like snakes, they are actually legless lizards . They have little earholes on the outside and, crazily enough,eyelids. They also amble more and slither less. James and I love having them in the yard and look forward to seeing them.

So, we followed this one around the yard, James with his camera, and I with my coffee cup - noticing its various colors and little knicks on its body, possibly from a larger something trying to eat it. The lizard didn't seem bothered by us and was in no hurry to get anywhere. Neither were we. And a pleasant time was had by all.

What's next?

Over the past couple of months, I've been asked with great regularity, "What's next for you two?" Though I should have a pat answer, the question always takes me by surprise. What is next? I wonder. The question makes me feel as if I should know, and truthfully, I don't.

What I am confident of, is that with each move and with each return to Gainesville, we progress. We see a world that is bigger and with more possibilities. We are educated about the people and places of our country and the countries of others. We fill our minds with new information both pleasant and painful; listening to the sounds, smelling the fragrances, tasting the cuisine, breathing the air - all the while creating memories, ties and friendships.

Most likely, what is next will be more of the same. A life adventure that takes form in an unfamiliar place for the purpose of learning, growing and sharing.

"What is now?" is the more relevant question. This one I can answer. Now is time at home with friends and family. Time to enjoy all of the things we love about Florida. Time to take care of things that need taking care of. Time to rest. Time to regroup. Time to plan. Time to cook in our own kitchen and grow our own garden. Time to help. Time to watch movies and to read. Time to take little trips. Time to work, though not too hard. Time to take in all that we have experienced. Time to appreciate each other and those we love and miss while away. Time to sit quietly on the front porch. And, as always, time to tell stories.

bugs, glorious bugs

While investigating the sting on my toe yesterday, I realized that over the past year there has been a great absence of insects in my life. Besides the disgusting cockroach/ palmetto bugs that ran through the streets of New Orleans and often through our home, insects were few and far between.

I don't think I missed the bugs, but lately, I've been noticing them. No-see-ums in Suwannee,FL, mosquitos in Gainesville, dragon, damsel, and fireflies in High Springs, chiggers and horseflies in Henryville, IN, spiders in Salisbury, NC, houseflies in Rock Hill, SC, and, yesterday, bees in Clover, SC.



My mom and I visited her friend, Sally, a beekeeper, who, because of my interest in bees, allowed me to suit up and journey with her to two of her hives. It was thrilling to open the hives and look inside while worker bees bumped us in their efforts to protect the hive. We found small hive beetles and ants in residence with the bees. Sally believes in treating her hives without chemicals, so she sprayed vinegar around the frame to ward off ants (ants aren't dangerous to the bees, but will eat the honey) and squashed beetles because they threaten the health of a hive.

Smoke is said to calm the bees, so because I was with her, Sally smoked the first hive, but decided against smoking the second (she generally doesn't smoke the hives when she visits them alone). The second hive proved to be a lively bunch and after we returned the lid of their home, a few followed us out into the field to make sure we were headed out. My mom, who was not in bee gear, remained calm yet was a little disconcerted when a single worker bee bumped her nose repeatedly in its attempt to get her to vacate the area.

We left with only one small sting between the three of us. Forgetting to grab my tennis shoes, I was wearing Tevas - leaving most of my feet exposed. One unfortunate bee landed on my foot and when I stepped toward the hive, it was squashed under my sandal strap, stinging me lightly in the process. A minor irritation for me, a bigger loss for the bee.

Sally's business, Mama Beehive, is thriving and info can be found on her website at www.mamabeehive.com.

at the pool

While at the pool with my good friend her 7 year old daughter said, "Mom, Heather looks like Evie's Mom, except Evie's Mom is skinny." Made me think twice about my decision to wear a two-piece....

the little things

There is something absolutely wonderful about a man who, when confronted with an unexpected summer downpour, runs inside grabs a bar of soap and a washcloth, runs back outside, strips down to his skivvies, lathers up, and begins singing off-key while enjoying his evening shower.

normal?

After one month, is it possible that I'm starting to feel like myself again? We're home. The mold seems to be under control. (Most) things have found their appropriate place in the house. I'm sleeping through the night. We've found a sense of purpose that allows us the freedom to do the work that is needed without going overboard. Not bad progress for one month.

To say that our experience in the past year changed us would be true, but to describe exactly how... that is the challenge. We can only take a deep breath and acknowledge that we have learned and seen more in one year than we could have imagined. This blog only touched on the reality of our life there.

Still, we did the right thing by moving to New Orleans, just as we have done the right thing by returning to Florida. Now we can move forward with what we each know and what we admit we will never understand.

This blog will change, but I intend to keep writing. Life has way too many stories to stop now.

Krewe of 2

James' mom described us as her 'crew' when we stopped by to deliver a chair today. Aptly put, I thought. In the past month, we've been the moving crew, the repair crew, the cleaning crew, the organization crew.... We are the type of crew that can adapt to the situation at hand.

We are helping to ready their condo in St. Augustine for sale. All in all, we are enjoying the change of pace, the independence, and in still having meaningful work. It has been refreshing to have a goal and, with each day of work, to see our joint progress toward that goal. Plus, there is something to be said for starting and ending a day of hard work at the beach...

NOLA view - our yard

back yard view



Sometimes in looking back at a situation, the reality is more shocking than when it is staring you in the face. Looking through pictures of our yard and our neighborhood, I find that I am actually surprised by how it looks.

front yard view

from my window on the 23rd floor

Though I don't sit in my New Orleans office anymore, life continues to happen there. My previous co-worker now occupies the space that I used to fill. Together we would often look out the window and discuss various activities happening below. Most frequently, police movement would attract our attention. She e-mailed me today to tell me that many people gathered in my office to watch as two body bags were carried from one of the Iberville Project's apartment doors.

Though I'm not there, I see it, and I know the scene exactly. I know the faces of the young men who may have been in each of those bags. I saw them each day as I entered and departed. I know that summer is worse for those who have no school, no job, no hope, nothing to fill their time except their disputes with one another. Anger at their world and at their resulting unhappiness - dealt with using terminal violence.

changing gears

Lately, I've been attempting to change gears while biking. I have this Schwinn that I bought at the Bridge House in New Orleans for $20. I chose it because it sits more upright than my single-speed Specialized which was made for me by a buddy of mine. The roads suck in NOLA contributing to my achy neck and back while biking around. So, I switched my basket and my bell from the Specialized to the Schwinn and used it while tooling around the Crescent City. If nothing else, NOLA is flat, so though the Schwinn had many gear options, I kept it at #2 on the left side and #4 on the right side (roughly equivalent, I'm sure, to my single-speed).

Surprisingly enough, when compared to NOLA, Gainesville has varied elevation, so I've been practicing changing gears. So far, I can't figure it out. My chain has fallen off more than once, I pedal too fast sometimes and with too much resistance other times. I'm told that gears do lots of nice things for you, like making hills easier to scale and giving your knees a break. Also, if you have gears, I've heard that that your bike likes for you to change them.

My response to this gear changing hoop-la is that I don't need to do it. I've given it my best shot and I'm a confirmed single-speeder. My legs adjust to the needs of the road when I bike, just like they do when I walk or jog. No need to fix what isn't broken.

back in FLA

After a year and a few days in New Orleans, James and I have returned to our Florida life. We arrived to a musty, moldy home that required significant cleaning after no air conditioning or heat for one year (yes, we had a tenant - no, he didn't use either - an unfortunate miscommunication which we have accepted and are dealing with). The upside is that the house has never been so thoroughly cleaned and we uncovered many items that will soon be craiglisted. We've spent the past few days visiting wonderful friends in Suwannee and will return to Gainesville to decide what life holds for us next.

Many stories have yet to be told and many photos have gone unshared, so perhaps, the blog will not end right away. It may even take a new direction. For now, I'm enjoying the freedom my brain has from the constant stimulation of NOLA and James is relieved to be released from the endless temptation of the large, deep-fried shrimp/ fish po-boys.