mountain retreat

James and I headed north last Tuesday. Our plans keep changing, so we weren't sure where our first stop would be. We drove through Georgia without even a brief hesitation and ended up in southeastern Tennessee before ever blinking an eye. Though we didn't know we were going there, when we arrived in Cherokee National Forest in the Chilhowee Campground, we both knew we'd stay for a few days at least.
Our last visit to the campground was two years ago during a forced evacuation from New Orleans for Hurricane Gustav. We ended up therequite accidentally after spending a few days in Alabama with our good friends Jill and Pinky. We couldn't return to NOLA yet and knew we needed to retreat to nature, so we headed northeast toward the NC mountains. We arrived in TN, saw the Ocoee River, and I (in a rare moment of bossiness:) demanded a cabin by the water. Alas, no cabins were available, yet the nice park ranger pointed toward the mountain and told us to head 7 miles north. We followed his instructions - drove to camp spot C12 and stayed there for the next four days. We couldn't remember what we did during that time, but we knew there were trails and a waterfall.

So, on Tuesday when we arrived, we were surprised at how much we remembered and didn't remember of that journey. We followed the trail that wound its way to Benton Falls and we sat at the top of the falls the first day. The next day we returned again and sat at the bottom of the falls. Other people came and went. We watched them and we watched the water. We took walks, smelled the green of the forest, and the reddish brown dirt, we read a little, talked a little, and felt amazingly complete and content. Some places in the world are meant for healing and recharging - this one serves that purpose for us.

ticks and giggles

goats and chiggers.... all is well in florida's swampy santa fe river. i have counted 24 chiggers bites acquired in the four days that i have been adventuring around. 5 ticks have made attempts at implantation in my legs and arms. 3 goats have roamed freely and without invitation on martha's land. we have chased them away 4 times and encountered evidence of their visits on seven different occasions. we have canoed twice, kayaked once, and gone swimming in 3 springs. we have grilled out and made pizzas, one time each. 5 friends have come to visit and we've spent time - just the two of us. life is itchy. but, sometimes, itchy is good.

driving the shuttle

riding on the shuttle this a.m. i sat up front close to the driver - a woman who was ready to tell a story. over the roar of the engine and the chatter of those around - she shared her adventures as a bus driver. Lakers fans dressed from head to toe in bright purple and yellow, couples who arrived with no pants, parties that never stopped and people falling in and out of the bus, nephews and nieces embarrassed to be seen with their parents, aunts and uncles.... she talked and talked and laughed and laughed and in the end as i left, she told me that she loved her job. so far, she is my favorite part of this day.

sharing stories

I met Julia Alvarez at the American Association of Museums Conference today. She was the keynote speaker. I missed her talk. I was on a tour of the Southwestern Museum of the American Indian and didn't get back in time. However, I went to her book signing. I waited in line and I talked with people - they hadn't read her books but they loved her talk.

When it was my turn to have a book signed, she began writing my name and signing my copy. I began speaking without knowing what I would say. I told her that I read 'In the Time of Butterflies' durning a period of great tragedy in my life - I had just experienced the death of one of my dearest friends - a nurse, a wife, a young mother. I carried Ms. Alvarez's book with me on the plane, to the funeral, and in the month's following. I read it slowly and with an aching heart - I needed to share the pain of loss and life with someone who wouldn't try to make me feel better, but who would let me take the time I needed to understand what had happened.  Her writing helped me mourn the loss of my friend and to cope with continuing to live without this important person in my life.

To this day I cannot think of Julia Alvarez without thinking of her role in my life. Ms. Alvarez sat quietly as I told her why I came to see her today - calmly, simply, without tears. When I finished she handed me my book and thanked me for sharing just a little of my story. I, in turn, thanked her for writing.

grapes for the table - grapes for the glass

Photos by Kathy A. McDonald


Attended a locavore dinner featuring foods and wines from within 110 miles of Santa Barbara last night. After being in transit from FLA for most of the day, I was pleasantly surprised to be seated next to a warm and welcoming organic farmer, Tom Shepherd, and his wife, Susan. In the third course, carrots from their farm were served as a side to grilled sea bass, paired with a lovely Cimarone 2009 Sauvignon Blanc, and were the most delightful vegetable of the evening.

The Shepherds lease land a 40-acre farm, Shepherd Farms, in Carpinteria. The farm grows gorgeous red strawberries that were provided as a gift at the end of the dinner and many other vegetables, including table grapes. Tom has been a farmer leasing land since 1973 (my birth year:), and has farmed over 20 different properties, moving on as leases end or become more expensive. He is concerned that land in southern California is so costly, that though the soil is rich and the climate is perfect for farming, those trying to make a living as farmers won't be able to afford to do so. Much of his time and energy is spent educating both adults and children about food, farming, and the importance of creating farms that can sustain themselves.

Though times have been tough, they are hopeful. In recent years, interest in food production has grown, people are more concerned with where their food comes from and how it is cared for. The Shepherds receive frequent requests for farm tours and are always happily oblige. Volunteers are eager and often numerous and, this year, Shepherd Farms has its first farm apprentice.

Tom and Susan have taken their love of farm and food to another level and are working to write a book teaching children to grow food.  Susan, an artist and art historian, is providing the painted illustrations, Tom is providing the text. Together, they will share their knowledge and appreciation with the next generation of farmers.

Giving stuff

This morning, while reading an article at the Chronicle of Philanthropy, I came across One Million Jasons - an article about the problems caused by giving stuff internationally. Not necessarily used stuff - just giving things rather than money to a country not necessarily in need of or equipped to deal with the particular thing you want to send.

While in Guatemala, James and I were amazed at the countless stores selling second-hand clothes from the U.S. Every other shop in the town of Coban offered - "Ropa Americana" - American Clothes. Inside, piles and piles of clothes, shoes, belts, hats, toys, anything and everything you find in America's thrift stores and yard sales were piled high. We rarely saw anyone actually purchase anything. At first, we joked about it, but the more stores we encountered in even the smallest of Guatemalan towns, the more concerned we became.

Why are we, the U.S.ians, casting off so much stuff? We know the amount of unwanted items mounding up in trashpiles, storage facilities, and resale stores throughout our own country. Now we are aware of how much the small, Latin American country of Guatemala is receiving. How much more stuff is sent to the various other nooks and crannies of the world?

Perhaps instead of buying so much for ourselves and then donating it when we decide we don't want it, can't use it, don't like it anymore - we should not buy that something that seems like such a good deal - and, instead, send the money we saved to someone in need - let them decide whether they'd rather have a used t-shirt from Target or, perhaps, breakfast that day....

Opening Nite at the University Gallery

3 minutes chatting with him, 4 minutes chitting with her - a snack for you - a plastic cup of wine for me. The Master of Fine Arts Thesis Exhibition - the ending to three years of effort, heartbreak, deadlines, structure... the beginning of....?  a job, independence, the future....

MFA I wants his paintings to live and breathe more like characters in a Stephen King novel than another painter.

MFA II is thrilled for the compliment and is excited to have her performances shown in Europe for the first time.

MFA III is glad that he is graduating, because he barely pulled it together and

MFA IV may not be graduating....

MFA V is proud and feels that her work amply represents her vision.

MFA VI is finishing up and moving to China to teach,

MFA VII is too...,

MFA VIII is hoping that her work will insight change in Costa Rica.

MFA IX is using his work to raise awareness of people who have died due in driving accidents.

MFA X is just so glad that it is all going to be over soon.

MFA XI is MIA.

Tonight is their night to shine.
I wonder where they'll be a year from now.

1/2 of the Krewe of 2 = no krewe

James is in so. FLA doing his thing. I'm in no. FLA doing my thing. We are both motivated and happily working away, yet.... the krewe just isn't the krewe when there isn't 2.

takes a lickin' keeps on tickin'

Lost my timex while living on the boat last week. I took my running watch to use for gardening duties (not sure why I thought I needed to know the time, but it seemed the thing to do.) At some point, I took it off while on the boat on Saturday - then couldn't find it again while packing to leave on Sunday. Everything was tucked away and tidy - none of my toiletries or clothes or papers were littering any part of the boat - yet, no watch anywhere. I gave up searching, had my breakfast, read the newspaper, drank a cup of coffee with James, forgetting about my missing item. After breakfast, James handed me my very hot, very wet watch. He looked at me, looked at the coffee pot, looked at me again, shrugged and smiled. Apparently, my timex spent the night in the water hold of the coffee pot and - in the dark of the morning, James made coffee without ever realizing there was a watch inside.....

mound of mondo and the sore knees

James is creating an outdoor garden installation in Golden Beach, FL. For over a month, he has been re-designing an inner courtyard of a home and changing it from a pool surrounded by pavers into a multi-level deck and garden. This week I joined him to help garden. For the past three days, we have planted 750 mondo grasses around the slate walking path that he laid. We still have at least another 500 dwarf mondos to  plant and countless other butterfly and blooming flowers and bushes. It is lovely. Even in the center of a construction site with so much left to do - I am impressed with his vision and effort.

buzzzz......

How many phone calls does it take to display a teaching hive in a gallery?

One student's MFA thesis exhibition is turning into a paperwork nightmare leading through various crooks and crannies of the university. She wants to have an educational exhibit featuring honey bees. The container will be sealed, the bees will only live in the gallery during open hours during the two-week installation, the same bees will not be displayed for the entire exhibition. However, there are lists of concerns and lists of signatures needed to show that the gallery and the College of Fine Arts have considered all of these concerns. Safety (what if someone is allergic?); animal rights (are the bees at risk?); structural (will the bees escape their glass house?); emergency contact (who will take responsiblity if anything goes wrong).

up and down

I'm getting my exercise running up and down the stairs between two offices. At least I'm not sitting all day. At least I have offices. If only I could figure out how to get the right pieces of paper at each desk exactly when I need it....

of dying and death

Today is trash day, so this morning, I walked outside to deposit our garbage can at the corner. I noticed a raccoon hanging out in the driveway nudging through leaves. I thought it odd that she was out in daylight, but I was kind of entertained by it. As I walked slowly past, it surprised me that the raccoon didn't scurry away or even take much note of me. I dropped off the trash can and went back inside through the front door, avoiding the raccoon. Every now and then, I'd look out to see if she had gone, but the raccoon seemed sleepy and decided to curl up in the leaves under the big oak tree that divides our yard and our neighbor's.

About an hour later, it was time to go to work, so I grabbed my bike and was heading out - the raccoon was still there. She slowly rose to her feet and I noticed that she wasn't using one of her legs, I looked more closely and saw that her eyes were glassy and that she seemed unable to close her mouth. Suddenly, overcome, I realized that she was dying.

Strange to be confronted with death on your way to work, with so many other things on your mind. I was overwhelmed and helpless. I put a little tray of water out for her, never getting to close in order not to frighten her, and I talked softly to her - hoping she felt comforted. I called Animal Control - the dispatcher told me to do nothing, that they would be there soon.

I didn't wait. Not because I needed to rush to work, but because I couldn't be there when Animal Control arrived. I hope that she dies before they get there.

the trials of technology

so, at the gallery we have a three day video installation on display. it's a combo of sound and visuals. problem is - sometimes the sound works - sometimes the visuals work - but they can never seem to coincide.

currently, the gallery is filled with pumping dance music in a dark, dark room. kind of fun, if i felt like dancing. at the moment, i'm trying to work and am continuously interrupted by people poking their head in saying "hey, did you know that there is no picture?" yesterday, all day, it was "hey, is this film supposed to be silent?"

luckily, here at the university, we are a place of learning, of trial and error, of good humor (most of the time). the class who installed the exhibit had the goal of making a work that was user-friendly for the gallery. they may not have succeeded this time, but, hopefully, after endless visits to fix what is broken, they have learned something.

hangin' in my hammock

While in Guatemala, James haggled endlessly with a man named Miguel - his object of desire - a handmade hammock for me. The price started at around $50 US and by the time all was said and done - he shelled out the equivalent of $17. It has been worth every penny. Saturday, after an exhausting week, we hung our hammocks at the river and spent the afternoon soaking in the warm Florida sunshine and watching hawks fly, snakes slither, and canoers paddle.

...something special

The 'something special' I did for myself today was to not hurry. I'm learning that hurrying doesn't help me. Walking fast doesn't get me to my destination any more quickly. Talking fast doesn't make others understand me better (usually the opposite is true).  Working fast often leads to having to redo whatever was hurried through.  Most of all, when I do things in a hurry, I forget to enjoy them. I forget to notice the sunlight on the trees or the smell of winter in the air. I forget to care about the person that I'm talking to. I forget to take pleasure in work and in completing a task.

So, today, I didn't hurry and it has been a lovely experience. I plan on doing the same 'something special' for myself tomorrow. 

A surprise visit

Self-portrait from the bed of the truck

Imagine our surprise last Friday when James' dad informed us that he saw a story about our friend, the island carver, in our local paper, the Gainesville Sun. The last time we saw Henry and his family was in December 2007 on Andros Island. He has moved and changed telephone numbers several times since then, and so have we. He doesn't use e-mail, so we haven't been in touch since our visit. 

We learned of the opening in enough to go. I entered first and saw Henry talking with people. I walked up, suddenly a bit shy, and I stood near him to wait my opportunity to say hello. As he was talking to the others, he turned his head to acknowledge me - as he realized I was there, he stopped speaking to everyone else and stepped toward me, arms open. "Hedder, I didn't know how to find you. I can't believe you are here." He said as he hugged me close.

James soon joined us and in the moments that followed, the rest of the world disappeared as we stood sharing our lives.We mourned for our friend, William Colebrooke, who we just lost a few months ago, and Henry told us of the even more recent loss of his brother, Mel Wallace, who had passed away just before he came to Florida. He told us about his wife Eldeeta, his son, Henteetoe, and the other children and even his new grandchildren. We laughed and hugged again. Eventually, he returned to his duties as host.

We grabbed moments here and there throughout the rest of the evening - rejoicing in the fact that we had reconnected, amazed that it happened on the night before his departure. We wanted more time together, but we were so glad for the little we were granted.

'Stealing' oranges

I thought of my brother and my Grandpa Barrett as I picked oranges without permission yesterday. I'm not saying I was 'stealing' the oranges, because I sort of know my neighbor and she isn't home much, and she generally lets the oranges and grapefruit fall to the ground without any concern. But I could have waited until I had an opportunity to ask - and I didn't.

So, I stuffed a few in my pockets and was reminded of a time, when at the age of maybe 4 and a half, Nick and I went into the neighbor's yard on Grandpa's street and climbed onto the low-hanging branches of the apple tree and ate apples that were not yet ripe and too bitter for pleasure. We rejoiced in that moment of freedom though, feeding ourselves off the land, out of a tree!

The feeling wasn't quite as glorious, when, later, Grandpa discovered our crime and sent us to the basement for a spanking. We were spanked twice more during the six months we lived with him. Once for stealing mail out of all of the neighboring mailboxes (we were detectives on a mission to find evidence of the wrong-doings of others - Nick's idea) and burning it in the woods while playing house (my idea - nobody likes bills and I thought burning them would make the neighbors feel better). We were spanked again for racing to the top of the drying tent hanging on the clothes line ( Nick was Batman and I was the Riddler ) I was way faster and lighter than my big brother, so I reached the top in time to see my grandfather running in our direction well before Nick could - I tried to warn him, but neither of us escaped.

We only lived with Grandpa for a short time, we were in between a house and another house, but I liked it there. My parents and my little sister were with us, my other grandparents lived just a block away, and my kindergarten was down the street. In the mornings, my Grandma Mattingly would meet me at the corner and hold my hand as we walked down Breckenridge Lane to the little brick building where my teacher welcomed me.

The spankings didn't bother me because when I was at Grandpa Barrett's, I was alive. He was an inventor and an explorer and while I was with him, I was part of a magical world filled with possibility. My Grandpa let me stand on the little stool with wheels and look under the hood as he worked on his truck; he'd tell me stories and then we'd drive the truck to corner store to chat with whoever we might find. We worked in his basement shop on projects with his many tools; I learned my middle name when he stamped it into a leather comb holder which he then presented to me. At night after dinner, he told me jokes as he lifted me on his lap to hug me close - I remember the smell of oil and skin and the tickle of his wooley white chest hair and the thrill of watching him remove his false teeth. All of which made me love him dearly.

Funny how something as simple as picking fruit from a tree can trigger such nostalgia.

Paddling a sinking canoe

While at BFREE in Belize, there were short stints of sunshine followed by long periods of rain. Our hair, feet, jackets and clothes were continuously wet, though we were never cold. Jacob never wears shoes while in the jungle b/c they hinder his ability to walk freely - if I weren't concerned about ant mounds, I would have abandoned my shoes and even thought the rest of my clothes seemed pretty pointless once drenched.

We dealt with the rain by ignoring it - we wandered and explored without letting it stop us, but we longed for the sun. One lucky afternoon the sun came out and we immediately set off for a canoe ride on a nearby pond. As we left, I was handed an empty 8 ounce Breakstone sour cream container, "for bailing," I was told.

We hopped in the beat up red canoe with James paddling first. We quickly realized that the leak was in the stern where he was located, so his weight contributed to the speed with which we sank. We maneuvered back to land, dumped all the water from the canoe and switched seats - he in the bow, I in the stern. This was a better setup allowing him to photograph. I was in charge of paddling and bailing.

We were on the lookout for a variety of birds, iguana, lizards, and the resident crocodiles. We were thrilled to spot the Jesus lizard, which is able to run across the surface of the water, and some giant iguanas, as well as countless birds. No crocodiles presented themselves.

 

All the while, we baked and basked in the warmest, brightest sunshine. Our clothes produced steam as water evaporated from them, my hair was finally dry.

I paddled leisurely and bailed constantly, entertained by the tiny container I was given - proof that we shouldn't worry in this lovely place - the water would not enter quickly enough to cause us to sink. Even if we we did sink, our lives would not be in danger - the pond was shallow and not very wide and the creatures of the rain forest held no ill will against us.

monkey in a tree lookin at me

what does it see?

 

Howler Monkeys live in groups in the rain forest of Belize. During our stay we heard their chanting constantly. We only had one opportunity to see them. James and I went canoeing on a small pond alone and as we were leaving we heard rustling above us in the trees. A family of Howlers had been watching us - once we spotted them, we hung out beneath them as they swung back and forth -

talked to each other and dangled by their tails. After 15 minutes of mutual staring, they tired of our inactivity and moved to another stand of trees beyond our vision.