What Does Fall Mean To You?

Not long ago, a Michigan friend had written to me about her recent doings -- a combination of actively enjoying autumn's beauty with doing chores which must be completed before the onset of winter.  That's what fall is to her: a period of specific activities tailored to the season.

For a kid who grows up in Florida, fall is merely academic: pretty much just a designation on the calendar.  "Fall" means that school is in full swing; "fall" is the time of year when Hallowe'en and Thanksgiving occur; "fall" happens to mean football season (in Florida, we also have spring football).  When I was growing up, most of my friends were also native Floridians; I can't think of more than a tiny minority of kids who'd been born in a place other than Florida.  If they had been, they'd probably moved to Florida before "fall" had made much of an impression.  When we started getting interested in fashion, we noticed that "fall colors" were rust and gold and orange and brown, though we had no idea why.  I remember being a little confused by the old song "Autumn Leaves," and being unsure as to what crayons to use when coloring pictures designated as autumn scenes.  Most of the trees in our town were palm and pine and oak, and we knew only from books that there were trees that changed colors and actually shed their leaves.

The very first time I experienced "fall" was after I'd already graduated from college and started my teaching career.  A friend (another native Floridian) and I took a long weekend in October to visit the North Georgia mountains.  We could hardly get enough of the cool, crisp air and the riot of color which could made even the most mundane highway into a scenic drive.  I took dozens of pictures and reviewed the photos over and over again, reliving the magic of those few days.  We took another trip the next fall, venturing into North Carolina.  Several years later, I would experience my first New England autumn, and it was more beautiful than I could've expected it would be.

My experience with fall is, however, a week here, a couple of weeks there; I've never been in one place long enough to experience fall's full progression of summer-into-winter.  The photo above depicts what I'd have considered a "classic" fall scene: a tree ablaze with orange coloring, and a front porch decorated with pumpkins.  The scene below took me by surprise: only two doors up from the previous house, a single yellow rose makes its last bid for attention before succumbing to the cold of winter.    

 

Top 10 Questions, Hammer Dulcimer Edition

Playing at an art show or a state fair is a lot different than playing in a concert. When I first started playing in concert, I remarked that my years of teaching experience would come in handy: you have to know your audience (your class) you should know in advance what you're going to play (your lesson plan) and you should be able to pick up cues that your audience is responding properly, and be able to adjust accordingly.

I've come to realize that a concert setting is more like giving a lecture at a large university, where due to the sheer size of the class, questions are not taken during the course of the lecture. Playing at an art show or state fair -- that's more like the public school classroom I'm used to! All of the above-named skills are still important, but fair-goers (your students) can interrupt at any time to ask clarifying questions, adding a whole new dimension to the mix. They can come up with some doozies! But, for the most part, you hear the same questions again and again. The challenge is to realize that, no matter how many times you may have heard a particular question, this individual has thought of that question for the very first time, and accordingly deserves a thoughtful answer. Sometimes, when it does seem as if I've answered the same question over and over, I fantasize about making a FAQs poster -- then I stop myself, realizing that, that is precisely the time when you shouldn't make a poster, as your responses to the questions might be a little less civil!

Still, I thought it might be fun, a la David Letterman, to prepare a

Top 10 Questions Asked During The Fair

#10 Have you recorded any CDs? Do any of the CDs have music on them?

The first question's a puzzler. I always wonder if perhaps the questioner hasn't taken notice that we're offering CDs at all. If, however, they're looking at the CDs while asking the question, I wonder, "Why in the world would I be playing this instrument all day long, if I am just selling a bunch of generic CDs?"

The second question I have come to understand: translated, it means, "I don't want to buy a CD with any singing on it!" Singing's music, too, isn't it? I don't really mind too much when I'm asked this question ... except when I'm in the presence of a vocalist who's just sang his/her heart out in one of our concerts. Sigh ... that's gotta hurt ... 

#9 How do you do that?

This one comes from kids aged about four to eight or nine years old. It's another puzzler, and I've never been able to come up with a completely satisfactory answer. I mean, they can see me tapping the strings, so to me it's obvious how the music's being made. But I've heard the question often enough to realize it's not obvious to the kid who's asking. Maybe they're too young to understand the concept of a stringed instrument? So I lamely say, "Well, I'm just gently tapping the strings." I put special emphasis on the word gently, just in case the next question is, Hey, can I try that?  

#8 Do you take credit cards?

Greg can't help himself when he hears this one; he often says, "Yes, we do, and we also give them back." This is usually received with a puzzled pause, then a grin.

One time, though, Greg -- prankster that he sometimes is -- went a bit further. He said, "Yes, we take credit cards, and after we've done a bit of shopping, we return them." The sweet elderly woman who'd offered her card locked his eyes with a horrified stare as she slowly withdrew her card. "Oh, ma'am, I'm sorry, I was only kidding!" Greg hastily said.

The woman's eyes twinkled as she broke into a broad smile. "Gotcha!" she cried.  

#7 How are the notes laid out?

There's no easy answer to this one. "Notes are laid out diatonically, though the instrument is chromatic," is the truth, but even music scholars, if they're unfamiliar with the dulcimer, can't envision the truth of its simple layout. I usually show them a scale or two, then hope that they're not going to try to press me into giving them a quick lesson -- though that's happened before.

#6 Where do you live?

Greg often answers this with, "In an Airstream trailer, goin' across the country." He laughs, then follows up with the answer that they're really seeking, which is "Port Charlotte, Florida."

It's funny how many people seem to think that we operate out of Port Charlotte -- that we return to Port Charlotte after each gig. Wow!  What an incredible amount of travel that would entail! Just think of it: since August 1, we would've gone from Burnsville, NC back to Port Charlotte (PC) ... up to Columbiana, OH, then back to PC -- twice ... up to Rhinebeck, NY, then back to PC ... to Stone Mountain, GA and back to PC ... man, I'm getting tired just writing about  it! We'll be back in PC on November 3 ... and, until then, living in an Airstream trailer, goin' across the country.  

#5 How old is it?  Where did it originate?

The first question may refer to the hammer dulcimer in general, or it may refer to my own instrument. I have to be really careful in clarifying what the questioner is looking for before answering; can you imagine the confusion if the person had been referring to my own instrument but received the answer, "Oh hundreds, if not thousands, of years old." For the record, no one really knows for sure when/where the dulcimer originated.  Some say 9th Century Persia ... others Medieval France ... still others think there's archaeological evidence to support the notion that some form of hammered, stringed instrument existed in Old Testament times! My own instrument was built for me by Sam Rizzetta, in 1993. (And he built another for me in 2004.)

Greg seems to like this question, too, because he loves to answer, "Oh, it's thousands of years old -- that's the instrument, not the woman!" Ha, Ha.

#4 How long does it take to learn?

"Minutes to learn, and a lifetime to master," is my stock answer. Why no one really seems to believe me, I cannot fathom.

#3 Which one is your favorite CD?

This one's a toughie, because it's somewhat akin to asking a mother who's her favorite child. Like a mother, I love them all, each for a different reason. Like a mother, the newest one is always just a little more special for a period of time. But you still want to know, don't you? I'll consider that for another blog, another day.

#2 What is that thing?

This would seem to be a fairly easy question to answer, and you, of course, already know: "It's a hammer dulcimer." But you may be surprised to learn that it's the one question that can only be answered if I completely halt my playing. You see, after all these years I'm not half bad at being able to talk while playing. But for the life of me, people cannot understand me when I say the word "dulcimer"! Maybe it's my Southern accent; more likely, it's their complete unfamiliarity with the word. We've had a sign made up that always hangs in close proximity to where I'm playing so that I can stop playing, point to the sign, and say, "It's a hammer dulcimer."

#1 Where's the bathroom?

Made you laugh, didn't it? Seriously, this isn't the most frequently asked question; Question #2 has that distinction, hands down. But we were pretty unprepared for the frequency with which this question is asked of us -- of any vendor in a show, actually. And we have learned to prepare a simple -- and mercifully quick -- answer for it. I may not yet have a completely satisfactory answer worked out for Question #9, and I may still have difficulty giving an easy-to-understand answer to Question #7, but by golly, I can give swift and accurate directions to the nearest rest room!

And just in case you're wondering, I do completely halt my playing for this one, as well.  Being able to physically point a person in the correct direction can be critical!

Maggie Muggins on the AT

Labor Day -- unofficially the last day of summer and officially the last day of our vacation.  Tomorrow we set out for Stone Mountain, Georgia and the Yellow Daisy Festival; from there it's on to The Big E, in Massachusetts.

But today was Girls' Day Out for Maggie and me, and we chose to spend it on the Appalachian Trail.  We entered the Skyline Drive via Thornton Gap, drove south to park at Beahms Gap, and walked a few paces back to the Appalachian Trail (A.T.).  (I realize that few who read this will recognize -- or even care much to know -- the place names, but I just like the sounds of those names!)

First order of business -- whether to head north or south.  We chose north, because it promised to take us to a spring that would become the headwaters of Pass Run, which flows near our campground.  After examining this completely unremarkable body of water for mere seconds, we turned back to the trail and continued north.  We could hear cars as they cruised along Skyline Drive, but after a while, the sound of cars became more and more faint, until we didn't hear them at all.

This is the point at which I became a little spooked.  Though I enjoy backwoods stuff, I don't frequently get to do much of it; I'm not used to it at all.  The A.T.'s "through-hikers" would be hundreds of miles ahead of us by this time of year, and it occurred to me that on a day that was just a little too hot for hiking, we may be all alone on this stretch of trail.

And then I realized:  "Hey, I have protection: I have a chow-chow!"  The chow-chow (Maggie, of course) didn't seem anxious or afraid.  So why should I be?  Actually, now that I reflect back on it, if I'd had a human companion, we'd probably have been talking for much of the way and I would've missed some pretty cool sounds -- like the sound of a hawk's wings beating as it flew overhead.  Man!  I'd be willing to bet that, pound for pound, the hawk moves as much -- or more! -- air as a helicopter!

A lot of the next section of trail was pretty narrow and rocky.  Not steep, but not easy, either.  I had to really watch my footing.  My almost-11-year-old dog, however, nimbly skipped along.  Thanks to an old knee injury, inclines are much easier for me than declines, and I was grateful that the first portion of our hike was mostly uphill -- I was figuring that Maggie would be tired on the return portion, so there'd be less chance of her yanking the leash and making me stumble going downhill.

I'm not sure how far we hiked; it really couldn't have been all that far, but both of us were getting a bit overheated.  So at some point, I stopped and we enjoyed some cool bottled water and a short rest.  I was able, faintly, to hear cars once again, but the sound was coming from well below us.  During our rest, a young couple also heading north came up and briefly spoke to us, the young man even offering water for Maggie.  Then they took a little spur off the trail toward one of the shelters, while we headed back south.  We passed another north-bound couple; the young man offered his hand to Maggie, but she was only briefly interested, as she apparently thought that there was more urgent business down the trail.

Remember how Maggie was going to be so tired on the return portion?  Nah!  At certain times she was going so fast that she made me look as if I were staggering drunk, trying to keep up with her.  But she was very cooperative; when I'd had enough and said, sharply, "Slow down!" she did -- thank goodness!  Remember when I was spooked?  It happened again, in the same section of trail.  I guess maybe there really was something -- big -- just out of sight.  They say that you should be a little noisy when you're hiking in the backcountry, so that bears, who are normally very shy, can hear you coming and avoid you.  Well, if that something "big" was a bear, that bear would have had no trouble hearing us as we approached, me clumping over rocks in my hiking boots, trying to keep up with the dog.  And the loud panting!  ... and Maggie was panting a little bit, too.

We can't wait to do it all again!

Postscript:  Just when you think, gosh what an exhilarating day!  It doesn't get any better than this!  ... and then it does.  The sky is cloudless tonight, and, far from bright city lights, we can perfectly see the innumerable stars of the summer sky -- we can even see the Milky Way!  It really doesn't get any better than this ... God is good ...

It's About Time!

"Use it up; Wear it out; Make it do ... Or do without"  (WWII era -- or earlier? -- slogan)

This was the prevailing philosophy all through my childhood.  I grew up in rural central Florida, where some goods and services were not always easily available, although I suspect that even "city kids" who grew up pre-1970's or 1980's had to apply this thinking to some extent.  Surely none of us could have envisioned the myriad choices that consumers can make today -- or dreamed of a time when it might actually be cheaper to throw something away than have it fixed!

Now, of course, thanks in part to the "Green" movement, things are starting to come full circle.  Though our culture has allowed us -- even encouraged us -- to take pride in having the luxury to toss aside even "gently used" items for something more stylish, nowadays it isn't always so cool to carelessly discard an item that may still have life.  When my watch recently quit keeping time, I initially had the sense of dread that usually precedes "major" shopping trips (yes, there are some of us for whom too many choices is, in fact, a curse).  Then, I remembered -- did memory serve me correctly? -- hadn't I passed by a watch repair store in downtown Black Mountain?

Yes!  Pellom's Time Shop, and the cardboard sign in the window read, simply, "We carry watch batteries."  I pushed open the door of the narrow storefront, and was immediately transported into yesteryear: old wooden display cases and counters filled with clocks of all shapes and sizes and vintages.  Clocks and old cigar boxes piled into this corner, clocks covering the counter, clocks hanging on that wall.  And a little hanging display case that had quite an array of watches.

I handed my useless watch to the quietly smiling, soft-spoken, man behind the counter (who I presume to have been Mr. Pellom, himself) and asked him if he'd be able to tell me whether it could be fixed or if it'd be cheaper to just buy a new one.  "Whether it's more expensive to you dead or alive, in other words?" he quipped.  He disappeared behind a partition at the back of the shop, and I turned my attention to the watches in that hanging display case, should I need to buy a new one.  It was an odd assortment, to be sure, but I saw a couple of timepieces that would serve me nicely.  In practically no time at all, Mr. Pellom returned with my good-as-new watch, having replaced the battery and given its running parts "a bit of oil."  The price for this service?  $3

Couldn't have bought a new watch for anywhere near that low sum.

I was glad, because that watch (a Timex) and I have been through a lot together.  For example, because I can't play guitar while wearing the watch (on the wrist of my strumming hand) I usually remove the watch just prior to a performance.  However, there have been times on stage when I've found myself picking up the guitar, only to discover that -- Yikes! -- I'm still wearing my watch.  I've quickly stripped it off and tossed it aside -- more times than is probably good for it -- and it always "Takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'" just like the old TV ads claimed.

Before I left, and because there was one pretty and unusual watch that had caught my eye, I asked Mr. Pellom about those watches in the hanging display case.  "Oh, they're not for sale," he murmured, and then as an afterthought, "but if their owners don't come to claim 'em pretty soon, they might be."  

"Times are tough;" he said, "folks who've found themselves out of work need to buy food and clothes more than they need to pay for their fixed watches."  Without a trace of bitterness or self-pity, he added, "Don't know how much longer I'll be able to keep this up."  What could I say to that?  He wasn't one to commiserate, so I thanked him and turned toward the door.  My heart leapt a little to see an older couple entering the shop; Pellom's Time Shop was still in business.

Sandwiched as it is between two of Black Mountain's gift boutiques, Pellom's probably does get notice from a fair number of tourists -- after all, that's how I came to know of it.  But modern society has less and less need for the neighborhood "Mr. Fix-It": these days it's truly cheaper to buy a new TV, for example, than to have your old one repaired.  The kid who loved to tinker on cars back in high school can't manage his own auto repair shop, because vehicles these days have fancy -- and costly -- computer systems that only a dealer can afford to maintain.

But as our growing concern for the environment gives more and more power to the phrase "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle," perhaps those who enable us to more fully practice the "Three R's of Environmentalism" will regain their once-critical place in our society.  I'm pulling for you, Mr. Pellom!       

Road Food

"So you're constantly on the road, traveling all over the place," an acquaintance recently remarked.  "Where's the best food?"

That's an interesting question for us, because generally we avoid eating meals at chain establishments, with their generic menus that are pretty much the same all over the US -- or the world.  We prefer instead to patronize local establishments and sample the local culture.  It's not always easy to stay away from the chains, particularly on travel days.  Take today, for example.  Breakfast was coffee and a muffin from Sheetz (a fuel stop/convenience store popular in Virginia and Pennsylvania).  Yesterday, however, we each had coffee and a buttered roll from Renee's Hot Stuff Deli, in Montgomery, New York.  Mmmm ... those buttered rolls.  Doesn't sound like much, 'til you try 'em.  But only in New York!

Where's the best food, you say?  Well, New York does have a lot to offer; they do have the best buttered rolls, hands down, and any New Yorker will sing the praises of New York style pizza.  Fact is, in New York good Italian food is practically a guarantee ... but they don't have the best Cuban food; that distinction belongs to La Teresita, in Tampa, Florida.  Certain areas of New York offer the most amazing Chinese food ... but El Pirata, in Arcadia, Florida, will amaze you with their Mexican food.

We really don't eat out all that much.  We cook "at home" a lot, using as much locally grown and produced food as we can.  (Not too much point in traveling, is there, if everything's got to be the same as it is back home?)  So here are some of our more memorable culinary experiences: a mix of restaurants we've enjoyed, and things we enjoy fixing for ourselves.  The list is in no particular order:

Asheville, NC -- Barley's Taproom (it's not exactly New York style pizza, but it's awfully good) and Wild Wing Cafe (best wings anywhere, and if you go to the weekday buffet, you can try six different flavors)

Burnsville, NC -- Garden Deli (lunch is not just a specialty; it's the only meal they serve, and they only serve it six days a week)

West Springfield, MA -- Collins Tavern (world's best soups, hearty sandwiches, and hand-cut fries) and Memo's Deli (their breakfast is a great start to the day)

Columbiana, OH -- delicious locally-grown produce, especially corn, and a sausage ring sold at Sparkle (the local grocery) that's as good as any you might find anywhere ... even in New York

somewhere near New Waterford, OH -- a little shop that has the best, sharpest cheddar spread and makes yummy pepperoni

Great Lakes Region -- pike, walleye, and perch (I can never get enough fish)

Nashville, TN -- Jack's Bar-B-Q (by all means, visit the honky-tonks, see the legendary Ryman Auditorium, catch the Grand Ol' Opry but DO NOT miss Jack's)

Mount Dora, FL -- Sunshine Mountain Bakery (I keep sampling, thinking that eventually I'll find something there that I don't like -- but it hasn't happened yet!)

just about anywhere in FL -- buy some fresh shrimp, take 'em home and boil 'em up

Thoughts On The Natural World

Long before I'd ever even imagined doing a craft show in the High Country, I'd come to this area as a sightseer.  The building that houses the Highland House Ski Shop, pictured above, has delighted me as a landmark for as long as I can remember.  It's at the intersection of Highway 105 and Highway 184; once upon a time this group of buildings was a rather lonely little beacon that signified you'd come to the road leading up to Banner Elk and Beech Mountain.  Now it's one of many buildings in a shopping area called Grandfather Village, in the shadow of Grandfather Mountain.  

Charming as the Highland House Ski Shop is, it's not the most noticeable architectural feature of the immediate area.  I'd have to say that designation belongs to a high-rise condo that is perched atop nearby Sugar Mountain.  That huge, glaring white building is visible for miles -- and while it may offer its occupants a spectacular view, it is a jarring sight to anyone else.  A monument to someone's failure to blend with the environment, it should be a mandatory field trip for every student of architecture -- Just because a thing can be done, doesn't mean it should be done.  Look at what you shouldn't do.  If you're curious about this monstrosity, you can look it up for yourself -- I don't want a picture on my website as a constant reminder that there are people out there who have such disregard for the natural world!

Greg and I went into Banner Elk for errands today, and, on a whim, we checked out the Grandfather Campground.  That's where I managed to get this photo of Grandfather's profile.  I'd almost despaired of being able to get a nice picture of Grandfather Mountain, as it seemed I was never in the right place at the right time.  

Grandfather is the highest peak in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and is certainly one of the most recognizable peaks in the world.  I read recently that there are smooth round stones, like the ones you'd find in a riverbed, near the top of Grandfather.  If they're commonly found at the bottom of a river, how'd those stones get on top of a mountain?  Geologists say that 750 million years ago, these rocks were carried by rivers and deposited in a valley.  A continental collision pushed that valley upward, making it into a mountaintop.  Amazing.

There are so many other fantastic natural features in this world, many (if not most) of them created by similarly cataclysmic events.  I once asked my father, a man of science who was a devout Christian, what his beliefs were with regard to the creation of the world -- there are Christians who flatly deny that anything on Earth can be more than a few thousand years old ... as there are scientists who offer geological evidence as proof that the Bible is false -- what did Daddy believe?  We were standing on the rim of Tallulah Gorge at the time, reading about the forces of nature which produced this deep gash in the Earth's crust anywhere from 250 to 500 million years ago.  Without hesitation, Daddy referred to the second verse of the first chapter of Genesis: "And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep."  No timeline is offered, nor even implied, in this portion of the creation story, Daddy said, so it more or less rendered moot any argument by either side: the passage does not rule out the possibility of seismic events and floods which occurred hundreds of millions of years ago, thus -- in this instance, at least -- there is no conflict between belief in science and belief in the Bible.

Oh.  He sure had a way of explaining tough concepts in a way that even a child could understand!

Solomon's Castle

I didn't know there was going to be a mechanical problem when I'd scheduled our van for a routine oil change in a neighboring town (my hometown of Arcadia, to be exact). In fact, to maximize the efficiency of my day, I'd also arranged for Maggie (our dog) to have a routine teeth cleaning and toenails clipping while the van was being serviced. When I was told by the service tech that it'd be some time before a diesel expert was available to do my repair work, I rented a car and went to pick Maggie up, only to be told that she'd not yet come out from under anesthesia and could not be released. Hmmm ... what to do with my time? I tried calling a couple of friends, neither of whom was home. Aimlessly, I began to drive a little west of town, then decided to turn on the Second Bunker Road, a rural route which has a pretty spectacular view: looking back toward Arcadia, you see the that the town does sit elevated above the Peace River, hence its old name "Tater Hill Bluff." (Just a little Florida Cracker history for you.)

Next thing I knew, I was driving on the First Bunker Road, past some orange groves that my dad used to tend, past Oak Hill, toward Limestone. (Don't bother, you may not find all of these names on the map.) I saw the sign for "Solomon's Castle" and made the spontaneous decision that I would pay a visit. On toward Lily, and then the drive toward the castle. Though I'd heard of this attraction for years, I'd never been there. I believe that Howard Solomon first began building his remote Florida paradise in 1972, after I'd already left Arcadia for college. On subsequent visits home, and even during a brief period after college graduation when I returned to Arcadia to teach, there always seemed to be something more pressing than going out to visit what I'd assumed to be just another tacky tourist trap. This day, I hadn't passed another car on the road for several miles (only great trucks hauling late-season oranges and watermelons) so I was very surprised to find a dozen or so cars in the parking lot for the castle.

And after paying my admission I was again surprised, in realizing that Solomon's Castle is far from being a tacky tourist trap. It is (a) a monument to recycling, the epitome of the old saying that "One man's trash is another man's treasure;" (b) a fascinating glimpse into the mind of a true artist; (c) proof that "If you build it, they will come;" (d) a lot of fun; (e) all of the above. It is difficult to describe in words what you'll find, but here's a link to the website: Solomon's Castle

I enjoyed seeing old metal coat hangers made into a zoo that included a giraffe and an elephant. There were numerous sculptures made out of discarded oil drums. There were montages paying tribute to masters such as Picasso and Matisse. And lots of jokes and really bad puns about the different works of art that revealed a delightful wit. (Even the restrooms -- sporting an old "Rooms To Go" sign -- were labeled with humor.)

The tour of the "castle" is but a small part of the experience. If you're hungry, you can get a really delicious home-made meal or scrumptious dessert in the "Boat in the Moat." There's shopping, of course, for both Howard's works as well as some carefully selected items that echo a nature theme. I chose to wander one of the trails leading down to Horse Creek, and marveled at how long it'd been since I'd felt good ol' Florida scrub sand between my toes. Heck, with advance reservations, you can spend the night in the castle, or in the luxurious B&B that's on the grounds!

I'm not sure this event qualifies as "serendipitous." Perhaps it lacks the connection to divine providence that a strict definition of serendipity requires. However, the experience refreshed me, and reinforced for me the notion that there are treasures all around, sometimes hidden under our noses, sometimes (as in my case) for years ... and maybe it takes a little inconvenience or some similarly not-altogether-pleasant thing to nudge us in their direction. Yes, I'm disappointed that our van is still, as of this writing, waiting for the mechanic, and no one seems to know just when it'll be set right. (Maggie, by the way, is right as rain!) But it turned out to be a fun day, an enlightening experience ... and quite an inspiration.