Bamboo Art

At the back of our yard is a bamboo forest. Inside it are piles of brush, a broken metal fence that separates my lot from the neighbors,’ and whatever miscellaneous trash that’s found its way over the line. Kids love to play in it, and the bamboo does a great job of hiding the seemingly abandoned house behind ours.

As with all good things, there’s a downside. It’s incredibly invasive, as I’m sure you know.

This spring it’s infiltrating our yard and my new flowerbed. It’s asparagus-like shoots resist the chop of the weed-eater and seem undeterred by being routinely run over with the riding lawn mower.

Luckily I have a boy with a pocket knife. When he started cutting down the new shoots and slicing them apart, I couldn’t believe all the colors, patterns, and textures that were hiding inside.

I love a careful arrangement of objects, such as these photos of found ocean trash, organized by color, or Emily Blincoe’s various arrangements. There’s something so pleasing about them, I decided to make my own with all the bamboo parts Coban carved up.

Because at this point in the pandemic, I just want to look at something beautiful and forget for a while about everything that’s going on around me.

Downtown and a Drive-By

When Coban suggested another photo walk earlier this week, I felt a little panicky. What if we run out of colors? ROYGBIV is only so long, and we are already three colors in. I suggested we go downtown instead.

As you might have guessed, it didn’t have the same uplifting effect as going around photographing beautiful spring flowers. Our favorite restaurant is closed (RIP Tailpipes), and there are many new “For Rent” signs in the windows.

I’m so impressed with people who stick their necks out and open businesses in this country, generally; they’re wiling to take a risk that I can’t fathom. No health insurance? No guaranteed income? As a single mom, I just can’t.

But really, let’s be honest. I went to law school for a reason. I’m not exactly the most risk tolerant girl you’ve ever met. Yet even those who are probably aren’t prepared for something like this. NPR says that 25% of small businesses will go out of business after 30 days of this, and 50% will close after 90 days. The numbers are so grim.

And then last night our friends came by with handmade signs and serenaded us with accordion music. They did a whirlwind tour across town, stopping at multiple houses, so their boys could see all the friends they’ve missed these last few weeks.

These two events perfectly capture the emotional rollercoaster that is social distancing amid a pandemic. One minute I’m enjoying my alone time and the next I’m freaking out. It was nice to end the week on a high note.

Focus on Color: Pink

Over three weeks ago, when school was still in session, Coban got off the bus on a Friday wearing black shorts, a red hoodie, and the fuzzy Santa socks I bought him this year for Christmas. “I was feeling festive this morning,” he said. “Because one way to survive the Coronavirus is by having fun!”

Since then, he’s had three weeks of doing school from home. We aren’t really seeing people much, except occasionally outside, at a distance. Even this resilient, good-natured child is starting to feel the pain. He got quiet last night while we were making dinner, and I looked over and saw a big tear sliding down his cheek. Sundays are not our favorite day anyway, but they feel even harder right now.

He decided we needed to take another photo walk. I let him pick the color the last two times, but I suggested pink last night because it’s everywhere right now.

I got out a notepad and gave him a quick lesson in negative space and composition before we left. The thing is, he doesn’t really care much about the photos at this point. He was happy when I sent him one of his own shots to use as a background on his Chromebook after the first time we went, but he hasn’t looked at any of his photos again since then.

It’s really just being out there doing something that is helping him (and me) right now. What’s working for us with this particular project is that there are parameters. We have a specific goal in mind, and we can do it again next time but slightly differently. New day, new color.

We’ll run out of colors eventually of course. But I’m hoping it’s the kind of creative kickstart that leads to new and different things.

Even if it doesn’t, we both felt a lot better when we returned home last night. With the brevity of a nine-year old boy, he said, “I don’t feel stuck anymore.”

Focus on Color: Purple

It was about 4:30 pm yesterday when Coban grabbed both my shoulders and shook me as he gave a little faux scream. We both wondered why it wasn’t already time to either watch TV or go to bed.

He wanted to ride bikes around the neighborhood, but it was cold, and I’d already been on a run. Since I wouldn’t agree to anything else, he caved to my walk-with-camera suggestion.

About a half hour in, he said, Thanks for suggesting this. We’d just been barked at by some scary dogs and chased by some toddlers. We were having fun.

We looked for purple this time, obviously, and found it in so many tiny spring flowers. The irony of living through a very scary time but still being free to walk outside and take in all this fresh beauty.

I’m concerned about what is happening and what’s going to happen, of course. But I’m also really grateful for this unexpected, uninterrupted alone time with my child. And the fact that he may have finally found a way of making art that speaks to him.

Hi-Chew, anyone?

Focus on Color: Yellow

The nine-year old doesn’t get too excited about neighborhood walks unless there’s a little game involved. Sometimes we bring the football to pass back and forth as we go. Yesterday I lured him out by handing him a camera.

These are my photos, not his, but I like to hope that maybe I’ve planted a seed.

Meanwhile, the walk felt like something of a scavenger hunt as we looked for all things yellow. I like the symbolism here: you find what you’re looking for.

Maybe this will turn into a little mini series as we make our way through the coming weeks of quasi isolation. Nothing like being put in a box by a virus to stimulate some outside-the-box creativity.

Tucson, Part 2

I visited Brian and Susan for the first time in 2005, when I lived in Oregon and they hosted a family gathering. I fell in love with their house then and couldn't wait to come back this time with my camera. These two creatives are so inspiring. I guess that’s what happens when an architect and an artist come together. But also, this landscape. Can you imagine waking up to these mountains every day?

It starts with the handmade purple cactus screen door. And then the gardens. They’re all around the house, and each one is its own beautiful vignette. Everywhere you look, there’s something amazing to discover—both inside and out. Brian designed and constructed must of the structures, including the fence and gate above.

Two standout favorites in the back yard: the old truck above, which Brian took from Susan’s brother Charlie’s ranch and repurposed as a giant funky grill cover, and the striking bright pink wall with the purple cactus cut-out gate below.

I remember Susan telling me years ago about how her mother had arranged groups of plants in pots every year on their patio. She’s carrying on the tradition, and man, is she doing it well.

I learned a lot about the family on this trip. Susan’s mother Mary Jo moved to Tucson in her early twenties because she was told it was good for asthma. Mary Jo’s Aunt Emmy (my Dad’s great-aunt) also relocated from New England to Tucson and opened a gift shop downtown. Both Mary Jo and Aunt Emmy had artistic taste and a good eye—I still have beautiful bits of silk and lace that Emmy gave my mom years ago. It’s very comforting to know that all these strong, artistic, adventurous women are in my genes.

And what better place to move than one filled with natural beauty and amazing art? We happened upon these beautiful Mexican painted animals when we visited Tohono Chul, a botanical garden and gallery where Susan had a painting on display.

And I went crazy over the cacti. Naturally.

We took a short jaunt downtown to historic Fourth Avenue on our last day there. I found this amazing courtyard of repurposed shipping containers selling food and drink. It’s called The Boxyard and appears to be a sort of semi-permanent food truck situation. Doesn’t this seem like something we should recreate here in West Virginia?!?

Public art is clearly a priority in Tucson. They’ve even worked it into their bus stops. That sort of dedication really sets a tone.

On our last night, we got to have dinner with Dad’s cousin Charlie and his partner Connie on their ranch.

The skies are big and wide there, and both the stars and the company were fantastic.

I told Dad he and Charlie look like east and west coast twinsies. Not only were they both wearing tucked-in plaid shirts and work boots, but also identical Carhart jeans. Whoa.

I get it now, why people go to the desert seeking clarity. I came back from this trip having found some, and some artistic inspiration to boot.

Tucson, Part 1: Sometimes, you just need to go to the desert.

I took the boy on his first trip out west a few weeks ago. My dad and stepmom have taken to RVing down South through the winters, and so we met them in Tucson. Not only does Tucson have the obvious appeal of cacti and mountains, but Dad’s cousin Susan and her husband Brian live there. Which means we got to visit with some of my favorite family members and explore the desert while snowmelt filled the streams and the flowers were in bloom.

The first day we went to the Arizona-Senora Desert Museum. That place was amazing and so well done. It’s a huge maze of pathways that connect multiple botanical gardens and desert animals in natural settings. So many different types of cacti.

Dad wanted to know what I was going to do with all those pictures. At least two blog posts, Dad.

Just two miles from the museum is Saguaro National Park West.

Twice in the last few years I’ve had the feeling that I was exactly where I should be. (Both times I was out west next to some serious mountains. Coincidence?) Hiking through Saguaro National Park was one of those times. I asked Coban if this was the best thing he’d ever done in his whole life, and he agreed that it was.

The next day we headed out of town for a zipline adventure. My second cousin, Emily, who I met for the first time on this trip, is part owner of Arizona Zipline Adventures. She and her partner have created an amazing space with bunkhouses for people to stay in, a communal space for meals and gatherings, and of course, a zipline course that gives amazing views of the mountains and surrounding ranch land.

There’s even a place outside to mine for gold.

Right up the road is the historic 3 C Ranch, which Emily’s family has restored to include guest houses and event space. There was so much color and texture and beauty out there that I couldn’t fit it all in one post. Stay tuned for Tucson Part 2.

A Slice for Thanksgiving

I drove to NYC last week with Coban to meet our lovely friends for a destination Thanksgiving.

You know it’s a cold one when this child is willing to don a scarf. (The next day he snuck back to the hotel room before we left to remove his fleece and leave his gloves behind, perhaps because the long underwear from the parade day had made him sweat. This happens when you run everywhere at full speed.)

The Thanksgiving Day Parade was cold, but quite an experience. My cold-blooded friend brought hand warmers, which we stuffed into our boots, and those and the fleece tights under my jeans kept me feeling fine.

The floats are just huge, but we could barely see the street where they walked. And yet, being there with other people from all over was such a nice bonding experience. It’s not that we made friends and shared blankets, but I felt a certain positive energy from waiting in the same space for an event that everyone agrees is kind of awesome and worth freezing your pants off for a few hours.

I just love the textures of the city. So many designs interplaying every where you look.

I also loved how our kids made their own fun no matter where we were, running and jumping and moving quickly under pipes and railings.

My child jumped up and down with excitement when he saw the first fast-moving subway, but then a few trips later he decided it was old hat. I find both of these positions entertaining. He may make a good traveling companion.

These colors. Imagine this for a quilt pallet. Or a hand-woven rug. Yum.

The new World Trade Center is nicely designed.

And the monuments and the nearby tour guides made me cry.

But I thought it was worth the wait to get to the 360 view at the top.

This was the site of a mini-meltdown, so someone was pouting as he took in the views.

But what can a bagel and lox not fix? Not much. After that, we jumped on the Staten Island Ferry.

I didn’t get a picture of the guys behind the counter at Ray’s Pizza, who grumbled at me when I asked what something was, but I have a nice mental picture of how good it felt to sit drinking a beer and eating a slice on Thanksgiving with old friends while our kids listed things they were thankful for, which of course included pizza and Minecraft.

But hey, we were all really thankful.

The End of Summer

Sometimes you have to make art out of dead flowers. And then throw a dinner party using your grandmother’s china. That leads to a gathering of friends, memories of both grandmothers, and a discussion about Emily Post.

And then things feel just a little bit better.

Highway to Holler

The New York Times says the personal essay is dead. Lucky I only make photo essays I guess. This set documents the three-mile stretch from Route 50, where you turn off to get to where I grew up, all the way back to the holler itself.

When I lived in Oregon, I thought even the plants that grew in the ditches were beautiful. It's taken me a while to adopt that same viewpoint about home, since it's all so familiar, but seeing it through the camera lens definitely helped. And now I wonder if the west coasters feel the same about WV ditches?

Once you arrive at the farm, you may start to understand why Dad exchanged small-town life for the hemmed-in serenity of these hills. This has long been a question of mine.

The Whole Fam Damily

When I was a kid, I read a lot. My sister and I would both leave the library with our arms full, each having checked out our 10-book limit. For many years, my favorite topics were Holocaust-themed resistance stories and tales about the Underground Railroad. And that is probably why as a little white girl living in the middle of No Where, West Virginia, I wished I were Black. Or Jewish. The characters I read about might have been in the midst of some very terrible times, but oh, did they have an identity. They had customs and traditions and a pervasive sense of community. They knew who they were and how they should be.   

My family and I, on the other hand, were on our own. My dad moved to West Virginia for college, and the rest of his immediate family lived hours away. They were in Connecticut or Maryland or Pennsylvania, where things were very different. They called Coke soda, not pop. They had brooks, not creeks. They played sports like lacrosse and soccer and swam on the swim team. And they certainly did not live up a holler in a tiny house with no air conditioning or central heating. My mom grew up in West Virginia too, but even so, her family lived in town, and their lives looked much more like those of Dad's brothers and sisters than ours. 

And so, while I always felt very much a part of our extended family, I felt very different too. We weren't quite like them, and we weren't much like the people we grew up around either. 

In adulthood I've seen a different side of the family. I drove cross-country when I was 21 and visited my Dad's Aunt Cami in Washington, where we took a road trip in her camper, crossing to Orcas Island on a ferry, both clad in two of her purple knee-length L. L. Bean parkas. From there, I went to see Dad's cousin Pete in Eugene, Oregon (who later let me live in his house the entire time I attended law school ), and then on to see Pete's brothers in Colorado, where we lounged in a hot tub with a view of snow-covered mountains. When I was in law school, we had a small family reunion in Tucson, and I got to drive by the rammed-earth house Dad's Aunt Mary Jo had built there years before.

A few weeks ago, we had a huge family reunion in Connecticut. My aunts spent months putting together an extensive family tree, a book full of photos, and a collection of clippings and documents--including a letter written to our great-aunt from Eleanor Roosevelt. While I'd seen hints of this before, their research revealed something a lot of us had never fully realized: We come from a line of very strong women. 

Against this backdrop, and after reconnecting with about 85 of these lovely people this summer, I now realize something else as well: we may not be Black or Jewish, but this family very much has its own identity. While most everyone else didn't grow up slopping hogs or chasing the neighbor's cows out of the woods like I did, these are still my people. And I'm so thankful for this huge group of interesting, loving individuals who value each other and make a point of getting together, even over long distances, even after many years.

Fishin' n' Floatin'

Even though we've officially got a few weeks left to go, it felt like summer started this weekend.  We were lucky enough to get to spend the holiday with wonderful friends in one of my most favorite places in the state: Seneca Rocks. The drive there is an event on its own--sweeping views of tall lush hills with rolling farmland nested in between, ridge lines topped with imposing, starkly beautiful windmills, and a twisting mountain road that makes me feel like a rally car driver.

And these boys were on the river about 30 minutes after we arrived.

I'm so excited for them to learn how to adventure at such an early age. I loved rafting as a kid, but I didn't get to start at 5. While I feel we're successfully imparting our adventuresome spirits here, they don't seem so keen on learning how to relax. But hey, good parenting is nothing if not setting a good example, right?

Not only did we get a personal raft tour down a lovely stretch of the North Fork of the South Branch of the Potomac, but Don lined up some amazing trout for us to reel in. Apparently this beautiful golden rainbow is fairly rare (and also amazingly delicious).

I spend a lot of time doing yoga and trying to remember to be in the moment. So refreshing to have a string of days where I didn't even have to try.