The Great Smokies

Dave and I have been married for almost 48 years, and been together for 52.  In all that time we had never been able to take an open-ended trip. We always had a schedule and  always dreamed of the time when we could just get in a car and take off. With retirement Dave and I have begun to take the small trips we always dreamed of.  Leaving Maine in the middle of “mud season”, we traveled to Ohio and then south to Kentucky and Tennessee to take in their beauty and of course to check out craft/weaving shops.

 

Following our exploration of Berea, Fort Boonesborough and a few civil war battlefields, we traveled south to the south-eastern edge of Tennessee and the gates of the Great Smoky Mountains.  I had been there back in the 90’s when Josh and Kate traveled south with me driving Ben’s Z-28, tent camping at some beautiful spots as we made our way to Eglin AFB where Ben was in EOD school.  Josh, Kate and I  checked out the GSM National Park and learned some of the sad history of the Cherokee people who had inhabited this beautiful place for thousands of years.

On this trip we focused on the southern end of the GSNP.  We traveled through breathtaking mountains, amazing wildlife, and more azaleas in bloom than I had ever seen. We saw our first bear (at a comfortable distance) and we saw huge patches of mountain laurel (wild versions of the rhododendrons in our gardens).We also got to see some of the log cabins and the churches that served the people who lived within the confines of what is now the Park boundaries, so many years ago.  We marveled over the construction of some of the barns, imagined what it was like to live in the dogtrot log cabins- kitchen and birthing room on one side, bedrooms on the other side and a dividing area in between which took advantage of cool evening breezes.  It was there that women would weave, or spin, or patch clothes during the day and into the evening while the light was good. Again, their weaving was practical and beautiful.  Coverlets for the beds, material for clothing, rugs for the floor and the assorted towels needed daily chores.  We learned about the use of local plants for healing and treating diseases.  The little graveyards spoke to the common experience of losing your wife to childbirth, or losing a husband in a war or losing them in tragic farm accidents, and finally the periodic outbreaks of diseases such as typhus, diphtheria, and measles, often claiming multiple children and at least one parent.

I have often thought how neat it would be to travel back through time and live in a time when you really did provide for one’s own needs, but then it does not take me long to realize how difficult their lives were, not only enduring the creature comforts we take for granted (think hot showers), and the expectation that our dear children will grow up to adulthood with only minor losses.

 

Onward to Alabama!

Berea… a little bit of weaving heaven

 

This is the second post for the day, but is a catch up post dated May 15.

 

Our next stop on road trip was  Berea KY.  Berea is the home of Berea College- a great institution of higher learning, founded in 1855 it was the first interracial and coeducational college in the South.  It charges no tuition, and accepts academically promising students, primarily from Appalachia, who have limited economic resources.  It offers BA and BS degrees in 28 fields.  All students must work at least 10 hours a week in a college work program or service project. Its inclusive Christian motto, ” God has made one blood of all peoples” underscores its commitment to learning, labor and service and building kinship among peoples, conserving our natural resources by living sustainably.   Its Arts program teaches fiber arts among other disciplines and the work of the students is sold at the college and at the Artisans Center.

 

Just off the interstate is the Artisans Center run the state of Kentucky and featuring strictly Kentucky artists. I was like a kid in a candy shop!  Dave found a nice comfortable seat while I browsed and took pictures for my daughter (who loves to pot)  when she is not working as a PTA with her favorite Veterans.

 

From there we went downtown to the artists studios.  Discovered a wonderful weaving store.  I felt an immediate connection with the owner when I discovered that she too named her looms.  She and her husband were planning on retiring so it was sort of sad to hear their plans for closing the shop- but for them weaving was work, and they were ready for a change.  The loom pictured here is from nearby Ft Boonesborough.

Went into one yarn shop and found they had a community weaving project that they would run all summer.  Everyone who wants to, is invited to come in and weaves a bit.  Come fall they will take it off the loom, display it, auction it off perhaps and give the money to a local charity (I think the food bank).I exchanged emails with the owner so I could see a picture of the final product. It will be great to see what develops.

 

We stopped at Richmond KY on the way back to the campground (in Fort Boonesborough State Park, and took a delightful tour of a Civil War battlefield. I never heard of the battle of Richmond, KY but Richmond folks are quite proud of their little part in the Civil War. First of all the Confederates won and then took Frankfort (the only Federal capitol to fall during the Civil War).  The confederates either killed or captured the entire Union army engaged in that area.  There were some four thousand Union prisoners captured that day. Not a good day for the North that is for sure.  I can imagine how difficult it must have been for Kentucky during the Civil War- they eventually were counted as a member of the Union but KY sure does count itself as a southern state.  As you cross over the Ohio River  the city of Florence painted “Florence Y’all” on their water tower.Need I say more?

Finally we enjoyed the many barns in both Ohio and Kentucky that have chosen to paint a single quilt pattern on their sides. There are auto tours you can take to see them all, along with the descriptions of the patterns.  They are brightly colored and beautiful, some painted on beautiful new barns and some painted on older, yet classic, examples. I was hoping we would get to Paducah where I could see the National Quilt museum but the western side of KY will have to wait for next year.

On the road again…

For over three months I have had two drafts sitting in my computer waiting for pictures (I am a bit slow at figuring out how to get them from my iphone to this blog) before I would post it.  Well….. you can tell I have been otherwise occupied most often by a sweet little toddler named Will, who has his Grammy wrapped around his little finger). Will is heading to PA for a vacation with the Nelson clan and I am trying to clear my desk of a bunch of stuff, so I can get caught up with this endeavor.  I have finally filed our taxes (yes, a bit late) but I doubt since we were owed money the IRS is going to complain. So hopefully I will get this picture thing figured out!!

May 5, 2016

Retirement has its perks they say.  Dave and I decided to celebrate my retirement by planning a month-long trip.  We had purchased a small self-contained camper last year in anticipation of our first prolonged trip of 2016. It was to begin to in Ohio but before we even got there we encountered some wild weather.  The winter of 2015-2016 has been incredibly mild and in Maine, almost snowless (I bet we had less than 30 inches total, “normal” is about 110 inches).  I think we only had to clear the driveway two or three times and none of our snowfall’s exceed ten inches, something that we ordinarily exceed sometimes just after Thanksgiving in a “regular” Maine winter.

We left on April first, a warm, spring-like day to start our journey. Before we had gone 300 miles we encountered a light snowfall in the Poconos.  The next day warmed up nicely as we traveled off Rt 80 and down to Hollidaysburg, however, little did we know that a very active and wild weather system was about to sweep into Western PA. Our car came with Sirius satellite radio and so when traveling we listen music, which is free of ads, news, and, you guessed it, weather reports. Most of the time it’s great!

As we left PA to cross a very small slice of West Virginia, we encountered heavy black clouds and wild wind. Dave a very experienced ex-trucker had his hands full to keep us going in a westerly direction, our little camper was being buffeted all over the roadway so we figured it was a good time for supper. He parked it in a protected spot and went into a charming family restaurant, where we ate our delicious meal, and like everyone else in the place watched the wild weather outside.  The snow turned to sleet, and to icy rain, and all of it was going sideways!   We later learned that the wind was so severe  a gust  picked up a forty-foot trailer and caused the truck to jackknife on the Eastbound I-70.   So despite the fact that we arrived in Ohio on April 3rd to find Bradford Pears in full bloom and forsythia and daffodils everywhere we also woke up several mornings to near freezing temps and one morning to four inches of snow!  Made for a brisk shower at the bathhouse!

While we waited for the clock meet to start we went to visit the Wright Patterson and the massive US Air Force Museum.  Dave loves the WWII planes and displays, so we spent the lion’s share of our visit in that particular section but before we left  we toured theVietnam section as well,  there were other hangers to explore but we decided we would leave that for the next visit. I then drove into Dayton to the Packard museum, which was housed  in a wonderfully old Art Deco style car dealership. The cars were fabulous, the docent was full of wonderful stories and it was well worth the visit.

The rest of our week was devoted to the Southern Ohio Regional Clock meet.  Dave spent many hours prowling the Mart for clocks he just had to have. I would read books while he would take the clocks apart back at the camper, studying the gear structure, looking over the labels and reading up on them in his books.  Of course we took one day to do some antiquing in Waynesville a lovely town between Wilmington and Dayton, and came away with a few treasures!

 

We also went into Cincinnati to see the Underground Railroad Museum. It is located between Paul Brown Stadium and the Great American Ballpark where the Reds play.  All of our days in Ohio were not cold (only most of them) one lovely warm afternoon we set off to find the URM. First we were stunned to run into such traffic on a weekday.  Then, we could not figure out why there were so many people, especially kids,  playing hooky from school and/or work.  Now Dave and I are not baseball fanatics and so it never occurred to us that  we made the mistake of trying to visit a museum on the opening day for the Cincinnati Reds! I could hear Neil Diamond singing “pack up the babies and grab old ladies”, while I swear all of southern Ohio and northern Kentucky donned  red shirts and hats and headed to the ballpark. It was like a swarm of bees returning to the hive- the air was a buzz with excitement. Even as a passenger, Dave was less than happy. He tried his best to help me find the museum but all we saw were barricades, apparently on opening day everything else is closed off.  It was clear we were not going to find the entrance to the museum on that day and so we headed back to the campground.  I have no idea how the Reds fared, I hope they won.

Maybe next year…..

 

 

Serendipity and a ’28 Chrysler

It was a gray, chilly day and some old car friends had volunteered to take some of the ladies in a nearby Assisted Living facility for an outing.  The hardy ladies who went with me got to ride in our original condition 1928 Chrysler.  Of course that meant we had no heat, and well, the wipers leave much to be desired. On top of it all when you are driving a car of this age, you need to be mindful that your brakes are not as efficient when wet as when dry. So while it is always an adventure, that day I was concentrating on making sure I got my lovely ladies home safely.

Two of the ladies who sat in back were French Canadians who came to Maine years ago from Quebec province seeking work.  Both were full of stories about working in the nearby mills and  having a job at Levine’s- the kind of full service department store that is now only a memory.  While they chatted in French/English , Sally, who rode shotgun, began to chat with me about odds and ends.  When she found out I had had a beautiful old rug loom that I hoped to begin using again soon, she was all excited.  Sally had been an experienced weaver and she was looking for someone to take her loom. It was custom made in California by the husband of the woman who taught her to weave.  While she was in the Assisted Living now, she still owned her condo and her loom was still there!    I could not allow her give it to me- but what I paid her was not near what it is worth- not counting the books, back issues of Handwoven, and other accessories that were included in the deal. It is a beautiful jack loom, which will eventually give me some versatility that the counterbalance looms cannot.

Of course I had to name this new loom Sally, in honor of its previous owner, and in honor of my Great Aunt Sally.   Aunt Sally and Aunt Ruth were my spinster great aunts, the only sisters of my Grandmother Josephine.  They lived in Lynn MA on Ocean Dr. and welcomed three little kids (the youngest being me) for a weekend vacation every so often.  We would go to the beach in 90 degree weather, us in our swimsuits, Aunt Sal and Aunt Ruth in full Sunday best- corsets, hose and high shoes! How they ever did it I cannot imagine.  Aunt Sal taught me  canasta and they took us to Doane’s in Swampscott for ice cream- 55 years later Doane’s is still in business! Throughout most of the year, the Aunts would visit us every other Sunday like clockwork and there are not enough words to describe the many ways they made us feel loved.  They provided the important warp threads of unconditional love and acceptance in my young life.

For two years, my Sally loom, has lived idly  in my computer room, waiting for “someday” when I would have a room dedicated to my looms.  My first warp was a fine cotton rainbow colored warp.  It wound on beautifully and I was so excited.  However, 30 years of not weaving, resulted in an error somewhere as my warp ended up a tangled mess and so I never got it fully threaded.  Try as hard as I could I never could figure out just where I went wrong. In the end, all that was left were beautiful piles of thread cut off the warp. Now, I have begun a second warp made of wool, and hopefully it will be a Journey Scarf.  I am hoping to transfer my faith journey via the colors and textures of the wools and ribbons that I will use.  The weft is made up of several different color wools and a beautiful tricolor ribbon supplementary warp. The weft will be mostly wool- both light and dark, and I recently found a box of ribbons at an auction, which I hope to use to add symbolic highlights for the people, like Aunt Sal and Aunt Ruthie, who have left their footprints on my heart.  Of course, when it is all warped and ready to go, there will be pictures to share with Sally during my next visit with her.

My weaving project is being delayed a bit due to a back injury.  Sad to say that I can  manage to get back spasms by picking up a package of chicken off the bottom shelf in the refrigerator!  Takes talent (and age) to do that.

 

 

Just wait a day…..

February has been a wild month.  We have had snow, rain, and unbelievable warmth- considering this is Maine.  Just before one of our little snow storms, we had a deep freeze as the Montreal Express came down and brought -20 degree temps to the area, the blustery northwest winds brought our wind chill temps to a -45. We had frozen pipes and drains even- Dave and I took turns in the cellar with my hairdryer thawing them out.  However, a scant 36-40 hours later it was 50 degrees- a hundred degree change in the air temp. Since then we have had brief snows (an inch or two) followed by rain, and today I noticed our daffodils out front are now 2 1/2 inches high.  Unheard of at this Central Maine location in February!

All this wild weather has recently brought on more than one conversation about how “soft” we are compared to the early inhabitants who lived in Maine years before the installation of central heating and indoor plumbing.  Living in a drafty old house, I can only imagine how cold it must have been to rely on the fireplaces for warmth,especially deep in a winter cold spell.   Of course they had no plumbing and therefore no frozen pipes- but they had a very cold trip to the outhouse. For nearly 60 years (1865-1920) our house was the Town Farm- a town-owned farm of 250 acres, where people from Sidney, who had fallen on hard times, could be sheltered, fed and see a doctor if they needed it. The Town hired a manager and that person was in charge of managing the farm (crops and livestock) as well as the home. In reading the records of the Town Farm I am amazed at the variety of residents, from the very young (young mom with twin babies) to the very old- and often very sick. I can only imagine how hard winters must have been for them all.  The residents of this house have my admiration and the Town has my admiration for taking care of their neighbors.  So.. if you live in a town that has a road called Town Farm, it is likely that nearby there is either a large old home or the remnants of one that represents the way that Maine folks care for one another.

Of course the cold weather also gave me an appreciation for the blankets and rugs that early families wove to make their lives more comfortable.  Some were very utilitarian, some were beautiful as well, but all were warm and helped people to stay warm.  One night recently when it was well below zero, I topped my bed (in our largely unheated second floor) with a lovely overshot coverlet.   I appreciated its weight and the warmth of the wool as it kept me toasty warm on a night when  our windows were frosted over on the inside!  Just as appreciated are the rugs that would have been woven to cover the floors and protect the family from drafts. Rag rugs are one of my favorite projects- you can always use a rag rug somewhere and I get to repurpose endless amounts of old sheets, blankets and dress goods recycled from the local thrift shop.

Despite the fact that it has been more than 30 years since I was have had the opportunity to spend time weaving, I remember what a blessing it was to have more than one loom to weave on, because I could have several projects going at once.  Depending on how I was  feeling, what music I was listening to, and where my head was I could weave something  creative and fanciful, watching it’s pattern develop before my eyes; or I could take out my frustrations beating a rag rug.  For me this is a part of the joy of weaving, like the weather in Maine, each day can bring something new.

 

Weft -what??

We have lived in Maine about thirteen years or so.  We first had dreamed of living here back in 1976 when Dave bought a brand new Peterbuilt and he went into the business of becoming an independent long-haul truck driver. We knew Massachusetts was too expensive, the taxes alone were prohibitive.  Maine, for as beautiful as it was, was at the end of the interstate system, and that would limit his ability to be at home with us once and a while. So, we ended up in south central PA, not far from my parents home.  They do not call PA the Keystone State for nothing- interstates crisscross the state and if you are hauling anything from Maine to the Carolinas, there is a PA interstate along your route.

After nearly 30 years of being in PA, with our kids out of school and Dave ready to retire, we found this wonderful old house along the Kennebec River in the Central Maine Lakes Region. It was one of the Kennebec Proprietors land grant back in the 1700’s.  The landowner also had two mills on the property- a grist mill and a sawmill. We figure the house was built with home sawn boards during the late 1700’s.   When I first called the real estate person he asked me immediately how tall I was.  When I answered 5’9″ he asked how tall Dave was.  Why? The second floor ceiling is only 6’4″ – not the most desirable in 2002 but practical back in the 1700’s. Dave and I took one look at this big beautiful place and said, “if there are not pigs running around inside, we are buying this house”.  We wondered about moving into a large house that needed a lot of work as we approached retirement- isn’t that when you downsize? However, we had my parents living with us (Dad was in a wheelchair much of the time by then) and within three months of its purchase, we received a call from our girl who clearly needed a safe place to come and stay with our baby granddaughter, Grace.  All of a sudden our big house had four generations in it!  We were grateful that when it was needed we could honestly say- we have room, come home!

Well its been thirteen years, Kate, Grace, and Ethan live down the street in their new home.  My Dad has passed and after twelve years with us, Mom is now in assisted living near us where she is safe and warm. As retirement beckoned I began to think about having a weaving room again- I hesitate to call it a studio, that sounds so professional, but my dream of having a place where my looms and I could live together, started to become a reality.  Every fantasy studio needs a name and mine back then was Weftalone.  Yes a play on weft and warp, but also a reflection of where I was emotionally and spiritually.

Dave and I, for a lot of reasons, have certainly had some challenges before us.  There were times when it seemed liked divorce was not only immanent but inevitable- hence “weftalone”.  Somewhere in there I developed a five year plan to improve our families life.  I went back to college so I could get a job which would either a) add needed income b) provide support if Dave and I divorced. I excelled at school which gave me a much needed booster shot of confidence and led me to job in the County’s mental health unit. I had planned on working in probation and parole but they did not have funding- Steve Warren, the County Administrator, interviewed me for an intensive casemanager position.  The next day, Probation called and I declined an interview as I had accepted Steve’s offer to come work for MH-MR.  God had me in hand at that moment, it was a life saving decision- a place where I learned so much and met so many wonderful people.

It took me a long time to get from a place of ambivalence to a place of confidence. I finally believed that God loved me, warts and all, and my fear of being alone was a false fear.  No matter what happened I finally understood that all would be well- God would see me through it. Accepting that God loved me and wanted me to have abundant life, helped me to pay attention to the many ways that I had love in my life- maybe not the kind I wanted but important nonetheless.

Over time Weftalone took on a new meaning for me- not one of inevitable loss and pain, but one that acknowledged that the weft threads of my life:  the choices I made; the relationships I treasured;  the experiences I chose to emphasize; could replace those dark weft threads  of guilt, loss, and sadness with light, love, and hope.    Instead of the heaviness of both warp and weft laden with recriminations, criticism, and hopelessness; gossamer weft threads of  love, support, kindness, and acceptance changed the “hand” of the woven fabric of my life- resulting in a softer, more abundant texture. It is not that there has not been real pain- there always is, it is the price you bear for loving deeply and suffering loss whether it is through rejection, divorce, or death.  Knowing that  I am never Weftalone , for God is always there… and the confidence that eventually all will be well,  changed how I dealt with the pain.

So the studio, if it ever comes to pass, will be named  Weftalone, it represents to me the journey from loss and grief to acceptance and joy- transformed by the power of love, the gift of tenacity and  the blessing of hope. My first warp which still is, at this writing, 2/3 threaded is for a faith journey scarf. Not certain what it will look like and I am determined to not “pretty it up” – after all I am weaving it for me alone, and I already know where all the tender spots are.  Stay tuned.

 

A funny thing happened……

As I reread my first post, I laughed when I realized that I did not explain why, after more than 30 years, I am still a novice weaver.  You might think  I am just  a very slow learner (there is some evidence it takes me a while to get certain concepts) but the truth is, life simply intervened. With the arrival of children, a new job at UPS for Dave, a new house that still needed finishing, church activities and some relationship struggles, weaving fell to the bottom of the “to do” list and the looms got put into storage. I returned to college for a degree, worked in mental health and then entered seminary and before I knew it, three decades had passed.  Without a doubt, there were some really dark times when I did not know what the future would hold, but I learned that the warp and weft of our lives produces patterns and textures we never even dreamed of, ones that “God alone can see” (Thank you Natalie Sleeth, Hymn of Promise).

One of the first thing you learn in weaving is how to wind and put on a warp.  The warp is the set of foundational threads which, on the loom (and sometimes in life) exist in tension in order to do their job.  When putting the warp on the loom, it is essential to follow certain steps so the threads stay straight and in order, for if they get crossed or tangled it is next to impossible to complete the project.  What starts out with promise and excitement, ends up on the floor in a pile of thread, usually accompanied by some dire threats under one’s breath (you can tell I have personally experienced this!)  Fortunately or unfortunately, the experiences in our early lives, nature or nurture of our family of origin, and our own self-perceptions  form the foundation of our life just as surely as the warp is the foundation of a piece of cloth.    It is the weft, the choices we make, that can either highlight or soften those warp threads.

During retirement I hope to gain a lot of experience in weaving by trying a wide variety of items to weave.  They will require me to try different weaves, different weights of yarns for both warp and weft and, of course, explore the wonderful world of color. In the process, I expect I might uncover some previously unknown warp threads of my life and I hope discover some new wefts and perhaps reveal a pattern that only – up to now, God alone has seen.

 

 

The first step

It has been said that a journey begins with a single step.  My journey as a weaver began years and years ago with the purchase of the loom in this picture.  It was a gift for my 19th birthday.  Dave and I brought it home on the roof of a 1968 VW Beetle, in the midst of a heavy snowstorm- thank heavens we had a sunroof and a good set of gloves so I could hold on to the large sides of this beauty. We were young and life was an adventure.

This large, two harness rug loom sat in my dining room for seven years before I learned how to weave on it.  I tried to read books and follow the steps- but I am a hands on person and it took me  that long to find a weaving teacher. During that time I learned the language of weaving, I fell in love with the colors and the varieties of yarn, and discovered a love for this ancient craft and I began my journey as a novice weaver.

Thirty years later, and I confess I am still a novice weaver. My love for color, for the feel of the yarns, the variety 0f the patterns and treadlings still fascinate me, but now, with retirement I have the time to take the looms out of storage and again take up my weaving journey. Dave and I find ourselves in a very good place and so we look forward to watching our grandchildren grow, exploring Maine and the rest of the country.  That elusive “some day” is here.  We are older, and maybe a bit wiser,  and life is still an adventure.