Going to visit these two in California tomorrow.
YAY!
We Are All Local - Staring
Our friend Ricky, at home.
We Are All Local - Marshall 1983
This was a stressful period of time in my life. I won't go into the gory details except to say I had just opened a studio in the empty warehouse space on the third floor of the Flow Building. It would prove to be a cold and hot place to work. On most cold mornings I would wander down to Doc Niles's place, Roberts Pharmacy. They had an old fashioned counter with a soda fountain and would serve breakfast and lunch. Invariably, I would order biscuits and gravy, two eggs, sausage and coffee. Enough carbs and warm playfulness to keep me going all day.
We Are All Local - Little Worlds There Remain
UNCLE SAM WANTS YOU TO. . .
HEAD TO THE HILLS WITH HIM
"Folks, things is bad and getting worse." He was heard to say.
"We best lay low for a time and gather our strength."
We Are All Local - Preaching
This isn't the first time I've posted about litter and
trash dumps.
It could be an ongoing and regular feature.
There are many differences of opinion in Madison County.
But I've always thought our point in common is
our love of the mountains.
They are sacred to all of us.
We call our place The Jewel of the Blue Ridge.
Yet I wonder.
This dump site, less than a mile from our house,
never ceases to amaze me as I pass by it on my walk.
This is but a small piece of the entire dump.
Placed judiciously along the creek in the hope that
high water will take at least some of it away.
It appears to be the remnants of an entire house
with a couple of vehicles added for good measure.
People will say, "Aw, who cares,
you won't even notice it in a couple of years."
Or, "I had to get rid of it and can't afford a dump card."
Or, the best, "Well, we've always done it that way."
As I get older I'm finding I have less patience
for people's stupidity.
It exhausts me.
Yet, here I am, still talking about it.
Witnessing so to speak.
Not expecting change.
Venting.
We Are All Local
Hanging around in Sodom in the mid-1970s, one was sure to meet Morris Norton. He was in his early 80s at that point, cantankerous, not working much, but fit enough to wander around the community dispensing wisdom and opinion. I thought of him as the unofficial Mayor. He fathered many children, ten or twelve I think, mostly boys, most of whom were the nicest people you'll ever meet. Morris played at music, picking a banjo and playing harp. He could flat-foot dance pretty well for an old guy. He also made and played tune bows, an instrument I had never seen before, similar in sound to a jews harp. It's old and basic, but in the hands of a skilled player could put out a rollicking lick and keep people on the dance floor.
Two or three years after first coming to Sodom, I was in Maryland visiting family and took a day trip to the Smithsonian Museum of American History. Wandering through the numerous and incredibly detailed displays I came to one on early American music. There was a section on instruments and there in front of me was a tune bow, accompanied by a tag that read: Tune bow made by Morris Norton, Sodom, North Carolina. I remember thinking, "Wow. I know this guy." But with the thought came an understanding that History isn't just the grand events, the things and people we know from books and the classroom, but also involves the lives of everyday people.
One of Morris's sons, Emmett, is a singer/songwriter who regularly plays on Friday nights at the Depot in Marshall. Not too many years ago, he approached me and handed me a tune bow. Identical to one his father might have made, he offered it as a gift to me, his signature on the inside face - a piece of local history and, for me personally, something that evoked memories of a photograph, a man and his family, and an instrumental time in my life.