Our Pasture, Paw Paw, Madison County, NC, March, 2020
The news is so depressing, exhausting really, and will likely get worse, much worse. Still, up here in our mountains, we have it so much better than most people that I know I shouldn’t complain. But time itself seems to be pausing, not yet stopping, like in a photograph, but taking a break, saying, “let's just stay right here for a bit, mark time, and catch our breath before we move on again.”
Paw Paw, 2020
I remember a conversation with my friend, Dellie Norton, that would have taken place about 1978. She told me about a time, sixty years earlier in 1918, when the Great Flu swept through her community of Sodom and the entire world., killing an estimated 30 to 50 million people. Now, 102 years after the time Dellie described, we’re faced with a similar pandemic and I wonder who will tell this story one hundred years from now.
It’s been a long time ago. It was long before I was married. They had that bad flu through here. I don’t remember what year, but I sure remember the time. I must have been about thirteen years old. I can remember it good. We lived right over there in that old big house. We all had the flu. Every time I raised up, I’d faint. My nose bled so. Daddy, he got out and gathered this red willow. That’s the best medicine for flu and fever ever was. He got out and would break it up. Get the tender limbs and boil them and that would just cool you off if you had the highest fever ever was. He’d have you drink the water from it.
There were so many that died. All the pregnant women died. Every one of them. I knowed them all. Matthew Ramsey’s wife died. James Davis’s wife died. There’d be seven and eight dead at a time. Couldn’t get people to strip them. They didn’t take them to the funeral home back then like they do now. They had people in the community dig their graves, put their clothes on them, and bury them. Jack Ramsey used to make coffins. There was the awfulest bunch of pregnant women that died ever was. I think it was the fall of the year. Nowadays, people will say they’ve got the flu, but they know nothing about the flu unless they had that kind.
Dellie Norton
—from Sodom Laurel Album
Inside Toby’s Deerstand, Paw Paw, Madison County, NC 2020.
I’ve never needed much of an excuse to stay at home. Rather, over the years, I’ve taken every opportunity to not leave our place. To wit, the question I’m asked most when I do venture into town is “I haven’t seen you in awhile, where you been hiding?” I’ve long recognized our land as my shelter, my quiet place, my spot to hunker down and avoid the outside world. I’ve always loved how these mountains embrace you in that quiet way, but only if we allow them into our lives to work their magic.
Benny, aka Banjo Amberg, with Chall Gray and Catfish, McDowell County, NC 1986.
When I picked up Ben at the airport last week, he asked if we could visit Chall Gray at his bar in Asheville, Little Jumbo. We did. Nice place. We had a drink, a snack, more than a pleasant visit with Chall who I hadn’t seen in a few years. Chall and Ben are both thriving in the cocktail business.
Seeing the two of them together reminded me of this photograph of their first meeting - Ben, fish in hand caught in Chall’s father’s pond, and Chall, a toddler in swaddling clothes, mesmerized by the flopping catfish.
One of the beauties of photographs is their ability to help us remember. They inform us of long ago - a gesture, a look, the way we were back then. For me, looking at this image, I see two young boys, each expressing his feelings about a long-dead fish, and I recognize my own amazement that after 34 years the two boys still have things in common.
My long-time friend and collaborator, Charlie Thompson, will be reading from his new book, Going Over Home: A Search for Rural Justice in an Unsettled Land, at the Madison Container Company in downtown Marshall on Friday evening, March 6, at 6:30p.m.
We will also share the stage together for a few minutes looking at photographs from our trips and talking about them.
Jim Smyre and Family planting tobacco, Harmony, North /Carolina 1987.
When I think about Charlie Thompson, a number of things come to mind. There is his overwhelming commitment to the common man - the underserved, the small farmers, the downtrodden, those among us who haven’t been able to achieve their dreams. I think about his intensity of belief, his integrity, and the value he places on dialogue and story. I think about his love of tradition, of old ways, and the importance of holding our history close to our hearts. But mostly when I think about Charlie, I think about the soil, the land, the dirt under fingernails, and understand that that is where his true happiness lies.
My long-time friend and collaborator, Charlie Thompson, will be reading from his new book, Going Over Home: A Search for Rural Justice in an Unsettled Land, at the Madison Container Company in downtown Marshall on Friday evening, March 6, at 6:30p.m.
We will also share the stage together for a few minutes looking at photographs from our trips and talking about them.
Man with fire ant bites, the Hurricane Floyd Flood, eastern North Carolina 1999.
In 1999, Charlie Thompson and I travelled through eastern North Carolina documenting the aftermath of Hurricane Floyd and the ensuing flood, which left the eastern third of the state under water. We were working with the Southern Oral History Program at Chapel Hill and our goal was to try to understand the effects of this unprecidented natural disaster on the numerous small, rural communites in its path.
We met an elderly man in front of his home and he described the night the waters rose around him, flooding first his fields and then his home. As he waded four feet of water, trying to get to higher ground, believing he would die, he noticed massive balls floating in the water around him. Fire ants.
That day, two months after the storm, he lifted his pants leg for us to reveal his limb, still covered with ant bites.
My long-time friend and collaborator, Charlie Thompson, will be reading from his new book, Going Over Home: A Search for Rural Justice in an Unsettled Land, at the Madison Container Company in downtown Marshall on Friday evening, March 6, at 6:30p.m.
We will also share the stage together for a few minutes looking at photographs from our trips and talking about them.
Charlie Thompson (second from left) talking with farmers in a feed mill in Iredell County, NC, 1986.
In 1986, I was a freelance photographer and had been hired by the Rural Advancement Fund (RAF), a non-profit farm advocacy organization, to photograph in rural communities in the two Carolinas. I was introduced to Charlie Thompson, one of the organization’s field organizers, who would take me to meet some of the farmers RAF worked with. This trip, our first of many, marked the beginning of a relationship that has lasted thirty-four years and taken us to numerous far-flung, out-of-the-way places.
My original intention with my blog was to simply put my work in front of people. My friend and co-worker, Jamie Paul, suggested I blog, and while I resisted it at first, it’s become a perfect avenue of expression for me. It’s allowed me to combine my photography with an equal obsession with words. I could cover any subject that interested me - photography, Madison County new and old, family, the landscape, travel, just to name a few. And I could work at my own pace with little pressure and no deadlines. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed producing the posts, most especially for the new people they have brought into my life.
But I’ve decided to take a break from blogging and most social media. I can’t imagine not talking for very long, or not wanting my work to have a public venue. Yet I can imagine, and welcome, taking a break from it. For those of you readers who have followed this blog over the last seven years - thank you. Your goodwill, support, criticism, and positive reinforcement have kept it moving forward, and I’m sure those same offerings will bring me back to it at some yet-to-be-determined time in the future.
Rob
Carnival on the Island, Marshall, Madison County, NC 1983
Memorial Day Parade, Marshall, Madison County, NC 1988
Mermaid Parade, Marshall, Madison County, NC 2019
I arrived in Madison County in November of 1973, one of a handful of new people moving to the county, most of us coming from cities up and down the east coast. Some of us were seeking refuge from those cities, some were looking to learn old skills that were still practiced in our new home, some were coming for the music, all of us were looking for inexpensive land, and a slower pace of life. In Madison , we found those things, and many more, all readily available. We also found a population of people who welcomed us to the community, sharing their knowledge, inviting us to their homes and churches, and adopting us into their families. Some of those newcomers left, unable to deal with the winters, the isolation, the lack of jobs, the politics, but many of us have stayed.
My first winter I went to the annual Christmas Parade in Marshall. There were so many people downtown - shopping, visiting, watching the parade - that it was hard to move. Bringing up the rear of the parade, Santa Claus, played by Dave, the town maintenance man, rode through, tossing candy to the children and hollering Merry Christmas to All. Afterwards, a youngish man who I later learned was Jackie Ball, stood in the street in front of the courthouse and raffled off a steer that had been donated by Bill Roberts, the County Magistrate. The proceeds went to some local good cause. For someone raised in suburban Washington, DC, the day was a revelation of life in a small mountain town and it let me know I had come to a place where customs and traditions were ancient and unknown to me.
Much has changed in Madison County since I first got here. Thanks to a government program, people are no longer straight-piping their waste into our creeks and river. Health care has gone from being next to non-existent to a rural health care system that is a model for the entire nation. Improved roads have provided better access to jobs, entertainment, and education. And our economy has evolved from one almost totally dependent on burley tobacco to one based more on service, tourism, and the arts. I would venture that most of these changes, and numerous others, have been welcomed.
Perhaps the most significant change has been in our demographics. We have so many newbies coming to Madison that even an old-newcomer like myself is astonished and overwhelmed. People are arriving every week, and like the new people that showed up forty years ago, some of these “not from heres” will leave. Many will stay. They will buy land, or buildings in town, sold to them by local families who need the money or whose heirs no longer want to farm or run the business that has been in the family for generations.
These new folks are bringing energy and ideas, diversity and smarts. Mostly, they are bringing goodwill and a strong desire to be part of our community. I’m okay with all of that and have often said, “If someone wants to move here, invest, and become an active part of our community, I’m all for it.” Part of being a member of a community, especially in a small place like Madison, is being engaged in the discussion of what best for all of our neighbors. Because of the changes in our county, and those yet to come, that discussion becomes vital.
At the same time, there are newcomers who act as if they, and they alone, know what’s best for a place and a culture they hardly acknowledge, much less understand. There is little recognition of families who have centuries-old roots in this community who have survived here during less hospitable and more challenging times. I sense that those opinions, that history, barely matter to some people. I just hate that.
I live on one of the few remaining dirt roads in the county. It stretches for close to five miles and I’m fond of saying “our road keeps the riff raff out.” It’s slow, meandering, and close and I hope it stays that way. Our road takes me back to when I first moved here and reminds me of the reasons I’ve stayed as long as I have. There are changes along our road and I study them as I drive. A cleared field that’s been overgrown for decades, a new shed being built, a mailbox where there has never been one, old homes being renovated, gardens being tended and animals roaming through pastures. And I think, I like that these people are bringing life to these long-abandoned home places and buildings.
All of this brings me around to the proposed asphalt plant. I’ll say right off that “I’m agin’ it.” Here’s why. While I can comfortably wax poetic about my dirt road, I know and appreciate our need for pavement, which means asphalt. But do we need a plant right here in our backyard? I think not. In my 45 years in the county, I’ve watched more and more roads being paved every year and we haven’t needed our own asphalt plant yet. There is an existing plant ten miles down the road. Then there’s the pollution, the potential health risks, and the close proximity to families, health clinics and daycare centers. There is the effect an asphalt plant will have on the town of Marshall and its new and burgeoning economy of art, music, and healthful living, It seems the main beneficiaries of such a plant will be the owners of French Broad Paving. Now, I have no quarrel with someone wanting to expand their business, especially a locally-owned one. But if that expansion means physically endangering community members and sacrificing the goodwill of community residents, both new and old, it just isn’t worth it. Profits over people have never been among our community’s values and traditions.
Last Saturday, I went into downtown Marshall for the 12th Annual Mermaid Festival and Parade. Even with the on again/off again rain, the town was packed with people - eating, shopping, visiting, listening to live music on the courthouse steps, having a good time. I’ve got to say it was an odd assemblage of folks, even for suburbanite me - people dressed as mermaids and pirates, riding in octopus and fish floats, waving swords with parrots on their shoulders. And I found myself asking what had Marshall become? At the same time, it reminded me of that Christmas Parade years ago. Yes, the people were different, looked different, sounded different, certainly were dressed different. But the sense of community, the building of new traditions, music echoing in the background, engaged people in a place they love, where they intend to build their lives, that was the same as that Christmas years ago.
I have loved Madison County and Marshall for its culture and history, its strong sense of community, its traditions, the sacredness of the mountains around us, and its people. I have also loved it for its eccentricities, its oddness. Herman Melville would have agreed that Madison County is a true place.
Madison County will not return to the way it was 45 years ago. Those days are gone. I miss much about those times. But we’ve changed so much already and there is bound to be more to come. How we wrestle with those changes as a community will speak volumes about who we are and our ability to live by our values.
Happy Fathers Day Everyone.
Jenna Nagle, after completing chemotherapy treatment for breast cancer, Guntertown, Madison County, 2019.
I love Jenna.
I love her openness and exuberance.
Her lack of pretension as she pulled off her scarf to show me her hair.
I love her strength to face the world.
Her life is in the moment.
The most human and real person I know.
But, being honest, and more than a little selfish,
what i love best about Jenna is that
she is always happy to see me. Always.
That is not the case with everyone I know.
And that simple gesture, that unrestrained pleasure in seeing me,
Always lifts my day.
Thank you, Susie.
Heather Watts on the day before she delivered her Baby Sophia in our B&B, PawPaw, Madison County, NC 2019
Kate, probably four months old, PawPaw, 1991. Still soaring after all these years. On this, her birthday.
Jerry Plemmons, Marshall 1988.
Jerry Plemmons was one of Madison County’s Great Ones. He was committed to all things Madison County - its people, especially young people, its history, its place in the world. His contributions to health care, the arts, education, and housing, among many others, have been immense. Jerry was a bridge who sought to bring people together - it was perhaps his greatest gift to the rest of us who live here.
Happy Birthday to Matt Hess (right), seen here with His Dad Lowell, and His Son Guss, during turkey season, 2019, Sprinkle Branch, Madison County, NC.
I have been most fortunate in my Life to be graced with strong, vibrant, challenging and caring Mothers.
My Grandmother, Jennie Galeano
My Mother, Catherine Galeano Amberg
My Mother-in-Law, Faye Cooper Stilwell
The Mother of My Second Child, Leslie Gail Stilwell
I’ve lived in Madison County for forty-five years now and, being here, I’ve learned and done things I never would have imagined when I was a young man. It’s been a rich and extraordinary time. This past weekend allowed me to add to the ever-growing list of remarkable gifts this place has brought me.
Easter weekend began with our third major flood in the last twelve months, this one, perhaps, the worst yet. Collapsed roadways, mudslides and, covering every flooded pasture, yard, or parking area, a debris field of logs, refuse, small buildings, and trailers.
We had gotten a call a couple of days before from our neighbor and friend, McCray Roberts. Like us, McCray has a B&B he rents for short and medium length stays and he was calling to see if our place was available. Seems that McCray had had a young couple in his place for the last two weeks, where they were planning to birth their second child. Problem was, the baby was overdue and he had other renters coming the next day so the couple had to leave. “Can you all take them in?’
Now, given this was Easter weekend, and me being an ex-Catholic, the symbolism was running rampant in my mind. “Of course, they can come here.”
The flooded French Broad River at Barnard, 2019/04/19.
They were young, he was twenty-one and she seemed younger, already with an eighteen month old son. They loved our barn apartment, deep in the woods, quiet, sheep and goats, comfortable, just what they wanted for the birth. Despite our initial enthusiasm we also were skeptical. Leslie was a mother/baby nurse for thirty years and started worrying about all the things that can go wrong. We both were concerned about the midwife finding our place, given our sketchy relationship with GPS and the flooded and closed roads. The young couple were non-plussed, so we moved forward.
Heather contracting in My Studio, PawPaw, 2019
I walked up to my studio in the barn to check email and messages and found Heather sitting on the futon in my work space. The heat was turned up, the overhead fan going, and Heather was focussed. Contractions were five minutes apart, the baby was on its way. The midwives hadn’t arrived and Tyler hadn’t heard from them in some time. I drove to the bottom of our driveway and waited. And waited. Finally, 45 minutes later a solitary man arrived, a doctor. The midwife couldn’t come because her father had had a heart attack. I took him up to the barn and helped carry in supplies.
We had talked about pictures of the birth, but Heather decided against it, wanting it to just be her husband, son, and the doctor. I went down to the house.
Waiting for the Midwife at the Bottom of Our Driveway, PawPaw, 2019
Heather and Baby Sophia, PawPaw, 2019
The Family - Heather, Tyler, Zacharia and 16 hour old Baby Sophia, PawPaw, 2019.
The next morning, Easter Sunday, we received an early call. Baby Sophia had arrived the night before, “a magnificent birth,” Tyler said. Would I like to come up and meet the baby and make pictures? I did. By that afternoon they were packed up and heading down our driveway, heading home.
Matt Hess and the yet undone Willow Tree, Sprinkle Branch, Madison County 2019.
@naturalcanvas
PawPaw, 2019
