Week 3, Women's History Month

 
Madame Lili Kraus, Burnsville, NC 1978.

Madame Lili Kraus, Burnsville, NC 1978.

 

The Asheville area has always been a bastion for the Arts. From writers—Charles Frazier, Thomas Wolfe, and O. Henry—to musicians—Robert Moog, Warren Haynes, and Doug Wallin—to visual artists—Will Henry Stevens, George Masa, and Julyan Davis—and many, many more—Asheville has produced or attracted a plethora of incredible artists.

One of the more amazing, but little known, artists, a musician I had never heard of, was Madame Lili Kraus, who lived her last few years in Burnsville and died in Asheville in 1986. Kraus was considered the foremost interpreter of Mozart during her career. She was born in Budapest in 1903 and studied in Vienna and Berlin before beginning an international touring and teaching career. While playing in Java at the beginning of World War II, she and her family were incarcerated by the Japanese and held in concentration camps until the end of the war. She resumed her career after that, playing thousands of concerts around the world and recording over a hundred albums. She eventually settled in Fort Worth, Texas, where she became the long-term artist in residence at Texas Christian University.

In addition to her musicianship, Kraus was also fluent in seven languages, a formidable athlete, and a fierce lover of life. I thank Martha Abshire, the founder and publisher of the Asheville Arts Journal, for sending me to Kraus’s farm outside of Burnsville, where I spent an afternoon walking in her gardens and receiving a private concert from the master.

 

Week 2, Women’s History Month

 
Eva Wolfe, Cherokee, NC 1985

Eva Wolfe, Cherokee, NC 1985

Eva Wolfe was a master Cherokee basketmaker. She was born in the Soco community of the Qualla Boundary in 1922 and lived and worked most of her life in the Big Cove community, where she died in 2004. Wolfe mastered the intricate double weave tradition that utilized rivercane in her baskets. She often used over 100 strips of cane in one basket, which were dyed with native plants, such as bloodroot and the roots of the butternut tree. Wolfe was the recipient of numerous awards for her work including the North Carolina Heritage Award from the NC Arts Council, the Brown-Hudson Award from the NC Folklore Society. In 1969, Wolfe’s baskets were part of an exhibition at the Renwick Gallery, part of the Smithsonian Institution, in Washington, DC.

I was fortunate to photograph Ms. Wolfe twice—once for the Qualla Arts and Crafts Mutual in Cherokee and later for the NC Arts Council. In addition to her amazing baskets, Wolfe raised eleven children, raised a huge garden, and was a noted community elder. Her double weave baskets continue a fading tradition.

Thank you, Anna Fariello of Western Carolina University, for the excerpts from her book, Cherokee Basketry: From the Hands of Our Elders.

 

The Long Hiatus

 
rob child portrait copy.jpg
 

I see that my last post was July, 2020, a long time away from this blog. It’s hard to say why I stopped—Covid, boredom, depression, simply nothing to say. For the longest time I’ve wondered if the world would continue. I’m sure many of you have felt the same way. But I’m ready to return to the fold. I’ve had my two shots and can see a light at the end of the tunnel. The world will go on and I, once again, will likely have something to say about it. So, thank you for your patience. Shots, or not, wear your mask. Keep your distance, but hug your grandchildren. Be careful. Be safe. It’s still the same old world, but it feels entirely new. Perhaps what is new is our appreciation of the old.

 

The "Stay at Home" Pictures

 

On Anderson Branch, 2020

 

I so tire of this shit.
I’m walking and come around one of the many steep, hidden bends on my route.
It’s pleasant - not too hot, or cold.
The dogs are with me and they’re behaving,
Not chasing cars.
And then, there it is.
Evidence of yet another asshole in this world.
Someone who thinks they can dump their crap wherever they like.
Too lazy, or too cheap, to go to the landfill.
No respect for others, or the land itself.
I just don’t understand.

The "Stay at Home" Pictures

In 1987 I was on staff with the Rural Advancement Fund, a non-profit, farm advocacy organization with a field office in Pittsboro, North Carolina. In addition to working with small, family farmers throughout the two Carolinas, RAF also ran a Justice Project in rural Robeson County in the southeast corner of the state.

Robeson County’s population is one-third white, one-third African-American, and one-third Lumbee Indian and racial strife has long been an issue. The County is noted for the Battle Hayes Pond, which took place in 1958, when hundreds of Lumbee confronted the Ku Klux Klan and ran them out of the county as they were attempting to stir animosity among the races. Despite the positive outcome of that situation, the County has been plagued by unsolved murders and extra-judicial killings throughout its history. The photographs here are from a Justice Rally in the county seat of Lumberton, demonstrating against the killing of Jimmy Earl Cummings, a native-American man, by the county Sheriff’s Department.

For obvious reasons these images have been on my mind for the last few weeks. I look at them and see faces, and signs, and situations that could easily be transposed to today’s world. And I think, I made these pictures thirty-three years ago, and yet, here we are, fighting the same battles, with the same adversaries, demanding the same basic rights, freedoms, and respect. And certainly, this fight has been going on a lot longer than that. And the battle doesn’t seem to be ending anytime soon.

Often, the most simple observation is the most prescient. And I keep coming back to Rodney King, who asked with an almost childlike wonder, “Can we all get along?”

Happy 4th of July.

Lumberton, NC, 1987.

Lumberton, NC 1987

 

Lumberton, NC 1987

 

The "Stay at Home" Pictures

 

Our Pasture, PawPaw, Madison County, NC 04/20

These days
With time suspended
Not knowing one day from the next
Mind muddled from the effort of keeping track
Easily confused
Surrendering to the lethargy.
Why bother?

I mean, will we even be here in a year, six months?

Solace comes from our pasture and
The woods around it.
The daily changes in light and tone.
Bursts of green after a rain
Followed by heavy mists that give the Smokey Mountains their name.
Drought that drives even the grass to crackle.

The longer movements come season to season.
The deep shadows of fall that open to
The long visions of winter.
The smell of spring.
The breathlessness of summer.

Yet for all the change,
Both long and short,
There is the sense that
Nothing changes.
Maybe this is particular to the time in which we are living.
But what if it isn’t?
What if it will always be as it is now?
What if it always has been?

 

The "Stay at Home" Pictures

 

What Was Once the Bridge to Home, Paw Paw, 2020

 
 

The owners left a few years ago.
Moved to a manufactured home,
high on a hill nearby.
The house is much like the bridge,
falling in, rotting, the inside black with mold.

There’s history here.
A man shot, killed by his step-father.
I don’t know the details, but
the killed man, the stepson, was supposedly drunk,
high on drugs, shooting into the house,
from just beyond the bridge.
With his mother inside.
It was ruled justifiable.
Likely, I’d have done the same.

I pass this spot on my daily walks and
think about what must have been an awful night.
For everyone.
The terror of it.
A mother’s son, dead,
by the hands of her husband.
How does one live with that?

It’s peaceful there now in its disrepair.
Quiet, almost picturesque,
slowly becoming part of the landscape.
Part of the heritage of place.
There are beaver in the creek building their own home.
The creek rises and falls with the rain, sometimes
taking the beaver den downstream in high water.
They try to build back, but are washed out again.
And again.
Until finally moving to a more agreeable location.






 

The "Stay at Home" Pictures

Marshall, North Carolina, at its absolute finest. I’m proud.

 

Marshall, NC 06/06/20

 
 

Marshall, NC, 06/06/20

 

Eight minutes and forty-six seconds, Marshall, NC 06/06/20.

Eight minutes and forty-six seconds, Marshall, NC 06/06/20.

Black Lives Matter Rally surrounding memorial to Robert E. Lee, erected by the United Daughters of the Confederacy in 1926 ,Marshall, NC 06/06/20. It’s time for a change.

The "Stay at Home" Pictures

 
 

Kelsey Green, Sodom, Madison County, NC 04-15-20

 

Leslie and I drove over to Sodom on Friday to visit with Kelsey and buy some plants for our garden. It was Leslie’s first time out of the house since she broke her foot four weeks ago so she was ready to get out. In honesty I was more than ready, too, to see a different place and a fresh face.

It was a beautiful day - sunny and bright with a cooling breeze. Kelsey was working in her greenhouses when we got there. She owns and operates, Our Friendly Allies, www.ourfriendlyallies.com, a nursery that specializes in medicinal herbs, along with edible plants. It was her busiest time of year and her folks, Sherry and Eric, had her boys for a few days affording her long, uninterrupted days to work.

I’ve not been dealing well with our mandated isolation. Lethargic, lacking motivation, accomplishing the bare minimum. Wondering if time will be like this for the rest of my life. Masks. No travel. Fear of being out in public. Little to say that hasn’t been said.

Seeing Kelsey, and other young people in our community, is heartening. They adapt to necessary changes and take the necessary precautions. They maintain distance, but offer abundant air hugs. They do their work. For Kelsey, having her own herb farm has been a long-held dream. And while this virus has been more than a little disruptive, it has not altered the dream.

 

The "Stay at Home" Pictures

 

Catherine Galeano Amberg. Mom at nineteen, Washington, DC, 1940

 
 

Were she still alive, my mother would have been 99 years old today. She died in 2007. I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately.

My mom was a first generation American, born to Italian parents, and raised in the Italian ghetto in Washington, DC. She achieved much in her life. From a poor upbringing she went to secretarial school and on to a much decorated career as an administrative assistant in the Army Corps of Engineers. She survived the Great Depression and World War II, the social upheaval of the sixties and seventies, and the terrifying beginnings of the 21st Century. She and my father built a home in the suburbs and raised their four children there. They retired comfortably. They travelled frequently to see their children and grandchildren, and to Italy to see Mom’s family and other far flung destinations. She had come a long way from Morse Street in NE Washington.

But my mother was never the easiest person to satisfy. I think it is part of the immigrant DNA to always strive for more, for both her and her children. As she aged, becoming more infirm, and often alone, her oft-repeated refrain was, “Where are the Golden Years?”

How does one answer that question from one’s own mother? To me, it seemed she had achieved a lot, done more than she ever dreamed of doing as a young woman of nineteen. Why would you want more?

I don’t put much stock in Hallmark holidays or catchy phrases, so the idea of Golden Years kind of washes over me. I’ve always thought you just lived your life until you didn’t. Yes, I expect to slow down as I age, travel more, visit and walk, and not worry so much about stuff - money, children, drama. But as for some kind of golden light illuminating my life after age 65 that grants entrance into some entitled senior enclave - I don’t think so.

So, now, firmly entrenched in my Golden Years, I’m still working, traveling to see the children, friends, family, and faraway places, and looking forward to more of it. I move more slowly and deliberately.

But suddenly, we (all of us) find ourselves in the midst of a game changing event - something, be we young or old - that will irrevocably mark the rest of our lives. We hear, “Stay At Home. Wear Masks Outside. Avoid Travel. Keep Six Foot Distance.” Let us hope this event doesn’t erase the memory of Golden Years, however illusory that memory may be.

 

The "Stay at Home" Pictures

 

Our driveway, PawPaw, Madison County, NC 03312020

 

I saw it on my walk.
Lifeless in the culvert pipe.
Firm and cool to the touch.
The tail the giveaway.
Hairless, the body possum gray.
Born dead, or aborted from its mother’s pouch.
Perhaps it lost its grip and fell out on its own.
Either way, it’s dead now.

I’m not one to mourn possums.
I don’t like to see them killed randomly.
But when they kill our chickens, they must be dispatched.
They kill in a most gruesome way,
sucking blood from the bird’s neck and head,
leaving the meat to rot.
I won’t worry about this one.

Yet, this baby’s death touched me.
Partly, it was knowing
It would never experience whatever joy a possum feels.
The taste of chicken blood.
Hanging by its tail from tree limbs.
Testing their ability to cheat death by deception.
It would miss all of that, and more, I’m sure.

Rather, my emotion was about the time we’re living in.
Socially distant.
Suspended.
Fretting, worried, scared,
for ourselves, our families, our communities.
Wondering how long this will last and how it will play out.
How will we know when it’s safe to come out and play once again?
Emotion so overwhelming that
the death of a baby possum
leaves me saddened for the world we live in.


 
 

The "Stay at Home" Pictures

 

Zuma, Marshall, NC, March 5, 2020.

The next to last day we were among people.
Charlie was so excited to play with Bobby Hicks in the Zuma Jam.
We were excited to hear him. And we did hear him.
Along with a young man with a voice like Hank Williams.
Little did we know what was coming.
Now, Zuma is closed and voices are stilled until further notice.

 

The "Stay at Home" Pictures

 

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.”

 

The "Stay at Home" Pictures

 

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

 



The "Stay at Home" Pictures

 

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.

 


Ben and Chall - a Fish Story

 

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.