Little Worlds--Marshall Portraits

Polly Gott at the Madison County Arts Council’s Exhibition of her Watercolors, Marshall, 2022.

Peter and Polly Gott are legends in Madison County and beyond. They moved to the Shelton Laurel community in the early 1960s and began their lives as homesteaders, musicians, log home builders, parents, and revered members of the community. My earliest memory of the Gotts was at Dellie Norton’s house in Sodom. Dellie’s long driveway was lined with about 30 cherry trees and Peter and Polly, along with their two children, Susi and Tim, arrived one Sunday afternoon to pick cherries. But first came visiting. They unloaded instruments from their van and proceeded to offer those of us gathered on Dellie’s porch a concert. Dellie and her sister Berzilla sang ballads.

After a time, they packed their instruments and Peter climbed high into the trees and proceeded to pick buckets of red, yellow and black fruit that he lowered to the ground that Polly and the kids sorted and loaded into the van. For me, relatively new to the community, it was an early lesson on community relationships.

Polly is an artist, a gifted painter. It’s perhaps her first love and her studio high on the mountain overlooking the white rocks of Shelton Laurel is brimming with amazing renderings of the world around her. Leslie and I bought one for our daughter Kate who, living on the west coast, wanted a memory of place. A perfect gift.

Little Worlds--Tobacco

It’s mid March and in an earlier time in Madison County, that meant local farmers would be sowing their tobacco beds in preparation for planting in mid May.

Since the passage of the Agricultural Adjustment Act in the early 1930s, tobacco had been the life blood of Madison County and the county was for decades the leading producer of burley tobacco in the State. The AAA was designed to keep farmers on their land and, in that, it was very effective. I have long been struck by the irony of how our country’s leading cause of preventable death provided life for small farmers like Doug Wallin.

Tobacco seed is miniscule and one small packet was enough to plant a 6’x50’ bed. To get an even sowing, farmers would mix the seed with a bucket of sifted wood ash and carefully spread it over the length of the bed. It was a meticulous job and people prided themselves on their ability to produce a bed bursting with plants, evenly spread out over the length and width of the entire bed. The plants would then be individually pulled and transplanted to the field, often by hand if the land was steep, but also with tractor and tobacco setter.

Tobacco was called the thirteen month crop and every step in the process was hard work. But people were proud to do the work because it provided a dependable source of cash where there had been none.

I had the opportunity to work a lot of tobacco when I first moved here and I must admit that I enjoyed it. It provided me access to the community and taught me valuable lessons about life in the mountains. But working with a group of neighbors toward a definable goal was also fun - the banter, the stories told, the laughter, the shared work. I do miss it and those times of community cohesion.

Little Worlds--Marshall Portraits

Roland Twining, Big Pine, 2021.

I met Roland in the early 1980s when he and his wife, Ida, moved to the Big Pine community. Roland’s family were farmers in Baltimore, Maryland, and he brought his skills to Madison County and raised bumper crops of tomatoes and tobacco and incredible gardens. He then moved into construction and was one of the first people to bring alternative building practices to the community. We fought fires together.

Family called him back to Maryland in the early 1990s where he continued building and raising gardens. He and Ida never lost their love of the mountains and the friendships they made here and come back to Madison County a couple of times a year. We are fortunate to be on the list of people they visit when they come back. Our children are also friends although they live across the country.

During their last visit Ida asked me to make some photographs of them. I had made many images of them years ago and Ida was interested in seeing how they looked now, 40 years later. My portrait of Ida was published on this blog on March 5.

Lasting friendships seem rare these days, but grow more important with age. The older I get, I’m more appreciative of these old relationships and the time spent together, knowing full well the role they have played in making me who I am.

Little Worlds--Marshall Portraits

Josh Copus in his Studio, Brush Creek, 2022.

Potter, teacher, entrepreneur, good humored Josh Copus in his Studio, 2022.

Those of you who know Josh, know him to be perpetually enthusiastic, boisterous, energetic beyond compare, and upbeat beyond belief. I was pleased to capture him in a more pensive mood—thoughtful, quiet, an artist engaged with his inner self.

Little Worlds--Marshall Portraits

Madame Mallory at the Marshallgras celebration, 2022.

Madame Mallory McCoy, Marshall, 2022. #robamberg.com #littleworlds #madame mallory #girlofmydreams #martigras #rurallife

Little Worlds--Marshall Portraits

Erich Hubner, guitar player extraordinaire, El Hub, Madison County Arts Council Backbone, all around nice guy, and cute, too. At the Marshallgras celebration, 2022.

Little Worlds--Marshall Portraits

Late for International Women’s Day. Teresa Griffin with her first deer, a nine point.

Teresa Griffin with her first deer, a nine point. PawPaw, 2021.

Little Worlds--Marshall Portraits

Hannah Dansie with Evie on the Way, PawPaw, 2019.

Little Worlds - the Photographers Three

Not long after meeting in the mid-1980s, the three of us discovered our birthdays were all in December and within a few days of each other. Larry on the 21st, Benjamin on the 30th, and me on the 28th. We also discovered a mutual love of line dancing. Photographer extraordinaire Cordelia Williams made this wonderful image of us and then turned it into a fabric sculpture that I am fortunate to have hanging in my studio. Thank you Cordelia for this great memory and Happy Birthday to Larry and Benjamin, my fellow December-born photographer buddies.

Little Worlds - Mixed Messages

While I’ll always be among the first to celebrate our county’s students and the work they produce, I can’t help but question the appropriateness in bringing a barbecue grill shaped like a gun to the birthday celebration for the Prince of Peace. It just doesn’t compute for me. And while I don’t consider myself religious or a believer, the birthday cake below is a far better representation of the day.

Marshall Christmas Parade, 12/21

Little Worlds - Marshall on Many a Saturday Morning

Biltmore Estate/McDonald Bicycle Race, Hwy.25-70, Ivy River, Marshall, 1983.

Along with the Belle Cher Bicycle Races that began about 1981, the Biltmore/McDonalds Race was among the first to bring competitive bicycle racing to Western North Carolina. The net effect of those early races was to inform the cycling public that our dirt roads, trails, and small highways were perfect for active riders.

Now, almost 40 years after this pictured race, our, and many other surrounding communities, have become destination points for a new generation of bicycle enthusiasts. Downtown Marshall, especially on Saturday and Sunday, but every day really, sees dozens of cyclists. Most often they’ve come from Asheville, up the the River Road.

The River Road used to be the main route to Asheville from Marshall and beyond. Curvy, steep rock faces on one side and the river on the other, and a fair amount of traffic. The road alternated between a south facing stretch followed by a deeply shaded section that was treacherous on cold winter mornings.

The River Road has slowed since the new highway to Weaverville opened at about the same time as the race. There is little car traffic The same curves and bends and jagged overhangs, and the river. It’’s a stunning route, a scenic byway. Almost perfect for a bicycle.

Marshall, 10/21

Little Worlds - CRT

When I was in college in southern Ohio I, and a few friends, started an organization we called AWARE, the Association of Whites Against the Racist Environment. Our goal was education that we hoped would lead to healing. We would hold discussion groups, which we called “rap sessions,” with student clubs, in dormitories, in the cafeteria. At times the discussions became so heated I feared getting thrown out of the building or beat up on my way home. It became clear to me that the problem was not Black, but rather, white vehemence and determination to maintain the status quo.

I thought things would change over time, and they have. Young people especially have moved us forward. But as I look back 52 years, it depresses me to see that things haven’t changed all that much.

Here’s what I think about Critical Race Theory.

#1, I’m baffled by fuss the republicans are making of it and their determination to keep it out of the schools. The reality is it is not taught in any public elementary, middle, or high schools across the country. It is offered in upper level college courses and in law schools. So, they are creating a problem that doesn’t exist.

#2, One of the main reasons the repubs want to cancel CRT from classrooms is they don’t want their white children feeling guilty for being white. Well, as Warren Zevon would say, “Poor, poor, pitiful me.” If more white children, and adults, felt a level of guilt and responsibility for the racial inequities that exist in this country, we would be able to move forward in righting those centuries-old wrongs.

#3, I believe the purpose of education is to challenge the student with new ideas. We should be causing discomfort by presenting students with different belief systems and with deeper understandings of our nation’s history. I thoroughly believe that the more knowledge we have, the better off we will be. To ignore our history conveniently relieves us of the responsibility of acknowledging how that history is perpetuated in our present day.

#4, In my humble opinion, CRT should be mandatory for all students beginning in middle school. Only then, will students grow into adults who possess an understanding of our country’s, and their own, relationship with its Black citizens, Native Americans, ethnic minorities, and people of color.

#5, To say racism doesn’t exist, or that the Confederacy isn’t alive, is to ignore the obvious.

Little Worlds - Discarded

PawPaw, 11/21

What to make of a pair of discarded shoes?
Dead long before I arrived on the scene.
Unearthed in the long-needed demo of an old building.
Surfacing among feed sacks, ancient beer cans, and unknown pieces of metal.

Once they were nice, wing tips, black, shiny. 
The shoes you wore to the office and had shined by a black man on a street corner.
Or to a dance with your honey. Leather soles to glide across the dance floor.
Not much use for them in this place, what with the cows and hogs, and the need for something more sturdy than dancing shoes.

I ask these shoes the same question I ask of most everyone I meet - How did you get here?
Where had you been before this place, only to end up buried in a corn crib, a home for rats, snakes and other critters.
Fancy places, I’d bet.
High rises with nice furniture. Homes with real carpet on the floor. Restaurants where their gloss reflects neon lights. 

So, here’s the thing, I say.
Your past is important, if only in my imagination.
And therefore worth preserving.
So, I can nail you to the barn along with the tobacco baskets and plow points. A memory of what exactly?
Or, like your previous owner, I can relegate you to the trash heap. 
This time to the county landfill, the high end of dumps. 
There, you’re liable to meet more of your kind, other shoes, boots perhaps, musty slippers.
And ultimately, you might feel more at home. 

Little Worlds - Some recent portraits

After a long layoff where I’ve made very few images, I find I’m returning to the world of photography. Portraiture has always been my favorite. Here are some recent pix. No Pulitzer Prize winners here, but just simple portraits of people, some I’ve known for many years, others I’ve recently met. I like all of them.

Joe Bruneau, Marshall.

Ryan Price, Marshall.

Steve Davidowski, Anderson Branch.

Keilana, Ella Grace and Rocco, in Marshall from Los Angeles for the Amazon series production.

Susie Mosher, Marshall

Drew DiTomo, Marshall.

Little Worlds - Family

Me and Tony at the 4th of July picnic at my grandmother’s house in Silver Spring, Md, ca. 1954-5. I’m the one with the gun in lieu of a camera.

Tony and I go way back. Our mothers were first cousins and best friends. So, when my mother birthed me in late December, 1947, and Tony’s mother, Cel Vitto, brought Tony into the world seven months later, it was quite natural for us to spend time together. When Tony’s brother, Nicky, was born a year and a half later, the three of us made a team of sorts, often with the express purpose of harassing my two younger sisters.

Tony and I went in separate directions in high school and college, sometimes seeing each other during holidays for touch football games or over at Aunt Mary’s for Italian cookies, pastries, and liquor for the adults. Despite the distances between us and the different life experiences, there remained an indelible bond between us, one forged through family, memory, and instant familiarity and ease.

Tony with Willie Mays on Willie Mays Bobblehead Day, in San Francisco.

Tony was a student of science and a brief scan of his obituary will show you the heights to which he took both his research work and his medical practice. I always thought he was the smartest person in the family although I have since learned that smartness comes in many different forms. Even so, Tony was a very bright guy, but as down to earth as a person could possible be. He was generous and funny with an infectious laugh that would dominate a room. Inquisitive, curious, and with an incredible memory for detail.

Tony clearly loved life and he enjoyed it to the fullest. Music, from opera to rock n’ roll; sports of all kinds; food was another passion and he was an excellent cook; and, of course, wine.

He had expensive taste. I remember being at his office in Morgan Hill when he asked if I could help him load some boxes into his Mercedes. There were maybe a couple of dozen boxes, all the same, stamped with Italian words, some of which I understood. “What is this stuff?,” I asked. “That’s my Pope water,” he replied. “I drink the same water as the Pope and have it delivered from Rome. I do the same with my Balsamic.” It was a head-shaking moment for me.

Tony showing off his taste in exotic food, Morgan Hill, CA.

It seemed that as we aged we had more contact with one another. Visits with him in California and Massachusetts, meetups in Maryland for weddings, and, while not frequent, there were regular phone calls over the years. Leslie and I spoke of visiting Tony in New Jersey when he got settled, along with other family and friends on the Peninsula.

I hadn’t spoken with Nicky in a few years so when my phone said I was getting a call from him I suspected it to be about Tony. He had been having health problems lately and struggling with a number of long drawn-out personal issues, but I knew he was looking to the future with a positive outlook and anticipation of what the future would bring. I’ll miss you, cousin.

https://www.legacy.com/us/obituaries/nytimes/name/anthony-vitto-obituary?id=19853076

Little Worlds - SLOW

PawPaw, Madison County, NC, 10/21

When I first moved to Madison County in 1973 I was convinced the operative word for the county was “Slow.” For someone raised in a large metropolitan area, my new home seemed to work on a snails’ pace. People spoke slowly, as if deliberating each individual word. And walking was no faster, with every step taken with care and assurance. Driving was much the same and I remember getting behind old timers going 15 mph down Big Pine Road, much to the frustration of everyone behind them. It didn’t matter what you were doing - visiting, doing business, working, entertaining - people didn’t get in a hurry. They approached life with stoicism, calmness, and patience, essentially letting the world come to them. Time was the one thing you were always willing to share.

It’s not like that around here any more. We as a county have done our level best to catch up to the rest of the country. We are a busy crowd with schedules to keep and places to go, and we have to get there fast. And with that loss of “Slow” we risk losing respect and consideration for the world around us.

I don’t see us returning to those days of old. We’re too enamored with the things that speed up our lives - computers, cell phones, caffeine, constant movement. Covid has served to change our habits somewhat. We’ve stayed home more, gone out less, and learned how to entertain ourselves. But it hasn’t stuck. We are more than ready to return to a more frantic pace.

I’m reminded of a day years ago. Doug Wallin asked me to drive him to his tax preparer’s house. Doug didn’t get out much. He never married and stayed at home with his aging mother, Berzilla, farming tobacco, raising most of what they ate, tending the family land, and becoming Madison County’s premier ballad singer. It was a short drive from Craine Branch to Shelton Laurel, 15 minutes at most, but a significant excursion for Doug. It was a rainy day, misty, made for mournful ballads, and Doug sang for much of the drive. On our way back, we got to the spot in the road the locals referred to as Peach Tree, that was the dividing line between Sodom, Lonesome Mountain, Guntertown, and Shelton Laurel. Doug stopped singing, seemed to sniff the air, and said, “Well, we’re back to God’s Country.”

I suspect that such a well defined sense of place, and the slowness necessary to achieve it, is out of reach for most of us. It’s not who we are anymore. But I do think the closer we can come to that sense of Slow the better off we will be.

Little Worlds - The Capitola Mill

Of all of the photographs I made at the Marshall Glove Plant in 1979, this one has long been my favorite and the only one I’ve published in the last 42 years. Why?

Foremost is the directness and openness of her interaction with me - the trust that my camera will represent her for who she is, nothing more, nothing less.

There is an angelic quality to her gaze - a Madonna of the Mill if you will. There is a clear sense of pride in her work, her pleasure at having this job, and the knowledge she is bringing likely needed income to her family.

Yet photographs also have an ability to see beyond the obvious and offer a contrary opinion to our surface observations. And what I see is the lint coating her blouse, her chest and neck, and around her face. And I wonder what repeated exposure to that lint is doing to her lungs and respiratory system - the prevalence of brown lung disease among mill workers, a not-so-distant cousin to black lung disease among mine workers.

My friend, and extraordinary photographer, Titus Heagins, commented on my last post from the Capitola Mill that throughout history women have always been tasked with the “heavy lifting”, the hard and dirty jobs. He’s right, of course.

It reminds of a phrase I heard not long after moving to the mountains - “Men’s Work.” I was helping neighbors with their tobacco or tomatoes, I can’t remember which, and I noticed that the women were doing the harder and dirtier jobs, while the men seemed to have claimed the far easier work for themselves; work that offered the opportunity for more breaks, visiting, cigarettes, and generally far less intensive work, being the boss. When I asked what those men were doing over by the truck talking, having a beer, smoking while the women were hauling sticks of tobacco to the barn in 90 degree heat, they replied, “Oh, they’re doing men’s work.”

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The Capitola Mill reopens on Thursday, October 21, from 5-8 pm. Music, eats, conviviality. Come see Marshall’s most recent rebuild effort brought to you by Pete Whitlock, and Matthew Lucas and his talented crew at EveryAngle Construction. It’s a work of art.