Wonky in Austin

You don't have to be in Austin long before you realize that people here pride themselves on being different. "Keep Austin Weird" is a slogan plastered everywhere. To me, the city is more "original" than weird  -- packed with independent stores & restaurants and bearing an attitude of insouciance & the off-beat. It is an altogether engaging place to be.

A question though: is it the Austin attitude or the Whole Foods attitude that produced these parking jobs? All within a twelve-car corner of the lot. Even the Smart Car failed Driver's Ed.

A Hat That Legends Are Made Of

Ever since Al Shudde opened a hat store in Houston in 1907, four generations of Shudde men have been serving those who know the importance of a good hat. Several years ago in Houston, Edward (one of those who can wear any hat with style and conviction) spotted a man wearing an exceptional cowboy hat. After chasing him down, Edward learned that it came from Shudde Brothers Store and Hat Factory, and yesterday we made a pilgrimmage.

What a wonderful place -- hats, hat forms, hat steamers, and Neal Shudde who knows all there is to know about fitting, wearing, and maintaining hats of character. I nearly succumbed to a black wool derby, thinking that wearing it would unravel the unbearable lightness of being. I did receive a gift of sharp, narrow-brimmed, flat-topped, straw hat with attitude. I think that, wearing it, I will be unstoppable.

Edward looked fantastic in a black top hat, but he was on a quest for that exceptional hat.

It was amazing. It was undeniable. It was Edward.

One Thing Leads to Another

I came across some small pieces of beautiful Asian papers and thought I would put together a diminutive book -- a few poems, a few images, bound simply and quickly finished. Beware such unambitious thoughts! Here I am, weeks later, in a complicated and enticing undertaking that has involved the purchase of more paper, the writing of more poems, the construction of more images, and some engineering possibly beyond my skill level.

The parts so far:
a chunky, poem/image-packed book with a beaded silk cover
a box that will hold the book and whose sides will have digital images printed on Yupo
the parts of a platform for the box

What is next in my imagination:
a statuesque cover for the platform that will have openings screened with knitted stainless steel yarn and a window in the top
a four-legged base for the whole business

Stay tuned.

Pleasures of the Hand

I have taken up knitting again -- something I delayed for fifty years because I was afraid I would not remember how. Yes, I knitted when I was an exchange student in a small Norwegian town, but I did not actually learn to knit. Every girl and a few of the boys knitted all the time, everywhere, and so it was a no-brainer for me to hand any problem I created for myself over to the kid sitting next to me. To really knit again, to really create a textile, I would have to do some learning, and, because I prefer to do everything perfectly the first time, I put the project off.

Luckily for me on a visit to Cleveland, the seduction of the yarns at Liz Tekus' Fine Points http://www.finepoints.com/, proved to be no match for the habits of my ego, and I began to teach myself from books and on-line videos. The allure of holding and manipulating yarn is so compelling and delicious that I have been trying to figure out why I do it.

I know some knitters are in it for the creation of objects, and some perhaps for the challenge of patterns and structures. For me, it is the feel of silk or wool or cashmere or alpaca or merino between my fingers, in that sweet V between digits that is so sensitive and always available. As I child, I slipped my hair through that intersection for comfort and pleasure, and I have seen my mother and my grandchildren do it.

The act of knitting has many attractions --- gorgeous materials, visual construction, the emergence of pattern, the sound & action of needles, and the capacity to make something while talking and listening to others. Who knew it was also so sexy?

Four Horse Town

We live in Pokagon Township, a name whose pronunciation distinguishes locals from outsiders. You are probably thinking it is POE kah gone. Wrong. Poe KAY gun, for future reference. Be that as it may, after casting the 278th and 279th votes this afternoon, we drove home through our tiny village, Sumnerville. There is one church and one business in Sumnerville, and the latter has been in continuous existence since 1835, giving it historic status.

The Old Tavern Inn, once a stagecoach stop, has cultural status as a popular burger joint and a watering hole for people who drive pick-up trucks. Apparently there were cowboys chowing down today after exercising their right to vote, just up the road. We live in the past and the present, still knee deep in autumn leaves.

Timber

While city trees were ripping apart and crashing onto parked cars in Brooklyn and Queens last week, here in rural Michigan an old giant was being intentionally and methodically brought to earth across the road from our building.

Although a venerable sentry for the Sumnerville Bible Baptist Church, Old Tree was also a threat and a nuisance as it shed its branches in windstorms, and Dan the Minister had no alternative but to have it taken down--- heavy limb by heavy limb. We are relieved that all the neighborhood foresters survived the Felling Bee, and we are mesmerized by the sheer volume of wood, of accumulated vegetable growth -- photosythesis writ large -- that lies on the ground. The ancient girth of Old Tree stumped garden-variety tools, and someone will have to find a chain saw with a 36" blade if the remainder of the trunk is not to be a permanent lawn ornament in front of the church.

 

For all its dignity, the tree seems to have had an unfortunate name. Botanically, we are a casual lot around here, and we sort of agree that it is a Stinkwood tree. Green-a-Planet says that the Stinkwood is "tough and strong, and polishes well, but is difficult to work. It is a good general timber suitable for making planks, shelving, yokes, tent-bows and furniture. The African people have always used it to make a variety of household articles. It is also thought to have magical properties. The wood is mixed with crocodile fat as a charm against lightning, and many people believe that it has the power over evil and that pegs of wood driven into the ground will keep witches away."

Perhaps the mighty root system will continue to keep this little village free from harm.Taking the giant down required two hard days; reducing it to firewood will take weeks. We are grateful for its life, from shade to heat, with good juju.

I Have Quit Picking Huckleberries

After a hot and humid summer, the new season gave us a cool, bright, windy day, and with great pleasure I went a few miles up the road to the annual pow wow of the Pokagon Band of the Potawatomi. It is an event of great vitality, spiritual significance, and beauty.

Called Kee-Boon-Mein-Kaa, the pow wow celebrates the harvest, and the name means literally "I have quit picking huckleberries." In my years here I do not think I have seen a huckleberry, although I could be wrong. An ancient tradition, the pow wow serves as a reunion, a renewal, and a chance to dance.

These dances are the focus of the public experience, and how wonderful they are. Wearing regalia that defies simple description, the participants are as flamboyant as the men's fancy dancers, as dignified as the women's shawl dancers, as deliciously noisy as the women's jingle dances, as rooted in practical tradition as the men's grass dancers, and as revered as the Great Lakes Old-Style dancers.

People being people, the celebratory dances are also competitive, and I was told that dancers travel a "pow wow circuit" that involves performance categories ranging from the Tiny Tots to the mature adult dancers. And, yes, there are stars, favorites, and rivalries.

Whether participating in the come-one, come-all Intertribal dances or in the category competitions, dancers do not move alone. In meandering single files, they circle the dance arena. All the girls' jingle dancers, for example, are in view at the same time, and although they are competing, they are dancing together. There is much to be learned in this community.

Although the family lineages are long and deep, it is obvious that they include new blood, and it is not unusal to see blond boys dancing in fierce competition with their Native pals. A close look at the image here reveals not only light hair but plaid Old Navy shorts. The pow wow is quite a patchwork that includes fry bread pizza.

The traditions also teach respect and acceptance. An important part of the Grand Entry of the dancers is the recognition of veterans - Native American and other. Deep gratitude is shown to all those who have served their country. All are asked to look after the elders and to have good thoughts.

So I go to the tribal land and walk each year through the campgrounds that are filled with tents and woodsmoke. I go in part to look at the craft of the regalia, in part to observe the earnest energy of the children, in part to eat fry bread. But mostly I go in gratitude for the grace of people whose ancestors inhabited this land and were stewards of its bounty, its huckleberries.