Aleen was the only artist working in Studio 107 on a quiet Sunday afternoon in Martinsville, Virginia.
She’s a retired high-school chemistry who firmly believes the world needs more whimsy. That’s part of the reason she’s a member of the Five Glassy Chix. And why she always wears a whimsical hat.
While some of the Chix work with stained glass, Aleen’s specialty is fused glass. Because I was clueless, she patiently explained the difference:
With stained glass, the pieces are soldered together (historically with lead, but now often with lead-free materials.) With glass fusing, pieces of glass are placed so they overlap each other and then are fused together in a kiln.
Aleen likes to infuse whimsy into her art as well. This particular piece includes a few bars from a tune in My Fair Lady:
I could have danced all night; I could have spread my wings…
—————————————————————————
It’s official. Highway 1, along the Big Sur coast, remains #1 on the My Favorite Roads in the U.S. list. You’ve got the rugged cliffs. The hills that roll all the way down to the crashing waves below. The fragile, isolated roadway. Even partially shrouded in December fog, it’s pretty darn stupendous.
I met Michael Twig (“twig like a tree”) on the edge of the road. I had passed him pedaling his bike slowly up yet another incline, and he caught up with me after I stopped to take some photos.
I called out: Pretty ambitious bike ride!
Little did I know. Michael has been traveling the country – on a bike – since 2001. He was also headed north to Seattle but that’s all our journeys had in common. I’d enjoyed in a fine breakfast and lunch so far that day. He’d eaten five blackberries. And praised God, he said, to have found them.
I gave him some tangerines and a bag of veggies and then somewhat sheepishly offered leftover fast food I’d meant to toss out. He literally jumped for joy. I tried to give him more, but he wouldn’t take it. You’ve given me enough, he said.
When we parted, Michael Twig-like-a-Tree asked me to keep an eye out for him in Seattle.
I told him I surely will.
—————————————————————————
Martha’s mother knew how to survive, and taught her 11 children well. The family lived in a small house near the Isleta Pueblo in the Rio Grande Valley. They had no electricity, no plumbing, and not much of anything else. But they managed. They collected wood to burn, raised vegetables, sold tamales in the village.
“Nana” is gone now, but the tiny shop not far from St. Augustine’s Church (built lin 1612!) was named in her honor. Nana’s Gift Shop carries locally crafted Pueblo pottery, some jewelry and a few woven rugs. And baskets imported from Asia. “Tourists expect to see baskets,” Martha shrugs, “they don’t seem to care when I tell them they weren’t made in the U.S.”
It’s hard to image many tourists coming to this dusty little pueblo. When I tell Martha that I can’t stay – Bella’s in the car, and it’s hot – she welcomes the dog inside. A good move for both of us. I take my time shopping and chatting and end up buying a beautifully crafted pottery vase made by her neighbor.
The challenge is finding a place to stow it. The vase is small, but space is limited. I finally stash it with the two pints of well-traveled (and legally purchased) moonshine I’m bringing home for my cousin, Andy.
And bid Martha adios.
—————————————————————————
Leigh Anne came out to chat while I was taking photos of the Mother Goose House across the street from her home in Hazard, Kentucky.
My friend, Janice, had flown into Lexington to travel with me for a while. We were exploring Kentucky and decided to check out the Goose house.
Leigh Anne is a district judge who – except for college and law school – has lived in Hazard her whole life. We talked with her about the highlights and lowlights of living in a poverty stricken coal mining town.
Apparently, TV producer types have recently come to town scouting Hazard as a possible site for a new reality show.
Is this a good idea? Leigh Ann is not so sure. The South already has Honey Boo Boo, she said. That might be more than enough.
Oh, you probably want to see the Mother Goose House, yes?
George Stacy, who was born in Hazard and worked for the railroad, started it in 1935 and finished it six years later.
Nobody knows why — even his wife, who cooked a goose so he could have a skeleton to work from. The head is about 15 feet high; it’s got eight egg-shaped windows and at the other end, there is — of course — a tail.
Apparently, people from all over have stopped to see it. Including Oprah. And Janice and me.
—————————————————————————
I had thought people I would meet along the way might be a little resistant –at least at first – to having their photo taken. Before leaving Seattle, I’d even taken a workshop on “Photographing Strangers.”
But as it turned out, nearly everyone I asked to photograph agreed without hesitation. A few positively blossomed when I made the request.
Susan was one these. When I saw the “Walk-ins Welcome” sign on her little shop in rural Mississippi, I turned the car around and walked in. My hair was… well, let’s just say I’d been wearing a bandana for a while and was willing to take a chance.
Throughout the cut ($13, cash only) she seemed a little reserved, but was very polite. She asked about my travels and told me she’d like to travel someday to the motorcycle conventions in South Dakota. She doesn’t have a bike of her own, she said, but she does like to ride.
When I asked Susan if I could photograph her in her shop, all reserve disappeared. She glowed while she posed, talked much more about the biking life, and told me about the book she’s planning to write. It will be about Susan’s life experiences, and titled Mississippi Sunsets.
I’ll be watching for it.
2 Comments