Alpenglow, Sort Of

Okay, so we don't have high enough peaks around us for true alpenglow, but I like to think we can get something similar.  Last night as I rode the bus home I was treated to a rare occurrence - the sun was down behind the trees to my right but the topmost faces of all the trees to my left were still shining in the sunlight.  Coupled with the low overcast layer it was truly beautiful to see those smiling faces under the dark grey sky.  I reveled in it all the way home.

It's a Process

There are times when I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.  The farm we may someday still own.  The house we may still someday inhabit.  And then, there are days like today where the feelings of failure and dismay at the loss of our house and the ensuing difficulties with friends, creditors, and neighbors weighs heavily on our shoulders.

Like everything, losing one's home is a process.  Today, the process just happens to suck.

Silence is Golden

I was walking through the parking lot at my day job the other day when I noticed a repetitive shh-shh-shh noise over my head - like the sound of someone walking too briskly in corduroy pants.  I looked up to see that the sound was coming from a large crow heading for the trees across the street.

I love that I live and work where you can hear the sound of a bird's wings.

Making Babies

Okay, our menagerie does not include sheep, but you try to find an old timey graphic of a baby alpaca.

Seriously, though, Jen has been working hard during the breeding season this year.  Not only has she been trying her darnedest to get our small herd to grow, but she's been working near full-time at our friends' farm with their girls as well.  As of this telling a couple of ours are showing signs of buns in the oven and more than a few of our friends' are as well.

I don't know if it's the weather this year, or the especially heavy fly load, or even just the phase of the moon, but we seem to be having a difficult year for breeding.  Females that usually have no trouble settling down for a male are suddenly choosy and coy.  Males that have never failed us are disinterested or, in the case of one male, incapable of "proper entry procedures."

We also have a number of maiden girls this year, and at least one boy is trying this for the first time.  However, in a few years of doing this we've never had so many failures.  Alpacas have an 11 month gestation, which given the delay thus far in successful breeding means we'll be having babies a little later next year.  Oh well - it's an excuse for our daughter to get busy sewing new jackets for the babies.

All in all, though, life goes on and continues in its own tenuous pattern to grow on the farm.  We continue to get settled in our new place and our new lives.  It's getting easier, but winter is on the rise and I can't help feel a little unprepared for it.  Until then, there's lot to do and enjoy.

The Devil Inside Us

I'm taking a moment out from our regularly-scheduled farm news to talk about something I see every day and which has come to a head for a fellow blogger and homesteader.  Jenna Woginrich has been writing a blog at Cold Antler Farm for years, cataloging her life and exploration of homesteading - all the while sharing every aspect of her life without restraint.

Her blog is fun to read, often beautiful, and all-encompassing.  She writes both about her successes and her failures, most poignantly about those times when failure or misstep results in the loss of an animal under her care.

The bottom line is, it happens.  Even the most conscientious, most compassionate farmer will lose an animal now and then.  Individual life is tenuous - even more so when that life is mute and generally unable to express its pain or discomfort.  Sadly, the latest to depart Jenna's farm is her old cat, George.  George had a good long life, even before coming to Jenna.  She gave him a warm hearth, a soft bed, and many many birds to watch through the windows.  It was simply his time and all evidence is that he went peacefully.

Sadly, some of her readers have taken it upon themselves to "instruct" her in how she should have cared for George.  They have blamed her outright for his death and said some very awful things about her ability and desire to care for animals "properly."

I see it all the time - people making comments on the web that in person would be unthinkable.  Painful things said, awful names called, all in the name of internet freedom.  Why is it that so many think that words typed into a computer are not restricted by the tenets of good manners?  Why is it okay to destroy a person online when (I hope) most would never think of doing so to a person's face?

Now and then I despair for the human race.  Network news makes me feel that way.  Television commercials make me feel that way.  Dealing with my mortgage company makes me feel that way.  So do things like this.  Hate and ugliness are just so sad.  So very, very sad.

Moved But Not Settled

We are no longer in the City.

I can't begin to express how good that feels to write (or say).  We've pulled up stakes, packed our various and sundry belongings, and traded loud trucks and angry drivers for endless pine trees and deer in our yard.

To be fair, we moved a while ago.  We've been in our new place for a couple months now and after all this time it is just starting to feel like a reality.  I no longer fumble in the dark to find the door to the bathroom in the mornings, I no longer search for the latest random place where I left my keys.  I'm still kicking the dog-food container every time I go through the laundry room, but I'm kicking it more gently these days.

Aside from this, three months later and we're still not settled in.  We still have way too many boxes leaning together in huddled silence in our garage.  The shop is populated by little groups of my tools and garden stuff, waiting to be organized and given a home.

Honestly, the chaos of our new home has more to do with happenstance than general laziness (though I'm sure there is some of that - it's been a long summer).  We are as busy as always, working a day job for which I leave early and arrive home late, various little medical issues that seem to always crop up when we need to get things done, school and sports and cubscouts for the kids, one of the most difficult breeding seasons we've had yet on the farm (darn it, girls, get pregnant already!) - all conspiring to leave little time and less energy for the inevitably onerous job of unpacking and setting up shop and a home.

Winter is coming.  We will get it done.  We have to.

Spokane Fair 2012

We've just barely recovered from the excitement, the exhaustion, the enjoyment of the Spokane Interstate Fair (really just a County fair, but with a little more hyperbole).  We had a great time in the llama barn at the fair, next to our friend Ester and her huacaya alpacas.  Three days of craziness later we have several ribbons (two HUGE ones won by our kids for herdsmanship), three very tired alpacas, and four very exhausted humans.

The fair itself is rather huge, given that Spokane is the second largest city in Washington state.  We must have talked to a couple hundred people, most asking how our male, Romeo, can see through his dense bangs, and chatted with our fellow llama and alpaca farmers.  The barn hosts were awesome, working their rear ends off while also taking care of their adorable baby girl (who gave out smiles like they were going out of style).

After our second year at this I've learned that there are a few main types of folks at the farm.  There are the city-folk - who point at the alpacas and say things like "what a funny little llama" or "don't you have to trim his bangs?".  There are the greenie city-folk - the people who talk about urban beekeeping, goats milk soap, and organic veggies but whose fingernails are spotless and hands are uncalloused.  There are the country-folk - who can't for the life of them figure out why we would want to raise what look like long-necked sheep.   There are the self-righteous, telling us that keeping our animals in such small pens is cruel and that naming an animal with human names is insensitive to their culture (seriously, only one person said this to me but it was funny enough that I had to mention it).

For the most part, however, people were pleasant, curious, and engaging - asking all kinds of questions and generally having a good time.  We arrived on the day when schools took kids on field trips to the fair, and those were the best visits.  Indy, our first alpaca, love children and she reveled in the oohs and ahs and general expressions of "how cute!"  Her head is three sizes bigger now and it will be a while before we can convince her she is not the queen of the castle, but she appeared to have a good time so we're happy.

Thanks everyone who came out to see us.  We can't wait to be back next year - hopefully with more babies this time.

Remembering

I remember where I was.  Chances are if you're 20 or older you remember where you were.  I remember calling to my wife to get out of the shower and see what was on TV.  I remember the painfully blue sky behind those awful images of death and hate.

But I choose to look at life since then and I am amazed at the changes 11 years can make in a life.  11 years ago I was working in IT in a small computer lab and studying like mad to become an airline pilot.  I had my private pilot's license by that time and was working hard on a multi-engine rating. I had gardened once or twice but never to any scale or success.  I was a pilot.  I was all things gas and power and speed.

Now look at me.  I work in the public arena - something 11 years ago I swore I would never do.  I work with an Indian Tribe, striving to better their living conditions and their economic situation while simultaneously watching mine deteriorate and fade with the harsh reality of the new economy.

But that is not the most important change.  The last eleven years have made me a father of two amazing children that are so much smarter than myself.  I have raised my own chickens, not only once but twice.  I have eaten a fresh egg from my animals (many more than one, actually). I have eaten a meal almost entirely of my own making, from seed to full stomach.  I have raised alpacas and bred them and made more little babies to increase our herd.  I have survived unemployment only to find another position that, surprisingly, fulfills me almost as much as my farming does.

11 years ago we lived in a mildly backward town in the middle of nowhere Arizona.  We looked forward to an urban life, the food and the shops and the entertainment foremost in our minds.  Now, we have just moved from the city to the country - now caring for 10 acres and almost 100 alpacas (thought not all ours, I must say).  We don't look forward to restaurants and movies and shopping.  We look forward to the day when the land between our toes is our own and the animals in their pens are our own and the food in our kitchen is our own.

Eleven years does not seem like such a long time but the changes I have seen in that time amaze me.  I can't wait to see what the next eleven look like.

There Are Ghosts in the Valley

The past few days I have been unable to catch the bus into work.  This isn't the best, as it requires me to drive 40 minutes to the office and Angus does not get the best gas mileage.  He was purchased for his broad back and heavy muscles, not his appetite for gas.  The additional cost is tempered, however, by the fact that in my truck I can see the world around me better and I get to notice the little morning rituals of the Pend Oreille valley as I drive.

This morning I became aware that there are ghosts in the valley.  Not the coalesced personages of times gone by, not these.  I imagine these ghosts are the assembled spirits of all the varied and incessant life that pulses through the tussocks of rye grass and the tule reeds that rise out of the edges of the little moors  dotting the valley.  For every turkey I see crossing the road or every coyote who stares furtively out of the woods as I pass, there is a multitude of creatures and growing green life in the brush.  

As the sun rises and touches the waving pastures these ghosts rise up and twine through the reeds, leaving their misty trails in the hollows and meres.  Slowly the day warms around me as I drive and the mist of their communal presence rises up the valley into the trees above, eventually curling over the peaks to the east and west of the river before dissipating to await the next morning, the next sunrise over wet and bowing grass.

Simple mists they may be to you, but to my eyes they have a life of their own.  Each day, save for the hottest part of the summer, I watch them go through this cycle before the warming sun grows too much for them.  Each day they seem to wend their way in new paths, higher and higher.  They are as much a part of mornings in this river valley as the deer and the geese and the sleepy drivers making their way to work.

Alpacas In The Oven

Even as we wait eagerly for this year's clutch of baby alpacas (they're so darn cute, all legs and neck for the first week or so), we're working hard to make new babies for next year.  Our first purchased animal, Indy, is trying her darnedest to make a baby and Luna, our daughter's animal, is already showing signs of having a bun in the oven.  Come this time next year, and a whole lot of good fortune, our little herd of five will expand to seven.

Alpaca breeding is a bit of a hilarious thing in its own right.  Alpaca males make the most hilarious noises trying to get the ladies to lay down for them.  For the most part the girls roll their eyes at the boys' clumsy advances, but every once in a while something clicks and the girls give in.  We've been doing most of the breeding in a pen next to the young males' enclosure, hoping that by watching (and they certainly watch) we'll have fewer tentative males when it's their turn.  The whole process is a bit surreal, setting up liaisons between ungulates, but it's also exciting to think that in 11 months we'll have new babies to spoil rotten and the potential for some truly great animals like our little champion, Romeo.

Babies Babies and More Babies

It has been one crazy summer (evident by my total lack of posting for the last few months).  There's lots to share and more to discuss, but for now I have to belatedly announce the arrival of our newest baby and my son's very first alpaca, Dakota!  She was born July 12 at SuperSuris and she's already big enough to cause some serious trouble with the other alpacas.  She was running within an hour of being born and hasn't stopped yet.  See the video here.

Dakota is the result of the free breeding we got as part of the purchase of his mother, Luna, and her cria at the time, Amber.  There are more pictures of the little stinker on our facebook page, so check it out!

Since Dakota's arrival we have bred several of our animals, including Luna, her mom, and Indy, our first ever purchase.  We're hoping for a number of new girls next year, but we're happy either way.  The boy we had last year, Romeo, is turning into quite the champion, winning Reserve Champion in Tri-Cities earlier this year.  He's got a way to go before he can start breeding, but we already have a few people interested in him.

Oh my gosh, we may officially have a "herd" now.  :o)

Day 6 - Bringing It All Together

Allie Working Out the Last Songs

This is it.  The last full day at the Folk School.  My mounting sadness over the foreseeable end to my wonder week was well tempered by the anticipation of the final night's concert in front of the whole school.  Tonight we would perform two songs for everyone while they gathered to show off their own hard work.  Understandably, the final day was taken up mostly by repeated playing of our two main tunes and polishing up the little rough spots that remain.  At the same time I noticed we were speaking more of our real lives, discussing what we were going to do next and where we were all headed.  Some of us were headed home, some to continue on to other adventures, but all of us had clearly had a great time at the school and with David.

For my part I found myself nursing my growing blister (still can't believe I played enough to get one) and milking David for any last tidbits of information.  For his part he was free handed in giving out CDs with songs on them and the tabs to help us play them.  We closed out the day smelling the wonderful things the cooking class below us was preparing for the showcase.  I found myself gravitating again and again to the wonderful porch and the amazing view I would, in all likelihood, never see again.

A Blacksmith Hurrying to Finish On Time

And then it was time.  We hurried ourselves up to the main hall to prepare and sample the work of all the other classes.  The food was amazing (you can never trust the musicians around food and since it seems just about everyone at the school is some sort of musician, you can imagine how fast the food went).  The metal work was astonishing - every natural form you could think of all hammered out of metal.  The waterpaints were evocative and well representative of the growing spring outside.  The wood turnings were graceful, glowing gently in the overhead lights.  There was even more pottery and jewelry to gawk at, handmade papers and cards, and the most amazing shaker side tables - all miraculously finished in the wee hours of the morning.

Out By The Blacksmith Shop

And then it was time.  We arranged ourselves on the stage and played quickly through both Cripple Creek and Old Joe Clark.  Save for a bit of a tuning gaffe in the beginning, I think I acquitted myself well and we all received a hearty round of applause for our efforts.  Before I knew it, it was all over.  We had performed, everyone else had shown off their work, and we were all off for our last meal together as a group.  I knew from talking to other people that many of us wouldn't be sticking around for breakfast in the morning, so there were a lot of goodbyes and emails addresses exchanged.  People I had spent my whole week with began to drift away and we all began to close down and return to real life.  It was sad, but in a way still very satisfying.  The school will go on, the students will keep coming and going like the tides, but my time here was nearly done.  I hope to come back, but I can't imagine how.  For now, I am eternally grateful and so proud to be a part of such a select group of artists and tinkerers.

Finally Reconnected!!!

It took many phone calls, two shipping orders, a little swearing, a lot of grunting, but I finally have my computer back in working order - and best of all with 99% of my files still on it!  I would say 'let's hear it for Toshiba' but they botched the whole process so many times it's hard to be enthusiastic.  However, I am grateful to be back up and running and I hope to post the last day of my trip to the John C. Campbell Folk School shortly.  Thanks for your patience and hello again!

The Nightmare Continues

Nearly a month has passed and I still find myself without a computer and having to steal moments with borrowed computers to post.  I apologize wholeheartedly and hope to have this remedied soon - at which point I will resume regular posts.

In the mean time, get outside and enjoy the spring.  It's a startlingly good one here in the northwest and I hope you have similar where you are.

Folk School Day 5 - Fire and Song

Hill House

Thursday morning dawned early as always, without the fog we've had the last few days.  The rain overnight washed away the humidity and it was perfect outside.  I couldn't wait to sprawl out on the benches outside the studio and work through the new songs we were to learn.

Before that, however, we had Morning Song.  Thursday morning we got a bit of a treat.  Our teacher, David Brose, hosted Morning Song along with one of the students in our class, Allie.  Allie is a guitar player and singer for the Whipstitch Sallies, a bluegrass and mountain music group from Indianapolis - a startlingly good musician in her own right.  She and David sang a few songs and generally had a good time, as did those of us in the audience.  I have pics from the performance that I will put up here shortly once I can find them.

Raku Pottery Just as the
Kiln Is Opened

After breakfast everyone got down to the business of finishing up their various tasks and projects in time for the closing ceremonies the next day.  For our part we continued to work on our two songs for the performance, Old Joe Clark and Cripple Creek.  I swear that f-chord is getting closer to good on my part.

That evening we were treated to one of the more spectacular aspects of pottery - a Raku firing.  Raku pottery is a style of glazing wherein the glazed pot is heated to red hot before being placed in contact with organic matter (in this case, shredded newspaper).  The chemical interactions that go on, both due to the burning material and the control of air exposure, transform the simple glazing in a myriad of colors and materials - in some cases resulting in raw metals on the surface and sometimes causing the glaze to craze and crack into a jigsaw of shapes and angles.  It's all very beautiful and great fun to watch.

Finished Raku Pottery

After the Raku firing I waltzed over to the jewelry studio to see what they were up to.  The myriad of materials and treatments were dizzying but great to see.  They've been working with both molten metals in molds made of cuttlefish bones (leaving an interesting fingerprint-like texture on the molded metal) as well as beaten metals like copper beads and bracelets.  As with any class at the school, they were more than happy to show off their handiwork and to give demonstrations of certain techniques.

Every day here seems filled with both art and music. Even as I grow more and more tired from all the activity and the long days, I revel in the sounds and sights around me.  Everywhere one looks there is art and song and it excites me, making the gooseflesh rise up on my neck to think of it.  This is a special place and I feel more than fortunate to have been given the opportunity to experience this even once in my life.  I envy those people who profess to have been to the school dozens of time, but that does not dampen my enjoyment of the week one whit.  And to think, I have a whole day and a half ahead of me!

A Good Showing

Please excuse the slight pause in my reporting on my amazing trip to the John C. Campbell Folk School.  Sadly, my computer troubles continue and thus my photos of the event are locked securely within a failing and mistrustful hard drive.  In the mean time, we have exciting news to share.  Our white male suri alpaca, Sweet 16's Romeo, showed very well at the PNAA Alpaca Showcase in Pasco, WA last weekend.  Romeo was the darling of the white juvenile male category, winning both first in his class as well as Reserve Champion for white males.  We were so thrilled and excited, I can't wait to get photos up here (soon!  I swear, soon!).

No no no no no no

It happens to all of us and now it has happened to me.  Computer crash, hard disk failure, much pain and sobbing. I will start posting again soon, but for now I'm wallowing in the loss of a year's work.

Folk School Day 4 - Getting On With It

Sittin' Porch - Keith House

Another foggy morning to accompany another great breakfast.  Word has gotten out that I work for an Indian Tribe and I was invited to a table at breakfast to discuss it with several curious fellow students.  Subsequently I spent so much time chatting away that I barely got to eat!    What I did manage to stuff in between questions was great and more food was forthcoming during the day anyway.  The one thing you're not likely to do at the Folk School is starve.

We continued to work at our own paces throughout the day.  I was happy to see that I'm keeping up well.  It takes me a while to pick up a new song and make it sound right, but I'm not lost and I can typically muddle my way through anything David throws at us.

Something I have noticed here - something that truly stands out in my mind - is the trust given to the students.  Doors are generally unlocked, rooms are left open, and access is maintained - trusting that the students will behave honorably and respectfully.  And they do!  For example, the dining hall is scheduled - we all wait patiently for the big bell to be rung before filing in for meals.  However, the doors are left unlocked and access is free.  If you need to use the restroom before a meal, you don't have to leave the rush to get in after the bell - the door is open and you can slip in before the bell and then back out to the line to get in.

The Walkway to Keith House
 from the Studio

This may not seem like much to some of you, but to someone who grew up in an area where the customer is to be feared (for he/she may steal from you if you turn your back for a moment) this is a noteworthy difference.  I am certainly enjoying it and it makes the whole experience more of a joy.

In class we worked together as a group today - something I really enjoyed.  We played both Cripple Creek and Old Joe Clark as a group at a slow enough speed that the slowest of the group (namely me) could keep up.  Actually, Old Joe Clark is coming along nicely, save for that damn F chord.  I can almost play Cripple Creek at speed, which is remarkable given the fact that its the first song in which I have been able to get a passable drop thumb working.

This evening included a special personal event.  A gentleman from another class dropped by while it was only Allie and I practicing.  He had brought along his mandolin and he wanted to see if we wanted to play a few songs.  This was truly the first time I had ever jammed with anyone and while I couldn't play with all the songs he knew, there were a few we all knew together.  It was awesome.  We all hesitated and made mistakes but we all three enjoyed ourselves and the quiet applause of his wife was reward enough.  It wasn't until he left that I realized that I hadn't gotten his name.  Oh well.

Looking North from the Studio

After our little impromptu jam session I walked up to Keith House to see the Morris Dancers practice.  They are working towards a trip to England to compete there and it was fun to see a truly different type of dance played to renaissance style instruments and songs.  Upon my arrival I noticed that Herr Kelischek was playing the recorder in the band!  I tipped him a nod and enjoyed watching the old man truly enjoy the music and the dancing.  The dancers themselves were having a good time and it was fun to sit and watch them go through the motions.

After watching for a bit, it was off to bed for me.  Two more days of bliss and it's back to the great white north for me.

Folk School Day 3 - Music and Dancing

Waiting for the Breakfast Bell

Tuesday shined bright and hot, with a humidity that belied the thunderstorms to come that evening.  However, after a morning fog burned off the day itself was sparkling and blue - a perfect day for learning new songs on the music studio's wraparound porch.

Today we progressed from the two tunes we had already learned in G-major tuning to a fun little song in G-modal, or sawmill to the great unwashed.  While my thumb is beginning to behave properly, the f-chord in both tunings is giving me trouble.  As with any chord form, it will simply take time for my fingers to learn where to go without my having to think about it - a day I look forward to as there is a distinct f-chord in one of the songs we are to perform on Friday.

Kelischek Playing the
Bossanova Recorder

After class I joined a group touring the nearby shop of Michael Kelischek, a German immigrant who has more musical knowledge in his little pinky than I ever hope to attain in my whole life.  Herr Kelischek makes woodwind and string instruments in his home and shop only a mile or so from the school.  His shop is a wonder to see in itself, boasting hundreds of different instruments - all of which Herr Kelischek can play effortlessly.  He is a wonder to listen to and quite hilarious at times, especially when he plays the massive six-foot tall bass recorder he hides in one corner (shown here).  He has invented a new instrument to replace that one, with a sinuous channel inside which reduces the overall length of the instrument to a little more than 16 inches.  He had several novel instruments, including a three-hole recorder that could play all the notes of a traditional recorder but with only three finger holes, leaving his other hand free to beat the rhythm.  He also played for us his viola de gamba, an interesting cello-like instrument that is held by the knees and which has movable frets made of catgut.  The idea of movable frets was a novel one to me and the tinkerer in me envisioned a fretless banjo set up the same way - allowing for chromatic tuning like a mountain dulcimer.  We hated to leave and were so curious to learn more that some of us returned on another day just to hear him speak more about the instruments that he loves.

The Two Linked Cabins

After dinner I took some time to walk around the school, taking pictures of various buildings and studios.  Shown here are two cabins, joined by a common roof, which Olive Campbell had moved to the school shortly after its founding.  One still contains the furniture and sparse decorations of a turn-of-the-century cabin.  Sadly, maintenance of these cabins is costly and they are not open to the public.  It's my hope that someone will find a grant to bring them back to proper condition and maybe even hold a few classes within.  The rest of the campus is a wonder to see, especially if your chosen class is limited to one area such as ours was.  Had I not explored I would have missed much.  It's worth the time and the sweat to do so if ever you're there.

Circle Dancing

After another sumptuous dinner it was time for dancing.  Every Tuesday night at the Folk School they hold a directed dance event that is popular enough to attract some local folk as well as the students.  The night held time for many dances - square dances, contra dancing, even some line dances that trace their history back to Great Britain before the founding of the United States.  I had the pleasure to sit next to a couple originally from Wales at lunch and seeing that I was wearing my kilt that day, they told me it would be a true crime if I did not dance a little and send the kilt pleats swishing.  I grudgingly obliged and ended up having a great time of it - eliciting many curious stares from some of the local children.  I'm sure my wife will attest to the rarity of my dancing so it was a noteworthy event regardless.

After dancing I retired to my cell (in the charming monastic sense, not as in a penitentiary) and collapsed in exhaustion.  It wasn't hard to sleep after all the dancing, and the rumbling of thunderstorms lulled me even deeper down into dreams of dancing and drop-thumb.

"A great instrument does not sound great because of the wood, it is in spite of the wood."  - Herr Kelischek speaking as to why he makes most of his recorders of materials other than wood.

Folk School Day 2 - Getting Into It

Morning in the Hay Field

Even with the jet lag still holding on to me firmly, I was too excited to stay in bed long.  Besides, the reality of sharing a bathroom with four other rooms meant that the sooner I got my butt out of bed the better the chance I could get said butt into the shower.

I emerged clean and awake into a perfect sunrise.  As I live where humidity is a strict rarity, I forgot how truly "green" the morning can smell when the ground is soft with the morning dew and every leaf, every flower is heavy with moisture.  And the birds - oh, the birds!  There were hundreds of birds, most unfamiliar to me, cheeping and hooting their various songs into one cacophonous chorus of joy.

As we would each morning, the day here is begun with copious amounts of coffee and Morningsong, a tradition started by Olive Campbell herself.  This first morning of school is usually presided over by Jan Davidson, the current director of the school.  He regaled us with both song - accompanied by his fretless banjo - and stories of the school's beginning.  I found it a great way to start the morning and didn't miss a single Morningsong the whole week long.  Jan finished up just as the breakfast bell rung and we stampeded down to the dining hall for breakfast.

The "Farm House," Where the Teachers Stay 

Meals here have their own rhythm and traditions.  Before each meal the eager crowd into the screened porch and chat, the conversation usually limited to the projects at hand.  Once the bell rings we file in past the drinks and take a place behind a chair to await the blessing.  This is either a short one or two line song, or a short blessing.  Once said, we all sit down and the hosts and work study folks bring in the food.  Everything is served in big bowls, family style, which has a nice way of fostering conversation.  There is never any shortage of food, but no one really has time to overeat as there is so much work to get to.

I swear we never spent more than 20 minutes at any one meal.  Who wanted to eat while there were projects to work on, songs to learn, and stories to create?

Beehives In the Vegetable Garden

After breakfast was our first full day of class.  Today we worked on a fun little ditty called "Cripple Creek," a pretty well-known song that we would eventually perform at the closing ceremony on Friday.  Much to my chagrin, the song is rife with drop-thumb - my personal nemesis - and understandably it took a while to nail down.  I'm proud to say that by the end of the day I would play my way through it, drop-thumb and all, but it would take some time to get smooth with it.  We also began to work on another song titled "Old Joe Clark."  This one was thankfully drop-thumb-free, but it does have it's share of double-thumb notes, which kept that darn thumb of mine busy and caused much dismay on my part.  However, after hours of working on it I finally got my thumb to cooperate and by the evening I had a passable version of this song going as well.

Spring Has Sprung

David, our instructor, filled our day with music but also with countless stories about the history of old time mountain music and the banjo.  We spent a good amount of time after lunch watching some of the old footage he has collected, including some from the 20's and 30's recorded on hand-cranked cameras and overdubbed with wax cylinder recordings.  It was amazing to see the same tunes we were learning played almost 100 years ago the same way on the same sorts of instruments.

After an amazing dinner (mac & cheese with ham, fried okra, and cucumber salad - now who can argue with that?) some headed off to bed or to other workshops to see what other classes were doing.  For my part, I stopped by and watched the local clog dancing group practicing in the dance hall before heading off to my room for some much needed rest.  Our first full day at the school was amazing in so many ways and I couldn't help thinking that I had four more just like it coming up.

Jan Davidson is fond of telling folks that the population of nearby Brasstown has not changed in a hundred years.  When asked why, he replies dryly, "That because every time a local girl gets pregnant a boy leaves town."

Folk School Day 1 - Arrival

Turning Onto Brasstown Road

It has been a long, long wait, but I was finally at the John C. Campbell Folk School.  It took two days of traveling, three planes, and an overnight in Atlanta, but I had arrived.

The folk school itself is blissfully 'off from just about everywhere.  Atlanta is more than two hours away, as are Asheville, Knoxville, and Chattanooga.  The result is a small society isolated from the petty annoyances of freeways and shopping malls.  Nearby Murphy is large enough to offer what is needed without overpowering the simple serenity of the school.

The shuttle driver, Bobby, is an interesting conversational companion with a gaggle of hilarious kids in tow as often as not.  He has been around long enough to tell a few good stories about the school and the area while driving - making the two and a half hour drive much more bearable.  Even better, he showed true care for my banjo - giving it the shotgun position to avoid any damage from the various baggage in the back.  Given the good conversation and the fact that I had not been to this part of the country before, the drive was quick and effortless and we were soon pulling across the bridge at Clay's Corner, revealing the schools various houses and buildings across the hay field (see the photo).

Keith House

Bobby was more than prepared, even knowing where my room was before I did.  He helped me unload into my room - a sparse but truly adequate room all to myself in Bidstrup House - before taking me up to the Keith House (the school's headquarters) for registration.  Registration was itself a calm thing, as there were several hours in which to do it and people were trickling in all day.

Once registered and paid I took the time to explore a bit, wandering through the gardens and the grounds, not yet knowing what I was looking at but enjoying it all the same.  Everywhere was something a student or staff member had made.  Metalwork abounded, paintings were on each wall, and live music floated through Keith House from the dance hall.  There were little surprises everywhere, including some small mushrooms turned from wood and hiding among the gardens near the History Center.

The welcome orientation was interesting, full of good information interspersed with the first few stories of the school - a theme that would be slowly built upon as the week progressed.  We were given the somewhat peculiar order of business for meals - developed and mandated by Dame Olive Campbell herself upon the founding of the school (more on this in another post) - and told of the various opportunities outside our chosen classes available during the week.  Demonstrations of other disciplines would occur often, and each night a free concert or dance would be held.  The orientation was perfectly timed as the dinner bell rang only moments after we were let out.  Dinner was simple but good, complete with dessert and real honest to goodness sweet tea (right down to the pitcher of sugar syrup instead of sweeteners or granulated sugar).

Bidstrup House

After dinner we went to our prospective studios to meet our fellow students and our teachers.  David Brose, our teacher for the week, brought us to his office in the History Center instead, giving us a chance to not only peruse his interesting collection of archival information, old instruments which the banjo could call its ancestors, and the various collected items showcasing the long history of the Folk School and its founders.  He showed us his N'Gonai, an ancient African instrument from which it is believed that the modern banjo eventually sprang up.  It is an imposing instrument with a snakeskin over the resonating gourd and a large ivory spike serving as the neck.  Sadly, the snakeskin has given out and it's currently unplayable.  David hopes to remedy that situation soon, and I hope to hear a recording of it when he does.

In the History Center one can see Olive Campbell's desk, including photographs of her using it in what is now called the Farm House, one of the old looms from when she was around, and even a banjo from the civil war era.  Not only did we get to see this early example of our chosen instrument, but David tuned it up and played it for us!  Scattered around the school are several of the original chairs built for or donated to the school, with the names of original students and teachers carved into some.  It was a little unnerving to sit in a chair that old and with such a history, but we soon got used to it.

After our brief meeting and introduction we were off on our own - some of us already tuning up our instruments and playing some few songs, others heading off to their rooms to settle in.  Tomorrow, and the whole week as well, was set to be quite interesting.  Needless to say, I was too excited to sleep much that first night.

I have to express my gratitude yet again to Jenna Woginrich of Cold Antler Farm.  Without her, this awesome opportunity would never have been possible for this farming nerd from Washington state.  Jenna, you rock.

I Will Sing Behind The Plow

It is only the beginning of a long journey - but a beginning is always a good thing.  In two days I leave for the John C. Campbell Folk School, an amazing place of learning and art and song in the middle of the Appalachian Mountains in South Carolina.  It will be no small feat to get there - three planes, two airlines, four cities, and a hotel room - all before I actually step foot on the school grounds.  But, seeing as how I always enjoy flying and usually enjoy traveling, I am undaunted.

I will be taking a week-long class in Continuing Clawhammer Banjo from David Brose, one of the school's own folklorists.  I can't wait.  I have been playing clawhammer banjo for over a year, having started as part of an online collaborative series run by Cold Antler Farm.  Fittingly, the only reason I can afford to attend this wonderful school is that Jenna at Cold Antler Farm held a drawing for a free class with room and board and lo and behold my name was chosen.  I am forever grateful to her, not only for this chance but also for her two books and her long-standing blog which have brought the ideals of homesteading and small farming to my attention.

Also key to my getting to go is my parents.  They have graciously offered to pay my not-insignificant airfare, leaving only the room and board on both ends to me.  As we've fallen on a bit of hard times in recent months (who hasn't) their largess is a godsend and much appreciated.

So, in honor and because of this wonderful and amazing opportunity, you will see considerably longer posts upon my return.  I try to keep my posts short, as I know people are busy (as am I) and lengthy posts can make the attention lag.  However, I feel I must report fully upon this experience not only for my own memory (which is largely faulty on good days) but also for the hundreds who put their name in for this prize and were, sadly, not selected.  I hope that by describing my experiences you will share in some small way with me as I travel.

That being said, don't expect any posts until my return.  Being a folk school in practically the middle of nowhere, I don't expect I will have any opportunity to post to the blog while actually there.  But never fear!  I will take copious notes and many photographs, all to be shared upon my return.

Happy travels to all.

And The Sun Comes Out Again

Lo and behold, the sun has not forsaken us entirely.  Sunday lived up to its name and shined brightly.  It was amazing.  The grass is just beginning to come back and the animals are pronking in their joy, fairly leaping over the fields in their joy.

We felt pretty good too.

This last weekend was warm and sunny enough that we've begun to get the best of the weanlings ready for the show season.  Our first show is late next month in southern Washington.  Should be fun - especially as the two animals we are showing both belong to us this time.  Both Romeo and Amber are registered, along with several of our friends' animals.  It should be a busy weekend, but a good one nonetheless.

Happy Spring?

They tell me it's spring.  Horse pucky, I say.

On the Hunt for Wee Folk

In case you missed it (and I nearly did) this last weekend was St. Patrick's day - a holiday muddled in meaning but fun in execution.  As a new tradition this year our son laid several traps throughout the house in hopes of catching one of the wee folk and getting some gold or, failing that, a wish or two.  Sadly, while all his traps were sprung, we only caught one leprechaun and that one turned himself into a stuffed animal in his fright.  Our nighttime visitors did manage to overturn most of the chairs in the house, even leaving one in the middle of the kitchen.  Lots of chocolate was to be had as well, so all is well in the kindergartner's mind.

While we had to skip the parade downtown in favor of taking care of the alpacas, our boy did take the time to lead the weanlings on a leprechaun hunt.  It was adorable, our boy and his flaming read head leading a pack of yearling alpacas, all shyness gone in their curiousity.  The weanlings love him - he's their size and very interesting, and they follow him anywhere.  According to our son, they spotted ten leprechauns but weren't able to catch any.  I imagine the little things are terrified of those big fuzzy camel/sheep coming their way.

Stolen Spring

As excited as we are about the prospect of moving in the near future, it has certainly put a damper on our garden plans for the year.  While we will definitely be planting some lettuce and beans as soon as the weather evens out a bit (ha!), the long term crops we usually sow - the tomatoes, onions, potatoes, carrots, etc. - will have to wait until we discover where our family will finally land.  We are short-selling our home, something which ironically takes longer than a traditional sale, and we as yet have no idea when we will move, not to mention where. So, in the mean time, many of our raised beds will remain bare and we'll have to be content watching the chickens pick through the little bits of last year's garden that remain after the winter passes.   Sigh.

A 'Barrow of Goodies

Seriously.  Where else can you buy a wheelbarrow of tack and supplies for less than $50?  Sadly, this pile of used goodies is not mine, but a surprising number of people were lugging these around at the annual 4H tack swap last weekend.  For our part we picked up a few stock whips (used - without striking them - to herd the alpacas without coming into their "flight zone") a couple nice horse blankets to use as carpets at shows, and a lead or two for the upcoming halter training.  Oh, and I got a great hat for almost nothing.  Our daughter and her friend had a blast - mostly because we let them roam on their own.  It was great to see so many people out trading tack and supplies like old friends.

The whole "swap" concept seems like such a great idea.  Now, if we only had the whole property thing settled I could safely attend the next poultry swap.  As it is, I don't trust myself anywhere near chickens and poultry supplies.  Even going into Big R these days is a challenge to my will.

What's Good for the Goose

My commute to my day job is longer than it once was.  Having worked from home before, my current 60 mile trek every morning is a bit of an adjustment.  The redeeming factor is the fact that I get to work in a truly rural county surrounded by natural beauty of all types.  This morning we stepped off the bus at exactly the right time.  The sun was just beginning to peer over the eastern ridge and the entire Pend Oreille River valley was washed in gold and silver.

As I made the short walk to my office, I looked above me and spotted a mating pair of chinstrap Canadian geese gliding in to a smooth landing in the buffalo fields behind me.  It's good to see life returning to the valley along with the sun.  It won't be long and this one pair will be joined by a throng of returning wildlife.  Seeing as how most of the valley is made of wetlands of one type or another, I eagerly await the fullness of spring and all the part-time residents of the valley.  Bring it on!

I Want One

All kinds of sustainable geekery in this one.  Still . . . looks like fun.

Babies!!!!

Many (many) years ago my father was learning basic computer programming.  At the time, his secretary raised ducks and had a clutch of ducklings in her house.  He set up a program that would print out a series of words, to the effect of "peep peep peep peep peep splat peep peep splat peep peep," something she dealt with constantly.

Last weekend my family walked into Big R (a farming wonderland if you have one available) and lo and behold we were greeted by not one peep but a whole chorus of peeping, pooping, and pecking chicks waiting for a good home.  There were gold sexlinks, a huge clump of buff orps, and even some polish crested looking like someone has snuck in during the night and glued little cotton balls to their heads. The black stars seemed determined to outdo the competition, making more noise than any other group.

It's hard to keep motivated towards a more rural/farming life during the winter in the City.  Our drive wanes with the sunlight and it starts to seem like we'll never have a few acres of our own with our own animals on it. And then spring sneaks up and something like this happens.  We barely resisted picking up a bunch of the little sweeties and setting up the brooder in the basement, even though our house is up for sale and most of our belongings live in storage for the time being.

Sigh.  Soon enough.

Soup Does a Neighborhood Good

So, what do you do when winter rears its head again after a mild two months?  Why, you eat soup of course!  In celebration of Leap Day, our block had a big soup party last night.  We had chicken curry soup, a sublime clam chowder, and our own hamburger soup for the kiddos (and plenty of the adults).  We had fresh baked bread (including an amazing homemade focaccia which went with the chowder perfectly), veggies, and more wine than you can shake a stick at.

It was more than perfect for a cold, snowy night.

It's Coming . . .

A storm is coming.  How big of a storm?  Who the heck knows?  I personally think the meteorologists this year are playing too much spin the bottle and not spending enough time watching the weather.  But, if the forecast is at all to be believed we are in for some more snow.  Thank you Mother Nature for reminding us that yes, it truly is still winter.

Wow, Where the Hell Have You Been?

Yes, that question is for me.  We've been busy busy busy, six inches of snow notwithstanding.  I'm sure by now we have shed all of our readers (all three of them), but I feel I must make another attempt to keep this going.

We have had a wet and mucky winter this year, sadly losing a couple animals in the mean time.  Thankfully, none of the lost were animals are ones we personally own, only those we take care of.  Nonetheless it's wrenching when a living being that you have sweat and cared for gives up on life.  We lost two amazing males this winter, MacClaren and MacLuster, both amazing fiber animals.  We are grateful to have their offspring to continue the line - but it still sad to see their faces missing from the herd.

The few animals that we ourselves own are well and growing nicely.  We have a bun in the oven, so to speak, that when born will become our son's first animal.  We can't wait to see it - it has two amazing parents and our boy is already hopeful for ribbons.

More later on doings and goings on.  For now, I want to say thank you for hanging on.  We promise to try and not stay away so long again.