The literary Journal Pine Mountain Sand & Gravel is having a contributor reading on Friday August 3rd, 2012 at City Lights Bookstore in Sylva, NC, and I am gracious to be part of the reading lineup. Other writers speaking include Jennifer Barton, Pauletta Hansel, Brenda Kay Ledford, Dominique Traverse Locke, Chrissie Anderson Peters, Elizabeth Swann, and Dana Wildsmith.
It's been years since I've visited City Lights, and I've never read there before, so I'm excited but also a little nervous. I don't know why, I've read my poetry in front of audiences many times, but perhaps its because there are so many talented writers joining me I wonder how the audience will see me. I'm also the only guy reading in the lineup, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. I believe Ernest Hemingway once said that all male writers were in competition with one another, though I've never been challenged to a boxing match. Anyway, I think it will be a great reading as there are so many diverse and talented writers in the lineup.
Many thanks to Pauletta Hansel for her hand in organizing this reading. If anyone is in the area Friday, August 3rd, you should come check it out. Below is a link to the bookstore's website. Hope to see you there!
City Lights Bookstore
Showing posts with label regional events. Show all posts
Showing posts with label regional events. Show all posts
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
On the Radio in Whitesburg, Kentucky
I was up in Whitesburg, Kentucky, the last weekend in July to camp and do some writing. My friend and fellow poet, the infamous Wiley Quixote (Jim Webb), owns a private campground on top of Pine Mountain called Wiley's Last Resort. He also DJ's on Appalshop's WMMT 88.7 in downtown Whitesburg. After a fruitful day of writing and relaxing, he asked if I wanted to be a guest on his radio show "Appalachian Attitude." All of a sudden I went from being Thoreau, leading a simple life led close to nature (Wiley actually has a "Walled-In Pond" on his property), to having my voice broadcast all over Eastern Kentucky and the World Wide Web . I was excited, honored, and a little nervous. I called my wife to tell her to listen online at 5pm on August 2nd, but unfortunately she had to take the kids to a doctor's appointment. I didn't think to call anyone else in my family. I also didn't have much time to prepare. Wiley wanted me to read some of my poetry and talk about my life as a writer, so I found some poems and took a few notes for myself.
I had a blast! I didn't have to wear headphones, but I had one of those big microphones on the swing arm to speak into. Knowing a little bit about me, Jim prompted me with questions which I didn't have much trouble coming up with something to say. Unlike most guest writers, I didn't have a book of poetry or my novel to promote, but I did have a caller. During a public service announcement, the red light started flashing, silently signalling a call. It was Walter B. Lane, who lives in Letcher County, I believe. He remembered when I was an editorial assistant at the Appalachian Journal and corresponded with him on several occasions, particularly on a poem ("The Way North") of his the Journal published. He said he appreciated the encouragement I gave him in my rejection notices. That made the whole interview worthwhile, I think.
WMMT didn't post the interview in their online archive, or one earlier in the year by fellow poet and SAWCer Dana Wildsmith (which I would love to listen to), but if ever they do I will provide a link for anyone interested. I wasn't a brilliant orator, but I had fun. And, again I apologize to the feline-lovers out in radio land when I joked during the traffic report about not having a cat to throw in front of a steam roller on Madison Avenue!
I had a blast! I didn't have to wear headphones, but I had one of those big microphones on the swing arm to speak into. Knowing a little bit about me, Jim prompted me with questions which I didn't have much trouble coming up with something to say. Unlike most guest writers, I didn't have a book of poetry or my novel to promote, but I did have a caller. During a public service announcement, the red light started flashing, silently signalling a call. It was Walter B. Lane, who lives in Letcher County, I believe. He remembered when I was an editorial assistant at the Appalachian Journal and corresponded with him on several occasions, particularly on a poem ("The Way North") of his the Journal published. He said he appreciated the encouragement I gave him in my rejection notices. That made the whole interview worthwhile, I think.
WMMT didn't post the interview in their online archive, or one earlier in the year by fellow poet and SAWCer Dana Wildsmith (which I would love to listen to), but if ever they do I will provide a link for anyone interested. I wasn't a brilliant orator, but I had fun. And, again I apologize to the feline-lovers out in radio land when I joked during the traffic report about not having a cat to throw in front of a steam roller on Madison Avenue!
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Rita Riddle Book Release
It's not often that I get to moonlight as the poet and writer afficionado, but this week I get a chance to read other's work as well as my own.
This coming Thursday the 24th there will be a tribute reading of Rita Sizemore Riddle's posthumously published collection of poetry All There Is To Keep, at Radford University, Radford, Virginia. The event will be held in the Flossie Martin Art Gallery at 7:00 pm. The Southern Appalachian Writer's Cooperative (SAWC) donated funds to publish this book, Iris Press worked diligently in putting it together, and all proceeds from the sale of her poetry book will go to a scholarship for an RU creative writing student. Rita passed away in 2006, but left her mark on the world through her personal, unapologetic, and touching poetry. A small group of her friends and fellow writers will read select poems from her book. Speakers are: Dana Wildsmith, Felicia Mitchell, Jim Webb, Beto Cumming, Ron Houchin, Jack Higgs, David Owens, and myself.
On Thursday, April 25 of this week, in conjunction with the Riddle reading, some of us, including others that couldn't make the Radford University engagement, will read some from our own work from 3:30-5 at the Floyd Country Store in nearby Floyd, Virginia, with writers from that neck of the woods as well as from other stretches of the Appalachians. I'm excited not just to be sharing my poetry with others, but that their famous Friday Night Jamboree follows our reading from 6:30 until 10 or 11. I'm looking forward to listening to some good Ole Time and Bluegrass music I grew up on living around Galax, Virginia.
This coming Thursday the 24th there will be a tribute reading of Rita Sizemore Riddle's posthumously published collection of poetry All There Is To Keep, at Radford University, Radford, Virginia. The event will be held in the Flossie Martin Art Gallery at 7:00 pm. The Southern Appalachian Writer's Cooperative (SAWC) donated funds to publish this book, Iris Press worked diligently in putting it together, and all proceeds from the sale of her poetry book will go to a scholarship for an RU creative writing student. Rita passed away in 2006, but left her mark on the world through her personal, unapologetic, and touching poetry. A small group of her friends and fellow writers will read select poems from her book. Speakers are: Dana Wildsmith, Felicia Mitchell, Jim Webb, Beto Cumming, Ron Houchin, Jack Higgs, David Owens, and myself.
On Thursday, April 25 of this week, in conjunction with the Riddle reading, some of us, including others that couldn't make the Radford University engagement, will read some from our own work from 3:30-5 at the Floyd Country Store in nearby Floyd, Virginia, with writers from that neck of the woods as well as from other stretches of the Appalachians. I'm excited not just to be sharing my poetry with others, but that their famous Friday Night Jamboree follows our reading from 6:30 until 10 or 11. I'm looking forward to listening to some good Ole Time and Bluegrass music I grew up on living around Galax, Virginia.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Literature and the Land
Here in the Appalachian Mountains, there is a special bond between the Land, the People, and the Literature that seems to exude from this region like sap. One of the best Christmas presents I received this year, besides the little tins of gourmet coffee my mother gave me, was a book from my father and stepmother by Georgann Eubanks entitled Literary Trails of the North Carolina Mountains: A Guidebook. Many people have put together travel guides of North Carolina in the past, from touring the back roads to Hollywood film shoot locations, but this one I found delightfully different. Not only are there detailed directions, points of interest connecting place with the authors who stayed there or wrote about it, but the whole book is peppered with authors’ poems, fiction excerpts, and commentary on the place or setting. From Paula Steichen describing her grandfather Carl Sandburg, Robert Morgan describing the French Broad steamboat The Mountain Lily, to Sharyn McCrumb writing about Frankie Silver, this book runs the gamut with 18 tours of the North Carolina Mountains through the eyes of the writer. Some literature references surprised me, like the fact that Henry James once stayed in the Biltmore House and criticized it for being so isolated in such an impoverished part of the country. Some of Eubanks praises for the showcased writers or transitions into the literature excerpts do seem saccharine or forced, but this isn’t a book of literary critique, and reference books aren’t expected to wax poetic, so I can overlook it considering the monumental research from so many varied sources and the detail that went into this book. I’m looking forward to taking this book on a few adventures this summer for sure!
The Old Kentucky Home
In the process of reading the above-mentioned book, Literary Trails of the North Carolina Mountains, I found a particular author excerpt catching. Poet and Asheville native Michael McFee wrote an engaging account just for this guidebook on his experiences discovering Thomas Wolfe’s home, and I thought I would share it with the Wide-Web World:
“When I was growing up in the mountains, from the mid-1950s through the early 1970s, Asheville wasn’t such a groovy little city, Thomas Wolfe’s name wasn’t so ubiquitous, and his mother’s boardinghouse wasn’t yet an official historic site. “The Old Kentucky Home” was just 48 Spruce Street, where Tom’s brother Fred offered occasional tours of the twenty-nine rooms. He didn’t seem to like the house or his family very much: when my mother and I first visited, in 1968, I remember he pointed out, unapprovingly, where his famous younger sibling crept along the roof to sneak into a female guest’s room.
“A few years later, after I read Look Homeward, Angel (at sixteen: just the right age, just the right place), I went back solo, and the ramshackle place was much more interesting: it had become Wolfe’s “Dixieland,” and its drafty high-ceilinged rooms – some dim, some sunny – seemed haunted with ghosts of stories, the place itself a rambling gossipy character.
“I headed off to college in 1972 to study design, but soon transferred to Wolfe’s alma mater and decided to become a writer myself. When a dozen-storied hotel opened right across Spruce Street from his house in the mid-1970s, I heard that copies of Look Homeward, Angel had been placed in each bedside table drawer, beside the Gideon’s Bibles. Who could resist such a detail? I put it into a poem called “Asheville,” which was ironic, allusive, and dreadful.
“Graduate school, marriage, work, child, and parents’ deaths – it was decades before I got back to what had become the Thomas Wolfe Memorial. In fact, it was almost too late, after the devastating arson of 1998: I didn’t visit again until the fall of 2002, when a huge blue tarp still covered the partially collapsed roof, the north side of the rambling house was all plastic and tarpaper and 2 x 4 braces, and smoke damage haunted the windows. Four years into its restoration, the sun did not shine bright on “My Old Kentucky Home,” and it didn’t look like it ever would again.
“Memorial Day weekend, 2004. I stand where I rattled the chain-link construction fence only twenty months earlier, but can barely believe what rises before me: the Thomas Wolfe Memorial, gloriously intact, painstakingly and sympathetically resurrected. In fact, the old boardinghouse roof, the exterior yellow paint, the interior plaster, the furnishings – everything looks just like it did the year Tom left for college at Chapel Hill.
“But, appropriately for the nature of this particular place, it’s not overdone, a lifeless museum of early twentieth-century Americana. As I stroll through the house – around Julia’s kitchen, up the creaky central stairs, past the bed where W.O. unwillingly spent his last days – it’s easy to imagine that the family or boarders just stepped out and might be back shortly.
“Which is to say: The place feels exactly right. Like home, again.”
--- Michael McFee, quoted from Literary Trails of the North Carolina Mountains: A Guidebook, by Georgann Eubanks (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 2007.)
On a last note, there are other great commentaries on Thomas Wolfe to be found in the Fall 2007 issue of Appalachian Heritage, including another Old Kentucky Home discovery account by Kentucky native Gurney Norman.
“When I was growing up in the mountains, from the mid-1950s through the early 1970s, Asheville wasn’t such a groovy little city, Thomas Wolfe’s name wasn’t so ubiquitous, and his mother’s boardinghouse wasn’t yet an official historic site. “The Old Kentucky Home” was just 48 Spruce Street, where Tom’s brother Fred offered occasional tours of the twenty-nine rooms. He didn’t seem to like the house or his family very much: when my mother and I first visited, in 1968, I remember he pointed out, unapprovingly, where his famous younger sibling crept along the roof to sneak into a female guest’s room.
“A few years later, after I read Look Homeward, Angel (at sixteen: just the right age, just the right place), I went back solo, and the ramshackle place was much more interesting: it had become Wolfe’s “Dixieland,” and its drafty high-ceilinged rooms – some dim, some sunny – seemed haunted with ghosts of stories, the place itself a rambling gossipy character.
“I headed off to college in 1972 to study design, but soon transferred to Wolfe’s alma mater and decided to become a writer myself. When a dozen-storied hotel opened right across Spruce Street from his house in the mid-1970s, I heard that copies of Look Homeward, Angel had been placed in each bedside table drawer, beside the Gideon’s Bibles. Who could resist such a detail? I put it into a poem called “Asheville,” which was ironic, allusive, and dreadful.
“Graduate school, marriage, work, child, and parents’ deaths – it was decades before I got back to what had become the Thomas Wolfe Memorial. In fact, it was almost too late, after the devastating arson of 1998: I didn’t visit again until the fall of 2002, when a huge blue tarp still covered the partially collapsed roof, the north side of the rambling house was all plastic and tarpaper and 2 x 4 braces, and smoke damage haunted the windows. Four years into its restoration, the sun did not shine bright on “My Old Kentucky Home,” and it didn’t look like it ever would again.
“Memorial Day weekend, 2004. I stand where I rattled the chain-link construction fence only twenty months earlier, but can barely believe what rises before me: the Thomas Wolfe Memorial, gloriously intact, painstakingly and sympathetically resurrected. In fact, the old boardinghouse roof, the exterior yellow paint, the interior plaster, the furnishings – everything looks just like it did the year Tom left for college at Chapel Hill.
“But, appropriately for the nature of this particular place, it’s not overdone, a lifeless museum of early twentieth-century Americana. As I stroll through the house – around Julia’s kitchen, up the creaky central stairs, past the bed where W.O. unwillingly spent his last days – it’s easy to imagine that the family or boarders just stepped out and might be back shortly.
“Which is to say: The place feels exactly right. Like home, again.”
--- Michael McFee, quoted from Literary Trails of the North Carolina Mountains: A Guidebook, by Georgann Eubanks (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 2007.)
On a last note, there are other great commentaries on Thomas Wolfe to be found in the Fall 2007 issue of Appalachian Heritage, including another Old Kentucky Home discovery account by Kentucky native Gurney Norman.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Return to Oz
In 1979, my father took our family to a theme park called Land of Oz. I was only five at the time, but I remember how much I enjoyed it. I remember the costumed characters, Dorothy's house, and the witch's castle. What I remember the most was the yellow brick road, made of yellow glazed bricks. Located on top of Beech Mountain, North Carolina, a ski resort town, the theme park eventually closed in 1980. It is now owned by a real estate company that turned it into a summer home, gated community.
A couple of weekends ago my wife found out that, for one weekend a year in October, Emerald Properties and the town of Beech Mountain host Autumn at Oz, in which they open what is left of the theme pa
rk and invite food vendors and merchants who sell Wizard of Oz memorabilia.My wife and I took our daughter, but thankfully left our 8-month-old son at home (it was chilly and wasn't stroller accessible). The leaves had just begun to change color, so it was beautiful. The chairlift for the theme park had long been dismantled, so we took a hayride to the top (they also had a bus). The first thing I noticed when we got to Dorothy's house and the farm was how smaller everything looked now. Of course, I didn't expect it to be just like it was when it was open 27 years ago, and some people might have found it a disappointment if they were expecting that, but we had a blast. I loved it because I was reliving a fond childhood memory. My daughter loved it because of all the people, actors and visitors, that dressed up as characters from the movie. Some of the original attractions of the park are all but abandoned, like the cowardly lion's den or the hot air balloon (seen here). The yellow brick road, made of bricks that had been pottery-glazed yellow, had been patched over the years with yellow spray-painted bricks, but the magic was still there.
There was a time or two that we had to wait in line, as the crowds backed up, but the scenery was beautiful enough that I didn't care. I picked Beech nuts for my daughter and I to nibble on while we waited. Afterwards, we drove to Valle Crucis to get a snack at the original Mast General Store, and do some shopping.
For those interested in the former theme park, the Appalachian Cultural Museum in Boone, North Carolina, part of Appalachian State University, has an exhibit and information on how Land of Oz and Tweetsie Railroad (still in operation) brought commerce to the mountains in the 1970s.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Public Broadcasting is in Danger
Both public television and public radio are in danger of severe government cuts and possibly a total cut of funding that, without it, could mean the closure of rural and minority radio stations and public television stations that cannot afford equipment for the government-mandated switch to digital broadcasting, for example.
You might be saying, "So what? I don't watch PBS or listen to any radio station below 92.1 on the FM band, much less AM. Why does it matter? Just raise money in other ways instead of using taxpayers' money to fund something most people don't listen to." Well, it should matter to the 80 million public television viewers and 32 million who listen to public radio. Public broadcasting is one of the few journalistic and artistic outlets that is free from commercial influence (media conglomerates who dictate what can be broadcast or what musical artists can be played) and political influence (Corporation for Public Broadcasting receives two-year advance appropriations, a firewall between public broadcasting's programming and the undue influence of Government).
Now, I'm no politician or expert on the runnings of the government, but the way I see it without this funding, these monies allocated to public broadcasting, it will be all about the money, and nothing else. Those who will suffer the most are small television and radio stations who offer needed public services to small, rural communities. Already the majority of all media and broadcasting is controlled by commercial giants such as Disney or McDonald's, and major record labels dictate to radio stations what musical artists they can play (see Don't Buy It: Get Media Smart ). Isn't the government supposed to protect and ensure our freedom of speech and freedom of the press, especially from itself and the Capitalist economy it promotes?
Please click on the link to the right, or check out Tell Them Public Matters and make your voice known to your senators and congressmen and women, and tell them public broadcasting matters!
You might be saying, "So what? I don't watch PBS or listen to any radio station below 92.1 on the FM band, much less AM. Why does it matter? Just raise money in other ways instead of using taxpayers' money to fund something most people don't listen to." Well, it should matter to the 80 million public television viewers and 32 million who listen to public radio. Public broadcasting is one of the few journalistic and artistic outlets that is free from commercial influence (media conglomerates who dictate what can be broadcast or what musical artists can be played) and political influence (Corporation for Public Broadcasting receives two-year advance appropriations, a firewall between public broadcasting's programming and the undue influence of Government).
Now, I'm no politician or expert on the runnings of the government, but the way I see it without this funding, these monies allocated to public broadcasting, it will be all about the money, and nothing else. Those who will suffer the most are small television and radio stations who offer needed public services to small, rural communities. Already the majority of all media and broadcasting is controlled by commercial giants such as Disney or McDonald's, and major record labels dictate to radio stations what musical artists they can play (see Don't Buy It: Get Media Smart ). Isn't the government supposed to protect and ensure our freedom of speech and freedom of the press, especially from itself and the Capitalist economy it promotes?
Please click on the link to the right, or check out Tell Them Public Matters and make your voice known to your senators and congressmen and women, and tell them public broadcasting matters!
Monday, September 24, 2007
History, But Not Really Hillbilly
On Sunday night, the History Channel broadcast a two-hour program on the Appalachian people called Hillbilly: The Real Story, hosted by Billy Ray Cyrus. Considering the title, I expected a piece on the historic, social, and economic influences on the Appalachian region and how it shaped our country's perception and stereotypes of us. It was very informational and entertaining, and focused on many of the important events that shaped the region. They could have easily called it The Appalachians, however, as the direct mention and explanation of hillbilly stereotypes was sparse. They also neglected to mention what I felt were key components of our region and culture.
There were many good segments to the program, the origins of the Scotch-Irish settlers, and particularly the piece on the Overmountain Men and the Battle of King's Mountain, which was fought against the British in 1780 in Cleveland County, North Carolina, not far from where I live. There was a very lengthy piece on Matewan and the Battle of Blair Mountain in Mingo County, West Virginia, in which union mine workers marched in rallying protest against the autocracy of big coal companies (see Denise Giardina's novel Storming Heaven). I was surprised, though, that such a lengthy piece neglected to mention how coal company speculators tricked landowners into selling the mineral rights to their land, or the current coal mining practice of mountaintop removal. Perhaps that would have been too political or controversial for them. There was also an interesting and respectful piece on snake handlers and their religious beliefs, which is unique to our region. Moonshine making and stock car racing got a considerable nod. The story mainly focused on the Flock family racing team, and I was disappointed there weren't mention of other moonshine-runners-turned-racers such as Junior Johnson. There was also a considerable segment on the Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA) and its creation of the Fontana Dam, the tallest dam east of the Mississippi, and how it affected the economy after the Great Depression.
In the end, I felt the program ran out of time before it ran out of things to discuss. The last three minutes or so barely mentions the history and influences of Appalachian music on popular music today. No mention of the Carter Family or early "Hillbilly" music, or the birthplace of Country music, Bristol, Tennessee/Virginia. Throughout the program there were a peppering of explanations as to how and why the mountain and Hillbilly stereotypes were created, but not enough explanation to suite me. This program could have easily been a two or three part series. If I could pick one thing to criticize the most it's the lack of detail in how the media, the sole culprit, perpetuated the Hillbilly stereotype even today . I learned some things I didn't know, though, and I would recommend anyone to watch it whether expert or novice on the subject of Appalachia. There are far worse things to watch on TV these days.
The show will run for a few more nights: September 24 12:00 AM, September 27 8:00 AM, September 27 2:00 PM
Billy Ray did have an astute thing to say in conclusion, that the Appalachians aren't just a part of America, but that "We are America." Still, if I were an outsider watching this program, I would conclude that the Hillbilly stereotypes were all true, as this program merely explains and, I think, reinforces them.
There were many good segments to the program, the origins of the Scotch-Irish settlers, and particularly the piece on the Overmountain Men and the Battle of King's Mountain, which was fought against the British in 1780 in Cleveland County, North Carolina, not far from where I live. There was a very lengthy piece on Matewan and the Battle of Blair Mountain in Mingo County, West Virginia, in which union mine workers marched in rallying protest against the autocracy of big coal companies (see Denise Giardina's novel Storming Heaven). I was surprised, though, that such a lengthy piece neglected to mention how coal company speculators tricked landowners into selling the mineral rights to their land, or the current coal mining practice of mountaintop removal. Perhaps that would have been too political or controversial for them. There was also an interesting and respectful piece on snake handlers and their religious beliefs, which is unique to our region. Moonshine making and stock car racing got a considerable nod. The story mainly focused on the Flock family racing team, and I was disappointed there weren't mention of other moonshine-runners-turned-racers such as Junior Johnson. There was also a considerable segment on the Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA) and its creation of the Fontana Dam, the tallest dam east of the Mississippi, and how it affected the economy after the Great Depression.
In the end, I felt the program ran out of time before it ran out of things to discuss. The last three minutes or so barely mentions the history and influences of Appalachian music on popular music today. No mention of the Carter Family or early "Hillbilly" music, or the birthplace of Country music, Bristol, Tennessee/Virginia. Throughout the program there were a peppering of explanations as to how and why the mountain and Hillbilly stereotypes were created, but not enough explanation to suite me. This program could have easily been a two or three part series. If I could pick one thing to criticize the most it's the lack of detail in how the media, the sole culprit, perpetuated the Hillbilly stereotype even today . I learned some things I didn't know, though, and I would recommend anyone to watch it whether expert or novice on the subject of Appalachia. There are far worse things to watch on TV these days.
The show will run for a few more nights: September 24 12:00 AM, September 27 8:00 AM, September 27 2:00 PM
Billy Ray did have an astute thing to say in conclusion, that the Appalachians aren't just a part of America, but that "We are America." Still, if I were an outsider watching this program, I would conclude that the Hillbilly stereotypes were all true, as this program merely explains and, I think, reinforces them.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Hillsville Flea Market and The Battery-Powered Squirrel
Flea markets, you either love them or hate them. If you live in Hillsville, Virginia, however, it doesn't make much difference. In a town where the average population is 2,700, come Labor Day weekend the number of bodies soar to 650,000 -- that's on average the number of people who visit every Labor Day weekend to brave the crowds, mud, and shopping buggies (and the occasional motorized scooter) all in the name of a good find.
I spent seven years of my childhood in Hillsville, Virginia, and learned early on the history of its Labor Day flea market. Starting as a gun and knife show at the VFW building and parking lot, over the years it spilled across West Stuart Drive down what's called Hunley's Field. Like a kudzu vine it twisted its way up both sides of the street to the downtown area of Hillsville and another large section called Bowman's Field. If you walked every aisle in town it would take you all day. If you walked every aisle and looked at even half of the booths and vendors it would take you all weekend, and even then you might not see it all. In middle school, my friends and I would ride our bikes into town and ditch them behind the elementary school, then proceed to walk around for the remainder of the day looking at stuff. We mostly bought cheap Rambo-style survival knives, ninja throwing stars, coins, baseball cards, or comic books. Today a few friends and I meet every year to walk the rows and look for interesting items (seen above: Alan, Marty, and me). Of course, there is a lot of the same junk, and some outrageous prices for that junk, but there are also good finds to be had, and some pretty odd finds as well.
A few years ago my friends and I began scoping the booths for the oddest items we could find, seeing who could come up with the strangest, kitschiest, most outrageous item imaginable, or whatever tickled our funny bone. My friend Alan discovered a toy vendor who had something called The Battery-Powered Squirrel, in its original box. Underneath the title it boasted "with secret mystery action." Well, we just had to find out what that secret mystery action was, but the guy would only open the box to let us look at it. Inside was something that looked like roadkill. It's natural animal fur was peeling away from its metal body. The guy wanted $125 for it. Needless to say, we didn't buy it, but we've been on the lookout for it again ever since. This past Saturday we came across two items, a ceramic bank of Santa Claus holding a kitten riding on the back of a pig -- $100 (Alan would have bought it if it had one less zero in it) and a mechanical toy in its original box called The Happy Naughty Chimp (no secret mystery action, though). I almost bought it, but thought my children would just be scared by it. Marty found a captain's hat, but wouldn't buy it even though I told him I would put on a wig and be Tennille. We topped our morning's search off with lunch at the local Mexican restaurant, the Rio Grande. Some chimichangas and a pitcher of Dos Equis hit the spot, and gave us inspiration to walk around for a few more hours. No Battery-Powered Squirrel was to be found, but there is always next year.
I spent seven years of my childhood in Hillsville, Virginia, and learned early on the history of its Labor Day flea market. Starting as a gun and knife show at the VFW building and parking lot, over the years it spilled across West Stuart Drive down what's called Hunley's Field. Like a kudzu vine it twisted its way up both sides of the street to the downtown area of Hillsville and another large section called Bowman's Field. If you walked every aisle in town it would take you all day. If you walked every aisle and looked at even half of the booths and vendors it would take you all weekend, and even then you might not see it all. In middle school, my friends and I would ride our bikes into town and ditch them behind the elementary school, then proceed to walk around for the remainder of the day looking at stuff. We mostly bought cheap Rambo-style survival knives, ninja throwing stars, coins, baseball cards, or comic books. Today a few friends and I meet every year to walk the rows and look for interesting items (seen above: Alan, Marty, and me). Of course, there is a lot of the same junk, and some outrageous prices for that junk, but there are also good finds to be had, and some pretty odd finds as well.
A few years ago my friends and I began scoping the booths for the oddest items we could find, seeing who could come up with the strangest, kitschiest, most outrageous item imaginable, or whatever tickled our funny bone. My friend Alan discovered a toy vendor who had something called The Battery-Powered Squirrel, in its original box. Underneath the title it boasted "with secret mystery action." Well, we just had to find out what that secret mystery action was, but the guy would only open the box to let us look at it. Inside was something that looked like roadkill. It's natural animal fur was peeling away from its metal body. The guy wanted $125 for it. Needless to say, we didn't buy it, but we've been on the lookout for it again ever since. This past Saturday we came across two items, a ceramic bank of Santa Claus holding a kitten riding on the back of a pig -- $100 (Alan would have bought it if it had one less zero in it) and a mechanical toy in its original box called The Happy Naughty Chimp (no secret mystery action, though). I almost bought it, but thought my children would just be scared by it. Marty found a captain's hat, but wouldn't buy it even though I told him I would put on a wig and be Tennille. We topped our morning's search off with lunch at the local Mexican restaurant, the Rio Grande. Some chimichangas and a pitcher of Dos Equis hit the spot, and gave us inspiration to walk around for a few more hours. No Battery-Powered Squirrel was to be found, but there is always next year.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Stoneman's Raid
It's official. I've been to my first Civil War reenactment. Like many people, I was skeptical at first, wondering if it would be historically accurate and legit or just a bunch of boys running around in confederate uniforms waving the stars and bars, pretending to shoot each other. Instead, I got an informative lesson in the history of my county. Stoneman's raid was a campaign lead by Union Calvary Commander, Major General George Stoneman. In the town of Morganton, NC, where I reside, this raid consisted mainly of burning records at the courthouse and plundering homes for staples, but they did encounter confederate troops, and a skirmish occured. That's about all I know, without offending some stoic Civil War buff with my inaccuracies.
I planned this outing with my whole family, but my wife didn't want to take our newborn son where loud cannons and muzzle loading rifle fire would scare him, so I took my four-year-old daughter. It was difficult explaining what we were going to see, but she got the idea. "Like the Dollywood shows where they pretend on stage, but it's outside?" She asked for confirmation. We didn't go for the full day's festivities, where they demonstrate how to cook over a campfire or how to pitch a Civil-War era tent, but got there just in time to watch the main show. The audience congregated on a hill overlooking farmland and pasture of the historic Bellevue Plantation. Men in blue uniforms emerged from a grove of trees and met some men in gray uniforms, and the shooting ensued. My daughter wasn't too impressed until a large cannon was wheeled onto the battlefield pulled by two horses. Before I could even warn her, she had her fingers in her ears. Boom!! Black powder smoke billowed in the breeze. "Who is the good guys and who are the bad guys?" A classic question she asks whenever we watch a movie together. I told her as diplomatically as I could that there wasn't a good or bad side, but that people from North Carolina would probably be in gray uniforms. Then I got to thinking, I wasn't sure which side I would be on. I definitely would not be pro-slavery, so donning a gray uniform would be out of the question. Most mountain farmers were too poor to afford slaves, anyway. However, I wouldn't want some Union battalion of troops ransacking my house and property for food and valuables, either. Did they have conscientious objectors back then? I wondered.
The outing wasn't complete without a scoop of vanilla ice cream, which my daughter ate like it was cotton candy. The only thing she didn't like about our father/daughter outing was that they didn't have a pink and purple horse with sparkles. I imagined Major General George Stoneman charging on his pink and purple sparkly horse. I told her I agreed. That would definitely have brought new meaning to the term "shock and awe!"
I planned this outing with my whole family, but my wife didn't want to take our newborn son where loud cannons and muzzle loading rifle fire would scare him, so I took my four-year-old daughter. It was difficult explaining what we were going to see, but she got the idea. "Like the Dollywood shows where they pretend on stage, but it's outside?" She asked for confirmation. We didn't go for the full day's festivities, where they demonstrate how to cook over a campfire or how to pitch a Civil-War era tent, but got there just in time to watch the main show. The audience congregated on a hill overlooking farmland and pasture of the historic Bellevue Plantation. Men in blue uniforms emerged from a grove of trees and met some men in gray uniforms, and the shooting ensued. My daughter wasn't too impressed until a large cannon was wheeled onto the battlefield pulled by two horses. Before I could even warn her, she had her fingers in her ears. Boom!! Black powder smoke billowed in the breeze. "Who is the good guys and who are the bad guys?" A classic question she asks whenever we watch a movie together. I told her as diplomatically as I could that there wasn't a good or bad side, but that people from North Carolina would probably be in gray uniforms. Then I got to thinking, I wasn't sure which side I would be on. I definitely would not be pro-slavery, so donning a gray uniform would be out of the question. Most mountain farmers were too poor to afford slaves, anyway. However, I wouldn't want some Union battalion of troops ransacking my house and property for food and valuables, either. Did they have conscientious objectors back then? I wondered.
The outing wasn't complete without a scoop of vanilla ice cream, which my daughter ate like it was cotton candy. The only thing she didn't like about our father/daughter outing was that they didn't have a pink and purple horse with sparkles. I imagined Major General George Stoneman charging on his pink and purple sparkly horse. I told her I agreed. That would definitely have brought new meaning to the term "shock and awe!"
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