Monday, November 5, 2012
Woody Guthrie's Legacy
When I was an apprentice learning to cut timber frames I lived in western Massachusetts in the Berkshires. The Berkshires are kind of like the Green Mountains of Vermont, where I am from, except they are smaller and the dense trees and lack of scale feel isolating. For this reason everything feels very hidden, like you won't find what you are looking for unless you stumble across it or someone takes you there.
There is a strange lesser-known establishment three or four turns down a long dirt road called the Dream-Away Lodge. It used to be a brothel, but today is some combination of up-scale restaurant/lounge and local bonfire hangout for the few who have been led there. To be served at the bar, creative drink names may require you to ask the bar tender - 'Can you make me a dirty girl?" There was nothing that felt like it wasn't unique, and it didn't take long to feel like I knew everyone there. In one room were simply an array of couches and chairs with pillows to rest in and catch up with friends, and this room doubled as a low-key music venue. Wednesday nights were sing-along open mic nights, and everyone showed up with instruments and voices for the jam.
Pictures on the walls recalled in-house performances by famous musicians who would stop in on their way between New York City and Boston for a meal and familiar company. Janis Joplin, Bob Dylan, James Taylor. I suppose the Dreamaway Lodge was a good place to lay low and recharge between cities. One night when I was there Ramblin' Jack Elliot and Arlo Guthrie were having dinner just a few tables over, but no body acted like they noticed. Something about the place felt like magic, or at least like I had been shown some special secret.
One summer Wednesday, like many other summer Wednesdays I brought my guitar along to play along. We would sit in the room with couches and go around the circle, taking turns singing songs. Known and unknown, skilled and unskilled, folk and rock and blues. Without prompt and whether they really knew the song or not, others would join right in. My solo act would be backed by a bass, another guitar, backup singers, and maybe a banjo. The group changed every week. One night while starting Bob Dylan's 'Tangled Up In Blue' and a woman walked up and started singing along with me. I was sitting and she was standing next to me bouncing a baby girl on her hip. Her voice was beautiful and so familiar. I didn't actually know until well after we finished the song that I was singing along with Sarah Lee Guthrie, Woody's granddaughter. And she was bouncing his great-granddaughter to the beat of my version of a song he had inspired. In a minor but meaningful way, I had stumbled directly into the path of the lineage and history of one very important vein of American folk music.
Happy 100th Birthday Woody.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
changes changes
I feel like I used to make a big deal about changes and events. Moving to Colorado after a lifetime in the northeast was a dramatic move, and back when I actually used myspace I remember writing a hilarious account of the simple cross-country drive. Today the idea of something like a going-away party for me makes me laugh. Now changes simply unfold and are expected and enjoyed. I am not sure if I have simply lost awe for doing these things of if I have simply fallen comfortably into this way of life. Perhaps this is why I have not written anything in a while or even taken more then a handful of pictures in the last eight months. Every now and then I read quotes or parts of books or something that really seem to make sense right then and there. A couple days ago while reading the first Zine put out by Luke Mehall for the 8th or 9th time I read this in a line written by Scott Borden. "Let us not be too dramatic about change." This reflected the way I had been thinking about myself lately. I also recently had a conversation with my friend Carrie, who spoke of a yogic way of thinking which (long story short) preaches that whatever you are doing right now is exactly what we are supposed to be doing. I like this and it is comforting. Why believe anything else? I have been living in Sonoma County, California since last April (minus two months this summer dubbed 'the summer of love and friends' where I traveled around the country visiting family and friends for specifically that purpose). I accepted a job, established myself under a roof, and gave myself a minimum time duration to stay here. I thought that it was time to stop and put some roots down, maybe even raise a potted plant or something. Now I am being laid off and have been forced to look at my plans from a new perspective. There is no 'supposed to,' or 'it's about time to,' or even 'I"m getting to the age where...' We are doing exactly what we are supposed to be doing right here and now, and I am happy to have mellowed out about changes and plans. I'm always making plans, but the right ones will be the ones that unfold. I am confident in that.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Philosophy on Working
First, lets take a look at how 'working' is generally viewed and how it fits into the lives of people today. For one thing, work is a fact of life. For everyone except for a select few, we must do work so that we can make money and sustain ourselves. To pay the mortgage. Most people work for an employer, and some find ways to create something themselves that they can profit from. In today's material world, we work so that we can pay the bills and buy ourselves things. Some jobs pay very well; others do not. Some people make incredible sums of money for relatively little effort, whereas others work long hours for less than a livable wage. 'White collar" work is supposedly better then "Blue collar" work. In fact, income is such a pivotal point on our lives that nothing separates society into different levels more then how much money we make. Lets be honest - money is the sole reason that most people work, and everyone always wants more money. This brings up an unfortunate paradox in the way work is generally conceived and carried out today. Work is a necessary evil. Work is not what you want to be doing, it is not where you want to be. Yet many are working longer and longer hours to get more done and make more money. According to a 1991 survey, "free time" had decreased by 40% since 1973. Productivity has doubled since the 60's. A means to what end?
Does it make sense that something that dominates such a large percentage of life is seen so negatively? Why should one's occupational niche define his or her placement on society's scale of success? Does it make sense that working to make an income has become such a selfish endeavor? Though it is essential to make money in this life, we must never forget that 'money' is a modern invention. Before work had monetary value, it still had value.
We must take a step back from our preconceptions and redefine how working fits into and affects our lives. The inspiration for this philosophy on working comes from my own search for purpose, and has been justified and shaped by Scott and Helen Nearing, as well as Bill Coperthwaite. The Nearings were homesteaders who left the noise and bustle of New York City amidst the Great Depression to live out their lives through their own ideals on a homestead in rural Vermont, and later Maine. They are the authors of the 'Good Life' book series. Bill Coperthwaite is a builder, educator, and philosopher, and is the author of "A Handmade Life; In Search of Simplicity."
"Re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss what insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem."
-Walt Whitman
Sometimes I wonder where I would be if I had taken some time off after high school. I do not regret entering directly into engineering school, because it has led me to where I am today and I enjoy many aspects of it, however looking back I can see that I was a drone trapped in the system. It is common thought that successful high school graduates go to college in September directly following graduation. Those who will not go to college simply enter the work force. Education is over - time to earn a living. Decisions are to be made and responsibilities shouldered. Those teenagers who truly know themselves are a lucky few. The rest of us are ushered in one direction or another and, fingers crossed, point ourselves in one of life's many root directions. For many, college is simply an expensive extension of high school. It is hard to say if college is always the best choice. I promise that much more can be learned outside of a classroom then in one of disinterest. This just may be the pivotal point in the lives of the thousands who dislike their occupations. As Mark Twain put it best, "Never let schooling get in the way of your children's education." On the other hand, for those who have a genuine interest that can be nourished through higher education, college will be a very sound investment of time and money. For others, it takes time, thought, experimentation, and a unique path.
"Who would have advanced the most at the end of a month - the boy who had made his own jack-knife from the ore which he had dug and smelted, reading as much as would be necessary for this - or the boy who had attended the lectures on metallurgy at the Institute in the meanwhile, and had recieved a Roger's penknife from his father? Which would be most likely to cut his fingers?" -Henry David Thoreau, 'Walden'
It can also be said that money is the primary reason that most people go to college. We know from the start that a degree in something will mean a higher salary in almost any field. A higher income is a legitimate reason to seek higher education in today's world, and often the acquisition of higher knowledge is viewed only as a secondary benefit. Education may sometimes be uncomfortable, but it is the single most valuable use of one's time and energy - for the purpose of becoming smarter! The world needs educated people in each and every field of employment - from medical doctors to street sweepers. Everyone has the ability to teach. We should never stop being students. Read books; seek mentors; ask questions. If each and every person were to seek continual education in their field of interest and assume their natural niche, our society would operate more functionally and positively. When work is nothing more then renting our bodies and our minds out to fulfill self-meaningless tasks, it might as well be considered prostitution. Lastly, be creative! Creativity is often undervalued, but it is the driving force behind change.
So what about the guy who pumps port-a-potties, or the gas station cleaner? Surely there would be no-one to fill these positions if we were truly able to choose our profession. I have gathered a few thoughts on this from a couple different sources. Gandhi believed that in order to break down class prejudice, the most well-off and smartest people should be willing to undertake the most unwanted jobs. "This would remove class prejudice and raise work to being celebrated instead of despised. Somehow we must find a way to develop a society of people who refuse to live at the expense of others" (Coperthwaite). Bill Coperthwaite also believes that, since many of today's jobs require little experience, many may find interest in specializing in many different fields. Surely some would be willing to clean a gas station for the good of society if one month later they were doing something more favorable. The lesson here is that nobody should be above the greater good of society. We must work together, and find pleasure in helping others.
I was recently asked by my boss how I would define work. I have met few people who work as hard as he does (physically and otherwise), and until this conversation I suppose I assumed that he worked hard primarily to make money. Money is, after all, today's evil driving factor. I thought for a moment about the work that I had done over the past year. It turns out that I was putting words into his mouth when I concluded, proudly, that 'work is anything that one does for the ultimate betterment of others.' Work truly is anything other then blind entertainment. With this definition in mind, one soon realizes that money has little to do with work. The term "bread labor" refers to the simple bare bones labor that must be done for survival. The purpose of bread labor is to keep one's self healthy and fit so that we may go fourth to make society a better place. Work may be what you do for 40 hours a week to pay the mortgage, but work is also taking your kids to school. Work is cooking a nourishing dinner or taking the time to recycle. Work is absolutely everything that you do that has a direct roll in helping others. Clearly, work is anything BUT a selfish endeavor. If you made only $7,793.46 last year like I did, but spent a large amount of your time 'doing work' to help others like I did, you can feel good about your year! I helped my dad put an addition onto my parents' house. I spent the summer learning how to build sustainably and responsibly, and even taught others to do the same. I did very little for income, but I also did comparatively very little for my own selfish entertainment. True work should be celebrated, not assigned a false monetary value.
With all of this in mind, the following is Bill Coperthwaite's checklist for worth-while work:
Your work must:
-be physically and intellectually challenging,
-encourage creative thinking,
-advance the cause of a better world, and
-provide for basic needs.
If you can assign each of these values to your work, then you have achieved success in your chosen profession. Your mission is simply to continue to follow your desire to learn, to teach others as you go, and to continue to advance society in your own small but powerful way. If not, do not be afraid to seek change. Remember that the work that you do is so much more then how you earn an income. You do not need to be hired by an employer to do the work that you were meant to. Your wellbeing is everyone's wellbeing. Your success will be society's success. Your failure to live and work as happily as you deserve to will be everyone's loss.
Does it make sense that something that dominates such a large percentage of life is seen so negatively? Why should one's occupational niche define his or her placement on society's scale of success? Does it make sense that working to make an income has become such a selfish endeavor? Though it is essential to make money in this life, we must never forget that 'money' is a modern invention. Before work had monetary value, it still had value.
We must take a step back from our preconceptions and redefine how working fits into and affects our lives. The inspiration for this philosophy on working comes from my own search for purpose, and has been justified and shaped by Scott and Helen Nearing, as well as Bill Coperthwaite. The Nearings were homesteaders who left the noise and bustle of New York City amidst the Great Depression to live out their lives through their own ideals on a homestead in rural Vermont, and later Maine. They are the authors of the 'Good Life' book series. Bill Coperthwaite is a builder, educator, and philosopher, and is the author of "A Handmade Life; In Search of Simplicity."
"Re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss what insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem."
-Walt Whitman
Sometimes I wonder where I would be if I had taken some time off after high school. I do not regret entering directly into engineering school, because it has led me to where I am today and I enjoy many aspects of it, however looking back I can see that I was a drone trapped in the system. It is common thought that successful high school graduates go to college in September directly following graduation. Those who will not go to college simply enter the work force. Education is over - time to earn a living. Decisions are to be made and responsibilities shouldered. Those teenagers who truly know themselves are a lucky few. The rest of us are ushered in one direction or another and, fingers crossed, point ourselves in one of life's many root directions. For many, college is simply an expensive extension of high school. It is hard to say if college is always the best choice. I promise that much more can be learned outside of a classroom then in one of disinterest. This just may be the pivotal point in the lives of the thousands who dislike their occupations. As Mark Twain put it best, "Never let schooling get in the way of your children's education." On the other hand, for those who have a genuine interest that can be nourished through higher education, college will be a very sound investment of time and money. For others, it takes time, thought, experimentation, and a unique path.
"Who would have advanced the most at the end of a month - the boy who had made his own jack-knife from the ore which he had dug and smelted, reading as much as would be necessary for this - or the boy who had attended the lectures on metallurgy at the Institute in the meanwhile, and had recieved a Roger's penknife from his father? Which would be most likely to cut his fingers?" -Henry David Thoreau, 'Walden'
It can also be said that money is the primary reason that most people go to college. We know from the start that a degree in something will mean a higher salary in almost any field. A higher income is a legitimate reason to seek higher education in today's world, and often the acquisition of higher knowledge is viewed only as a secondary benefit. Education may sometimes be uncomfortable, but it is the single most valuable use of one's time and energy - for the purpose of becoming smarter! The world needs educated people in each and every field of employment - from medical doctors to street sweepers. Everyone has the ability to teach. We should never stop being students. Read books; seek mentors; ask questions. If each and every person were to seek continual education in their field of interest and assume their natural niche, our society would operate more functionally and positively. When work is nothing more then renting our bodies and our minds out to fulfill self-meaningless tasks, it might as well be considered prostitution. Lastly, be creative! Creativity is often undervalued, but it is the driving force behind change.
So what about the guy who pumps port-a-potties, or the gas station cleaner? Surely there would be no-one to fill these positions if we were truly able to choose our profession. I have gathered a few thoughts on this from a couple different sources. Gandhi believed that in order to break down class prejudice, the most well-off and smartest people should be willing to undertake the most unwanted jobs. "This would remove class prejudice and raise work to being celebrated instead of despised. Somehow we must find a way to develop a society of people who refuse to live at the expense of others" (Coperthwaite). Bill Coperthwaite also believes that, since many of today's jobs require little experience, many may find interest in specializing in many different fields. Surely some would be willing to clean a gas station for the good of society if one month later they were doing something more favorable. The lesson here is that nobody should be above the greater good of society. We must work together, and find pleasure in helping others.
I was recently asked by my boss how I would define work. I have met few people who work as hard as he does (physically and otherwise), and until this conversation I suppose I assumed that he worked hard primarily to make money. Money is, after all, today's evil driving factor. I thought for a moment about the work that I had done over the past year. It turns out that I was putting words into his mouth when I concluded, proudly, that 'work is anything that one does for the ultimate betterment of others.' Work truly is anything other then blind entertainment. With this definition in mind, one soon realizes that money has little to do with work. The term "bread labor" refers to the simple bare bones labor that must be done for survival. The purpose of bread labor is to keep one's self healthy and fit so that we may go fourth to make society a better place. Work may be what you do for 40 hours a week to pay the mortgage, but work is also taking your kids to school. Work is cooking a nourishing dinner or taking the time to recycle. Work is absolutely everything that you do that has a direct roll in helping others. Clearly, work is anything BUT a selfish endeavor. If you made only $7,793.46 last year like I did, but spent a large amount of your time 'doing work' to help others like I did, you can feel good about your year! I helped my dad put an addition onto my parents' house. I spent the summer learning how to build sustainably and responsibly, and even taught others to do the same. I did very little for income, but I also did comparatively very little for my own selfish entertainment. True work should be celebrated, not assigned a false monetary value.
With all of this in mind, the following is Bill Coperthwaite's checklist for worth-while work:
Your work must:
-be physically and intellectually challenging,
-encourage creative thinking,
-advance the cause of a better world, and
-provide for basic needs.
If you can assign each of these values to your work, then you have achieved success in your chosen profession. Your mission is simply to continue to follow your desire to learn, to teach others as you go, and to continue to advance society in your own small but powerful way. If not, do not be afraid to seek change. Remember that the work that you do is so much more then how you earn an income. You do not need to be hired by an employer to do the work that you were meant to. Your wellbeing is everyone's wellbeing. Your success will be society's success. Your failure to live and work as happily as you deserve to will be everyone's loss.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Painting with Acrylics
I have recently started painting with acrylics. My sister gave me a set of paints for Christmas, and I gave it a shot. Below are, in order, my first and second paintings. So far I am sticking to still life shots of fruits and vegetables.
"Avocado on a Purple Plate"
"Vegetables Growing"
"Vegetables Growing"
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Yestermorrow Design/Build School Blog
I was recently featured in the Yestermorrow Design/Build School web page blog with the following article. I wrote this myself, in response to the new Executive Director, Kate Stephenson's request for statements from former interns as to "how Yestermorrow has changed my life." This was written to get people excited about the school's mission and provide some inspiration to others who are interested in how I have gotten to where I am at the moment.
"I quit my job and moved to the Yestermorrow School as an intern in the fall of 2006. Unsure of where I wanted to put my engineering degree to use, I started hitting things with a hammer and drawing without a straight edge. Somewhere in between studying the tools of the past and the technological possibilities of the future I began to find my way, and a vision of creativity and sustainability blossomed. I took a timber framing class for the fun of it, and soon found the missing link between engineering and artistic construction. Since leaving the Mad River Valley I have pursued timber framing education and employment and am more excited about my future then I have ever been. I have traveled throughout the country and worked side-by-side with some of the brightest minds in the field. This week I am working with a team to install the final rafters of a barn from the 1860’s that we have completely restored. My plan for the future is to start my own design/build timber frame company and to keep true to the principles that began to take root at the Yestermorrow School. I am confident that built world of tomorrow will be a better place thanks in-part to the instructors and students from this special school in the heart of the Green Mountains." –Brian Malone
Silver Park Pavilion, Missoula, MT, Fall '8. Shown here with former YM intern, Dave Kaplan.
Below is the potting shed that I built for my mom. Cut spring '08 and finished in the fall. Located in Jay, VT.
"I quit my job and moved to the Yestermorrow School as an intern in the fall of 2006. Unsure of where I wanted to put my engineering degree to use, I started hitting things with a hammer and drawing without a straight edge. Somewhere in between studying the tools of the past and the technological possibilities of the future I began to find my way, and a vision of creativity and sustainability blossomed. I took a timber framing class for the fun of it, and soon found the missing link between engineering and artistic construction. Since leaving the Mad River Valley I have pursued timber framing education and employment and am more excited about my future then I have ever been. I have traveled throughout the country and worked side-by-side with some of the brightest minds in the field. This week I am working with a team to install the final rafters of a barn from the 1860’s that we have completely restored. My plan for the future is to start my own design/build timber frame company and to keep true to the principles that began to take root at the Yestermorrow School. I am confident that built world of tomorrow will be a better place thanks in-part to the instructors and students from this special school in the heart of the Green Mountains." –Brian Malone
Silver Park Pavilion, Missoula, MT, Fall '8. Shown here with former YM intern, Dave Kaplan.
Below is the potting shed that I built for my mom. Cut spring '08 and finished in the fall. Located in Jay, VT.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Good Will
Bored and wandering around town I happened upon a Good Will store. They are always in buildings that seem far too large for their operation, set back from the main road. 250 parking spaces with 11 filled. Extra storage space for overflow donations I suppose, but it casts an image of vacancy and depression. Private, small town thrift stores are generally more interesting, but on this particular day I stop in.
The door sensor emits a series of tones as I enter the door and the young woman at the counter acknowledges my arrival with a smile. Three or four other shoppers look in my direction as well, and go back to bargain hunting. I wander through aisles of clothes on hangers to the mens department and scan for hideous color schemes and fancy hats or shoes. I certainly don't need anything and I know this.
On the opposite side of the store are household items and I take a look. These are mostly things that I generally avoid owning. There is no need for a special dish for butter, and a pepper mill that requires batteries offers a level of laziness that I refuse to embrace. There is no wonder why most of these things have been donated. I have no use for a framed poster outlining the 1993 game schedule for the Chicago Bears.
Mugs are of a strange and pointless interest of mine, however, and I find one among the one or two hundred others that I like. This mug is simple, but is comfortable to hold. It is tall and slightly heavy - perfect to drink beer from. I carry it to the cash register and greet the woman who had smiled at me when I arrived.
"I like this mug" I tell her. Uninterested, she takes it from me and turns it over in search of a price tag. There is none, which I had already noticed myself.
"There isn't a tag, but all of the other mugs are either $0.49 or $0.99." I know that I have only $1.55 in my pocket in nickels, dimes and a Canadian quarter. I am confident in this transaction.
"Hold on one second." She takes the mug with her into the back room and returns a minute later.
"$1.99 she says."
"Well, I only have $1.55. I will pay you everything that I have. The other mugs cost less and this one is no different."
"Hold on." She disappears once again into the back room with my mug and leaves me standing at the front of a line of customers. When she returns she sets the mug down on the counter, slightly out of my reach. "I'm sorry, $1.99 she says. Once we make a price we can't change it."
We look at each other. I give her a perplexed look and cock my head in slight disbelief. She holds her ground. I look over at one to two hundred mugs sitting on a shelf, and then back to my mug. She holds her ground.
I leave the store with nothing.
The door sensor emits a series of tones as I enter the door and the young woman at the counter acknowledges my arrival with a smile. Three or four other shoppers look in my direction as well, and go back to bargain hunting. I wander through aisles of clothes on hangers to the mens department and scan for hideous color schemes and fancy hats or shoes. I certainly don't need anything and I know this.
On the opposite side of the store are household items and I take a look. These are mostly things that I generally avoid owning. There is no need for a special dish for butter, and a pepper mill that requires batteries offers a level of laziness that I refuse to embrace. There is no wonder why most of these things have been donated. I have no use for a framed poster outlining the 1993 game schedule for the Chicago Bears.
Mugs are of a strange and pointless interest of mine, however, and I find one among the one or two hundred others that I like. This mug is simple, but is comfortable to hold. It is tall and slightly heavy - perfect to drink beer from. I carry it to the cash register and greet the woman who had smiled at me when I arrived.
"I like this mug" I tell her. Uninterested, she takes it from me and turns it over in search of a price tag. There is none, which I had already noticed myself.
"There isn't a tag, but all of the other mugs are either $0.49 or $0.99." I know that I have only $1.55 in my pocket in nickels, dimes and a Canadian quarter. I am confident in this transaction.
"Hold on one second." She takes the mug with her into the back room and returns a minute later.
"$1.99 she says."
"Well, I only have $1.55. I will pay you everything that I have. The other mugs cost less and this one is no different."
"Hold on." She disappears once again into the back room with my mug and leaves me standing at the front of a line of customers. When she returns she sets the mug down on the counter, slightly out of my reach. "I'm sorry, $1.99 she says. Once we make a price we can't change it."
We look at each other. I give her a perplexed look and cock my head in slight disbelief. She holds her ground. I look over at one to two hundred mugs sitting on a shelf, and then back to my mug. She holds her ground.
I leave the store with nothing.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Life in the Midwest
I don't think I am quite qualified to say too much about life in the Midwest. Even once I leave, I will have only spent a tiny sliver of time in this corner of the great cornfield. I can remember when I was in Vermont about a year ago wondering where I would be one year from that date. At the time my strongest possibility was the island of American Samoa, half way between Hawaii and New Zealand. Six months later, living in the Berkshires of western Massachusettes I thought I would be moving to Montana. But here I am, in Galesburg, Illinois. I have not remained in one place for very long in almost two years. Part of the excitement of moving around a lot is finding out where opportunities take you, and from there it is who you meet and what you learn. And here I am, in Galesburg, Illinois. I'll tell you one thing though, the sunsets alone have been worth it.
I see almost every sunrise and sunset, actually. Sunsets have a deep red base, dark orange fading eventually to yellow, slight green, blue, darker blue to black... and stars. As it gets later the red and orange darken and the blue dissapears into the black. Sunrises have lighter oranges and more purple. The silhouette of a fence line and hedge trees up against these colors makes you want to paint a picture right then and there. The days are short and we work from darkness to darkness.
I am not completely sure what it is that I am searching for at this point. Beauty. Experience. Freedom. It is hard to say, but I think these all play a role in what guides me. The interesting thing is that I find what fulfills me everywhere I go. A skin track up a snowy Colorado mountain fills me with excitement, but so does waiting for a ten-minute train to pass at a stop sign, alone, in the night. The wildflowers in Crested Butte or peak foliage in Vermont are beautiful, but so is the way snow collects on uncut cornstalks. Then again, sometimes I think I focus too much on what I see with my eyes. It is hard not to.
All visual distraction aside, it is hard to speak of the Midwest without my personal bias. To me, the midwest feels like a middle-ground, a waiting place, something in between where I was and where I should be. The middle of the country; the middle of a transition. a pergatory of sorts. Don't misunderstand me - I actually very-much like the midwest, but for reasons which include the fact that I get to leave soon. The truth is that I am very content and awed with what I have found here. The people who live here are a mixed group. Those who will actually leave the midwest already have, and those who want to likely never will. The rest simply love it here, and I understand this only now that I have been here for longer then it takes to drive through. There is history here. There are roots. It is important.
There were over 350,000 timber frame barns in Illinois at the turn of the century. I build timber frames, and take it from me, the time and effort that it took to build even one of these barns is monumental. We have chain saws and sawmills - these timbers were felled and hewn with axes. We have power tools, these were cut with hand tools. We have hydraulics, these raisings required a community gathering. There has been blood and sweat shed throughout the country, but I am sure that there is more sweat here in the midwest then most places I have been.
I like to drive my truck on the dirt roads through the countryside between Knoxville and Galesburg. The landscape is vast and geologically absent, and most of the roads are straight and the curves and intersections are ninety-degree angles. This time of the year the giant farm machines sit parked and the fields collect snow drifts, but I can feel that this land has been worked. Some of the cornfields were not mowed down this year due to high moisture. These corn stalks bend over as snow collects and spring back to shape when the wind blows. Then again, the wind always blows. Trains cris-cross the landscape on their way to somewhere else. Deer seem to be everywhere. I am not sure where they hide from weather or hunters. It is cold, and people are not outside. The sky is equally cloudy and clear, but when it is clear at night the sky is huge with stars. Only trees and slight changes in topography block the horizon. This is the quiet off-season. I can imagine this frozen-mud-brown and snow-white landscape as fertile, alive, and John Deere yellow and green.
I guess what I have found here is an appreciation. I belong to the mountains and the snow, but the people who have settled the midwest clearly belong here. This is a place that before now I never would have desired to visit. And even though the town that I live in appears to be stareotypical 'Wizard of Oz Toto - we're not in Kansas anymore - get in the dry cellar BessyMae!,' it does have a genuine appeal.
Traveling is important. It is more important then where you plan on going. You never know how it will change the way you see yourself in the world. Avoid interstates, take state highways. Check out local farmer's markets, thrift stores, parks. Talk to people, help people, listen. Don't be afraid to experience things alone. Don't expect. Be thankful for where you are, because there is far more there then you will be able to soak up.
I see almost every sunrise and sunset, actually. Sunsets have a deep red base, dark orange fading eventually to yellow, slight green, blue, darker blue to black... and stars. As it gets later the red and orange darken and the blue dissapears into the black. Sunrises have lighter oranges and more purple. The silhouette of a fence line and hedge trees up against these colors makes you want to paint a picture right then and there. The days are short and we work from darkness to darkness.
I am not completely sure what it is that I am searching for at this point. Beauty. Experience. Freedom. It is hard to say, but I think these all play a role in what guides me. The interesting thing is that I find what fulfills me everywhere I go. A skin track up a snowy Colorado mountain fills me with excitement, but so does waiting for a ten-minute train to pass at a stop sign, alone, in the night. The wildflowers in Crested Butte or peak foliage in Vermont are beautiful, but so is the way snow collects on uncut cornstalks. Then again, sometimes I think I focus too much on what I see with my eyes. It is hard not to.
All visual distraction aside, it is hard to speak of the Midwest without my personal bias. To me, the midwest feels like a middle-ground, a waiting place, something in between where I was and where I should be. The middle of the country; the middle of a transition. a pergatory of sorts. Don't misunderstand me - I actually very-much like the midwest, but for reasons which include the fact that I get to leave soon. The truth is that I am very content and awed with what I have found here. The people who live here are a mixed group. Those who will actually leave the midwest already have, and those who want to likely never will. The rest simply love it here, and I understand this only now that I have been here for longer then it takes to drive through. There is history here. There are roots. It is important.
There were over 350,000 timber frame barns in Illinois at the turn of the century. I build timber frames, and take it from me, the time and effort that it took to build even one of these barns is monumental. We have chain saws and sawmills - these timbers were felled and hewn with axes. We have power tools, these were cut with hand tools. We have hydraulics, these raisings required a community gathering. There has been blood and sweat shed throughout the country, but I am sure that there is more sweat here in the midwest then most places I have been.
I like to drive my truck on the dirt roads through the countryside between Knoxville and Galesburg. The landscape is vast and geologically absent, and most of the roads are straight and the curves and intersections are ninety-degree angles. This time of the year the giant farm machines sit parked and the fields collect snow drifts, but I can feel that this land has been worked. Some of the cornfields were not mowed down this year due to high moisture. These corn stalks bend over as snow collects and spring back to shape when the wind blows. Then again, the wind always blows. Trains cris-cross the landscape on their way to somewhere else. Deer seem to be everywhere. I am not sure where they hide from weather or hunters. It is cold, and people are not outside. The sky is equally cloudy and clear, but when it is clear at night the sky is huge with stars. Only trees and slight changes in topography block the horizon. This is the quiet off-season. I can imagine this frozen-mud-brown and snow-white landscape as fertile, alive, and John Deere yellow and green.
I guess what I have found here is an appreciation. I belong to the mountains and the snow, but the people who have settled the midwest clearly belong here. This is a place that before now I never would have desired to visit. And even though the town that I live in appears to be stareotypical 'Wizard of Oz Toto - we're not in Kansas anymore - get in the dry cellar BessyMae!,' it does have a genuine appeal.
Traveling is important. It is more important then where you plan on going. You never know how it will change the way you see yourself in the world. Avoid interstates, take state highways. Check out local farmer's markets, thrift stores, parks. Talk to people, help people, listen. Don't be afraid to experience things alone. Don't expect. Be thankful for where you are, because there is far more there then you will be able to soak up.
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