Live From the Surface of the Moon

2010-10-29T15:14:00.003-04:00

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

- William Butler Yeats

How I Learned to Stop Worrying...

2010-10-04T15:45:00.008-04:00

I got a call from a friend last night, and the conversation devolved into his fears and anxieties about the frightening decline of civilization. He began to yaw and bend toward how dangerous our times are as compared to the past. Maybe he's right. But as chance would have it, I had found over the weekend a piece of ephemera that I thought at least merited mentioning to him, as a reminder. It's a map of evacuation routes from our city, along with a lot of other instructions, in the event of a nuclear attack. It's dated 1956, and gives a pretty specific idea of where the bombs would fall, with circles indicating the immediate areas of most dire effect. Suffice to say that I live well within the zone that even a namby-pamby 50s-era nuclear bomb would blow clean. All that's just a pretext to show some other thematic images I've gathered over time that also caused bemusement or amusement. For example, a dexterity game where you try to roll the clear capsules into Hiroshima and Nagasaki on a map of Japan. How about a children's toy ring featuring a facsimile of a nuke? Or a dartboard with degrees of success measured by what you destroy, made in Japan, no less. And a panel from a comic book, showing the monster ape problem being neatly solved. In closing, I note that the southern evacuation routes for refugees from nuclear attack are the same roads used by the fleeing citizenry upon the incineration of the city by one William T. Sherman, a few years back when life wasn't as scary as it is today...

Come to Me, Little Fishies

2010-09-28T15:22:00.003-04:00

The Good Ship Concreteblock

2010-09-20T11:17:00.011-04:00

The home overlooking the small private lake was built with identical block and terracotta materials.

Dairy Deluxe

2010-09-16T17:36:00.003-04:00

A large sculpture of the ideal Holstein-Friesian dairy cow by the Japanese-American artist Gozo Kawamura, 1923.

Toolbox

2010-09-14T10:30:00.004-04:00

Melonious

2010-07-02T09:43:00.005-04:00

Down in Tennessee I used to sit upon the fence
A-wonderin' about the lack of people's common sense

What I didn't then couldn't keep concealed
Was one great big fat watermelon layin' in the field

See that watermelon hangin' on the vine
I wish that watermelon could be mine

The farmer must be careless
Without a lick of sense
Or he wouldn't leave it hangin'
On the vine

Cornbread is sweet
Pork chops are good
Black-eyed peas are mighty, mighty fine
But give me, oh give me
I really wish you would
That watermelon hangin' on the vine

Got a gal who loves me
She always treats me fine
She lets me hug and kiss her all the time
I wish that all her kisses
Could taste half as sweet
As the watermelon hangin' on the vine

Oh kissin' is sweet
Huggin' is good
Cherry lips taste mighty, mighty fine
But give me, oh give me
I really wish you would
That watermelon hangin' on the vine

Well I see that watermelon
So thick, so fat, so fine
What a shame to go leavin' it behind

I know my baby's waitin'
She won't be waitin' long
Now that I got that watermelon off the vine

Oh cornbread is sweet
Pork chops are good
Black-eyed peas are mighty, mighty fine
But I ought to tell you
I really think I should
For lickin' good eatin'
Eat a watermelon hangin' on the vine.

When Nature Comes Calling

2010-06-29T14:29:00.007-04:00

Our cat Jackie on the windowsill, transfixed, this morning.

The object of his attention, sitting on the corner of the deck.

My friend Alex, a genius of birds, says he's probably a juvenile red-shouldered hawk.

Whose World?

2010-06-28T15:18:00.006-04:00

Probably you've wondered, given all the chaos and discord, whose world is this? Who is in charge of this mess? Conspiracy theorists assert variously it's the Illuminati, or the Freemasons, or the Bilderberg Group, or the Trilateral Commission.

Even the Godfather of Soul James Brown weighed in on the subject. It's A Man's Man's Man's World, he cried. And really, how often was he wrong, about anything? Gladys Knight begged to differ: "My world, his world, our world, mine and his alone, ooh y'all."

Well, I'm sorry. They're all wrong. Today, faithful readers, I reveal and share with you the truth. The world is Fredda Lee's. I have the evidence to prove it, a Fleetwood Globe Transistor Six radio, with an engraved brass plaque glued to the base.

Fredda Lee

Miss East Point 1963

Talent Presentation

"The World is Mine"

Mentored By

Sunny Young

Now you know.

The Help

2010-06-24T16:02:00.012-04:00

I probably should save this one for Labor Day, but I'm ready to show it now. This is a maid's uniform worn by an employee of the historic Henry Grady Hotel, which was a popular place for travelers to stay in Atlanta. It also served as the home away from home for politicians while the state legislature was in session, so whoever wore this dress patiently served the lower classes as well.

Dress sizes are not something I estimate well, but this is small and was worn by a petite woman or a teenage girl. I bought it as you see it, complete with the pinned paper tag and the little cloth crown that tied with ribbon around her head.

The hotel operated between 1924 and 1972. The paper tag shows the address as Atlanta 1, Georgia. That zone identification was used between 1942 and 1963, when zip codes came into being, so my guess is that it dates to sometime in those years.

Here's to the invisible folks who keep things clean and tidy. And one more thing about those who clean up after you: they know your secrets. Be glad for their discretion, because there's nothing menial in that.

Confession

2010-06-23T14:07:00.004-04:00

I confess. I stole this note from a table of viewers' comments at the exit area of a history museum exhibit. But as Governor Eugene Talmadge once said, "Sure I stole it! But I stole it for you."

Text: Hi. This plece rokes. and it is so prfit for ajcashon.

Translation: Hi. This place rocks. and it is so perfect for education.

To everything...

2010-06-22T17:35:00.003-04:00

...there is a season...

No? Not funny? Okay.

An Unlikely Survivor

2010-06-07T11:22:00.005-04:00

I recently found this slate tablet, which was used by a school child about 100 years ago. The slate surface is slightly recessed from the wooden frame, which enabled the survival of the lightly-drawn plump fellow in his top hat and double-breasted coat. I know that it's safe to handle, because it's clearly labeled "Germ-Proof." The owner's name is written in pencil along one border, maybe Milly or Miller.

Show of Hand

2010-06-03T13:32:00.005-04:00

Felix Bonfils

Albumen Photograph

c. 1875

Museum of Giza, Statue of Wood

About the Power of a Photograph

2010-04-29T10:48:00.008-04:00

This photograph was taken April 29, 1975 - 35 years ago today - by Hubert Van Es, a Dutch photojournalist working for UPI in Saigon, Vietnam. It shows a CIA helicopter evacuating desperate Vietnamese employees of the agency and their families from the roof of an apartment building, often misidentified as the US Embassy, the day before the fall of Saigon.

The image is grainy and cropped, the composition more straightforward than artistic. Surely it was experienced meaningfully by millions, in millions of ways - to paraphrase Walt Whitman, it is large; it contains multitudes.

What I wonder is whether it has resonating power only for those of a certain age, say, over 50 - those who were in some way "there," who supported or opposed, fought, feared, suffered or suffer still from that war, and who knew what that moment captured on film meant. Or whether, like some scene from the Crimean War, its power will fade into wondering what that was all about.

You Can't Take It With....Well, Maybe You Can

2010-04-28T16:21:00.007-04:00

A custom-made, full size coffin from Ghana, by Nii Anum, circa 1995. It's for sale on ebay here.

Sing Robin Sing

2010-04-21T14:59:00.007-04:00

To honor our burgeoning spring and an unknown artist, one of my all-time favorite folk art textiles. This pillowcase is hand-embroidered with a scene of two brown women and a baby, relaxing by a stream bordered with cattails and flowers. Over their heads, two giant blue jays engage as they bend the branches of red-flowering trees. The maker stitched in a lovely poem:

A kind heart are the gardens
A kind thoughts are the roots

A kind words are the blossoms
And a kind deeds are the fruits

Sing Robin Sing

Hems and Hers

2010-04-15T14:31:00.005-04:00

Dance Away Dull Cares

2010-04-14T13:49:00.003-04:00

A Depression-era broadside. "You'll have a good time. You can't keep your feet still. A good time is assured everyone attending. And we don't mean maybe."

This place was on Petersburg Road north of the forks of the Broad and Savannah Rivers. Petersburg, Georgia was inundated and now lies beneath the Strom Thurmond Reservoir on the Georgia - South Carolina border.

What Stands Between

2010-04-13T16:24:00.007-04:00

A very self-sufficient couple lives across the road from my mother, where they garden and put up jars of preserves and raise laying hens. Guinea fowl, with their oddly shaped bodies and polka-dotted feathers, roam the grounds as a pack. After a Sunday lunch a few weeks back, we took our 11-year-old guest, a city girl, over there so she could see the animals. The chickens live in a nice pen that's partly open to the sky and partly sheltered, mostly surrounded by a tall wire fence. Except for one section under the sloped-roof shelter, which has a wall made of the red wood panel you see above. As I stood looking at it, I recognized that the dirt and mud on the wall had curious patterns and prints. Then something slightly sinister emerged from the bucolic scene as I realized that they were the the marks of predators, egg thieves - raccoons standing on their hind legs and pressing their muddy paws against the wall, sniffing the air and looking for weakness. Oh little biddies, sharing an ancient and common fear, hoping the walls will hold against the threat.

Submit Your Own Caption

2010-04-11T10:27:00.003-04:00

There's a story in my family about a similar situation, which involves the word "severed." But as I don't want to embarrass my brother, ~~who shall go nameless,~~ Walter, I won't mention it here.

Very Particulate

2010-04-07T09:27:00.004-04:00

Atlanta has been called a city set in a forest, because of the number of trees here. During the building boom of recent years, NASA reported that we were losing 50 acres of trees per day. Significant efforts have been made by private organizations like Trees Atlanta and to replant and offset those losses. I'm all for it; I love me some trees and shade.

But you'd hardly know about that today, assuming you're a person who breathes. Last Wednesday, the pollen count (particles per cubic meter of air) was 17. Any number over 120 is considered "extremely high." Five days later, the count was 1633. The next day, 2967. Today the count is 5733, just below the all-time record. The primary contributors are birch, oak, pine and sweetgum. I would take a picture for you, but I'm not going out there until I have to.

So I'll just share this great scanning electron photomicrograph of pollen, found on the University of Arizona's School of Engineering website.

The forecast calls for rain tomorrow. Please.

Number of the Beast

2010-04-05T16:00:00.006-04:00

La Tour d'Argent, a restaurant in Paris, has been serving meals for nearly 400 years. Duck is the specialty of the house, and the restaurant raises its own birds. In fact, each of them is assigned a serial number, and a record is maintained of who ate it and when. Diners are given a souvenir postcard showing "The number of your duck," 122,701 in the case of this card. According to the New York Times, the one millionth duck was consumed in 2003. The duck dishes (pour deux personnes) currently are priced at 130 euro, and one comes with souffleed potatoes, but wine is of course extra.

Basket of Colorful Eggs

2010-04-04T18:08:00.004-04:00

"Easter Basket"

Cut Paper Construction.

Another piece from Miss Beverly McDonald

Once Upon a Time. The End.

2010-04-02T15:19:00.006-04:00

I have no idea how I came to own these two pieces of paper, a letter and a postcard. They were found in a box with some other detritus. Together, they constitute the beginning and the end of a story, though one without much in between.

First the somewhat foreboding letter from the University Hospital at the U. of Michigan, dated December 7, 1907:

"Mrs. J. Fred Betz
8 Division Street
Adrian, Mich.

Dear Mrs. Betz, - The doctor informs me today that your baby will be operated next Wednesday morning.

Respectfully,

E. S. Gilmore, Supt."

So, you might wonder, how did that turn out? And you might never know the answer, given the rules of random ephemera. But we have the postcard.

Addressed to Master J. Betz, Jr.
"Think I shall be home on Wed. will telegraph. Be a good boy and clean up lawn. You are going to have company! Love, Mother Got your card."

The postmark date is obscured, but you can see the stamped message "Buy A Liberty Loan Bond." Those were sold in 1917 and 1918. So young Master Betz survived his surgery, and at the age of 10 or 11 was responsible for cleaning up the yard.

There's another part of this story that impresses me, about how the nature of information, and getting it, has changed. Just to see what would turn up, I searched Google and found that Mr. Betz, Sr. was a successful grocer there in Adrian, Michigan. And in 1903 he built a building for his business at the corner of Tecumseh and Frank Streets. Within seconds, I was able to see that building on Google Street View - it's still standing - and know that it now houses Associated Charities of Lenawee County. Mrs. Betz - Minnie Luella - was trained as a teacher. They had four other children. I didn't pursue things any further, and I don't know any of the rest of young Mr. Betz's life.

Waiting, Surrounded by Seashells

2010-04-01T15:22:00.002-04:00

"Waiting for_____________to take me in the Pacific."

2010-03-26T15:20:00.001-04:00

My Museum #2

2010-03-23T15:34:00.005-04:00

Don't you hate it when the Louvre gets it before you do?

Art for a Pretty Day

2010-03-19T16:35:00.003-04:00

Signed Amanda.

Stamped "Made at the Getty Museum" verso

Are You Going to Skip Tomorrow?

2010-03-08T16:28:00.007-05:00

A note found near a playground in the 1980s. It occurs to me that in the age of texting and such, this is an historical artifact.

Are you going to skip tommorow?

No cause we are getting our pictures taken but I am Thursday

Why we already did

I know but I like to get my picture taken. I'll cut ___ tomorrow.

Barry Hannah

2010-03-03T15:58:00.008-05:00

Damn if Barry Hannah didn't go and die last Monday. It would not be easy for me to tell you how much I enjoyed his writing, and for more than 30 years. Once while visiting Oxford, Mississippi I told my hosts I wanted to meet him. They said I could, at a bar, but advised against it, as he might bridle. He came to Atlanta once to give a reading at a university, and that time I did go, and sat and listened but decided not to go up to talk with him afterward. So I never said hello or got into a fight with him. There are eight books by him on my shelves, more than any other author by far.

The New York Times and Vanity Fair both noted his passing with articles.

Here's a part of what Claire Howorth, daughter of the owners of Square Books in Oxford, wrote: "Women, God, lust, race, nature, gay Confederates, good old boys, bad old boys, guns, animals, fishing, fighting, cars, pestilence, surrealism, gritty realism, the future, and the past are tossed together in glorious juxtapositions in Hannah’s writing. Weird, funny, conversational, soulful—it was entirely his own thing, the numerous comparisons to William Faulkner, Flannery O’Connor, and Mark Twain aside."

His stuff wasn't like anybody else's, and what I mean to say is that, as a Southerner and a lover of words, I was proud of him. Try Airships or Ray if you're inclined.

the photo above was taken by Miriam Berkley

I am having a fine time.

2010-03-02T14:28:00.003-05:00

Will.

P.S. Ralph Steadman is teaching me how to write.

My Museum

2010-02-26T16:40:00.008-05:00

Fish Form

Translucent dark blue glass; cast, wheel-cut and polished

1st Century, probably Italy

Believed to be a serving cover that would have been lifted to reveal cooked fish

Corning Museum of Glass, Corning, NY

photo by Mario Carrieri for Olivetti

I tore this picture out of a magazine in 1987.

Possums (We Do Our Part)

2010-02-25T15:38:00.005-05:00

Pictured in this photograph are participants in a parade supporting the National Recovery Administration, circa 1935, during FDR's New Deal. Based on where I got it, in all likelihood it was taken in Griffin, Georgia.

The details of the picture tell an interesting story. The top of an actual tree has been installed in the mule-drawn wagon, and climbing around the branches are at least six live opossums. Just above and to the right of the man at center, there's what looks like the mask of a raccoon, blurred during the exposure. You can see the fellow at right is gently holding the face of the hound that eagerly tracked and treed all these living decorations. The fellow at center is holding a dog calling horn, and just to the right of his head is a lantern. So my guess is that these guys have been up all night, putting together a compelling display on behalf of the West End Cafe, and entertaining people who've been enduring some very tough times.

Ever see anything like it in the Macy's Thanksgiving or Rose Bowl Parades?

I didn't think so.

Possums rock.

Super 'gloo

2010-02-23T16:18:00.007-05:00

I can't get enough of vintage hand-tinted photographs, and recently bought these examples. They're from the Winter Carnival in St. Paul, Minnesota, and the buildings are called Ice Palaces or, in the case of the bottom image, the Ice Court. There was a huge skating rink in front of that semi-circular structure. Each has the date 1938 on the back, but it seems the first one is from 1939, the second from 1937, and the last from '38. They're stamped Arrow Photo Service, Minneapolis, Minn.

Why was it important to color these photos to sell to tourists?

"At night electric lights illuminated these crystal palaces in patterns of changing color." "Their brilliant lighting consumed as much electricity in ten days as a town of 7,000 inhabitants normally required in a year." ("Ice Palaces" by Fred Anderes and Ann Agranoff; Abbeville Press, Inc., New York , 1983.)

There is some wonderful related imagery here.

And just because I'm easily distracted and enjoy vernacular architecture, too, I'm adding this image of more great ice structures, an Inuit village on Baffin Island circa 1865.

Joyful Noise, Again

2010-02-18T12:47:00.003-05:00

I've had a number of homemade folk musical instruments pass through my hands - banjos, guitars, diddly bows, dulcimers, fiddles and more. Makers have incorporated gourds, license plates, sheet metal and old signs, gas cans and other surprising or incongruous materials. But this is all pine wood, and may be the crudest of them all. See how the F-holes were chopped out with a jackknife? The neck, 3 surviving tuning pegs and the body all seem to have been fashioned with the most basic tools. There's a black material like pitch on the front and back of the body. The leather strap and the single string were added long after it was made and used, if my close examination is correct. I'm convinced it was made to be played, and that the maker had made others like it before, because of some details like the grooved top nut and the way the peg ends were split to make a tight fit. Of course the bow is long gone. I can't imagine the sounds it made, but surely it was distinctive.

This one was found in rural north Georgia, not far from Appalachia to the north and not far from the cotton fields of the piedmont to the south. But you never know where, or whether, an object like this has traveled.

Imagine my surprise when I came across the 19th century photograph shown at the bottom.

Valentine's Day, The Prequel

2010-02-15T14:08:00.006-05:00

Mysterious Heart

2010-02-14T10:49:00.005-05:00

The Surrounder

2010-02-05T16:33:00.005-05:00

Wah-ro-nee-sah

The Surrounder

An Ottoe Chief

Hand-colored aquatint after a painting by George Catlin

c. 1842

Petite Fleur

2010-02-04T15:11:00.003-05:00

Eleanor Rosabelle wearing white and green crepe paper dress and hat, representing an Easter lily for the church play.

Fuzzy

2010-02-03T17:25:00.004-05:00

Yeah, everybody loves fuzzy puppies. I love fuzzy pictures, of puppies and children. Some, at least.

Sharp Dressed Man

2010-01-28T09:16:00.010-05:00

Spoke to my friend Jim yesterday, who is looking forward to attending a big awards ceremony this weekend. The Grammys, no less! He bought a tuxedo for the occasion, and I'm sure he'll evolve into Handsomus Maximus before he escorts his wife on the red carpet. I know you ladies can get woozy over men in white T-shirts and jeans when you think of one standing by himself. But when it comes to being a couple, when you see yourself in the picture, too, nothing beats the black and white tuxedo, against which your color, sparkle and splendor are shown to best effect. So it is, and so it should be. That's the way we like it, too.

If I need to prove my point, compare and contrast the images above and below.

The Round Stones

2010-01-26T16:55:00.006-05:00

We found these strange round stones, so we dug them up.

It was hard work.

This is where they were. The Huron River, near Monroeville, Ohio.
Charlie Browning took some pictures.

Snow Balls

2010-01-22T16:21:00.005-05:00

Years ago while driving on a scouting adventure through rural Alabama, this remarkable structure appeared. It was built right on the shoulder of the little two-lane road. I stopped to look more closely, and found that it was abandoned. While taking some photos, I saw a lady sitting on the porch of her home a few hundred yards away. So I strolled over to ask about the stand. She told me that it was the remains of an entrepreneurial effort by a local teenager, with the idea of selling flavored-ice treats. He built it from salvaged lumber and recycled sheets of corrugated tin and painted it himself. All was going well until an inattentive driver swerved to avoid hitting a stopped school bus, crashing into and crushing one side of his business, thus putting an end to his enterprise.

Well, I have a weakness for hand-painted advertisements and folk Americana in general, so I wanted to see at least the paintings preserved. The lady put me in touch with the young man, and I was able to negotiate a purchase. I returned a few weeks later and dismantled the facade and panels on each side, which I still own. Maybe I'll go into business myself someday.

I love the blue clouds and the floating images of his product. That elaborate painted feature on the front left is called a Love Knot. It has appeared on several decorated folk art objects that I've seen over the years.

Stitched Together Leather

2010-01-21T16:29:00.007-05:00

You know, sometimes a group of vaguely related things or images turns up at the same time, more or less, and there you have....well, something - a blog post, at least. These are all somehow related to leather.

First, a collection of ice skates being offered at auction. I've always admired skate blades and fittings.
Then an antique real photo postcard of the interior of a tack and saddle shop. See the big heavy duty stitching machine in front?
And last a digitally printed Pantone leather chair that was exhibited at a trade show but is not yet in production.

Floating World

2010-01-19T11:23:00.005-05:00

Just because I like the image.

And lily pads. And reflections.

Photograph by Claude Vosburg, Ellake, Michigan, 1911.

All Wrong

2010-01-16T11:28:00.002-05:00

His name is Richard, but they call him Dick.

I Am The Egg Man

2010-01-13T16:34:00.005-05:00

More from Miss McDonald. Easter Egg-Man, Cat, A Little Lamb, and House (with two suns and a moon)

Winter Art

2010-01-11T16:53:00.003-05:00

Snow Man
Cut Paper Construction
by Beverly McDonald
1936
from her kindergarten scrapbook

The artist

More Joyful Noise

2010-01-09T16:51:00.008-05:00

Check out this tiny troupe. They're armed with drums, tambourines, triangles, cymbals and more. Try to imagine the aural assault when this crew got things going. And most of the kids look eager and excited.

Attacked by Fashion

2010-01-06T10:50:00.003-05:00

Foxes. Hat Sharks.

The Art and Science of Shoes

2010-01-04T14:44:00.010-05:00

Here we have what appears to be a high school science project. It's signed G. C. Carr, and looks like it dates to between 1920 and 1930. He has cut from wood two profiles of a shoe, which serve as front and back covers for a book. G. C. hand-painted on the front cover a stylish two-tone man's shoe. Bound into it are many illustrated pages with facts about the trade and craft of shoe making and repair. He wraps it all up with a pious thought for the day. I'd give him an A and a reward of merit.

WTH Series #2

2010-01-02T11:27:00.003-05:00

A frozen mammoth prepared for shipment.

Found at the terrific Time Machine by Heather Pringle blog.

The Things

2009-12-31T12:06:00.000-05:00

by Donald Hall

Published in The New Yorker, January 4, 2010 issue

When I walk in my house I see pictures,

bought long ago, framed and hanging

—de Kooning, Arp, Laurencin, Henry Moore—

that I’ve cherished and stared at for years,

yet my eyes keep returning to the masters

of the trivial: a white stone perfectly round,

tiny lead models of baseball players, a cowbell,

a broken great-grandmother’s rocker,

a dead dog’s toy—valueless, unforgettable

detritus that my children will throw away

as I did my mother’s souvenirs of trips

with my dead father, Kodaks of kittens,

and bundles of cards from her mother Kate.

The Radiant Child

2009-12-30T10:33:00.003-05:00

He Likes Them Big

2009-12-29T14:16:00.004-05:00

The Russ Meyer of dahlias. And they're natural.

Recking the Building

2009-12-28T09:47:00.006-05:00

Kevin over at the Candler Arts blog posted a fine drawing by one of the great Southern self-taught artists, Dilmus Hall of Athens, Georgia. It illustrates the Bible story of Samson destroying a huge temple, several thousand Philistines and himself in one great burst of vengeance. Seeing that version made me dig around and find another version of the same subject, titled Sampson Recking the Building. For some reason I remembered the title as "Rocking the Building." I like both. A lot of self-taught artists made variations on a theme, but you rarely get to see them side-by-side. I notice that in Kevin's version, Samson's face is showing, he is much more muscular, and is barefoot. In the one here, his face is hidden and he's wearing dress shoes. The radiant energy of Samson's strength is much the same in both.

Christmas In Black and White

2009-12-23T14:18:00.003-05:00

A few snapshots from Christmas Past.

Christmas Decoration Yard Show

2009-12-21T14:04:00.010-05:00

Since we moved to the neighborhood five years ago, one house just up the street always has a compelling yard display at Christmastime. I always promise myself to get pictures, and finally this year I walked over with camera in hand. It just so happened that Mr. Williams was working on his display when I arrived, and graciously gave his permission to take some pictures. He utilizes nearly all the plants in his yard, whether evergreen or bare, to hang and support the decorative elements. As far as I'm concerned, Christmas yard decorations are an American folk art, and I appreciate the generosity of people who install them for the delight of others. So Merry Christmas from Mr. and Mrs. Williams, who have been doing this at their home for 45 years.

A Private Indulgence

2009-12-18T19:36:00.004-05:00

Happy Birthday, T!!!

Real photo postcard from Luc Sante's "Folk Photography: The American Real-Photo Postcard, 1905-1930." Get your copy!

He's Very Bendy

2009-12-17T17:13:00.004-05:00

Carved folk art pipe, about 4 inches high.

He's wearing a hunter's hat with a sporty feather and holds a flask and cup in his hands. The hat opens to reveal the bowl and control the burn. His feet are missing, and so is the stem.

Considering where the stem emerged, this probably both stimulated and stopped some conversations, depending on one's appreciation for the visuals.

Traveling Art Parlors

2009-12-16T17:39:00.004-05:00

The cabinet card mount is labeled "Milam's Imperial Traveling Art Parlors." That's a pretty grandiose name for a railroad car with a skylight, a painted backdrop and a camera. Milam must have had more than one.

I'm intrigued by the tack holes in the upper corners, showing that the photo was pinned up at least twice.

Evidence (In Memoriam Larry Sultan)

2009-12-14T16:24:00.007-05:00

I was saddened to see the notice of the death of Larry Sultan. He was the co-creator of an exhibition and book titled Evidence back in 1977. I bought the book and was among many who were influenced by it. Occasionally I find a photograph reminiscent of those he and Mike Mandel selected for their project, and I've posted here about it before. My discovery of that book at that time was one of those moments in life that looms even larger in retrospect. Thanks, Larry.

WTH Series

2009-12-13T12:20:00.004-05:00

? ? ? ? ?

1) Christmas card from a die-hard minimalist.

2) Morse Code for Merry Christmas.

3) Curve-mount stereoview used for vision screening tests.

Here's another from the same series. Maybe it was for psychiatric evaluation.

Pearl Harbor: Scraps of Memory

2009-12-07T16:50:00.008-05:00

With today being Pearl Harbor Day in remembrance of the Japanese attack there on December 7, 1941, here are two pieces of selected evidence. One is before the fact; the other immediately following. The first item is interesting because it foreshadows what is to come in an ironic way, and the second confirms the human practice of scavenging physical evidence as memory.

First is a scan of a news item from the Klondike Miner, the newspaper of Skagway, Alaska, published August 4, 1940. It reads, "The Japanese Government objected yesterday to the embargo recently announced by President Roosevelt against exportation of aviation gasoline to countries outside the Western Hemisphere."

Next is an image of a wing salvaged from one of the attacking aircraft that day, with the Rising Sun insignia having been cut away by souvenir keepers.

Fish Lure Effigy

2009-12-04T15:58:00.007-05:00

Folk Art Fish Lure
Purchased from a Black man at a catfish pond.
Central Georgia
c. 1985

This one was among 30 or so homemade lures in his tackle box. The maker utilized carved wood, feathers, the shaft of Bic pens, paint, beads - most anything at hand. Did they catch fish? I don't know, but it caught me.

Ancient Objects, and Beautiful

2009-12-01T11:05:00.006-05:00

If you enjoy ancient art as much as I do, you'll want to see this article and the accompanying slideshow in the New York Times. It concerns art from the Danube Valley of Europe, 5000 to 3500 B. C., predating the accomplishments of Greece, Rome and Egypt. I've borrowed a few of my favorites to show you here.

Expressionists

2009-11-23T15:23:00.006-05:00

Painters for Hire.

~~Meticulous~~ ~~Neat~~ Vigorous Workers.

We wear hats.

Hungry Kitty

2009-11-20T16:17:00.003-05:00

Homemade beanbag toss game

Plywood and paint

c. 1950

Dealing With It

2009-11-16T16:50:00.008-05:00

Months ago I was given a photograph by a fellow who sells them. It was a tattered sample of what he promised was to come, and he knew I'd want to buy. But month after month, he apologized that he hadn't been able to get them from his source, a member of the subject's family. This past weekend, he found out why. His source is in prison. So it may be that this is the only one I'll be getting.

It's a picture of an athlete named Forest Maddox, a professional baseball player who had no left arm. He was known to his teammates and the public as "Wing" or "One-Wing." I doubt that bothered him much. In the late 19-teens and early 1920s, he played for the Atlanta Black Crackers, the Knoxville Giants, the Washington (DC) Braves, and the Birmingham Black Barons. A 1921 article in the Washington Post stated that "As an outfielder he amazes spectators by the dexterity with which he catches a ball with his one gloved hand, tosses it into the air, removes the glove and with lightning-like rapidity snatches the ball again and relays it to the infield." He was a pitcher, too. If you've ever read baseball cards, they specify which side a player bats and throws from. It amuses me a little that, for this one-armed player, his stats profile reads: Bats: Right, Throws: Right.

He later taught at his alma mater, Morehouse College, until his death in 1929 at the age of 31.

2009-11-11T15:15:00.004-05:00

American Cemetery, Normandy, France.

What Goes Up...

2009-11-09T16:41:00.005-05:00

...must be pretty tolerant when it comes down.

I claim no special insight into the behavior of men, though I happen to be one myself. But here's male mathematics: group of guys + a blanket + a dog = airborne Ranger.

Given the same two items, five women, I predict, would not fly the dog.

Once I start down that path, I usually get into trouble. So let's just enjoy the pictures.

Remembrance of Things Past: Someone Else's Life

2009-11-08T09:38:00.000-05:00

This post started out as just a few watermelon images I have, sort of lamenting the end of summer. But melon becomes madeleine today.

Instead, it's about what one of the pictures, above, shows and doesn't show. You see the photo and see an old man, enjoying the heart of half a watermelon and the company of his dog. Simple pleasures in the autumn of life. His name was Juan Fernandez McLean, of Scots-Irish descent despite the given names. The dog's name is Mike.

Here's some of what it doesn't show. (All this comes from a letter he wrote in 1884 to a niece, and some public records.)

At the age of 7:

"On the 4th of February 1846, just a little after sunset, Mama was stricken down very suddenly of a heart disease, and died almost instantly. Thus at an early age we were deprived of a fond, loving Mother, and right at a time when we needed her care and council the most. She was a devoted Christian and faithful Mother and her loss was irreparable. As young as I was, I felt that my best earthly friend was gone, and her place could never be supplied; and while I write this, tears flow in remembrance of her. It was a loss that none can know anything about except those who have been similarly bereaved. I can sympathize and weep with motherless children, and pray God to verify his promises to them. Our Father, it did seem, could not sustain such a shock. His grief was indescribable. It was so sudden and unexpected that he could hardly bear up under it; but his children had claims upon him, and like the noble and faithful father that he was, he tried to comfort and console them, although his own heart seemed to burst from his breast. He took his almost helpless children, and did the very best he could under the circumstances."

His father remarried, badly:

"She was young and tolerably handsome, but very ignorant and wholly incompetent to assume the responsibilities of such a family. I think this marriage was the greatest mistake of his life, and why a man of such prudence and discernment should make such a choice has been a mystery to his children."

It got worse:

"After being married nearly four years, Pa was taken sick, and after an illness of two weeks, he died on the 12th day of October 1850. We were now left in a wretched condition indeed. Our last and only earthly protector and councilor had left us..."

Having survived all that he did, Mr. McLean never lost his sense of humor. This is his description of his stepmother:

"A few month’s previous to sister’s death, an event took place that brought joy to all our hearts. That was no less than the marriage of our stepmother. No one after a long imprisonment, after being liberated from a prison, could have rejoiced more than we did. She married in Sept. 1853 to one David C. Mahaffy, a mean vagabond that no one knew anything about. After her marriage, she moved off three or four miles, taking her own children with her. Her husband lived with her a few months, spent what property she had, and then ran away to parts unknown. He has never been heard from since... She has suffered a great deal since she left the old homestead, but not more perhaps than she justly merited."

Then the bloodiest war in American history broke out. He joined July 8, 1861. He fought as a Confederate infantryman and was severely wounded at the battle of Cold Harbor on June 27, 1862. The doctor's report on his pension application describes the wound: "Ball entered right arm about half way between the elbow and shoulder blade on out side of arm ball ranged upward passing entirely through the arm & coming out inside of arm just below shoulder joint - ball shattered bone and cut muscle the bone never properly united and muscle perished away."

He went home to recuperate for a year, then returned to war, rejoining the fight until he was captured at Spotsylvania on May 12, 1864. Held in a prison camp until September, he was paroled and freed in exchange for Union prisoners. Then he went home. Three of his brothers had died in the war.

"When I reached home, I found many of the people in a destitute condition. Most everything that any of my brothers' families had, had been swept away. We had lost everything except what little land we owned. I took charge of brother Oliver’s children, and on Dec. 29th, I married his widow, and began to make some arrangements to sustain them, which I found exceedingly difficult, and for months we were hard run for the necessaries of life. But by hard work and economy we were, in a year or two, enabled to make something—at least a comfortable living."

There was more illness to come, but he bore it as he had his other tribulations:

"It is unpleasant to be afflicted, but I regret the condition I am in on account of my children, whom I was anxious to give a good education; However, I must not complain—no doubt it is all for the best."

I am sure it would astonish Mr. McLean that a stranger from the future is writing about him and his life, though I'm something less than a complete stranger. My great-grandfather was his neighbor, and had lost his left arm in the Spotsylvania battle on the same day Mr. McLean was captured.

When Mr. McLean died in 1916, the newspaper notice said this:

"Mr. J. F. McLane, of near Woolsey, died Wednesday of paralysis and the funeral exercises were conducted at Woolsey. Mr. McLane was seventy-seven years of age and since we can remember was considered one of the county's best citizens. He served as a member of the Board of Education for many years. He was active in his church and for more than forty years had superintended Sabbath schools in the county. The county and that section has lost one of its best men."

Find the Stray Animal

2009-11-06T14:54:00.000-05:00

The relationships in this family seem clear. She loves her cat. He loves his dog. The boy...eh.

Scissor Work

2009-11-04T15:00:00.000-05:00

This is an example of scherenschnitte, or scissor-cut paper art. I like the stark white on black image. As far as I can tell, it's a fantasy plant, with the creepy fringed projections like carnivorous Venus flytraps, and the thistle-like crown. I assume this is a child's work, since it's a relatively simple. You can see that it was folded vertically before cutting to achieve the symmetry, and there are pinpricks at the base. One little spray on the left side has fallen off and has slipped into the base at lower left.

Scissor work is a really widespread practice, and folks have been at it for centuries. Portrait silhouettes were among the first affordable likenesses, and some of those artists, like August Edouart, are well-known to collectors. Their products were called shades, shadowgraphs and scissortypes.

There was a prolific scissor cut artist from South Carolina named Carew Rice, who depicted Southern scenes.

And the contemporary artist Kara Walker uses large-scale cutouts as her medium. I don't know that she uses scissors, but she cuts a lot more than paper.

Mirror Book for Girls

2009-11-02T16:54:00.000-05:00

I've had an interest in unusual concepts in children's books for a long time. Pop-ups, mechanical, movable images, mix-and-match pages - I like them all. So I decided to share a few here over time. Today I'll start with the Mirror Book for Girls, by Jerome Meyer and illustrated by Elliott Zerner, published in 1949. There's a little reflective disc embedded into the back side of the front cover, and the idea is that the young reader will see herself reflected as various characters. Now, some of them are perfectly weird, like seeing herself as Alice in Wonderland or an Eskimo. Others are something like social gender role engineering - teacher, nurse (with baby), "airplane hostess," movie star. And it all ends up with the ultimate role for the good girl. Unfortunately the little disc is not so bright anymore, and you'll have to project a girl's face in there.

Dem Bones

2009-10-31T12:22:00.000-04:00

Two views inside the Catacombs, Paris, France.

Photography is not permitted. Oops, pardon!

Below, another bonus from hanging around the columbarium.

Can't decide whether to dress as Beavis or Butthead tonight.

Der Panther

2009-10-30T18:11:00.000-04:00

While I'm on this big cat poetry jag, here's one more personal favorite, Der Panther by Rainer Maria Rilke. I looked for and found several pictures to go with this post, but somehow they seem to disrespect the poem. There are a number of fine translations, each having its merits, but I'm going with this one today.

The Panther

In the Jardin des Plantes, Paris

From seeing the bars, his seeing is so exhausted
that it no longer holds anything anymore.
To him the world is bars, a hundred thousand
bars, and behind the bars, nothing.

The lithe swinging of that rhythmical easy stride
which circles down to the tiniest hub
is like a dance of energy around a point
in which a great will stands stunned and numb.

Only at times the curtains of the pupil rise
without a sound . . . then a shape enters,
slips through the tightened silence of the shoulders,
reaches the heart, and dies.

translation by Robert Bly

Tiger Tiger

2009-10-28T16:28:00.000-04:00

Paint by Number, Signed Katreen, 1955. Reminds me of the vivid embroidered jackets that soldiers brought back from Japan and Korea.

THE TYGER (from Songs Of Experience)

By William Blake

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Warning/Warming

2009-10-27T16:25:00.000-04:00

A continuous cold rain all day today brought to mind this unusual make-do textile. It's a blanket made from embroidered armbands sewn together. The armbands were distributed to volunteer members of the U. S. Army Air Force Aircraft Warning Service, citizens who were enlisted to observe the skies for enemy aircraft during World War II. They received training in identifying various aircraft, and there were flash cards and models made as aids. Recognition clubs flourished and were a major social phenomenon of the day. There were competitions and "bees." On the West Coast, NBC had a weekly radio broadcast called "Eyes, Aloft," with Henry Fonda as a principal actor. As many as 750,000 people, the majority of them women, participated

As part of the waste-not, want-not ethos of the time, some enterprising person took advantage of the leftovers to make this warm wool blanket.

1. Human Zoos 2. Bad Information

2009-10-26T16:26:00.000-04:00

The photograph posted here brings up two issues. I guess they should be approached separately.

One, it's evidence of a remarkable practice in modern history, the assembling of human zoos. Explorers and adventurers have long returned home with living human specimens for display, as Columbus did when he took indigenous "Americans" back to Spain in 1493. One of the Medicis, a Cardinal, is supposed to have assembled a collection of people of different races, as well as animals, in the 1600s. But this practice really got into high gear in the late 19th century, with exhibitions of humans in Hamburg, Barcelona, London, Milan, New York and Paris. They were wildly popular. Nubians from Sudan, Inuit (Esquimaux) from Labrador, Samoans - it must have been astonishing for Caucasians to see these strangely different (yet similar) people. The 1889 Parisian World's Fair had over 400 indigenous people as a major attraction. As bizarre as the practice may seem by our standards, I think that these displays must have been truly marvelous, and in keeping with human curiosity. So I don't presume to judge them too harshly for what could be characterized in contemporary sensibility as exploitation. But I doubt that the onlookers learned much truth about the people they were staring at.

The second issue is related to the first, at least in the pictures I've posted here. Recently I read some disagreement about who was pictured in a photograph. One side relied on the caption on the back side of the photograph as proof of who was depicted; the other side's opinion, based on having seen other images of the person, was that the caption was wrong.

So have a look at the photograph here. It was taken at the 1889 Parisian World's Fair. On the back is a pencil inscription identifying the people shown as a "Group of Africans." I think you'll agree that at most two of them may be African. The others appear to be Asian - my guess is from Southeast Asia. Maybe their clothing and accessories are authentic; maybe they're theatrical. Maybe the person labeling the photograph was misinformed or simply careless.

I'd say whatever truth was there to be gleaned from the exhibition or the photograph, you wouldn't find it without first distrusting what you're being told or shown.

Selling Sin

2009-10-20T16:33:00.000-04:00

This is a very scarce book, titled simply Blue Book. It was published in New Orleans around 1912. It is, not to put too fine a point on it, a directory of the prostitutes of that city, who worked in a defined area called the Tenderloin District or Storyville. "This is the boundary in which the women are compelled to live, according to law." The women are categorized by their race - white, colored or octoroon - then listed alphabetically. There are a lot of names. You'll see the page reminding readers that the book may not be mailed. The listings are supplemented by pages advertising restaurants, nightclubs, cigars and booze. Today a copy will cost you several thousand dollars.

I think most of the history of America is written in its advertising.

Graphic And To The Point

2009-10-20T15:18:00.001-04:00

The maker of this homemade sign needed only four words to get his message across and to do the right thing. Not bad.

Tallulah Gorge

2009-10-19T16:46:00.000-04:00

Generous friends gave us the use of their mountain house for the weekend. (Thanks, T & S!) Nearby is the Tallulah Gorge, a spectacular 2-mile long, 1000-feet deep canyon. It is very. far. down. there. One of these pictures was taken through an old lens that distorts the image depending on how it's turned. And yes, the power lines are strung so that they're always a part of the view.

Near one of the overlook areas is a country store which has a wall devoted to a tightwire walk across the gorge by Karl Wallenda, of the Flying Wallendas family, back in 1970. The wall and its ephemeral paper souvenirs of the day are now sort of a neglected, moldy afterthought. (Notice that in the publicity photo of Mr. Wallenda and his balance pole, he's standing on the floor.) He crossed successfully that day. He was 65 years old, and traveled 1200 feet, doing two headstands on the way. 30,000 people watched. I wonder what they were hoping to see. A note at the bottom shows that eventually, he dared the devil once too often.

Missing the Point

2009-10-15T09:26:00.000-04:00

19th century CDV. Somehow I'm more interested in her than him. Here's a little bit about being a "target girl."

Keep Me Warm

2009-10-14T14:05:00.000-04:00

I saw this quilt yesterday and am still visiting the image today. Case Antiques Auctions in Knoxville, TN sold it last year for $2310. Here is their description:

Rare Watauga County, North Carolina quilt. Made by Nancy Lucinda Horton, b.1824 Watauga Co., NC. The Great Divide/Rocky Mountain pattern with appliqué and reverse appliqué with long seams hand sewn with chrome yellow, indigo with lighter blue print, double pink, printed turkey red, indigo with chrome orange print. The quilting pattern consists of feathered cross in center of blocks, corner sunbursts. border has feathered vine with half inch diagonal lines in background.

To Nancy Lucinda Horton, a blue ribbon.

Hard to Fit

2009-10-13T14:39:00.000-04:00

He looked all over to find a shirt that fit.

Make a Joyful Noise

2009-10-12T16:10:00.001-04:00

In descending chronological order, some folks making a joyful noise with a squeezebox. The first is a snapshot from the 50s, then a member of a hosiery convention in the 20s, then a daguerreotype circa 1860.

When I was very young, a traveling salesman of accordions came by our rural home. He persuaded my mother to let my older brother have a go with his contraption, though there was no chance we'd be buying one. My brother squeezed some cacophonous racket out of the thing, and our little terrier Wink threw her head back and howled in harmony.

Bow And Arrow

2009-10-07T10:14:00.000-04:00

I like this figural sign for its folkiness, and the paradox of the grouping of birdhouses around it, stationary homes for their mobile residents. It's near a national park preserving Indian mounds, thus the Bow & Arrow name.

By posting this picture I mean no disrespect to mobile homes. In fact, I resent the belittling of people who live in them.

Falling to Earth

2009-10-05T15:02:00.000-04:00

The first two images show the beautiful abstract patterns of the earth as seen from a plane. The rest of them are from the same group of pictures, only they tell the story of why they were taken. These were all found bound together in a manila folder, along with many others. Some have annotations on the back with the date, September of 1944, and the locations, mostly eastern Europe. Several have grease pen notes on the photo, like the red circle, or "Axis of Attack, 308 degrees." In some you can see the bombs falling toward earth, and then some with the resulting effects on earth or water. The last one is Budapest.

Surviving

2009-10-04T15:15:00.000-04:00

There's something about an object that has survived despite being abused. I knew a collector who wanted things that had been repaired, including wood, ceramic and metal, and the more obvious and expressive the treatment, the better. She called them mends and make-do's. I enjoyed seeing the things she'd found, for the cleverness, the frugality, and the honest results of age they showed. There's a real authenticity to those things.

Occasionally I find photographs that have been repaired, like this one of some men who worked as traveling salesmen of lightning rods. Maybe their on-the-road lifestyle was the reason the picture sustained the damage it did. Anyway, here it is a hundred years later, showing some character.

Nature Morte

2009-10-02T15:19:00.000-04:00

Found this fellow on my deck yesterday, lying on his back.

Now that he's very still, I can marvel at leisure.

Band of Brothers

2009-10-01T16:56:00.000-04:00

Panoramic photograph of a Black fraternal organization. As much as I can determine from reading words appearing in the photograph, these men are members of the Menelik Temple, Doko #1, from Chicago, Illinois. One of the few books on the subject of black fraternal groups refers to one named the Royal Order of Menelik. (Ethiopia had an emperor named Menelik in the late 19th and early 20th century.) There are railroad cars and tents behind them, so they must have been attending a grand assembly. Certainly they dressed up in full regalia for the occasion.

What Goes Around

2009-09-28T19:36:00.000-04:00

A 19th century portrait of a law man, wearing a badge and brandishing a bullwhip.

The photographer's back-stamp shows it was taken in Jacksonville, Florida. It's a CDV, so it dates to around the 1860s or 70s.

The man I bought it from said that it was part of a Black family's scrapbook. He believed there was a powerful story behind a portrait with the eyes scratched out, and saved for posterity. I agreed. Unfortunately, it's a story no one knows.

Later I was trying to see if anything on the badge could be read and, while examining it under high magnification, discovered that in fact the albumen emulsion over his eyes had been eaten away. By insects. They love the egg white protein used in making albumen prints. Usually they can only get at it from an edge. So I think the man's eyes were deliberately scratched out, and then the insects did their work.

I'm not sure about the concept of karma. But I'm pretty sure this cruel man, who chose to be pictured with his whip, has gotten something of what he deserved.

Swept Away

2009-09-27T16:39:00.001-04:00

Good Advice

2009-09-25T17:13:00.000-04:00

The Water Recedes

2009-09-24T15:49:00.000-04:00

But these two were ready, come what may.

I saw a crew hoisting five giant steel rail cars that had been washed off the railroad tracks beside the river.

Among the businesses damaged were two restaurants, Canoe and The Floataway Cafe. You can't make this stuff up.

And I have to share an ad found on Craigslist today, listed under Free Stuff:

I have a nice hornet's nest on my property if anyone is interested in taking it down. It does have hornets in it...If interested call me at 4xx-5xx-1xxx....

Rainy Night in Georgia

2009-09-22T10:08:00.000-04:00

You may have heard that we've been getting a little rain here in Atlanta. As in an historic deluge. I live near the Chattahoochee River, and flood level is 14 feet. Last night it crested at 28.1 feet. So there are hundreds of roads and bridges closed this morning, including the nearby section of I-285, the perimeter highway around the city.

Below is a shot of that expressway, less than a mile from my house, and below that is your correspondent taking advantage of a break in the rain to ride my bike on it, during rush hour.

They say more rain is on the way.

Form, Forge and Furrow

2009-09-17T13:34:00.000-04:00

This is a humble object, and one I greatly admire, because it has form and function. To recognize it reveals me as the farm boy I am. Or once was.

Created by the ancient practice of forging and hammering iron, it was wrought as a tool in the service of an even more ancient practice - agriculture with domesticated ox, buffalo, horse, etc. Most of the time in America, it was mules. If you've plowed a mule, you might recognize it, too. But there probably aren't too many who'll read this who've marched down a furrow behind those noble, essential and cussed animals. (The "crown-less martyr," in one of my favorite phrases, "without pride of ancestry nor hope of posterity." I digress.)

Were you to find yourself in the situation of guiding a plow through soil, there would be an object between you and the hindquarters of the mule, called a single tree. It's a stout wooden bar to which the plow is hitched, then is connected at each end to the collar.

A century ago, some unknown blacksmith took it upon himself to make something special, this sinuous looping snake form, for his single tree. I salute you, unknown sir, because you were an artist, and I treasure this thing you made.

Family Portrait

2009-09-15T15:01:00.000-04:00

Framed group of photo portraits, as found.