Fauni Dell Attends Her First Opening

I know I don't usually blog about my school functions, but I'm going to bend my rules just a bit today.  Today was the opening of our annual school art show, which is a community and school event held at a local historical site, the Heller Homestead.  I've drawn the homestead; my notecards serve as a fundraiser for framing our students' work.  If I can locate a scan of the art, I'll insert it later.

There were several other events going on today; there was a craft show, a flower/plant sale, food, and a Civil War encampment.  I thought that a little goatie girl would be a perfectly fine addition to the hoo-ha, so I bundled her into the S-10, and away we went.

Fauni and a Friend

Miss Fauni Dell was a debutante. Everyone loved her, from the moment we arrived.  Students were happy to hold her, and she climbed on several of them.  One little boy said he just LOVED goats (I know how he feels!).  Several adults shared stories, and spent time stroking her.  Between grass sampling sessions and snuzzles, Miss Fauni Dell sat calmly in my lap and chewed her little baby cud happily, ever the lady. We even found a woman who had a little herd who came from Fauni's parents' herd!  Small world! Cousins!

The local digital press was there.  If we become overnight sensations, I'll update; but if not, all I can say is that today, I "let my freak flag fly" so to speak.  And it made me so happy.

:::::::::::::NEWS FLASH:::::::::::

Fauni Dell Made the News!  Hellertown Patch: Read All
About It!

I'm not a fancy dresser; I don't use makeup, or wear heels, or color my hair.  I don't care if you do...I just don't understand why people do it, so I don't.  My colleagues do.  I'm an island.  I'm OK with that.

I let the guilt go today, and dressed my way, and brought my goat.  I feel whole.  Good day. I'll sleep soundly tonight.

Catching my Breath

With the majority of the holiday hoo-ha behind me, I feel I can finally settle myself by the computer long enough to catch up.  Christmas is full of lessons for me; I learn every year.

One thing I re-learned this year is the importance of making time for family and friends, despite a deep need for solitude.  It's expected, necessary; those planned moments seal our affection for each other, join our widely-spread tribe for a shared meal or cocktail, and maintain the emotional ties that are so vital to our feelings of wholeness as a community of like minded friends.  Though we were fighting off a nagging cold that had us both exhausted, and were committed to help with several nights of Lights in the Woods at the farm (our winter fundraiser), Peter and I managed to spend time with many of our dearest friends during the last week.  Those we haven't seen are either traveling, or too remote to visit on our tight budget.

The Drafts at Lights in the Woods, Flint Hill Farm

Speaking of tight budgets, I'm amazed at the sense of abundance I've been feeling, despite the lower flow of cash.  My freezer and pantry have yielded up a bounty of wholesome meals, thanks to this year's gardening, foraging, and gifts of farm fresh meat and home made concoctions from like minded friends.  Our Solstice locavore dinner, held with Stephanie and Mike and hosted at their larger, tidier home, was a testament to the fecundity of our Pennsylvania farmlands, with a wealth of locavore pot-luck goodies provided by the 20-something guests.  It was a refreshing blend of old friends and new ones, all mingling warmly and hailing the holidays on the longest night of the year; a celebration of readiness. Solstice brings an instinctual hunkering down, a nesting urge, one we painfully ignore in our contemporary artificially lighted lifestyle.  Instead of yielding to the increased desire to eat comfort food, sleep deeply, and semi-hibernate, our industrial culture has sold us a bill of goods that requires us to plod on...with a sour winter temper resulting from our neglected subconscious desires.  Of course, bills must be paid, cows must be milked, children must be taught; but I propose we embrace our desire to simply sleep and be comforted by a warm fire and a hot meal occasionally, and remember that life is actually a rather simple and beautiful thing, with waxing and waning rhythms, like the moon and the seasons.  Why fight it?  Our Solstice dinner was, for me, a symbolic reminder of that idea.

Christmas came, and with it the family gatherings and meals, made a bit more difficult this year by our distance from my daughter.  The core of the celebration has shifted, as it should have, to the home she's made with her fiance and the five children they share, and we older folks are adjusting to the new dynamic.  I'm finding the transition rather beautiful; seeing my daughter blossom into her full adult power is an awesome experience.  She fills me with a quiet pride.  She's strong and beautiful, with a steadiness grown of experience.  She loves calmly and deeply. She couldn't give me a better gift. 

Megan, During Warmer Days

Our drive was long that day, with a trip south to pick up her grandmother, then the longer trip north to see her.  I spent the second leg of the trip, from Granny's apartment in Phoenixville to Megan's house in Forty-Fort, PA (near Wilkes-Barre), stuffed into the coffin-sized extended cab of my little truck like cord wood.  It was good for a laugh, and not nearly as bad as it sounds.  We had the space decked out with a large couch pillow and a sleeping bag, so it was comfortable enough, even if I did have to make the trip with one arm wedged over my head.  I'm beginning to appreciate the potential story-making qualities in difficult situations these days, even as they're occurring.  The inherently amusing silver lining. 

The house was a riot of people, most of them small; there were cats and dogs and new in-laws and food and drinks; too much activity to worry about social amenities.  It was a crazily busy few hours of chaotic merry-making, with kids coming and going, adults sneaking outside for brief moments of quiet and cool air, and much gifting and picture-taking.  It was exhausting fun, and we left with Megan's car, complete with my two grandsons, instead of the truck; they needed a ride to their father's house in Hellertown, which became our next stop in the Christmas-day marathon.

Trevor and Hobie

Love transcends physical discomfort.  It makes you agree to do things that are hard, and like it.  Christmas was one of those days, for all of us, and it was beautiful.

Building a Participatory Culture

Though I don't discuss it often, I do have a professional life; yesterday was one of those "peak" days, so I thought I'd share it with you. I attended the annual Art Education Conference at Kutztown University.  I used to attend them regularly until I became active in PAEA, and had to choose between the one-day Kutztown conference and the three day Pennsylvania Art Education Conference, which was held at various sites throughout the state.  I opted for the latter because of the variety and travel.  There was a time when I loved getting away from home; that change speaks to my improved relationship and life circumstances. 

Kutztown held an experiment on Friday.  Building Participatory Culture is just that: an experiment.



Brainstorming

We began with a fascinating talk by David Darts of NYU; the focus of his presentation was the effects of participatory media on our society as a whole.  By participatory media, I mean web based programs that allow interaction, like Wikipedia, blogs, social networking, etc. Using the aptly named "copyleft" approach allows a dynamic process of growth and regeneration of ideas, very different from the "entertain me" ethos of previous generations.  I particularly appreciated that Dr. Darts showed me that culture still does exist and is growing rapidly; it's just changing forms, as art and culture will do. Being ensconced in my own history and pedagogy, I couldn't see it.  Though my classes have lead me to a hint of those changes via postmodern pedagogical theories, the electronic media connection makes incredible sense in a hands-on way.

And we did do some hands-on learning,though not with electronic media; well, one group did.  I'll return to that later.  Each group of 20 or so was facilitated by a team of educators provided by Kutztown University.  They led the group in brainstorming, discussing, and shaping the experience, though they did not dictate the process.  It was a good model for higher education, and, to some extent, an interesting approach for some K-12 processes, though there was debate about the practicality of this method on younger children whose social skills and studio experiences had yet to be developed. 

A sculpture / installation / experience was to be created, using simple materials provided by the university. We had about 2 hours to work together, which was also interesting, given that there was little group instruction or formal communication.  Ours appropriately resembled a tornado when it was finished; from the flurry of activity in the many directions we took, I felt that was just about right.  But it was good activity, and people took on the roles that were needed.  There were thinkers, and shapers, movers, organizers, and observers.  We fell into our natural places somehow.  I can't say it was entirely comfortable; I experienced moments of angst and annoyance when things I had been working on were changed.  I experienced great waves of excitement and energy. I can only imagine an adolescent experiencing these things, and wonder if they would have the skills to examine those emotions, and stay stable.  Good lessons, all. The end result was satisfying.

A Creative Maelstrom

Some of the other groups' pieces follow:

This Piece Used Traditional Materials And Electronic Media.



This Piece Used Pants as a Metaphor.  They Used a Looping Recording to Illustrate their Point.



An Entire Habitat.  Cool.

Heather's Group Made a Facebook Page...a Truly Participatory Experience!
http://www.facebook.com/search.php?q=Paper+or+Plastic+KU&init=quick&tas=0.7711095026061798#!/pages/Paper-or-Plastic-KU/167192539978364

 I found the experience entirely stimulating and satisfying, and left with a glimpse of the future.  I'm happy to say that art and culture are thriving; art isn't dead, it's just gone viral, and it looks a lot different than it did a decade ago, which is as it should be. Blog on!

Of course, I still enjoyed the rustle of leaves and the blue sky in between them as I left the campus.  It's all good; fuel for the creative fire.

Road Trip: Girls at Play

My good buddy Jill, who's been my friend since the 5th grade, treated me to a wonderful pre-birthday trip to Philadelphia yesterday.  She set it all up: a night at the Embassy Suites and a trip to the Philadelphia Art Museum to see the Renoir exhibit.  Wow...I'm a lucky lady.

The Parkway; Don't ask me about William Penn...

We checked into the motel at about 11, and headed straight over to the museum for the show, which was predictably wonderful.  I was most impressed by Renoir's tenacity.  Despite crippling arthritis, he continued to paint until he died at the age of 78, in 1919.  An amazing feat; the final part of the exhibit was a film clip of Renoir painting at the very end of his life, with his brushes tied to his hands.

Having just had my hand operated on, I understand his pain on a visceral level.  The statement he made rings true; he said that the only time he could forget the pain was when he was painting, so he continued to paint.  He had to choose between walking and painting (he was riddled with arthritis, and both activities took all of his energy).  He chose to paint.  What a guy!

Jill's Favorite: Dancing Girl with Castanets

After a great lunch at the art museum, we returned to the motel to reorient ourselves.  We decided that we'd enjoy hearing some jazz that evening, so we made our reservations at Chris' (15th and Sansom), then took a little walk to Love Park.

Aptly named. Robert Indiana's Love Sculpture in Love Park. Jill wouldn't pose, so I photographed a random happy family.

We stopped at an Irish pub on the way back, where we struck up a conversation with a Canadian man named Michael, and a bartender named Michael.  I suspect there were other Michaels in the bar as well. 
Canadian Michael was in the process of buying dinner for a police officer that he had inadvertently made an offensive gesture at...purely by accident, mind you.  Good old Michael. We didn't stay there long, though the place was otherwise charming. Michael's brother was feeling the love...perhaps a little too much. 

Tir Na Nog Irish pub, complete with Irish bartenders and multiple Michaels.

 Happy hour at the Embassy Suites followed, where we were amused by the crowd.  People watching is such fun!  We eventually made out way to Chris' (by cab),and enjoyed more people watching, along with a sumptuous meal, more wine, and an exceptional band. 

Chris' Jazz Cafe; Jackie Ryan with the Larry McKenna Quartet

How can I sum up the trip?  It was wonderful to spend some time with my good, long time friend.  Her generosity was overwhelming, especially right now; Peter is without work, and waiting for his unemployment to kick in, and this is my last week of summer vacation before I return to teaching.  I've wanted to spend some time with her for years, and we finally had the opportunity. I can't begin to share the millions of laughs or stories we shared; the 42 years of history we share is such  fertile ground for us.  We know each other so well that many things are unspoken.  It was comfortable, this time we shared.  Neither of us has a sister, but I believe we provide that familial closeness for each other.  It's comforting. And it was a long way from the farm, for a welcome dose of culture.

Heaven. A good memory to close the summer.  Thank you, Jill.

Goschenhoppen Part 1: Women's Work

What have we traded for the long days of hard labor required for survival, just a century ago? I've been thinking about that lately; most of us don't spend entire days preparing a meal or putting up seasonal foods anymore.  Most of us don't spend our evening hours or our winter days stitching, sewing, and weaving. Most of us have more lofty things to do.  We have careers, we have places to go, we have movies to watch, social obligations, networking to do...

Alice (on the right), her sister and daughter; more about her (Alice) later.

We don't spend entire days weeks months lifetimes elbow to elbow with our daughters and sisters. We don't know each other as firmly and deeply as we once did. One might argue that the advances made in our industrialized world have freed us from domestic slavery.  One might argue that the drudgery of "womens' work" has been lifted from us, and we've been liberated of that burden. I understand those arguments, having lived a relatively independent and productive life.

That being said, I wonder what understandings were met over the open mouth of a steaming canner. I wonder how many soul-searching conversations occurred when the biscuits were being cut, how many family stories were passed to younger generations along with the apple peels, how many moments of compassion fed our hearts as we were making butter from fresh, raw milk. How much familial intimacy was put aside in favor of a quicker, "easier" life?

I don't know.  I've primarily spent my domestic times alone; those brief interludes accompanied by friends or lovers are the exception, and I've found them to be either heart-warming or annoying, depending upon the grace of the person sharing my space.  But what if it wasn't MY space?  If the kitchen (the heart of the home) was the place where the collective women of the family shared THEIR hearts and hopes, wouldn't it be a place of comfort, rather than drudgery?

Working with flax; that's a smile I see, and a younger woman learning from one with experience.

 How precious each item we created must have been; ours wasn't a throw-away culture when a week went into the creation of a shirt, or a month into a table.  That rough-hewn table was as precious as a Chippendale sideboard to the family that made it and used it daily.  Every bit of cloth was used and reused until it was all used up; every bit of cut wood became something useful: furniture, tools, fuel.  Recycling was the norm, rather than a choice to make.

Now, I understand that life was harder; we toiled under the sun, we died in childbirth, we suffered from medical conditions that are now curable.  Advances were made as our society freed us to do the intellectual work that was necessary to advance in the arts and sciences; but there's always a price to be paid, a trade-off. In my nostalgic moments, I still long for a simpler life; a life of connection and meaning. Of simple, honest hard work.

Every child is precious.

 What price, a large family?  In those days, the children were contributing members of the family as soon as they could walk.  They were taught the skills that held the family together: animal husbandry, food preparation, domestic arts, farming, building.  They were born into a tightly knit group that functioned (ideally) as a cohesive whole, each participating in the well-being of the other.  There were familial norms and expectations, and I'm sure there were times that were less than perfect, but everyone was a part of something (the family) that was vital and alive.  To leave a family must have been a very difficult thing, regardless of the circumstances, in those days. I consider my own flight from home at 18 years old, and what little difference it made in the daily function of my family; I'm sure it would have meant more if I had been milking the cow, canning, gardening and tending the chickens as part of my daily contribution. Perhaps, with all of those responsibilities, a young person might have more of a sense of belonging, more of a sense of "duty", and not desire so much to be "on their own". "On your own" would be difficult, if not impossible, without the technological advances we enjoy. 

Making pockets; ladies' garments didn't have pockets built in.  These were worn under the apron.

I long for a simpler life.  I'll admit it. I could happily live in more humble digs, and occupy my days with constant creation, whether that meant pickling or painting.  At this point in my life, I'm just about calm enough to enjoy the change of the seasons, and the warmth of a fire as much as I enjoyed a trip to New York or a Broadway show a decade ago. I'm sure my concept of earlier times is romantic; I'm sure there were desperate, difficult times.  But from where I sit, the smell of a cooking fire and a freshly baked pie would be wonderful.  The hours spent sewing a quilt, wonderful.  And the deep, healing sleep after a long day of honest work...wonderful.

Goschenhoppen brings me a taste of that, each year.  Goschenhoppen time-travel magic.  More tomorrow; a story of not-so-distant time travel, and a story of the ripples that one small kindness can create over time.

Goschenhoppen 2010

We enjoyed a few hours at the Goschenhoppen Folk Festival today.  For a detailed explanation of the festival's origins and contents, go to this site. It's a yearly event that I thoroughly enjoy, and one that always brings me nostalgic moments; more on that later.

One of our good friends was having a very "punny" day (you know who you are, M.S.!).  The following captions are in his honor (there will be more serious writing tomorrow).  In the meantime, you can find last year's Goschenhoppen blog here.

Horsenhoppen

Sheepenhoppen

Horsenhoppens

Geesenhoppen

All joking aside, this is a great event; historically inviting and educational, enticing and culturally rich.  If you're in the area next year, don't miss it!

Spring Open House

Yesterday, amid the wind and occasional rain, several hundred people made their way to Flint Hill Farm for our annual Spring Open House.

The team was harnessed to the hay wagon for rides around the property; they love to work.  It makes them feel useful. No, REALLY!  You should see how proud they are!

We had absolutely amazing music by various artists associated with "Godfrey Daniels", a non-profit music venue from nearby Bethlehem, PA. They were wonderful. The Bluegrass jam made me feel like I had stepped back in time.

We had arts and crafts...

Sheep shearing (Did you ever see a sheep being sheared?  They act like they're getting a beauty treatment!  Nirvana! Then they don't recognize each other afterward. It's hilarious!)

And bottle-feeding.  Ms. Amy is an awesome goat  maaa-ma. And an awesome person-momma. Just ask her kids (pun intended!)

My neighbors even visited!  Great fun!

Who could beat a day framed by music,

horses, and friends?  The only thing that could make it better would be a little sunshine.  We'll ask for some of that for next Sunday...when we do it all again!  Come join us!  4/25/2010, from 10 AM - 4 PM.

http://www.flinthill-farm.org/.