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July 1, 2008 (Boone, NC)
Here's a brief re-cap of my June activities:

After our van was finally road-worthy again -- and here's a big thank-you to the DeSoto Auto Mall in Arcadia! -- we headed off to Swannanoa, North Carolina and the Asheville East KOA, which has become our "home away from home."  

The first weekend in June, I made my seventh appearance at the Black Mountain Arts & Crafts Festival.  That show is always a delightful one to do, as Black Mountain is one of the prettiest towns we visit ... one of the most quaint, yet forward-thinking towns anywhere.  Greg and I are members of Black Mountain's Old Depot Association, which sponsors the show.  And, of course, Black Mountain is home to Song Of The Wood, our favorite dulcimer shop.  The next weekend, I made my first appearance at the Taste Of Scotland festival in Franklin, North Carolina.

Other highlights of the month included a visit to TRAC (Toe River Arts Council) galleries in Burnsville and Spruce Pine, accompanied by my cousin Norma; a surprise visit from my cousin, Richard, who lives in Hawaii; getting to see my uncle, Charlie; a spur-of-the-moment visit from my brother, Marsden, and his wife,Sheila; a trip to the Pisgah Brewery with our friends Sheryl and Bill Bragwell.  Here's a funny aside about our relationship with the Bragwells: they, like us, live in Florida, but they're way out in Pensacola, many miles and hours away from our Port Charlotte home; in fact, they're in a different time zone!  We actually see more of them outside of Florida, having run into them in North Carolina, Virginia, and West Virginia over the last couple of years.

We left Western Carolina on June 28 to come into the High Country: we're staying in Boone and doing two shows in Banner Elk.  To view photos and read a little bit about this area, check out my archived blogs from June 27 and July 5, 2007. 

July 6, 2008 (Boone, NC)
The laurel pictured at left is what gives Laurel Creek its name.

We've been camped directly on the bank of Laurel Creek, near Boone, NC, for a little over a week.  We came to participate in two fine craft shows in nearby Banner Elk.  Both shows were very nice -- the promoter, Pat Fay, does a fantastic job of organizing a craft show.  As a crafter of jewelry herself, she has obviously applied her years of experience on the "circuit" to put together a show that is highly `appealing to the public and yet tailored to the needs of crafters.  All of our fellow vendors, both weekends, were so cooperative and easy to work with -- very considerate of their neighbors.

It's tough to get up at the crack of dawn, drive to the show site, set up a tent, carry in and then set up your wares -- a few hours of tough physical work precedes a show.  Then, just when your body really craves a few minutes to relax and put your feet up, the "workday" -- the actual show -- begins.  Now you need to completely shift mental gears; you must be "on" -- ready to answer questions, demonstrate your craft, whatever, all with a smile.  

So when you get to a show and find that you're going to be working alongside genuinely nice people, it's a relief.  It means that no one will have their cargo piled up in your space; no one will block the load-in area with a huge trailer; no one will whine about doing a show by him/herself and then interrupt your work flow by asking for a bunch of favors.  And then, as a complete and lovely bonus when you do a Mountaintop Promotions (Pat Fay) show, you are greeted with a big hug, personally shown to your site, and provided with coffee and breakfast goodies.  As physically demanding as the shows, by needs, are, it's easy to start with a good attitude at Pat's shows!  

Of course, our time here hasn't been all work and no play.  Yes, we're usually dead tired at the close of a craft fair day, but in this particular area, the drive to do weekday errands is pretty pleasant, surrounded, as it is, by mountains.  The weather has been mild and comparatively cool (this Florida native has had to sleep under a coverlet some nights!).  And in the evening, we occasionally build a campfire.

I'll leave you with one sorta creepy thought: the stone campfire ring pictured at right is also home to a snake -- we believe, we hope, that he is a harmless watersnake.  Of course, we had no knowledge that we were building a fire on top of someone's home when we built our first campfire!  We didn't really encounter our slithery little neighbor until after several fires.  And we can't figure out how/why he wants to live in a place that obviously gets so hot!  But now we often see him in the mornings, sunning himself on the rocks.  I'm sure he was there all along, every morning, and we just didn't notice him.  He blends in so beautifully with his environment ... but ...     Shiver.  Although he most probably is harmless, as I said before, I can't help but remember the exclamation made by my friend Eleanora Keen, many years ago: "Mebbe thet snake cain't hurtcha, but he c'n sher make ya hurtchaseff!"  

July 8, 2008 (Boone, NC)
Long before I'd ever even imagined doing a craft show in the High Country, I'd come to this area as a sightseer.  The building that houses the Highland House Ski Shop, pictured at left, has delighted me as a landmark for as long as I can remember.  It's at the intersection of Highway 105 and Highway 184; once upon a time this group of buildings was a rather lonely little beacon that signified you'd come to the road leading up to Banner Elk and Beech Mountain.  Now it's one of many buildings in a shopping area called Grandfather Village, in the shadow of Grandfather Mountain.  

Charming as the Highland House Ski Shop is, it's not the most noticeable architectural feature of the immediate area.  I'd have to say that designation belongs to a high-rise condo that is perched atop nearby Sugar Mountain.  That huge, glaring white building is visible for miles -- and while it may offer its occupants a spectacular view, it is a jarring sight to anyone else.  A monument to someone's failure to blend with the environment, it should be a mandatory field trip for every student of architecture -- Just because a thing can be done, doesn't mean it should be done.  Look at what you shouldn't do.  If you're curious about this monstrosity, you can look it up for yourself -- I don't want a picture on my website as a constant reminder that there are people out there who have such disregard for the natural world!

Greg and I went into Banner Elk for errands today, and, on a whim, we checked out the Grandfather Campground.  That's where I managed to get this photo of Grandfather's profile.  I'd almost despaired of being able to get a nice picture of Grandfather Mountain, as it seemed I was never in the right place at the right time.  

Grandfather is the highest peak in the Blue Ridge Mountains, and is certainly one of the most recognizable peaks in the world.  I read recently that there are smooth round stones, like the ones you'd find in a riverbed, near the top of Grandfather.  If they're commonly found at the bottom of a river, how'd those stones get on top of a mountain?  Geologists say that 750 million years ago, these rocks were carried by rivers and deposited in a valley.  A continental collision pushed that valley upward, making it into a mountaintop.  Amazing.

There are so many other fantastic natural features in this world, many (if not most) of them created by similarly cataclysmic events.  I once asked my father, a man of science who was a devout Christian, what his beliefs were with regard to the creation of the world -- there are Christians who flatly deny that anything on Earth can be more than a few thousand years old ... as there are scientists who offer geological evidence as proof that the Bible is false -- what did Daddy believe?  We were standing on the rim of Tallulah Gorge at the time, reading about the forces of nature which produced this deep gash in the Earth's crust anywhere from 250 to 500 million years ago.  Without hesitation, Daddy referred to the second verse of the first chapter of Genesis: "And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep."  No timeline is offered, nor even implied, in this portion of the creation story, Daddy said, so it more or less rendered moot any argument by either side: the passage does not rule out the possibility of seismic events and floods which occurred hundreds of millions of years ago, thus -- in this instance, at least -- there is no conflict between belief in science and belief in the Bible.

Oh.  He sure had a way of explaining tough concepts in a way that even a child could understand!

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July 13, 2008 (Ansonia, CT)
We have just finished the first weekend of the Southern Connecticut Renaissance Festival.  So far, It's been a delight:  well-organized and some of the friendliest and most helpful people we've ever worked with.  We'll be here for two more weekends, and I must say, I'm already looking forward to them!  Here's a little bit of what we saw this weekend: sword fighting, magic, knights on horseback, dancing, and general merriment.  (Click on each thumbnail for an enlargement.)

In a weekend full of nice surprises, one of the nicest was Gene, who arrived at our booth dressed in late-Medieval peasant garb with a pouch full of bones.  Bones -- the musical percussion kind, not the gravedigger kind!  Gene and I played a few tunes together and had a great time.  Also, I finally got to meet some fellow musicians that I've heard of for years: The Harper And The Minstrel (Abby and Jay Michaels) and Thyme Awaye (Geri) who is a MySpace Friend.  

Tomorrow it's off to Massachusetts, just a short ways up the road, to camp in the country, make a trip or two to Collins Tavern, visit with friends ... and rest up for weekend #2 of the Southern Connecticut Renaissance Festival.

July 15, 2008 (Southwick, MA)
I've always felt a sort of "connectedness" to New England.  Ever since my first visit up this way -- a post-high-school-graduation trip to the Cape Cod summer home of my friend Nancy -- I've felt very much at home.  It's sort of odd, really, that I should feel that way, since as far as I know I have absolutely zero family connections to this region of the country.  Maybe it's the sense of history, or the emphasis that New Englanders tend to put on family; maybe I like the architecture -- just yesterday I made a comment on how much I liked the houses that were connected to barns or garages by breezeways, and how they looked like "home" to me.

We're currently staying in that agricultural area of Massachusetts very near the Connecticut state line.  In fact, today's banking errand was to Granby, Connecticut.  And that brings me to another thing that fascinates me about New England: the occasionally odd juxtaposition of old traditions with the ultra-modern.  The Bank Of America is located in a classically New England building resembling a small Colonial style home ... yet the drive-through teller speaks to you via remote camera -- a first for me.  I had to laugh!  To get there, I'd driven along winding lanes; New England, I do believe, defines "winding lanes."  I'd passed farms that were easily a couple of hundred years old.  Granby, itself, was probably incorporated back in the 1700's.  And yet the bank uses 21st Century technology not commonly used in other -- newer -- regions of the United States.

You gotta love that.

July 24, 2008 (Southwick, MA)
Tomorrow begins  the last weekend of the Southern Connecticut Renaissance Festival.  It's been pleasant to be in New England these past couple of weeks: working in Connecticut on the weekends and staying in Massachusetts during the week.  We've had a lot of rain the past few days, but it's helped to lower the temperatures and add a deliciously lazy element to our waking hours.  And who doesn't like falling asleep to the sound of rain falling on the roof at night!  Now hoping that the rains will hold off for the next three days, so that the RenFest has a strong finish.  

I've been reading Janisse Ray's Wild Card Quilt, a book lent to me by my friend Candy.  It's more or less a sequel to Ecology of a Cracker Childhood.  In "Ecology" Janisse writes of her experiences growing up in rural Southern Georgia, and while I grew up in rural Central Florida, I did find that a lot of what she had to say resonated with me.

"Wild Card" tells of her return to her small hometown after a seventeen year absence, and her rediscovery of those things which make small town life so rich.  I definitely can identify with that!  When I was a kid, I could not wait to leave my hometown of Arcadia, which I found impossibly backward and lacking in those things that I thought were a mark of culture and refinement.  These days, when I'm back in Florida, I live about 30 minutes away from Arcadia, and find that I prefer doing business there, over doing business in much larger Port Charlotte.  I like calling the Ford dealership to make an appointment for service on my van, and getting my high school friend Bill Kelly on the phone.  I like taking Maggie, our dog, to Dr. Overcash, the vet who's taken care of generations of Wallis cats and dogs.  When my mom was alive, and still had accounts at First State Bank of Arcadia, I liked calling the bank and getting my cousin Lee Ann on the phone; she never had to ask my mother's maiden name -- she knew it as well as I did!  Yes, it's true that pretty much everybody knows everybody else's business in a small town.  But that's not always such a bad thing -- I see that now, as an adult.

If you are a friend of rural places, or of the environment, or of simpler times you may enjoy reading these books yourself, whether or not you grew up in the Sunny South.

July 28, 2008 (Edinburg, VA)
I'm writing from the road, on the way down to North Carolina for the Mount Mitchell Craft Fair.  We're camped for the night in charming Edinburg, Virginia.  We see so much of America in our travels! -- much more than I ever saw when I was a typical worker who had a typical summer vacation.  I'd never have thought of Edinburg, though I'd sped past it often enough, always on my way to some other destination.

But that can be said of many of the places we've stayed, whether overnight (as in this case) or more long-term.  It can be said of some of the towns that we've visited, however briefly, to take advantage of some service or to buy groceries.  Take this morning, for instance.  Having left Ansonia, Connecticut after the Renaissance Festival, one of the first orders of the day was to empty our holding tanks.  (You RV'ers know all about this task; non-RV'ers don't want to know too much about it.)  Our choices were somewhat limited, but we did find that there was a public park in Montgomery, New York, which seemed suitable.  Turning off of I-84, one of the first sights to greet us was the Goodwill Evangelical Presbyterian Church, of which I managed to get this picture by sticking the camera out of the window and asking Greg to slow down just a bit.  It's a lovely place, don't you think?

I wasn't as lucky in trying to capture some of the town's other sights: the Brick Reformed Church (which, except for the brick, reminded me very much of some late Medieval churches I'd seen in England), several homes and businesses that were located in 19th Century buildings, and the lovely Winding Hills Park.  Hmmm ... make Montgomery another stop on that ever-growing list of places I need to re-visit one of these days.

Some of the day's other sights: windmills atop a windy ridge in an area of Pennsylvania once dominated by the coal industry ... a farmer walking amongst his acres of corn, probably planning the harvest ... a herd of Jersey cows ambling -- almost perfectly single-file! -- along the path leading from their pasture back to the barn.

I briefly interrupted this writing to take Maggie on her evening walk.  We walked all the way into town.  Yes, campgrounds are usually in rural locales.  To get to today's campground we drove through the tiny town of Edinburg, made a turn down a country road, passed open fields, made another turn, then another ... you get the picture.  Way out in the country, right?  I was so enthralled with the picturesque scenery, I did not notice that all the turns were left-hand turns.  So when Maggie and I crossed the quaint one-lane bridge just outside of the campground entrance, then walked a block or so up the road, guess where we were?  All the way back in Edinburg, where we sniffed lavender that grows next to the sidewalk in front of the tea room.  We studied the menu for the upcoming Oddfellows dinner.  We read the historical plaques that adorned many of the houses, revealing that many of these buildings existed pre-Civil War.  Edinburg ... maybe another place for that list ... 

July 29, 2008 (Swannanoa, NC)
"So you're constantly on the road, traveling all over the place," an acquaintance recently remarked.  "Where's the best food?"

That's an interesting question for us, because generally we avoid eating meals at chain establishments, with their generic menus that are pretty much the same all over the US -- or the world.  We prefer instead to patronize local establishments and sample the local culture.  It's not always easy to stay away from the chains, particularly on travel days.  Take today, for example.  Breakfast was coffee and a muffin from Sheetz (a fuel stop/convenience store popular in Virginia and Pennsylvania).  Yesterday, however, we each had coffee and a buttered roll from Renee's Hot Stuff Deli, in Montgomery, New York.  Mmmm ... those buttered rolls.  Doesn't sound like much, 'til you try 'em.  But only in New York!

Where's the best food, you say?  Well, New York does have a lot to offer; they do have the best buttered rolls, hands down, and any New Yorker will sing the praises of New York style pizza.  Fact is, in New York good Italian food is practically a guarantee ... but they don't have the best Cuban food; that distinction belongs to La Teresita, in Tampa, Florida.  Certain areas of New York offer the most amazing Chinese food ... but El Pirata, in Arcadia, Florida, will amaze you with their Mexican food.

We really don't eat out all that much.  We cook "at home" a lot, using as much locally grown and produced food as we can.  (Not too much point in traveling, is there, if everything's got to be the same as it is back home?)  So here are some of our more memorable culinary experiences: a mix of restaurants we've enjoyed, and things we enjoy fixing for ourselves.  The list is in no particular order:

Asheville, NC -- Barley's Taproom (it's not New York style pizza, but it's awfully good) and Wild Wing Cafe (best wings anywhere, and if you go to the weekday buffet, you can try six different flavors)
Burnsville, NC -- Garden Deli (lunch is not just a specialty; it's the only meal they serve, and they only serve it six days a week)
West Springfield, MA -- Collins Tavern (world's best soups, hearty sandwiches, and hand-cut fries) and Memo's Deli (their breakfast is a great start to the day)
Columbiana, OH -- delicious locally-grown produce, especially corn, and a sausage ring sold at Sparkle (the local grocery) that's as good as any you might find anywhere ... even in New York
somewhere near New Waterford, OH -- a little shop that has the best, sharpest cheddar spread and makes yummy pepperoni
Great Lakes Region -- pike, walleye, and perch (I can never get enough fish)
Nashville, TN -- Jack's Bar-B-Q (by all means, visit the honky-tonks, see the legendary Ryman Auditorium, catch the Grand Ol' Opry but DO NOT miss Jack's)
Mount Dora, FL -- Sunshine Mountain Bakery (I keep sampling, thinking that eventually I'll find something there that I don't like -- but it hasn't happened yet!)
just about anywhere in FL -- buy some fresh shrimp, take 'em home and boil 'em up

August 3, 2008 (Swannanoa, NC)
Those of who you have visited our booth at one of the fairs/festivals know that I can usually be found sitting near the front of the booth, playing my heart out on the hammer dulcimer.  The scene at left is a "Marcille's-eye-view" of this weekend's Mount Mitchell Craft Fair (So that you would have a better view, I deliberately took the picture toward the end of the day, when the crowd had thinned out).  If you study the picture even casually, you immediately notice the mountain peak in the distance, and a much closer, tree-lined ridge.  You see a not-so-modern building on the left.  The lens on my camera is not "wide" enough to capture all of the color that I see in the artists' booths.  No matter where we are in the country, every time I look up from my dulcimer, I see a similarly picturesque scene.  That's what I enjoy most about the outdoor fairs -- that and the people.

The Mount Mitchell fair is in Burnsville, North Carolina, a town in and around which we've done a considerable amount of work over the years.  We also belong to the Toe River Arts Council (TRAC) that is based in Burnsville, so our visits to that town are a delightful mix of meeting new people and renewing old acquaintances.  A nice surprise at this year's fair was seeing our doll-making friends, Jose and Claudia Calle, who were making their first appearance -- and one of the sweetest moments was a little girl who came to our booth, clutching her brand-new "Claudia-made" doll: she was so thrilled that her new doll had hair just like her own!  I got to visit with my cousin Sally, and her husband, glass artist Judson Guerard.  And my long-time friend Pete McWhirter, who's such an imaginative potter ... and a budding songwriter, to boot.  There were many other artist friends there -- too many to name here.  But over the years I've managed to acquire a lot of their work: earrings from this one, a toothbrush holder from that one; soy candles from one, lavender sachets from another.  There's obviously little room in our Airstream trailer to collect much!  But if it's art you can use ...

We had a nice visit from my grade school/high school friend Clint Johnson, who's a noted author, and his wife Barb; they now live in North Carolina's High Country.  It's also fun to see the local fair-goers -- who have become friends -- from year to year.  Some of them can't wait to see what's new.  Some of them didn't wait -- they'd purchased A Mighty Fortress at the TRAC gallery!  One man came by and said that In Quiet Joy (a Christmas CD) is one of his family's favorite CDs -- in a collection of several hundred -- and that they love it so much they play it year round!

That kind of stuff means more to us than you can imagine.    

August 4, 2008 (Black Mountain/Swannanoa, NC)
"Use it up; Wear it out; Make it do ... Or do without"  (WWII era -- or earlier? -- slogan)

This was the prevailing philosophy all through my childhood.  I grew up in rural central Florida, where some goods and services were not always easily available, although I suspect that even "city kids" who grew up pre-1970's or 1980's had to apply this thinking to some extent.  Surely none of us could have envisioned the myriad choices that consumers can make today -- or dreamed of a time when it might actually be cheaper to throw something away than have it fixed!

Now, of course, thanks in part to the "Green" movement, things are starting to come full circle.  Though our culture has allowed us -- even encouraged us -- to take pride in having the luxury to toss aside even "gently used" items for something more stylish, nowadays it isn't always so cool to carelessly discard an item that may still have life.  When my watch recently quit keeping time, I initially had the sense of dread that usually precedes "major" shopping trips (yes, there are some of us for whom too many choices is, in fact, a curse).  Then, I remembered -- did memory serve me correctly? -- hadn't I passed by a watch repair store in downtown Black Mountain?

Yes!  Pellom's Time Shop, and the cardboard sign in the window read, simply, "We carry watch batteries."  I pushed open the door of the narrow storefront, and was immediately transported into yesteryear: old wooden display cases and counters filled with clocks of all shapes and sizes and vintages.  Clocks and old cigar boxes piled into this corner, clocks covering the counter, clocks hanging on that wall.  And a little hanging display case that had quite an array of watches.

I handed my useless watch to the quietly smiling, soft-spoken, man behind the counter (who I presume to have been Mr. Pellom, himself) and asked him if he'd be able to tell me whether it could be fixed or if it'd be cheaper to just buy a new one.  "Whether it's more expensive to you dead or alive, in other words?" he quipped.  He disappeared behind a partition at the back of the shop, and I turned my attention to the watches in that hanging display case, should I need to buy a new one.  It was an odd assortment, to be sure, but I saw a couple of timepieces that would serve me nicely.  In practically no time at all, Mr. Pellom returned with my good-as-new watch, having replaced the battery and given its running parts "a bit of oil."  The price for this service?  $3

Couldn't have bought a new watch for anywhere near that low sum.

I was glad, because that watch (a Timex) and I have been through a lot together.  For example, because I can't play guitar while wearing the watch (on the wrist of my strumming hand) I usually remove the watch just prior to a performance.  However, there have been times on stage when I've found myself picking up the guitar, only to discover that -- Yikes! -- I'm still wearing my watch.  I've quickly stripped it off and tossed it aside -- more times than is probably good for it -- and it always "Takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'" just like the old TV ads claimed.

Before I left, and because there was one pretty and unusual watch that had caught my eye, I asked Mr. Pellom about those watches in the hanging display case.  "Oh, they're not for sale," he murmured, and then as an afterthought, "but if their owners don't come to claim 'em pretty soon, they might be."  

"Times are tough;" he said, "folks who've found themselves out of work need to buy food and clothes more than they need to pay for their fixed watches."  Without a trace of bitterness or self-pity, he added, "Don't know how much longer I'll be able to keep this up."  What could I say to that?  He wasn't one to commiserate, so I thanked him and turned toward the door.  My heart leapt a little to see an older couple entering the shop; Pellom's Time Shop was still in business.

Sandwiched as it is between two of Black Mountain's gift boutiques, Pellom's probably does get notice from a fair number of tourists -- after all, that's how I came to know of it.  But modern society has less and less need for the neighborhood "Mr. Fix-It": these days it's truly cheaper to buy a new TV, for example, than to have your old one repaired.  The kid who loved to tinker on cars back in high school can't manage his own auto repair shop, because vehicles these days have fancy -- and costly -- computer systems that only a dealer can afford to maintain.

But as our growing concern for the environment gives more and more power to the phrase "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle," perhaps those who enable us to more fully practice the "Three R's of Environmentalism" will regain their once-critical place in our society.  I'm pulling for you, Mr. Pellom!       

August 10, 2008 (Columbiana, OH)
A funny thing happened in the Shaker Woods this weekend.  My friend Wendy Riley, who as "Sing Along With Wendy" produces children's CDs that have been personalized with the child's name used in the text of the songs, was setting up her booth when she noticed that a bird had nested in the rafters.  What are you gonna do?  So Wendy set up anyway, and all day Saturday a chorus of hungry baby birds sang along, all right; they almost outsang Wendy!

She arrived this morning to find that mother bird had removed babies, nest and all to another locale.  I think I know where the family moved -- to the little birdhouse next to the "Church In The Wildwood," also on the Shaker Woods grounds.  During the church service, every time the preacher raised his voice in making a point, the tiny birds raised their voices too -- a sort of feathered "Amen Corner!"

August 11, 2008 (Lisbon, OH)
Those who enjoyed reading about Blackjack, the Sage of Lock 30 Woodlands (read about Blackjack here), will thrill to learn that ol' Blackjack is alive and well.  We had a reunion, of sorts, this afternoon.

I was a bit concerned because I hadn't seen Blackjack since our arrival on Friday.  But I was told that he'd been under quarantine this past weekend; someone had registered a complaint about his barking.  Hey, buddy, when Blackjack barks, don't think it's just for the sake of barking ... because he knows things you don't know.  He may be "just a dog" in your eyes -- but to some of us, he is the Sage of Lock 30 Woodlands and when he speaks ... well, I think you get my point ...

August 15, 2008 (Lisbon, OH)
We are coming to the end of our all-too-brief stay here at the Lock 30 Woodlands.  Tomorrow we'll do our second weekend at the Shaker Woods Festival and then after the show closes on Sunday, we'll head out to Rhinebeck, New York, for the Dutchess County Fair.  We're really excited about that, since it'll be the first time we've participated in that fair -- and it'll be my first-ever visit to the area.

These weekdays sandwiched in between the two Shaker Woods weekends have been packed with -- peace and quiet.  We've enjoyed the sights and sounds of the wooded area that surrounds us.  We can clearly receive only one TV channel; fortunately it's an NBC affiliate, so we've been able to keep up with the Olympics.  I've done a little reading, worked a couple of crossword puzzles, and played a few games of pinball in the campground clubhouse.  But mostly, it's been a much-needed time of rest.  Click on the thumbnail to see the scene directly behind our camper -- imagine yourself in the cool, lush surroundings -- you'll see why we haven't stopped smiling since we got here!

We've also taken full advantage of the locally-grown produce -- thousands of miles fresher, as the saying goes.  We've had sweet corn-on-the-cob practically every night!  And, the other night, string beans sautéed in olive oil with just a hint of sea salt and oregano -- yummy!

August 24, 2008 (Rhinebeck, NY)
Meet Joesy, who was born this past week at the Dutchess County Fair.  We have just finished an exhausting, but happy and rewarding, week at the fair and soon we'll be resting just like little Joesy here.

The Dutchess County Fair (DCF) was our (Celtic Heritage Productions, Inc.) first time working in New York.  Though the DCF does have its similarities to the larger Florida State Fair and The Big E, both of which I've written about in the past, it does have some uniquely charming aspects which set it apart in my mind.  First, there was the "Miracle Of Life" exhibit: the Dairy Birthing Center.  Expectant cows whose due dates are estimated to be during the fair's run occupy stalls at one end of a huge tent.  There are bleachers that look into the stalls, and if a cow happens to go into labor during the fair's hours of operation, then the crowd gets to witness the entire process.  (Don't get squeamish on me, now; cows aren't concerned about privacy.)  It's quite amusing to watch fairgoers as they watch the still-pregnant cows, hoping to see some sign that one of them is going into labor!  It's also very sweet to see the cows tending to their newborns.  We were, naturally, unable to devote time to waiting for a birth, but we did pass the "center" on the way to and from the campground and our booth, so we did check in on the mommies and babies from time to time.

Another thing that I really liked about the DCF was the strong emphasis on the county's agriculture.  Even many of the food vendors boasted of using fresh and locally-grown produce.  Oh sure, there was plenty of the usual funnel cakes and fried-everything.  But I had a gyro that, apart from a peculiar substitution of creamy dill dressing for the traditional tzatziki sauce, was one of the best I'd ever eaten: crisp and tasty romaine lettuce, juicy tomatoes, and chunks of cucumber bursting with flavor.

Our neighboring crafters included Ed, a caricaturist who drew pictures almost non-stop, and Desto, a native of Ghana who sold beautiful baskets woven of reeds, an art he learned from his grandparents.  There was also tie-dye, hand-crafted soy candles and exquisite photography.  And, in one of the "commercial" buildings, a product I've never, ever seen before: handbags recycled from old truck tires.  They were amazingly stylish and beyond practical and functional; they really make you think twice about what is thrown away ... since there really is no such place as "away."  (A catchy phrase that I have shamelessly borrowed from the Stonyfield Dairy.)

Special attention was given to dogs at this fair.  It was over-the-top, and it was delightful.  Although pets were not allowed on the fairgrounds, every day, as I walked out for lunch, I heard excited woofing and saw lots of happy tail-wagging from the various "working" dogs.  There was a group spreading the word that "Pits are Pets."  Police K-9 units showed off their heroic canine officers.  Frisbee dogs performed for enthusiastic crowds.  And there were the Dock Diving Dogs -- what a hoot they were!  Pictured at right is one of the divers.  Click on the photo to see an enlargement of this photo, and one other photo of a high-flying pooch.

I can't close this blog without mentioning the many new friends that we made at the Dutchess County Fair.  I played some "chunes" with a bodhran player who popped in for a visit ... we shared knowledge and anecdotes with folks who were researching their own "Celtic Heritage" ... perhaps recruited a new dulcimer player or two!  We found people in Dutchess County and surrounding environs to be exceptionally welcoming, friendly and encouraging ... thanks from the bottom of our hearts! ... we'll definitely be back for DCF 2009!

August 25, 2008 (Lickdale, PA)
Here are links to three YouTube videos of our band performing at last December's Christmas With The Celts concert in The Villages.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GAXQbPY7bDc
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EgC8k9UaxOo
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ESzX6Bxtarc

Thanks Candy!  -- our videographer, film editor ... and Matt's mom!

August 27, 2008 (Luray, VA)
Greetings from the Shenandoah Valley!  We're treating ourselves to a week's vacation, in between the Dutchess County Fair, which just finished, and the Yellow Daisy Festival/The Big E, both coming in September.  Today is lazy and rainy, since we're being visited by tropical storm Fay, or what's left of her.  But even the overcast conditions can't spoil the view -- click on the thumbnail at left for the scene that greets us whenever we exit our camper.

Tomorrow (Thursday) we'll visit Luray Caverns; Saturday we'll go into Washington, D.C.

August 28, 2008 (Luray, VA)
Today we visited Luray Caverns, an attraction which has been on my "want-to-do" list for quite some time.  Unsure as to whether I'd be able to get some good quality photos, I purposely set off without my camera.  Turns out, I probably could've gotten some nice shots.  You can read a little about the caverns, and see some professionally-staged photos here: http://www.luraycaverns.com/index.html; however, no picture could do justice to these magnificent natural formations.

Greg and I found ourselves marveling over the forces of nature which produced these caverns, and wondering what it must've been like to be one of the discoverers (in 1878) and first explorers -- imagine the excitement!  There was a smooth-as-glass reflecting pool, so perfectly reflecting the ceiling of the cave that it seemed too perfect to be real.  And besides the walkways, handrails and lights, the only contribution of man is the Great Stalacpipe Organ, which you can read about and hear through this link: http://www.oddmusic.com/gallery/om25450.html  Some of the stalactite "pipes" are located in the actual room in which the instrument itself is located, while some of the pipes are located a bit farther off, so the effect of hearing parts of the tune coming from your immediate surroundings, while other phrases of the tune are coming from a more distant cavern, is quite haunting.  And the selection we heard played?  A Mighty Fortress Is Our God!  How perfect is that?  

August 31, 2008 (Luray, VA)
Today's a day of rest, just as the Good Lord intended.  We're still enjoying all that the Shenandoah Valley and surrounding environs have to offer, but this is, after all, a vacation.  The last couple of days have involved an incredible amount of walking.  Good for you, yes; educational, inspirational, yes; restful ... well, maybe not so much.

Friday, with Maggie Muggins in tow, we ventured onto the Skyline Drive and into the Shenandoah National Park.  It was a very foggy morning and we found our sightseeing somewhat limited.  We still managed to sneak in a "dog friendly" -- and "somewhat-out-of-shape-people friendly" -- trail that led to the remains of a pre-National Park-era farm.  Due to the fog, we missed promised views of Signal Knob and the Shenandoah Valley, but thanks to the fog it was peaceful and still ... so still, in fact, that we had a long staring session with a large buck who, though somewhat startled, did not run from us even though he was fewer than 100 paces away.  Those are the moments you cherish -- even Maggie seemed to realize that it was somewhat magical, as she did not bark or even strain much at her leash.  

See photos of the Dickey Ridge Loop Trail here.

Leaving the remainder of the Skyline Drive for another -- less overcast -- day, we decided to check out the Shenandoah River State Park, which boasts about 5.6 miles of frontage along the south fork of the Shenandoah River.  A great spot for canoeing, picnicking, and tent camping, it also has some neat hiking trails.  Maggie, who likes to wade in cold rivers, got her paws wet; Greg and I decided to stay on the bank!

Saturday, Greg and I left Maggie behind as we ventured into Washington, D.C.  Our original plan was to park at one of the commuter stations along I-66 and ride the Metro into town; then Greg decided that we'd have more flexibility to see more if we just drove in.  OK, it was a Saturday, after all; how crowded could it be?  Well, we did manage to find a great parking spot right by the National Gallery of Art, but the town was packed with tourists -- which is a great thing!  It was wonderful to see so many people enjoying the mall and its attractions.  

Our first stop was the National Archives, my favorite of all the museums in D.C.  We didn't stay long, as there was a very long line waiting to see the ever-changing exhibit -- but again, how could I be disappointed in seeing that there were so many people who wanted to view the important, and sometimes curious, documents that are on display?  We then set out to walk along Pennsylvania Avenue; destination: the White House.  All motor and pedestrian traffic came to a complete standstill, as an important motorcade came through.  I have no idea who may have been in that procession, but it was certainly impressive: a police cruiser leading a line of jet black SUVs followed by an ambulance.  Wow, that was a sobering sight: they need to have an ambulance on hand, because of the possibility of gunplay, I suppose!  The motorcade snaked past barricades and through a gate ... a couple of minutes before they were safely on the White House compound ... then the police started moving the crowd along again.  Ho-hum, just another day in our nation's capitol.  

The remainder of our time was spent looking at buildings and monuments, and looking at people looking at buildings and monuments.  I'm sure we've all seen plenty of pictures of D.C. landmarks, so much so that we can identify many of them on our very first visit to the city.  But I've included a couple of scenes that I found particularly interesting.

See D.C. photos here.

Now back to rest ...

September 1, 2008 (Luray, VA)
Labor Day -- unofficially the last day of summer and officially the last day of our vacation.  Tomorrow we set out for Stone Mountain, Georgia and the Yellow Daisy Festival; from there it's on to The Big E, in Massachusetts.

But today was Girls' Day Out for Maggie and me, and we chose to spend it on the Appalachian Trail.  We entered the Skyline Drive via Thornton Gap, drove south to park at Beahms Gap, and walked a few paces back to the Appalachian Trail (A.T.).  (I realize that few who read this will recognize -- or even care much to know -- the place names, but I just like the sounds of those names!)

First order of business -- whether to head north or south.  We chose north, because it promised to take us to a spring that would become the headwaters of Pass Run, which flows near our campground.  After examining this completely unremarkable body of water for mere seconds, we turned back to the trail and continued north.  We could hear cars as they cruised along Skyline Drive, but after a while, the sound of cars became more and more faint, until we didn't hear them at all.

This is the point at which I became a little spooked.  Though I enjoy backwoods stuff, I don't frequently get to do much of it; I'm not used to it at all.  The A.T.'s "through-hikers" would be hundreds of miles ahead of us by this time of year, and it occurred to me that on a day that was just a little too hot for hiking, we may be all alone on this stretch of trail.

And then I realized:  "Hey, I have protection: I have a chow-chow!"  The chow-chow (Maggie, of course) didn't seem anxious or afraid.  So why should I be?  Actually, now that I reflect back on it, if I'd had a human companion, we'd probably have been talking for much of the way and I would've missed some pretty cool sounds -- like the sound of a hawk's wings beating as it flew overhead.  Man!  I'd be willing to bet that, pound for pound, the hawk moves as much -- or more! -- air as a helicopter!

A lot of the next section of trail was pretty narrow and rocky.  Not steep, but not easy, either.  I had to really watch my footing.  My almost-11-year-old dog, however, nimbly skipped along.  Thanks to an old knee injury, inclines are much easier for me than declines, and I was grateful that the first portion of our hike was mostly uphill -- I was figuring that Maggie would be tired on the return portion, so there'd be less chance of her yanking the leash and making me stumble going downhill.

I'm not sure how far we hiked; it really couldn't have been all that far, but both of us were getting a bit overheated.  So at some point, I stopped and we enjoyed some cool bottled water and a short rest.  I was able, faintly, to hear cars once again, but the sound was coming from well below us.  During our rest, a young couple also heading north came up and briefly spoke to us, the young man even offering water for Maggie.  Then they took a little spur off the trail toward one of the shelters, while we headed back south.  We passed another north-bound couple; the young man offered his hand to Maggie, but she was only briefly interested, as she apparently thought that there was more urgent business down the trail.

Remember how Maggie was going to be so tired on the return portion?  Nah!  At certain times she was going so fast that she made me look as if I were staggering drunk, trying to keep up with her.  But she was very cooperative; when I'd had enough and said, sharply, "Slow down!" she did -- thank goodness!  Remember when I was spooked?  It happened again, in the same section of trail.  I guess maybe there really was something -- big -- just out of sight.  They say that you should be a little noisy when you're hiking in the backcountry, so that bears, who are normally very shy, can hear you coming and avoid you.  Well, if that something "big" was a bear, that bear would have had no trouble hearing us as we approached, me clumping over rocks in my hiking boots, trying to keep up with the dog.  And the loud panting!  ... and Maggie was panting a little bit, too.

We can't wait to do it all again!

Click on the small photo of Maggie looking down the trail to see some select photos from this special girls' trip.

Postscript:  Just when you think, gosh what an exhilarating day!  It doesn't get any better than this!  ... and then it does.  The sky is cloudless tonight, and, far from bright city lights, we can perfectly see the innumerable stars of the summer sky -- we can even see the Milky Way!  It really doesn't get any better than this ... God is good ...

October 1, 2008 (Southwick, MA)
Whew!  It's been a whole month since my last blog.  That blog told the story of a lovely walk in the woods.  Since then, we've walked -- and driven -- "mony a weary mile."  It's been a great month, albeit a hectic, exhausting one!  Now it's time to rest, and to get back to writing, which I dearly enjoy.

So what's been happening?  Well, there was the Yellow Daisy Festival.  It seems so long ago that I don't even have many specific memories to tell you about!  Of course, we loved seeing the folks that we've become accustomed to seeing at that show; to us, they're almost like family members who live some distance away and you see them but rarely, so that each visit is greatly cherished.  Talking about friends whom you just don't see enough -- our camp-mates from the Florida Folk Festival, Cecilia and Whitey, made their first trip to Yellow Daisy.  It's been a little over two years since we last saw them.  We enjoyed their visit to our Stone Mountain campsite; Maggie particularly liked their company.  Though Whitey went back home to Florida, Cecilia worked the festival in a promotional booth -- she ran her legs off -- at least Greg and I can mostly sit during our days there -- have you recovered yet, Cec?

The Monday-Tuesday after the close of Yellow Daisy are always a challenge for Greg, who does almost all of the driving, and this year was no exception.  This year, the challenge began shortly after leaving Stone Mountain: we got off to a great, early start only to discover that it is actually possible to start your trip too early, especially if you're in need of diesel.  We lost almost an hour  driving around an Atlanta neighborhood in search of an open convenience store that sold diesel fuel.  And then when we found a store that promised 24-hour pump access, we had problems with our credit card -- the time of day, combined with our attempt to use the card in a high crime area, sent up a red flag to ever-vigilant Bank Of America.  Who knew that credit cards thieves use the card readers at gas stations to determine whether or not a stolen card is going to be easy to access?  I know -- now.  It's funny -- now.  It wasn't too hilarious at the time.  In all, we lost about an hour of driving time, still managing to escape Metro Atlanta before the morning rush hour, but pretty effectively nullifying our early start.  That frustration aside, the rest of the mad dash up to New England was pretty uneventful.

And then we began setting up our Big E display.  This year we doubled our booth space and the new set-up required a little more care and thought.  At left is the finished product, and we were quite pleased with the looks -- and with the extra space!  You may be able to see that, in addition to my CDs (displayed on the tables) we offered fun Celtic tapestries, made-in-New-Hampshire Celtic t-shirts ... and those round things toward the top of the booth are Michael Vignoles's bodhrans, made in Galway, Ireland.

Some of the funnier things that happened at The Big E involved Maggie Muggins.  We discovered, before the fair had even started, that she is a little afraid of cows.  She seemed awed by the sheer size of them, and avoided eye contact; that is, until one sulky cow "mooed" at her.  I don't speak cow, so I am not altogether sure, but I think the cow was telling Maggie, "I don't like you!"  I have come to understand chow-chow over the years, though, and I am positive that when Maggie began barking and straining at the end of her leash, she was telling that cow, in no uncertain terms, "Well I don't care much for you either!"

Whether it was the size of the cows, or something else about them, that initially intimidated Maggie, I'll never know.  But she absolutely adored the Budweiser Clydesdales, quartered very close to our campsite, which are of course even bigger than cows.  Her little body just went electric every time she caught sight of them.  I'll admit to being electrified, myself, at the sight of those majestic giants as they were led around the deserted fairgrounds on their early morning walkies.  The baby elephant seemed intriguing to Maggie ... the gigantic momma elephant was given all due respect.  There was no barking within earshot of the elephants; I'd have to guess that Maggie's survival instinct told her to keep really, really quiet in order to stay under the elephants' radar!

Jerry Lane, affectionately known as "Uncle Jerry" to friends at home, our band, and now half of West Springfield, Massachusetts, made an appearance the last weekend of the fair.  What a joy it was to have him there!  He was a big help to us, especially during the break-down after the end of the fair, which we accomplished in record time despite the fact that our set-up was larger and more complex than ever before.  We had a couple of relaxing post-fair days: a campfire on Monday night (after leaving the fairgrounds for a campground in Southwick) and a nice dinner out with our friends Melissa and John on Tuesday night.  And today we put Uncle Jerry on a plane bound back to Florida; we miss him already.

There was almost no opportunity for blogging, or for much time on the Internet, while at the fair.  If you're a relatively new reader to this blog, you may be wondering, "So what is this Big E thing all about, anyway?"  Last year, I wrote a little series entitled "17 Reasons I Love The Big E."  If you'd like to read this series, click here.    

October 2, 2008 (Southwick, MA)
Playing at an art show or a state fair is a lot different than playing in a concert.  When I first started playing in concert, I remarked that my years of teaching experience would come in handy: you have to know your audience (your class) you should know in advance what you're going to play (your lesson plan) and you should be able to pick up cues that your audience is responding properly, and be able to adjust accordingly.

I've come to realize that a concert setting is more like giving a lecture at a large university, where due to the sheer size of the class, questions are not taken during the course of the lecture.  Playing at an art show or state fair -- that's more like the public school classroom I'm used to!  All of the above-named skills are still important, but fair-goers (your students) can interrupt at any time to ask clarifying questions, adding a whole new dimension to the mix.  They can come up with some doozies!  But, for the most part, you hear the same questions again and again.  The challenge is to realize that, no matter how many times you may have heard a particular question, this individual has thought of that question for the very first time, and accordingly deserves a thoughtful answer.  Sometimes, when it does seem as if I've answered the same question over and over, I fantasize about making a FAQs poster -- then I stop myself, realizing that, that is precisely the time when you shouldn't make a poster, as your responses to the questions might be a little less civil!

Still, I thought it might be fun, a la David Letterman, to prepare a

Top 10 Questions Asked During The Fair    

#10 Have you recorded any CDs?  Do any of the CDs have music on them?
The first question's a puzzler.  I always wonder if perhaps the questioner hasn't taken notice that we're offering CDs at all.  If, however, they're looking at the CDs while asking the question, I wonder, "Why in the world would I be playing this instrument all day long, if I am just selling a bunch of generic CDs?"

The second question I have come to understand: translated, it means, "I don't want to buy a CD with any singing on it!"  Singing's music, too, isn't it?  I don't really mind too much when I'm asked this question ... except when I'm in the presence of a vocalist who's just sang his/her heart out in one of our concerts.  Sigh ... that's gotta hurt ... 

#9 How do you do that?
This one comes from kids aged about four to eight or nine years old.  It's another puzzler, and I've never been able to come up with a completely satisfactory answer.  I mean, they can see me tapping the strings, so to me it's obvious how the music's being made.  But I've heard the question often enough to realize it's not obvious to the kid who's asking.  Maybe they're too young to understand the concept of a stringed instrument?  So I lamely say, "Well, I'm just gently tapping the strings."  I put special emphasis on the word gently, just in case the next question is, Hey, can I try that?  

#8 Do you take credit cards?
Greg can't help himself when he hears this one; he often says, "Yes, we do, and we also give them back."  This is usually received with a puzzled pause, then a grin.

One time, though, Greg -- prankster that he sometimes is -- went a bit further.  He said, "Yes, we take credit cards, and after we've done a bit of shopping, we return them."  The sweet elderly woman who'd offered her card locked his eyes with a horrified stare as she slowly withdrew her card.  "Oh, ma'am, I'm sorry, I was only kidding!" Greg hastily said.

The woman's eyes twinkled as she broke into a broad smile.  "Gotcha!" she cried.  

#7 How are the notes laid out?
There's no easy answer to this one.  "Notes are laid out diatonically, though the instrument is chromatic," is the truth, but even music scholars, if they're unfamiliar with the dulcimer, can't envision the truth of its simple layout.  I usually show them a scale or two, then hope that they're not going to try to press me into giving them a quick lesson -- though that's happened before.

#6 Where do you live?
Greg often answers this with, "In an Airstream trailer, goin' across the country."  He laughs, then follows up with the answer that they're really seeking, which is "Port Charlotte, Florida."

It's funny how many people seem to think that we operate out of Port Charlotte -- that we return to Port Charlotte after each gig.  Wow!  What an incredible amount of travel that would entail!  Just think of it: since August 1, we would've gone from Burnsville, NC back to Port Charlotte (PC) ... up to Columbiana, OH, then back to PC -- twice ... up to Rhinebeck, NY, then back to PC ... to Stone Mountain, GA and back to PC ... man, I'm getting tired just writing about  it!  We'll be back in PC on November 3 ... and, until then, living in an Airstream trailer, goin' across the country.  

#5 How old is it?  Where did it originate?
The first question may refer to the hammer dulcimer in general, or it may refer to my own instrument.  I have to be really careful in clarifying what the questioner is looking for before answering; can you imagine the confusion if the person had been referring to my own instrument but received the answer, "Oh hundreds, if not thousands, of years old."

For the record, no one really knows for sure when/where the dulcimer originated.  Some say 9th Century Persia ... others Medieval France ... still others think there's archaeological evidence to support the notion that some form of hammered, stringed instrument existed in Old Testament times!  My own instrument was built for me by Sam Rizzetta, in 1993.  (And he built another for me in 2004.)

Greg seems to like this question, too, because he loves to answer, "Oh, it's thousands of years old -- that's the instrument, not the woman!"  Ha, Ha.

#4 How long does it take to learn?
"Minutes to learn, and a lifetime to master," is my stock answer.  Why no one really seems to believe me, I cannot fathom.

#3 Which one is your favorite CD?
This one's a toughie, because it's somewhat akin to asking a mother who's her favorite child.  Like a mother, I love them all, each for a different reason.  Like a mother, the newest one is always just a little more special for a period of time.

But you still want to know, don't you?  I'll consider that for another blog, another day.

#2 What is that thing?
This would seem to be a fairly easy question to answer, and you, of course, already know: "It's a hammer dulcimer."  But you may be surprised to learn that it's the one question that can only be answered if I completely halt my playing.  You see, after all these years I'm not half bad at being able to talk while playing.  But for the life of me, people cannot understand me when I say the word "dulcimer"!  Maybe it's my Southern accent; more likely, it's their complete unfamiliarity with the word.  We've had a sign made up that always hangs in close proximity to where I'm playing so that I can stop playing, point to the sign, and say, "It's a hammer dulcimer."

#1 Where's the bathroom?
Made you laugh, didn't it?  Seriously, this isn't the most frequently asked question; Question #2 has that distinction, hands down.  But we were pretty unprepared for the frequency with which this question is asked of us -- of any vendor in a show, actually.  And we have learned to prepare a simple -- and mercifully quick -- answer for it.  I may not yet have a completely satisfactory answer worked out for Question #9, and I may still have difficulty giving an easy-to-understand answer to Question #7, but by golly, I can give swift and accurate directions to the nearest rest room!

And just in case you're wondering, I do completely halt my playing for this one, as well.  Being able to physically point a person in the correct direction can be critical!

Return to Marcille's Blog

October 4, 2008 (Southwick, MA)
Not long ago, a Michigan friend had written to me about her recent doings -- a combination of actively enjoying autumn's beauty with doing chores which must be completed before the onset of winter.  That's what fall is to her: a period of specific activities tailored to the season.

For a kid who grows up in Florida, fall is merely academic: pretty much just a designation on the calendar.  "Fall" means that school is in full swing; "fall" is the time of year when Hallowe'en and Thanksgiving occur; "fall" happens to mean football season (in Florida, we also have spring football).  When I was growing up, most of my friends were also native Floridians; I can't think of more than a tiny minority of kids who'd been born in a place other than Florida.  If they had been, they'd probably moved to Florida before "fall" had made much of an impression.  When we started getting interested in fashion, we noticed that "fall colors" were rust and gold and orange and brown, though we had no idea why.  I remember being a little confused by the old song "Autumn Leaves," and being unsure as to what crayons to use when coloring pictures designated as autumn scenes.  Most of the trees in our town were palm and pine and oak, and we knew only from books that there were trees that changed colors and actually shed their leaves.

The very first time I experienced "fall" was after I'd already graduated from college and started my teaching career.  A friend (another native Floridian) and I took a long weekend in October to visit the North Georgia mountains.  We could hardly get enough of the cool, crisp air and the riot of color which could made even the most mundane highway into a scenic drive.  I took dozens of pictures and reviewed the photos over and over again, reliving the magic of those few days.  We took another trip the next fall, venturing into North Carolina.  Several years later, I would experience my first New England autumn, and it was more beautiful than I could've expected it would be.

My experience with fall is, however, a week here, a couple of weeks there; I've never been in one place long enough to experience fall's full progression of summer-into-winter.  The photo at left depicts what I'd have considered a "classic" fall scene: a tree ablaze with orange coloring, and a front porch decorated with pumpkins.  The scene at right took me by surprise: only two doors up from the previous house, a single yellow rose makes its last bid for attention before succumbing to the cold of winter.     

October 6, 2008 (Southwick, MA)
"Granville Gorge," the small sign said, and positioned well off the roadway as it was, I might've missed it altogether.  But I was driving a bit under the speed limit, trying to soak up as much scenery as I could during a routine drive to the nearest post office.  I filed the name away in my head, completed my postal errand, and then returned to our campsite, where I promised Maggie Muggins that we would soon take a girls'-day-out adventure to a new attraction.

Today was the day.  The sign directed us to a narrow dirt track leading back to a small parking area.  The first thing we noticed after getting out of the van was a loud "whooshing" sound.  I wasn't sure if it was wind howling through the gorge, or if it might be water cascading over rocks.  We hadn't walked all that far along the path when we had our answer: a fast stream coursed over large boulders.  Trying to figure a way to safely get down to the stream posed a real challenge.  We finally chose a path -- thank goodness I'd purchased that new "no-pull" harness for Maggie!

So it wasn't Maggie who caused me to fall, it was my own stupid fault.  Today was a little misty, and some of the path closer to the stream was over lichen-covered rock -- a slippery combination.  Before I realized what was happening, my feet flew out from under me and I sat down -- hard -- on the sloping path.  My camera went clattering over the rocks, but I hardly cared -- the first thing I needed to do was take a couple of minutes for an inventory of important body parts, making sure that nothing was broken or otherwise rendered non-functioning.  Maggie licked my face, but I think it's just because she was trying to urge me to get moving again (my dog can, at times, be a poster-child for canine hyperactivity disorder).

Satisfied that I'd done nothing more than take a spill -- and happy that I never got around to purchasing that fancy Nikon with the interchangeable lenses -- I got up and we continued our adventure.  The not-so-fancy Nikon Coolpix wasn't damaged, either, as evidenced by the photo in this blog.  The dog and I agreed, the trip and the view were well worth the trouble ...

... but you might not want to ask me about that when I attempt to get out of bed tomorrow morning.

October 8, 2008 (Godeffroy, NY)
Never heard of Godeffroy, you say?  Well me, neither, until today.  We left our beloved Sodom Mountain Campground and our beloved Collins Tavern and our beloved friends in New England this morning, headed for this weekend's Christmas In The Woods Festival in Northern Ohio.  Why push the drive?  So we consulted our camping directory and found this beautiful spot right on the Neversink River.

Neversink River, you say?  The name comes from an Algonquin language phrase meaning "mad river."  Mags and I took a little walk down to the river (she actually waded a little bit along the edge), and though its gentle rapids don't exactly qualify as "wild water," they definitely are "white water."  

October 9, 2008 (on the road, in the Pennsylvania Wilds)
We've officially left the northeast now, still heading on towards Ohio.  There's lots of fall color to admire along stretches of I-84 and I-80, both of which we've traveled this morning, but I've also spent some time reminiscing about the area we just left behind.

If you read this blog on a regular basis, you already know about the spill I took down in Granville Gorge the other day.  (I'm still pretty sore; thanks for wondering.)  Figuring it was best to leave the secluded gorge without taking any more risks, but not ready to end our "girls' day out," Maggie and I turned toward the tiny town of Granville, Massachusetts.  There's truthfully not a whole lot to it: a post office, a school, a library, a church and a store serve its few residents; but, truthfully, what more is needed?  The store, pictured at left, offers many of the same items offered by any modern-day convenience store, PLUS locally-made cheese, fresh-made sandwiches, chili, chicken pot pie, home made mac 'n cheese, fresh-brewed coffee, locally-made preserves and dressings, PLUS it's a nice tourist attraction ... PLUS, as evidenced by the two men photographed conversing, it's a nice place for friends to meet.  Naturally, dogs are not welcome in the store so I visited the store all by myself, doing the tourist thing and purchasing a couple of unique items (OK -- some tomato basil cheddar and a bottle of vine-ripe tomato dressing), also purchasing just enough diesel fuel to get me to a proper (and less expensive) fill-up.  I actually had to be schooled on running the antiquated pump!  Maggie and I explored the rest of town together, and it really was a classic outing: a quiet snapshot of life in rural America.

A few days previously, Greg and I had taken a little "leaf-peeping" drive toward Suffield, Connecticut.  If I tell you that some of the roads we traveled on the way were named "Depot" and "Sheep Pasture" and "Point Grove," does it paint a bygone-days sort of scene in your head?  We drove past tobacco fields and pumpkin fields, maybe an apple orchard or two.  Then, suddenly and incongruously, we found ourselves near a runway approach for Bradley International Airport.  Turning toward Suffield, we saw many 19th-Century mansions, and the overall appearance was one of serenity and gentility -- but I wonder how tranquil it is when jet engines scream overhead?

In the midst of town, facing a long green, is Suffield Academy, which my brief research indicates is one of the leading prep schools in the nation.  The campus is impressive -- the very air seems scholarly -- but I was more impressed with the fact that, on Saturdays, there's a farmers' market on the green.  We took the photo of this gorgeous maple on campus, purchased an eggplant and a loaf of basil-pesto bread on the green, then headed back toward Massachusetts.    

October 16, 2008 (Elkton, near Lisbon, OH)
Need a pumpkin?  They're selling them at this neat little farm stand along Ohio Route 7 between East Fairfield and Columbiana.

Perhaps you noticed that we're in "Elkton, near Lisbon."  I put that in to more correctly pinpoint our location for any Ohioans, or geography buffs, or the merely curious who have a map handy, that may read this blog.  Elkton is the town nearest to where we're camped; it's really little more than a location at a crossroads, though it does have a few houses and a couple of churches, one of which is a very old building made more charming by its want of a coat of paint.  It also has a post office -- yet our mailing address is Lisbon.

I find that somewhat curious.  Far be it from me to criticize local customs -- as a native Floridian, you can bet I've heard the comment "That's not the way we do things back home!" far too often!  But the truth is, I find aspects of the "Ohio Way" confusing.  As I said, we're closest to Elkton but our mailing address is Lisbon; we used to stay at a campground that was closest to Rogers, OH, but the mailing address was New Waterford, OH.  I'm still not even sure where New Waterford is -- at least I've actually been to Lisbon!  Oh, I'm sure there's a very logical explanation -- probably the Elkton and Rogers post offices do not handle rural mail routes?

Yes!  I'm sure that's it!  But what can explain the major, four-lane road that I've crossed and criss-crossed many times in my visits here, but I'm scared to actually take said road because it doesn't appear on any map.  That's right.  I update our atlas yearly, and this road still does not appear on the map!  Well, you shouldn't take a road, anyway, if you don't know where it goes, and there are apparently plenty of people who do know where it goes, because it's a busy road, all right.  So who needs to have it on a map?  (If you found this whole paragraph confusing, welcome to my world.)

Just because a road is shown on an Ohio map, however, does not mean it actually exists -- we learned that one the hard way a few years ago.  We Map-Quested a route, following our directions faithfully, doggedly, right up until the point where we were forced to admit that the road had simply vanished.  That was quite a trick -- getting a 28' travel trailer turned 180 degrees using narrow lanes with steep drop-offs at 5:00am.

Speaking of my use of MapQuest, how about the little trick where you need to know, not only the name of the town which is your intended destination, but its county as well, because there are occasionally two (or more) towns with the same name.  Use a map, you say?  Bingo!  

North Lima -- which, by the way, does not appear in the map index, though it is on the map -- is nowhere near Lima, though it is technically north of Lima.  Same with Baltimore/North Baltimore and Lewisburg/North Lewisburg, though Canton and North Canton are close.

But I hope you realize that I'm only poking a little good-natured fun.  We love Ohio, we love Ohioans, and in many ways I feel right at home here, since there are a good number of Scots-Irish who live here, in the outer fringe of Appalachia ... somewhere.  Find us if you can!  

October 23, 2008 (Kingsland, GA)
We've left Ohio, and are headed toward Mount Dora, Florida.  The past four days have involved a lot of driving and errand-running, though we have been able to squeeze in a little bit of fun-time!

There are plenty of songs written about how monotonous life on the road can be: Jackson Browne's "The Load-Out" and Bob Seger's "Turn the Page" come immediately to mind.  I certainly understand how performers on tour can become jaded, especially the rockers, who often travel at night.  But we do most of our driving during daylight hours, so there's always lots to see.  We go through some visually spectacular countryside, and even on routes that have been trekked over and over, there's always something new to see if you're willing to look.  What I chose to look for this time was the unusual.  But not the visually unusual -- the unusual little-known facts.  I learned some pretty interesting things!  For example:

East Liverpool, Ohio -- perched on cliffs high above the mighty Ohio River, East Liverpool is the birthplace of legendary football coach Lou Holtz.  It's also home to the Museum of Ceramics; at one time known as "The Pottery Capital of the World," East Liverpool produced more than half of the United States' annual ceramic output.  If you own crockery dating back to the late nineteenth century or the first half of the twentieth, it's a safe bet it was made in East Liverpool ... 

Washington, Pennsylvania is the home of Pony Baseball and houses a Trolley Museum ...

Fayetteville, West Virginia is one of America's "Coolest Small Towns" ...

Wytheville, Virginia is often called the "Crossroads of the Blue Ridge" ...

Bristol, Tennessee is not only the birthplace of Tennessee Ernie Ford, but in fact, Congress has recognized it as the Birthplace of Country Music.  In the summer of 1927, the Victor Talking Machine Company began a location project to record traditional folk music of the Southern Highlands.  Among the musicians answering the call were A.P. Carter, his wife Sara, and his very-pregnant sister-in-law Maybelle, of Maces Spring, Virginia.  Their first recording, "Bury Me Beneath the Willow," was made on July 31, 1927, in Bristol, and they went on to gain fame (if not fortune) as The Carter Family.

We stopped in Swannanoa, North Carolina for a couple of nights.  In our little family, Maggie Muggins is known as the Queen of Swannanoa, so this is the place where we wanted to spend just a little extra time.  The weather was getting very cool, if not downright cold, and Maggie demanded many walks, to explore and examine all of her favorite haunts at the KOA.  Click on the picture of Greg and Maggie, above, to see a collection of photos from our brief stay in Swannanoa, as well as several photos depicting autumn scenes in other locales.      

November 3, 2008 (on I-75, headed for Port Charlotte, FL)
We actually arrived in Florida over a week ago, on October 24.  But there's been precious little Internet time, and I got a little lazy about blogging, since I wouldn't be able to publish any new posts.  You buying that excuse?  No?  Me, neither, and I'm the one who made it!

The ride coming back into Florida was nice.  Coming in on I-95, you cross the state line and not too long after that, you're into Jacksonville.  Never more that 15 miles or so from the Atlantic Ocean, you see all sorts of billboards advertising the various beaches and their attractions.  You also pass near St. Augustine, which is the nation's oldest city, despite what your high school American History textbook might've implied.  Our route took us as far as Ormond Beach, just north of famed Daytona.

At that point we cut away from the coast, toward the interior of the state and the Ocala National Forest.  It's one of my favorite areas of Florida, part of what I consider "The Real Florida."  There are towns, like tiny Barberville, with its "outpost" sort of feel ...  Astor, situated on the St. Johns River, with its many fish camps ... Paisley and Altoona and Umatilla.  And trees, lots and lots of trees, taking root in good ol' Florida sand.  The only soil we have in this state comes from 25 pound bags sold at the local tree and garden center!

Our first stop was Mount Dora, for the annual Craft Fair.  Next stop was The Villages and its annual Craft Festival.  We had almost perfect weather both weekends; just a touch of a rainstorm yesterday in The Villages.  Even the afternoon's brief bad weather made me feel at home, with the ominous dark clouds that suddenly appeared in the sky to the north of us, followed by gusty wind and rain that blew in practically sideways from the east ... and then, mere minutes later, a beautifully blue sky with puffy white clouds.  Just like I remembered it.

Here's a photo of Lake Sumter Landing, one of the common areas of The Villages, where the Craft Festival was located.  For those of you who are sitting, house-bound, in the cold northern parts of our country (or perhaps abroad?), it probably looks like Paradise.  Indeed, despite the nation's slumping economy, The Villages is still growing by leaps and bounds, as more and more people succumb to the allure of being able to play golf 365 days a year!

Of course, you can always play dulcimer 365 days a year.  You dulcimer players who are tired of freezing winters may be interested to learn that there's quite an active dulcimer community in Central Florida.  Many of them checked in with us during our appearances in Mount Dora and The Villages; some new connections were made, and there was one particularly delightful moment, during a visit from Villages dulcimer enthusiasts Jean and Rich, when a vacationing dulcimer player stopped by our booth in search of people to play with during his time in Florida!  He found them right there!  (If you want to find them, too, drop me an e-mail ...)

That's another favorite aspect of our travels -- helping people get connected to the dulcimer and helping dulcimer players connect to each other -- but I confess, it'll be good to get home for a while ...

November 16, 2008 (Dunedin, FL)
It's a football morning here in Dunedin.  The gentlemen pictured have assembled for today's game, viewable via satellite feed at Flanagan's Irish Pub.  

Wait, did I say morning?  Don't Sunday NFL games usually start after noon?  Yes, it's morning, and today's match features Hamilton Academical Football Club vs. The Celtic Football Club.  It's not the NFL, my friends, it's soccer, and Flanagan's is home to the Tampa Bay Glasgow Celtic Supporters Club.  Supporters of the Glasgow Celtics are a loyal lot, with clubs all over the world.  Loyal, indeed, as more than once I've known of these fellows to gather as early as 6am to watch their beloved Celtic Football club.

That's Dunedin for you.  Dùn Èideann, Gaelic for Edinburgh ... its sister city is Stirling, Scotland.  Scots pride is fierce; why, even the middle school has a pipe and drum marching band!  The questions most commonly asked of Greg and me pertain to our personal claims to Celtic heritage: "Are you Scottish?  Are you Irish -- what county are your people from?"

Don Pigeon (vocalist/multi-instrumentalist for Marcille Wallis & Friends) joined me for a few hours on Saturday; it's been far too many months since we last played together, and we had a wonderful time!  Don, too, was quizzed a few times about his own Celtic lineage.  (He passed -- he's the Real Deal.)

Dunedin is one of the most charming towns you'd ever visit.  It's bisected by the Pinellas Trail, a sort of linear park running almost the entire length of Pinellas County along the route of the old Orange Belt Railway.  The bike-friendly, pedestrian-friendly Trail brings many people to the quaint downtown, which is a model of revitalization effort, a curious and delightful stew of Scottish history/culture, artsy-funky, old Florida, hip and trendy.  And Dunedin loves its dogs!  If Dunedin were a deed-restricted community, the chief requirement would be to have a dog in residence.  We saw hundreds of dogs this weekend, from giant Irish Wolfhounds to tiny Chihuahuas.  Dunedin is close to two dog tracks, so there are a fair number of rescued retired racing Greyhounds.  There are Poodles and Boxers and Pomeranians ... and dogs aplenty of Uncertain Parentage.  The dogs may have been wildly different as to color and size and pedigree, but one trait that they had in common was the devotion of their owners.  As dog lovers ourselves, Greg and I find this one of the best aspects of our visits to Dunedin!

Saturday, after the show closed for the day, we made our ritual visit to Eddie's, for their Saturday night special all-you-can-eat snow crab feast.  Our friends and fellow vendors, Lee and Sid Klein, joined us.  Lee was the only sensible one of the bunch, as she opted for a regular meal; Sid, Greg and I gleefully (and greedily) went for the crab.  We laughed and ate ... told stories and ate ... and ate and ate.  It was great fun, but it's probably a good thing that we do this only once a year!  I cannot even imagine how many pounds of crab we must've devoured.

Unbelievably, today when choosing a quick lunch from Chef John's -- my choice?  Lobster and crab bisque.

(Glasgow won, by the way, 2 to 1.)                

November 25, 2008 (Port Charlotte, FL)
We're getting ready for Thanksgiving.  We've decided to spend it at home, preparing our own -- mostly traditional -- dinner.  There'll be turkey and dressing, of course, but no cranberry sauce nor pumpkin pie, since neither of us ever acquired a taste for either one.  Gasp!

Last weekend we participated in the Sarasota Medieval Fair.  Greg and I were joined by Don Pigeon and his wife, Carol, and the four of us "suffered" Saturday morning's unseasonable cold, and the entire weekend's dust and dirt, with laughs and smiles.  Don and I got to play lots of good music, tuning up for our December concert season.  And we saw the usual suspects that are attracted to Medieval/Renaissance Fairs: belly dancers, princes and paupers ... even a troll ... all laughing and smiling.

Our immediate neighbor was very interesting!  A veteran of many reenactment encampments, she actually lived in her tent for the two weekends -- and the week in between -- of the Medieval Fair.  She'd brought her potter's wheel to demonstrate her art, and was set up for that in the front of her 10X20 tent, while her cot and other living accommodations were neatly set up at the back.  I expressed concern that she'd had a little bit of rough weather to contend with, but she assured me that, with a feather bed, two down comforters, and a period quilt, she'd been quite cozy.  I admire her.  Though I don't want to get highly involved with reenactments, I must admit that there is a certain appeal to immersing one's self in an historical period while shunning modern trappings like cell phones and computers.  I wonder if I'd actually be able to relax and have fun ... or would I be worrying constantly about missed phone calls?

Speaking of phone calls, we've had more than a few today: the first article announcing the upcoming Christmas With The Celts season appeared today in one of the local newspapers, and people began calling to buy tickets -- one gentleman called before I was even out of bed for the morning!  Though I might've initially been a little "foggy," I was very happy to talk to him!  (Thank goodness my brief immersion in the 11th Century was over Sunday!) 

November 26, 2008 (Port Charlotte, FL)
With Thanksgiving only a few hours away, we have plenty for which to be thankful this season!  Phone calls continue to come in: ticket orders for Christmas With The Celts concerts that are almost a month away.  The Toe River Arts Council, a North-Carolina-based organization of which we are members, just placed a big CD order: they sell our CDs in their two galleries, and several of the titles were completely sold out, or stock was perilously low.  Sales of digital downloads, through companies like iTunes and Rhapsody, are up almost 40%.  

And Divine Providence seems to have had a hand in a dicey situation we very recently faced.  Due to booking difficulties, one of the bands that was scheduled to perform at the Caloosahatchee Celtic Festival had to cancel their appearance.  With barely two months until the festival, finding a replacement "headliner" seemed a daunting task -- yet both Greg and I were strangely calm; we decided that we would enjoy our weekend at the Sarasota Medieval Fair, and begin worrying about Caloosahatchee on Monday.

Lo and behold, on Monday morning -- before we'd even had a chance to begin worrying -- we received a phone call from a promoter representing the Scottish band Albannach.  You see where this is going, don't you? ... the band had an open weekend in their schedule -- would we be able to book them? ... and a few phone calls and e-mails later, I'm pleased to announce that Albannach will be bringing their unique and exciting form of Celtic music to Southwest Florida!  Click on the photo to go to their website and learn a little about them; click here to see a YouTube video of them live -- you won't be able to sit still!

As I reflect on all that's happened over the last year or so, I find the timing of this mini-crisis and its swift solution to be very significant.  God's been very good to us, and this episode is a strong reminder that, as long as we are following the path that He's laid out for us, He's going to light the way.  The rollercoaster that is the current global economy is a scary ride, and our brief troubles in booking a festival pale in comparison to the troubles faced by persons who are losing their jobs or the very roofs over their heads, yet the lesson gives me a real peace about what may lay ahead.  I'm thankful for that peace ... thankful for the gift of music ... thankful for people who love music and who support musicians ... thankful for the legions of friends we've made over the years ... thankful for the talented people who are part of Marcille Wallis & Friends ... thankful for family and for friends who've become like family ...

God bless each and every one of you this Thanksgiving, and always.

November 28, 2008 (Port Charlotte, FL)
I'm still going through magazines and catalogs that accumulated here at home while we were on the road for so many months!  Today, I was looking at an issue of the official AAA magazine, and ran across an article about Florida's beaches.  I began to reminisce about some of my favorite coastal haunts and thought of Mayport, and Singleton's Seafood Shack -- whoa!  Did I really forget to include Singleton's on my list of favorite places to eat?  (See July 29 entry.)

Let me correct that oversight right now.  Singleton's is not just a favorite; it is the favorite seafood place.  We first heard of it several years ago, when playing at an art fair in Ponte Vedra Beach, near Jacksonville.  My high school friend Jay, an officer in the U.S. Navy, had discovered Singleton's while stationed at the huge base in Mayport, also near Jacksonville.  Jay suggested that we'd love the seafood, and revel in the down-to-earth atmosphere: "It's easy to find," he said with a grin, "just follow A1A north to Mayport, then look for the dumpster with all the cats."

After the art show closed for the day, Greg and I headed north ... away from ritzy Ponte Vedra and its golf courses ... past Jacksonville Beach, Neptune Beach, and Atlantic Beach, with their surf shops and souvenir stands ... pointed toward the Naval station, passing pawn shops and strip clubs along the way ... finally ending in the sleepy little village of Mayport, an area that, like nearby St. Augustine, had settlers well before the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock.  Mayport's sort of the end of the road; the only way to travel north out of town is via the ferry which crosses the St. John's River.  That's probably helped to keep it a quiet place -- that and the fact that it seems mostly to be populated by folks whose families have been involved in the fishing industry for generations -- though one of the big casino cruise ships docks there, and its directors would like to see more nearby attractions.

Singleton's itself was attraction enough for me.  With its creaking, listing floor and oddly mismatched furnishings (including hard benches!), it probably doesn't appeal to the "fern bar" crowd, but it certainly has developed a loyal clientele.  That evening, our fellow diners included uniformed Navy personnel, a few families, several couples and groups of friends, the obligatory grizzled old fisherman just off the boat for the day.  The hardier among them were out on the deck, enjoying the "million dollar view" of the St. John's River.  Since we'd been out-of-doors all day long on that somewhat blustery day, we elected to sit at the bar.

Just studying the menu was a delight!  All of the predictable offerings were there: the shrimp, oysters, and grouper.  But overhead there was a chalkboard with selections that vary from day to day, depending on what's come in on that day's catch.  On that particular evening, I chose sheephead, a local fish.  In subsequent visits, I've decided not to decide, and have chosen a combo.  Shrimp's probably the most popular item, and why shouldn't it be, since the local waters boast some of the finest, sweetest shrimp to be found anywhere in the world?

Another popular item is the Minorcan Clam Chowder -- Minorcan, you say?  Yeah, adding to the endless squabbles over whether Manhattan or New England clam chowder is best, there's a third, much less known contender: cousin to Manhattan chowder because of its tomato base, Minorcan Clam Chowder has the potent, and not widely-available, datil pepper for its signature ingredient.  What a kick!

If you ever find yourself in the Jacksonville area, I highly recommend a visit to Singleton's.  Jacksonville is not an easy city to navigate, so don't think that you'll be able to pop over to Mayport for a quick lunch as you're traveling down I-95.  But if you're staying in the area, or if you're aimlessly and leisurely traveling and can afford a detour of a few hours, you can treat yourself to not only a great regional meal, but to a little slice of "old Florida."  

November 30, 2008 (Belleair Beach, FL)
We're sitting here, in a beachfront condo, watching the Gulf Of Mexico do its best imitation of the Atlantic Ocean.  The normally placid Gulf is pounding the beach with 4-6 foot waves, and there are white caps and swells visible all the way out to the cloud-blanketed horizon.  We started the day in Tarpon Springs, for the Downtown Craft Fair, but 40mph winds and a Tornado Watch lasting until early evening made us -- and a whole lot of other vendors -- re-think those plans.

Too bad, because not only did we have a good day at the Fair yesterday -- yesterday's weather was beautiful -- but today I'd planned to take a photo of the St. Nicholas Greek Orthodox Cathedral, and regale you with memories of Tarpon Springs, another one of those real places that I enjoy so much.  Well, I can still write about Tarpon Springs, even if I can't supply you with a visual.  Let me take you there ...

US-Alternate-19 is a road that sort of begins somewhere around Seminole or Largo, but it's not until, headed north, the road approaches Clearwater that it gets really interesting.  Seminole and Largo are sprawling, commercial, you-could-be-almost-anywhere sorts of places.  Parts of Clearwater are definitely that way, too, but cross Largo's West Bay Drive, when Alternate-19 is called Fort Harrison Avenue, and in short order you will see Ted's Luncheonette, where scenes in the movie "Pulp Fiction" were filmed.  Farther on up the road you'll pass the Fort Harrison Hotel (formerly known as the Jack Tar Harrison Hotel), where Keith Richards was staying the night that the opening riff of "I Can't Get No Satisfaction" came to him in a dream.  You'll pass Peace Memorial Presbyterian, the Albanian Islamic Cultural Center, and the "worldwide spiritual headquarters" of the Church Of Scientology, all located within the same linear mile along Fort Harrison.

After Fort Harrison Avenue becomes Edgewater Drive, Alternate-19 is bounded on the west by Clearwater Bay and St. Joseph Sound.  There you'll have a nice view of Caladesi Island, which is often proclaimed one of America's Most Beautiful Beaches.  Now the road begins to change names every few miles or so; I won't bother trying to keep up with those changes.  You'll pass through, or very near, Dunedin ... Ozona ... Palm Harbor ... and, eventually, Tarpon Springs.  Tarpon Springs may have had its beginning as a winter refuge, but it's the sponge industry and the Greek community that define Tarpon Springs.  I first visited Tarpon as a child, and I wondered at the number of people speaking in a language that was unfamiliar to me.  A person who speaks only Greek can get by quite nicely there, and if I have my facts correct, Tarpon Springs has the highest percentage of persons of Greek ancestry in the U.S.

As a child, I was also impressed by the food; as an adult, I still am!  My Greek vocabulary is limited to a very few words, almost all of which are related to delicious food: Mousaká, Dolmádes, and Spanakópita are among my very favorite dishes, and I am sure to pronounce their names as accurately as I can.

Another thing that left a long-lasting impression on me was watching parts of the Epiphany celebration on Tampa-based TV stations.  Epiphany, for those who are unfamiliar with this feast day, is January 6, a day which celebrates the revelation that Jesus Christ is God in human form.  Different traditions mark different events as the epiphanion: for some, it's Christ's birth (hence, the celebration of Christmas on January 6) ... others say it's the visit from the Magi ... in Greek Orthodoxy, it's Christ's baptism in the River Jordan.  In Tarpon Springs, it's a much-revered tradition to invite young men to dive for the cross in Spring Bayou: the ritual begins with a service at the church; afterward a procession makes its way to the bayou; the archbishop blesses the water and offers prayers for the safety of those involved in the seafaring industries; he then tosses the cross into the bayou and the young men immediately dive in after it.  For those few seconds, the water churns in a (hopefully) bloodless feeding frenzy, as the young men scramble for the cross.  The one who retrieves it is cheered, then carried back to the church where a short service is held to bless him in the coming year.

Then the celebration begins in earnest.  Music and dancing ... lots of souvlaki, retsina and ouzo ... long into the night.  I usually shy away from traffic jams and throngs of people, but the one and only year that I celebrated Epiphany, Tarpon Springs style, was absolutely unforgettable.  Gosh, I'm hankering to go again in 2009 ...

Opa!    

December 11, 2008 (Port Charlotte, FL)
Those who know me well know that while music is my passion, as well as my livelihood, it's far from my only interest.  I'm also keenly interested in sports: baseball, at any level; football, both college and professional; and basketball -- college hoops.  Those who know me extremely well know that our household gets viciously competitive with the approach of "March Madness" (for the uninitiated, that's the playoffs for the NCAA Men's Division I title).  

On a Sunday evening in mid-March, as the tournament selection committee starts seeding the brackets, we are glued to the television.  Once the seeding's completed, we hover near the computer, waiting for the official tournament brackets to be posted to the various websites, such as ESPN.com.  We then print out the brackets: one for each member of the household.  The next two days are spent in study, as we make our picks for the tournament's 64 games; the days are also spent trying to secure our picks from the prying eyes of others in the household.  Though no one would dream of trying to cheat -- mainly because each of us is too convinced of his/her superior knowledge and winning strategy! -- we still eye each other suspiciously as we go about our business.

At the appointed hour, all picks are turned in -- and then the needling begins.  "You picked that team for the Final 4?  You're goin' down!"  The prize at stake is dinner at the winner's choice of restaurant, paid for by the losers, so other trash talk may include, "Yeah, while you were studying the ratings index, I was studying menus."

This last year, the banter was conducted mostly over the phone or via Internet, since Greg and I were in Dollywood; "Uncle" Jerry was at home in Port Charlotte, while Greg's sister and brother-in-law were at home in Belleair Beach.  And though, for the whatevereth straight year in a row, I did not win the bracket competition, I still got to eat at my chosen restaurant, because my brother-in-law's choice of restaurant was the same as mine.  (The only catch was, I had to pay for my meal, as well as pay for a share of John's.)

John's choice was Bert's Bar & Grill, in Matlacha, Florida.  As they say on the back of their menu, "Most of Florida's tiny fishing towns are disappearing and giving way to McDonald's, high rises and hotel chains.  But not Matlacha.  Here you still find cozy cottages, bed & breakfasts, fishermen tending their nets, bait shops and shrimp boats."  You can read more about Bert's, and see a few photos, here. 

The five of us finally got around to paying off the "bet" last Tuesday.  It was a fun day!  We sat out on the deck, enjoying the view of Matlacha Pass and San Carlos Bay.  Crows and other feathered friends squawked and begged for a handout.  Seated next to a long dock as we were, there was the occasional whiff of marine fuel, but the gentle breeze quickly dissipated it.  We enjoyed fish dip on flatbread crackers, "beach bread," and fish and chips ... and one of us enjoyed the "best bar pizza" to be found in the area.

The NCAA men's basketball season is just now getting into full swing.  When I win -- finally win -- the 2009 pool, we'll be going back to Bert's!         

December 23, 2008 (at home, following performances in Arcadia, Punta Gorda, Orlando, and The Villages, FL)
Pictured at left is the setting for one of our Christmas With The Celts concerts.  The series was abbreviated, due to Matt (our fiddler)'s college schedule.  But it was power-packed, nonetheless, and full of memorable moments!  We just finished the series yesterday -- here's a synopsis:

Matt, Robin and I kicked off the season by playing for the Punta Gorda Kiwanis luncheon last Thursday.  What fun -- the Kiwanians love to sing, and what a terrific meal they served!  We then headed over to Arcadia and met up with Don, Ann and Cal for a performance at First Presbyterian Church.  This one's special to me, as I'm performing for my home town; and despite a couple of "flies in the ointment" -- I forgot to bring Santa (the official mascot of Christmas With The Celts) and we had to make a change in one of the dance numbers because the piano was locked! -- it was an energetic and fun evening.  Matt made his first-ever guitar performance, accompanying Don (on flute) and me (on dulcimer) in a medley of I Saw Three Ships and the Sussex Carol.  Ann and Cal also debuted a new strathspey that they'd choreographed; it was flowing and very beautiful.  Robin cracked us all up with a silly bit of schtick in his rendering of O Come All Ye Faithful, as he told one section of the audience that they had to sing along -- in Latin.  "Yeah, right!" they seemed to say, though I heard a few voices gamely playing along.

The next night we returned to the Congregational United Church of Christ, Punta Gorda, the birthplace of Christmas With The Celts.  The church was absolutely packed to capacity; we knew, from the number of ticket orders we'd taken over the phone, that response was very strong, but I was still surprised to learn that every available chair was taken -- the only chair left was Pastor Bill Klossner's chair from his study, and I'm pretty sure that if one more person had shown up needing a seat, they'd have been given that chair!

Elly Gilmore made a cameo appearance at this performance, delighting the audience with her set-ups of the Wassail Song and Auld Lang Syne, and singing of Auld Lang Syne. 

We were able to perform our dance number using the piano, as rehearsed: an Irish reel played "Cape Breton" style.  As to Santa ... well ... I did manage to remember to bring him, and set him up in his usual place on stage, but he suffered a minor accident: as Ann was making a sweeping dance move, her dress caught Santa and flung him to the dance floor.  Ann and Cal tried to avoid Santa while continuing their dance, but alas, they weren't quite successful; poor Santa was kicked and subsequently trampled.  At one point Cal bent down to retrieve Santa and set him into place again, but realizing that he'd bent over with his back to the audience -- while wearing a kilt -- Cal hastily stood up before properly securing Santa; Santa toppled again, to be kicked and trampled again.  Matt finally stopped fiddling and picked Santa up, taking time to place him so that he'd fall no more.  Don and I kept the music playing the whole time.  I'd like for you to think that I was applying the "show must go on" philosophy, but the truth is, I was too helpless with a mixture of horror and laughter to be of much service to the unfortunate Santa.  He stood looking rather disheveled and forlorn the rest of the evening.

Robin's charge to the audience to sing in Latin was put right back at him, as a significant number of this evening's crowd actually knew, correctly pronounced, and loudly sang the entire verse in that ancient language!  Another funny incident occurred during the set-up of the Ballad Of St. Anne's Reel (a song about a magical evening on Prince Edward Island (PEI)), when Don asked, as is his habit, if anyone in the audience was from PEI.  This night, a couple actually raised their hands and Don was rather taken aback, completely psyching himself out, as he wondered if the couple knew the song or ... actually, I'm not sure what was going through his mind, but I am pretty sure that the words to the song weren't going through his mind, because he fumbled around for a few short but agonizing seconds, then regained his composure and appealed for a "do-over."  It was one of the most professional and graceful responses to an obvious "flub" that I've ever seen -- and far more graceful than my own goof later in the evening, when I completely forgot how to play the Swallowtail Jig.  Matt, grinning fiendishly all the while, "pulled my fat out of the fire" on that one, keeping the tune going while I desperately tried to pull the correct notes out of the chord progression that, miraculously, I somehow correctly played.  Greg did his part from the sound board, "fading" the amplification of the dulcimer to near zero.  But I know for a fact that a few people left the concert that night, scratching their heads over the strangest rendition of an Irish jig they'd ever heard!

Following a refreshing Saturday off, during which time Santa received plenty of TLC, we headed to Orlando on Sunday, for a pair of performances at Westminster Towers (WT).  WT is a graduated-care facility for seniors, with accommodations ranging from apartment-style living for those able to live independently, to complete nursing care.  We played for the "Health Care Center" residents first.  Here, Robin was at his absolute finest and most charming, as he passed out a variety of hand percussion instruments to members of the audience, encouraging them to keep time to the music, make lots of noise and have lots of fun, and they certainly did.  We then went down to the main floor to play for the "Independent Living" residents.  It's that venue that you see pictured, above.  (You also see Santa perched atop the piano, looking his old self again and safely out of harm's way.)  The stage was set for an old-fashioned, Dickens sort of Christmas, a perfect and cozy setting for our show.  I think we're always at our most relaxed at WT -- this gig usually occurs near the end of the run, so everyone's really in a groove; plus, the venue's smaller and more intimate, so there's less probability of crowd-size-induced jitters.  The audience couldn't be any more receptive or appreciative, and it seems that our entire cast lingers just a few extra minutes after each WT performance, to visit and swap stories with the residents.

The final night of our Christmas With The Celts run was in the Church On The Square, in The Villages.  For the past few years, this has been an SRO crowd, but I do believe that I saw more people standing than ever before -- the church "officially" holds about 800 people, more or less, but an "unofficial" count reported to me a few minutes prior to the concert had the tally at 850, and I did notice even more people coming in after we were already under way.  Quite a setting in which to introduce the newest member of "Marcille Wallis & Friends," Dallas Albritton.  Dallas will play fiddle during our St. Paddy's run, so we thought it would be a good idea to initiate him, and introduce him to The Villages, via a "fiddle duel" with Matt.  In Robin's words, "That fiddle duel was epic!" as Matt opened with a lively bluegrass tune, to be answered by Dallas on a contemporary Celtic reel.  Matt came back with an inspired, and inspiring, interpretation of Bill Monroe's Big Mon; Dallas responded with a blistering version of Paddy On The Landfill.  They then traded back and forth on parts of the Red Haired Boy, before joining together to make that Boy's hair a little Redder -- and more electrifying -- than ever before.  The audience responded with thunderous applause and a standing ovation.

Matt received two other "standing O's" that evening: one for his Teetotaler medley; the other, for his wicked improvisation on the Orange Blossom Special -- which even included the opening measures of Freebird!  On that last night, Matt's fiddling was just a touch more masterful ... Don's singing, particularly on Wild Mountain Thyme, just a touch more beautiful ... Robin's piping just a touch more majestic ... Ann & Cal's dancing just a touch more elegant ... what a way to end the season!  

December 25, 2008 (Port Charlotte, FL)
Merry Christmas To All!

The sweet face profiled at left is that of an unexpected visitor who showed up at our house last week.

Our Christmas With The Celts schedule was jam-packed.  A Wednesday night rehearsal was followed by two Thursday performances, to be followed by a Friday night performance and, later Friday night, the cast party.  Sandwiched in between was a Friday morning breakfast with my friend Ray, who'd only be visiting in the area that one day.  Since I'd be out on Friday morning anyway, I scheduled a couple of other errands -- a recipe for exhaustion, I know, but somehow you do what you have to do ...

On Friday morning I went out to put my purse in the van when I ran into Candy (Matt's mom); they always park their RV at our house when we're doing performances in the area.  Candy and I wanted to visit for a bit, so we went back into the house for a few minutes, then returned  outside.  We heard a "meow."  Then "Meow, meow."  "Where are you, Kitty?" Candy softly called.  Out from under the van came a small gray cat.  Not shy, as most strays are; this one seemed to crave human company.  Candy scooped the kitty into her arms, and was immediately rewarded with loud purring and contented nuzzling.  This was definitely no feral cat, nor even a stray; it must be recently lost.

But lost from where?  I quickly reviewed the neighboring homes in my mind: one dog owner, one two-dog owner, one who owned no pets, one vacant home ... this cat had not simply wandered over for a visit.  Candy's brief examination of the kitty yielded a clue: the kitty was pregnant.

We were still pondering over the expectant momma cat when Ray came over.  I sent him off to The Bean On 41, saying I'd be along shortly, and then Candy and I began to consider the kitty's options in earnest.  We couldn't simply let her continue to wander: although our home is in a residential neighborhood, the traffic commission is not yet on board with that notion; the speed limit on our street is 40mph (meaning, of course, that people drive even faster).  Candy couldn't take the kitty, because Matt's deathly allergic to cats.  I couldn't take the kitty, either, because Maggie (our dog) isn't used to cats.  What to do?

Then I thought of my friend, Vicki, who's such an animal lover that she's on the board of our local Animal Welfare League.  Vicki would know what to do!  Candy -- still cradling the kitty -- and I piled into the van for the short trip to Vicki's house.  Even when the diesel engine revved up, the kitty continued to purr!  What a cat! -- as most of them hate riding in vehicles.  But this one was so happy to be around humans, that she seemed not to mind, but rather to actually enjoy the trip.  Vicki greeted us thoughtfully, immediately going into rescue mode.  With five dogs, she, too, would be unable to take the kitty, and it was too early in the morning for the shelter to be open yet.  But she lent us a small pet carrier, and the kitty slipped inside, still purring and rubbing against the carrier door to mark her new territory.  Vicki promised to investigate the possibility of a foster home, and, feeling that we'd done the best we could do for the time being, Candy and I returned home.

We set the kitty and her carrier in the main living area under the supervision of Greg, "Uncle" Jerry and Maggie, then I went on to my by now seriously-delayed breakfast with Ray.  Ray and I had a very nice visit, said our goodbyes, then I headed to the supermarket for the rest of my errands -- and to that list was added the purchase of cat food, kitty litter, and a makeshift litter pan.  Greg reported that the entire time I'd been gone, the kitty purred blissfully; Maggie had expressed only brief interest before going off to do her usual "routine."

That was all about to change, however, as I appropriated Maggie's large crate, out in the garage, for kitty's temporary home.  "I have only a few possessions," Maggie seemed to say, "and you're giving my crate away to a cat?  Woof!"  The kitty, however, reacted with only mild surprise before resuming her purring.  She devoured the first bowl of food that was set out for her, poked her nose about in the second bowl, then arched her back and started to rub to mark this newest territory.  What an absolutely sweet personality this cat had!

She was never far from my mind, as we did our concert preparations, the concert itself, and then the party.  It was funny -- during the party, I'd catch one person or another sneaking into the garage to check up on the kitty.  Same thing the next morning; each person, in his or her own time, arose and dressed for the day -- then checked up on the kitty.  And when Vicki called to announce that she'd found a foster home, then later came over to escort the kitty to her new -- albeit again temporary -- home, everyone took time to say goodbye to the furry little creature who'd lived with us for less than 24 hours, yet had so profoundly touched each of us.

I'm grateful to report that kitty is happily exploring her new home.  She sleeps with her "foster" owner every night, and delights him with her sunny disposition.  She's going to make someone a wonderful pet!  

As of this writing, there are no kittens yet.  But I've thought of a name for her: I'd name her after another expectant mother of 2000 years ago, who had no place to have her baby, yet displayed the same calm and serene trust that all of her needs would be met.

In my mind, she will always be -- Mary.  

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