Living the Slow life in North Carolina
Evidence that I should not go out in public before 9 a.m.
Woman at table: “So where are you from in N.C.?”
Me: “Greensboro.”
W.A.T.: “North Wilkesboro.”
Me: “Greensboro.”
W.A.T.: “North Wilkesboro.”
Me: “No, Greensboro.”
W.A.T.: “North Wilkesboro.”
Me: “No, I’m from Greensboro.”
W.A.T.: “We’re from North Wilkesboro.”
Me: “Oh.”
(crickets)
Me: “I’m from Greensboro.”
W.A.T.: “I know.”
(I’m typing in my notes from John C. Campbell Folk School. While I was there, I didn’t have use of a computer. What bliss.)
Trip here wasn’t as bad as expected. The part I dreaded was actually the best part. I put on k.d. lang Torch and Twang and belted out songs to calm my nerves through the rainy Nantahala Gorge. Leaving home was the hardest – had to go around the block and check the coffee maker and then go back to check that I locked the doors.
Bob told me yesterday that Nell from our church was coming here to take banjo, but didn’t know when. Well, I got to my room and her name was listed on the door. I might know 3-4 people at my church by name. She is one because I felt a real connection with her during one of the two “circles of wholeness” I participated in, and because I think she is thoughtful and cool. So this is an excellent development.
I’m headed to John C. Campbell Folk School early tomorrow morning to stay until next Friday afternoon, so I’m gathering my thoughts as much as anything here today. I’ve done battle with a migraine all night so writing on the computer is probably not the wisest thing.
I still need to go to Davis Design, where I’m getting the rest of my art supplies, including a plein air easel that folds up into a carrying sketchbox. Sandy and I have comparison shopped on these all week. Although the best price was not at Davis Design, I decided to spend more at a small independent store than order through a warehouse catalog or buy at a large chain. I must admit that I did get a few things at A.C. Moore. But that was because I didn’t want to wait until the last minute to get everything. After all, I never know when I might get laid low by a migraine.
If I am to walk my talk, I need to get more serious about shopping locally. That’s a big part of the simplicity philosophy.
I have a little planting left to do today as well, but yesterday afternoon I put it some plants I’ve had since last weekend – a Christmas fern, great blue lobelia, cardinal flower, lime flowering tobacco, a pepper I wish I’d written down the name of right after I bought it! But it came from Handance Farm and is a long sweet pepper.
I planted a couple more bell peppers that I grew from seed. They sure are slow to germinate and grow. The hot pepper seeds I started from seed I saved from last year, a mild Jalapeno (I know, what’s the point) and Kung Pao, came up in abundance right away. The bell pepper seeds were a full two weeks behind them. Also other seeds from ones I saved: pattypan squash, which I don’t particularly like to eat but I like the shapes, and butternut squash. Ground cherry seeds, the new crop, are terrible to start this year. They are really struggling, and this is my second try. I didn’t have these problems last year, and I got really hooked on the fruit.
I’ll need to do a little household shopping, and get some straw for the garden. I’ve really put this off way too long. Then mulch as much as I can. The ground ivy (creeping charlie) is quite healthy and I have developed an intense hatred of this invader. DO NOT BUY THIS. I’ve seen it for sale at Home Depot. It should be illegal to sell this stuff.
Then I need to pack, and I will have to stop myself from packing my entire wardrobe.
Sandy is in Charleston for a reenactment this weekend. It would be really great if we could do one of these classes together sometime. Maybe a weekend long one. This has gotten him interested again in painting. Fun, fun, fun.
I’m sitting here tonight, eating boiled peanuts out of a plastic bag that I bought at a gas station just outside of Marietta, N.C. It has a brand name on the bag. This is bizarre. And also not so good.
My godfather, Mr. Wade Page, used to grow peanuts and boil batches of them. They were not too salty, like a lot of boiled peanuts are. Mr. Wade would also pull whole plants out of his garden and dump them under a shade tree where he could comfortably pick butterbeans and peas from his chair. He reminded me of Santa Claus without a beard. His voice was the deepest, kindest voice I ever heard. Lou Rawls deep.
The best boiled peanuts are the ones you get in a paper bag from a country store or a roadside stand. They’re fresh and not too goopy. Eating boiled peanuts is a sloppy snack. It is hard to eat boiled peanuts and drive. They do turn bad quickly so you can’t just leave them lying around.
Now you see them in crock pots in convenience stores. You can get them Cajun flavored. I started to try some from a gas station in Rockingham, N.C. but they were actually boiling. I didn’t want them THAT hot.
Sandy and I drove down to see my mother for Mother’s Day in Marietta, N.C. Whenever I tell people I’m from Marietta, N.C., they never hear or read the N.C. part. They always think I’m talking about Georgia. It’s on the north side of the North/South Carolina line in Robeson County. We’re talking sand and swamp. Joseph Mitchell called it Black Ankle County.
Last night, we took Mama out for dinner at the Barn in Fair Bluff, N.C., the town across the Lumber River from us. This is where my brother works for Coastal Agribusiness. Yep, that’s right. The whole farm thing is for another blog entry, if I can ever get the emotional energy up for it.
Anyway, there are not a lot of places to go out to eat down there, but it’s a whole lot better than it used to be. We had fried seafood. That’s usually what you have when you go out to eat at night down there. I never thought two minutes about Calabash-style fried seafood and hush puppies and slaw as being regional food before a few years ago. We took a couple of friends from Canada to Lake Waccamaw and out to eat at Dale’s Seafood. They looked at the fried shrimp like it was going to crawl off the plate. What is this again? they said.
When I grew up, we called hush puppies “corn dodgers.” Also, down there we call lunch “dinner” and dinner “supper.”
Mama cooked “dinner” for us, mostly ahead of time. She fixed a chicken salad casserole that was basically baked chicken salad and rice with Ritz crackers on top. It was really delicious. Also, my favorite dish, butterbeans and field peas with ham hocks for flavoring. I don’t eat pork any more except for this dish. And Mama’s vegetable soup.
Butterbeans are what people up here call baby lima beans. I ordered butterbeans in a diner once and they brought me these pasty brown huge beans that tasted like cardboard. I was shocked. I can’t imagine why anyone would order these on purpose.
When we left, I felt like I was forgetting something. I realized finally that Mama hadn’t loaded me up with leftovers or cake or pie or produce from the garden. We did cut ten cuttings from her fig tree, though. We’re going to root them. And she gave me a bunch of seeds she had left over from planting her garden. I asked her what varieties they were and she didn’t know. Just peas and string beans and squash and watermelons and cantaloupes, she said. By peas she means field peas, not green peas.
What a great day!
First, I went to the farmer’s market, as usual. Except that today they had an herb fair with some different vendors with lots of unusual herbs. I went looking for one main thing, comfrey. Now, comfrey has to be about the easiest thing to grow for sale, because it is like mint–it sends out runners and it is fairly invasive. All you have to do is dig up the little plantlets. But did ANYBODY have comfrey? I’ll let you guess.
I did buy feverfew (from Pat & Brian), cardinal flower, ox-eye daisy, clary sage, and cardoon, which the vendor assured me is spectacular.
Then, Sandy and I set up a Slow Food display table at the Deep Roots Taste Fair. We enjoyed it, but we left right before the bad weather set in.
We went to the Liberty Antique Festival just in time to catch a few vendors. I’d say that at least 75% were packing up because of the wind. People were holding their tent poles and looking at the sky for funnel clouds. Let me tell you, if there had been a tornado, there would have been a bunch of dead people on the field, with all those pitchforks, sickles, and axes flying. Sandy said that our best strategy would be to get into a trash barrel.
But still, I bought what I went there for: a big metal watering can, and an enameled metal colander. The bonus buys was a sifter and a bunch of fudge. Yes, I’ve been bad, bad, bad.
Yesterday, Sandy and I went by Charlie’s house and I showed Sandy his fishponds. We’re thinking about putting a little one in where the walnut tree was. As I’ve said before, it’s a shame to waste a good hole.
I came home and planted the zephyr squash plants just before the rain began. I put Reemay over them, and I hope that will help. But I don’t know how long to leave it over them, and it is so ugly. The squash themselves are lovely and I would love it if I could take the Reemay off soon.
Caterpillars are eating the broccoli, some of them anyway. I’m going to have to toughen up and pick the bugs off, I guess. Luckily I have a whole lot of broccoli. This is due to a strategy I heard from another organic gardener — plant more than what you’ll need. We’ll see if it works.
Tomorrow will be a big, full day so I’m going to bed early. It has been a stressful, exhausting week, and next week will be, well, horrible. Wish I could write about it. But I think that tomorrow will be wonderful.
Boy, am I having one weird week. On one hand, there is a thorn in my side that is about to be removed, and it is such a relief. On the other, that thorn is likely to tear some jagged edges on its way out, and I am absolutely dreading it.
This particular thorn would have been allowed to stay right where it was, even though it knew that it had caused pain and we were aware of its actions. It was warned to stop where it was, and we expected it to do so. But it just dug deeper where it thought no one was looking. What a stupid, greedy thorn.
Now it is out of our hands. Someone else found out about the thorn and says that it has got to go. We hope that it will slip out cleanly and quickly.
I made up my mind. I’m going to take a week’s vacation right after graduation, and go to John C. Campbell Folk School for a 5 day oil painting class. I’ve sent them my credit card, and it’s a done deal.
Now I have to go buy paints and brushes and all…
I’ve had the notion to start painting again for a couple of years, since I worked at Greensboro College. When I was 13-14 years old, I took an oil painting class from a local teacher, and I wasn’t bad. But I got tired of it because the teacher started getting upset when I wanted to experiment, and because I was getting more interested in boys than art.
Then when I was towards the end of my undergrad degree at UNCG, I became a weaver. I started a second bachelors in design, then stopped because the fibers professor was abusing students and I was tired of watching it. I always figured she’d burn out or get caught or leave sooner or later and I’d go back then. But then they got rid of the whole damn fibers program. I’ll always wonder if they knew how many students that whacked out professor ran off. Would it have made a difference?
I’ve dabbled in other crafts over the years. When I worked at Greensboro College, I thought I’d finish up that art degree and took ceramics classes. I found out that I love the idea of making ceramics more than the reality of making ceramics. If I had stayed at Greensboro College, I would have started taking painting classes from Ray Martin, who I thought was extremely talented and compassionate.
My MALS class, The Meaning of Gardens, is over.
Over.
[insert violins]
I was really impressed by the variety of projects that people in the class did for their gardens. Mine and a couple of others were basically carrying on a plan that we already had. But some of these folks were new to gardening or hadn’t done it in a long time and it was good to see their enthusiasm for it.
slowly she turned 