The Whole Fam Damily

When I was a kid, I read a lot. My sister and I would both leave the library with our arms full, each having checked out our 10-book limit. For many years, my favorite topics were Holocaust-themed resistance stories and tales about the Underground Railroad. And that is probably why as a little white girl living in the middle of No Where, West Virginia, I wished I were Black. Or Jewish. The characters I read about might have been in the midst of some very terrible times, but oh, did they have an identity. They had customs and traditions and a pervasive sense of community. They knew who they were and how they should be.   

My family and I, on the other hand, were on our own. My dad moved to West Virginia for college, and the rest of his immediate family lived hours away. They were in Connecticut or Maryland or Pennsylvania, where things were very different. They called Coke soda, not pop. They had brooks, not creeks. They played sports like lacrosse and soccer and swam on the swim team. And they certainly did not live up a holler in a tiny house with no air conditioning or central heating. My mom grew up in West Virginia too, but even so, her family lived in town, and their lives looked much more like those of Dad's brothers and sisters than ours. 

And so, while I always felt very much a part of our extended family, I felt very different too. We weren't quite like them, and we weren't much like the people we grew up around either. 

In adulthood I've seen a different side of the family. I drove cross-country when I was 21 and visited my Dad's Aunt Cami in Washington, where we took a road trip in her camper, crossing to Orcas Island on a ferry, both clad in two of her purple knee-length L. L. Bean parkas. From there, I went to see Dad's cousin Pete in Eugene, Oregon (who later let me live in his house the entire time I attended law school ), and then on to see Pete's brothers in Colorado, where we lounged in a hot tub with a view of snow-covered mountains. When I was in law school, we had a small family reunion in Tucson, and I got to drive by the rammed-earth house Dad's Aunt Mary Jo had built there years before.

A few weeks ago, we had a huge family reunion in Connecticut. My aunts spent months putting together an extensive family tree, a book full of photos, and a collection of clippings and documents--including a letter written to our great-aunt from Eleanor Roosevelt. While I'd seen hints of this before, their research revealed something a lot of us had never fully realized: We come from a line of very strong women. 

Against this backdrop, and after reconnecting with about 85 of these lovely people this summer, I now realize something else as well: we may not be Black or Jewish, but this family very much has its own identity. While most everyone else didn't grow up slopping hogs or chasing the neighbor's cows out of the woods like I did, these are still my people. And I'm so thankful for this huge group of interesting, loving individuals who value each other and make a point of getting together, even over long distances, even after many years.

Warm Boots, Cold Snow

I set out on a loose photo-taking mission on Sunday and ended up in Point Marion, Pennsylvania. Really, I just followed the smoke from the power plant. (Steam? It might be steam.) There's something about the drama of that smoke (steam): the ugly reality of modern civilization writ large.

Point Marion is a tired little town that I first discovered in college when we used to buy kegs of Yuengling from the loading dock of a distributor (back in the day when I thought Yuengling was good beer and you could only buy it in PA). The town's real claim to fame, and the reason you might and should go there today, is Apple Annie's. Hands down the best apple dumpling I've ever had. And a literal buffet of towering homemade cakes to choose from. Sadly, not open on Sundays. I'll go back and return with pictures of those cakes another time.

The other somewhat surprising thing to see in Point Marion is the Albert Gallatin House (officially, the Friendship Hill National Historic Site). There's parking at the entrance, and apparently a nature trail of some sort to explore, but it was cold. Very cold. Luckily, I had my new boots. (Rated to -25. Thank you Sorel.) I took a few shots before my hands went numb. (I'm pretty sure I could not actually survive in Canada. Unless there are super secret magical gloves that prevent numbness. My new ones are inadequate.)

I'm not much of a history buff, but I was curious and drove up to the actual house. To my surprise it was open on a Sunday, and you're allowed to tour around inside. The lady who gave me the cliff notes story of Albert Gallatin was impressed I even knew who he was. The only reason is that he made his way to Montana at some point and both the Gallatin River and a mountain range near Bozeman where I used to live are named after him.

I like the texture on this sculpture.

The house was rather modest inside, though with pretty marble fireplaces and this rather dramatic winding staircase. 

This is the view from behind the house. It's still set back in the woods all alone, but the smoke brings you back to reality.

Art in the City

At some point last year I woke up and realized that there is art--really good art--available very, very close to us. As in, Pittsburgh. And I vowed to see more of what's going on at the Carnegie Museum of Art. Right now there's a great Peter Muller-Munk exhibit that features beautiful silver pieces, as well as purely functional but oh-so-well designed items like vacuums. And power tools.

I loved the pots and the stove displayed in this exhibit. The aesthetic reminds me of the very cute Smeg refrigerator that's popular in design circles right now (including certain hotels in Austin), a throw back to the old retro versions.

Can you imagine the fun of vacuuming with these hot little numbers? I can see how the 50's housewives may have been suckered . . .

Above are two different razors--one for underarms and one for legs. Such marketing skills!

I even enjoy the standard features of this museum, such as the courtyard below at the back entrance and the line-up of waterfalls at the front. They're also featuring a really nice modern collection of art from Jane Haskell's personal collection right now. I didn't take pics for fear of admonishment by museum staff, but it's very much worth seeing.

Toronto!

I had some extra time this month, and I really (really) wanted to go some place I'd never been before. In fact, I had Toronto in mind. For some reason I'd never been (except once in the airport, which doesn't count), despite the fact that it's only about 6 hours from Morgantown. I felt pretty lucky when my friend wrote and asked me when we were going to go on a girls' trip, and she was willing and excited to try Toronto. We drove up a couple days after Christmas. We stayed downtown, where we saw some great architecture. I was surprised by the throngs of people out and about on Sunday afternoon. It felt like Manhattan.

We walked through Chinatown on our way to Kensington Market, and it smelled delicious. Not to mention the crazy sites--I definitely think my favorite was the plastic food.

My friend recommended Kensington Market to me, and it did not disappoint (though no pictures here--it was too dark). There were an astonishing number of interesting shops, bars, and restaurants, as well as fruit and veggie markets that reminded me of ones I saw in Israel. We saw streets filled with adorable gingerbread Victorians, and there were murals and fantastic graffiti everywhere. We were there a bit late and lots of things were closed, so I definitely need to return on another visit in the daytime and fully explore there.

For fear of data roaming charges, I ended up not having access to google maps much of the time. That left us using a paper map to get around, which didn't contain a lot of smaller streets. On our way to the Distillery District we took a wrong turn and ended up in the Financial District downtown. The starkness of the buildings was impressive and interesting though, so we didn't mind. But it was cold. The wind. Don't forget to account for the wind. On the other hand, while we stood looking at our map, a man came up and asked if we needed help, and then gave us directions. Those Canadians have a good reputation for a reason.

Above is a street close to St. Lawrence Market, which we tried to see, but it was closed on Monday. (Another thing for next time.) From there we made our way to the Distillery District, a charming cobble-stoned area with so many cute shops and restaurants. It's also home to Mill Street Brewery, which had a beer garden that looked lovely for a warmer time. We had a beer inside, of course, along with the most delicious edamame I've ever had. It came with a lovely sweet/hot sauce that was unexpected and quite impressive.

Is this not the cutest little courtyard? I love the decor so much. There was also a stylish fire pit in the middle.

The area beyond this sign was an ice rink not far from our hotel. We were pretty happy to see it again after walking through some fairly extreme ice and snow. It was in fact so intense that at one point we laughed hysterically--and yet, we both thought it was pretty fun. What an adventure. And, I felt like I truly experienced the Canada from my favorite childhood novel (set in Montreal), Calico Captive.

We ended with a visit to Sweet Jesus. We were too early for their super fancy soft serve, but I got an eggnog topped with Earl Grey whipped cream, walnuts, fried sweet potatoes, and a strip of fried ginger. Oh my. Mindy had an espresso topped with charred marshmallows. She ate the rim of graham cracker crust for several miles as we drove with not an ounce of shame.

I feel like we only scratched the surface of this city, and I can't wait to go back.

Asheville vs. Morgantown: Why the difference?

In case it wasn't clear from the last post, there are three stand-out reasons to go to Asheville (in any season, really): the food, the beer, and the art. Thanks to the clean water flowing down from the mountains, there are two dozen breweries located there now, from local places with fairly small operations to the new east coast facility that Sierra Nevada just opened outside of town. Their tap room was packed at 3:30 on a Friday. We wondered who exactly this crowd was. Locals? Tourists? Despite being huge and obviously commercial, the space was nicely done, with a large stage out back for music. 

Everywhere we went, there was evidence of artistic influence--clearly there are many, many creative types there. Above is a letterpress shop owned by a former Bostonian in the River Arts District, where lots of artists working in various media make and sell their wares.  A painter we met told us artists began relocating there several years back when rent got too high in other parts of the city.

I loved the illustrations on the posters  below, as well as the lovely stick art surrounding the door of the shop above.

Downtown Asheville has its own art scene, such as the art gallery located in the old Woolworth's building, known as  Woolworth Walk. To be featured there, artists must live within a certain geographic area (I think 25 miles from the city?) and are selected by jury.

I went on this trip with the idea that I would try to discern what it is that this town has that others don't (ahem, Morgantown). In the back of my mind was the question--can we do it too? Is there some recipe we can follow to create our own version of Asheville? By the time we got to West Asheville, I began to think no. I'd already seen so much, and this part of town only had more. Murals, organic ice cream shops, cute boutiques. A honey shop, for heaven's sake.

If ever a place made me want to own my own food establishment, it was Biscuit Head. I love biscuits in a huge way, and theirs are huge, delicious, flaky--divine really.

And what did they do to top off with these perfect biscuits the size of a cat's head? They made their own inventive jams and butters. There must have been at least 30 spreads to choose from, from classics like raspberry jam to unique blends like amaretto peach. Seriously. Heaven.

The level of creativity, of entrepreneurship--it so vastly exceeds what we have going on in Morgantown right now, that I'm not sure it's possible to create that type of scene here any time soon. 

Having made my way through Jared Diamond's Guns, Germs, and Steel this month, I'm sensitive to how geography and both environmental and economic resources influence what happens in a place. Both Morgantown and Asheville are located in the mountains, have rivers running through and a fairly hilly topography, and are surrounded by relatively poor, rural areas. And of course the natural question is, why there and not here? What about that town allows artists and small independently-owned businesses to flourish while only a few seem to do really well here?

In addition to a larger population, one thing that Asheville has had both historically and in recent years is a serious influx of cash from investors and entrepreneurs. This is something that West Virginia has historically lacked, and that continues to this day. While there is quite a bit of growth and development happening in Morgantown right now, it doesn't have the same artistic flavor. Personally I think there's a real lack of appreciation for aesthetics in this town, and while we have more local restaurants and businesses than a lot of other West Virginia towns, only a few seem to genuinely thrive. And so in addition to a relative lack of resources, I think there may not be the interest here in creating such a place--at least not in the numbers needed to really make it happen.

Asheville's newspaper has done a series of articles about how the city has changed over the years. One interesting point they made is that while Asheville has experienced tremendous growth and is now a national tourist destination, it's become difficult for those holding the service jobs that cater to tourists to actually afford to live there. Or to make a real living on the wages they're paid. This is the kind of fact that brings me back to reality. Yes, that town looks amazing and inspiring and is so much fun to visit. But the homes are pricey and out of reach for many (not to mention we were told most good ones get swiped up before they even hit the market).

And with this, the lesson I've learned many times before rears its head again: every place has its positives and negatives. Not to mention the corresponding gem: Wherever you are, there you will be. (I try to keep this one in mind when I get off track thinking if only I lived __, my life would be so much more exciting!) As my friend said to me on our run this weekend, sometimes it seems really good to live in a place where everything isn't already perfect--because there your efforts can really make a difference. What do you think? Are we justifying here or speaking truth?

Reasons to Visit Asheville in the Winter

It's not often that I'm able to say yes to going somewhere cool for the weekend, so when my friend asked if I wanted to go to Asheville to help her find a place to live, I was pretty psyched to be able to say yes. I hadn't been since college, and things have changed. "The people" are raving about this town for a reason. There was an almost overwhelming number of cool and interesting things going on, not the least of which was the beer scene.

Our first stop was Wicked Weed, where I had the Pernicious IPA (the lighter colored one above), and Ashley had the Tyranny. Amazingly delicious, and served in a very cool atmosphere--trendy yet earthy. One thing that struck me on this visit is that there appear to be some very good iron workers (people doing iron work?) in Asheville. We saw large pieces of metal that could have been used in the floor of a workshop re-purposed as asymmetrical shutters and custom arced bar stool tables with metal frames and wooden tops at Hi Wire, where they also had some amazingly huge lanterns (perhaps 10 feet wide?), as well as a delicious Pale Ale (but they're apparently known for their lagers).

Dinner the first night was at White Duck Taco Shop. I am a lover of tacos, and we don't get a lot of good ones in West Virginia. (Though to give credit where credit's due, Charleston's Black Sheep does count.)

The ones at White Duck did not disappoint. Below on the right is the fish. On the left are mushroom potato and the Goucho (I think), which was filled with tostones and chimichurri. All three were fantastic, but to my surprise, the star was the mushroom potato. It was so perfectly seasoned, and the textures were amazing. The margarita was also spot on.

Last stop on Friday was at Green Man Brewery, where they allow doggies in the tap room and serve a nice Pale Ale.

I took a whole lot of pics, so there's more to come.

Porchfest: How about some live music on your porch?

Such a great day to whip out the popsicle shirt!

The day before I left to visit my sister Michele and her boyfriend Nick in Jacksonville, FL this past weekend, she gave me some bad news: they had sewer problems. As in, 'we can only flush three times a day and we have to shower outside' kind of sewer problems. Eek. When she mentioned this to my dad before I came, he said, "Don't worry. Jess can pee anywhere." (True story.)

Luckily, the plumbers were able to come out on Saturday. So while we were busy cleaning up the house for guests and sprucing up the front porch, the plumbers were out back working. We had to spruce because Nick and Michele were hosting a singer/songwriter on their porch at 3 pm as part of Jacksonville's Porchfest. So, we sprayed off the porch furniture, put new candles out, etc, and were basically ready for guests to stop by around 1 when the festival started.

I decided to head out to take some pics, and as I was walking back, I get a text from Michele: "I just heard a guy say he thinks this tree is gonna fall." Turns out when the plumbers were sawing through a very large tree root to install the new sewer line, the tree attached to the root began to sway. Working in construction has its perks, and in less than an hour, Nick had a crew of the fastest moving tree guys I've ever seen working away. So while Porchfest was in full swing with a band playing directly across the street,  a guy was climbing a sycamore in the side yard and taking it down, branch by branch. I must admit, it was almost as good a show as the band. Fortunately that band was loud, and while a few people definitely turned their heads and probably wondered why anyone would be taking a tree down right then, it all turned out fine.

Once that excitement was over, we got to go out and enjoy the festival. I had no idea I was in for such a treat. The streets were closed off, and for blocks around there were people in the street, listening to music (multiple porches had different musicians playing at different times), hanging out, and availing themselves of some seriously delicious food truck fare. (I had some spicy shrimp sliders, a delicious pasta salad, and a bite of the yummiest grilled cheese ever. Pretty sure the magic in that sandwich had to do with the sweet-spicy relish. So good.)

A lady I met told me part of the inspiration behind this particular Porchfest was to continue the neighborhood's long tradition of sitting outside on porches. (Springfield is an old historic neighborhood in Jacksonville that is slowly being revitalized.) Turns out porchfest as a concept originated in Ithaca in 2007, and now these types of festivals are springing up all around the country. Check here to see if there's one near you.