A Wild & Wonderful Table

My friends from the Bridgeport Farmers Market know how to throw a party.

Last Saturday was their second annual fundraising dinner, A Wild and Wonderful Table, featuring delicious dishes prepared by West Virginia chefs using local meat and produce, two signature cocktails, and my very favorite WV beer, the Halleck Pale Ale. 

Not only did everything look beautiful, but I loved the way so many people contributed their particular talents to make this event come together. In addition to the organizers, who coordinated and orchestrated many moving parts, one person designed and constructed the long community-style tables using lumber he sawed himself.

Another envisioned and executed the "look" for the event, complete with vintage place settings and natural tablescapes made from brown paper and fresh herbs, topped with gorgeous flower arrangements (made by yet another market vendor), all underneath long strands of twinkling lights.

Several Sargasso bartenders made sure everyone had delicious drinks throughout the night, served up in Ball jar glasses of course.

Local musicians played throughout the night.

Did I mention the food? Yum. 

This whole night would have been amazing and lovely no matter where it took place, but the fact that one group of people came together to make it happen here in North Central West Virginia . . . well, let's just say I think everyone involved truly appreciates the sense of community it represents.

Naturally I took many more pictures than this, all of which are view-able here.

Highway to Holler

The New York Times says the personal essay is dead. Lucky I only make photo essays I guess. This set documents the three-mile stretch from Route 50, where you turn off to get to where I grew up, all the way back to the holler itself.

When I lived in Oregon, I thought even the plants that grew in the ditches were beautiful. It's taken me a while to adopt that same viewpoint about home, since it's all so familiar, but seeing it through the camera lens definitely helped. And now I wonder if the west coasters feel the same about WV ditches?

Once you arrive at the farm, you may start to understand why Dad exchanged small-town life for the hemmed-in serenity of these hills. This has long been a question of mine.

Portrait of a Small Town: Fairmont, WV

What better way to start then a God-sent Granny?

I'll let these photos speak for themselves. Fairmont has some lovely old buildings but a very forgotten feel.

By far my favorite was this collection of gems, on haphazard display in the windows of a full service gas station:

Montreal Part 2

Parts of Montreal felt very much like Toronto to me, with tall shiny skyscrapers and signs of new construction everywhere. But sprinkled throughout are buildings of weathered stone with carved or cast embellishments. 

We walked through downtown on our way to Mont Royal, which is known for its sweeping views of the city. The hill was visible as we approached, and turns out to be a sizable park with wide switch-backing trails that meander to the top, as well as a set of intense stairs for those who want to go straight up. On our way down we heard the huffing and puffing of the surprising number of people who chose this option, and I'd say the paths were the way to go unless you're in it for a workout.

The streets downtown are wide, like in cities out west, and largely the landscape seems very flat. It wasn't until we crested the hill that I noticed the mountains in the distance.

Multiple carved squirrels perched high in the ceiling of the chateau that sits behind the lookout.

A man stopped to tell us that this church was recently restored, reinforcing the friendly Canadian stereotype yet again.

Montreal's Chinatown is sizable and colorful, and just a few blocks away from Old Montreal.

We managed to see a fantastic Chagall exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts on Easter Sunday before the plague that afflicted me on the second day of our trip really set in. But by then I could no longer spare the energy needed to lift my camera.  

Montreal Part 1: Griffintown and Old Montreal

Those Canadians did it again. They made me want to move to their country immediately. I feel we should start importing Canadian ways and take back some of the ones we've sent their way.

I flew to Montreal a few weeks ago on Porter Airlines. Normally I find talk of routes and transportation methods to be the epitome of mundane conversation, but I'm mentioning it here because Porter took customer service to a new level. (Admittedly, my trip took place shortly after airline employees dragged a doctor off a plane here in the U.S., sending expectations to an all-time low.)

Nonetheless. Let's start with the fact that the female flight attendants wear jaunty round hats, a throw-back I found quite charming. But they also served my sparkling water in a cute little glass. On the plane. When I got to Toronto and was told to throw away my water bottle as I went through security, I was assured that I would find beverages in the "lounge." Right.

But the lounge turned out to be a large area with plenty of comfortable seats, adjacent to a little cafe where you could help yourself to free sodas, water, coffee (served in a cute little cup with a saucer!), and snacks. Free snacks. This all made me feel quite fancy and not the least bit hangry. And then you know what happened next? They served complimentary wine and beer on the next flight.

To this I say: Step it up American airlines. You can do better. 

I woke up early the first morning and found an old canal just a few blocks from where we stayed in Griffintown. It turns out to be a relatively short walk to the Old Port, though I didn't realize that until later. The light was beautiful and I played around with my new lens until my hands were too cold to keep at it.

While I didn't realize it that morning, the huge building above and below turns out to be Grain Silo No. 5, which was mentioned in one of the guides I consulted before I left.

Griffintown is gentrifying at the moment, so there was an interesting mix of construction cranes, graffiti, and chain stores like West Elm and Starbucks. 

In the afternoon we walked to Old Montreal, which has the infamous European feel I'd read about. 

I was on the lookout for this architectural wonder, known as Habitat 67. Now a housing complex, it was used as a pavilion during the 1967 World's Fair. 

The walkway near the Old Port had a bit of a boardwalk feel, and lots of people were out and about. I liked that this ropes course was there amid all the old historical buildings.

Just a few blocks from the water are the narrow European-like streets, where we had a delicious French lunch. Unlike the French in France, when you speak French to the Canadians, they assume you can actually speak the language and keep on speaking French to you. It's a very polite assumption that I had to counter several times with, ok, ok, that's all I've got. 

We found some interesting galleries here featuring contemporary art that contrasted nicely with the old world surroundings. This part of the city was about as close as I could get to the Montreal I conjured in my head as a girl reading Calico Captive. (A riveting story where a family in New England gets taken by Native Americans and sold as servants in Montreal. I cannot wait until my child stops finding violence scary so I can read this with him.)

Since I may or may not have taken 178 pictures in one day, I decided to break this into two posts. More next time.

Portrait of a Small Town: Clarksburg, WV

I remember having a ball with my camera in a tiny little rundown town in Preston County when I first moved back to West Virginia. I've gotten a little better with the camera since then, so it seems like time to make the small town rounds again. First stop: Clarksburg.

Above is a fountain I remember from chlidhood, right next to the bank where I opened my first savings account. (This is a big deal when you're raised by a fiscally conservative New Englander.)

Downtown has some beautiful buildings, but I've also been intrigued for a while by the little subsection of town known as Glen Elk. The homeless shelter known as the Mission is there, but otherwise there's a quiet, abandoned air to the place.

I was surprised to see a large bag of good-looking salad greens in the front seat of this car.

And I think this may be a Slim Jim wrapper. At least, I really want this to be a Slim Jim wrapper. 

Apparently a former buggy for a soccer team?

Love the unexpected spot of color from these cute yellow chairs . . . and I hope they mean that people actually sit on this little balcony.

Just around the corner from what appears to be a residence is an old doorway that looks to be a former entrance to Julio's. I haven't been in years, but it's one of those semi-secret places that everyone raves about. Despite being next to the railroad tracks with nothing else around, Julio's has always had the reputation of a fine dining establishment, known for the lack of prices on the menu (much to the chagrin of my aforementioned fiscally-conservative father). Apparently prices have since been added.

I can imagine a really great outdoor beer garden in the grassy space above. If you could somehow convince a bunch of creatives to re-locate en masse, they'd find some really cool (and cheap!) places to inhabit here.

Patterns about Town

You know that elated feeling you get when you're finally well after being sick for some time? That's kind of how I felt when I finally picked up my camera after a long break last week. Oh, the joy of having an instant art-maker in my hand!

Being a visual person is a blessing and a curse. Almost every room I enter I re-decorate in my head, and I've been known to swap two pictures in a public bathroom that just were not in the right place. True story.

On the other hand, I see interesting compositions everywhere. I found so many lovely patterns on my walk downtown last week.

I think Morgantown could use more public art, and I've been brainstorming ideas of how that might happen (please comment below if you have some!), but meanwhile, I'm trying to remember to notice the beauty in what already exists. It's here amid the gritty winter dirt.

A Weekend in Boston

This activist honey bear featured prominently in the last college apartment I shared with my friend Sarah--a fine (firetrap if you ask my mom) place we affectionately dubbed the Pearl Palace.  His message seemed ever-relevant on my recent trip to see Sarah in Boston the weekend after the election.

I could not resist snapping some pics of Sarah and Ed's adorable apartment when I woke up Saturday morning. Everywhere you look is an interesting little vignette or a lovely piece of art. Plus, who can resist an affectionate multi-toed cat named Unicorn? No one. Clearly.

And then, because this is Boston, where things go on, we went to check out a new community center of sorts that Harvard opened recently. A ceramics class was in progress, and they let us wonder through and check things out.

What better to follow that then a fancy-pants grilled cheese (goat cheese, arugula, fig jam, yum) and beers?

I also could not resist a street selfie here, a la Vivian Maier. If you've not seen this woman's work, you must check it out. She took huge numbers of photos for years while working as a nanny in Chicago and printed very few herself; her work was discovered posthumously and is absolutely amazing, as explained in this documentary.

Sometimes small town life makes me forget how big the world is. Luckily, even a short weekend trip is enough to remedy that.

The Way Forward

Here in West Virginia we've been wondering about the way forward for many years. People feel desperate about the state of things--the widespread loss of jobs, the incredibly scary drug epidemic, the tendency of young people to leave the state. As a Charleston attorney explained in a blog post that went viral last week, it's these lost opportunities and jobs that account for our state's recent election results.

Last week I listened to a documentary called Cedar Grove, produced by Catherine Moore, who says: "There's just kind of a feeling in the air, right now, in central Appalachia, that we have reached a moment, or a crossroads, where we're gonna have to choose a path for our future." Her piece is worth a listen, and her conclusion simple: it starts with us.

And while I like that sentiment (take the power back! be self-reliant! don't wait for someone to save you!), it does leave me wondering. What does that mean?

For my part I say, hey, check out our beautiful state. We got to see some terrain you can't access except on foot by taking a ride on the Cheat Mountain Salamander train outside of Elkins several weeks ago. Which I mention because tourism is one option we have here. Social entrepreneurship is another.  Regular entrepreneurship could also work. But how do we make that happen? Should we recruit?

Feels Like Home

A couple weekends ago my friend Athena invited me out to pick some of the flowers she planted this year at Harmony Farm. The farm sits up on a hill so that once you're there, it feels very isolated and lovely. There are some houses nearby, but not too close. The sky that day felt big and encompassing in a way that's somewhat rare when you live in the hills. She had grown beautiful long rows of sunflowers, zinnias, cosmos, bachelor buttons and nasturtium. 

I've read a lot about self-care over the last few years, and you'd be amazed how many people recommend treating yourself with flowers. These "feel better" lists get rather cliche after a while, but then again, cliches exist for a reason. Flowers can really make a girl happy.

I've been wanting to plant cosmos in my yard for years now, and this year, I finally did. I put a bunch of seeds in front of my shed, and all summer I watched the plants grow very tall and produce nothing. Not one flower. I have a particular affinity for cosmos because growing up my sister and I planted a huge row of them every year across the front of our vegetable garden. They're so delicate and beautiful, and they bloom all summer long. It's October now, and look who finally decided to make an appearance?

This is the second year I've grown dahlias. Last year I planted bulbs, and they produced a few flowers. I dug the bulbs up in the fall and stored them in the basement all winter. (I literally just threw them in a crate. I think you're supposed to take better care and store them in sawdust. It's an evolving hobby, this gardening.) I planted the bulbs this spring, and just like the cosmos, nothing happened for months. But this fall they emerged in all their glory. And they are so amazing. The perfection of all the individual flower parts is like tiny baby toes.

There's just something so good and wholesome about growing flowers. It makes me feel like home. As another friend said to me recently about (being old and) watching birds: Free Joy!

I'll take it.

How to Make It

Remember High Fidelity, where John Cusack’s character goes through a “what does it all mean” thing after a break-up? He reorganizes his entire record collection chronologically and calls all his girlfriends since junior high to try to figure out what his life is about. (I watched that movie again recently, and it's still good, in case you missed it the first time around.)

I've been going through the “what does it all mean” crisis a lot in the past few years. Partly I think this is due to major life change, but partly I think it’s my age. There are no more obvious goals to achieve! And oh, am I good at working towards a goal. If I'd been pushed too hard as a child, maybe I could blame my parents for this, but the truth is, I've been a self-motivator since about age 5, when I decided I would learn to tie my shoes on my fifth birthday.

But what do you do when there is no obvious next step to take, no new level to reach? Couple that with a few crushing life disappointments, and I feel adrift. Something feels off, and I'm just not sure what to do about it. (Accept it? That may be the answer. I'm pretty sure the exhausting pursuit of happiness is not.) There’s a whole lot of talk right now about following your life’s purpose, and while I think that’s great if you can do it, it also smacks of elitism and is eminently frustrating to those of us who have no idea what that purpose is. I'm not someone who has always dreamed of opening a restaurant but hasn't been brave enough to do it. I haven't always wished to be a writer or an artist. Aside from my fifth grade dream of going to Harvard and becoming a lawyer—which I’m pretty sure came about solely as a result of reading a whole lot of John Grisham—I’ve never had a clear idea of what I wanted to do.

About ten years ago when I was in Oregon and wrapped up in an existential crisis of the first order, my dad sent me a book written by a Buddhist nun called When Things Fall Apart. There are a lot of good bits in the book, but the one sentiment I'll never forget comes down to this: it's not that the bottom has fallen out--there never was a bottom. Not only that, but there never will be a bottom. The one certain thing in life is that there is no safety net, nothing that you can count on forever. This concept is so disturbing, I think, that people can spend their whole lives trying to prove it false. They look for financial security, for stability from long-term relationships, for a sense of purpose from being a parent. But the fact is that any one of these things can disappear at any time. The only certainty in life is uncertainty and change. 

Part of the reason it’s always been hard for me to pick a passion/purpose or even to formulate a specific career goal is that the options seem unlimited. So it was encouraging to read this interview with Ian Bogost, who suggests we find meaning in the mundane tasks we’re actually doing and stop acting like everything is possible. Instead, he asks where's the play in this situation? Which I interpret to also mean, what else can be done here? How can I make this place I'm actually in more fun for me (even if that place is your backyard, and you're mowing the lawn)? What a relief to stop imagining that everything is a possibility. It seems much more achievable to instead get curious and start looking around to see what's possible where you actually are.

And since I yet again find myself in a position of not knowing what to do, I've decided to just start making things and see where it leads. Get ready for homemade Christmas presents, friends.

Yard to Table: The Grape Shrub Cocktail

A couple of Christmas's ago, my mom introduced the cranberry shrub as her "signature cocktail" for that year (and endured a bit of mocking for using that term at home). While I certainly enjoy the occasional cocktail, I'm really more of a beer kind of girl. Give me a hoppy IPA any day over something sweet or liquor-flavored. But Mom was right about this one. The shrub has a unique appeal. Its sweetness is tempered by the tanginess of vinegar, resulting in a remarkably delicious sweet-tart combo.

I also enjoy this drink's practical history: in Colonial times before refrigeration, people cooked fruit down with vinegar and sugar to preserve it. You can basically make a shrub out of any kind of fruit. In addition to the initial cranberry version, which was amazing, I've had good success with rhubarb and just recently experimented with a slightly savory cucumber (you can find that recipe here). My favorite so far is the grape shrub.

This came about as a matter of necessity: there are two arbors covered in Concord grapevines in my backyard. These grapes have been plagued by what I'm fairly sure is black rot since I moved in (and probably long before that), which makes the fruit rot on the vine before it ripens, and apparently is quite common in humid climates. I pruned the vines as heavily as I could this Spring after researching and consulting a friend who used to work in a vineyard in Oregon, and I was hoping a heavy pruning would stop the rot.  It did not. The leaves are still browning, and the grapes are again shriveling on the vine. (Interestingly, I may not have pruned them enough; all the rotten stuff seems to be coming from the old growth. My friend also tells me I really need to spray them with copper, so perhaps more on that next year.) Nonetheless, in spite of the rot, I still got a decent sized crop last year and am hoping for the same again this year. Here's last Sunday's haul (plus some beautiful little yellow tomatoes): 

I've seen a lot of different recipes for shrubs online, but I haven't found one that's exactly to my liking. So, my mom and I made up our own simple formula, which relies on a 2-1 ratio of sorts. I had four cups of grapes this time, so here's what I put in a large pot to boil:

4 cups of fruit

2 cups of vinegar

2 cups of water

2 cups of sugar

(Some people suggest not using white vinegar, but it's worked fine for me.) Bring that mixture to a boil. Once it boils, turn the heat down to low and cook it for about 10 minutes. Then strain out the fruit and pour the liquid into bell jars.

Technically you can probably store these outside the fridge, but mine has plenty of room, so I keep them in there.

To drink, mix with seltzer and your alcohol of choice--I've had good luck with vodka, gin, and whiskey. And if you don't happen to have a bunch of fruit growing in your own yard, keep your eyes out for shrubs on the menu of your local bar. They're popping up everywhere and are often presented sans alcohol--I had a delicious peach version (though I added whiskey) when we went to Husk in Charleston, SC this summer. And a few months from now it will be pretty sweet to still have a taste of summer in your drink...