ShatterZone - A Fiction

 

Marion and Dennis Chandler Heading into the Rice Cove, Madison County, NC 1978

We’re going to cook and heat the house with wood. My friends across the mountain in Sodom are a family of loggers and they have a sawmill and an excess of wood. They offer a truckload of firewood as a welcoming gift. One Saturday we bounce up the side of a mountain on the back of a flat-bed truck, barely able to hold on. We cut an enormous load of mixed hardwoods, which we load onto the back of the truck. Some of the sawed pieces are huge, and heavy, and I wonder how long it will take me to bust them into burnable size. When we go to pull out, the truck is mired in the soft ground and won’t budge. We unload it, piece by piece, move the truck a few feet, and reload the wood. Everyone gets a good laugh. I was exhausted by the double effort.

 

PawPaw Lost a Neighbor

 

Wayne Uffelman at Blue Hill Farm, PawPaw, Madison County, NC 2011.

No one died. But a long-term member of our community did sell his place and move. Wayne Uffelman had lived at Blue Hill Farm on Upper PawPaw for the last thirty-seven years. Most people knew him, or at least, of him. He farmed - tobacco at first, but after the tobacco buyout, he  switched to chickens and organic vegetables, which he sold at local markets. He also produced grits, cornmeal, and flour from his own mill. I thought his grits were the best I’ve ever had. Lately, he has been getting back to his true love - carving. He’s been doing a series of spoons and utensils to go with the grits, which are all replete with a carved heart, or owl, or snake at the top of the handle. But his real skill is as a bird carver and his move will allow him the opportunity to concentrate on that.

I’ve known Wayne a long time now. We met a couple of years after each of our arrivals in the mid-1970s. It has not always been the easiest of relationships, I think we’d both say that. But for many years now, he’s been a great neighbor and friend - always there to lend a hand, or tractor, or back, or his knowledge on any number of things. We’ll miss him in the hood.

Wayne Uffelman holding his "Chickenhawk" Walking Stick, PawPaw, Madison County, NC 2014.

 

Shu Sign

 

PawPaw, Madison County, NC 2014

For a time, Kate and Shu lived in our barn.

They planted a garden and tended the animals.

They mended fences and mucked stalls.

They left a footprint.

At some point, while walking to my workspace,

also in the barn, I noticed this shoe.

Ah, I thought at once, it’s Shu’s mailbox,

but not a very practical one.

Then, I understood it to be a mark, a totem.

A Kilroy Was Here moment.

A Sign of Shu, meant for the ages.

Leather, nailed to a locust post.

Who knows how long it will be there?

It's history was as half of a pair.

A flower bloomed from the other until the dogs claimed it as their own.

Chewed and carried off, gone for a time, then rediscovered like a forgotten lover.

It finally came to rest, under a shrub, nourishing the soil,

a different ending than its crucified mate.   

 

 

It Could Happen Here

 

We’ve had an abundance of industrial disasters lately – a fertilizer plant fire in Texas, a train wreck in Canada that destroyed a town and killed 47 people, pipeline ruptures that poisoned wide swaths of farmland, and most recently, the chemical storage tank leak in West Virginia that poisoned the capital city’s water supply. One of the more egregious things about this last incident is the responsible company filed bankruptcy immediately after the spill, effectively absolving themselves of any liability. West Virginians have not only had to live with the direct effects of the spill and lack of water, but they will now have to pay for it too. The company’s name, Freedom Industries, is priceless - must mean the freedom to do whatever they want.

Derailed Norfolk Southern Train, Barnard, Madison County, NC 1978

I like to think we’re somewhat protected here in Madison County, but then I look around. Our portion of the French Broad River, that provides a significant economic boost to the county through recreation and tourism, is also downstream from industrial parks, water treatment plants and large farms. The Norfolk Southern rail line that parallels the river is a major conduit for coal and chemicals coming from Kentucky and West Virginia. A train derailment in Marshall or Hot Springs, or into the River could be catastrophic. Trucks on I-26 could be carrying most anything from hazardous wastes to petroleum products. Yet even with those hazards, our danger from industrial accidents, while worse than many places, is not nearly as bad as many others.

We’ve made the choice to use chemicals and fossil fuels and, despite our encouraging steps toward alternative energy sources, we’ll be burning coal and gas for a while longer. Since the beginnings of the Industrial Revolution, we’ve intertwined our industrial worlds with our personal lives and it’s always been to the detriment of our communities and natural world. Until we decide our public and environmental health take precedence over the irresponsibility and profits of large corporations, I'm afraid we will see only an increase in the type of unnatural disasters we've been seeing lately.  

 

Andy Buckner at the Court House

 

Madison County Native and aspiring musician Andy Buckner at the Madison County Courthouse, Marshall, NC 2014

Just wanting to wish Andy well on his trip to Nashville today. Knock 'em dead. Break a leg. And all that good stuff. We're all rooting for you.

 

Melanie and the Jumping Cat

 

Melanie and the Jumping Cat, Sodom, Madison County, NC 1975

 

I hadn’t seen Melanie Rice Penland in some time before running into her, her husband Nate, and their son Ezra at a party a couple of weeks ago. Seeing her reminded me of a photograph I made almost forty years ago. Melanie’s mom, Sheila Kay Adams, had taken me up to Dellie Norton’s house for the first of my many visits with Dellie and her family. Sheila had her young daughter with her and I was immediately smitten. Melanie had a presence even then at three or four years old. Direct, bold, and self-assured.

Children are among the hardest subjects for photographers. It’s relatively easy to picture youguns as cute and playful, the apples of our eyes. And they seem to know exactly how we want them to look - endearing, irresistible, and ultimately cute. But making an image that gets beyond the smiling superficialities and into the heart of the child is a different matter. In this case Melanie, with her open and patient gaze, made it easy.

Eccentric

Me and Jasper howling at home, Paw Paw, Madison County, ca. 2010

I was reminded by my friend Betty Hurst of a comment I made while being interviewed by WUNC radio after the publication of Sodom Laurel Album. The interviewer asked why I liked living in Madison County. I answered that Madison County has the highest percentage of eccentrics in the entire state and I found that likable, as well as, challenging and inspiring. Now, that’s an invented statistic on my part; I doubt anyone has ever taken an official "eccentricity" survey. But after forty years here, I remain confident in the accuracy of my statement.

Merriam-Webster gives similar, but subtly different definitions of eccentric: Tending to act in strange or unusual ways; deviating from an established or usual pattern or style; not following a circular path. Synonyms include: bizarre, curious, offbeat, quaint, remarkable, weird, or as Dellie might say, “quar.” They all fit when I think of our home.

Remarkably, this old-world place allows its residents the freedom, encouragement really, to be as odd and quirky as they need or want to be. There’s a history of that here, both the individualistic behavior and the community-wide acceptance of it. You're given the opportunity to be yourself, to find your niche, to enjoy your own amusements and passions. There's room to do what you have to do; room to make do. Most places aren’t like that; they’re filled with distractions and celebrate conformity and sameness. Lifestyle and behavior are more standardized and people seem to want those conventional parameters.

I was speaking with a new friend the other night about all the people who have moved to Madison over the last ten years, since the opening of I-26. It’s really quite amazing. But equally amazing is the number of people who have come and gone, scores of people over my time here. For them, this place was a brief stopping point in the span of their lives. For whatever reason it wasn’t for them. Maybe it’s the wildness, or the distances, the lack of work, or the politics. Thankfully, Madison County isn’t for everyone, or most people for that matter. I’m happy it's a place that’s too true, too off-the-beaten-path, and too eccentric to suit most people.

Hero - Gusten Hess

I normally like my heroes to be a little older, but after some time with Gus Hess last week I'm making an exception.

Gusten Hess, Sprinkle Branch, Madison County, NC, New Years Day, 2014.

Gus is eight years old, the son of Matt and Liza Hess who live off of Sprinkle Branch in the Walnut Creek community. On New Years Day the family hosted their annual clay bird shoot and a number men and their families showed up. It was Gus’s first time shooting skeet and to make it a bit harder he was using a small, single-shot .410 shotgun that throws off a very tight pattern of shot. It has a small margin of error. To make a long story short, Gus missed his first five shots, and looked discouraged. But after receiving pats and high-fives from the older men, and some specific suggestions from his Dad that Guss chose to listen to, he came back to hit four out his next ten. Everyone was glowing with him, as he justifiably beamed. But, that’s not why he’s my hero.

What I most loved was the relationship between Gus and the other adults, most especially his parents. The mutual respect, from boy to adult, and from adult to boy, was obvious. How refreshing to see a young person who not only listens, but also absorbs what he hears - life’s lessons, learning how to be a young man. He had clearly learned lessons about safety with guns. He was patient waiting his turn on the range. Inquiring, exuberant, careful. Fun to be around.

Gus shooting, Sprinkle Branch, Madison County, NC, New Years Day, 2014.

I’ve believed for a long time there is no better place to raise a family than Madison County. It’s a unique spot that teaches independence, responsibility, and respect for others. Families are embraced here. And young people have the chance to interact with adults with mutual fondness and regard. The community is readily open to new people who want to invest their lives in this place. And the land itself, in its bigness and diversity, gives children and adults alike an opportunity for humility, and the lesson we are all part of something much larger than our individual selves. 

Seldom Scene - Sorely Missed

I lived in Marshall in the early 1980s on the top floor of what is now the Flow Gallery building. It was not an easy time. Newly separated, a young son, and little money and less work coming from my attempts at being a photographer/artist. It was empty warehouse space back then, not the elegant apartments there now. Unheated and unplumbed with rudimentary wiring. Just a big open space. 

Main Street, Marshall, 1983.

It was a lonely time, filled with trips to the dark holes that punctuate my life. Guilt. Insecurity. Questioning. Sleepless nights spent writing or in my jury-rigged darkroom. Sometime visits from a similar searching soul would only heighten the aloneness in the morning when she left. Cold. Or hot. Never just right. I did make some nice photographs from that perch. Thank you Gene Smith.

Marshall was visibly slowing then. Boarded up buildings along the entire stretch of town. Any attempts at new businesses quickly closed. The old stores, the mainstays of the town that had been there forever, were still open, but did only a shadow of the business they once did. Court, and its ancillaries, were the only growth industries.

In the morning I’d walk to the post office along Back Street. Past the jail, train tracks and river on my right, the back ends of buildings hovering above me, like a trap ready to spring. "Why here?" I thought. An old question, never far from the surface. 

George Penland, Marshall, 1983.

A few more steps and I’m at the back of Penland & Sons store. George Penland, one of the Sons, former mayor, and late husband to Barbara, was out on the stoop feeding the stray cats that lived behind the store. They served a purpose, George knew, rats and whatnot, so he kept them fed. George was cheerful - I remember him as always cheerful - and happy to see me on what was a fine spring morning. We talked, but I don’t recall what was spoken. I do remember  thinking this moment of friendliness to me and kindness to cats is one answer to the question of "why here?"

Winter Light - A Fiction

He sinks to the depths about now.

Plunging, and making no effort to still the descent.

Taking comfort in the pitch where no one else is allowed,

or wants to be.

The safest place ever.

 

It begins with a confluence, a perfect storm.

Christmas, another fucking birthday, the New Year.

Rarely measuring up to images conjured.

Memories blurred without remorse,

but not without contrition.

The lapsed belief in the baby Jesus.

The Big Cheese altar boy at Midnight Mass.

Nothing more special to his mother.

And the strange non-Uncle,

the perfect Santa except for those roaming hands.

Green soup and lasagna. A ham.

The candles blown out, the ball dropping.

It all saddens the man.

 The missing of those moments.

           

How he loves winter.

Visible breathe with the first step out.

The biting air, the sharper the better.

Add some wind, he prays.

The depth of the forest.

Frozen ground – crunching and hard.

The smell of wood smoke and

soup simmering on the stove.

Dogs laid up on the couch. Like they own the joint.

New images, he thinks.

A clear reality not faded by time, or muted by innocence.

Seen with gratitude and lived with pleasure.

The Darkened Roost

They kept chickens. Sometimes they had more than others, often as many as thirty. The chickens did their jobs – they laid eggs, ate ticks and other bugs, and kept the ground stirred up with their always scratching and pecking. And they were pretty to look at, what with the different breeds and colors. 

P1040037 (a).jpg

At night, they closed them up in a wired coop to keep them from the fox, bobcats and other critters looking for an easy meal. After the chickens jostled for spots on the roosting poles, the man would enter the coop. It’s dark, his headlamp the only illumination. As he stoops low to close the opening to the threatening outside, the birds coo and cluck their approval from above and around him – so peaceful and calming. But it’s an eerie peace that hints of havoc. Perhaps a peck on his hairless head. Sometimes, the man thinks Hitchcock or remembers stories of farmers knocked to the ground and flogged to death by their chickens. They go for the eyes first, he’s heard – striking at the shiny reflections of themselves. 

 

A Good Walk Soiled

It was their first walk together in a long time. The bum hip had kept them from it. But now, new joint in place and mostly healed, they set off down the driveway as they did when they first met. Talking, holding hands, enjoying the time and place together, free of aches, and pain. Remembering reasons for being here in the first place.

The forest this time of year is a soft brown, devoid of the brilliance of spring and fall, so open you can see deep into the trees. Around a turn, a flash of bright assaults us from the edge of the road. Plastic bags, filled with all manner of shit, literally, as they mostly hold used disposable diapers. Tossed, left for dogs and creatures to shred, the earth won’t ever absorb it. You think, “What ignorant fool would do this?” But it isn’t the first time and you know it won’t be the last.

Along Anderson Branch Road, Madison County, December 2013

We get to the one-lane bridge that is our turnaround spot on this day. The creek is beautiful here – light and water tumbling over rocks, creating large pools of sunlight where one can spot an occasional fish, following its age-old path to the river and the sea. A bubbling brook some writers might call it, but not in a heavy rain.  A look from the other side of the crossing reveals the dead deer – hide, a skeletal carcass, forelegs with just enough sharply-cut meat attached to the bone to tell you this was the work of man. Killed, skinned, gutted, and butchered; the remains thrown in the creek, where it will feed others for days to come.

At Anderson Branch where it meets PawPaw Road, Madison County, December 2013

ShatterZone - a fiction

The road leveled out and they passed an overgrown field, barely enclosed by an ancient fence with rusted wire and still sturdy posts. “What was that for?” The boy asked. “Grandma and Grandpa had a lot of animals up here." the man answered. "You've never seen many animals. They had goats and sheep, lots of chickens. Mama said when she was little they had horses and llamas too. Grandma liked working with the animals,  Grandpa did too. He liked them for the work they did around the place and he liked to eat them."

Deaf and Blind on Shelton Laurel

Hickey's Fork, Shelton Laurel, Madison County, NC, 2013.

A couple of weeks ago, as we drove up Hickey's Fork looking for a barn with tobacco hanging in it, we passed by this sign. We were already driving slowly, but immediately slowed even more in case we encountered this unseen "deaf resident." I thought of this person and the sounds he was missing - the wind and rain in the forest, the bugs at night, a screech owl calling a mate. I also thought of a photograph I had made in 1998, also shot in Shelton Laurel, not far from where I was today. In it, the driving public was warned of a "blind resident" who walked Highway 212. I included the earlier photograph in my book, The New Road: I-26 and the Footprints of Progress in Appalachia. 

The two signs are, for me, reminders of the intimacy and immediacy of small places. They tell me of the concerns of real people, of neighbors and family, who have real concerns that could be affected by our actions. These are not signs one would see on the Interstate. Rather, they are gentle suggestions of acceptable behavior in this small, quiet and slow place. A place where values and lifestyle are such that disabled residents are at ease walking our roadways; knowing drivers will heed their personalized appeals, slow down, and respect them for their strength and resilience.

 

Highway 212, Shelton Laurel, Madison County, NC, 1998.

Hero - Corey Gradin

Corey Gradin on Her Seventeenth Birthday, November 12, 2013, Durham, NC.

On this Thanksgiving Day, I have much to be thankful for – health, friends, family, our home and community, my life itself. Fortunate and blessed are words I like to use. But today I find my thoughts repeatedly returning to one of my present-day heroes – Corey Gradin.

On a recent trip to Durham, I had the distinct honor of photographing Corey on her seventeenth birthday – November 12. It was a gray and rainy afternoon when we set up for the portrait in her backyard. We were both shivering and bundled against the weather and the resulting pictures present a slightly-blurred vision of this remarkable young woman.

Corey is the daughter of dear friends, Harlan Gradin and Elise Goldwasser, and has been a model of strength and wisdom for me since I first met her as a baby. You see, Corey was born with cystic fibrosis and her life has been an endless stream of hospital stays, missed school and activities, and delayed dreams. Her health issues have recently progressed to include diabetes and hearing loss. This past summer she and her parents spent long months at Washington University Hospital in St. Louis where Corey had a successful double lung transplant, which has given her some relief from the respiratory problems she’s endured forever. What has impressed me most has been Corey’s total lack of self-pity. That, and her ability to take full ownership of her illness, handling most of her own daily treatments, and accepting the cards that life has dealt her.

So, today, I am thankful for Corey – her friendship, her life, her warmth, her intelligence and sense of humor. I think back to a visit with her a couple of years ago – a particularly good period of time for her. She walked into the room – a vivacious fifteen-year old, hair in curled ringlets, a short skirt and tight blouse advertising her strong sense of self. “Geez, you look hot,” I proclaimed in my best dirty old man imitation. Corey looked me in the eye, obviously pleased by my observation, and with customary grace and glowing pride said, “Well, thank you.”

ShatterZone in Shelton Laurel

Driving around the county today - a tour guide of sorts with a visiting photo friend - on a search for tobacco curing in barns. It’s an image that used to be everywhere in the county, but is now mostly gone. It takes phone calls and driving to find that important piece of our county’s history. But we do find some and my friend is happy with the outcome.

Shelton Laurel, Madison County, NC, 2013 11 22. With Kelly Culpepper.

It’s a funny thing – driving around with another photographer and seeing what attracts his eye. Often, people are looking for nostalgia and memory, a sense of days gone by, and we certainly have our fair share of that here in Madison. Our traditions take us back and often hold us in place. But, more importantly, I sense people from the outside, from cities and bigger places, are looking for what Melville would have termed a true place – a place not down on maps that has remained relatively untouched by the modern world. Madison fits that definition, too, and we seem to draw people looking for that kind of experience. I worry our place will become known as a museum and not the actual living, breathing, evolving community I’ve always known it to be. 

Permanent RV, Hwy. 212, Shelton Laurel, Madison County, NC, 2013 11 22. With Kelly Culpepper.

Throughout its history, Madison County has been a place of refuge and resistance to the outside world. The Native Americans, the Anglo settlers, war resisters, and present-day refugees from urban living have all found Madison to be a receptive place for people wishing to get away from it all or living off the grid. For some people that vision of refuge is fulfilled with an image, and for others it may be a retreat to a part-time palace in the mountains that resembles their home in Florida. For others, that wish is more of an insistent need and people who are supposed to be here always find their niche.

Hwy. 212, Shelton Laurel, Madison County, NC, 2013 11 22. With Kelly Culpepper.

Catch Up

It’s been six weeks since I last wrote on this blog and I must admit I’ve enjoyed the break. There have been a number of intervening life issues that have made writing difficult, notably Leslie’s recent hip surgery and the temporary loss of all our help around the place, which has returned me to “chore” mode. It's served to remind me exactly how much work the young people do while staying with us. Most agree to let me photograph them, which is a bonus for sure. Muses come in many forms, from many directions. But these are flimsy excuses for not writing. So, call it writer’s block, or whatever, but the reality is I just haven’t felt like writing.

        

Ekho Hawk, one of our great helpers and an incredible model, PawPaw, Madison County, NC, 2013.

The break has allowed me the time to ponder some of the good things that have come my way over the last year. There were one-person exhibits at Wake Forest University and the Carrboro Arts Center and group shows at Duke University and the Madison County Arts Council. And, with the help of my irreplaceable assistant Jamie Paul, my work has been included in a number of online photography magazines and websites including http://www.lightleaked.com/, https://www.lensculture.com/, http://walkyourcamera.com/, http://sxsemagazine.com/, and http://www.artphotoindex.com/.

 

Chickencatcher, Samson, Alabama, 1994from Way of Nature, Way of Grace  

Chickencatcher, Samson, Alabama, 1994

from Way of Nature, Way of Grace  

And beginning on November 8, six of my photographs will be included in an exhibit titled Way of Nature/Way of Grace, www.ashevillearts.com/exhibits/nex-exhibit/, sponsored by the Asheville Area Arts Council, at Pink Dog Creative in Asheville’s River Arts District. This show has been organized by my old friend, Ralph Burns, and includes the work of a number of fine photographers – Tim Barnwell, Steve Mann, Brigid Burns, Mike Belleme, Erin Brethauer, Eric Tomberlin, and others, a total of eighteen artists. It’s an impressive group and I’m proud that Ralph chose one of my images for the exhibit announcement. The show explores the unsettled, and often unsettling, relationship between humans and other life on our planet.

I expect to return to the blog soon.