Published: Apr. 23, 2007 at 4:55 AM
Last modified: Apr. 23, 2007 at 5:48 AM
The beautiful mountains of southern West Virginia for one who knows how to work hard is a phenomonal place to learn violin, garden and live. Coming from a family tradition with nearly Paul Bunyon mythical characters in terms of work-ethic, in the midst of the greenest most temperate environment on earth is one of the best kept secrets in America today. I can say this because I've traveled and lived all over the world.
I use to travel 3 hours each way to underwrite my mom and dad's rural traditions and quality of life every single weekend, and finally was needed at home permanently about a year ago. These never ending work missions created some of the most impressive high scale gardens in our area--I'm sure. A little boasting? Nope. A little fishing story? Nope again.
Installing asparagus beds working directly with Scott Walker of Jersey Asparagus Farms, who works directly with Rutgers University I installed awesome asparagus beds over a couple years, aggravating the heck out of him until I 'knew' I had it right(he no longer answers my emails!--just kidding). Working directly with Territorial Seed I installed 10 varieties of garlic from all over the world several years ago which I maintain like a baseball card collector. The same with gold raspberries, strawberry patches, red raspberries, and all that is before the corn, beans and potatoes are in the ground.
I then started thinking, 'well, why can't I grow celeries, and root-cellar carrots; and, find other ways of looking at canning and sustainable maintenance'. The answer: I can and do, and others can too! At least a couple I know of come pretty close.
My violin experience began appropriately on my hundred dollar squeaker in the greenhouse(which I made happen) late night for several hours on weekends (ouch!), before returing home and doing the same practice there during the week. At my parents,I was hoping to scare the groundhogs effectively--it didn't work, but I swear the plants looked healthier. So my life for the past few years has been a blur of phenomonal work, tempered by an equally surreal drama of shake it off and move on.
Violin is like gardens. A moment of awesome beauty (finally got Air on G String smoother than silk) to jeezusss H. Christ quit zoning when you're getting through your elements. Gardens too are a Jobian lesson in persistence and patience. This year surely, has been such a year.
The warm period in March got me going early to finish my latest raised strawberry patch, edging the rose garden, fertilizing the garlic, transplanting fruit trees I'd started, thinking about moving things into the greenhouse (of course too early), even clearing a patch of new ground. The existing strawberry patches looked like little half bushel baskets as black green as ever existed, and those problematic fancy daffodils were teasing the heck out of me with bunches of blooms on each side of the Batik Irises(Iris is both a heirloom, as well as inherited blessing of good luck 'round here because many are passed from generation to generation). And then came the sackcloth.
During a big family event at easter (aka: show-boat time),the freeze hit. The strawberries in the end looked like they could never possibly recover being completely flattened on the frozen ground. All bloomed orchard trees seemed completely destroyed, and there was actually ice an eighth inch thick on many things, and of course I'm suppose to be a good host. Would anyone like to have some fancy daffodil bulbs? So I dig into the very depth of my old-school resolve, and say well, the cabbage made it.
So here I go visiting every single strawberry plant pulling dead blooms--oh yes, it's a lot of strawberries. Cursing a little because I felt I deserved it (God and I get along that way, as Mark Twain is my soul-brother), I pulled my reserve cauliflower, brussel sprouts and other things from the green house and replanted. The damaged asparagus had my insides in knots, and the thought of no cherries had me researching how to make moonshine.
The first few days the strawberries kept opening up damaged blooms (little black spots in the kernels). The first opening I said, 'ah yes'-some strawberries, then realized they were dead blooms.
So yes, I visited every plant again, and pulled 'those' dead blooms. Then finally, a live bloom appeared after much Miracle Grow, various mountainous rituals learned from the mountain granny up in the hollow, who 'knows' God personally I'm sure, more blooms appeared. Then some more damaged blooms--yep, I pulled them all again. Of course this ended up nicely, as today, I noticed the strawberries are heavy with beautifully healthy blooms, and that green I'm use to was starting to show off(The cherries and apples rebounded too). This story though is far, from over.
Just as I got the other types of plants stablized and lookin good--my gardens have to look good too--I noticed something eating on a cabbage plant. Over the next couple days, all of the replanted cabbage except one, and all the cauliflower were nubbs!. Now, I know people who use to eat groundhog, but I don't. Then I thought, 'ya know, my uncle threatened to bring a tarapin over hear last year he found in his garden'. But the good Lord knows me too well,and retribution always bights me in the tail. What the storybook didn't tell you is that Paul Bunyon is sometimes a little competitively honary, molded by a wonderful real conscience formed I think, by mountains--a sensibility that makes philosophy seem trite. The groundhog though, no longer lives under the out-building, and my final wave of cole-crops are ready to roll--and of course lookin good. No Ms. Anne, I'm not tired. ;).
And --in the.........''mean time''......, up above the house where I saw a bear pass through last year(another real blog), a coal truck turns over, dumping about 30 tons of excellent excellent coal. Having permission to get what we wanted before the cleanup Monday, here I go again. Load after load after load, I moved twenty tons of coal the past couple days--oh what the heck, I can mow the upper 40 in between loads. But this one I sort of won. My uncle who would drop off a tarapin on our side of the mountain, because I swear I think he was dropped on his head as a baby, didn't find out about the coal until I was about 15 tons in.
Now he is 82, and hasn't missed a lick working since he was about 10. He stops on the highway as we are loading with the predictable questions, saying of course he'll be right back after the baseball game, and I look at him with the biggest blackened faced grin I could manage and out of nowwhere said, 'you're gonna have to beat me to it'! ;). Oh God--wrong thing to say.
Now mountain folk are sensitive by nature, and do remember that retribution thing. Yes, I loaded his truck several times too. He'd never seen two tons of coal on a small truck...Let's see that'll make 26 loaded, 20 unloaded. I am not, I am not, I am not, going to say what's next!. But be assured, a mountain boy will survive!. No Ms. Anne, I'm not tired. ;).
And some think Flesch is hard? (honary half-cynical: huh)...
The Sarabande I'm working on is an original interpretation I think, because I'm certain it was written for lute or guitar or something. There are about two measures in the last theme that is still thinking it's a groundhog because I'm transposing it for violin live and real time rather than to piano first. I've played it for years on guitar, and God forbid when I finish it on violin--it will and I do mean it will, receive a dedication of all the angst of just another day on the mountain this year. And I love it--every minute of it...
I actually do love the Sarabande--it's hauntingly beautiful on violin(BWV997). I think I'll wear sackcloth when it's ready for consumption. You see good reader (Oh God, I'm sounding like Henry Fielding), in the mountains, the music really does lead the way.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment