Birthday and Vandalia

48°f/9°C, clear. Such beautiful Spring weather we're having!

The weather was perfect for Vandalia this year. We have attended when it was searingly hot, and when it poured rain, but no one could have asked for a nicer day than yesterday. With the temperature never getting above 68f, it was perfect for an outdoor festival. This is Larry's birthday weekend, so Vandalia was part of his celebration of his 74th trip around his star.

This group of young men were playing and singing oldtime gospel music. Here they are singing "I'll Fly Away".

Where does the name Vandalia come from, you might wonder? For a while, some people referred to West Virginia as Vandalia. During the early days of European settlement in America, a plan was proposed to create a new colony to be called Vandalia, which would have included most of current West Virginia. The name was drawn from the ancient tribe the Vandals, with whom the Queen of England at the time of this proposed plan claimed heritage. So it was basically a ploy to get royal backing for the new colony. However, about that time the American Revolution broke out, putting an end to any future British colonies.

Vandalia wasn't the only thing happening in Charleston yesterday. There has been a week-long national bike road race going on all week, the 2025 USA Pro Cycling National Road Race Championship. It has brought in thousands of people, and snarled traffic something awful, but it also brings in about 24 million dollars so no one is complaining! The State Track and Field finals were also in town, so it was a very busy weekend in Charleston. 

But the traffic and congestion seemed far away at Vandalia.

The Vandalia Gathering was the brainchild of Kent Sullivan, longtime director of the arts and culture division of state government.  It has been a mecca for musicians, who gather on the Capitol grounds in jam sessions under the trees, perform onstage, and enter contests for banjo, mandolin, deliver, flat pick guitar, fiddle, and more. Old-time music differs from bluegrass in that the tunes are, well, old. I am no expert on this but I would say that the playing style, although similar to bluegrass, is also different, as is the singing style. Old-time doesn't use any electric instruments either.

Square dancers in the Great Hall of the Cultural Center. Mack Samples, a longtime friend is in the center with his back to my camera. At 86vyears old, Mack continues to dance, play fiddle and guitar in his band The Samples Brothers,  write and grow a garden. He's quite a guy. We differ politically,  but that's okay. 

He threw me a wave as he moved through the set.

This young fiddler was practicing before the youth fiddle contest, being backed up by Jesse Milnes,  a stellar player of multiple instruments.

We forgot to bring our folding chairs, so after a few hours I was pretty worn out, and we were hungry.  We decided to leave the festival and find a restaurant downtown where we could sit down and enjoy Part 2 of the birthday celebration. As we walked to our car, part of the race came zipping by.

My son tells me that this crowd of bikers in a race is called a pelaton (not sure if I spelled that correctly).

Getting downtown proved to be impossible, with so many streets blocked for the race, and so many people in town for it. We ended up at a restaurant called Soho's in the farmers market, and it proved to be an excellent choice. We chose a table outside, overlooking the market. Perfect, and the food was delicious. Part 2 of the birthday celebration was complete.

My pizza bread was so big I gave half to Larry.

He ordered a fritatta, and thought it was excellent. I tried a few bites, and agreed.

The minestrone soup was to die for. We shared this big bowl.

We returned to the festival for a while but finally called it a day and headed home. Feet up, wine and beer and an episode of Grantchester finished off a fine day.

Today the birthday boy was treated to breakfast by our son Derek, and guess what? I got to have breakfast too! It was brunch really, as it was 11am before we ate, but it was a nice leisurely start to our day. I had not yet given Larry his main gift (I got him a nice cap at Vandalia) but tok him to the store to choose the power tool of his choice. He chose a new circular saw as his was pretty ancient. A stop at the grocery store, my first time there in a month!, and we came home. I made an apple pie which is now baking, and Larry is working on repairing a dresser. Even on his birthday he won't take it too easy!

Tonight we'll roast hot dogs over the firepit again and make a salad, then maybe we will have some of that pie with ice cream, and I think that will finish up this year's celebration.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Listening to Friends: Poems, Music, and Storytelling

One thing I haven't been doing in the last few months is getting out to hear live music, storytelling, or poetry. There is nothing quite like being there, in the moment, listening and living in the words and music, especially when it is the words and music of friends.

The last few weeks I've been making up for lost time. First was the fiddle concert with Dave Bing and the fiddle class from Cedar Lakes, which I posted about in this blog.

And, as luck would have it, I got to hear Dave again at the local library, presenting a program on West Virginia fiddlers and fiddling. Dave is a multi-instrument musician who makes his own fiddles and travels to Spain and other places teaching workshops and presenting. But lucky for us, he lives in the neighboring county. His presentation at the library was an hour and a half long, and spanned a wide variety of West Virginia old-time fiddlers and fiddling styles. This tune, I believe, is called Bob Wine's Favorite.

I have learned a lot about our state's music and musicians over the years but Dave introduced me to some I'd never heard of before. I really liked his banjo playing too.

You can learn more about Dave and his music from the video The Crooked Tune: An Old-Time Fiddler in a Modern World. You can also hear him playing a few years back at the Wolf Folk Club in Norfolk, England on this clip.

Earlier this week I had the opportunity to hear my good friend Ellouise Schoettler present her program, The Hello Girls, at Fairmont State University. Ellouise lives in the suburban DC area and I don't get to see her often, so I was thrilled that she was coming to Fairmont, only 2 1/2 hours away.

Ellouise's presentation explored the story of women operators who were recruited in 1918 by the US Army and sent to France to man switchboards that transmitted messages from the trenches to Army headquarters. Some of these women were very close to the battlefields and went through some harrowing events, and yet on returning to the US were denied their rights as veterans. It's the kind of history often lost, not told in history books or even (yet) in movies, but an important story that needs to be told. Ellouise did a fantastic job of making these women come alive for a full house that included many college students as well as people from town.

Yesterday evening I drove up to Parkersburg for a poetry reading by the Sacred Way Poets, a group based in Parkersburg that drew their name from a street in Marietta, Ohio. I think it fits them well. Poems ranged from thoughts of spring to love, both bitter and sweet, to old memories, Native Americans, holidays, and one of my favorites, The Red Dress of Poetry by Sherrell Wigal, a poem that found its beginnings in Sherrell's mis-reading of a line that actually read "the redress of poetry." But the red dress of poetry--ah, yes. That defines the richness and variety of poetry so well.

Wilma Acree's poem, whose title I cannot remember, warned of falling in love with a man born in the astrological fire signs. I would really like to have a copy of that poem to read again and again. It was a good evening, and has pushed me to get back to writing more poetry, something I've let slide in the past couple of years.

Next week, the poets are bringing the vibrant voice of Amber Decker to Parkersburg, and I plan to be there to hear this outstanding young poet's strong work. This old lady intends to shake the winter dust out of her hair and get out to be inspired by the songs, poems and stories of my talented friends!




Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Old Time: Visiting Junior in Emmons, WV

There are places where bridges, traveled by foot, carry traffic from one county to another,

 where keeping up is not important, but keeping memories is,

Where music is breakfast, lunch and dinner (with sliced tomatoes on the side, and chunks of coal for warmth if need should be),

where the old ways, old places and old times are not the past but the present,

where what once was is still with us, and what is now, is simple, old-time ways,

where days end with sun's glory over the hills,

and the day's goodness in our hearts.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Augusta, Day 2

No pics of this week's activities yet, but they'll be coming. My camera has been in one place, the card somewhere else. I have finally reunited them!

It is not easy to describe the experience of being here. Musicians and singers are everywhere. Today I sat in on a session of singing old hymns, unaccompanied. The sound of many voices rising in harmony is like honey to the ears, and the chapel here at Augusta is the perfect place for both its ambience and its acoustics.

My class met for the second day. We're a small and varied lot, but that just makes it more interesting and more challenging at the same time as I strive to meet their needs, from the scholarship student who has never told a story to the museum docent to the experienced teller. We give and take, sharing ideas, experiences, and stories. Always stories. I arrived with a lesson plan and a schedule for the week, but it is constantly adapted to what my students need instead of what I think might benefit them. There is room for it all in the end.

Yesterday we talked about stories in general, what makes a story, the characteristics of Appalachian culture and its impact on the storytelling in the region. We explored some tall tales and discussed the structure of these kinds of stories. The Road Scholars (formerly Elderhostel) students came in the afternoon for stories; I told and talked about stories and one of my students told a tale.

I went to an evening ballad-singing concert with Brian Peters. Brian is from England and treated us to some excellent Child Ballads interspersed with his witty commentary that often had us laughing out loud. It was interesting to hear different versions of ballads I also sing. Following Brian were the crankies! Such simple fun. I was late to bed but it was well worth a little lost sleep.

Today we worked a bit on a story one of the students wanted feedback on, then moved on to ghost stories. I have each of them a story to learn--not perfectly, but the "bones" of the tale. They each told their story in rough form, then we discussed each telling. After lunch they came back and re-told the stories. The changes they had made as they let the story "sit" in their subconscience during lunch were remarkable and showed that they had a good grip on the story's structure. The Road Scholars arrived and I discussed ghost stories and why we tell them before launching into a ballad and then a few stories.

My students were up next. I was so pleased with the way they rose to the challenge; one of them retold a short funny tale I'd told earlier without a bit of rehearsal--he just added it to the story he'd practiced. They all got good applause and appreciations from the audience. We finished with more discussion and a few of the Road Scholars told short stories. Then they left and we reviewed each student's telling and our day was done.

There is much to do this evening: a concert, music jams, singing, probably dancing. The hills around Davis & Elkins College will be ringing with the joy of old-time music and dance, and everyone will go to bed tired, happy, and filled with music, song, and good conversation. And that's exactly why people come here from all over the country for this special week in the mountains.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

The Washboard Festival

A friend posted it on Facebook: The Logan (OH) Washboard Festival was happening this weekend.

A washboard festival? Really? Yes, really. Logan, Ohio is the home of the last washboard manufacturer in the US, the Columbus Washboard Company. I was surprised to learn that not only are washboards still being made, they're being made just an hour or so from my home.

Unfortunately we had a priority yesterday that could not be ignored: during the heavy rains Thursday our roof sprung a big leak. So that was on top of the to-do list. Larry started work on it Friday, finding the source of the trouble and getting together materials. Saturday was repair day. I wanted to leave bright and early for the festival but that wasn't to be: the roof had to come first. I picked berries--red and black raspberries, strawberries, cherries and currants--and made my favorite Cherry Berry jam while I waited for him to finish.

We did not leave until four in the afternoon. That meant we missed the tour of the washboard factory and the historic Bowen house, but we arrived in time to see part of the parade, wander the streets and listen to some great music. We knew not one soul there, but that didn't matter; the atmosphere was friendly and welcoming and everyone seemed to be relaxed and enjoying themselves. For children, there were free rides at the carnival. Free! Whoever heard of such a thing? There was a beer garden for adults, many vendors selling crafts and good food. We sampled the churned ice cream. Delicious.

The best part of the evening was the music. Robin Lacy and his band DeZydeco were a high-energy start to the evening, singing old favorites with a zydeco beat and tossing beads into the crowd. The lady beside me, easily 10 or 15 years older than me, rocked right along with them, arms in the air and singing along. She caught some beads too.

Washboard musicians were everywhere, Here, musicians line up to get on stage after DeZydeco for a group act with the next band.

The Buffalo Ridge Jazz Band followed with some good riverboat and ragtime sounds--and onstage with them for the last part of their show was the group of washboard players of all types and descriptions. Some had bells on their washboards, some had coffee cans, one had a hubcap--anything that could add a rhythmic note to the music.

My favorite of the washboard players was Newman Taylor Baker (known as NTB), who came to the festival from Brooklyn, New York. It was difficult to see him playing due to the arrangement of the stage, but here's the best photo I could get.

Later I asked NTB how he found this festival , and he said he'd been buying his washboards (note that plural) from the Columbus Washboard Company and heard about it through them. His style was unlike anything I'd ever seen, although he assured me that people in the south have been doing it for years: playing with 12-gauge shotgun shells on their fingers instead of the traditional thimbles. He played seated, with the washboard on his lap like a dulcimer, and he added a cymbal and other sounds to his playing. You can see and hear his playing on this Youtube clip. He also plays with a group called the Ebony Hillbillies. You can read more about NTB on his blog NTB/Singing Drums.

I hope we see him again at next year's festival, if not before--and perhaps as a featured performer. He'd certainly be a fine addition to their lineup.

In the course of conversation with NTB I mentioned that I was a storyteller and he asked if I happened to know a lady named Regina who was a friend of his in New York. Such a small world--I did know Regina, having met her at the Sharing the Fire storytelling conference  in Albany last year, and we've been Facebook friends since that time. Connections, they're everywhere.

The last band we heard was the Juggernaut Jug Band, from Louisville, KY. I had heard this group before when they came to Kanawha county as part of a summer reading program some years ago. Imagine someone who cam play a harmonica, washboard, and five or six other instruments all at the same time! And he sounded right good on the nose flute too. This group is as fun to watch as they are to hear; the pre-song discussion on this video (including a bit about the Kama Sutra, no less, and a little nose flute) is a good example of their eclectic style.

So next year? Oh yeah, this festival is on our calendar already. I even have a washboard that I used to mess around with. It was actually the one I used in our pre-electricity days. I painted it up and started learning to play it; then one of the legs broke. My father fixed it for me but I've never played it since. Maybe it's time to get it out again.

Copyright 2012 Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

A Wild Week

 Last week was certainly one for the books. Lots of travel, lots of changes in plans, and lots of interesting things to see and do. Here's a quick look at the week:

Monday: Unpacked from the family reunion, caught up a little on laundry and housework and gardens and packed again for a trip to Texas with my youngest son. Went to my booth to do a little tidy-up and collect my mid-month check. It was a good one :) The lumber arrived for the subfloor of the new cabin room. I picked cherries and Larry harvested the first broccoli.

Tuesday: on the road early, driving across Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee and on to Little Rock, Arkansas. At Little Rock, my son had a sudden change in plans that meant he would not be going on to Texas. So rather than driving on to Dallas the next day, we came right back home. It was a long trip, but the sight of the sun setting in Arkansas was almost worth the drive. Never have I seen such a huge, beautiful sun and sunset. To top it off, a stunt plane began flying loops as the red sun was setting and mist rose from the huge, flat fields. Incredible. And incredibly, no pics because I was driving and my camera was in the back seat.

We stayed at a really nice hotel, thanks to Derek who used some of his frequent flyer points to book us a room. The view from our room was beautiful. We were on the 13th floor--I thought hotels didn't have them?

This odd photo was one I took from our window. I have no idea what happened when I snapped it, but I kinda like it. I would have liked to explore Little Rock--it seemed to be a vibrant, busy place with lots to see.

Wednesday: we made the return trek through Memphis, Nashville, Louisville, Cincinnati and on to home. The Mississippi River at Memphis was gorgeous and I really wanted to stop a while and look around but we had no time for that. We did stop at a Waffle House where our waitress' name was Porsche. Grits, eggs, bacon for me and grilled chicken and eggs for Tommy was a bright spot in the morning--especially served with such Southern humor and down-home friendliness. I loved the black lady who came in with a basket of handcrafted flowers, singing and smiling. We were home before midnight and believe me, I slept like a baby.

Thursday: home to regroup. Tommy got a call for a job interview in Dallas! So guess what? No, we didn't drive back down. He booked a flight out of Columbus, Ohio for Friday. I caught up on email, did laundry, cleaned up the porch and deck, painted the porch rockers and cabinet and worked in my flower gardens while Larry mowed grass. Then we all went to bed early for a 4:00 am wake-up.

Friday: we were up and out by 4:30 am, headed to Columbus on Larry's birthday. We got there at 7:30am, dropped Tommy at the airport, then found a Waffle House for breakfast. This one was not the southern-comfort place of Arkansas, but still cheerful and friendly. I have to say, though, someone needs to teach them to make grits. We left in search of a thrift store I'd visited last December that ranked in my mind as one of the best ever. Run by Volunteers of America, their prices are good and the range of items for sale is stunning. We had a little trouble finding it, but a stop at a yard sale (and some good finds there!) got us directions.

We shopped a bit, then headed out of town--in the wrong direction. A look at the map showed another route we could take, though, a "back way" through small towns and farm country. We decided to give it a try. It was a beautiful trip, past fields of corn, old farmhouses, tiny towns and villages, through the woodsy paradise of Hocking Hills and into the college town of Athens, Ohio where we finally found the usual route again.

We arrived in Ripley at last (the town closest to where I live) and were just in time to scout the "Ripley On Sale" event at the courthouse. We scored there too, lots of bargains. It was beastly hot, so we didn't stay long. And who should we see there but our little great-granddaughter and her mommy! We talked a bit then headed to a Mexican restaurant for Larry's birthday dinner, then home to feed the animals. That should have been the end of the day, but it didn't stop there.

We got back in the car and headed to Charleston because, folks, it was Vandalia weekend! Vandalia is the annual gathering of state musicians and artists on the lawns of the state Capitol. There are contests for fiddlers, banjos, etc, a liar's contest, cake walk, music jams everywhere, dancing of all kinds, our friends Ron and Wendy there with their birds---this is the showcase of our state's culture. Friday night was the concert and awarding of the Vandalia Award and we knew our friends Mike and Tim Bing and their brother Dave were this year's recipients. We didn't want to miss that! We walked into the theater just as the Bings were given the award--what timing. Then we enjoyed an hour of some of the best music and poetry as the staff and students of Allegheny Echoes took the stage. Following them the Augusta Heritage Center presented their staff and students to highlight the 5 weeks of classes offered every summer at Davis & Elkins College in Elkins, WV.

The surprise of the night for us was when Larry's cousin, Junior Holstein, was brought onstage to play fiddle. Junior is one of the last of his generation of fiddlers and knows many old-time tunes that are not known to younger musicians.

He played two tunes; my favorite was "Mockingbird" in which he played birdcalls as part of the melody of the tune. We got a chance to talk to Junior a bit after the show. What a night. Bed was welcome when we finally got home around midnight.

Saturday: Up early to go to town to finish looking at the big sale at the courthouse and buy some plants from the Master Gardeners there, breakfast at the Downtowner, a visit with great-granddaughter again, grocery store, home to unload, then back to Vandalia. We enjoyed the music and dancing for a bit and I took the two children of some friends for a tour of the state Capitol building, including a look at the "bloodstain" and the tale of how it supposedly got there. It surely looks like a torso, doesn't it?

I used to be a security guard at the Capitol so I knew many ins and outs of the building and I do believe we explored them all! We rejoined Larry and the children's parents, then headed out to our house for a hotdog roast over the firepit, salads, melon, good conversation, on the deck and stories and songs on the porch. It was the perfect end to the day.

Sunday: We went nowhere! Laundry, dishes, garden work, lawn mowing, and general catching up was the order of the day. Derek and his girls came over for a cookout in the evening. We enjoyed fresh peas, lettuce and broccoli from our garden with the grilled chicken and vegetables provided by Derek who is a master on the grill.

Monday: All day at home again, this time working hard in my flowerbeds again and cleaning house. I also did some storytelling work. Larry started work on the sub-floor for the new room.

So, that was our week. There were little time for blogging for sure. I hope to make up for that by blogging daily again for a while and I want to catch up with all of you to see what you've been up to as well. This week will be much slower, with focus on the building project, developing stories and gathering produce from the gardens. It's time to pull the peas and plant cucumbers already. More about the garden in another post.

Copyright 2012 Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Daddy's Fiddle: A Guest Post

Today's post is a note I received from Sher Rushing. I wrote about her granddaughter Maelee last summer after hearing her play at the Big Stone Gap Celtic Festival. To hear a nine-year-old play with that kind of confidence was such a surprise, but this is no ordinary nine-year-old. Read on: 

 Howdy Susanna!

We, my husband John Rushing and I, are FB friends with you! John has actually got to meet you!; I've not yet had that privilege!

Anyway, you had included a short write up about "a young fiddler" (our granddaughter, Maelee), in one of your articles about Big Stone Gap, VA several months ago, along with a great pic! Thank you so very much for that!! We will treasure it always!

I wanted to send you a story I wrote about my dad and his fiddle...it's self-explanatory. 

Sher

  

Daddy's Fiddle

One day in the early 1970's, while dad was still able to work, a co-worker, Bill Leinenweaver, came in to Kroger with an old beat up fiddle he'd found while cleaning out his grandfather's attic. No strings, no bridge, and the case it was in was literally beat to pieces. Daddy didn't play the fiddle, nor any other musical instrument, but he sure did love bluegrass and old-time music! He thought the fiddle was "purty", and asked Bill what he was gonna do with it. 

Bill said, "Well, Rob, I don't need it, thought I might sell it, that's why I brought it in". 

Daddy replied "Well, Bill, whatcha askin' for it?" and Bill replied, "I figured ten dollars would be a fair enough price". 

Daddy dug his wallet out, had a five and two ones; checked his pockets for change, and came up with fifty cents. 

"Bill, I got seven fifty here; can I pay you the rest later?" And Bill said "Sold!".

A few days later, daddy took the fiddle to Treble Clef on Main Street in Batesville, Arkansas. Lou DeSio ran that shop, and still does as far as I know. Anyway, he had Lou put on a bridge, restring it, and tune it up. He also bought a hard shell case for it, and got a bow and some rosin: just in case anyone ever wanted to play it.

No one in our family ever did take an interest at the time, although a couple of great local fiddler's that picked at our house on a couple of occasions did: Tim Crouch and Scotty Branscum. They said it was a fine fiddle, and it was truly amazing the sounds they each got out of it! I remember daddy being so proud that his fiddle was being played, and he even offered to let them take it and play it! Both refused, afraid "someone might steal it", or "something might happen to it". I think they were both being very polite, although they really did seem to like the way it sounded.

Daddy left us in 1997. He never did hear that fiddle being played by any family member. He did leave it in my care, just in case "you or one of the grandkids decide you want to play". I've kept it all these years.

This past Saturday night, about 38 years after he bought it, daddy's fiddle was played on stage. It sounded wonderful! It had a mic and amp system! It had my husband backing up the fiddler playing it! It had a crowd to listen, along with judges! It had a 9 year old fiddler producing amazing sounds from it! And that 9 year old fiddler was his great-granddaughter, Jentry Maelee Taylor!

And at the 2012 East Tennessee Young Musician's Bluegrass Contest in Rogersville, TN, Maelee took first place in the Junior Fiddle Division {ages 8-12} contest...with the $7.50 fiddle.

We all could feel daddy's smiles from Heaven!

27 February, 2012

That's the story Sher Rushing sent me, and one I am so happy to share with all of you. Thank you, Sher!

I think we've just heard the beginnings of this young fiddler's journey. Congratulations, Maelee, and may you continue to find new songs on your grandpa's fiddle.

Music in the Mountains: Allegheny Echoes

The peaceful roadside park in my last post was a stop on the way to our real destination: Allegheny Echoes in Marlinton, WV for the culminating concert by all the master musicians who taught classes during the week of workshops. It's a three-hour drive from home to Marlinton, but worth every minute--and the scenery alone along the way is worth the drive.

I was introduced to Echoes by poet Kirk Judd who teaches the creative writing classes for the workshops. In 2005 I won second place in the WV Writers annual contest, in the Emerging Writers category. That week was an awakening for me. I'd heard of Echoes before but had no idea of what it was really like. I wrote and wrote while we were there, and several of those poems went on to win awards in later writing competitions.

What I also discovered was another family. The people who run Echoes and those who attend quickly welcomed me into their fold, and I was hooked. I stayed up til the wee hours every night that week, listening, listening, listening, and writing, writing, writing. The music played sometimes until the sun came up; no one wanted those days to end. It was magic, pure and simple.

I returned two years later for the vocal class, learning, or trying to learn, to sing harmony. It was fun, but I snuck away for one afternoon and joined the writing class for a trip to the resting place of Edden Hammons and his family. The Hammons unknowingly preserved some very old music and language because it was just part of their lives in their remote mountain home. They were recorded,thankfully, and the Smithsonian has archived their work as well as made it available on CD. Dwight Diller is currently producing a DVD about the Hammons. To travel to their gravesides and contemplate what their life was like in the surrounding mountains--a hardscrabble life by all accounts, but one they accepted and enjoyed--was food for several more poems and some good photos.

Last year I was the creative writing master for Kirk's class, joining them for an afternoon at a riverside cabin to write and talk about writing. Again, the creative energy I discovered that afternoon fed me for several months. It also left me hungry to return. Since our finances this year are not really settled down due to my retirement, and since I sorely needed my Echoes "fix," we made the drive Friday to touch base once more with this creative "family," listen to their good music, and catch up on their lives. And I knew I would stay up until the music stopped.

The concert was fantastic. From the elderly Charlie Loudermilk's excellent playing to the fiddles of Chance McCoy and Jake Krack to the banjo of Tim Bing and his brother Mike's mandolin, the guitar of Robert Shafer, Pete Kosky's singing, Kirk Judd's poetry, Bob Shank's "manjo" (big baritone banjo, I think it was), John Blisard's performance of a Pocahontas county tune and an original tune...the list goes on and on. The concert is free (donations are accepted) and many local folks attend so that the Marlinton Opera House was standing room only.

Afterwards we returned to the Marlinton Motor Inn for the evening jams. I had asked permission to do so because the evenings at the motel are not open to all--but we were more than welcome, and beds were even found for us when we learned there were no vacancies. What a family. The music played on and on, old tunes like Sally Gooden, Ducks on the Pond, Going Across the Blue Ridge Mountains, and many others, and original songs by Pat Shields and others.

As the night wore on, the musicians drifted off one by one, until by 4:00 am there was a group of perhaps 20 still playing and listening. At 5:00 am, only two musicians and myself were left on the porch to watch the sky begin to lighten. I fell into bed, clothes and all, and slept like a stone until a banging on the door at 11:30 am rousted me out. Fun? Believe it. Tired? Absolutely! But worth it, completely worth it.

We had to jump up and leave quickly, though because I was due in Charleston to help with the WV Writer's table at the FestivALL event going on that day, so we said our farewells and left, with many a backward look.

Be it resolved: Next year we will be there for the entire week.

The Missing Generation?

A friend pointed out recently that there is a generation missing at folk festivals and old-time music festivals. It's the 30 and 40-year-olds, he noted that are just not there. Oh, there is a smattering of them in the crowds but the majority of attendees are those over 50 and surprisingly the teens and 20's groups.

Why the hole in the age groups? Is it that the middle generation is not interested in the cultural history of West Virginia? Does the music, traditional dancing and food not appeal to them? Or is it something beyond their control?

Buddy Griffin and Mack Samples, 2009

These questions have been on my mind ever since my friend's comment, and I think I might have hit on a possible answer. I think that what happened was timing. Thirty and forty years ago, West Virginians were leaving the state to seek work elsewhere because the economy here was in poor condition with the loss of many underground mining jobs and the gradual shift of other industry to the sunbelt regions in the south. Interstate highways had passed the state by because of the complexity and expense of building roads through rugged terrain. Those who remained either had good jobs as teachers, doctors, postal workers and in the remaining plants, or they were struggling to get by on incomes below the poverty level.

The families with good jobs also had access to television and saw what the rest of the world was doing. Leave it to Beaver, Ozzie and Harriet and other shows extolled the suburban way of life and that might have had an impact on people who were smarting from the negative media publicity the state had received in the early 60's. They might have aspired to join mainstream America, with the brick rancher, two cars and food from the grocery store. They might have wanted to listen to the popular music of the day, eat at drive-in restaurants and buy clothes and furniture at department stores.

The old ways might have been disdained. Who wanted to eat beans and cornbread if they could eat at McDonald's like the rest of the world? Why make quilts when you could buy lovely bedspreads with matching shams and curtains? Why can and preserve when there were grocery stores filled with canned and frozen food? Why even grow a garden? Television people didn't have gardens and cellars filled with canned food. They had modern kitchens and cabinets stocked from the store. Andy and Aunt Bea, of course, continued to portray the old way of life with folksy humor, and the shows, though popular, seemed to be a charming reminder of how things were, rather than how things are.

The children growing up in this environment of keeping-up-with-America were only exposed to West Virginia's traditional life when they visited their grandparents or family homeplaces or perhaps the occasional canner of beans was prepared at home. Gardens were relegated to out-of-the-way places if there was a garden at all, and were primarily for eating fresh. Music came from the pop or country radio stations instead of from family members playing their instruments on the porch. Folk festivals sprang up, and as a historian once told me, whenever they start having a festival for something, it's a lost art. So craft fairs celebrating the old mountain crafts, old-time music festivals and others sprang up. For some, these events were not a celebration of a past way of life, but of the way they were still living. The generation born in the 1950's and before continued to garden, farm, can and play music, but as years passed their numbers grew smaller and many gave up the old ways to join the traffic jam to new culture.

So most of the 1960's and 70's children grew up in a different way of life. Their parents were eagerly embracing new conveniences and saw no reason to teach their children about the old, even possibly embarrassing way their parents had lived. They wanted new, streamlined, modern, and automatic, not old, traditional, and manual. These children grew up with televisions, microwaves, and air conditioning. Few taught their children to play the fiddle or banjo, or to can green beans, plant by the signs, or any of the many self-sufficient skills taken for granted by past generations. Who needed those skills when a machine or a store could provide the same result with less labor?

Now there seems to be a new interest in traditional life by the new generations, those born in the late 80's and the 90's. Music festival abound in young people with fiddles on their backs and banjos in their hands, giving the old music a new twist and a new life. There are communes in cities where young people grow urban gardens and try to live off the grid. Some who can afford to are moving out, buying land and rediscovering the joy of providing for themselves. Those who are held in towns and suburbs are growing gardens and trying to live as "green" as possible with an environmental awareness that seems foreign to their elders but in place with the traditional ways of living.

Glenville folk festival, 2009

I think perhaps technology, the thing that pulled people away from the old ways, may be partly responsible for bringing the younger generations back as they discover old-time musicians on YouTube, or stumble on blogs that detail how to raise goats and chickens and make jam. the Internet with its far-reaching powers now provides instant access to people who can share their expertise in the most forgotten of arts and who will even chat or talk on forums. There are photos and videos and all sorts of tools instantly available. When I was learning to do things on our land, I relied on books and the neighbors. Now there is a world neighborhood available online.

I may be way off track in these ruminations, but right or wrong, it makes me happy to see the young fiddle players and homesteaders rediscovering the value of what was taken for granted for so many years.

I'd be interested in hearing your thoughts on this. Anyone care to chime in?

(An interesting observation: the spellchecker doesn't recognize "canner" or "homeplace." Hmmm.)