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STUFF: Last night I woke up at 2:42 (digital clocks are just too precise). Filled with worry about some things that could eat me, swallow me and spit me out.
But….shouldn’t I help them? Shouldn’t I try to give my last piece of flesh to right a wrong, to expose facts, histories? I rose from my bed to sort my thoughts, my feelings. Do I jump into the fire of an empty house, or do I let it burn and walk away?
Up. Now I am up. I walk to my iBook G4 (tired old friend…or fiend) and turn her on. Emails? Essays? Blog posts? Stop.
Look. On the counter sits a box: Number 42. It holds treasures and trash of my daughters’ school days. Forget the mounting community crisis. Sort your own world first. Leaf by leaf, I rake through old photos, school play programs, little notes.
Among the stuff is my younger daughter’s journal from her first year in high school, part of a daily writing practice from her 1994 Honor’s English class. I read. I think the statute of limitations on “Mothers Reading Private Stuff” has passed…I hope.
Oh, that little paperbound notebook is filled with wonder! On the front, a note: “A Mind is Terrible Thing.” Perhaps this notebook is a Mother’s Lode, a vein of gold? It is filled with amazing flights of fancy, a young girl on that edge of childhood, standing on a shaky precipice. Stories of climbing trees far beyond my reach. Dreams of slaying monsters, of friendships true and new.
There are dark corners, too. She writes of days and nights that are unraveling her magic, her spark as she struggled through the tangled labyrinth of American High School ( Definitely NOT a Disney movie). She writes of her inner wisdom, her core of knowing who she is and what she can do. I love my daughter…fiercely.
Then I read, “I hate my mom!” Take a breath.
Moms and daughters. Some days I wish I could wind back that clock….or re-set those glowing numbers. To have known when to just let go and when to hold on tighter.
I let her climb that tree, all the while knowing she was there standing 60 feet up, soaring over her world. I trusted her to get down safely, back on the ground. But where else should I have closed my eyes? What other times might she have sailed off and then landed gracefully, steadily?
My daughter, now a young mother: Strong, grounded, determined and dreaming. In one entry way back then she writes, “I love it (gymnastics) because you can soar through the air like nothing matter at first. The only thing you have to worry about is missing your hands. After the first try though, it’s about the funnest thing.”
Now she flies as she watches her own children. Soar, dear one. And don’t miss those hands.
The clock says 4:03. Back to bed. I’ve forgotten fire and found gems. Sleep.
I’m B.Z. Smith. I tell stories. Here’s one.
Inside the old schoolhouse at Columbia State Historic Park, CA
I teach.
I used to teach public school…lots of grades. My favorites were Second Grade and Kindergarten…what absolute joy! Well, most days. What’s the difference between teaching K and 2nd?
To sum it up in a generalizing kind of way:
Second Graders are becoming readers and writers. They know how to tie their own shoes, and they can “hold it” until recess (usually). They know classrooms have rules, and they love school! Best of all, they love their teachers.
Kindergartners usually don’t read nor do they really know how to hold pencils yet (and that is OK). They need help with their shoes, buckles and buttons. They do not know when they need to go to the bathroom until they MUST go. They have no idea what Big Kid School is and they are terrified of it. And, best of all, they love their mommies.
My second year in second grade I met Max (name changed to protect the innocent, and the not-so innocent). A beautiful boy with olive skin, floppy chocolate brown curls, sparkling eyes and a laughing smile. Bright, too. Dressed like a Rock Star on the first day of school, Max makes a statement.
In true Teacher Style, I begin my orientation assuming my role as the Captain, guiding my young charges to help me help them. We’re meeting and greeting. Each child sits at his or her assigned desk with a neatly printed name-tag, a brand new pencil and fresh, untouched crayons.
All at once Max jumps out of his desk, onto his chair, and flies to the top of his desk. With arms straight into the air, fists clenched above his shock of curls, he shouts, “I love Rock and Roll!”
I stiffen. Yes, I am shocked, but I’m a pro. The Captain glides to his side. His short little body is now elevated to 5’1″ by virtue of the fact that he’s standing on top of his desk. My 5’1″ body, defined by my gene pool. For all to hear, I command, “Not in my classroom you don’t. No, Max. You will learn of Mozart, Beethoven and Brahms. You will enjoy Miles Davis and David Grisman, but not Rock and Roll.” I stare at him, just inches from his face, and hiss, “Now sit.”
The other cherubs sit wide-eyed, never having witnessed such events (unless they were in First Grade with Max). They shift uncomfortably, not certain what the New Teacher will do. I turn to them, and give them a quiet, comforting smile as if to say, “Don’t worry, little mates. The Captain is here, and you will be safe.”
Then I lean in to Max’s ear, words only for him to hear: “If you ever do that again, you will be in such big trouble. Don’t mess with me, kid. I used to teach Eighth Grade. I know all the tricks.”
Max looks up at me with some respect. He isn’t dead, and the teacher has “won” this round.
Round Two…A few months and a few small battles later:
There comes a day when Max steps over the line with me and with his classmates. I send him outside the door for a moment to reflect on his ill-deed. I take a breath. Fortunately, my teacher’s aide is in the room to watch my Little Crew so I can step outside to “chat” with my pal. Here’s the gist of the conversation…
Me: Max, I am very disappointed with what just happened.
Max: You’re fat (His First Grade Teacher had warned me about this).
Me: Yeah, I know I am really overweight. I need to work on that. I’ve been thinking about starting a new diet and exercise program. Thanks for sharing your concern.
Max: (Tactic #2) You’re old.
Me: (voice drippy sweet) Yes, it’s true. I am ever so much older than you.
Max: (Tactic #3) You’re an old grandma!
Me: (Big smile) You’re right! I am a grandma. I love being a grandma. I have wonderful grandchildren. They are clever and smart, just like you.
Then…Max melts into my (fat) arms. He hugs me, looks up and smiles.
Me: We’re in this together, Max. I’m here to help you learn how to walk through the world.
That day we find a new way of being. Oh, there are other rough days with Max, but he knows I care. And that’s the heart of teaching, really. The rest just falls into place. A teacher who cares, a student who accepts and understands, even surrenders to that embrace.
State standards. Testing. Teacher Accountability. School Report Cards. “No Child Left Behind.” I say, “Nuts to you!”
Live, love, laugh and be happy. Let’s give joy to our children. Let’s give them what they really need…a place that welcomes learning and curiosity. A place that facilitates discovery, construction, invention and reflection. A place that teaches us ALL how to be human.
To back up for just a moment: There was a bit of Rock n’ Roll in our classroom that year. Occasionally I played some classic Beatles tunes, a Beach Boy song or two. But our all-time favorite was The Banana Slug String Band, singing “The Ant Song”–a lively tune with a strong repetitive chorus and a lot of good science presented in song. Everyone, including Max and me, would get down on all fours. We’d scramble around the room like little ants, combing the carpet for little tidbits of classroom trash while we sang along to the rousing chorus. Boy, oh, boy…Did we have a clean floor!
I’m B.Z. Smith. I tell stories. Here’s one of them.
A 5 year-old girl cannot stop drawing. A 10-year old girl gets in trouble for doodling on her schoolwork. A 12 year-old girl is compelled to do ART! A 15 year-old girl sells her first drawing to another artist who reproduces it into something else! An 18 year-old girl is urged to do something practical with her life…not just art. Funny thing: They’re all the same girl: Corey Overholtzer West, one of Tuolumne County’s best known young and emerging artists.
Finally, at 23ish, Corey begged her family to let her do what she had always done, what she was inspired and driven to do. Her grandfather agreed to send her to California College of the Arts.
Now married to Will West with a 21-month old son, Corey paints full-time. Well, not just paints…She sews…She sculpts…She builds…She makes jewelry. This woman is a creation machine! It is her life.
Currently Corey is showing at Banny’s Café & Wine Bar in the “Food for Thought” show where she took a First Place for Mixed Media. Next week she opens in “The Returning Show II,” a showcase for young and emerging artists who grew up in Tuolumne County. But THIS week, I interviewed Corey for yet ANOTHER SHOW…”ArtPrize” in Grand Rapids, MI. Here is the article I wrote…
Sonora artist Corey West loves to push edges, to discover new ways of expressing herself through her art. Now she has taken on a whole new challenge by entering an international art competition with over 1200 other artists showing in 159 different locations. This week Corey crated and shipped Butterfly Rain to Grand Rapids, Michigan, for “ArtPrize,” a highly competitive show sponsored by the Dick and Betsy DeVos Family Foundation.
“When we first heard of ‘ArtPrize,’ my husband urged me to compete,” explained Corey. “He wanted me to create my ultimate masterpiece.” She reminded her husband that their son Joel, 21 months old, is that ultimate masterpiece.
That is when Corey decided to paint a portrait of Joel for her entry. Butterfly Rain, a mixed media painting that measures 48” wide by 96” tall, depicts Joel’s face looking up at a butterfly. “The theme of my painting is childhood’s innocence and the sublime wonder of our earliest experiences with nature. In this case, I painted Joel transfixed by the image of a butterfly in flight.”
To heighten the impression Corey created a three-dimensional butterfly sculpture that is fixed to the painting in line with her baby’s gaze, eyes mesmerized by the dramatic focal point. The 14” by 12” butterfly is composed from heavy-gauge wire, wrapped in delicate silver wire, then adorned with gemstones, jade, recycled glass, shells and ceramic shards. It pops off of the painting, suspended in air. Corey paints with a strong mark using a series of textural layers of acrylic paint, various high quality art papers, beads and artist-rendered stencils of ghost-like iridescent butterflies that float across the image.
In its first year, “ArtPrize” is taking a radical approach by eliminating traditional judges and curators. This art show’s mission is “to reboot the conversation between artists and audiences on a grand scale” (http://www.artprize.org/mission). The winners are selected by popular vote, rather than by judges with the stated intention to create an open dialogue and exchange between the public and artists.
There will be at least two rounds of voting as competitors move up the ranks toward the final first prize of $250,000. The final ten competitors will all receive significant cash awards. The sponsors and organizers realize that their method may generate discussion and perhaps dissent because of this non-traditional format, but they welcome that dialogue as a way to bring art to the general public on a level that engages action and response.
“This is a major step for me to push out my career and expand my audience,” stated Corey. “Plus, I’ll be traveling to Grand Rapids to participate in this huge art reception.” Indoor and outdoor venues include The Gerald R. Ford Presidential Library, The Gillett Bridge, The Urban Institute of Contemporary Art, plus hotels, restaurants and churches. Corey’s work will be on display at Monroe Community Church, a progressive new church, located in a downtown warehouse.
“This has been one of the most challenging tasks I’ve ever taken on in my career. I hope the people of Grand Rapids appreciate my work. I’m going forward with the knowledge that many fine artists will be competing with me,” Corey shared, then quickly added, “If any Tuolumne County people have friends and family in Grand Rapids, encourage them to attend. I hope they’ll vote for my painting.”
Corey has participated in many local and regional art shows, including Sonora Art Trails. She has shown her work in New York City’s Chelsea District at The Agora Gallery. Currently she exhibits in downtown Sonora at Backspace, 67 S. Washington Street and at The Ventana Gallery, 19 W. Bradford Avenue.
She paints at Studio West, 19312 Industrial Drive in East Sonora, where Corey also does high-end matting and framing. To visit her studio, call for an appointment at (209)533-4278. Corey’s website address is www.coreywest.artspan.com.
UPDATE: In the interest of transparency and full disclosure, I’ve been reminded that I should let all readers know that I am helping Corey with art promotion. We have also discussed that I work as her art representative, along with one other artist, Geoff Wynne Fine Art Photography www.geoffwynne.com. That said, I’m just learning how to do this kind of work and I’m not very good at it (yet).
Piles of laundry, clothes to put away, get the car washed…Yep, we’re home from Strawberry. Even four days later the phone rings, and friends ask, “How was Strawberry?”
Well, how is life? How is going to church and feeling filled with spirit? How is standing in pure, stunning sunlight, watching leaves dance in mountain breezes?How is music flowing, circling all around you from dawn until dawn? How is listening to giggles and gleeful laughter from little kids having such a grand time? How is listening to a mom soothe a crying kid who is on complete overload from just too much Strawberry Kid fun? How is striking up deep conversations with someone you just met…A Strawberry Virgin–like Becky and Ed from LA, first timers? How is standing in line in a filthy, dusty bathroom, laughing with other women about the showers, the hot water, sharing soap, toothpaste, passing TP with strangers…No! There are no strangers at Strawberry! How is holding and loving almost 30 years of friendships born and nurtured in this one beautiful, natural place?
A backwards journey goes something like this:
Pulling onto Highway 120 from Evergreen Road, I can no longer tune in Hog Ranch Radio on my car radio. The station has a short range, just a few miles. By now I’m more than five miles from Strawberry’s Epicenter, Music Meadow. Just a few moments before I could catch it!
88.1 FM on the dial, Hog Ranch is the Festival’s official Radio Station, broadcasting Mainstage Music, Workshop Broadcasts, camp news, history, special announcements, the Sunday Morning Revival Show from Birch Lake. From Festival Day #1 when it roars over the airways until noon on Festival Day #5 when Bix Beeman and the whole Hog Ranch Team sign off, our camp radio station offers a unifying voice pulling 5,000 people together. The Hog’s history at Strawberry is rich, highly textured, and is a vital part of Strawberry’s Story….more about The Hog in the future.
As I pull out of my campsite, The Hog is playing “The Breakfast Club,” which is aired from the Dining Hall each morning. Sign up and sing for your breakfast…That’s the basic idea. Anyone can give it a try. Just rehearse, plan and prepare. Some groups are incredibly tight and professional, the sort you’d expect to see on the Strawberry Stage; others are just coming out of the box. In my own camp, I’ve sat around listening in, eaves-dropping, on a group or two as they rehearsed one more song before trekking off to the Dining Hall to play for their “supper.” Back in camp we listen in on the Radio. Every “decent” Strawberry Camp brings a radio to tune in to The Hog. You can even go home with the semi-annual Hog Ranch Radio T-Shirt, a real collector’s item!
This morning a group from Anywhere West Coast is singing and playing “Leaving on a Jet Plane.” Normally this song would sort of, well, bore me. But Camp is closing down for the winter. All of the Strawberry Revelers ARE leaving, saying goodbye, packing their bags. This time the song touches my heart; tears trickle down my cheek.
I drive under the big wooden Camp Mather sign. Goodbye Waves come my way from everyone along the trail. I bid adieu to my summer home, my heart of hearts…The Strawberry Music Festival.
Just minutes before I was still parked at my camp, getting ready to pull out, saying those usual “See Ya Later, Alligators” to my camp pals. Lots of hugs, a few camera snaps, email address exchanges. Wait! One more story about the guy who stopped by camp the other night to play a new song he’d written, how poignant it was, bringing tears to our eyes.
And just before that: Wash the windows. All that camp dust obscures my view of the road. I’m kind of short, so one of my Strawberry pals hops over to help me. Helping each other all through the festival….”It’s The Strawberry Way.”
You hear that phrase a lot at The Strawberry Music Festival. It goes back to the earliest days of the festival when a tradition, a culture formed that has stayed with us ever since. At Strawberry no one is in a hurry, no one is pushy. There is a lot of respect, kindness and generosity among these merry revelers. And so many people bring their kids! This festival has a huge commitment to the Strawberry Kids…for them to have fun and to be safe. For five days we all come together to create a Utopia of Artistic Bliss right in the middle of the forest.
On Sunday night, our last night, we strolled from one camp to another, listening to music. You see, Strawberry isn’t just a place to go to hear (and see) professional musicians play on a stage. It is a musicians’ music festival. Every camp is filled with guitar players, mando players, fiddle and banjo players. Lots of these campers are professionals themselves, gigging all around their neighborhoods.
The nighttime drift of tune upon tune upon tune fills the soul with real food. Communion, it is. Where two or more people gather to share the joy, the ecstasy and grace of music…That’s the Strawberry Way. Little kids, learning to play fiddle sit and jam with virtuosos…That’s the Strawberry Way. And Sunday night is especially Holy because it is our last night together as a family, as a community. We all know the show is about to pack up and we will soon spill back into our daily lives. So, let’s hold it and love it before we go…That’s the Strawberry Way, too.
Stayed tuned. There’s more.
I’m B.Z. Smith. I tell stories. This is one.
Is NOT in Strawberry, CA. A lot of folks who do NOT attend The Strawberry Music Festival get this wrong. Here’s a bit of Strawberry History…
The very first Strawberry Fest was held at Leland Meadows on CA’s Hwy 108…Address: Strawberry, CA. Hence, the name Strawberry was adopted for the fest. But at the end of Year 1 the team of producers decided that Leland Meadows was not the best venue for the event. They went hunting for a perfect spot, and found it at Camp Mather, Evergreen Rd. off of Hwy 120. As the crow flies, the two sites are incredibly close–less than 16 miles. Of course, DRIVING the distance is a whole different story…It’s more like 65 miles.
What was different about Camp Mather? Owned by the city of San Francisco, Mather provided a paradise for this Love Fest. Plenty of tall pines provided shade. Little cabins, tucked in the woods, housed performers, crew bosses and the occasional “camper” who wanted to pay the extra dough. A big dininghall, an amphitheatre for workshops, horseback riding, bike trails, a little camp store, tennis courts, a swimming pool, a big baseball field to serve as the Main Music Meadow…and my favorite: Birch Lake! And all of this sitting right on the border of Yosemite National Park. Sweet!
Here we were at a “luxury” campground where everyone could spread out, relax and learn how to live The Strawberry Way!
Speaking of which, it’s time for me to pile in the car and hit the road. My guy has our tent pitched, our campsite ready. His guitar is tuned and already “working,” I’m sure. I’ve got the house buttoned down for the house-sitter and the kitties. The ukulele and concertina are in the car. I’m looking forward to a little jamming with my friends from Blue Shoes Ukulele Auxiliary Orchestra. I’ve got a list of stories, old and new. Cynthia Restivo will be joining me on Saturday & Sunday for tandem stories. The baby plants that I planted this week? I hope they’ll survive with “Mom” gone. Kitties, be happy until we return.
When I return, I’ll tell you more about The Strawberry Way…
In the meantime, get out to watch LIVE MUSIC this Labor Day Weekend. If you’re close enough, call Strawberry at (209)984-8630 to find out if you can still get a ticket. It’ll be worth the trip…and it’s a beautiful drive. Maybe I’ll see you there. I’ll be at Birch Lake telling stories.
I’m B.Z. Smith. I tell stories. This is one of them.
“The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The next best time is now.”—A Chinese Proverb.
On Monday, August 23rd, my guy and I were invited to attend a very special meeting. Here is an account of our afternoon…
On a summer’s afternoon a small group of friends and family gather at Red Rock Ranch, Robert Woolley’s home. The wide, flat expanse of land, framed by the slowly rising Sierra Foothills catches the sun’s glow. The Red Rock Arabians gracefully graze in a nearby pasture. Butterflies, dragonflies and hummingbirds dart through elegant Mediterranean gardens touched by gentle breezes. In the distance, soft green light shimmers off millions of leaves in row after row of tiny trees, budded in Spring as a promise to the future.
Our future. That’s why we are all here. While this summer day might seem like any other at Dave Wilson Nursery’s Red Rock, it is not. Joining us on this lovely day is U.S. Senator Deborah Stabenow (Michigan-Dem). As a member of the U.S. Senate’s Agriculture Committee, Senator Stabenow is an influential decision-maker on funding and issues concerning agriculture programs, nutrition programs and rural development. In addition, she serves on the Senate’s Energy and Natural Resources Committee, and chairs the sub-committee on Water and Power.
After a quick tour of the growing grounds at Red Rock Ranch, Senator Stabenow, who has served Michigan since 2000, comments on the ranch’s beautiful landscape. But quickly she notes the essential difference between Michigan and California…Water! Surrounded on three sides by The Great Lakes, the world’s largest concentration of fresh water, Michigan’s water issues have a different focus than arid California. She reiterates the critical need for deep study and dialogue over mounting water issues.
Water is life. We all must learn the complicated interconnections that will impact and are influenced by this precious resource, given by providence. In the next year we will all be confronted with critical decision about water rights, water usage, water sources. It is essential that we prepare to make wise decisions for future water policies.
At Red Rock Ranch we enjoy an informal August fruit tasting from DWN trees as we engage in vital conversation about the needs of California farmers and agriculture. The Senator, catching a quiet moment in the middle of a whirlwind tour of the Central Valley, smiles warmly in the graceful setting. Affable and relaxed, this senator speaks with conviction about her work in our nation’s capital, including the Farm Bill, which contains new provisions for schools to purchase locally grown fruits and vegetables, and in so doing, improve the quality of school nutrition.
As we munch on Flavor-Grenade and Dapple Dandy pluots, yellow peaches, white peaches and an Asian pear, Senator Stabenow shares stories of children in her home state who are now enjoying locally grown delights. She also teases us with a tidbit about her friendship with the Queen of California Cuisine— Alice Waters of Chez Panisse. Stabenow explains how Waters has spent recent years developing The Edible School Yard to promote hands-on cooking and gardening in classroom curriculum. With funding from The Chez Panisse Foundation in Berkeley, CA, schools can receive grants to redesign their lunch programs, using fresh produce as the cornerstone of cooking. Senator Stabenow refers to schools in her own state (MI) that are following this model.
Not only does our small group have a chance to hear about important projects that Senator Stabenow and her colleagues have created, we also have opportunity to share with her our own individual concerns for rural California and agriculture in the Central Valley. Our focus is on agriculture, of course, but she manages to give a nod to the important Health Care Reform legislation that awaits our representatives when they return to Washington, DC, after Labor Day.
Robert gives the Senator a brief overview of the history and practices of the Dave Wilson Nursery and the tree nursery industry. He explains to her the significant contribution that immigrant labor gives to not only DWN, but to many other family farms in the Central Valley. He urges her to better understand the importance of wise decision-making on immigration reform laws as he gives a thoughtful explanation of the vital importance of California’s immigrant workers and the institutional knowledge that they provide to various agricultural concerns. In the case of DWN, many employees come from immigrant families who have worked for DWN for generations. These loyal employees hold vast pieces of knowledge and understanding. Unfair discrimination hurts not only the worker, but has detrimental consequences for the farmer and all of U.S. agriculture, as well.
The hour with Senator Stabenow flies by quickly, but we manage to cover a wide spectrum of topics. From water issues, nutrition in the schools, to immigration laws for a few quiet moments we are included in a circle of influence with one hard-working member of the U.S. Senate. Deborah Stabenow’s warmth and ability to listen thoughtfully with focused attention will be remembered.
And thanks to Robert Woolley of Dave Wilson Nursery for being a gracious host!
I’m B.Z. Smith. I tell stories. This is one.
On the Mother Lode 