Christmas Letter 2020

7 Dec 2020

Greetings from Gadsden!

Let me say this first:  I will not miss 2020 when it is over.  I will remember it forever, having been shaped by it in odd and startling ways, but I will not miss it.

Eric and I have small circles of chosen pandemic people we see regularly: my mom, whom I, masked & socially distanced from, happily take breakfast to every Sunday morning and together with Eric, handle yard work and various other tasks for; and our closest friends, a family of six, who live near us, and with whom we maintain a 10+ year tradition of Saturday night dinner. We have perfected Saturday Supper Club to maintain our sanity during the pandemic:  extreme social distancing with masks while outdoors, regardless of the temperature. We’ve had some incredible meals together, despite the complications.  Most recently we enjoyed salmon, mushroom-stuffed rice balls, glazed green beans, and miso soup in the bay of their two-car garage.  Both doors were rolled wide open, camp chairs were placed 20+ feet apart near the opening, and we were warmed by the flame of a portable Craftsman propane  flame thrower heater. There may also have been wine and bourbon…

Because of the lack of certain items in the grocery stores at the onset of the pandemic, and an initial fear of shopping, I started a small garden. Not a huge one, but enough of a garden to supplement our food supply with fresh tomatoes, various peppers, garlic, green onions, oregano, thyme, and lots and lots of basil. Eric would often have to help me tie up the tomatoes, as they outgrew my height very quickly. Every morning before work, I would go out to prune and weed and water. After work, I’d take a basket out and gather.  We had more than we needed, so we shared with family, friends, neighbors. That little garden produced up until two weeks ago, which is when I winterized the space. Eric has recently shared with me his idea to build a type of portable raised-bed that employs bales of hay in the bottoms ...a type of Hugelkulture.  I’m totally game.  If only there was some way I could grow toilet paper and Clorox wipes...

Our families are doing well. Mom, at 83, continues to work full time at the library in Rainbow City. My sister and I do her shopping for her, so her whereabouts are simple...home or work.  Vicki and I are the only ones allowed in her home, and we religiously practice the holy trinity of the pandemic:  mask, social distance, hand wash.  Eric‘s family is doing well out in Kansas and Missouri. Unfortunately, because of the pandemic, we have not traveled to see them this year. We miss them, but see them virtually.

We still live with our Catahoula, Booker, in our little downtown bungalow overlooking the wildlife park.  The leaves have finally fallen from the trees and the kudzu has died back for the season, giving us a winter view that we dream about during the summer months...from our kitchen window we watch the egrets dance above Lake Gadsden, the late afternoon sun turning the water a shimmering amber and gold.

Hope this finds you safe, happy & healthy.

Big love,

Dew Claw Askew

Booker is growing in a new dew claw.  BECAUSE HE ALMOST RIPPED THE OLD ONE COMPLETELY OUT LAST MONTH.  He was either chasing a cat or saying "Hi" to Mr. Smith, our backyard neighbor.  Whatever he did to do it, he was all running up to the door, acting like nothing was wrong, and then he stopped to lick the BLOOD THAT WAS POURING DOWN HIS DOG ANKLE (dankle?).  Nothing like coming home for lunch to grab a bit to eat, letting the dog out to potty and then ending up at the vet for minor surgery to remove a jankity dew claw.  Booker's favorite vet, Dr. Drummond-Rieger at Rainbow City Pet Clinic, fixed him right up and had him back to us by the end of the work day.  He was a little loopy from the anesthesia, and was wearing the cone of shame...

I can laugh about it now, but Lordy, we had quite a time with that pupperschnitzle while he was convalescing.  Couldn't allow him to get his bandages wet, so we had to tape a ziplock baggy on his foot each time we went out because we were in a stretch of rainy weather.  And because he couldn't really maneuver through the house well with the cone on his head, we would take it off while we were home and only put it on him when we left.  It was a good thing that Eric had begun his training of "Leave It" in the weeks prior to the accident.  We were able to get him to "Leave It" when we'd catch him biting the bandages.

D'oh!

Drunk

Dew breaking through.

State of the Bungalow Address, March 16, 2015

First we saw these, which always bring hope:

Crocus at The Bungalow.

Then mom thought I should have gran's tea cup and saucer.  Which. Was. Perfect.

Then, I couldn't wait any longer, so I started digging a ditch to divert water away from the house.  This ditch will be widened and turned into a dry creek bed after we build the deck.

But then, I was so excited about the new planting beds along the fence, I transplanted a gazillion plants and put down store-bought pine straw (ouch) while it rained the next day.  I also added some rock foot bridges.  Booker thinks that I did all of this for him. 

Then a stink (stank) bug got in the house and Booker worried it to death.  Poor stank bug.  No, it survived his pawin' and snufflin' long enough for me to liberate it to the front yard.

And then yesterday evening, after excavating about a foot down at the back of the house for the new deck, Eric and I sat with Booker.  Rather, Booker sat on Eric.

Oh, and did I mention the deck?

Severe Weather

April for us often means tornadoes.  We were kept awake last night by the severe weather and the warnings of James Spann.  We are mentally preparing for more tonight.  Our basement is ready for Eric, Booker and me...plus neighbors Joel, Angie, their two boys and possibly Jillian, Danny and their son Noah.  We have a neighborhood of many homes without basements and I am afraid for people without basements.  I think of Reba.  I'm sure Eric does, too.  It has been three years and two days since I found her mailing label in our roses...

Smith Institute, about twenty minutes away from Gadsden, was hit badly.  Eric worked the area this morning with his camera, documenting the damage. His text to me later, "Man, it's bad."  He found our friends Jacob and Hilary who live in that community.  They were okay.  Their house was not. Virginia and Kenny ended up with their garage pushed into their kitchen.  They are okay, too, though.  And Tami and Jimmy, whose home is down the road a piece from Virginia and Kenny's place, had debris in their yard, but no damage.  As far as we can tell, there has thankfully been no loss of life.

My talented friend Cookie Beck wrote a poem and posted it to Facebook during all the weather related activities last night.  For such a stressful time, it was a moment of clarity and hilarity for this Alabama girl:

33/40

he reads Tweets
and says things like
"complicated polygon"
"lead circulation"
"possible rotation"
and he apologizes that
we are missing 'Wheel of Fortune' right now.
Shhhh.
don't you be sorry, James.
your suspenders
are my Tornado Safe Place.

Y'all be safe out there.

Dog Fennel

Of dog fennel:  "The stems and base are covered in leaves so dissected that they resemble green hairs coming out of the stem in fractal patterns. When crushed, the leaves and flowers smell rather unpleasant."  (Ask.com)

This small weed is growing at the fence between us and the neighbor.  I believe it is dog fennel, which I've noticed growing in one other spot in our back yard (among the rocks of the terrace, getting about two feet tall before being cut back in the bi-weekly summer edging).  It may be one of my favorite weeds, so fern-like and delicate when young, and I am hoping that my string trimming mate will allow it to live out its life unmolested in the safety of our yard. 

From all I've read about dog fennel, it is not a toxic plant, but can cause skin irritation.  We can live with that.

An unlikely time of year to be growing, but I think the warmth of the brick it happens to be growing against has something to with its successful germination.  This is a part of the yard gets a long stretch of midday sun that is warm even in the cold of winter.  Booker chooses to sun himself a few feet away, a sleepy-eyed Sphinx with a stick.

Booker, by Eric T. Wright.

Monument To a Pest

Frenetic work and social schedules forced aside, Eric and I took a much-needed beach holiday with my family.  Spending time just lazing around with family and food is something I can really put my efforts into.  No schedules.  No meetings.  No putting out programming or grant fires.  Very little phone use.  Even less computer use.  It is the only way that I am able to really recharge my battery properly.

The trip down to Ft. Walton, FL is usually the same for us.  Leave early.   Stop at Murder Stuckey’s in Verbena for an annual beach trip breakfast Butterfinger Blizzard (try saying that fast five times).  Drive until we need gas, at which time we inadvertently find the next most murder-y filling station.  Drive on in until we hit the beach and loved ones.

But this trip was different.  We had to board Booker at the vet’s for this trip.  No dogs allowed (in the tradition of Snoopy Come Home) on this jaunt.  So, I dropped our puppers off the night before we left.  I was THAT person…the one with the hand-made dog bed, box of special grain-free food, Kong with all natural peanut butter, a list of instructions a mile long and tears in my eyes.   Could I call to check on him while we were away?  Yes, of course you may, Ms. York.  Eric and I hardly slept that night.

Another thing that was different on this trip:  Our Murder Stuckey’s in Verbena had been cleaned up, un-Dairy-Queened and turned into a respectful Sunoco.  There was absolutely nothing scary about it at all.  Which is terribly disappointing.  We are really going to miss the falling down Stuckey’s sign, the friendly clerks and the ice cream & French fries from the Dairy Queen that was tucked inside.  We’ll miss less the overtly racist bumper stickers for sale, the hand-made, child-sized pioneer dolls that hung in the window (also for sale), and the dilapidated serial-killer trailer out back.  Sometimes change is a mixed bag.

And to really throw a new spin on things was the fact that on this trip Eric and I decided to detour through the lovely town of Enterprise, AL to see the world’s only known statue dedicated to an insect responsible for destroying a town’s cash crop, the boll weevil.  See, back in the early 1900’s, Enterprise was doing pretty well economically by growing cotton.  Then came the boll weevil, which destroyed their cotton crop.  The farmers of Enterprise and Coffee County had to find another crop to raise in order to survive.  They turned to peanut farming, which saved their town.  So, to honor the pest that caused them todiversify, they built a monument to the boll weevil.

The boll weevil statue of Enterprise is located in the center of town, a lovely thirteen-foot iron rendering of a female figure holding aloft a boll weevil trophy.  But what stands in the center of town is not the original statue.  The eight pieces or so of the original statue reside in the Depot Museum, just around the corner from the crossroads.  You see, like the finger of our Emma Sansom statue gracing Broad Street here in Gadsden, the boll weevil statue of Enterprise has been vandalized and stolen over the years, the final act of vandalism resulting in it being irreparable broken into a number of pieces.  Visit the Depot and see the statue.  Notice how some well-intended soul attempted to repair her arms by using PVC pipe.  It did not work out.  

 

 

Cedar Dreams

Home-made dog beds of cedar-filled pillows, fashioned from tarp cloth.  We’ve covered them in pillowcases sewn from the softest old bed sheets.  Booker sleeps on a cedar-scented field of lavender flowers, a happy forty-one-pound hamster.

Tailypo

The Tailypo is a frightening creature from Appalachian folklore, half human, half dog, with red eyes, a long tail and sharp claws.  The Tailypo wanders around in the night hunting for the hermit who cut off and ate his tail.  You can sometimes hear him in the night whispering, "Tailypo, tailypo, give me back my tailypo..."

The story, of course, is told to children to scare the dickens out of them for no good reason whatsoever, and I remember learning of the Tailypo through a fifth-grade classmate while standing in the pitch black of the girl's bathroom of John Jones Elementary School (the same location where I was taught to play the game of Bloody Mary and told the silly tail of "If the log rolls over, we're all going to die").  Don't ever doubt the benefits of a public school education.

Why do I mention the Tailypo?  Because I forgot to list it as one of the nicknames we have for Booker.  He is our Tailypo.  And he wants his tail back.

To read the full story of the Tailypo, please visit here.

To read more about the urban legend of Bloody Mary, please visit here.

Speckled Pup

Three weeks ago yesterday, Eric and I adopted a dog.  He is a ten-month-old Catahoula.  We drove about an hour and a half north to visit with him and his foster human (a sweet young woman who looked as if she had stepped from the canvas of a Pre-Raphaelite painting), and we left with papers signed, pup in hand (so to speak).  We christened him Booker Theophilus.  Booker after the great abolitionist Booker T. Washington and Theophilus after beloved Faulkner character Theophilus McCaslin.  We call him Booker.  Or Booker T.  Or Puppers (when he’s super sweet, which is often).  Or Speckled Pup (again, when he’s being real, real sweet).  Or, most often, Gator Snapper (when he is on his back, flailing about with his mouth open like an old hungry gator, inviting us to play).  He is a delight, and a great reason to get up early in the mornings for a walk in the backyard.