Our US Tour Week 8: PA VA TN

2006-11-16

Hi, friends! Thanks for hanging in with us as we move southward, from Pennsylvania, through Virginia and Tennessee! As maybe you can tell, I am trying to catch us up a little closer to present. Fell behind around week 4 when we were doing 2 pieces of work a day, and am only now close to catching up!

Thursday October 26/06 Bangor to Phoenixville PA:
There is a profoundly peaceful quality to the air at Kirkridge. When I rose in the morning, I sat in the windowed common room before anyone else woke, and let the red fingers of morning sun spread their paint upon the sky. There were so many things I wanted to do - to make brownies with the children in the kitchen, to do handwriting homework (which we never get to do while driving..!), to hurry up and slow down for a forest walk - and meet the people of Kirkridge. It was this last that we ended up doing, which was right.

Nancy, our Hospitality host, met us when we had made our way up the mountain to the main office building, and drove us down to the bottom where a small lake sits beside a sacred space called the Columcille. It belongs to the next neighbour, but this celtic-modelled sanctuary with labyrinth, a stonehenge-like circle and stone chapel, sits as a kindred part of the holy space that is this kirk-ridge.

Now 64 years old, the centre was founded by Presbyterians, stewarded by a Quaker couple for many years, and now is a non (or multi-) denominational place where spirituality and justice are explored and meditated upon. It was Carolyn McDade who encouraged us to come here. Director Jean Richardson spoke with great love of the place, and we talked about creative ways that David and I might come back and share music. I met some people who, by surprise, had arrived at the centre and were integrally involved in music and justice/community work. Perfect connections for Kirkridge and perfect connections for me.

Jean said, "I'm sorry this day will be so full, but of course you will want to visit the Martin Guitar Factory, anyway." We'd had no idea! A half-hour away was the factory that produces arguably the benchmark instrument of its kind. We left with a strong conviction that we'd be back - and took the small and winding roads through towns with biblical names like Emmaus, on our way to Nazareth, PA. David was in guitar-heaven for the hour of our tour through the factory, and the rest of us were happy to marvel at the way guitar bodies are shaped and assembled, with and without inlay, with bodies whose neck attachment is carved precisely to fit each alone, ukeleles that cost $5000, hanging rows of instruments ready for multiple sprayings of lacquer. At the custom department, our guide Mark told us that the most interesting repair he had ever seen come in was the guitar that had fallen victim to a gun-cleaning. The gun had gone off on the floor below, sending a bullet through the ceiling and into the guitar case. The bullet was still lodged in the body of the guitar when it arrived at the Martin factory.

David now revels in the memory of his having gone into the "vault", where the ultra-most exclusive and expensive guitars are kept. After playing several of them, he emerged into the outside world with an unearthly halo and whispered, "I am not worthy..!"

Trees now have a late autumn dark and dry texture and gusts of wind send them in great flocks, like-minded, to the ground. We were on our way through the forests and rolling green fields of Pennsylvania to the home of Jenifer and Shannon Mudd (and their kids, Savannah and Jordan), in a small town called Phoenixville. Jenifer and I had begun corresponding since we met at the United Methodist event which sparked my imagination about touring in the US in the first place last year - "Soulfeast", at Lake Junaluska. She is an economist working with organizations in the area of Micro Loans (like the man who just won the Nobel Peace Prize - yay!) and Shannon is a professor of economics at a local college. They have a photograph of themselves leaping for joy in Red Square, Moscow, and leaping photographs in other world-renowned sites, from their years of working abroad. But they are southerners and they sound like it.

Friday October 27/06 Phoenixville PA:
A cross stitch hanging in Jenifer and Shannon's guest room says, "To a friend's house the way is never long." Which does sum our trip up to date. We are surprised that we are now in the second half of such a big journey and I think David and I both feel rather overwhelmed with the generosity that we have received on the way. I am learning that to be a host is to give lavishly of one's attention and time - and a whole lot of travel snacks.

Jenifer gave us directions to the very nearby Valley Forge park and visitor's center. But when I turned around to rally the family, I noticed that Patrick was with Lego behind locked doors, Nicole was on Planet Book and Isaac was building a train track. I myself was still in pyjamas, tea in hand; David was unseen. The message was clear: Morning of Rest.

So, it was after lunch when we left our trailer behind in the drive and made our way to Valley Forge. On this green ridge, with the Schuylkill River, a rock mountain overlook and "earthworks" on each of 3 sides, the soldiers of George Washington's gathered regiments from all 13 original states wintered over from 1777-8. A short video described a very hard winter of deprivation, cold and sickness. Between this and desertion, the army lost half its 12,000 men. For every one lost in combat, 10 were lost to inadequate living conditions. But, by the spring, the troops had rebounded in strength, number and spirit. These soldiers, and the women who contributed to the cause with them, formed the core of the revolutionary forces for the war.

I bought a kids' book for Patrick and Nicole to read, with great illustrations and real-life descriptions of the causes of the revolutionary war. The book was one-sided and over-simplified, and still! - I found myself choking up by the time Andrew Jackson read out the Declaration of Independence on the church steps at the age of 9. Goodness - a Canadian in the "land of the free"; what has happened to me..?

Despite the rain that made loading in to First Presbyterian Church a soggy affair, our concert was high and dry. It is such a gift to a performer to have people be so loud and so quiet. I teased pastor Anne Park at the beginning for her having explained to me months ago by e-mail all the presbyterian processes to Okay the concert; in the United Church of Canada, we KNOW the presbyterian order! As she left, that night, she said, "I want to be your best friend!!"

In the post-concert glow, a woman thanked me for our music and asked if she might bless us with a sung version of the Lord's Prayer. "You're gonna be blessed," said her mother beside her. In the sanctuary, she stood before us and, with toes pointed, raised her arms and sang a full-throated prayer that raised the hairs on the back of my arms. This is not the usual thank-you! "All the power is Jesus's," she exclaimed to close; she and her mother thanked us and tiptoed out the door.

Jenifer and Shannon sat up with us that night, exchanging travelling stories and insights. But Shannon finally pulled ahead of the pack when he told us his lineage. Unless he's lying (and who would - really!), he is descended from Davey Crockett on BOTH sides of his family AND it was his great forebear who set the broken leg of John Wilkes Boothe after he shot Abraham Lincoln. Recognise the expression "Your name is Mudd"..? Well, the fight goes on, even at the federal level, to pardon Dr Samuel Mudd for the treason of which he was convicted, in associating with (and aiding) the president's assassin. At his trial, he is remembered as saying that he hadn't known the man was a criminal, but that he would have set his leg even if he had known.

Saturday October 28/06 Mechanicsville VA:
There isn't much that makes a person want to get out of bed in the pre-dawn light when the rain sounds like angry pebbles on the window and fatigue weighs heavy on your head. Only the smell of bacon. And maybe the voices of friends already preparing a place for you at the table. We all had new friends to say goodbye to, when we drove out of Jenifer and Shannon's driveway, back through the tall oaks of Phoenixville.

Every road and river sign along the I-95 highway is a historic event. Names like Mount Vernon, Garrisonville, King of Prussia are evocative, making me want to take every next exit and ask for the story. By the time we begin to get close to our Saturday destination of Mechanicsville, Virginia, I feel like I have a renewed sense of the present-ness of American history around here. Battlefields are at every turn, historical reconstructions - of sites, homes, plantations, entire towns - abound. Republican senate candidate George Allen was setting up star banners and draped staging at a Gun Store on the number 1 Highway in to Richmond to sell his position on America. Shocking to a Canadian. But, set against the fields with commemorative cannons, it begins to have a little more context.

When we arrived at Fairfield Presbyterian Church in Mechanicsville, there was a great sound emanating from the modern sanctuary. The Prodigal Sons - our warm-up band! - were in full vocal form, with guitars, bass, keyboards and multi-part singing filling the room with tight harmony.

The story of how we how we managed to come to Mechanicsville was intriguing, as I explained later to the audience. My own presbytery (I can use this language in this church) sent me a an e-mail calling for curriculum writers for the creation-centred camping "New Earth" curriculum. I wrote to a certain Nancy Ferguson, saying I couldn't be a writer but that I would be glad to offer my musical services. Nancy hired me to write a theme-song for the 2007 year, and both of us wished we could meet face-to-face. "Well," I said, "I'm going to be in your neighbourhood in the fall. I'll be in Minnesota..!" So, she put me in touch with Bill Davis, the leader of the Prodigal Sons and a musical/dramatic mover and shaker at Fairfield. Bill has been a warm e-mail partner, to the extent that we learned he had sent an e-mail to our Phoenixville hosts to entreat them to take good care of us (presumably to not wear us down with their presbyterian ways...?) and send us on well to Virginia. Too great.

It was a night of marvelous singing, culminating in the Prodigal Sons joining us for the Old Tyme Gospel Medley. The crowd rose to their feet on the last note of "I'll Fly Away" and the night was complete. Later that night, I got to meet Nancy Ferguson, and make plans to get together for lunch the following day. Rob and Brenda Blue sat up with us over pie at their home later than we all should have, because it was the end of Daylight Savings Time and we wrongly understood that to mean we had an extra hour of sleep - fools that we were.

Sunday, October 29/06 to Asheville NC:
We have passed the Mason-Dixon Line and are in the south. It showed by the breakfast. Rob and Brenda were both plate-spinning - pans and toasters and waffle-irons on the go - when I came downstairs. It was an hour early because the children hadn't noticed the time-zone change - sigh! But, Rob and Brenda had made it Thanksgiving, breakfast-style; we were sent to worship well fed.

The eighty-year-old newlyweds in the row behind us had been to the concert the night before and loved it. "We have a more civilised service at 11 o'clock," they said, "but we like this one!" The praise band (piano, keyboard, guitar, bass, electronic drums and vocals) led the congregation without its usual LCD projection (technical difficulties) but the challenge didn't slow them or the congregation. Worship was followed by a large young adult faith study class - a pattern I recognize from our other Presbyterian visits.

And there was Nancy Ferguson in the sunny parking lot, dressed in camp clothes, and ready to lead us to Camp Hanover for lunch. Nancy says she takes every opportunity she can to lead in weekend events - especially at camp - so it was a pleasure for her to staff a congregational family group that has usually led itself in a fall retreat, over the years. We got to meet about 30 adults and children, all together to worship at the outdoor sanctuary in the woods. The benches faced a dark-water lake whose name I never learned - maybe because it has only existed for a short time since a recent break in the nearby dam caused it to disappear for a few years!

It was lovely to be invited to sing and speak for a little bit as a drop-in visitor in this leaf-carpetted chapel. We led "Like a Rock" (which is so right for camp) and left with them to the tune of "Who Am I" (a journeying song). We had the chance to cross the lake with the children, on a pull-ferry, and back. Then, over turkey sandwiches, Nancy and we had a short time to meet each other (boy, is that the usual; good thing I hate small-talk). Nancy is one of a wonderful breed of church people who are pastors by virtue of their ability to spot and bring out the best in others and, because of that, their ability to sum up their community to others. She described the people of the area as wholly steeped in their history. "The Civil War is called 'The War of Northern Aggression' around here," she said. "Either that or 'The Recent Unpleasantness.'" "The recent unpleasantness..?!" I boggled. A grudge that won't go away? A graciousness that won't allow people to use strong words to describe conflict? Sounds like New Brunswick. In skirts.

We drove as many hours as we could before night overtook us. Still, everybody was awake enough to use their own legs to get into our hotel room at Asheville.

Monday, October 30/06 Clarksville TN:
OK, this may be the south but it's not the deep south; there was frost on the trailer when I came out to re-pack our clothes. Another day of intense driving ahead of us to make it to Clarksville, Tennessee in time for a concert. We sent our host, Karen Barrineau, a Math 101 quiz: If a VW van is travelling from Point A to Point B at 50 mph AND taking a pee-break every hour, a meal every 4 hours AND gaining an hour at the border of the Central Time Zone, what time will they arrive at their concert destination? Karen received it just after getting a chatty concert-host mail-out I had sent to all of our second-half destinations, exhorting them to print out our prodigious 4-part Organizers' Package from the web site. As the printer continued to spew out documents (that could not possibly do her any good any longer) she sat and did the math and realized to her shock that we should already be at the church..!

And we were. Setting up with our techno-assistant, Chris, at St Bethlehem United Methodist Church, feeling very much at home. St Bethlehem had hosted David and me last October in a congregational revival - an event that, along with the Junaluska week - had sparked a vision for our return to the US in a big way. The congregation treated us like long-lost friends at the potluck dinner, told us how they had been singing Linnea music ever since, fed us on ample southern dishes of salads and casseroles, turnip greens, sweet potato, pecan pie (you gotta say all that with a Tennessee accent).

What a difference a year makes to a concert..! Last year's evening had been fun - and the small crowd that came loved it. This year's audience was more than double the size. And so was the singing. What this congregation has been doing in the year in between made a noticeable difference. It's really a church-composer's dream - to introduce her music to a community, have them use and be nurtured by it and sing wholeheartedly the next time she comes back..! We're making plans for next year already.

Our dear old friends (from all the way back last year), Betty Meriwether and BJ Alexander, agreed to host us despite the renovations their house was undergoing, mostly because I wrote and begged. We had so enjoyed their hospitality and friendship last year and really wanted our children to meet them. They fixed us up a nest in their basement family room, away from drywall dust.

Tuesday, October 31/06 Clarksville and Halloween!:
When I emerged from the downstairs nest in the morning, I was greeted by children having a breakfast served up by BJ - and a sky full of rain! My heart sank - Halloween Day and rain..! Still, there was nothing we could do but follow the plan - to drive up to the Goodwill store and put together costumes for the evening.

Now, this kind of task is nothing for Nicole, who has the soul of a both artist and absent-minded professor. After enjoying the thrift store's treasures (with me!), she picked out a cat mask and sateen Grecian goddess dress and smoothly proclaimed herself a Kitty Goddess; game over. Isaac play-play-played with the sit and twirl rigs, pushed buttons on battery-wasting toys and tried to move everything from the shelf to the floor in one visit. I threw a giraffe jacket over his head and he was satisfied with his costume. Patrick - who is not really made, I can see, from the hippie/garage sale/any-trash-will-do stock that his parents are - gnashed about his costume for the full 2 hours. Having had a fairly clear idea of what he wanted, it took him a great long time to adjust his thinking and put together 2 gi-normous rubber (crashing sound effect) fists, a green Incredible Hulk shirt and tuque. But, when he did - he was committed.

Well, having spent that long in the store, we emerged to find that the rain had stopped.

The afternoon was, then a low-key time, with road-school (aren't I mean?) for children. A woman from the congregation, formerly from Labrador(!), dropped by to bring us a pumpkin-head decoration for handing out candy back home next year and Betty served up one of her state-famous roast beef dinners. The former I packed away immediately in my going home box, the latter I packed away in the usual way.

A Halloween party at the church was followed by St Bethlehem children piling into family vehicles and the church's van. Karen herself drove us out to a place where children might be welcomed, and as we walked through the subdivision, vans drove along behind children. One was enlisted to take a princess home whose plastic high heels were squeezing, another took a group of children to another neighbourhood, and Karen was left with us and Dracula - a boy named Kenny who had bonded with Patrick the night before. I had noticed that the local churches were offering alternative evenings to Halloween (still with costumes), so I was not entirely surprised to notice that probably half of all the houses in the subdivision did not participate in All Hallows' Eve. Furthermore (and most frightening) not one house handed out chips. No - really.

We ferried our Hulk, Goddess and Giraffe back to the house where they - before I even noticed - emptied all their stash on Betty and BJ's hallway floor - to count and inspect. Still, on to bed and they fell asleep right away - unheard-of for a Halloween night. We grown-ups sat up for awhile into the evening and Betty debated me on the nature of Good and Evil. After my reading "The Two Voices" from the God Detectives, (with its focus on the psychology of temptation) she needed to hear what I believed about these things. Not many people take the late evening hours to talk theology; I enjoy it.

Wednesday, Nov 1/06 Nashville TN:
Holy, it's November! I took a bit of time to do a Thrash through the van to collect a bag bigger than the one we brought home yesterday to take BACK to Goodwill (reversing the usual direction of Rummage). I sealed up the box for home, I threw historical food out, Betty and BJ saw us off, promising space in the renovated section next time we came, we visited Karen at the church and got propane for the fridge and stove. It was a regrouping morning Then, we headed straight off for our next destination. And this will come as no shock to any of you devotees of the Jonsson-Good Continental Epic.........

The VW Place.

It's just that there was a wee, weird sound coming from the rear of the van. I was happy to decide it was something jingling under the seat or maybe all the pencils that Nicole keeps dropping down into the place where they can't be reached (so she doesn't have to do roadschool anymore), but as the engine is actually found in that area of the vehicle, David seemed to think it was worth having a professional look at it. He shimmied down under the van himself with a resolve that his father would have been very proud of and identified the fuel pump.

And that it was. We were to return the van early the next morning when the new part would arrive. The secretary ordered the pump without even asking us. Guess it was serious.

However, the kids were happy as could be because Karen had gifted us with two - count 'em - nights at the Opryland resort at which her daughter works. A luxury affair it is..! Two separate rooms, a kitchen and livingroom, every amenity you could ever need. The children claimed beds, ran around and through the rooms, tore off their clothes and jumped on the beds in celebration. It was our evening off, so we ordered pizza and watched a DVD into the evening.

with thanks for your continued journey with us...!
Linnea

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