Neil Young: Doing It Just For Ann

"I still can't believe I'm doing a gig in South Carolina. Well, it's all for the lady in the 4th row...she was an unknown legend in her time."

Tugger's Indulgent Weekend

Look everybody, gotz me a manicure this weekend...French Tips. Tugger

The Incompleteness Of It All...Good-bye Barry

"That is what haunts my memory--the incompleteness of everything: you wish it had been a story, you wish it had had meaning; sometimes you don't see any meaning until ten-sometimes even twenty or thirty years have passed." Barry Hannah


You think back about the course of your life at times and are amazed at what crossed your path...sometimes big things that ended up changing the way you think, act, love, or live. You were vaguely aware they were big at the time, but failed to realize the most important part, and that was the brevity of it all. In the late 60's to early 70's I lived next door to one of, if not the greatest, Southern writers of this era. Barry Hannah was teaching at Clemson and finishing his first, very successful book, Geronimo Rex. Geronimo came out in 1972 and went on to win the Faulkner prize for writing as well as a nomination for the National Book Award... and all this was only the beginning. He went on to be recognized as a brilliant and powerful writer, nominated for the Pulitzer Prize and greatly admired by other authors of the likes of Larry McMurtry and Jim Harrison who said Hannah was "one of those young writers who is brilliantly drunk with words and could at gunpoint write the life story of a telephone pole."
Clemson actually had a decent English Department during the early 70's, but how fortunate they were to have the gift of Barry Hannah, I don't think was ever recognized. I was a teenager when I first heard about our new neighbor. He and my mom had an instant connection and that connection was Mississippi. She was proud that the new young writer next door was from her home state, which she loved, so they instantly hit it off. I remember we were a little fascinated by his looks- his unusual reddish-brown colored hair and skin tone creating what we thought was a Native American resemblance. I used to come home late when I was in high school and see a light on in Barry's home office which faced my bedroom. As I drew the curtains, I sensed the greatness that was going on in that office. That sense proved true as I read Geronimo Rex as a Senior in High School and Barry's other books in later years.
I remember the excitement when James Dickey came to Clemson to speak around 1972, right as Deliverance was big. There was a huge party at Barry's house and Dickey arrived in what I remember was a monstrous, turquoise Cadillac convertible. I remember walking by with my boyfriend, hearing the fun and debauchery going on inside and casually thinking, "well that's pretty cool, James Dickey is in there, partying hard." At that age you think those kind of events will be happening on a regular basis, forever.

A year of so later I shared a beer with Barry in Clemson's best bar of all times, The Study Hall. He was only around 30 years old, but he seemed so old and wise to me, being 19. It was a Saturday night, near closing time. It was cold; I remember the long blue coat I had on. The Study Hall was packed with barely enough room to stand. Our conversation began because he recognized me as Mississippi Hazel's daughter. More than the content of our conversation, it was his delivery that sticks in my mind. The slow, unusual, gravelly southern voice between that explosive grin and the throaty drags on a Marlboro. He would have long quiet pauses while he seemed to be taking in everything that was happening around him. I think he was beginning the Bad Barry reign at that time, becoming, as many writers did in the 70's, hostage to alcohol, despair, and a little rage. He was having to teach a full load of courses while trying to produce a second book quickly on the heels of the success of Geronimo. I remember trying to hear him over Trouble No More by the Allman Brothers playing on the jukebox and the subject was the absurdness of assigning grades to student compositions. The lights came on at midnight, we said good-bye and I thought I would see him again in there soon, but I never did. He moved on to teach elsewhere and then left for Hollywood to write sceenplays with Robert Altman. Hollywood was not his place for long and he returned to Oxford Mississippi in 1982 as writer in residence at the University of Mississippi where he stayed until his death at age 67 last month. He left us way too early and there is an incomplete book in the works. Some hearts just wear out sooner than others; some from an excess of feeling, I believe.

I have read all of Hannah's books and he was the main ingredient in my love for "unsafe" fiction. He presented terror, heartbreak, hilarity, love, lust and beauty in every paragraph and it all came together to paint a perfect picture of reality. (Just read the short story Water Liars referenced at the bottom of this post for a small taste.) His books are not really about the carefully constructed plot, because, he says, "I see explosive circumstances with interesting people." That is why some of his finest work can be found in his short stories. His writing is the antithesis of the blandness which is so popular in fiction today. He was a man in love with the shocking and the extreme--with reality.

I have always planned on making a trip to Oxford to visit Faulkner's home, and Square Books. I've heard that Oxonians loved Barry and he was a friend to many in the town. In the back of my mind, meeting Barry again was part of that trip. I would tell him how he influenced my love for and taste in literature just by living next door. I thought there would be Barry Hannahs next door forever, but not true. That conversation won't happen now, just like he won't be riding the streets of Oxford on his purple motorcycle. But I have his books, I have a memory, and with a spirit like his, Oxford and the world still have him too.

A fairly recent photo.. around 2006. Still cute...

"I notice everything. A writer has permission to do that. Language and memory are what it's all about." Barry Hannah

To sample Hannah's writing, read the short story, Water Liars, online at

http://gardenandgun.com/waterliars

April, The Spring Ho

I've never been a huge fan of Spring, being more of a dark, winter soul. I decided to do a gift at Christmas for my friend who loves Spring, thinking it may be good therapy...make me more of a refreshing, Spring oriented person. Well, this is what came out. It's April, the Spring Ho. She's gone to live with Matt. Hope they are having a wonderful Spring.

Pool Is Now Clean

Spent weekend pool cleaning.. had to run these bad guys off....

Creature is my favorite.. invited him back for next winter.

Blame Ballet

"The piano has been drinking, not me." Tom Waits

Saints, Santuaries, And The Blue Ghosts

I am often asked where the name for this Blog comes from. Well it is April, so it is time to tell. Within everyone's reach is a world full of Saints and Sanctuaries, most of them undiscovered or more likely, unnoticed. A friend often reminds me that the "Powers That Be" place special gifts in the hands of special people--those people who pay close attention to the simple mystery and loveliness that eludes most people, most days. Don Lewis and Bennie Lee Sinclair are two such people, two Saints that were blessed with a Sanctuary, a love for nature's beauty, and an unselfish willingness to share it with others. Magic happens once a year in mid-April and it happens in a peaceful spot in Northwestern Greenville County in Cleveland SC. It is indeed a thing strange, beautiful, and full of wonder.


First, a little about the Saints. Bennie Lee Sinclair was born in Greenville SC and was a writer, and magnificent poet. She met Don Lewis while attending Furman University and they were married in 1958. In 1986 she was appointed to be South Carolina's 5th Poet Laureate, a position she held until her untimely death in 2000. She was a poet of the people, working to give the gift of poetry and creative writing to children and young adults in SC schools. Her poetry

A photo of Bennie Lee Sinclair taken years ago by her husband, Don Lewis.

reflected her love and understanding for the little simple things-the things that often have the greatest meanings. Her poems' subjects included the local Goat Man and her observation of a poor family's home that she watched over time as it was slowly consumed in their fireplace for heat. Her work was strongly influenced by her love for Wildernesse, the 135 acre wildlife and plant sanctuary where she and her husband, Don Lewis, lived and created their art. She took care of the abandoned and injured animals in the area and loved her pet foxes. She won many literary awards and her book of poetry, Lord of Springs, was nominated for the Pulitzer Prize.

A fairly recent picture of Don Lewis

Don Lewis is a philosophy major, a freelance photographer, and Master Potter. He studied pottery at Marguerite Wildenhain's Pond Farm in Guerneville California in the 60's, and his beautiful pottery, which he still makes at his Wildwood Gallery on his property, has been featured in the Smithsonian. He has developed difficult and special pottery techniques in firing and color to create beautiful and unusual work. He is a one man show, but passes on his skills and special knowledge to student interns. Don could be described as a free and gentle spirit, a quiet, thoughtful philosopher, an unassuming storehouse of knowledge, and a careful observer who listens.

Don and Bennie Lee purchased apx. 135 wooded acres in rural Cleveland SC in 1970, moving there in 1975. This is when the magic was discovered. Don tells, "we moved here in the early spring, April of that year. A friend came to see us and he stayed until after dark. He left and then came right back to the door and said, 'you have got to come out here and see this.' There were the fireflies. I've been watching them ever since." But Don knew these were not your ordinary fireflies. They are an extremely rare species, Phausis reticulata, found in only a few small patches, most of them in the Appalachian area. Unlike their familiar cousins, they don't have intermittent yellow blinks. These dark fireflies are tiny, about the size of a black grain of rice. They "float" close to the ground, in huge numbers. Their lights do not blink, but are steady, lasting up to a full minute and instead of yellow, they have an eerie blue glow to them, hence their common name, Blue Ghost Fireflies. My first thought upon seeing them was "Fairies... and they are carrying tiny blue lanterns." Blue Ghosts are so rare, Don went for 10 years not knowing what species they were, until finally an expert heard his story and eagerly came to identify the tiny firefly. Now, entomologists come from all over to see the rare phenomenon. Don keeps careful watch over his fireflies, and no one has more direct observation of this species than he. He began by only inviting friends to come see, but saw the need to widen the viewing audience after Bennie Lee's death, and now holds open house. I can't imagine a better way for him to honor and remember Bennie Lee than by sharing this magic.

The Blue Ghosts are only around for four to six weeks--sometimes even less, usually appearing around April 15th. Some nights, and some years, are better than others, with the moon, humidity, wind, and temperature all affecting the numbers. The best year ever, according to Don was 1975. There were billions. Another observer in Tennessee that year reported there were so many lights that her horse became confused and tried to step on top of the blanket of light. The fireflies appear after it is totally dark, with 9:00 seeming to be their magic hour. You will not see many if the moon is shining and wind or rain will send them to the ground for shelter. If you go, and numbers are low, give it another try. It will be worth it. If you get there early, you will probably be able to meet and talk to Don, an experience in itself. Forget pictures, as the lights mysteriously defy being accurately photographed or videotaped, even though many experts have tried. I have talked with people who have observed the fireflies in one of their other spots in Dupont Forest. Though nice, they say it doesn't compare to the experience with Don, where it is quiet, and you are free to walk and explore on your own. If you choose one of the log benches Don has set up at the base of a wooded slope, the blanket of tiny lights seems to envelope you as they glide down the hill. It is almost like a waterfall of tiny lights. On a good night, it is a vision that almost defies belief. That is why this blog is named Blue Ghost firefly, because observing them on good nights were moments as good as any I have ever had, moments shared with the people I love, celebrating the mystery and beauty of the ordinary, transitory and overlooked. It gave meaning to the statement by Einstein that "the most beautiful experience we can have is the mysterious, the fundamental emotion which stands at the cradle of true art and true science." Don will send me an e-mail when the fireflies appear. I will make the trip again this year and will welcome company. In the words of Don's friend "you have got to come out here and see this."

Don has made sure the fragile fireflies will be protected on his property which has the delicate balance they need. The female firefly has no wings, so if her environment is destroyed, she has nowhere to go. He has granted a conservation easement to protect the property from development and has also started a nonprofit organization, Friends of Firefly Forest, to see that the legacy he has tended to over the last 35 years will continue... and the property will be dedicated to them, even after he is gone.
Thank-you Don.

A piece of pottery I bought from Don Lewis' gallery on my first visit to his property. His workmanship is superb. I choose this lantern for its unusual grayish white color and the cut-outs which always remind me of the the blue ghosts.

Address to Wildwood Gallery and the fireflies is : 120 Ryan Drive, Cleveland SC.

Donations may be made to Friends of Firefly Forest at P.O. Box 345, Cleveland, SC 29635

Eastertidings

Best Beginning...
Best Thought...
Best Dream Memory....

Best Dish...

Best Accessory...

Best Lighting...

Best Frock...

Best Ending...