Two-Headed Snake

Last time I’d been to the Woodman Museum in Dover, NH was, well, decades ago, with my girl scout troop.

I had been seeing references pop up here and there about the Woodman Museum, describing it as an eclectic, old fashioned place, a curio cabinet kind of museum. You know what I mean: hand-written or typed labels (a few of the “e’s” clogged), bell jars of birds perched in front of hand-painted landscapes,

oak-cornered vitrines (which you definitely should NOT lean on) with wavy glass protecting eggs in nests or rolling about on file cards, hopefully arranged in size from hummingbird to ostrich.

I wanted to see for myself if the Woodman had indeed resisted the tide of modernity. But really, why I wanted to re-visit the Woodman Museum, was to check in on my favorite specimen, the two headed snake. I emailed my old friend Brett, who, like me, had grown up in the area, to see if she could be tempted to join me. She was tempted, she was. But, dang(!), she had other commitments. “Let me know how the two headed chicken is doing.” “Two-headed chicken?” I shot back. “I thought it was a two -headed snake! Could they have two, two-headeds?” Now I had to go! Lucky for me I was able to snag one of my kids to go with me. Off we drove on an unseasonably warm November day. Time was of the essence as the Woodman Museum closes for the season at the end of November.

An old-fashioned museum that only a small town would think of as encyclopedic, the Woodman Museum has something for everyone: florescent minerals, (the museum’s guide opened a closet door and throw on the lights to reveal these beauties),

taxidermy (including a a gigantic polar bear and the last mountain lion to be killed in NH but which looks like it could have been purchased from the stuffed animal department of FAO Schwartz, though frightfully thin),

civil war memorabilia, bolts of cloth from the local textile mill, all jumbled together in a sometimes pleasant, sometimes jarring manner.

Saddle ridden by President Lincoln days before he was assassinated

There’s a ton of Abraham Lincoln memorabilia in the Woodman collection because of the connections between President Lincoln and New Hampshire Senator John Parker Hale (founder of the anti-slavery “Free Soil”party), whose family home is on the museum’s campus. Really if I laid out the crazy connections, as the guide so colorfully did, I would have to post a spoiler alert but let’s just say it has to do with Hale’s daughter and Todd Lincoln and oops, I gotta say it, the fact that she was secretly engaged to John Wilkes Booth. Now you know there was a rough night or two around the dinner table before and after that infamous night at the Ford Theater.

OK, back to my meanderings around the museum:

I wanted to hunt right away for the two-headed whatever it was. But first the friendly guide greeted me asking if I’d ever been here before and what was my particular interest today. I explained my quest. He paled when I said I was here to see the two-headed snake. I knew something was amiss. “Well, sir, is it still here?” And I wanted to know if it was a two headed snake or a two headed chicken. “Oh, the four legged chicken is here and “doing” fine. “(OK, Brett, at least we straightened that out) “But the two headed snake, well, let’s just say it’s seen better days.” Uh oh. I braced myself and tore upstairs. But nothing could prepare me for the sight.

First I encountered the swirling arrangement of the lepidoptera which I had remembered well from my girl scout days:

Then I encountered the chicken. Lookin’ good!

But then, around the corner from the chicken, the reptile display:

Good to see the mayonnaise and jam jars are holding up!

But uh-oh!! Here I see the label for the two headed snake:

What a shock! I stared mournfully at the striped layers at the bottom of the jar and finally had to move on.

I was somewhat consoled by the nearby specimen of the iguana whose label cheered me up. This is one way to build a museum collection: exotic pet road kill.

Time to seek solace elsewhere. Up to the attic we go.

The third floor is a curious mix children’s playthings and military paraphernalia, half/half—-oh well, kind of like they don’t think you’re going to make it up that far or that you’ll either head right or left and not both.

Before we entered the doll room we were greeted with this sign:

Kids need so much supervision. Or maybe adults are the problem. But I agree with the don’t waste water directive.

OK, OK, the two headed snake may not have survived ,

but by golly, apparently my girl scout leader did!

I do not think anyone ever took the middle dolly to bed with them.

We were fetched by the guide as we were absorbing this one.

The museum guide came to get us just as we were finishing up with the dolls and before we started in on the guns saying it was time to go–we agreed.

There was so much to see beyond the main museum building. First off, the oldest Sycamore tree in the county. (sorry forgot to snap a picture), and behind that–the oldest surviving house in town–the Garrison house built in 1675.

Here’s a wee glance of our guide.

You think the road kill iguana was a lucky acquisition, well the garrison house:

was just sitting empty in the back yard of this woman who lived down the street:

When she could no longer keep up with its upkeep she asked the museum down the street if they wanted it. They did! They popped it off its foundation ad rolled it down the street.

The garrison is complete with a rifle pointed out its sidewall and is full of beautiful artifacts. Most of all I loved the wormy lime-coated walls.

Just about time to wrap up our visit. So satisfying! In assessment I’d say The Woodman Museum has mostly been spared of modernizing save for one woeful period not so long ago when the then new director decided to throw out most of the typed and handwritten labels and have them redone with the aid of a computer. GRRR!

Here’s an idea, Woodman Museum, hire a handful of University of New Hampshire hipsters to retype the labels on the Olivetti’s they’ve procured on Ebay. And throw out those soul-less modern labels! Or better yet, hand pen them like this lovely label that thankfully was not replaced:

If you are already planning your itinerary for your own Woodman visit, please note that it will reopen for its next season in April.

Ghost Houses

One more Newfoundland post. Best enjoyed on a slow, low-sunlight winter day. So here we go, convening with ghosts on The Rock…

When I left you last in Newfoundland I vowed to go back and spend time in the  two little settlements of Open Hall and Red Cliff on the north coast of Bonavista Penninsula. I had  driven past earlier and spotted beautiful heritage houses clinging to their souls as they succumbed to the elements.

This beauty revealed itself slowly and achingly as I walked around.

curtains drawn one last time

roof shingle blown onto the deck,  now disguised as lichen

do not enter

I put my hands to each side of my face to interrupt the reflection as I leaned against the window, and OH!  I could see that really it wasn’t so long ago that this home had to be left behind.

It is not so long ago that the “Cod Moratorium” changed Newfoundland’s economy forever. In 1992, in response to the ever dwindling and endangered population of cod in the waters surrounding Newfoundland, the Canadian government imposed a moratorium on cod fishing. Needless to say, with 35,000 people suddenly put out of work, the effects on the Newfoundland’s economy was devastating. Initially meant to last a couple of years, the moratorium has continued to this day with only minimal recovery in the cod population.

 

Sprinkled throughout the landscape are many beautiful fishermen’s houses which have been abandoned as people left to find a new life elsewhere.

 

becoming transparent

Exhaling

revealing its layers

washed in or left behind?

Commiserating

holding ground, but barely

back to the wind

 

dressing in layers, still shivering

hauled up one last time

Hanging in there in Summerville

 

Shuttered shops:

with hand painted signs:

and even a hand painted speed limit sign–now that’s a first for me:

 

 

And whole towns disappeared:

This is Bruce of Rugged Beauty Boat Tours showing us a snug harbor, once cheek by jowl with homes.

There is still a  town of Little Harbour. But it is washing away at about the same rate as its welcome sign.

 

But, wait! All is not lost. The indomitable spirit keeps springing up.

That Newfoundlanders have been able to maintain their spirit despite this assault to the cultural identity inspires me every time I go spend time there. We were happy to meet Peter Burt, who together with his partner Robin Crane found a new way to make a living from the sea with the production of (gourmet) salt!

And the foodie movement has helped to rejuvenate the Bonavista Pennisula.

The Boreal Diner–where we sampled fried dandelion flowers. YUM!

 

And always, always Newfoundlanders are quirky, spunky, funny!

ever optimistic:

excellent problem solvers:

and did I say funny? Oh yes, I did!

 

Lest so many images of abandonment at the top of this post have left you bereft I will end with images lovingly cared for heritage homes and sheds on the Bonavista Penninsula.

 

Adieu Newfoundland. Til next time!

 

 

 

Northeast Kingdom Part 2

As promised, there’s more, much more, to see in Glover, Vermont. I’m continuing down the road from the Museum of Everyday Life to my day’s destination: a visit to the Bread and Puppet Museum. But first: sustenance! A beacon in the form of a of an inner tire dressed as a doughnut beckons.

I have found The Red Sky Trading Company where there is oh so much more than donuts and coffee for sale!

Decidedly NOT on Rte 66, but if you drive through Glover Vermont you can’t miss the Red Sky Trading Company.

Here’s my caffeine.  I help myself as it’s made very clear–there are no clerks at Red Sky.

 

 

I am, however,  offered a hand at the door:

and am drawn forward to the room with the polka dot floor.

where there’s so much on offer and so much to READ:

Any more questions?

This knife display would feel right at home in the Museum of Everyday Life:

Oh–I do have a question: can I buy just the rack?

In the middle of everything I find this lost boy:

I snag a very nice pail for the garden.

OK, time to pay up.

Next stop, I promise: Bread and Puppet Museum!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everyday Life in the Northeast Kingdom

In need of a salve for your soul in these depressing times?  Zip, zip, take a trip to the Northeast Kingdom. Fellow New Englanders know this means heading up to the tip top of Vermont to hug the Canadian border (which will feel good in and of itself). You’ll feel FAR, FAR away from urban madness and start to wonder just why it is that you MUST live in a city.

My son and I pondered the reason why  eggs would be cheaper on Wednesday. We spent the better part of an hour discussing the possibilities.

 

OK, I said zip, zip, but if you’re reading this soon after I’ve posted it, in November, Vermont’s “bleak season” wait til summer or fall, which is when these trips were made.

I had the good fortune of being called up to the Northeast Kingdom this summer to mount an exhibition at Catamount Arts in St. Johnsbury. I packed my car and drove up there on the most auspicious of dates: the solar eclipse. After  a seamless day of installation (interrupted by a dash up the hill to the Fairbanks Museum for the eclipse viewing party), Catamount gallery director extraordinaire, Katherine French said, “Come let’s have dinner and then I’m going to take you to a little museum I  think you’ll like.” Given that we were finishing up as the sun was setting, I was a little doubtful that she could make good on her enticing promise. What museum would be open after 7PM? “You’ll see”, she said.  I was still worried as our lovely, leisurely dinner pushed past the hour that ANY museum would still be open. “Ok, let’s go!” And off into the starry night we drove further north and west to Glover. We pulled off the road onto a pitch black driveway. Ha! We had arrived at “The Museum of Everyday Life” .

I knew right then and there I was going to have to return the next day to photograph in daylight. Here’s what I hadn’t been able to see as we approached at night:

Katherine fumbled for the lights just inside the entrance

         

and we found ourselves in the Raymond Roussel Vestibule

where there was a nice little introductory assemblage of quotidian objects which set the stage for what lay ahead.

    

Even though I have made a career of celebrating the cast away  stuff of our over stuffed world I was unprepared for the depths that are plumbed in the six or so exhibits in the Museum of Everyday Life. The museum is the brainchild of Intensive Care RN and Crankie enthusiast, Clare Dolan, who I had the pleasure of meeting the next morning when I came back for my daylight photos. She was racing around her yard mowing at a faster pace than I’ve ever witnessed.

“Let me go ahead'” Katherine French said as she opened the (beautifully adorned) door that lead from the vestibule to the museum and found the next set of lights.

     

We were greeted by a curious and pleasing little tinkle of bells which continued tinkling  for our entire visit,  a sonic version of the starry night outside.

You can’t be a reader of this blog and not know that I was utterly enthralled.

Pencils to toothbrushes

If you’re going to feature toothbrushes, you gotta throw in Toothpaste.

Toothbrushes to safety pins

Safety pins to matches

Violin, made by a musical prisoner,  entirely out of wooden matchsticks

Matchsticks to—wait for it—DUST! By far my favorite exhibit! I thought I had intimate knowledge of dust. (I can practically name the individual dust bunnies that live under my bed). But, no, apparently until now I had only the barest sprinkling of knowledge. Here is a bit of the  stupendous Dust display with accompanying label information:

“Hanging for 10 years directly above the kitchen stove in the Chicken Hut in Brooklyn, This ornament is crusted in layers of grease-adhered dusts of all kinds. On loan courtesy of Gregory Henderson”

“Cosmic dust from NASA’s ultra clean Cosmic Dust Laboratory, established in 1981 to handle particles one tenth the diameter of a human hair. The Laboratory curates thousands of cosmic dust particles… Cosmic dust grains…contain material in the same condition as when the solar system began to form…” And being NASA, the explanatory label went on for another three paragraphs.

I was clever enough to photograph the label, so you can read it yourself.

same ilk as the Chicken Hut grease/dust encrusted kitchen ornament above, this is a single paddle from a fan blade.

After seeing this exhibit your response will either be to vacuum the minute you get home, or never vacuum again! I just checked under the bed. The bunnies have multiplied, well, like rabbits. I am feeding them and they are happy.

I reached the back of the museum and finally discovered the source of the tinkling bells. This were the very last display in the Bells and Whistles exhibit:

I was too enchanted to remember the video function on my cell phone, and I really think it would be a spoiler to explain how this tinkling at the back of the museum was precipitated by turning on the lights at the front. I am sure by now you are clicking on your calendars and mapping out your visit. You’ll see for yourself.

Stay here if you go: Rodgers Family Farm, Glover

And get up just before sunrise to walk to  the beaver pond just a quarter mile down the road. I don’t like getting up that early either, but it was worth it!

PS I foolishly thought I would cover every magical thing I saw during my three visits this summer and fall to Glover and environs, but I’ve barely scratched the surface. Stay tuned for Bread and Puppet, Red Sky, and other marvels in the Northeast Kingdom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Isolation breeds, well, QUIRKINESS

Just got back from my second visit to Newfoundland, affectionately known as “The Rock”. Get out your maps. This glacially scoured island lies halfway between Boston and Greenland. It’s got a tough-luck history that would leave most people bitter or at least depressed. But Newfoundlanders are survivors. (Just a quick note to say I’m using the word Newfoundlanders in this post, because there’s chatter online that the term “Newfies“, which the people of Newfoundland call themselves is thought of by some to be a derogatory term if used by outsiders. Outsiders, by the way, are called “CFA’s” or “Come from Away” ) There’s an amazing can-do, pull yourselves up by the boot straps mentality here that’s inspiring.

The reputation that Newfoundlanders have as the friendliest people in Canada (and that’s saying something, as I think Canadians in general are pretty darn friendly) and the funniest, is well deserved. There’s beauty abounding in the great expanses of space in Newfoundland which I’ll leave to the travel writers. Instead, I’ll focus on, what else,  the quirkiness, of which there is plenty.

It’s a hard scrabble place that makes up in makes up in humor and friendliness what it has lacked in luck. And the humor shows up in all kinds of places, starting literally with geographical names.

There’s at least 5 different terms for coves and harbors, and they’re tacked onto place names in a way that make reading a map of the province sound like snippets of song lyrics: Witless Bay, Trinity Bight, Chance Cove, Conception Harbor, Random Sound. And that’s just a smidgen of the long list of curious and evocative place names. You just want to visit towns named Paradise, Blow Me Down, Joe Batt’s Arm, Spread Eagle, Come-By-Chance, Happy Adventure, and Little Heart’s Ease.

I doubt that any tourist has driven the Baccalieu Trail in eastern Newfoundland without stopping to taking their picture in front of the sign for the town of Dildo or their informative museum,the Dildo Interpretation Center.

There are deniers among the town folk that the name has any sexual connotations, but really…

Dildo is just south of the towns of Heart’s Desire, Heart’s Content, and Heart’s Delight. It’s a happy peninsula.

This lovely gal is just up the road from the Interpretation Center, and I would say she does look content:

    with her guy: 

Up the coast a stretch, on over to Fogo Island I encountered this more anxious looking duo:

And there’s plenty to be anxious about in Newfoundland. First and foremost the disastrous collapse of the Cod fisheries in the 1990’s devastated the province’s economy and threatened the heart and soul of the Newfoundland culture.  The material signs of the collapse are everywhere–a terrible, poignant beauty:

The Church above and collapsed fisherman’s shed below are side by side in the speck of a town of Clarke’s Head.    

Looks like the prevailing wind blows the opposite direction in the town of Cupids:

Abandoned boarding houses in the once thriving town of Port Union, the only union -built town in North America, birthplace of the  Fisherman’s Protective Union, the first labor organization for fisherman.         

There was a Pompeii feeling to this deserted home in the village of Baraneed. Wide open at every orifice:   The collapsed roof filling the space of the stairwell,

    

The tableware staying obediently on a shelf that is one rotten floorboard away from landing in the basement:                 

Skeletons of beautifully handcrafted punts like beached whale remains:

And fishing vessels dotting the landscape yearning to be ocean-bound:

Yet amongst the collapse are beautiful signs of re-building:

This may be a small thing, but I really love all  the hand painted signs one sees along the road.

You’ve got a board, you’ve got some left over house paint, you’ve got a brush, go for it:

Elliston’s claim to fame, by the way, is as the “Root Cellar Capital of the World“. Do not even try to dispute this.

 

This lovely sign for Mr. Bully’s Meat Room in Petty Harbor:

topped off with this window above: (Could this be Mr. Bully?”)

                              

The next level up in signage: carve something that’s going to outlast anyone’s memory of what was not to be denied on “No Denial Path”:

Or give the most talented guy in town a chance to flex his or her creative muscle:

And hey, you don’t always need words to get your point across:

Here and there I encountered folks making their mark on the landscape. Az in Hibbs Cove (shown here with his wife Lorraine) who made excellent use of the tree that died in their yard:

          

And up the same peninsula, in Port-de-Grave we stopped to chat with Matt who was adding a fresh coat of paint to his impressive built environment.

I did not sense one whiff of irony in this man so I don’t believe there’s a hidden message in the positioning of his cannon in relationship to the sign he made for his hometown:

An incredibly handy man, Matt fabricated all his own crab traps, which stacked up and stored away for the winter were a beautiful site to see:

(seen here with my artist colleague and collaborator, Antoinette Winters.  

We were so pleased when Matt invited us to tour his fishing vessel:        

                               

Matt hired a Twillingate artist (sorry not to have caught his name) to paint this beautiful portrait of his father and himself on the bow of his vessel:

Port-de-Grave was one of the only fully active fishing towns we saw–and it’s crabbing that’s keeping these fishermen in business.

Speaking of crab, when Antoinette and I went to the Independent Fish Harvesters to buy crab for dinner, we discovered that the minimum order was 20 lbs, a bit much for two for dinner! When we expressed disappointment, Graham said, “Wait a minute ladies” ducked into the freezer and emerged with one of the twenty pound boxes which he promptly sliced open. Turns out he was breaking into his own box that he had set aside for his family for Christmas. Our protests fell on deaf ears.

          

When we took out our wallets, Graham said “You don’t owe me anything”. “What do you mean?” we asked. His reply, “This is Newfoundland. All you want is some fish for dinner. Anyone in Newfoundland would give you that. You’re not asking for twenty pounds–just a little fish for dinner, You don’t have to pay for that.”

Ok, so, didn’t I tell you at the beginning of this post, Newfoundlanders have got to be the nicest, friendliest people on earth?

 

And even their digitally printed signs are pretty great: