Dempsey Does It!

What spark of creativity excites the mind as it looks at this. . . .

And imagines this. . . ?

Yes, it is the same fireplace, in the same house -- ours.  Until last week, the "before" fireplace was the focal point of our family room.  It was functional, providing added warmth from a log fire in the winter, but exuded no style, no "pop," as the current HGTV (Home and Garden Television) terminology goes.  And no light.  For all we know, the sun could be performing somersaults through streaks of pink and orange or even polka-dots as it sets each evening, but with no westerly-facing windows, we're in the dark (in more ways than one.)

That was "before" Dempsey.  Dempsey, the youngest of Drew's six siblings, has been drawing houses, add-ons to houses, floor plans and interior designs "since as far back as I can remember," he explains. Even as a young boy, he recalls carrying a notebook around with him to sketch his ideas. After filling  up many more notebooks at Memphis College of Art and accumulating over 20 years of experience in all aspects of design, decorating and construction,  he started his own business. . . Dempsey Does It!  Reading the back of his T shirt, when he slows down long enough for someone to make out the words, gives a clear description of just what "It" he does:

*paints interiors and exteriors    
*rearranges wall decor and furniture    
*stages for property resale
*landscapes and lights yards and gardens    
*recommends and makes interior accents
*builds and installs exterior accents

(And he "does" his own sewing, I might add!)

Hoping that he would have a vision for our fireplace, I called and he enthusiastically agreed to take a look (so enthusiastically that I wondered if he hadn't secretly been wanting to get his hands on it for years.)  We talked, he measured, took pictures, then left, saying that he'd get back to me; I assumed within a couple of days.  In less than 8 hours, he sent me an email with this design:

"I couldn't stop thinking about it," he said as we talked later. "I've been working on the design all day.  It's so exciting!" Dempsey's spark of creativity wouldn't let him rest.  From the moment he left our house, I could imagine it chattering with "what if's" as Dempsey sketched, erased, and pondered, repeating the process until the creative force finally proclaimed, "Yes, that's it!"

Brain researchers may have pinpointed areas of our brain where creativity lives, but I prefer for its specific address to remain unknown, illusive, much like a gift given anonymously, with a tag of wonder attached to the bow.  A gift hidden within each of us, wrapped in unique paper, requiring our attention and intention to discover.  Yearn as I might for a drop of Dempsey's creativity and skills, I instead opt for gratitude as my emotion of choice.  Grateful for his gift and the myriad of creations which enrich my life each day, for the writer's chatter that wakes me up at night. . .  and for a stunning new fireplace!

Needing Dempsey Does It for a project at your house?  You may contact him via email at dempseydoesit@gmail.com

  

Take the Honey and Leave Your Money

As a follow-up to yesterday’s posting, “Thank a Farmer,” I wanted to share another small family farm experience that I happened upon recently.

Atop Petit Jean Mountain in central Arkansas sits a red barn, home to Petit Jean Farm, where the Martsolf family processes raw honey produced by bees feeding on local plants and flowers.  Buying a few jars, I’ve enjoyed delicious honey on my toast every morning since.  But, it’s the WAY I bought them that caused me a moment of pause, then a trip back to the car for my camera.

 
  When a member of the family isn't around, they trust customers to take what they need and leave the money in the green and white checked can!

Trust, the simple confidence in people to be honest.


Driving down the mountain, I wished that the goodness this family expected of others could be bottled and distributed worldwide.   At least as I unscrew the cap each morning, I'm reminded to do my part.

Thanks, Martsolf family!


           

Thank a farmer!

Picture my dinner plate. . .  corn on the cob, green beans, baked chicken breast with lemon and dill, and slices of tomato topped with basil.  Biting into each one, I experience a curious sensation – flavor.  Flavor that wakes me up and says, “Pay attention.  Do you realize that you didn’t add any salt, pepper, sugar, butter, olive oil, or anything else that shakes out a jar or pours out of a bottle?”  I even feel healthier as each bite enters my body.  No pesticides. No synthetic fertilizers. No preservatives.  No cooped-up chickens.

If I have a question about anything I’m eating, I can email or call the farmer directly. All products are grown or raised within 150 miles of my house.  And I don’t even have to leave the comfort of my couch to shop.

What’s my secret?  For folks around Conway, a town about 12 miles from our house in Greenbrier, it’s proudly shared public knowledge.  Conway Locally Grown!  Just drive by the local Episcopal church between 4:00 and 6:00 on Friday afternoons, and you’ll see people entering with empty bags and exiting with bulging ones.  That’s the pick-up point where customers, like me, get our orders filled for fruits, vegetables, eggs, meat and dairy products, all grown on small, family-owned farms. 

The process begins on Sunday evenings when the online farmer’s market opens, and I quietly sip my cup of tea while scrolling through the pictures and descriptions of the weekly listings.  Let’s see.. . .  what do I need this week?

1 dozen Peaches and Cream Sweet corn

2 pounds Arkansas Traveler Heirloom tomatoes

1 pound Kentucky Wonder pole beans

1 seedless red meat watermelon

1 dozen pastured brown eggs, organically fed

2 chicken breasts, organically fed and pastured raised

1 bunch sweet basil

1 pound purple hull peas

Stop!  That’s quite enough.  But what about that arugala, those zephyr summer squash, the blueberries, cantaloupe, new potatoes? 

I feel empowered with each click that adds an item to my cart, empowered that I am making a choice to support a farmer in my “neighborhood,” a farmer who respects the land using sustainable farming techniques to protect the environment and the health of the people who eat her foods.  And I feel grateful for these principled, hard-working individuals, couples and families who get up early and sweat through hot Arkansas days, battling weeds, bugs, rabbits, deer, and uncooperative weather conditions as they honestly and humanely care for their crops and animals.

One of my favorite writers is also a  farmer, Wendell Berry.  In one of his poems, The Man Born to Farming, I gain a glimmer of his insight into the farmer’s passion. 

“The Grower of Trees, the gardener, the man born to farming,

whose hands reach into the ground and sprout,

to him the soil is a divine drug. He enters into death

yearly, and comes back rejoicing. He has seen the light lie down

in the dung heap, and rise again in the corn.”

As the farmers fill my tote bags with their products, the “thank you” I offer is not only for the food but for the courageous lifestyle they have chosen, which fills me with hope for a healthier earth filled with healthier people.  

If you haven’t already found a farmer’s market or local produce stand near your house, I encourage you to do so! 

Please share any of your experiences buying locally in the comments section.  If you want to recognize a farmer, add his/her name for us all to celebrate.  I’ll start with two in my family who taught me all I know about sustainable farming and started me on my journey towards support of local farmers . . . daughter Elizabeth Alexander and son-in-law, Ben Goodwin. 

Fireworks - What To Do?

“What do you sell that’s not scary for 3-year-olds?” I ask the lady behind the counter.  I decide not to add, “and grandmothers whose favorite firework is a sparkler.”

With two days left before the Fourth and a visit from our grandchildren, ages 3 and under, I need gentle, glittery, happy fireworks that cause no hands-over-the-ears or hiding-behind-adult-legs kinds of reactions.  No sudden pops, cracks, explosions or even medium-sized poofs.

Just deciding which fireworks stand at which to shop is a major decision.  I counted 8 of them today within 10 miles of our house.  Assuming that they all carry the basic assortment of fireworks, what beckons me to pull off the road and buy from one and not the other seven?

Pretend you’re in the car with me, seeing the following display of signs and “come-ons,” and you’ll quickly see my dilemma. . .

*JAKE’S FIREWORKS

LOWEST PRICES GUARANTEED!  NO SWEAT SHOPPING!  (Air conditioning definitely earns some major points on a 91-degree day.)

*CHEAPER THAN JAKES! (How is that possible when Jake said that his prices are guaranteed to be the lowest??)

FREE ITEM W/PURCHASE

2-CENT ROCKETS

*MEGA FIREWORKS!

BUY 1 GET 4 FREE!

*FIREWORKS – 70% OFF

CREDIT CARDS ACCEPTED

A thin, 15-foot (give or take a foot) inflatable red firecracker, with yellow billowing fingers and a matching flame coming out of its head, dances in front of the fireworks tent as an energetic supply of air shoots through its body.  (Looks like a creature that might pop out from behind a headstone in a cemetery on a dark, misty night.) 

*FIREWORKS – MORE BANG FOR YOUR BUCK!

COMPLETE AERIAL DISPLAY – ONLY $34.95

 Uncle Sam raises his inflatable right arm to salute the passing cars in hopes they will experience a wave of patriotism and stop.

And that’s just 5 of the 8 businesses vying for my dollars.  How am I to choose?  Turned off by the spooky, contorting firecracker, feeling less than patriotic towards the plastic Uncle Sam (who looks more like he’s leaning over than waving), and deciding to avoid the “Jake Price War,” I stop at MEGA.

The lady behind the counter kindly points out the most child-friendly items.  I select old-fashioned sparklers, “rainbow” sparklers, a couple of fountains that spray multicolored sparks, “snakes” that grow when lit, and some confetti cones that spew. . . confetti.

“What about the BUY 1 GET 4 FREE deal?” I ask. 

  

She walks around to the front of the counter and motions for me to follow her outside the tent. “You see those vertical letters at the end of the word FREE?"  she asks. 

“Those are letters?” I say squinting until they come into focus.  “ I thought it was an exclamation point.”

“I’m afraid not,” she explains.  “It says S E L E C T I O N S.  Only a few of the fireworks are part of our selections.”

Lucky for me, at least the confetti cones are in the select few.  Paying her the grand total of $7.35, I leave with my bag of mellow fireworks, mentally crossing MEGA off my list for next year.  Perhaps I'll brave the freaky firecracker stand or see if Cheaper Than Jakes really is cheaper.  What a slice of Americana!  

May it be a happy 4^th of July, whether you’re an American celebrating it as a holiday, or a citizen of another country, especially my friends in Russia, who are perhaps spending a relaxing day at your dachas.   

Tea With Emerson

            

Ralph Waldo Emerson very kindly accepts my invitation for a cup of tea each morning around 8:30.  He sits across from me at the island in our kitchen looking distinguished in his black suit and matching cravat, which barely covers the top button of his neatly pressed white shirt.  His penetrating eyes, framed by dark brows, search my face wondering what I have gleaned from today’s meditation. 

“I read it twice,” I say.  “But I’m not sure I totally understand the part about….,” and the discussion begins, in my head and the pages of my journal. But unfortunately, not in the presence of the man himself. I’m 128 years too late.

His serious expression faces me from the cover of my copy of Meditations of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Into the Green Future, which lies beside my teacup and half-eaten piece of toast.  I bought the book earlier this year when my friend, Marian, and I visited Concord, Massachusetts, where Emerson lived for close to 50 years.  Reading one of his mediations has been part of my morning routine since I returned to Greenbrier a month ago.  With our house surrounded by acres of nature, I wanted to think more deeply about Emerson’s larger view of Nature, how it touched and shaped his life and beliefs.

If Mr. Emerson were to join me, I am confident that he would say, “Let’s take our cups of tea outside and sit on your front porch or wander among your trees,” reminiscent of times he spent with his contemporaries wandering the meadows, rivers, trails, hillsides or pond called Walden.

“Yesterday afternoon I went to the Cliff with Henry Thoreau.  Warm, pleasant, misty weather, which the great mountain amphitheatre seemed to drink in with gladness.  A bird’s voice, even a piping frog enlivens a solitude and makes world enough for us.”

-       Meditation # 17, World Enough for Us

Just think of it! Emerson and Thoreau sitting together on a cliff. Do you wonder whether Henry knocked on the Emersons' door, or perhaps walked right in and said, "Morning, Ralph, want to take a walk?” 

Marian and I climbed not a cliff, but a ridge, Author’s Ridge, on a frosty morning in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. Enveloped in February grayness and swirling snowflakes, we were the lone visitors searching for the graves of these famous friends and their equally renowned neighbors.  Bare branches, aging gravestones and a feeling that the Headless Horseman (though not really associated with this Sleepy Hollow) was lurking close by on his velvet black horse, gave our quest a slightly spooky quality.  That feeling was soon replaced, however by a sense of awe as I stood among a community of authors whose words have so often translated into emotions, actions and inspiration in my life.  Walking by the names, “Henry D. Thoreau,” “L.M.A.” (Louise May Alcott), “Hawthorne,” and finally “Ralph Waldo Emerson,” I marveled at the fact that persons possessing such insightful and far-reaching thinking shared everyday lives, down the street, across town, or beside a pond from each other.

“Today’s meditation, what are you thoughts?”  Mr. Emerson asks in a tone resembling a teacher who has discovered his student daydreaming in class.  I reread it. . .  

“. . .[I] found a sunny hollow where the east wind would not blow, and lay down against the side of a tree to most happy beholdings.  At least I opened my eyes and let what would pass through them into the soul.”

-Meditation #2, The Noble Earth

I open my journal to start a reflection, as if dutifully beginning a writing assignment, but just as quickly close it.  Heading out the front door into a couple of acres of oak trees, I reply to Mr. Emerson’s question,  “Excuse me, sir, while I find a comfortable spot beside a tree.”