Revisiting an Old Friend

I moved this summer, as you may know. It was perhaps my most discombobulating move ever, probably due to the fact I had lived 12 years in my last house, longer than anyplace in my entire adulthood.
That is enough time to accumulate a lot of stuff and more than enough time to lose track of much of it!
So, as you might guess, one very cool part of the process was the opportunity to rediscover a few lost treasures.
There is one such find that I feel compelled to share here...

Berrien Thorn was a friend of mine. A wonderful man - artist, poet, activist and one of the best musicians I have ever known. He had a wonderful collection of folk instruments from throughout the world and could play them all! (My personal favorite was a banjo made of an old tobacco tin - as "folksy" as it gets, I think!)
Berrien had a rich personal history, including a fair stretch of time in his youth working with migrant farm workers. The people and lessons of that experience never left him.
From those years came this wonderful collection of musings, gifted to me some years ago with an admonition to share the words and support the cause. And so, in honor of a man and his vision, I share with you (in his own words, copyrighted in 1988**) ...

1. I am a newspaper for the illiterate. I bring the whispered word. I sing them their own stories as they were told to me. Set to a tune the word goes round, and when they recognize a camp they nod and grin, elbow the others into the know: "Hey, that's the hole where I got beat up last year!"
2. The men are worn and beat and want to kick back. They're slugging beers and playing poker for money. The atmosphere is a juke joint in Alabama. The music is a touch of home - easy as a handshake. The women gather at the other end of the cookhouse and sing "About My Jesus". The music is a church; voices rise in their simplicity against the darkness.
3. The people here are always tired. Some old black man sits in the corner wiping the saliva from his white stubble with a stray hand. Three shirts on him, two ratty jackets and an overcoat, worn out boots sizes too big. Twenty years of cheap wine and potato dust can coat the eyes.
4. Brutal work stooping to pull potatoes from the earth is the bottom of this odd context. Going upright into the trees for fruit is the top.
5. The camp is a cluster of tiny shacks made of cinderblock and tin. One of them is the cook-house; this is where I sing. The cookhouse has a large room with picnic tables, an old juke box, bare bulbs burning, and a small wire-meshed window through which the overpriced food they purchase from the crew boss is passed.
6. These little places are closed societies. When I was a kid the old man I picked with taught me everything, from the basics of negotiating pay, techniques of travel and work, to the songs he would play me on his banjo at night. Boredom was a preserver. Certainly the telling of stories was integral to surviving any evening's isolation without electricity. This is only the life of prisoners, migrants and family farmers. These are definitely on my list of endangered species, as am I.
7. Some of these people come from Haiti. Crowded into tiny boats they floated toward the mysterious promise of America. They are possessed of pure primitive undertones. The non-Haitians are rural folk from Alabama and Georgia. A few of the men don't want their pictures taken; they are working these fields because this is one of the few jobs left where you don't need a social security number.
8. When I improvise on my flute for the Haitians they look at each other and nod, saying the Creole words for 'bird spirit'. They know that the voice that was singing through the tube of the flute was not my person, but a spirit voice that sang through and empty self, my ego temporarily suspended, my shell possessed by a lesser god. They recognize that voice; in the form of improvisational music, such as jazz, which is a black idiom, this does not feel so far from the truth of a moment when the musician has reached a trancelike state and 'lets loose.'
9. They are totally at the mercy of the environment, often miles from the nearest town, in hostile white redneck areas. You would think twice about quitting a job and walking away into this limbo.
10. God is bread. Red patent leather shoes. A dental trailer that visits the camps is worth its weight in God.

Berrien left this world too soon, having passed just a half-century among us. He left a wonderful legacy of music, friendship and more: his will provided for a foundation that granted Art scholarships to migrant farmworkers that survived for years after his death.


**all art in this post and these field notes are the work and legacy of Berrien Fragos Thorn and are reprinted and shared here in his honor and to further his life's work.

A Friend, His Treasures and Something Weird

**from 2020 - As I tidy up my blog & delete obsolete posts, I am so heart-warmed to come across this gem from more than a decade ago. My friend Dennis, aka Griz, passed on a few years back. I miss him still and will miss him forever - one of the truly excellent humans I have been blessed to know. So, though this post is outdated and the photographic Q was answered long ago, I will leave this up in honor of this departed mountain-man.**

(from 2009)
On a recent autumn afternoon I took my camera and journeyed out to the backwoods home of a dear friend.
Called Griz by all who know him, he is a man of many talents and wonderful collections. His basement, which is cleverly disguised as a cluttered mess, holds an array of marvels and oddities. This first picture gives a small notion of the initial visual impact of this treasure trove; I call your attention particularly to the unremarkable blue tub in the lower right - it will figure largely in my story as it takes a turn for the weird.

Griz is first and foremost a knapper. He chips magnificent blades and arrowheads out of stones and bits of colored glass. Some he sets into knife handles, many he sells loose to artisans who use them in their own work.
He also makes drums for the Powwow community; everything from small hand-held drums to the large drums used in the center of the circle. All of his drums are made with wood he harvests and skins he tans. There really isn't much that this self-sufficient man cannot do without any assistance from factories or manufacturers.
One of my favorite pictures from that day is this shot of Griz showing off his two-meter wooden feather. He tells a captivating story of watching a lightning bolt strike a tree and splinter it into rubble, leaving behind this incredible work of nature's art. It's one of the few things in his basement that will never be for sale.
So many treasures - too many to show in this post...
He has a penchant for beads and has a fabulous collection of glass chevron beads, both contemporary and antique.
He has a vintage Fender Bass guitar and yes, he can play it!
But in my title I promised you something weird, and here it comes...
When i first began snapping pictures I did not realize that I had my digital camera set to Landscape. Not the right setting for indoor pictures and I shot a few pictures before I realized my mistake and changed to a more appropriate indoor setting.
I didn't think much of it until I got home and downloaded the pictures to my computer.
Remember that blue tub? That perfectly opaque blue tub?
Well, look at this shot... I could not believe what I seemed to be seeing - it seemed I could see through to the contents, though that is surely impossible. Unwilling to believe what my eyes were telling me, I called Griz and asked him what was in that tub. That question confused him and I had to explain why I wanted to know. "A couple of folded blankets," was his answer.
Well holy crap! That certainly seems to be what I am seeing. Griz even made the trip to my house to see for himself and he was as amazed as I was/am.
So, to sum it up in question form, indoor pictures taken on the landscape setting allow the camera to see through heavy opaque plastic? I don't know, but my eyes certainly tell me that, as impossible as it seems, that is somehow exactly what has happened.
Of course, if any of you have a logical explanation, both Griz and I would love to hear it!

Holiday Traditions

My family has many Holiday traditions, some new and some that go back through generations.
One of our favorite and longest-standing is the annual yum of Thumbprint Cookies.
I remember helping my mother make them when i was very small, and my children grew up helping me. When my oldest daughter spent the Holiday season in Italy during college, her one request from home was for a tin of these favored treats. My youngest daughter agrees -- it's just not Christmas if there aren't any Thumbprints!
This is an unusual cookie recipe -- It contains equal amounts of ground nuts and flour, giving them a wonderful texture. There isn't much sugar to the recipe, and no eggs or leavening products. Trust me; none of this is a typo!
They bake on low heat and will come out of the oven looking very much like they did when they went in.
But my oh my! Very rich, nutty and flaky; they are sure to become a favorite with anyone who tries them!

So Merry Christmas -- my gift to you is this wonderful family recipe... enjoy!

Thumbprint Cookies

Ingredients:

1 Cup all-purpose flour
Dash of salt
1/2 cup butter (1 stick), softened
3 Tablespoons powdered sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 Cup finely ground walnuts or pecans (I use walnuts)

For filling; chocolate chips, apple jelly

Combine and set aside:
Flour
Salt

Cream together in Large Mixing bowl or food processor:
Butter
Powdered sugar
after these are well blended, add vanilla and stir just long enough to mix it in.

Add dry ingredients, 1/2 at a time, mixing well between halves. Add nuts and continue working the batter until you have a firm ball and a clean bowl.
Cover and chill in the refrigerator for about 2 hours.

To Bake:
Preheat oven to 300f

Spoon off teaspoon-sized chunks from the batter ball and roll into small balls, about the size of a large marble. Place on ungreased cookie sheet about 2" apart.
Make an indentation with your thumb and fill with chocolate chips or a small bit of apple jelly. (For a festive holiday look, the apple jelly can be dyed red or green with food coloring -- I'm a purist and prefer the natural gold color.)

Bake for 20 minutes.
Cool for several minutes before removing from cookie sheet with a spatula. Cool completely before eating.

How many you get depends on how big you roll them -- I get about 2 1/2 dozen per batch, and I always make several batches! (Multiple batches should be prepared separately and not combined for 1 larger batch.)

This is a cookie that benefits from being made ahead of time, as they are even better after sitting in a tin or covered container overnight!