The Social Porcupine

We live in a time where women can be eccentric without being burnt or drowned for witchcraft. It's safe to be sentimental. Naivety isn't foolishness; perhaps foolishness even is the fuel to a successful trip. The world has always been dangerous. Always will be dangerous. But where has fear gotten anyone?  I've been on the road for five months.  I hope to never pay for a hotel room while I could car camp. My flax cat and piles of wool and down linen duvet is so much more comfortable than any sanitized (or lice-ridden) hotel bed.  I've stayed with many  strangers.  I never pay for a hotel room: I've spent weeks car camping. I've stayed in several major cities. I've parked at rest stops, gas stations, churches, and restaurants.   Here is what I've done to prevent car burglary:  1. Never lock doors  Locking doors prevents nothing (or presumes I have something worth stealing).  Locked doors incite broken windows.  I've locked my c...

I'm in that last stride before stepping homeward.  I've been accepted into a six-week work study program at the John C Campbell Folk School, and my second week is half over. It's one of the fairest work exchanges I've ever found myself doing. We work three weeks for lodging, food, and for up to three weeks of classes plus two weekend classes. But even the "work" is arranged to be pleasant, if you don't mind sharing some full-hearted effort. I've grown at least half a muscle in each arm, and I've been much too busy to do anything except soak in abundant opportunity. The staff like to let you know the place is haunted by friendly ghosts. Last night my roommate and I awoke to find our bedroom door wide open, so maybe it's true. I like the idea of Olive's ghost watching over the place, walking through the gardens, and visiting the students in all her favorite places. This school seems to have a theme of unnecessary but a...

December was a step into Dostoevsky's words, "the soul is healed by being with children." It was the time of basking in Elizabeth's greatest fairytale, a true-ish story called "Green Dolphin Street". I spent the first half of the month staying with a friend, waiting with her for her first child to come. She and I processed a small deer, and then when the little one was born, I tried to help by cooking and cleaning. I tended to spend much of my spare time sewing on her treadle machine. I kept busy, but never too busy to not be able to take breaks for holding baby. There's been so much contentment. I didn't want to leave.  But time inures us ever onward.  I went to visit an old friend who is going through a divorce. It was sad to be there. She and I worked on projects together, I filled the house with piano music, and I cu...

Part two of an ongoing roadtrip series  After Grief Comes Nostalgia Fellowshipping with a group of ex-amish women over Thanksgiving in Lancaster Pennsylvania My only plan for November and October was to write. I wrote, and two new novels came to me. Beginning of November I met up in Asheville with one of my best friends. We found ourselves all the way down in Louisiana for the Blackpot festival, then up to visit friends in Mississippi: a pile of wild boys with the most dangerous ideas of fun. Somehow we lived and didn't want to leave.  Back in Asheville I did a bit of a work trade sewing a bunch of cushions to stay in at an artsy commune. My sunroof was also broken into. Nothing of mine was even rifled through. I figure they took one look at my hanging herbs and baskets of mugs and chopsticks and piles of wool and linen and thought it must be a witch's lair. Nothing was stolen. But ...