November 2013
The
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B C The
Bare Hand Collective
create • share • evolve
From the Publisher. The
Bare Hand
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Collective
create • share • evolve
B C The
Would you mind to pass along our website to others? This will help us get the Ezine out to “hun-erds” as they would say in Paisley, Scotland!
Publisher.
Tim Robson
Editor.
Amy Robson
Logos.
Ben Blauvelt
Photos
As many of you have gathered The BHC is an Ezine version this month! We hope to return to a print version soon but for now we are gonna launch this beauty out into the cyber world and let it sail!
Val Cooley
The BHC also has a new blog on our website. Between the Blog and Facebook we will run the articles from this months issue on a daily basis. So if this is your preferred method of knowledge/story consumption, keep an eye out daily! Last of all we are still looking for local contributors! Now because of the Ezine nature of The BHC we can accept local content from ... well, all over the good green Earth! If you are interested in contributing to the monthly edition or daily by submitting posts for our blog... Send us your Craft, Creativity, or Culture content and let’s Create, Share, and Evolve!
Contributors. Paul Killingsworth Silas Miener Madison DuPree Jay Howard Autumn Whitaker Eryn Schlote Sam Gonçalves Shuana Smith Aaron Wilcox Eric Ray Cassandra Bergh Adam Lauderdale
Website
Looking forward to getting to know you! Tim Robson
Email The BHC - 4176161477
www.barehandcollective.com barehandcollective@gmail.com www.facebook.com/TheBareHandCollective
Sponsorship! Here at The BHC we want to draw young creative professionals to Springfield and Southwest, MO. We strive to do this by drawing attention to the amazing creativity, culture and craft that is the atmoshpere and environment of our cities in The Ozarks.
Get Involved!
If you are a photographer, writer, illustrator, graphic novelist, poet, storyteller, editor, graphic designer, public relations - anything having to do with putting together The BHC and you want to contribute - get in touch through: facebook/TheBareHandCollective or barehandcollective@gmail.com
We are asking you to help by investing in a Sponsorship Space or a Story Ad on your business (1/3 page or full page).
If you know someone that we should do a story on, get us connected through Facebook, email, or phone at 417-616-1477.
Contact us for our Media Kit pricing and to set up an appointment with our sponsorship team. Let’s get our name out there together!
Participate in our live Bare Hand Collective events each month as a creative vendor, performer, short film producer or musician/band. Get in touch through the details above!
The New Australia
by Paul Killingsworth
Paul Killingsworth
is a certified wine sommelier who lives in the Houston suburb of Sugar Land. He currently is working for Pioneer, a Texas distributor who specializes in family owned vineyards and wineries. He hates snobs, and hopes to help people have genuine “ah ha!” moments in life with wine, food, coffee, music… whatever.
Never before has the wine world been so diverse. Literally in every stretch of land, that is able to lend itself to the cultivation of the vine, one will find either traditionalists preaching a narrow road, or rebels breaking every rule. There are newcomers in the school of hard-knocks and old-and-seasoned-souls striving with every vintage to do better than the year before. More often than not, it’s the religious that achieve greatness with their methodical, planned, calculated and almost machine-like consistency. But sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it’s the irreverent, the cocky, the brash, the tattooed.
The French are notorious for their rules when it comes to their national treasure - wine. Their system called the AOC (appellation d'origine controlee), is a government-run controlling agency, that rules its land, wineries, vineyard workers, and winemakers with an almost communist-like iron fist. They dramatically regulate almost every aspect of the agriculture by enforcing what varietals are planted, when and how much is pruned, and the final total crops production. And it doesn’t stop at the winery. The winemaker has very little choice as to how the wine is made. Any deviation to the yeast used, temperature, barrel, length of ageing, etc., is forbidden. Now honestly, this is not me standing on a French wine bashing soap box. I’ve had the privilege to taste some stunning wines from France. I’m using this as an example – or to paint a picture if you will – of where fine wine was birthed, and to lay the groundwork for a much bigger picture. Honestly, the wine world has a huge debt of gratitude to France. Chile got their star “Carmenere” from Bordeaux, so did Argentina in the “Malbec”. The US got what we like to call “The King of Grapes” the Cabernet Sauvignon, again… from Bordeaux, France.
As the wine world expanded out of France, Germany, Italy, Spain, Greece (we refer to this the Old World of wine) into places like South Africa, Chile, Argentina, New Zealand, Australia, and yes… the United States (we call these the New World), the hearts and minds of creative and passionate people were expanding as well. These metaphorical questions were ringing like bells in the distance… ”Why should my art be censored? How can someone tell me the size of brush to use, or the color of paint on my pallete?” Throughout the evolution of wine, some projects didn’t work. Some were masterpieces.
One country that has virtually seen it all (in a very short time, mind you), is Australia. Australia is the only wine producing country in the world that did not start with indigenous vines. Australia’s star is what everyone knows as Shiraz, which is genetically the same grape from the Rhone area of France, called Syrah. While major export brands were ramping up their production, industry leaders were bragging about becoming the largest exporter of wine in the world. It seemed the pride of their accomplishment, was also their downfall. Huge supermarket brands, labeled the country as a whole as a bulk wine producer. People quickly forgot that fine wine from the Aussies was even possible, existed, or worth even trying.
Dwindling sales, mixed with a brutal exchange rate (that did not favor the wineries), and you have a huge mess. Bankruptcy was the story of many, and the big boys, like Yellow Tail and Pensfold, were buying them up and increasing production without missing a beat. Picture, if you will, fields of massive tanks and wine production facilities (imagine James Bond), mechanical harvesters that literally whack the vines with their arms until the fruit (and whatever else (rotten fruit, bugs, snakes, etc.)) falls off, homogenized recipes that are strictly followed to maintain vintage to vintage consistency, bottom lines, profit margins ‌ I could go on. Even wineries like Henschke, Two-Hands, Clarendon Hills, Torbreck, D’Arenberg, and Molly Dooker played a part in the negative perception (to a degree) with the wine industry in Australia. They make some great wine (and some of them are extremely expensive), but they all ramped up ripeness (more sugar means higher alcohol) and got away from terroir (all the elements that give wine a sense of place).
Now cue a rustly bunch of gen-x-ers. We hate “the man”. We love tattoos. We are non-conformists. Stereotypes being true, we are lazy, party whenever possible, and do whatever we find ourselves doing… 100% pedal to the metal. In relatively small pockets of South Australia like Clare Valley, McLaren Vale, and Barossa (Margaret River on the west coast and the island of Tasmania are sweet spots as well), you will find small groups of boisterous, passionate winemakers, who affectionately refer to themselves as part of the New Australia wine movement. This revival is all about passion for where the wine came from – the site (vineyard), and balance (the perfect integration of fruit, earth, acid, tannin, sugar, and alcohol). They are using techniques like whole cluster fermentation, extended skin maceration, wild yeast fermentations, etc., and getting inspiration from some of the best wine areas in the world like Beaujolais, Rhone, Burgundy, Piedmont, and Sonoma. All this wine jargon basically boils down to “the little guys” making wines of personality, acid, energy, and grace. Not the slurpy, flabby shiraz we drank in college. I’m talking about elegance meets intensity. Rowdiness. Passion. People being creative and taking risks. No rules. No restrictions. The people of Vine Street Imports (www.vsimports.com) have embraced this movement with open arms, and honestly, have said it best. Here’s a few quotes from Aaron Meeker about some of my favorite producers:
Red Heads Studio – McLaren Vale
“Justin… made just four barrels of his own in his garage… Philbo, who made rather more in a bigger tin shack… with cheap rainwater butts, garden hose, a converted milk chiller, clapped old pumps and casks scavenged from behind Hardy’s… they all spent a day looking at any more sheds for sale in McLaren Vale but didn’t find any. Then, the man serving coffee said, “you can have this place if you want. I’ve had enough of this. I’m buying a camper and going right round Oz.” And so they bought his café on the spot; Red Heads’ it was called; on the corner of Kangarilla and Foggo roads… The project was all over the place… of course; still run by anarchists. One too many late night benders and a few experimental wines later… Red Heads moved from the garage to a bit larger operation.”
Some Young Punks – Clare Valley
“Some Young Punks epitomize the best of New Australia… Like most amongst the new breed of interesting young winemakers in Australia they aren’t moved by porty Shiraz and seeks instead a sense of place and restraint in the wines, influenced by the best of the Old World and the New… The ethos is simple, self-centered and just a little arrogant – make charismatic wines that are true to what ‘wine’ should be about. If someone doesn’t like the way we do it then they had better put the bottle down because there’s already not enough to go around.”
Misfits Wine Co. – Clare Valley
“Like a 32 waist in a fat man store, Misfits Wine Co. doesn’t seem to fit in. At the heart of this outfit are 3 unexpected wine souls, all about the produce, not about conforming to the current ideology of the “wine selling set”… Misfits productions rejects convention, doing whatever it takes to make the best product possible.”
First Drop Wines – Barossa Valley
“Matt and John are two mates with a lifelong commitment to making kick-arse booze at their winery, “Home of the Brave” in the Barossa. These are wines with flavor, texture and a splash of funk… First Drop is about life, flavor, and fun – wines to drink!”
Small Gully Vineyards – Barossa Valley
“The people of Small Gully bring passion, experience and history to their winery… [they] produce wine of a distinctive bold and intense style with great expression of fruit character and winemaking technique. The Small Gully wines reflect the attention to detail in the vineyard and the meticulous fruit selection.” Please do yourself a favor and seek out these wines. These aren’t going to be at the supermarket, and will take some effort to acquire. It will be worth it I promise you. Warning though… as you can see in some of the artwork, this isn’t your safe and predictable “take-to-your-gamma’s-house” wine. These are made by real Aussies with soul, bad mouths, and great pallets.
By Eryn Schlote For a span of three months in high school, I thought about being an interpreter. The combination of challenging foreign languages and my love of connecting cultures drew me to the idea. Years later, my story continued on and I followed other paths that led down some unexpected roads. I found myself on the rough and poverty-trodden “streets” of rural Haiti with my sketchbook and a Creole vocabulary that wouldn’t get me through a week on my own. Thankfully I wasn’t on my own. I traveled there to serve with a growing ministry rooted in community development. I had high aspirations of bringing hope to the lives I’d touch through a love of art. But all of my expectations fled the moment our pastels hit the paper and the reality of the situation hit my heart: “I am one person. I have grown up comfortably with three meals a day and shoes on my feet. I go to college where my dorm room is larger than a Haitian home for ten. I have electricity and running water available whenever I feel like it. My childhood was nothing like theirs- how could I possibly have thought I could fly down here and bring them hope when all that exists in this place is hopelessness?” Suddenly I felt very alone in that foreign land and didn’t know how I was going to reach out to the lives sitting in front of me. It was a little late for hesitation though, so I pushed my doubts aside and continued with the activity I had spent many thoughtful hours preparing. With each stroke of pastel, my anxiety was replaced with amazement. These young men, who had never even seen pastels before, started with timid lines and a held-back ability. Within minutes, they were using their fingers to blend the chalk and their minds to create in ways they never had. Art in an undeveloped nation is a trade. It’s a means of survival. I asked them to draw for understanding; to express their thoughts and dreams rather than recreating an object. Not only were they using new material, they were creating new material. After each stage of the drawing, we gathered in a circle and held our work out for everyone to see. This is where the beauty happened. My pleasure at the transformation while they were drawing was nothing compared to the awe of this instant. Different life experiences. Different stories. Different languages. One circle. Silence. Connection. We took a moment to just sit and understand. We didn’t need a translator to explain. Stumbled words from either language would not have expressed more clearly our dreams in our drawings. My attraction to interpretation was the connection of people across cultures. In Haiti, I discovered a way to connect without speaking at all. Art is a language of its own. It has the ability to communicate and to connect people whose only similarity is the room they are sitting in together. ...Or the painting they are admiring in a popular museum. ...Or the weather-worn mural decorating the abandoned building they pass on the city bus. The image speaks for itself, no matter who is looking.
Eryn Schlote is an artist of all medium- pencil, fabric, letters, movement, food, ears. She loves people
and coffee and conversation. Her journey has absorbed miles upon miles of small town stories and big city headlines, leaving her heart stretched out from sea to sky where there’s always room for one more. She is a lifelong student, an adventure-seeker, and an unashamed empathetic crier. She is a daughter of Grace and a walking work in progress. Share life with her at standingonflowerbeds.wordpress.com.
by Sam Gonçalves It is amazing how much we can fail to notice the hundreds, thousands and millions of people around us (depending on where you live). I grew up in São Paulo and in a city so large it is easy to loose perspective of how many stories and personalities are walking around you everyday. There are so many amazing narratives that have the power to move, change and inform our personal history and we are simply brushing shoulders with them. If you think about it, life is like that show ‘Undercover Boss’ that as a basic premise poses the tension of someone who seems apparently ordinary, in reality, being extremely important and significant. The only difference between that show and real life is that people are not interesting just for being rich or important but by having unique and particular stories that can relate to and reach others. I am fascinated by these beautiful, scary, weird, funny, coincidental, meaningful, emotional and epic stories that happen to all sorts of different people and just get filed away in their memories, forgotten as ‘not important’ or ‘ordinary’. We are like awkward and timid bears, sidling through life without realising the raw impact every one of us naturally carries around. I run a project called Sidling Bears, at the moment you can find us on Facebook(https://www.facebook.com/sidlingbears) and also our Youtube Channel(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g6yVCUKJ4xk&feature=player_detailpage). At Sidling Bears we are attempting to bring these stories to light, to unleash the inherit power of these personal stories. We have supported artists to share their narratives through filmmaking and spoken word poetry as well as being a source for all sorts of storytelling content from across the web ether. But we have an exciting project over the next few months. We are currently working on a series of short films (to be released mid-January); they will be 5-minute-or-less animations of real life stories we are collecting. There will be different people from all walks of life telling these personal stories and several artists animating each of them. They have an immense range of themes and situations. I won’t give too much away at the moment, you’ll enjoy them much more from their original tellers! But I can say that some of them are the most incredible and unbelievable tales of real life I have come across. Some are high profile stories that have been in the news, others are unbelievable anecdotes of the time an old lady went to a corner shop. Each story comes to us in a different way. A lot of it has to do with listening to our surroundings, following up on people who we know will have amazing things to tell, and not being afraid of listening to strangers in bus stops and asking whether they would like to tell the story they just told me, but to an audience. We have a selection process for stories, trying to find some of the most captivating ones, but they are not necessarily the ones you expect them to be. People are often surprised when I ask if I can record one of their stories, they often see them as ordinary, but what is quite common or unremarkable for you can be world’s away to a given audience. If you have a story, any story you would like to tell, email us at sidlingbears@gmail.com and we’ll get in touch with you! Wherever you are in the world, your story can travel far! Or just go ahead and enjoy some of the content being provided. Whatever you do, pay attention to the narratives around you. The best stories are the ones you are not expecting!
Sam is originally from Brazil where he lived for 17 years. Now living in Glasgow, Scotland, he recently completed his undergraduate degree. Besides working alongside different youth organisations and charities in Scotland, Sam is also interested in filmmaking, spoken word poetry and just about anything else that involves a combo of people, story and art.
Mark your calendars because Springfield Dance Alliance's second annual fall dance concert, Harvest: Fall Into Dance is coming up! Springfield Dance Alliance, founded in 2012, brings together professional artists of various backgrounds to create diverse concerts featuring a wide range of dance styles. Harvest: Fall Into Dance includes choreography by Missouri State University faculty, Springfield Ballet, Phenomenon Dance Company, Credo Dance Academy and many independent Alliance choreographers. Springfield Dance Alliance concerts offer something for everyone: from powerful, athletic modern dance selections to ethereal contemporary ballet, and energetic belly dance fusion to character-driven theatrical comedy. Come and experience a s timulating and unique dance performance that brings together Springfield’s talented artistic community! Performances are Friday, November 22nd and Saturday, November 23rd at 7:30pm at Missouri State University’s Balcony Theatre in Craig Hall (1147 Grand Street Springfield, MO 65897). Tickets are $10 for adults, $8 for students/seniors, and children under 5 are free. Tickets can be reserved on our website at www.SpringfieldDanceAlliance.com/harvest and purchased at the door. No late seating, due to the venue. The Springfield Dance Alliance, a non-profit organization, is a collective of movement artists in the Springfield area who are passionate about bringing together our dance community. It is our goal to create performing opportunities for dancers and open a dialog exploring the role of dance in everyday life. Visit SDA’s website www.SpringfieldDanceAlliance. com for more information regarding the performance and organization. Please direct questions to info@springfielddancealliance.com.
Wholeness. by Shuana Smith
Shauna Smith Yates was raised in
Tulsa, OK. A graduate of Drury University with a BA in Studio Art/ Art History, she has worked in the fitness industry for 12 years. She is the owner of The Bodysmith, a Pilates and Fitness studio, and The Pit Boxing Gym in downtown Springfield, MO. She also certifies Pilates and barre instructors and has spent time teaching in Sao Paulo, Brazil and Bundang, South Korea.
This November Sari Higgins, Danielle Danforth, and Jesse Wilson, three Drury University painting students, will move their paintings from the studio space in Pool Art Center just a few blocks over to Walnut Street.
The work will be on display at The Bodysmith. The Bodysmith isn't an art gallery but a Pilates and fitness studio. At first thought, the work of an artist and the work of a fitness instructor may not be obvious, but there is a link worth exploring. In 1946 the World Health Organization defined holistic health in its preamble as "a state of complete physical, mental and social well-being rather than merely the absence of disease or infirmity."
Sixty-seven years later, research on what it takes for us to achieve healthy longevity, and a movement to build communities that support and promote longevity, is still taking place. According to the Center for Disease Control’s website, in 2012, 29.6% of adults in the state of Missouri were considered obese. The Missouri Department of Health and Senior Services website states, “Nearly 7 out of every 10 Missourians who die each year will die of a chronic disease.” Just the prolonged illness and disability arising from these diseases make the quality of life worse for most of the afflicted. Of all health problems, chronic diseases are among the most costly. Yet diseases such as heart disease, stroke, cancer, diabetes, arthritis and asthma are among the most controllable, if not preventable. The treatment of chronic diseases accounts for 75% of total health care cost each year. In 2012 The Integrated Benefits Institute reported that poor health costs the U.S. economy $576 billion a year.
Community leaders, local organizations and entrepreneurs in Springfield are sharing practical tools, and information for engaging a workforce in putting health first, with the ultimate goal of improving the health and well being of the community as a whole. The Healthy Living Alliance is a network of people and organizations working to encourage healthy, active living within Springfield. Springfield Urban Agriculture Coalition promotes healthy lifestyles and environments through hands on education about production and consumption of locally-produced, natural, healthy foods. Ozarks Greenways is working to preserve the Ozarks' natural heritage for public use and enjoyment by developing a greenway trail network for pedestrians and bicyclists. Springfield Regional Arts Council’s mission is to transform lives and enrich our community through the arts. CoxHealth is hosting a series for leaders of the community and in business entitled Get Connected to a Healthy Community. These are just a handful of organizations working to change the lives of Springfieldians. In June CoxHealth and Anthem Blue Cross and Blue Shield of Missouri brought Dan Buettner, author of ‘Blue Zones - Lessons for Living Longer from the People who've Lived the Longest,’ to Springfield to discuss what he discovered from his research traveling the world in search of communities with large numbers of healthy centurions. Buettner identified the secrets of longevity and happiness from five cultures and distilled what he learned down to the Power 9® – the nine principles that have helped people in certain areas of the planet, known as Blue Zones, achieve this lifestyle.
The nine common denominators for the 5 cultures studied are as follows: 1. Move Naturally - They live in environments that necessitate or encourage them to move without thinking about it. 2. Purpose – They can identify understand their sense of purpose in life. 3. Down Shift - Stress leads to chronic inflammation, associated with every major age-related disease. They have a daily routine to relax and reduce stress. 4. 80% Rule- They eat their smallest meal in the late afternoon or early evening and then they don’t eat any more the rest of the day. They stop eating when they feel 80% full. 5. Plant Based diet- Beans comprise most of their diet. Meat is eaten on average only five times per month with serving sizes comprising of 3-4 oz. 6. Wine @ 5- They drink alcohol moderately and regularly. 7. Belong- They have strong ties to groups and organizations whether faith based or not. 8. Loved Ones First - Successful centenarians in the Blue Zones put their families first. 9. Right Tribe - The world’s longest lived people chose–or were born into–social circles that support healthy behaviors.
While the statistics for obesity and chronic diseases in our region appear grim, our community is one that as individuals we can succeed in choosing a lifestyle that promotes a whole being of mind, body and spirit. While I run a business that promotes several types of fitness, both athletic and mind-body based, I can also achieve natural movement in my downtown location by walking to other nearby shops, galleries, restaurants, the library, banks, schools and fitness centers. Within a few minutes I can be on a Greenways trail riding my bicycle or running. Our Ozarks geography allows us to exercise, relax and enjoy many parks and other facilities in nature. Exercise is known to promote a healthier, longer life with less stress and improved cognitive function.
The farm to table movement growing in our community, and number of farmer’s markets around the area, allow for the option to eat a largely plant based diet if we choose. Plant based diets are also known to help decrease the chances of chronic disease such as obesity, diabetes and heart disease.
In a community with so many groups, organizations and activities accessible one can easily explore what inspires and drives them to find purpose. Research has shown that having purpose in life can increase life expectancy by seven years. The plethora of organizations in our community, whether faith based, education based, arts related, political, interest based and so forth gives us a chance to also find a sense of belonging and become connected. A sense of belonging can add 4 to 14 years to life expectancy. Through these organizations, friendships and support networks can be made with people that uphold the same interests, values, ideas and goals. Studies show that smoking, obesity, happiness, and even loneliness are contagious. The social networks of long-lived people have favorably shaped their health behaviors.
As I mentioned in the beginning of this article three Drury painting students will be hanging their work at The Bodysmith in November. I came to Springfield by way of Drury University. Drury instills in their students a holistic approach to life through their liberal arts education, their focus on wellness, and their strong community outreach programs. As an alumni, I have maintained a strong connection to the Drury Art Department and as a business owner I can provide the students with the opportunity to have their work seen outside of the University setting. As fitness professionals we help our clientele achieve physical well being. By simply hanging art on the walls can help stimulate mental well being.
317 E Walnut Street/Springfield, MO 65806/417.865.0500
www.bodysmithpilates.com
Featured Artist Eric Ray I am Currently specializing in Pen & Ink drawing, portraiture and illustration. I have been a working artist for over 30 years with extensive experience in illustration, design and fine arts. I live and work in Springfield, Missouri and experience in the advertising, marketing, print and publishing fields. Most of my Pen & Ink drawings have an incredible amount of detail with the rendering of texture and patterns. Many of my works have a sharp sense of humor and a unique dramatic edge. ericraycreative@gmail.com http://ericraycreative.wix.com/artwork facebook.com/pages/Eric-Ray-Creative
Celebrate
by Jay Howard
Springfield ushered in the autumn season with its annual Fall Festival, Cider Days, which was held on September 21-22. The first day of fall is determined by the Autumnal Equinox. This year, that date fell on September 22. During an equinox, the day and the night are the same length all over the Earth’s surface. (For the science-lovers among us, this is because the Earth is tilted neither toward nor away from the Sun during an equinox.) But people did not know this in olden days; In Autumn, we only knew that the harvest was ripe. A successfully gathered harvest meant two things: food would be abundant, and the need for hard work in the fields would be greatly reduced. The resulting free time gave people ample opportunity to celebrate their good fortune. Thus, fall festivals were born.
My name is Jay Howard. I am a graduate student at Missouri State studying communication and conflict resolution. My hobbies include writing, playing chess, b rewing beer, and playing with my dog. My wife and I love living in Springfield Misouri.
Photo by Val Cooley
These days most of us live our daily lives totally separated from the realities of the soil and the harvest which sustain us. But, though we have lost the visceral experience of the harvest, we have retained the tradition of harvest celebrations. Fall has always been my favorite time of year. In fact, I remember being distinctly un-surprised in school when I first learned that humans have been celebrating autumn since recorded history. I grew up in the Ozarks after all, and in the Ozarks we have a lot to celebrate. To me, the fall is always a source of joy. The season reminds me of the endless cycle of life and death and new life again. When the bright foliage of the Ozark Autumn descends to the ground, it is not there to stay. Rather, the leaves descend to the ground like a Phoenix, waiting to be reborn again in the spring. In Springfield, we like to celebrate the season by drinking lots of cider. The weather for Cider Days was perfect this year. The festival featured more than 100 artists and crafters, and thousands of people attended the event throughout the weekend. While Cider Days marks the beginning of Springfield’s fall celebrations, many other Fall Festivals occur in Springfield throughout the autumn months. The harvest festivities continue unrelentingly throughout the season. The celebrations traditionally culminate on Thanksgiving, Thursday November 28, and for many in Springfield the tradition of running the annual Thanksgiving Day 5K—The Turkey Trot. After that, the autumn celebrations are effectively complete until next year. The last day of fall will be December 20. The Winter Solstice, and the first day of winter, will be December 21, 2013.
Sunday 11am-9pm Mon-Wed 11am-10pm Thurs-Sat 11am-2am 221 E. Walnut, Downtown Springfield pappospizzeria.com
Val Cooley Photography http://www.valcooleyphotography.com Raised in mid Missouri, Val Cooley, is the owner and photographer of Val Cooley
Photography. She became a professional photographer 6 years ago. Her passion began with nature / landscape photography. She lives for the opportunity to head south to the Ozark Mountains in Arkansas any time she gets the chance. Val and her trusty dog Hunter usually begin their hikes long before the sun comes up - flashlight in hand, so they can be ready for that perfect sunrise or waterfall shot. The day continues with many trips down unknown roads in search of beautiful scenery, and usually ends with the perfect sunset shot at the end of the day.
Jam Up
Black Berry Ale
Her work has been featured twice as cover photos for The Ozarks Mountaineer Magazine, (winning the 2010 Cover Photo Of The Year), The Louisiana Hiking Club newsletter, the Springfield News-Leader, 417 Magazine, and her work can also be found in the halls of the Boone County Hospital in Columbia, MO. Val’s passion for photography recently took her to the Middle East with a visit to Beirut, Lebanon. The entire country of Lebanon is a photographer’s paradise. She photographed the beautiful ancient Roman Ruins, castles in Byblos and Siada, along with the war damage still left from the civil war. Val is now reaching her goal of becoming a
www.facebook.com/whiteriverbrewing www.whiteriverbrewingco.com
Summer is gone but RSVPaint is still keeping it hot with Art! For November’s First Friday Art Walk we will be hosting our normal Open Paint Studio, where you are welcome to come in and paint what you wish. Back by popular demand, Not’cho Ordinary Taco truck will be in our parking lot, bringing you the BEST tacos you have ever eaten. After you stuff your bellies with food come check out their galleries stuffed with unique and original sculptures by Kaden Myers. He will be displaying functional ceramics, as well as bringing some very interesting sculpture work. We are really excited to have him along! You’ve had a taste, now come back for more. White River Brewing Company will be on hand again serving you the finest Small-Batch Ales, Springfield has to offer. And we will have Neil Christopher Adams for our live, local musical talent here to delight the rest of your senses. Please come Relax Sip Visit & Paint with us!
http://www.rsvpaint.com
Cassandra Bergh is an aspiring photographer and writer who's hopes for life are to capture moments that people often miss. Whether it be through words or a snap of a shutter, she loves to surprise people with a different perspective. When Cassandra isn't at work or church you can find her pounding out poems on the keyboard or pondering the mysteries of life while humming to herself happily. In pursuit of finding different perspectives her travels have taken her to Mexico, Guatemala, Scotland, England and Northern Ireland. Currently she is working her way towards saving tuition for a Bachelor of Design Degree, majoring in photography in Canada where she lives. You can find Cassandra online at www.miss--perception.tumblr.com.
The Art of Tea Recently, I have rediscovered my love for tea, as I have realized that coffee, simply put, hates me. To my chagrin, my stomach doesn't find it as delicious as my mouth does. Coffee is delightful, but a delight that I will have to forego except for seldom special occasions it seems. Tea, however, is amazing! I remember the first time I discovered my love for it. I was at my Grandma's house on a cool fall afternoon, and she asked me if I wanted a good ol' cup of orange pekoe. It was love at first sip! It has been so enjoyable reacquainting myself with it again. As things begin to cool down, and the autumn weather wraps its cozy arms around me, I can think of few things better than curling up with a good book and a piping hot cup of tea. Except for, maybe, something that I happened upon with a friend not too long ago. Katelyn and I had been meaning to visit a little place called 'Color Me Mine' for quite awhile and we were finally able to organize a time that worked for the both of us. (For those not familiar with the place, it is a pottery art studio of sorts, for ages of every variety. They house hundreds of different unfinished pottery pieces that you can pick out and paint. They do the firing and glazing for you, and at the end of the process, you get to take home your completely unique finished piece.) Katelyn and I wandered around the small, but open, room staring at all of the different projects that we could unleash our creativity on. The decision was pretty painstaking until we got to a section filled with all sorts of mugs and teapots. She knew right away that a teapot was calling her name. I did a little more wandering around, just to be sure. After a few more minutes, I settled on a teapot, too. My reasoning? Simply because... well, they house one of my favourite drinks of all time.
We ended up choosing the exact same one, but both turned out so completely different by the end, which was really something. I love being able to take two identical things and see them transformed into something that reflects the personality of the person ‘creating’ them. We spent three and half hours meticulously painting our little pots, and chatting about life, amidst flurried comments and questions about how we should paint them. (Creative input is such a big help when you get lost in all of the options, as I regularly do.) Tea drinking, I find, is as much about the vessel that it comes in, as it is about the type of tea that you have. Perhaps I'm alone in this, but having an amazing mug or a great teapot just completes the whole tea-drinking experience. It becomes a well-rounded, magical moment. Being able to execute most of the creative process with the blank canvas of a teapot was an extremely therapeutic and fun experience. Putting so much effort into something like that will make every pot of steeped tea even better. It becomes not only a beautiful, colourful container for a great drink but a regular reminder of friendship and happy memories. As a sentimental type, I really love this creative process. As well as that, drinking tea is a popular experience commonly shared around the world. The traditions and cultures involving this simple thing are as plentiful as there are colors in the rainbow. People all over the world enjoy many different varieties and versions of this blend of hot water and tea leaves. I find it really interesting that it can take on so many different expressions. There are so many kinds of tea and each type has its own personality to suit every kind of tea-drinker. There are bold and strong flavours, and many subdued subtle tea profiles as well. Most teas actually come from the same plant but develop their different qualities in how they are processed. I love that things in life can become so different and all equally great, but start from the same blank place. And I also think that's what I love the most about any sort of eating or drinking. When it is done truly well, it brings people together and draws out much more meaning than the hot-cup-of-whatever or plate-of-goodness in front of you. It becomes a vessel in and of itself that makes room for great memories and camaraderie, which are shared over a relatively simple thing. So as things cool down, as the leaves change color, as drinks get warmer, and as company becomes cozier, I certainly want to draw out as much flavour and satisfaction from all of these little daily occurrences that make up our lives together. I hope that we can drink some tea, paint a teapot or two, and have a plentifully warm autumn with all those who share our lives.
It is in celebration of our roots as a company, and of the thriving region which nurtured our growth, that Traders Printing & Design presents this line of boutique printing products featuring the history and geography of Missouri and the Ozark mountains.
Traders Printing Company was founded in 1925.
Not just a different century, but a different time. Although Gutenberg's printing press was nearly 500 years old, the essential technology had changed little. Despite advances in mechanization and vastimprovements to efficiency and speed, printing was still a craft, and its practitioners as much artists as engineers. Quality printing required (and requires to this day) a dedication to that craft, but also a dedication to the community it serves. Understanding the unique needs and preferences of its client businesses is as vital as understanding the equipment itself. Traders Printing is rooted in this kind of dedication to downtown Springfield, Missouri, the neighborhood where it was founded and remains to this day.
As these projects developed and took on life, the challenge was not to find subject matter, but to decide what to leave out. Ours is a local culture rich with stories and characters, both famous and infamous, which have made us what we are today.
Whether honoring our heroes, defaming our crooks, or chuckling at the idiosyncrasies of our hillbilly heritage, all history is good history, because it broadens our perspective and reminds us that we are fallible and unique. Our hope is that this line of custom-designed print products will accomplish this for you, and make you proud of Missouri and the Ozarks (if you live here) or make you want to visit us (if you don't). And as you enjoy our depiction of this place we call home, remember the words of Missouri author Mark Twain "Very few things happen at the right time, and the rest do not happen at all: The conscientious historian will correct these defects.”
Traders Printing & Design 230 W. McDaniel St. Springfield, MO 65806 417-866-5311 | Fax 888-318-3464 http://tradersprinting.com http://facebook.com/tradersprinting
Out of the Cage by Aaron Wilcox After a tornado destroyed a third of my town on March 22, 2011, I have been doing a lot of thinking about priorities. Too many of my friends and family lost everything they had and were forced to rebuild their lives. My family and I huddled in the dark basement of my in-laws house while the massive tornado obliterated the house above us. Taking with it many possessions tied to my wife’s childhood memories. It makes me wonder, if I lost everything I owned how would I choose to rebuild? What would I do differently? I think about all of the possessions that I would hate to lose. There are things that insurance just cannot replace, like memories sewn into grandmother’s quilts or old family photos. A year after the tornado my Dad, brother, our longtime friend Kenton, and I embarked on a 6 day 60 mile trek through Glacier National Park. I was expecting to have a great time, but I was not expecting to find answers to some of these questions. This backpacking trip started out like many others. I was excitedly hiking along, trying to adjust my pack so it didn’t give me blisters, looking at new scenery, and letting my imagination run wild. It did not take long for this trip to take on a new dimension. At lunch some other hikers notified us that there was a black bear with her cub about a quarter mile ahead. I was so excited! I had my camera holstered as if I were outlaw whose life depended on a quick draw. This excitement was quickly met with a twinge of fear; the under growth in Glacier Nation Park is so thick in places that it resembles the rain forest. While burrowing through this prime bear feeding ground, I suddenly felt like I was not on the top of the food chain anymore. The bear spray we were forced to bring seemed like a dash of seasoning to go with a self-delivered meal.
The sunset at our first night’s stay was not overwhelmingly colorful but I found myself taking as many photos as I could to try and capture its transcendent beauty. This is a problem in nature photography. I see a sunset with my eyes, interpret it with my imagination, and then let it soak into my soul. That is really, really hard to capture with a camera. The lake was so smooth that to skip a rock across it could be viewed as blasphemy, yet the loons who dared to disturb its serenity, aided its un-interpretable beauty. The next day was un-eventful. Just the average stroll up a ridiculously beautiful mountain embroidered with millions of bear grass flowers, Indian paintbrush, and several shades of columbine.
Camping in Boulder Pass is like visiting a forbidden palace. It seems that no human was intended to see the intricate streams of melting glaciers that water the ever present wild flowers. Yet there I was. I climbed a little further in solitude to sit atop Boulder Mountain. Being able to view the immensity of the entire park from that nature made temple, I was in awe of many things. I know that over the course of time, erosion formed these mountains, but is that it? Not at all! Science cannot explain the spiritual reaction that takes place upon viewing the work of rock and ice. The mystery of beauty! The next three days passed about the same. Hard hiking to goat haunt campground, eating freeze dried food, and soaking in all the massive vistas, tiny flowers, and countless waterfalls. On the last night in the wilderness, we camped at the aptly named Fifty Mountain campground. I had been waiting for this night to photograph the stars, because the moon would be at its weakest. I love star trail pictures because it records a dazzling show of light that makes a Pink Floyd concert look like a burning out flash light. The stars supply life giving energy to the universe and yet put on the most intimately inspiring show every night, only to be forgotten with the coming of the dawn. The next morning we got up, packed up the tent for the last time, and headed for the trail head. 6 days, almost 60 miles, and not one single phone call. All of this beauty without the distraction of a smart phone does something to your mind. It makes your mind smarter, and your phone seems dumber! It was this last day that brought a lot of things into perspective for me. I kept thinking about my family, and how I could not wait to play with my girls and see my wife. I was thinking about the evidence that nature’s destructive forces can work for good .Wildfires have renewed and revitalized thousands of acres of the park. Heck, even the glaciers themselves thousands of years ago were bulldozing mountains that now have created some of the most breathtaking vistas in the world. Similarly, The night the tornado came was the most intense time of fear, uncertainty, and awe I have ever experienced. The power of the storm was terrible, the confusion was heart shaking, and the miracle of the human spirit was un-broken. I know that the tornado destroyed Joplin and that we are going to build it back better, but how? It was not until I stepped onto the shuttle that the reason I love backpacking became very clear. I was reminded of the Native American quote‌
“We started noticing-your clothes fit like cages-your houses looked like cages-everything was a cage. You turned the land into cages-little squares. After that, you made a government to protect the cages-all your laws were about what you could NOT do. The only freedom you had was inside your own cage. Then, you wondered why you didn’t feel free. We Indians never thought that way. Everyone was free. We didn’t make cages of laws or land.”- Lakota Elder He was right! We work in a cage, we sleep in fancy cages, we travel in cages, and even our kids literally play in cages. Backpacking is freedom from that society. Taking a week off work to act like a pack animal is crazy to most people. When I got on that shuttle I saw kids who were playing Gameboys, people sleeping, and not a single person on the bus looked like they even knew where they were. They were trapped in a moving cage. Nature has a supernatural power that allows your mind to decompress. You might not notice it at first, but slowly and surely the layers of useless information placed in your head by constant access the World Wide Web, smart phones, and the insane pace of our day to day lives will start to un-fold. Being in awe of the earth’s rotation through the stars can do more healing than thousands of dollars spent on self-help books.
Identifying why I love backpacking made me realize that there are more important connections in our life than our connection to material goods. Material possessions are nothing, losing old keepsakes just means that you now get the chance to make new memories. It made me realize that society is nuts and that even though I am going to go back to my old job it does not mean that I am entrapped by it. Getting lost in the wild frees me to go back to work, and work harder. I can come home to love my wife with more intensity, and play with my kids with even more joy. My family and I don’t have to sell everything we have and move to a commune to be free from society. We can work, watch TV, and eat out just like everyone else. It is a mindset that you have to be free. Every morning that I wake up I have the choice to let my surroundings control me or let deeper, older things influence the decisions I make. Backpacking cannot set you free. However, sometimes when you make a clean break for a while, you see how far you have been sucked in. Then when you come home, you can be a more alive version of you, appreciate the beauty all around you, maybe fix a hurting relationship, or even begin to pick up the pieces of your destroyed town.
417.866.7500
621 S. Pickwick, Springfield, MO 65802
Tea Bar & Bites Bakery, Cafe and Catering Join us for Meet the Artist with Jim Mayfield and singer songwriter Alexa Kilgore on Friday, Nov. 8, 6-8 p.m. Enjoy complimentary bites, live music and delicious dinner specials (serving until 8:30 p.m.) http://jimmayfieldphotography.zenfolio.com/ Check out our menus at
www.teabarandbites.com
Pop Art Remix asks Artists to Explore Pop Culture, Current Events Springfield, MO, October 30, 2013 – The Springfield Regional Arts Council (SRAC) is calling for artists to participate in “Pop Art Remix,” the December show to be featured in The Creamery Art Center’s Exhibition Hall. The late 1950’s pop art movement drew heavily upon popular culture and American iconography, and gave rise to artists such as Andy Warhol, Roy Lichtenstein, and Jasper Johns. “Pop Art Remix” organizers encourage local and regional artists to put a fresh spin on pop art, taking subject matter from popular culture and current events and using bold images, colors, and media including painting, sculpture, mixed media, graffiti and comic-style art, fiber art, soft sculpture, and wearable art. Entries may be dropped off between 9:00am and 5:00pm on Monday, December 2 and Tuesday, December 3, 2013. Participating artists will be required to complete an entry form for each work stating title, artist’s name, media, and price. Participants may submit as many pieces as they like for review and potential selection. The SRAC receives a 25% commission on works sold. “Pop Art Remix” will open on December 6, 2013 with a First Friday Art Walk reception from 6:00pm to 9:00pm. Patrons wishing to purchase a piece as a holiday gift may pick up the work on or before Friday, December 20, 2013. Works not purchased as holiday gifts will remain on display through Friday, December 27, 2013. The Creamery Arts Center is located at 411 N. Sherman Parkway, Springfield, MO. For more information, contact Stephanie Cramer, Director of Programs and Exhibitions, by phone at 417-862-2787(ARTS) or by e-mail at Stephanie@SpringfieldArts.org. You may also log on to www.SpringfieldArts.org. The SRAC, incorporated in 1978, connects people and the arts. It supports some of the most prominent visual, performing, literary and film/ media arts organizations and artists within 27 counties, the largest outreach of any in the state of Missouri. The current mission of the SRAC is to transform lives and enrich our Community through the Arts. The SRAC also manages The Creamery Arts Center, which houses the offices of the SRAC, Springfield Symphony Orchestra, Springfield Ballet, Springfield Regional Opera, Springfield Community Center and Care to Learn, as well as a board room, classrooms, arts library, exhibition hall, film editing bays, shared costume and set design shops managed by the Springfield Little Theatre and instrument storage.
Barstool Bards. Among other things, Silas Misener is a figment of your imagination.
“Where To?” Rick lost his thumb in a wood-chipper; a crooked log took it clean off. He never found it. That was a few years back now, when he didn’t think much about life outside Axeton. It’s out there, sittin’ in the mulch under some swing in a playground. Maybe some kid found it and it’s in a cigar box full of marbles. Maybe somebody found it and reported it to the police. It’s in an evidence locker in the unsolved section. Could be anywhere in the world by now. That’s what Rick thinks about, workin’ at the lumber mill. He wonders where that thumb’s got off to. He travels a lot now. He enjoys himself; smiles and says. “My thumb could be here.”
“Maple Cemetery” The old man felt it was time and he lay down in the cemetery to die. It was fall and the maple trees had begun to turn. The chilly breeze felt good on his tired skin. Leaves accumulated in a pile around, and then on top of him. Presently, an old woman walked by with a bouquet and asked the pile of leaves what he was doing. “I’m gonna’ die today, Woman. What ya think I’m doing? I’m savin’ everybody some effort.” He stated. “All they gotta’ do is throw some dirt on me and I’m set.” She inquired as to why he had no hole to die in and he said he hadn’t thought of that. The woman put a hand on her hip. “Besides, they’ve got to go and embalm you and all that first. They have to tote your wrinkled old ass to a funeral home afore they can bury you.” The old man asked where the funeral home was. “I guess I’ll walk over there and die.” The old woman pointed. “It’s across town, down by the Walmart.” The old man frowned. “I don’t wanna’ walk all the way down there. Maybe I’ll die tomorrow.” The woman helped him up. “Good then. You’ve got time to buy me some coffee.” He brushed the leaves off his jacket. “What would I go and do that for?” He protested. “Shut up and give me your arm old man.”
“Real” One night Tommy’s drawings came to life. He ran into his mother’s bedroom. “Mommy, all of my pictures on my walls, the ones on the refrigerator, they came to life.” Tommy’s mother wasn’t worried. “It’s just a bad dream, baby.” But Tommy would hear none of it. He made her lock her bedroom door. He sat there on the bed, sobbing. Tommy’s mother decided to play along. “It’s a good thing, baby. Think of all of the wonderful things you’ve drawn, all of those things will be real.” Something was banging on the bedroom door. “Your pet flying walrus will be real and the backward fish will be real too.” The banging grew louder; the door began to splinter. “But mommy, I drew monsters too.”
“Phenomenon” The hole was twenty miles deep. At first the surveyors believed their equipment was malfunctioning. The phenomenon was, until that day, quite impossible. Holes like that don’t show up overnight. When someone shows you a massive hole in the ground, your tendency isn’t to look up, but that’s what made Whitney special. She was the kind of person who would do the unexpected. What she saw was also, very unexpected. After their disbelief at the size of the hole wore off, the scientists and surveyors began to worry. It was practically a miracle that nothing had come out of the hole as of yet. The hole was a recipe for a volcano. It was, in fact, a mystery as to why lava and ash were not pouring out of the hole that very second, destroying everything within twenty miles. Whitney knew the answer to that. At least, she had a fairly good idea. She could see it, up there in the sky. The thing was electrically camouflaged, but the occasional gust of wind caused a ripple of light across the surface of it and she could discern the outline of the craft. She could also see the others, descending through the clouds to accompany it. Whitney knew that the hole was not the thing to worry about.
My name is Madison DuPree and I hail from Houston, TX! I’ve been an avid music lover since a very young age and I’ve been sharing the music I love via my weblog, Predictably Me, for over 3 years now. I come from a big family and I love spending my free time with them playing guitar, writing, and drinking exceptionally good coffee. I’m passionate about sharing some of the great music that’s out there and supporting talented musicians who are working hard to make it in what is currently a tough market. While I may use print as a medium I do believe that music is something that should be experienced. As Billy Joel said, “There’s a new band in town but you can’t get the sound from a story in a magazine.” www.predictablyme.typepad.com
What would you say if I told you that the song, ‘22’ by Taylor Swift, was written by a 42 year old man? What would you think if I told you that, “I Kissed A Girl” by Katy Perry, probably was written by a guy? Did you know that the majority of the 90’s American ‘musical dream team’ Backstreet Boys had most of their songs written by a guy in Sweden? Like me, you would probably be surprised for a moment and then all of the pieces of the last 15 years in pop music would start coming together. But before I tell you that you’ve probably listened to, and/or heard a song by the same artist nearly every day over the last decade, I have a confession: I love pop music! That really shouldn’t need to be classified as a confession but I find that many people are surprised and often somewhat disappointed by this fact. I don’t really care though since I’ve been collecting “indie music street cred” for the last decade and I’m still not sure what it’s good for. So unless it starts getting me a pretty hefty discount at Urban Outfitters I think I’ll sacrifice it in the name of being honest. While I do always plan to continue support, promote, share, and personally enjoy all of the great indie music I find, I wont deny that I listen to Katy Perry at least once a week and that the Jonas Brothers concert was one of the better shows I’ve ever attended. I love the opportunity to lend a hand to the well deserving musical underdogs but I also wont shy away from defending top billboard artists. With all that being said, I think there is something to be valued about a catchy bridge or a hook that gets stuck in your head for days on end. Could I do with less auto-tune? Of course. Do I wish Miley Cyrus would just stop making music videos all together? You bet. Would I consider donating expendable body parts to science if only major radio stations would promise to quit ruining great songs by playing them over and over? Probably. But all of those things will never change the fact that every year I look forward to the first cold snap of the season so I can drive around with the windows down, volume up to 11, and the only destination in mind being to listen to every major Backstreet Boys hit… nearly all of which were written by Swedish songwriter/producer Max Martin. The list of singles that he has written or “co-wrote with the artist who performed it” is baffling. 16 #1 singles which puts him ahead of Michael Jackson, Madonna, Whitney Houston and being outdone only by The Beatles with 20 songs at #1 and Elvis Presley with 18 songs at #1. Considering the fact that neither of them are making music anymore Max Martin could very well be more successful than The Beatles within his lifetime. He also has 30 “Top 10 Singles” which puts him ahead of Michael Jackson, Stevie Wonder, Elton John, and Rhianna. No matter how you feel about major labels, main stream radio stations, or pop music, it is undeniable that Max Martin has been an invisible driving force behind the music that has defined a generation.
As I mentioned earlier, Martin’s repertoire includes almost all of the major hits from Backstreet Boys but also the majority of hit singles by artists such as Britney Spears, Kelly Clarkson, Avril Lavigne, Pink, Ke$ha, Katy Perry, and much of Taylor Swift’s more recent work. He also wrote many radio hits such as “That’s The Way It Is” by Celine Dion, “I Want You Back” and “Tearin’ Up My Heart” by *NSYNC, “DJ Got Us Fallin’ In Love” and “Scream” by Usher, “Beauty and a Beat” by Justin Bieber, “Domino” by Jesse J, “One More Night” and “Daylight” by Maroon5, “Dynamite” and “Fast Car” by Taio Cruz, and “Feels Like Tonight” by Daughtry. He has also written other notable songs for artists like Bryan Adams, Simple Plan, Robyn, Christina Aguilera, Will.i.Am, Carolina Liar, Cindy Lauper, Pitbull, Bon Jovi, Nicki Manaj, Carrie Underwood, Ace of Base, Carly Rae Jepsen, Def Leppard, Adam Lambert, Leona Lewis, as well as having a hand in the remixing of songs for the popular TV Show Glee. Truly, the list goes on and on.
Max is also a producer, where he comes in at second place when it comes to #1 singles, outdone only by George Martin who is primarily associated with The Beatles. In fact, according to a Nielsen SoundScan Report earlier this year Martin’s singles have collectively sold 135,433,000 copies. Yes, you read that right… over 135 MILLION singles sold. That number is the reason why your grandchildren will view you as the Backstreet generation, the golden age of Katy Perry.
Someday your granddaughter could be walking around in her hipster thrifted Taylor Swift “Red” tour t-shirt and vintage ugg boots complaining about how she can’t believe you threw out your original Britney Spears CD collection. Even with his level of success in the song writing industry there are fairly few interviews to be found with him. This isn’t surprising since many of the artists he has helped make famous would rather not highlight the fact that they don’t write 100% of their own music. However, in one phone interview with a songwriter’s forum Martin is quoted as saying, “Songwriting and producing is 99% about confidence.” This bit of advice doesn’t initially strike me as revolutionary, but I do find it interesting that this was really all he had to say on the subject. If there is a secret to life as a musician apparently this is it… confidence. But I believe this is also something that many “indie” artists I love would agree with. Whether or not it’s having the confidence to experiment with a new sound, the confidence to put into words your most vulnerable emotions, or the confidence to deviate from the type of music you know your fan base, label, or managers are expecting from you, it would seem that confidence in yourself and in your music is an essential element in writing songs that will speak to millions… or just me.
Items for Purchase from the artists of
Allen O’Neal
Linda Passeri Douglas Kelly
Diseree Young
Marian Chamberlain
Meike Aton
http://www.freshgallery.org
Adam Lauderdale is an aspiring writer living
Barstool Bards.
in Springfield, Missouri. He currently works at Mudhouse coffee, and in the Youth Services division at the Central Branch Library. Adam is amember of a writer’s circle in Springfield called "The Barstool Bards", and takes inspiration for his short stories from his upbringing in the Ozarks, as well as from his travels and experiences abroad. Adam is currently working on a number of projects that he hopes will help define the way that Americans approach the written word. He enjoys bike rides, and Battlestar Galactica.
Josiah Dreams in Explosions of Whales Josiah dreams in explosions of whales. In the morning he wakes and tends to the earth. He tends to his animals: his cattle, his sheep, his dogs, his cats. He tends to his wife whom he has loved faithfully ever since he bought her their first television and she told him that it was ok if it didn’t work; she still liked the radio. In his dreams Josiah is floating naked in space. Whales roll past him and their song is like the old hymns that Josiah can barely remember, but their meaning remains true. They sang those tunes once and they still do sometimes down at the First United Methodist Church. His sons and daughter had been baptized there, and even though they don’t come around much since they’ve had children of their own, he still remembers them. He remembers them like he remembers those oldhymns: seemingly well, but blurry around the refrains. But he’s never seen a whale. He’s never seen the ocean either. The farthest he’d ever traveled had been upstate some one hundred and fifty miles to attend a graduation; his son’s graduation. But in his dreams, yes in his dreams there are whales, and they frighten him because even though he’s seen cows and bulls and boars, and the ends of guns, he’s still never seen a whale. When Josiah was twelve there had been a fire in the barn where his sister had been with the neighbor boy. The boy ran out of the barn and down the road. The most of what Josiah remembered of him had been his pale ass cheeks rippling each time his heel had touched grass. His sister, however, had not run out of the barn. So Josiah ran in to get her. He swears to this day, Josiah does, that when he ran into the barn he saw a para-natural vision. He saw an angel and a demon playing a hand of poker at a small table in the corner of the barn. Late in his days he would tell his friends and neighbors that he had somehow played a part in that game. Whether it had been as a card in the angels hand or a wager on the table, Josiah did not know. After the fire, Josiah tended to deal with problems head on directly. Many people in town knew him as a man to whom fear had only a little sway. And when Dale McClelogh came to the bar with a shotgun to “get” the Wilkens boy for this that or the other it had been Josiah who had come out to meet him there in the street. He had put his arm around his shoulder and he talked the liquored-up old man into heading home to his wife. Anytime anyone would tell him that he was using up his nine lives, he’d just tell them that that angels luck hadn’t run out yet and that he didn’t believe in no nine lives anyway. A man’s just got one to live on and Josiah was just glad that somebody was watching out for his other than himself.
He never told anyone that the angel he saw in that barn was the most beautiful woman that he’d ever seen in his life. More beautiful even than his wife whom all the other young men had courted unsuccessfully in her day. He secretly believed that his actions that day in the barn had somehow won her (the angel that is) over to him, and that he faced losing her favor if he ever stopped living such a vicarious life. He was never once bothered by the fact that he’d only ever seen her once, and as a boy. Nights he would close his eyes and he could see her again and in seeing her he would smile. But he was having these dreams these monstrous dreams of blue-white whales in dark waters. During church he would wring his strong broad hands when he heard the old hymns, and they would remind him of that black void where he would see the whales. He had a feeling of cowardice, but of what, he did not know. The feeling was all the more troubling to Josiah when he would lie awake nights wondering whether his angel would somehow abandon him if the found out the extent of his cowardice. Josiah awoke one morning after a night of whales and hymns and darkness. He got dressed and walked up behind Patrick his big breeding bull and kicked him right in his pendulous testicles. Josiah had been kicked in the chest and nearly trampled that day, but once he hobbled home he knew that it wouldn’t be enough. The man’s voice on the phone was the tired confident voice of a government employee. “National Parks Service, how may I help you?” “Hello, I was callin’ to ask about Big Turtle Beach.” “Yes, what do you need to know?” “You got whales at that beach?” “Well sir, the whales prefer open water so you’re more likely to see them farther out into the ocean.” “But you can see ‘em from the beach then that’s what yer’ saying?” “Um yes we’ve had sightings from the beach, but like I said it’s more likely to see them when you’re out in open water.” “That’ll be fine.” Josiah’s wife Sheri was surprised when he had brought up the idea of taking a vacation. “But we ain’t never been on no vacation before Joe.” She was standing in the kitchen, with her apron on, elbow deep in dishwater. A lock of long silvery hair had fallen down from the handkerchief she had tied around her head. She raised one soapy hand out of the water and pasted the hair amongst the others. “It’l be nice Sher. I’ll get Keenan to look after the animals, and we can take your brothers RV.” “I just don’t know Joe. I just don’t know. Can you even drive one of those big things?” “Aint no different than driving a tractor. It’l be good. Just trust me. It’l be good.” “Ok.” “Besides, haven’t you always wanted to see the ocean?” “I said ok Joe.” “Ok”. There is of course a natural cadence to the conversations of old couples. Josiah and Sheri had developed theirs almost instantly. At a church social Josiah had walked up to Sheri and introduced himself. “Well Miss yer just about the prettiest lady in town.” He had said. “And it would just be the damnedest thing for you not to be my girl.”
“Why- Don’t you think you should at least take me out first before saying something like
that?” “All right I’ll buy you some ice cream and sodi pop and you can think about it some more.” “Ok.” “Or a movie if’n you like movies. But ye’ll have to tell me how it went as I only have the money for one ticket.” “I said ok you silly boy.” “Ok then.” At the beach, Sheri was sitting in a chair they had bought for the trip under an umbrella that she had picked out herself. She was reading a paperback novel and praying that she wouldn’t burn. Josiah was standing on some rocks at the edge of the beach with his hands in his pockets. His cap was pulled down to his eye line against the sun and he was watching the sea. He hadn’t found the ocean at all enchanting. It just looked like a lot of water to him. He’d looked over prairies in his life, the kind that seemed to roll on and on like an ocean. At least a man could graze his cattle on a prairie. A man could even cross one with a good horse or a car. A man couldn’t cross an ocean with either. You’d have to have a boat for that, and only a damn fool would go out on a boat.
“What’chu doin out there Jo?” Sheri called out to her husband. “You been standin on that rock there for half t’mornin.” “I’m enjoyin the ocean Sher. Can’t a man have his vacation in peace?” “But that’s not how you take a vacation Joe!” “I can take a vacation how I like.” He called back to her. “You’re supposed to relax. Enjoy yourself.” “I’m relaxed Sher. I’m enjoyin myself just fine. And I ain’t comin down off this rock goddamnit.” “Have it your way.”
That night Sheri made herself a cup of herbal tea in the RV. She laid out a group of shells she had collected in the little metal sink and ran some water over them to wash the sand off. She hoped that the sand wouldn’t clog the RV’s drainage system, she was already a little in debt with her brother. At eleven o’clock that night she stuck her head out of the RV door.
“Come to bed Joe!” She called to her husband. He was still out at the rocks looking at the sea. He had grown tired of standing, so he sat. He hadn’t seen a whale all day, no matter how hard he looked. When the sun set and the stars came out, he knew that even if there were whales out, that he might not see them. But he didn’t go back to the RV. Sheri had brought him a hotdog for dinner. He still had the plate. “Come in you crazy old bat!” His wife yelled after him. Sleeping in the RV that night Josiah had a dream. In his dream, Josiah was floating again in darkness, but in this dream there were no hymns, and there were no whales. When he woke, he woke by saying “where are they?” to no one. He made breakfast for his wife, and started a pot of coffee. He was out at the beach by the time she woke.
“It’s good to see you in your chair Joe.” She had said to him when she got there. She set up the umbrella. “View’s as good here as there I guess.” He had said. They sat for some time, enjoying the sound of the waves. They even held hands. By noon the beach had filled up again with vacationers and their kids and their pets. Josiah got out of his chair.
His wife was taking a nap that she had not planned on taking, and he gave her a fond pat on the head. He seemed far away somehow, even despondent. And he wasn’t walking in the direction of the RV, or the bathrooms, or any other place on land. He was walking for the sea. He walked out to the edge of the water, he stopped for a moment and rocked back and forth on his heels, and with a resolute step he started walking out into the ocean. He couldn’t hear the sounds of the vacationers on the beach, and the sun no longer bothered his eyes, but the ocean was much colder than he’d imagined. He was reminded of a time when he was a boy when he would jump into a deep swimming hole with his friends. But then the plunge had been instantaneous, and they had all emerged either together or one by one, and shouted their exclamations of coldness in their nether regions, and by the time they were done complaining, they were ready to do it again. But Josiah was an old man, and the ocean was not a swimming hole like he remembered, and his immersion was a gradual one. Each step brought him just a little deeper into the ocean, and the waves soaked him and unsteadied him. When he was out up to his neck, a big wave had knocked him over and pulled him further out. He was treading water in his slacks and his shirt, and his hat was somewhere in the water, floating away. The ocean sounded like roaring in Josiah’s ears but he was listening for something else. He was listening for the sound of hymns. A prairie man might not be expected to know anything about undertow, and Josiah sure didn’t, but in the scheme of things he knew that something was not quite right. The water that had soaked into his clothes was pulling him down so insistently, and every time a wave washed over his head it took him just a little longer to reach the surface again, and he wasn’t the swimmer he used to be. If he had turned around then he would have seen the shore so far away and he would have turned back. But instead, every time he was knocked under the water, he just closed his eyes and searched for the face of his angel. He had no idea how far out he was when strong hands had grabbed him around his middle. He fought feebly against them as the man dragged him back toward the shore. Josiah remembers hearing one thing just before he blacked out. He remembered it while he was being thrown back onto the wet sand and into a ring of curious vacationers. It was the sound of an undulating eerie song in the water.
“You OK old timer?” the young man had asked.
He thanked his savior and shook off the crowd. He told them he had just gotten confused while trying to wade in the water and just wanted to get back to his wife. She looked so peaceful that he didn’t wake her. He went back to the RV and had a warm shower, and dried off and brought her lunch to wake her up with. On the way home on the endless prairie road he closed his eyes for a moment to see the face of his angel. “It’s the damndest thing.” He said to his wife. “I can’t quite picture her.” “Who’s that dear?” She asked. “Oh just someone I used to know, back from when I was a boy.” “Well that happens Joe.” She said. “We’re getting old you know.” “It’s just- When I try to picture her face… all I can see is whales.”
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Grace Rybarczyk. “If I could give everyone just one piece of advice, I’d tell them to eat something green every single day.” When it comes to food, Grace know what she’s talking about. Grace Rybarczyk has been preparing many of the delicious items, that we offer at MaMa Jean’s Deli, for over five years. She currently works in the kitchen at our Republic road location – the home of our largest MaMa Jean’s Deli. Her experience in the kitchen, and passion for nutrition, make her an authority on healthy and delicious cuisine. “I love working in this kitchen. A lot of my co-workers are quirky, creative people; we have a lot of fun. Creativity is important – I try to think outside of the bowl when I’m feeding people. It can be fun to work within certain limitations like dietary restrictions or seasonal produce and see what you can do.” Oh the things she can do! Grace’s claim to fame is our ever popular Magic Cookie: a vegan and gluten-free treat that is so delicious we can hardly keep them in stock. Her famous recipe, which we have had to multiply by six to feed our happy customers, is now available at all deli locations. Working at MaMa Jean’s gives Grace access to people in the community with a wide range of health related intrests. She especially enjoys talking with, and assisting, customers new to a health-conscious lifestyle and showing them the big impact of practical diet changes. “My favorite thing to make personally is probably quinoa salads, because they’re so easy.” Easy is a good thing, becasue Grace is a busy woman. In addition to raising 4 kids, she teaches yoga at Sage Studios twice a week and offers Yoga in the Park at Phelps Grove Park every Sunday at 7:30pm. She also owns The Nude Foodie, a company whose message is one of nutritional edication. “Our motto is Eat Beautiful, Be Beautiful. We want to encourage people to choose real, whole foods in a way that is sustainable for them.” Through The Nude Foodie, Grace offers private chef work, “Foodie parties” and one-on-one education. Grace has a nutritional certificate from Cornell University and personally sticks to a plant-based vegan diet. “Much of my food education has come from my time at MaMa Jean’s and 80% of the products I recommend (to clients of The Nude Foodie) come from here. I encourage people to source their food locally, so the two tie together perfectly.”
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