Ramping it Up in West Virginia

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When we told the uninitiated that we were going to attend a “ramp dinner” in West Virginia a few weeks ago, they looked at us funny. “How can you make a dinner out of a ramp?” my husband asked, thinking of those slanty metal things that you use as an alternative to stairs.

Ramps, for those of you who also don’t know, are a type of wild leek found in the hills of Appalachia, in some of the same places you find ginseng. They are not worth as much money, but they are tasty and becoming a delicacy that fetch fancy prices in gourmet circles. But for most West Virginia’s, they are just an edible sign of spring and a way for some local organizations to stage a fundraiser.

My intrepid fellow traveler, Arlene, and I set off on a rainy Sunday morning from my house in Arlington, VA, speeding toward Bomont, West Virginia to make it to the ramp dinner at the H.E. White Elementary School before all the food ran out. When we pulled up in our rented VW bug convertible (it was the only compact car the rental agency had left), there were hardly any parking spaces left in and around the school. We knew we were in the right place, because: 1. Bomont is a very small, 2. There was a very large “Ramp Dinner” sign attached to the chain link fence of the school’s playground.

We payed our $10 and got in line for our ramp feast: ramps sauteed in bacon fat, ramps in fried potatoes, and a host of accompaniments, washed down with sweet or unsweet sassafras tea. We chatted up some locals, and soon our friend and colleague, Emily, who lives and works in Charleston, joined us. (Read more about her in my entry on Helvetia.)

We were in ramp heaven! Since we were going to be traveling around WV for the next few days, we were not tempted to bid on the leftover raw ramps which got auctioned off toward the end of the dinner. But, later in the trip, near Elkins, we did come across a large sign along the highway, outside an outdoor store: “Ramps Now Available.” Arlene doubted that they meant the edible kind, but we turned around to investigate anyhow. There, in the glass-fronted refrigerator in the corner, were plastic garbage bags full of the kind of ramps we still craved and wanted to try cooking ourselves.

In downtown Elkins, we noticed more ramp evidence on several t-shirts on display or offered for sale at some of the shops, one stating that “ramps don’t smell, people do.” As we had found out from eating big helpings in Bomont, ramps do cause you to – how do I say this delicately? – emit smelly fumes after their consumption.

Regardless, we highly recommend them. I sauteed mine in butter, not being a really big bacon fat fan, and scrambled some of them with eggs. Yum. Also, thanks to Marion Harless the “herbarist” we visited and interviewed before returning home, I learned the rudiments of planting the bulbs, which are now safely nestled under shrubs in my backyard. Tune in a couple of years from now to see if the ramp saga continues on home turf.

Swiss Sojourn in West Virginia

#HelvetiaWV, tourism, ,

West Virginia may seem like an unlikely place for a tiny Swiss American town. But, as a folklorist, I often expect the unexpected. Cultural adventures that might surprise other people don’t faze me and my colleagues.

So, it was with delight that my friend and colleague Arlene and I set off, after interviewing ginseng trader Tony Coffman, for an evening in tiny Helvetia, WV, which was a stopover highly recommended by former Smithsonian co-worker and current head of the WV Folklife Program, Emily Hilliard. Emily was so excited about our visit to Helvetia that she helped, via email, to rally a bevvy of locals, which led to an impromptu creek-side party.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. First, we had to make sure to reach the town before five p.m., when the Kultur Haus (sort of general store and museum, as well as post office, rolled into one) closes for the evening, and in order to have enough time to eat dinner before six, when the Hutte (the town restaurant) shuts down for the night. The Kultur Haus is the home of a charming collection of Fasnacht masks – well, if you find giant leering faces and fancifully menacing creatures charming. Fasnacht is the Swiss answer to Mardi Gras, and during that wintry celebration, hundreds of people descend upon Helvetia.

But it was sunny and warm on this May evening as we parked near our abode for the night, the Beekeeper Inn, and there was hardly another person in sight as we took the short walk between the historic wooden buildings. After visiting the Kultur Haus, we settled into our dining experience. We met the keeper of the town web site, Dave Whipp, for dinner and he offered advice on menu choices, historic background on the town, and told us stories about some of the inhabitants, past and present. I had homemade sausage, which was covered in tasty tomato sauce and accompanied by sauerkraut, a potato pancake, and hot apple sauce. Arlene went for the bratwurst. Just when we thought we could eat no more, we surrendered to warm buttery peach cobbler.

Rolling out of the restaurant, we walked the short distance back to the Beekeeper and were greeted by Clara Lehmann and her husband Jonathan Lacoque, filmmakers, and their five year old twins, and Clara’s mom Heidi. Clara grew up in Helvetia, went away for awhile, but returned to raise her family. Thanks to the internet (which apparently they get there, although cell service was blissfully nonexistent for us during our whole visit), they can do work from this most isolated spot for big clients like Google. They are currently putting the finishing touches on a film about her grandmother, one of the biggest movers and shakers and promoters of Helvetia, who passed away recently.

Soon we were joined by the next door neighbors, a concert pianist/composer (originally from England), and his wife, a nurse (originally from Louisiana). Wine, beer, more food materialized, and the cheerful conversation punctuated by the babble of the creek stretched until darkness, the evening chill and some early mosquitos drove everyone toward warm beds.

The next morning, a sumptuous breakfast at the Hutte set us up for the whole rest of the day. Reluctantly, we pried ourselves away from the table and left for more West Virginia adventures. But the memory of the good company, local charm, and global connections lingers on. Aufwiedersehen, Helvetia. Hope to be back some day. There are still plenty of choices on the menu of the Hutte to try!

Arlene resorts to reading the paper map over breakfast.
  • Some of the many Fastnatch masks at the Kultur Haus.
  • View of the Beekeeper Inn from the Hutte.
  • One of the Hutte room views.

Museum Moments in Western Massachusetts

tourism, travel, , ,

I am privileged to have some old women friends (literally, now) who date back to high school, and even most of them to elementary school. It’s a small group, and we have done very different things with our lives, but we still enjoy getting together, doing stuff, and laughing over a few glasses of wine when we can manage to find a weekend to gather.

Back in late April, six of us converged at our friend Linda’s home in Western Massachusetts. We had all sorts of great plans to go on a hike, sit on her back porch, etc. but the weather was rainy and in the 40s. (At one point it even started spitting snow.) So much for the out of doors. Instead, we visited a couple of museums. And ate a lot. And drank more wine.

First up, the Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge. The iconic portrait artists spent the last part of his career and life in this quaint Western Mass town, and this large spiffy museum has an impressive collection of his work. A separate building houses his studio. Special exhibitions highlight other American artists – when we visited, one of my personal heroes, Rube Goldberg, was also celebrated in a smallish side gallery.

One of Norman’s most popular paintings (at least for Stockbridge fans) is a Christmastime portrait of the town of Stockbridge, which is located a few miles down the road from the museum. He took some liberties in painting in the local mountains, which cannot actually be viewed from downtown, and also included a couple of buildings that are not really visible from the vantage point of the painting. But, otherwise, as witnessed by my own attempt to capture the town photographically, it was an accurate depiction. We ate lunch at the Red Lion Inn‘s pub, a step back in time for sure.

After an evening of camaraderie, and making plans for our next gathering, most of our party split for their respective homes in Vermont or Virginia, leaving only three of us to find a still-rainy day Sunday occupation. We decided (by process of elimination, since most local attractions were either not open for the season or not open on Sundays) to visit the Berkshire Museum in Pittsfield.

This is a very eclectic collection of art, history, and nature, which includes an aquarium in the basement, and a huge open room in on the second floor featuring a sort of “cabinet of curiosities” highlighting their vast holdings of – well – miscellany. Mummies vie with moose heads, full sized plaster reproductions of famous works of art like the Winged Victory, and a few examples of Bragg Boxes, a sort of early educational kit developed by the museum’s first director, “who believed that museums hold the power to educate and uplift the masses.”

I was personally uplifted by a multi-room exhibition of the machines of Leonardo daVinci, also inhabiting the second floor until next September. Leonardo is another of my personal heroes, and although most of these machine models were instruments of war, they were fun nonetheless. Many were working models that one could try cranking, lifting, or otherwise manipulating, which delighted visitors of all ages.

Good friends, good museums, and a great weekend all around. Here are some photographic highlights.

  • Norman’s view of downtown Stockbridge
  • My own attempt to capture the same scene.
  • Old friends looking cold outside Rockwell’s studio.
  • Posing in front of Leonardo’s elegant tank.

Props, Take Two: The Remains of Dinner

theater; props; fake food, ,

When we last checked in with the intrepid prop managers, they THOUGHT they had everything they needed for the upcoming play, The Savannah Disputation at the Alexandria Little Theater, sorted out. That was before final rehearsals started with the “real” props…

Prop managing is a constant learning experience. At first, my friend Susan and I thought it would be just a matter of rounding up a very specific group of stuff as per the script specifications. Hey, guess what…things change until the director is satisfied and the actors feel comfortable with the things they have to handle.

Case in point, a table dressed for that time just after a dinner has ended, which needs to be set in a hurry, on the darkened stage, after the lights go down between scenes. We were asked to make it the remains of a LARGE dinner (in Savannah, so Southern Style) and really fill up the table. And put some convincing looking food scraps on plates for scraping. All the items were to be placed on a big board, covered with a table cloth, and brought out to place on the table. Voila, instant dinner remains.

Problem #1: The board would not fit through the stage opening it needed to go through (IE the closest one to the table). Problem #2: Even if it had fit, it would have taken two weight lifters to carry it with all the stuff on it. Problem #3: All that stuff (which was then brought out on trays and arranged as quickly as possible on the table) ended up actually obscuring the actors from the audience. There were a few other problems, but these were the major ones.

Solution, naturally: less stuff. But, then, during the rehearsal run with a highly pared down amount of stuff, it was decided that it was now too much less. So, the search for “just enough stuff” continued to evolve. Which it will, I have no doubt, until opening night. And by closing night, we will have it “just right.”

My personal prop obsession is the “banana pudding.” The first attempt at this concoction, which has to be eaten so must be, at least in theory, edible, included spray whipped cream; which turned out to melt into an unsightly puddle in the dish under the stage lights. Enter generic Cool Whip like substance, that age old standard which, I learned, could become part of a question on a standardized test, as follows: “Cool Whip is to Whipped Cream as Cheez Whiz is to [Cheese].”

Ah, the theater. Never a dull moment. But a lot of moments filled with some emotional lows and many (sugar) highs.

Over the Cherry Blossoms

tourism,

The annual deluge of tourists is diminishing as the cherry blossoms fade. I had a good dose of them in various locations and at various times of day and night, as per the picture gallery below. (Featuring the Tidal Basin, our own Cherrydale neighborhood, and Kenwood, Maryland.)

But first, a poem to mark their passing.

Past Peak

Ungracious green, pushing pink

To the verge. Swirling, disturbed,

By passing (not pausing) hordes

Apathetic, unperturbed.

Property Management: Bibles, Banana Pudding and a Bottle of Scotch

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My small but devoted blog followers may wonder where I’ve been lately? Well, one place has been at thrift stores, discount stores and a couple of highly specialized shops, all in the name of rounding up props for the upcoming production of The Savannah Disputation at Alexandria’s Little Theater. My dear friend Susan got me into this, describing it as if it would be a giant, fun scavenger hunt.

Little did we know that we would be spending hours hunting down rosaries and grotesquely carved tourist candles, as well as devising relatively unmessy but convincingly food-like “remains of Sunday dinner.” We did some of this together, but we also forayed out on our own, consulting one another as necessary via text and shared photos.

Here is a typical text exchange, which seems to be in some sort of weird code, or perhaps the dialogue from a very obscure play:

Me: (at the Botanica Boracua on Columbia Pike) [photo of row of colorful religious candles] How many and what colors?

Susan: I like the gold Mary in 2nd row, 1st picture, how much?

Me: It’s actually St. Anthony.

Susan: That’s fine. $6.99?

Me: There’s also the holy trinity [another photo, close up showing candle with Holy Trinity]

Susan: I think I like the other one more gold on the label, although. blue would contrast and we do have a pale blue Mary. So whichever you like better!

I left with a rosary and two candles that we finally mutually agreed to after an additional phone call. And so it has gone, through photos and text of pudding cups, crosses, and candles.

Our next job (which we were sort of unclear that we had signed on for) is to organize all the props, scene by scene, and to write a detailed list of when they are used and where to find them when needed. In short, a lot more work than anticipated all around. But, it has been a fun learning experience, and I know sympathize even more with the Supply Staff of our annual Smithsonian Folklife Festival.

Here is a gallery of some of our texted photos. If you go see the play, keep an eye out for the ways they are used!

Florida, Part 2: Great Men and Chickens

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Florida as we know it today, one might conclude from formal public art and street signs, was created by Great Men. Of course, we all know that is not true, but Great Men are on display almost everywhere around the state. Ponce de Leon, though he failed to find the Fountain of Youth, did “discover” Florida (as the History Channel explains, this happened on April 2, 1513). His name is commemorated in parks, streets, and a whole town in the state.

Henry Flagler came much later, but is credited with inventing tourism in Florida. Although one encounters Flagler’s name in many places in Florida, we learned all about Flagler while in Key West, through a very illuminating exhibition at the Custom House museum. One of his chief feats was masterminding the Florida East Coast Railway, an enormous and costly venture (in funds and number of workers killed during the construction) linking the most remote but also the most populated and economically successful of the chain of islands to Miami. Voila, tourism is born, sort of.

We did not drive the length of the highway that now follows Flagler’s accomplishment, but arrived on the water via the Key West Express from Fort Myers. The day before taking the boat down, we explored this fine town and discovered that most things there are named after Three Great Men who wintered there: Thomas Edison, Henry Ford, and Harvey Firestone. Statues of this threesome lounge in the middle of a fountain in Centennial Park on the edge of downtown.

So much for Great Men. Let us now turn to chickens. Key West is proudly quirky, and one of these quirks comes in the form of “gypsy chickens” which roam the streets, yards and parks freely. Forget the famed six-toed cats of Hemingway’s adobe (speaking of great men); chickens rule in Key West, whole families of them. When we got tired and bored of battling the tourist frenzy of Duval Street, we settled on a park bench (which are few and far between in Key West unfortunately) and watched the chicken show, featuring dueling crowing roosters, and hens clucking in complaining “mom tones” to their tiny fluffy offspring.

Florida. So much more than warm winter weather, palm trees and water, water everywhere. Even more than great men and chickens.

  • African American soldier of the Civil War statue, Ft. Myers
  • Street art in Ft. Myers
  • Edison, Ford and Firestone
  • Key West quirky signs
  • Route 1 ends in Key West
  • Porch art in Key West
  • Small delicious Cuban restaurant, Key West
  • The art of Mario Sanchez from Key West
  • One of the many

Florida, Part I: Pie Tales

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I was introduced to the concept of winter vacation in kindergarten. Not first hand, but by a classmate who was mysteriously absent for a week and returned with salt water taffy to share, from a place called Florida. I imagine my young self biting into that sweet and salty treat and thinking it must be the essence of that mythical land.

Florida captured my imagination then, and trips there since then have done nothing to dampen its mystique. My husband and I recently spent a week escaping winter with a trip that zig-zagged us across the state several times, emphasizing its length and causing us to believe that you can’t get through the mid to lower portion of the state without going through – and getting stuck in traffic in – Orlando.

Despite that, we did enjoy the warm breezes, the blue skies and turquoise waters, the historic sites and the culinary delights. I will report on other Florida adventures in future blogs as the spirit moves. First, a tale of two pies.

I had the great idea of taking the Key West Express boat from Fort Myers to Key West. A sampling of the Keys without the drive, how brilliant! One is almost obligated to eat Key Lime Pie while in the Keys, but we didn’t. Instead, we finally had some at an iconic Indian Rocks Beach establishment called Keegan’s (“as seen on the Food Network”), a very fit accompaniment to their excellent octopus appetizer and grouper sandwiches. This is over 400 miles from Key West but the pie is just as good. Maybe better I dare say. Instead of being bright green and sporting a gooey cloud of egg white meringue, this was a dull khaki green creamy confection with a modest lashing of whipped cream. Tangy and with a sinfully buttery crust.

Pie two was enjoyed with my friend and folklore colleague Eleanor who settled several years back in Sarasota. When I arrived at her house, she asked if I wanted to go to an Amish restaurant for lunch. What?! Yes. There is an Amish community in Sarasota. And they have a couple of dueling restaurants. We went to Eleanor’s favorite, Der Dutchman.

Late February is strawberry season in Florida, so despite the fact that we were already filled to the gills with salads, fried chicken, mashed potatoes and etc. we had saved just enough room to share a piece of strawberry pie. This arrived festooned with a vast snowdrift of whipped cream, unnaturally bright red binding, and big juicy fresh strawberries. Needless to say it was delicious.

Forget the salt water taffy. After this trip, Florida has revealed its mysteries in the form of pies.

Color Correction

West Bengal,

This time last year, I was recovering from our amazing trip to India on the Communities Connecting Heritage project. The vibrant colors of West Bengal were still playing in my brain, the warmth fading but still very much lodged in my memory.

This year, despite an impending trip to Florida which will no doubt form the basis for the next blog(s), the winter colors have predominated. White, and then increasingly more gray, snow. Black trees. Dull skies. Dead tan grass and brown mud. An occasional flash of lackluster green as some vegetation dares to pop up its head.

Every once in awhile, though, you see some attempt at coloring the world that takes you by surprise. We were out walking around a portion of Arlington, since we like to explore different neighborhoods and comment on the various types of architecture, from historic homes to compact WWII era brick houses to the Monster Houses built recently, and everything in between.

Yard art and gardens are also of interest. We came across a particularly clever yard display, the colors of which popped and delighted on the overcast and chilly day. The owners had lined their pathway to the house, from sidewalk to front door, with bright bowling balls.

How they collected so many bowling balls, and why they decided to use them in this way, is a mystery. Maybe someday I will knock on their door and get the story. For the moment, though, it just made somehow think of India. Not as vibrant, not as warm, but still a flash of colorful decoration that no doubt makes the home owners, and others who pass, smile.

Revisit my India posts starting here for a virtual trip to Kolkata and beyond.

Winter Works

Winter, ,

No sooner did we get back to our unfurloughed offices when the Great Sickness of Winter 2019 bestruck a large swath of our smallish workforce. For me, this meant having to forego a long weekend trip to New York City which would surely have yielded a much more interesting blog or two. I spent several days languishing in bed coughing and binge watching instead.

Since last writing, however, we did do a couple of interesting things. One was a visit to Frederick, MD and the Civil War Medicine Museum. This may seem a gruesome way to spend a Sunday afternoon, and some of it was pretty horrid (severed limbs, anyone?) but also very illuminating. And well done. We learned, among other things, that anesthesia actually did exist back then, and getting your leg sawed off was highly preferable to dying of gangrene. Frederick has a nice small downtown, and a canal walk which featured decorated boats created by local businesses and not for profits.

We also discovered some interesting Arlington history on another recent occasion. Upon taking a walk in a neighborhood off Wilson Boulevard, not far from our favorite Vietnamese food haunt, the Eden Center, we noticed a large property set off from the road. This consisted of a semi-crumbling mansion and a set of even more dilapidated outbuildings surrounded by a large tract of land.

Upon some internet research, we discovered that this was the former home of real estate magnate/horse racing enthusiast/man about town Randolph Rouse. There was more history to this property, which of course I read and then promptly forgot and did not bookmark, so if I find that again maybe I will write more about it.

Winter is still here, despite the warm respite this week, and hopefully the sickness and furloughs are a thing of the past. Here’s to further adventures and insights soon!