Plants and gardens take a lot of knowledge and skill to thrive, and are an important part of traditional folklife. At this year’s Smithsonian Folklife Festival, which just wrapped on July 9, both programs had gardens and a host of participating gardeners to interpret them.
What happens to those gardens once the Festival closes and the staff enters the grueling days of taking apart this enormous outdoor undertaking, you may ask? Well, having done my part during one of those days earlier this week to dismantle the gardens (and having done it many, many years in the past as well, this having been my 37th Festival!), I am here to tell you that we do our best to find good homes for all the plants.
Sometimes that is in my back, side or front yard, I have to admit. For instance, last year I snagged a fig tree from the United Arab Emirates program. It was about five feet tall, and a little worse for the wear, but once established in our front garden it was looking pretty hopeful. When spring came, however, only its bare branches remained, sad and dead looking, and we almost pulled it out. But, low and behold, it was sprouting new life from the ground up!
There are other success stories of the perennial kind lurking in our garden as well. I planted some sort of silver leaved thing requested by a flower wreath maker from the 1999 New Hampshire program, and it threatened to take over one of my flower beds. It still pops up every year here and there, as does my share of the hops we obtained for the participants from Kent, England for the 2007 Roots of Virginia Culture program.
Last year, we worked with the Earth Sangha wild plant nursery to put together a native pollinator garden for our Earth Optimism program. We had three 4’x4′ planters with a variety of natives, a number of which are in my yard now and doing amazingly well. We also got Black Eyed Susan seeds donated from a seed nursery in Pennsylvania. I threw bunches of these seeds into a sort of dead zone behind one of our raised beds, and they grew rapaciously. They are now attracting goldfinches, who perch on the flower heads and pick at the seeds.
In short, leftover Festival plants are the proverbial “gift that keeps on giving.” As is the Festival in general.
The large planter and water feature around the Ozarks program “Teaching Garden” was particularly impressive at this year’s Festival. One of the most attractive gardens we ever had! Yay, team!I introduced Mia Jones from Springfield, Missouri, who grows microgreens, for her presentation in the Ozarks Teaching Garden one day. That’s a project for this winter now that I’ve learned the right way to do it.In addition to the awesome planting around the Teaching Garden structure, there was a whole big planter of herbs, veggies, and foraging plants. I fear there were not many takers for most of the foraging plants, which were things most gardeners would normally be pulling out of their garden or yard like dandelions and burdocks… but they are all edible so maybe you should reconsider that action?Who knew you could make a marigold infused simple syrup for summery drinks? Note, some of the portulaca and peppers from the kitchen planters seen here will be finding new homes in our garden (as well as a quantity of marigolds which were all over the site, so I can hopefully try this recipe at home). As if we really need more plants in our backyard?! This is a glimpse between two of our raised beds which host the 70+ tomatoes. Hey, we like plants and especially ones that produce tomatoes!
[Dedicated to my co-curators, Arlene Reiniger, Erin Chapman and Molly Dodge. Who share the kudos and the blames…]
Finally emerging from the all consuming preparation, execution, and aftermath that is the Smithsonian Folklife Festival is like surfacing after a long time underwater. It’s time to take a long deep breath, assess the successes and the damages, pack away some of the physical accoutrements and the emotional baggage that comes with working with a huge team of very talented but sometimes testy personalities, and – most important – get some sleep uninterrupted with nightmares of what is yet to be done, missing, forgotten, or just fallen between the cracks.
Having worked on the event for the last 36 years, in one capacity or the other, you’d have thought I’d seen it all. But the Festival has changed, evolved, morphed, and reformed over that span of time, in some ways for the better and in some ways making one long for earlier days. It’s only natural, though the more recent Festival staff often dislike us oldsters talking about those “good old days” when things were done differently (also for better or worse).
I have curated or co-curated at least 11 Festival programs (I might have forgotten one or two, maybe on purpose?). Curating a Festival program is often exhilarating, but just as often exhausting. Being responsible for so many moving parts (tents, signs, concept messages, schedules, gardens, whatnot) and people (participants, presenters, interns, volunteers, direction or at least information to other staff members) is a weighty job. Yes, curators get the praise if things go well, but just as often get the blame – for just about everything.
Sign text late? Curator’s fault. Participants not totally chosen yet (and there’s too many of them?) – definitely curator’s fault. Over budget? check. Supply and/or Tech list not complete? check. And the list goes on, and on.
The other thing that is mostly unseen is the physical labor Festival curators and their staff of (mostly of interns and volunteers) are expected to shoulder, and do so (mostly though not always) without complaining. Putting up and moving around tables and chairs. Toting bags of soil and mulch for gardens. Carrying supplies around. Arranging and rearranging stuff in storage containers. Cleaning up the site after the Festival when we are most tired, both physically and mentally.
Why would anyone want this job, you ask? Not for the glory, that is for sure. For me, it’s two reasons. One, to showcase and honor the skills, talents, work and traditions of the amazing Festival participants – who work so hard to prepare, travel so far, and spend so much time explaining/demonstrating/performing. Two, to be a part of something so life-changing for so many people.
Yes life-changing — that is the way so many participants, temporary staff, interns and volunteers describe their time at the event. Over and over, throughout the years. It is truly special, and worth the bangs and bruises (physical and of our egos) to be a part of this thing. It gets in your blood after a while and you can’t not be there helping, even if you aren’t “in charge” – with all the kudos and blame that comes with that role.
Here’s some behind the scenes pix to give the idea of the spirit and feel of the event and of our Earth Optimism x Folklife program, for those who are in the know and those who just come to enjoy; or have never been. With all the troubles that came this year after having been away from doing it in person for a few years, it was still worth it. (Though I am still catching up with sleep and still taking a daily dose of Aleve to ease the aches.) Long may it rein, and produce more “good old days” for the youngsters still settling into their roles, or the “one-timers” who will hopefully remember their Festival time as one of the hardest and most rewarding things they ever accomplished.
Our demo gardens were not perfect but they did the job. Thanks to Earth Sangha in Franconia for growing our native pollinators and helping this rookie gardener through the planning. And SI Gardens who grew the veg/herbs. And Tech for increasing the height of the planters that were too short. And to everyone who helped dump and arrange mulch around the pots to make it look like an actual garden. So many people to thank always!IKEA donated a bunch of furniture – some assembly required, mostly by our interns under the tutelage of the staff members they sent. Interns quickly learn the Smithsonian phrase, especially applicable to the Festival: “other duties as assigned.” Though it did not arrive until the third day of the Festival, due to overwork of our Tech team, the Worm Theater worm composting area had immediate customers under the guidance of intern Rosie Cohen, AKA Worm Girl. I am always amazed by our participants and the sheer volume of questions they patiently answer in the course of a Festival day. Anna Lucio, one of our American Ginseng Conservation participants, brought her teenaged daughter Beverly who will no doubt recall her experience for years to come. I sat here while they took a break, for about an hour, and got a lot of good visitor questions about our favorite forest botanical (read more about it at www.folklife.si.edu/american-ginsengOur lead volunteer for the Come Out and Play area, and my good friend and colleague, Kim, will never look at bacon in the same light again after having to figure out what the intention of the idea of including”stretchy bacon” as a prop had to do with Earth Optimism…? (The other props included giant inflatable globes which made a lot more sense.)“Mannequin wrestling” is one of the most challenging aspects of any Festival – as we always manage to have the need for one or more to display costumes, and they never behave, resulting in random arms, legs, torsos and heads riding in the back of golf carts or being tripped over in storage areas. So much time and effort is put into signage, which often unfortunately gets scrapped at the end of the event. This was my post-Festival line-up to share in the hopes that SI Gardens wanted these for something… they were nicely featured in these garden signs and so maybe that was enough for the ten days they lived on the Mall… ?Last but not least, during the post-Festival take down, Arlene finally fulfills her desire to get her hands on a power tool and display her Macho Woman skills. Honed over even more years than I have worked on the Festival. Are we “too old to do this anymore”? Tune in to find out in the future after we recover from this year…
The Festival was fun for me, since I had visited one of the featured countries – Armenia – and I had gotten to meet many of the folks who became researchers and presenters. (To get a sense of what I learned – and didn’t learn – there, check out my work blog on “Armenian Sneakers“!) The program was a lovely space in which to let the warm and talented Armenian artisans ply their skills. I enjoyed spending time there very much, munching on lavash (flat bread being baked in a clay oven on the premises), trying my hand at some crafts (I failed miserably at “walnut embroidery”), and experiencing the recreation of a traditional Armenian wedding, and just chatting with folks.
I didn’t have a lot of time to enjoy the Festival as a whole, though, since I led the team of responsible hosts for the CCH visit. (Really our Coordinator and summer interns did a great deal of the heavy lifting, planning and execution as well. It was a true team effort.) Our aim was to introduce the group to the culture of Washington, DC and environs while allowing them to share their own amazing culture with a wide audience, and I think we succeeded for the most part.
So much planning, so many details, and then suddenly it’s all over. The agenda runs to the final page, we get them on a plane, and they are off. So much to think about and process. So much good stuff to write about! For now, a few photos and many more on our Facebook page (link above) if you’re interested. And more reflections to come both here and on our work site in the future.
The group shares their stories for a podcast.
Antoinette and Mamoni look perplexed as they try to fathom “walnut embroidery” at the Armenia Workshop.
Mamoni sings the Washington Mall scroll (more about that at a later date) at the Library of Congress.
Scroll is presented to the Smithsonian at the SI Staff Picnic.
Girish unleashes his inner Hanuman at Camp Ramayana.
Arpan geeks out at the House of Musical Traditions.
Mamoni shows her scrolls to a potential customer at the Festival Marketplace.
Armenian and Bengali clay crafts, side by side!
Manas interacts with a display at the Philadelphia Asian Art Initiative.
Viewing historic Bengali scrolls at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
Mamoni experiences a packed tight bunch of art at the Smithsonian American Art Museum’s Luce Center open storage area.
Our final event at the Arlington County Public Library.
Brunswick stew is an amalgamation of vegetables, meat, and other stuff. And it shall eventually be the subject of this post.
This past weekend, as part of our 27th anniversary celebration, my husband and I ventured westward out toward the Blue Ridges. On Saturday we visited Staunton, Virginia (looks like “Stawn-ton” but pronounced “Stan-ton” by the natives), home of Mary Baldwin College, the Woodrow Wilson birthplace and library, and Blackfriar’s Shakespeare Theater. We did not encounter Brunswick stew there.
The concoction was featured on Sunday, when we attended the 2017 Apprenticeship Showcase of the Virginia Folklife Program. As per usual, one of the finalists of the annual Brunswick stew championship of Virginia, the Proclamation Stew Crew from, of course, Brunswick County, were there stirring their gigantic pot and offering generous helpings for $1.00 a bowl. Who could resist?
This reminded me not only of the time the crew came to the 2007 Smithsonian Folklife Festival to slave over their hot cauldron for hours, but also a recent and not nearly as satisfying encounter with a so-called Brunswick Stew at a barbecue concession in the Charlotte, NC airport. It was pretty terrible, consisting I think of all leftover bits of barbecue meat and veg from the sides that did not sell the day before all mashed together.
Which brings me to the final version of “Brunswick Stew” that I once inadvertently concocted during my Camp Randolph cooking days (see earlier post, Lake Effects, Part Three). The former cook of Camp Randolph apparently used to cook up a full turkey dinner every Sunday (in the middle of the summer!) for the residents. I compromised at a roast of some sort every Sunday, with turkey being featured every other week. Still, turkey leftovers were rampant and had to be addressed.
One Friday, I took bits of turkey and mixed them up with the leftover stuffing, some vegetables, and gravy and served it as a sort of, well, stew. “Marvy Brunswick stew!” declared one of the residents, and I had no idea what he was talking about.
Till years later, when I discovered the authentic Virginia version. Because, though Georgians also claim the stew was first created there, in my opinion the Virginia version reigns supreme.
The intense ten days of the Smithsonian Folklife Festival are over, and our Txiki-Txoko Kids’ Corner is just a memory now. The tent might even be gone by now, and the only remains will soon be a very large circle of dead grass and a few crayon and colored paper bits ground into the hard-baked soil. But my 2016 summer interns and I will remember the moments of joy, frustration, laughter, disappointment, and exhaustion that made it an area where we hope kids had fun and learned something about cultural traditions.
Our favorite times might have been the visits of the Basque and California participants who demonstrated their skills, danced, composed, sang, and taught the kids in a way only those with a deep knowledge of a culture can. But, we also did our share of teaching and passing on what we had learned about Basque culture.
One of these activities was Basque Number Bingo, which I generated from an online template that allows you to turn just about any string of related words or images into a bingo game for kids.
(Don’t you just love the internet? It was called Bingo Baker in case you want to try it!) All the interns had to learn to count to sixteen (there were four rows of four on the bingo cards) in order to be on the ready to conduct Basque Number Bingo with random kids if/when the occasion arose. (Usually this meant that some participant who was scheduled to come to us had cancelled for some reason and we had a big hole in our schedule and we had a bunch of kids to amuse with activities of our own devising.) The numbers were ingrained into our memories and probably will be forever – bat, bi, hiru, lau, bost, sei, zazpi, zortzi, bederatzi, hamar…
Thus the metaphor of the title – I felt as though I could always count on my interns throughout the whole event. Anne and Sara to keep the schedule updated and to help decide what to fill in with if we had a sudden hole. Leah to conduct “salt experiments.” Tyler at the ready to keep track of the myriad day camps in the colored t-shirts and pinafores. Lila to politely ask parents to fill out the family survey. Hannah to draw us a new interactive mural for the back wall. Aliyah to keep the interactive triptych stocked with post-its and markers. Our repeat volunteer/adopted intern Sam to do everything asked of her. And a hundred other things they did from rearranging the chairs and tables for new activities to teaching whale origami, to soothing some little kid who banged a knee while playing “Duck, Duck Lamia” or “San Fermin Day sponge tag.”
I have had many great groups of interns over the years – you know who you are, and thanks to those of you who came to visit during this year’s Festival – but each year’s bunch are special. I may have been working on the Festival for an amazing 30 years (gulp!) but this will probably be the only year they participate before they go on to other exciting endeavors, and they will hopefully always remember it as a hectic, sweaty, but rewarding experience like no other. Thanks for the memories, gals!
The concoction was featured on Sunday, when we attended the 
Till years later, when I discovered the authentic Virginia version. Because, though Georgians also claim the stew was first created there, in my opinion the Virginia version reigns supreme.
The tent might even be gone by now, and the only remains will soon be a very large circle of dead grass and a few crayon and colored paper bits ground into the hard-baked soil. But my 2016 summer interns and I will remember the moments of joy, frustration, laughter, disappointment, and exhaustion that made it an area where we hope kids had fun and learned something about cultural traditions.
One of these activities was Basque Number Bingo, which I generated from an online template that allows you to turn just about any string of related words or images into a bingo game for kids.