Of Tales And Trails....

Kansas....My Very First Traveling Trip 2009

This. This is not your average travel blog.

This is not the conventional story of someone throwing money at luxury hotels
to show you glossy shots of glamorous, far-swept places.

And, indeed, while I LOVE those types of stories and may, at times,
appear to LIVE that story, I am here TO SHOW YOU HOW TO TRAVEL--
AND LIVE--in a novel way. 

I am here to tell you how to live your most extraordinary life and, yes, how to
TRAVEL, no matter WHERE you are or WHO you are.

I am here to tell you how to do this when you are neither full of money, or time,
and whether you desire have a glossy life or a gritty life. I am here to tell you how
to live in the way you wish to, as much as you can, every day.

People often ask me this: how have you managed to travel and live your creative
life for almost 20 years?

My answer: there is no one straight path that has led to this unconventional,
unbound life of mine.

I remember, distinctly, as a child of perhaps eight, telling my mother that I
would definitively live an unusual life. And it was a onerous thought of mine to
create that life from the beginning. I was an avid artist--my first memory is of
drawing, and my first love, acting. Both of these would come to pass, but not by
any conventional means: I would create my own businesses instead of passing
through conventional 9 - 5 methods.

I have since gone on to spend 10 mad-capped years in New York creating my own
performing arts troupe called ChoveXani, but left that challenging space when
the economic downturn made it all but impossible to be an independent artist.

I then spent another 7 years recreating an amazing life based on my folk art roots
started by my old-fashioned lineage from Europe and North African gypsy lore. 

There has been much traveling, teaching, meeting of horses and bees, running
through forests, interviewing amazing farmers, travelers, and creative people all across
the United States, and in Europe. I have learned a pack-full of unusual skills,
skinned a few knees, even had my heart broken a time or two.

But I have spent every day doing something unique and unusual,
and doing what I LOVE.

How can YOU do this? There are Tales to these Trails, and Tips and Tricks
along the way. If you listen very closely, I shall tell you, soon.

The Snow Globe World

The Snowglobe World...

It is dangerous to be still, for the wandering-and-traveling sort.

In travel, there lies activity, of anticipation in the unknown, of curiosity, and learning, of new experiences and meeting of friends old and new. Of adventure. And there is no time to think, to remember, and to let the world catch up with you. THAT, my friends, is dangerous folly.

And yet, the holidays are nothing if not a time of sitting, thinking, and reflecting of that strange world between the life that's gone by and the time looking forward. And this year has held too much for my mottled head; the weight is too much to bear, both happy and sad.

 I had just returned from a sweet and sassy bout with North Carolina, a coveted mistress that played well to every mountain-woman fantasy I've ever had. Winding Apalachia unfurled before me, her arms full of folk tales, humble arts, ancient barns, brambles and forests, tall tales, sweet tea and moonshine, and feisty farmers. I had met two artist sisters, picked pecans, and even met two new friends--a couple--who were both witty, quirky, and deeply insightful about their lives in Metropolitan North Carolina.

In many ways, this place might be perfect for me, might have my name stamped on it,even.... but so did so many other places. So many journeys, and friends, had been made. So much energy had been extolled, perhaps too much.  I found myself traveling again--this time to see my Li'l Mama in Florida, and I still had these thought burrowing through the tendrils of my head as I nested in for a Long Winter's Nap. The world should be as shiny as a snow globe--dusted in so much magic and idyllic wonder...

But here I was, puzzling and pouring over this last twelve months, a strange, ravishing, and ravaging time. I was grateful for my strange year,  but was also deeply worn down --there is still this strange bout of dizzy vertigo that I've no answers for, and had spent the last seven months in the equally dizzying New York City health care system. I'd been shuffled about in it's massive cogs--paperwork, red tape, and one word against another in a carousel of apathetic people and policies.

After leaving such foolishness, I found myself equally, profoundly affected by the strange loss by the friends I knew. Everywhere I turn, someone's parent or child had died unexpectedly, and I knew not one or two, but a dozen women who were suffering from all manners of auto-immune illnesses and cancers that should be unheard of at their ages (they were all younger than me). Even New Year's offered little relief: a child's suicide here, a grand-daughter's burned hands there, a child with a ruptured appendix, a husband's stroke. On and on it went.

What fragility!  I often wonder how one prepares for such heartbreaks..or do they?  There are no grand manuals on how to navigate these sorts of heartbreaks and uncertainties.  There are few fairy tales that prepare children of the real life tragedies of losing loved ones to sickness, death, apathy.  No school will tell you how to quell your fears about becoming ill, of losing love, of growing old.

They do not tell you this about the Snow Globe World: to create the beauty of the snow globe, it must first be shaken violently.

Since I have already been thoroughly rattled, there is nothing more to do but enjoy and expand the beauty around me. And this is what shall happen:

*There will be shenanigans. Of course there will. There must be mischief to break up the monotony while I deal with the strange medical issues I am having, and therefore, shenanigans are the order of the day.

*This website will change. No, it will not go away, but there will be more articles here for you, about travel and being self-sufficient, and of course, more strange, winding travel stories of my own. I'm debating on whether to start this whole blog over and retell the stories I've told. I most certainly would think about hosting various other writers who wish to tell fine, interesting stories of travel, old world love, or other information that seems to fit into this strange space. The more the merrier. Would you like to contribute articles?

* There are books. Yes, there have been books in the works for a year. Three to be precise, and I hope to share the details of these shortly

*And there are videos...a slew of them, actually. Vagabond adventures, DIY self-sufficiency, and more. You may find them HERE, if you'd like to subscribe. They shall materialize shortly!

Outtake from a DIY Vagabond baking segment...

* Daily photo updates of the daily adventures on my interwebs (which you may find HERE, on Facebook or HERE on Twitter). Which may be perhaps the craziest of these ideas, but I DO like carrying a camera with me....

*Artwork! This has actually never stopped, but you will find more art, soap, herbs, and other artisan-made things ahead.

Some examples of my clockworks....

* Gypsy Wagon??  Hmmm, this really depends on how land-locked I'll be in the next few months....though *I HAVE* talked to quite a few craftspeople about such a thing, recently!

My particular conundrum is anchoring this large ship of a life I have. I am consistently torn between wishing up a life filled with bees, performing arts, folk art, and rambling cross-country adventures.  But one also needs a home-camp, a home base of friends and perhaps, dare I say,  family?

Perhaps I will tempt the fates and dream it all possible. Stranger things have happened. I've always believed in luck. But then again, I've always made my own luck, too.

What do YOU plan to do this year?

The Lost Files: Summertime

Somewhere between the exciting workshop moments of Springtide, and The Birthday Wish, there was a whole slew of madness happening in Summertime.  That unfortunate step-child of the seasons is oft-ignored not so much out of malice, but because THE OUTSIDE WORLD was calling and....well...the OUTSIDE world that sings to travelers such as myself writing INSIDE never seem to mix well. When you are the wandering, farming sort, outside is THE place to be.

So now I will tell you that tale of the hearty Summer quarter, as part of a journey that lead me to places even I never expected to take.....

New York is the name of the game, Friends. I had returned to The Leviathan for purely selfish reasons, to be fair: booted away from various writing dream jobs, and not satisfied taking a simple paper pushing or cashiers mettle, I returned to the heart of it all, trying to suss out my first love: performing arts. I left this place long ago, chagrin and broken-hearted at a city that seemed unyielding.

This journey was somewhat different, though. I had come with a van-full of pretty things, soaps and honey and clocks and other sundries of whimsical charm. I still had fun and helpful friends all around, too, and they got me into a circus-sized heap of vending venues and other shenanigans that were fine and varied as a country fair.

And so the Summer went this way,  for a spell: meeting other vendors and carousing with good old friends, and meeting new, interesting, and creative people through vending circuits. As was wont of me, I also organized a few of these events, as well!

Heck, we even had a few professional photographers come by and take photos!

The fun initially began with my backstory creative friends: belly dance and creative colleagues Karen and Debbie, who also vended all around New York and New Jersey helped me join the vending bandwagon!
Here, I'm in NJ for Woofstock, where proceeds to to furry friends--a double win, in my book!

Check out those lovely Beyond Vagabond organic soaps!

Next, it was off to NYC, to help create a large open marketplace in a schoolyard...

Here I am playing MC. Since I'm used to MCing various performing arts venues, this felt right at home...
Photo: Mo Gelber

Photo: Mo Gelber

 I was lucky enough to meet Mo and fellow photogs Geo Gellar, wandering and creative spirits like myself. Whilst not sure how they caught wind of our funny little gypsy event, I was glad to know them: apparently, they shoot NYC street art, and Geo films the interesting people of New York, as well.
They are free thinkers and wizened spirits, and it was quite a treat to meet them.

Geo and I in conversation

Beyond that, the festivals were quite the hootenanny of arts, crafts, and fabulous fun faire....

Starr, organizer of the outdoor festival (L) and Karyn, my vending friend (R)

African clothing designers with Nyla (L), a fabulous young singer at the festival....

Nyla graces a makeshift stage....

And so, the Summer went. Beyond this, there were fabulous reunions with the gaggle of my New York City friends...dancers, writers, and general merry-makers that I had missed or forgotten I missed. It was pure bliss, indeed.

Suzanne, my former dance troupe-mate, was visiting herself--she'd moved to Arizona, but we were lucky enough to see each other!

 

Former dancer/actress for my troupe, Liz and dance aficionado and professor, Frank and I ham it up for the camera!

I have many lovely ladies as friends (thank you Barb, Nancy, and Pam)!

I realized though, one thing was missing: try as I might to muster up enough chutzpah for the performing arts and such, I had no heart to pummel my way through a strange world of acting fair...a land for the young and pretty and oft-narcissistic. I loved acting, I loved writing--heck, I've even directed a dance troupe--but I had found it quite maddening to navigate that tightly wound short-sighted world. I wasn't sure if it was with the passage of time, and so many glorious, grandiose, or heart-rending events, but my interest in performing seemed more subdued somehow. Certainly, I loved the art of creating art, but the politics of it dissuaded me; I was more interested in trying to create pieces and reach people based on talent. But everyone was telling me, more than ever, I was looking at a business that was more and more mired in appearances. I had just been gone for three years meeting spirited people from all walks of life doing amazing and ingenious things in wide open swaths of land. These people were genuine, honest, hardworking people not willing to sit on their laurels and expect some notion of beauty to be their calling card. And so coming back to a swanked out city in which normal conversations revolved around what was HIP, TRENDY, COOL, just left me blinking my eyes.

Sure, those people have a right to their opinions, it just simply wasn't mine, and I suddenly wasn't quite sure how to negotiate the childhood dream to the practical day-to-day living in a place so utterly foreign to me, I couldn't make heads-or-tails of it.

In the meantime, in order to keep my sense of spirit, I was making things...beautiful things, that I wanted to send to new homes:

I was also contemplating new videos and new adventures...even books. I held a short and somewhat successful little fundraiser to get a book of all my adventures published, and which left me humble and big-hearted at all the love coming from friends and strangers alike.

But I was confused. What was I supposed to be doing? My heart belonged to performing and to an olden way of living. How does one merge that seamlessly? Was I doing to much, too little?

And there would be other things to consider, too...within a month of returning to the city, I would start having strange symptoms, sudden wobbly-wooziness that sprang, seemingly overnight, out of nowhere. This vertigo-ishness would change things....as would a trip to Connecticut, and other strange winding stories...

And those stories shall be forthcoming soon....

The Birthday Wish

Photo By Geo Gellar

It has been a long time--too long--since I have written here. Today might be as auspicious a time as any to do so; it is my birthday today. Since my last journey story there has been much--too much--happening. Shades of light and darkness have become overwhelming almost.

I am old enough now that birthdays are a time of reflection. I'm not sure how well or true I should feel about this, mostly because I feel that something is.....missing.

Sure, every year is a story of highfalutin', ramshackle adventures. Four years ago, when I started this crazy journey, there was a whole arsenal of surprising events that would leave one breathless. In some ways, that has never changed.  However, behind the scenes, there was another truth the story. I was leaving a life, and a man, that had broken my heart.

My life wasn't working. I was too sensitive and too tired to be working in an expensive an punitive city as loud and as brash as New York City. While I carried a torch for performing arts, I was having a devil of a time figuring out how to make it all work for me, while having to answer to someone who had changed from a helpful life partner to someone utterly a stranger.

So I was leaving.

Along the road, I had met a million beautiful faces: the sort of folks that I could imagine calling on the phone, getting together over Saturday potluck, and doing the random fun things that a kinship of friends do.
But I was leaving them, too.

I had seen a hundred different beautiful sights, epic sunsets across hundreds of pastures in a dozen states. Forests so old and elegantly haunted as to inspire a million children's wayward fairy tales, denizens of houses so old and beautiful they could make you cry--or make you curious as to each history that whispered within their walls. I have waterfalls, and heard owls in the mountains, and seen swans and herons in peaceful lakes. I have held baby sheep, goats, small donkeys. I have ridden and hugged a million equines. My soul has been full......
But I was leaving.

And pretty soon, there was that slight twinge of acknowledgement: every single person I know or care about is, almost universally, a long distance phone call. Every experience both a reward and an immediate puff of memory.  I have no particular place to park my shoes and, while that sort of life would seem to spark envy in some--for the vagabond, "the grass is always greener" would likely be simply someone to meet them at the end of a long day, in a humble little house. It will be a place where someone will listen to their stories, or hold their hands, and where good food and kinship is struck.

And indeed, if you thought me a fine and fair independent maiden, think again. Sure, I'll wrestle a horse and get myself dirty and bruised in the name of adventure, but I would park myself (and almost did) for a fine writing or farming or performing arts dream job, and a kind and funny person to love. A passel full of warm and creative friends wouldn't hurt either.

I suppose it came full circle--back to writing--that the notion of it all hit me.See, when you are writing a book about your family's third generation beekeeping, do you see all those old stories written out in front of you. And when I did, all I could keep thinking was "who do these stories get passed down to?" I sometimes stare at people with small children and indeed, there is a strange twinge there, and a place where the heart cracks when I think that there would have to be a bit of repairing to do if I am to mend a heart torn by relationships.

Until then, there are other interesting stories to pursue, and other goals to start. Perhaps it is time to find a foundation for this old tree woman, whose roots are far too stubborn to rig themselves too deeply into the earth--which is a strange notion, indeed, for a child born under the Earth sign of Virgo. Then again, I've always been the contrary, unpredictable sort.

But know this much is true: when you ask a vagabond what they want for their birthday, The Birthday Wish is likely this: a place to call home.

The Bee Reprieve

Photo by Jenna Wogonrich
Find More of HER version of this story by scrolling to the end of her fabulous chronicles, HERE

I had just finished up an exciting trip and discussion about bees, you see. I was at the home of noted farm author Jenna Wogonrich, and the place was a small, charming village of animal and plant citizenry, a cohesive village of livestock and farm buildings and hay and manure and offspring and the hum of work and life.

I had been teaching beekeeping classes there, and it was a hoot. I had met six new, cool, farm friends, and I was about to meet a whole new group too. See, I had planned to stay at Common Sense Farm, just down the road from Jenna. After a small reprieve getting homemade icecream from the local Stewart's (which, in my estimation, was akin to the NYC Starbucks or the Philly Wawa) and after eating a ridiculous three-scoop-advertised-as-one-scoop gigantic mound of it (man, was it tasty), we headed off to the farm.

That place, sometimes called a commune, was a massive thing on about 200 acres of land. It housed about 90 people who had come to build an intentional community raising animals and making soap. Othniel and his wife Yeshiva seemed to be the go-to people of the farm, which still was beautifully old-fashioned, but clearly not small. There were chickens, ducks, goats, peacocks, even donkeys.  Someone had even found a baby deer, apparently abandoned by its mother, and were feeding her goats milk, which was supposedly gentle on the stomach. There were bees in top bar hives. There were plenty of children running around. Mostly there was kindness and politeness and, indeed, a sense of community.

I lived off of that generosity, eating good food that no one would accept money for, meeting a young girl from France who was traveling through the Americas by herself, and then an older woman, who appeared to need the farm for solace. I spoke with the beekeeper, Andre, a bearded, wizened looking man, who was as eager to hear from me, as I was to hear from him. It was a fine exchange, indeed.

The next day, I awoke and was ready--lock, stock, and barrel--to roll out by 9 AM. I cruised the town a bit, before I thought to head over to Jenna's. I'd honestly just gone to say a humble goodbye and purchase her farm fresh eggs (support a small farmer!), but once I got their, it was decided that I should check her hives to make sure her newly minted colony had released their queen properly.

This was nothing new. I'd done this for our own hives, waaaaay back when I was tending to bees on a city rooftop--the same sort of stuff that managed to get us into a film. New packages of bees come with their queen secured in a small box. The box is lowered into the new hive. One end should have a candy shell, and the bees eat through this until the hole at the end is exposed, and the queen moves through it. This should usually take about 4 day. However, if the candy is too hard, too big, or some other mishap occurs, then the queen cannot be released, and if she stays there too long, she could starve. So, it's always good for the beekeeper to suit up to check that things were going smoothly.

I donned the outfit that I had for such an occasion, and used the good tools to make my way into the hive. Jenna, meanwhile, had been working on her new bed of spring greens right next to me, and right up behind us, closer to the curving mountainside property, were her two horses, Jasper and Merlin, nickering their approval.

The day was beautiful, brilliant hued blue-skied and cloudless, The Perfect Day. I could hear chickens gallivanting in the background. Even with the hive wide open, there was nothing to worry about. I hadn't worked a hive in a couple of years, but it's sort of like riding a bicycle, I suppose. I'm not a big advocate of smoking a hive, so I simply blew them out of my work path. I saw the box easily enough, the bees had pretty much combed around the thing so that it sat right at the top of the frame, in easy view. It took a few tries, slowly, with my hive tool, to pry the thing loose, but once I did, I found the box utterly empty. I smiled and thought "All Hail The Queen."

"You are so CALM," Jenna exclaimed. Of course. You can't teach it in beekeeping 101 and not live it. At that exact moment I wondered what my European grandfather, the one who started this whole beekeeping thing in my family, would think of this. He would have no idea, in his lifetime, that eventually would come back around to this way of living. I smiled.

The farm, at this moment, looked the way romantic visions do. The wayward girl runs feral, lives her own life, owns this wonderful house, these animals. It's something out of a postcard. And seeing Jenna toil quietly, contentedly, one gets a very simple notion, too. Don't be fooled. It's hard work and it will break your heart sometimes...even in my limited visits with women and men such as she, I know the grit under the silken veneer. The things farmers must go through to get food on the table is something we conveniently take for granted.

So here's to that hard working, soil obsessed lot, the animal wranglers and weather watchers and dirt-under-your-nails sort. They're a wicked brave lot, indeed, taking risks you'd never fathom. Maybe we'll appreciate the farmer ilk, one day.

And the beekeepers, too.

I'll miss this place--I've still got to meet a small society I missed this trip around; it's definitely an excuse to come back 'round, I don't mind courting this place some more, in the future. That is, if they'll have a wayward writer-artist-beekeeper type in their midst.

TOMORROW: NEW YORK CITY--THE LEVIATHAN :)

In The Beginning

                                             This was never going to be a normal journey.....

What a whirlwind! My hands have been busy painting, drawing, typing, and otherwise scheduling this strange rambling trip I will be taking in May, so much so I've nary had time to pay attention to the story-telling part of this journey.

But in between classes to be taught and the art, soap, and beauty items to be made and sold along the way, it occurs to me that many people just joining up on this little adventure do not have the story of how this whole thing came to be.

And so this is a little story within that story.

While a much more comprehensive (and by more, I mean a Tolstoy-style novel, so grab a serious kettle-full of tea to drink!) "about me" story can be found, well, in the About Me section at the top of this blog, this story is a bit more about the heartbeat of why I do what I do.

See, this tale really isn't mine to tell. To really understand it, you must go to my family tree--the stuff of gypsy lore, Balkan musings, and Tales of exotic, bangled men and women from places where dust flies. Those were my people. My parents were of far-flung ancestry that allowed them to tell tales since I could first remember. At the time, they were both awesome and rebuked; what use does a girl who grew up in New York City have with tales of "poor farmers" whose life was clearly NOT AS FABULOUS as her modern little life. Funny, how the youthful attach themselves to the newer shiny stuff.

I will admit though, there was something curious about those souls. My parents, who lost one parent, each, as children, whose parents were midwives, farmers, soldiers--who struggled through so much poverty, heartache, loss--and seemed unfazed by it. One grandmother was a midwife who stepped on scorpions with her bare hands, my great grandfather was a veterinarian in a country that had little or no value to most creatures. One uncle ran the first leper colony in his country. My other grandfather was a soldier who spent seven years in military prison. My grandmother cooked in the house of German nobles. 

Is there any. damn. wonder. that I'm the person I am today?  I mean, you can't take that and decide it will be okay to take the path of least resistance, or convenience or--heck--even predictability.

For me, those stories just expanded my natural curiosity for old things--and that love would pepper everything about my psyche: besides being a die-hard artist, I loved archeology. I still love antiques. Even the dance troupe I ran touched on themes of mythology and old legend.

Ahh, the troupe. I've been a performing artist, and that thing was my dream. Until it wasn't. By the time the big crash in The States rolled around in 2008 happened, I had officially lost my soul to the strange underbelly of the city performing arts life, and since I'd barely been making a dent with what I was doing, I turned back to these stories I knew so well.

There was farming, there was beekeeping, there was story telling. I sort of jumped on all of these as little totems, and they pushed me forward. First, a motley group of writers and farmers made up  little armada for online farm advice and one of them, a wonderful herbie-artsy friend invited me to teach classes. And this, my friends, would be the start of my little touring life.

In the meantime, I turned those old stories and fairytales I'd heard into folk art, and some old time herbal love became this enchanted little tangible projects, remnants of woods, and flowers and old-time love. You can find those HERE.
And so I stand here, packing satchels and whisking together goods and class lessons, ready to take the road. In about a month, I shall continue that affair of car and pavement, the most reliable relationship I've had to date...
TOMORROW: The Heart Of A Beekeeper

Four Women

                                  The Things That Happen When Women Get Together...
Funny, how these things happen.

You know what I mean--those moments in life that seem like some sort of crazy dare, an endless sweaty race, that never-ending climb up a gargantuan wall...

It's been that way for several weeks, a strange and sobering reality behind a very light-hearted statement: "I'm going on tour." 

Sure, that seems like gypsy ribaldry, complete with fun-time images of riding into the sunset: carefree and kicking up of heels. But in the back wings, there is always a different sort of drama that rarely comes to mind when you think of a road trip and teaching classes on the road: the organization of such a thing is a monster of a show, contacting hosts, hoping for news,  scheduling, and rescheduling, and hoping to drive neither the host--or yourself-- mad in the process.

And then just like that--*POOF*--all the puzzle pieces sort of neatly click into place.  And when the smoke clears and I really observe this specimen, I have to laugh and shake my head. There are four women who are my hosts on the leg of this trip--and in many ways, it's been women all along who have supported all my endeavors.

I don't know what it is, but women figure in so much of my good fortune, it's ridiculous. My last full time job was staffed by all women (literally TWO men worked there in the seven years I did), and my actual calling-- an ethnic dance troupe I ran for five years--was exclusively made up of women.

My LAST tour--doing those same shenanigans I'm doing NOW--was also hosted by women: beautiful, strong, courageous women in Iowa and Illinois, and this whole fine mess was actually started by one beautiful herbal gal in Iowa, and perpetuated by another in Florida.

Yeah, us gals gotta stick together and while I bare no ill-will to the gents, you gotta love the resourcefulness of the "fairer sex."

So this is a schedule update, it is also the story of four women, and the various bright hues that make up this funny little Northeast Tour of Mine....

Kris Casucci is the heart of Walker Homestead. Her place, in lovely Brookfield, Massachusetts is a beacon of old style, colonial charm. Stepping onto the property is like stepping back into the annals of simple beauty and charm. She boasts an amazing antique store and farm with Jacob sheep and a bevvy of chickens. The antiques and prims she sells are top quality, and she hosts so many lovely classes that show insight into bygone times. You will know that she is a busy soul--running shows, sales, tours, and open houses but always carries a kindness about her and a fun laugh that makes you feel welcome, no matter what she is doing. There is something about the whole kit-and-kaboodle with Kris that makes you feel like there is quality and earnestness in everything she--and Walker Homestead is about.

I'll be teaching for two days:
May 1st, as part of a May Day extravagaza: I'll be teaching folk herbalism AND folk beekeeping, but the day starts at 9:30 with the making of May Wine, May Baskets, and the telling of May Day Traditions. It's a big day you won't want to miss.

Then on May 3rd from 9:30-3:30
I will be doing a big honey cooking class (making sweet and spicy carrots in Tupelo honey, Acacia eggplant, and Crepes using Lavender honey!)
Your lunch is included in the days activities (the food we made in class!)
And then I will do a beekeeping 101 class which will include some of the old world, pesticide free keeping that my grandfather used in Europe, old traditions used today, and general basic beekeeping techniques.


From there I will be going to CT to my amazing friend Nicole Goncalves, known in those parts as The New England Girl. You'd be impressed if you knew her--owner of not only her own business, but a business that BUILDS and restores furniture...and she's maybe 25 years old. For such a young lass to take on the responsibility and hard work of such an endeavor is something I think some fellas would be envious of!

*May 6th ~
Make Your Own Cloth Ornament
6pm - 9pm I will show you how to make your own cloth ornament! We will onstruct, and paint amazing cloth ornaments using paints, buttons, and other embellishments. You will learn various sewing and painting skills in this fun and educational experience, and take home your own ornament. $45


*May 10th ~
10AM - 3pm (BRING YOUR OWN LUNCH)
Beekeeping 101This class will show you the many ways to begin beekeeping using  natural beekeeping techniques, including basic set up, basic bee society and behavior, pest free beekeeping, what to expect your first year in beekeeping, and so much more.
$50
PUTTING UP YOUR OWN BEEHIVESTHEN, after lunch, our very own  builder THE NEW ENGLAND girl will show you how to put together your very own unassembled hive in this useful demonstration while Zan describes the components of the hive.
$25

BOTH OF THESE MAKE FOR A GREAT BEE KEEPING EDUCATION!


May 11th
11AM-1pm FOLK HERBALISMLearn about plants used in historical times, their properties, and the practical uses they still have today. We will describe how to make tinctures, decoctions, salves, and more and you will receive basic recipes for herbal items you can make at home, with a short demonstration in class.
$30
EMAIL beyondvagabond@gmail.com to register, or for info!

Holly Doyle from Jersey Made is a complete dynamo. Her store carries items made from artisans and farmers in New Jersey, and is a testament of her love and support for small businesses. She also hosts a slew of classes from her shop, and is the sort of energetic cheerleader and adviser any artist would be lucky to know. The gal just loves art!

May 16th
 Folk Herbs for Everyday Use  1pm to 3pmLearn about the old-fashioned use herbs as used in everyday household, beauty, and medicinal ways, and how these herbs still work today. You will be provided with some herb samples during class, and will go home with information on how to make your own herbal concoctions.
 $25

Living Outside the Box   7pm to 8:30pmAn outside presentation in front of a gypsy wagon! A fun, informal atmosphere, with an important message! Learn the many tips, tricks, and strategy to living the life YOU want,
Living on little or no money, outside-the-box careers, living the traveling life, unconventional house life, and other tips on attaining your dreams from Zan Asha, who has lived a traveler’s life for three years.
$15


Saturday, May 17th
 Cloth Ornament Workshop   10am to 3pmThis workshop will teach you how to make a soft cloth ornament from your own original pattern! Make an enchanted cloth ornament of your imagination! Everything from sewing, painting, accenting, and embellishing your ornament (with buttons, ribbons, etc) will be covered here! We’ll have sewing machines on hand, instructions demonstrated, and more techniques explained. Take home your own ornament! Materials provided!

*Bring a lunch and beverages with you.   Light snacks will be available.
$45
Beginner’s Bellydance 5pm - 6pmZan Asha’s roots began with theater and dance, and she spent almost a decade as troupe leader of ChoveXani (www.choveXani.com) creating ethnic dances of North Africa, India, and the Middle East. Tonight, she will be teaching beginning belly dance. This class is a fun and informative intro to beginning belly dance. Bring clothes you can stretch in. We will cover a warm up and basic movements of the arms, hips, and stomach, with a short choreography learned at the end.
$15


Sunday May 18th 
Wood burning Workshop 1-3pmLearn the beautiful and challenging art of woodburning to create wonderful works of art. We will go over various techniques to create shade, patterns, and design as it affects your wood piece.  You will go home with an original and unique wood-burned work of art.
*Note: Wood will be provided. However, you are requested to bring your own woodburning tool to this class. Reasonably priced wood burning implements can be found at local craft shops. 
$30 


REGISTRATION: Email Host Holly Doyle directly to register at
Holly@Jersey-Made.com or call
609 914 1536


My last stop is a doozy. Jenna Wogonrich, mistress of Cold Antler Farm, is a farming and writing lass of the highest order. You may have read a few of her books, including Made From Scratch or One Woman Farm. Or you may admire the fact that she rides horses while shooting bows--and she is training a falcon, too. She was kind enough to host me in my beekeeping shenanigans...

10AM - 4PM
Beekeeping 101/ Folk Ways Beekeeping AND a tour of Jenna Wogonrich's working farm!

Organic Ways Beekeeping 101 (Beginning Beekeeping):
Behavior-based beekeeping will be taught as her grandfather did in WWII era Hungary. The practice of watching the very specific behaviors and structures of the bees, and caring for them during the seasons will be discussed, along with the basic principles, equipment, disease prevention, and more will be discussed. You'll leave with a working knowledge of what to expect the first year of beekeeping.

Folk Ways Beekeeping:
 Old style beekeeping (from ancient history to WWII), equipment, and techniques will be discussed, with old pictures and books dissected. You will learn how the old masters worked their bees and how you can apply it to your beekeeping. This class is more for the antique scholar or beekeeper who is fascinated by old history and focuses more on that than a hands on beekeeping compendium.

$100 for the day!

Email Jenna at jenna@itsafarwalk.com to register, or for info

The Whole Shebang

                                               Teaching Beekeeping ~ Iowa 2011


"Opportunity doesn't knock, and you answer it. YOU knock, and opportunity answer" ~ American Proverb
From time to time, I have people--some far more accredited and accomplished than I--ask HOW I am doing this?  How on Earth have I managed to have this funny touring life, this life of art and teaching and unusual jobs?

The answer is not complicated: I just ask. I ask people to be part of my projects, and I ask to be part of theirs. When I have interviewed people, when I have been interviewed, when I teach classes--these usually start with a straightforward inquiry.  To me this sounds simple, but it floors ME that people are floored by it. Really? That's all you do? Aren't you afraid of rejection? I remember even my landlady's husband, a cynical veteran of the t.v. commercial production world, asked me that question, bug-eyed with disbelief.

The answer is both YES, and no. See, I suppose I'm afraid of rejection, but I'm also afraid--MORE afraid--of missed opportunities. So if I think there is a sliver of hope to do something that lights my little grey soul on fire, I'll make the attempt. As my stubbornly brave father used to say: "Sure, you'll get a 'no' from some people some of the time. But if you NEVER ask, you're going to a get a 100% NO answer!"
The man had a point.

Right now, I'm in the middle of creating a little adventure again! It's happening, Folks!  So the news is that I will be traveling to the Northeast this Spring--starting in May, to be exact. The Northeast is sort of a homecoming, of sorts, since the whole shebang started from New York City. However, this time around, I'll be in places I've never been before--parts of Massachusetts and New Jersey--and who knows where?

That's where you come in. See, I've never considered this a loner's journey. The whole thing is wrapped up in YOUR participation, no matter how small. Indeed, any advice, thoughts, and even your eyes skimming this post is appreciated in ways that you could not know.

So, here's the LATEST NEWS...and ways you can participate!

* May 1st and 3rd-- I will be teaching folk beekeeping and herbalism and doing a huge honey cooking class as part of a whole May Day fest at Walker Homestead in Massachusetts. More details to come!

* Also on May 3rd and 4th ~ MY ART is traveling more than I am! My clocks, and enchanted paintings will most likely be at the SpookyTime Jingles booth at the National Halloween Convention in Philadelphia! Stay tuned for more!

*May 16th-18th! A Ton of dance, art, and herbal classes are happening at Jersey Made! You can click  for registration details!  CLICK ON MY NEW CLASS SCHEDULE LIST TO SEE MORE DETAILS.


~~ I am looking for classes to host in Connecticut or Pennsylvania during the weekend of May 10th, or any day around that.  Know of a place that likes classes?  Here's a whole CLASS LIST. The hosts also get an opportunity to be in my little film about outside of the box thinkers, and maybe my little book!

~~Speaking of which, I'm in the middle of self-publishing a book about all of these adventures, and how you, too, can live life the way YOU want it. I am hoping to post a little fundraiser for publishing costs, and can only hope that some of you might be interested in throwing a few pennies my way? I'll have more updates in a few days!

~~ Finally, if you'd like to support this crazy idea and travel happening in a couple of months (yikes!), then feel free to visit my brand NEW SHOPPE HERE! I have finally revamped and housed BOTH my little herbal soapy business AND the art creations in ONE PLACE! So get your organic goods and old world folk art goods in one place! All proceeds go directly to funding my trip--and you get some really lovely quality products while you are at it!

Thank you so very much in advance! And that's the Whole Shebang (for now)!

The Memory of Trees

Clock Madness!

If you are not careful, you can be swept up in a wave of busy-ness, and that is apparently what has happened around here, lately. In many ways, I am woefully behind in a laundry list of plot twists I had planned for 2014--writing and traveling and teaching and...and...
But no, they would not be happening, at least not at the moment.

See, I am lost in The Memory of Trees. Which, I suppose, is appropriate for my strange, forested heart.

What, exactly is The Memory of Trees?  Ask any woodworker, any lumberjack. Heck, ask a person tapping maple syrup, even. They will tell you. Their tongues will drip with tales of sap, bark, the smell of leaves in the Fall, or pine needles in the Spring. They will speak of arching branches, the smell of green wood, or even its smell tindering under flame.

Some of us are lost in trees, in greenery and forested shoots. It's a far more ancient thing, a connection to trees, which is a connection to us all. Their fair-leaved dressing wag with with the coming of Spring, and their nakedness tell of the severity of Winter. They breathe out our air, as we breathe out theirs: it's a deep coexistence, these lives of ours.

I am no representative of the grandeur of trees, but the inside of me has been pulled out by THEIR insides. I work with flat logs, you see, and my fingers grapple painting such fine canvases. But beyond painting, there has been an interesting development.

You see, these are TIME keepers, these dissected trees, and there is a certain, strange justice in this. What better to have these olden arbors serve as a reminder of Time, itself?

I remember, distinctly, having trees cut for me during my journeys to Kansas, and since then, logs of various sizes have been subject to the brush and pen strokes that have made up the tick-tock world inside my head.

Chainsawed logs from dead trees on a Kansas farm...

To be fair, I wasn't quite sure how to proceed with it--ANY of it. I've been doing folk art in some form for several years and, at best, I had humble sales of these little bits of hand and heart, just enough to be encouraging and certainly, I have been grateful for those loyal followers who bought a thing from me for various years.

But this Christmas, I was bowled over by this strange new interest, especially when I finally, after several years of reading on clockworks, decided to make one.  It was an Alice-In-Wonderland whirligig, and the reception given to it was as furious as a young debutante's debut. Not a bad suprise, all in all....and it was not over, either (curioser and curioser)!

Wonderland was the winner, apparently...and soon, there were more wild and wooly clocks to be made:

A Hatter's Clock....

And here, three more commissioned for a farmhouse!

A smiling feline...

Down the Rabbit Hole...

One White Hare...

Indeed, I have been quite blessed, as people have found some resonance about these. I'm not sure if it is either the magic of Alice or the idea of a one-of-a-kind-clock but I won't ask too many questions on the formulation of this funny little success.

There are more to be made, of course, but it's a slow process. The utter irony is that an outdoor active person who is used to traveling is a bit fidgety when sitting two or three hours at a time, though the painting itself is an ode to meditation and a joy.  However, the clocks are made only by 4 hours minimum, and over several days, and much experimentation of paints, colors, wood bases, and clock parts do I finish these pieces.

Because of it, I can sometimes only finish a clock in 3 or 4 days time, in between the rest of life's requirements, and several copious cups of tea, and fine music!

Because of this, I thought to offer some clocks at specific times--perhaps the beginning of each month?  I have no idea if this shall work or it seems to ubiquitous?  In any case, I'll at least try it out--

So, these fellows are "under construction," as they say--a few offerings which should be ready February 5th, just in time for Valentine's Day!  Here is a sneak peek at the process of clockishness....

 "I'm Late!"

...and he's gotten a bit of a facelift with paint!


And a brand new Cheshire Clock now being drawn up!



And This Fellow, already spoken for and going to a new home soon!

And so, this is the story of trees. And it wouldn't be the only story happening around here--the next would be of travel, and more!

The Wish Caravan...

And so here we are again, swiftly rushed to the end, and beginning, of a year. Where this time is magicked off to, I'll never know, both a wonderment and dread--there is no stopping this forward, far-too-fast ride, and yet one should at least enjoy the scenery of this mad shuttle, this rumpus caravan.

The past year was an odd alchemy, possibly more sharply divided in its light and dark parts than I'd dared believed. And yet you've kept right along, though I do worry over you, Good Reader, that you seem to relish the valleys of my adventures as opposed to those good-news majestic mountain-tops?  Who knows, human nature is one that is a curious, humorous thing, I suppose, and I must laugh good-naturedly at such curiosity.

I do not know what to make of the past year, it is a baked good of many ingredients, both sour and savory: I'd gone on massive, massive adventures that glittered glorious in the foreground, but brooded in uncertainty behind the scenes. I'd gone to TWO different states in search of dream jobs, only to have them Earth-shatteringly crushed beneath me. I went on a family journey to another country, and while it was amazingly satisfying, it simply reminded me of and extraordinary background that I did not seem to be doing justice.

Indeed, more than anything, there was a lot of moving around but more stagnation than I'd ever known. Normally, the younger version of myself would have helmed shows in New York, written, hosted radio shows, gone on far more excursions, and done more art.  Somehow, this year, there was so-much-and-so-little going on that it somehow became a muddled circular jaunt that led to nothing but confusion, and this hound is exhausted, tired of chasing lures that were perhaps not quite real, after all.

I suppose there would have been a complete loss of confidence in all my endeavors but for the surprise surge of good compassion that I would have never seen coming this holiday.  All those funny soaps and pretty-making goods, and all sorts of artwork were being requested, left and right.  It broke my heart into grateful little pieces that people bothered with these things, as the world is full of too many big box items, but also, far more talented artists and artisans than I. So, for someone to specifically request my handiworks, or even to write me such pretty things like: "I wanted to give this painting of yours as a gift, but it is so beautiful that I decided to keep it for myself," reduced me to humble tears.

So what to do next?  I reckon I move along slowly on The Wish Caravan, a place of simple hopes and expectations. Call these resolutions, though I won't nearly try to set myself up to standards; my problem in the last year or so was that there were far too many projects, so overwhelming that it became a game of sorts as to where to step forward. Exciting, yes, but also overwhelming.

Here I know that I love writing. So I am hoping to write every day and post , though I keep saying this every year, so let's just cross fingers, shall we? I can also say I fancy drawing and art. So I will say that every day, I will show a piece of work, whether it even be a quick sketch. A few of you voiced a love of clocks and other woodgigs, so those will be worked with.
Speaking of which, here is your FIRST clock of this YEAR! I am still fiddling about with it, but you may recognize who or what it's about?

I've yet to deal properly, and of course, it has yet to be fitted with clock-parts. This wood piece has a few flaws, but it will probably be daubed in gouache, and hopefully will be fit for finding a new home in a week.


Beyond the art shenanigans, I also wish to build up this traveling love of mine, and here writing and travel come together in not one, but two books that are being edited as we speak. Of course, publishing it may be another hurdle to bound over, entirely, and I will keep you posted on that.

Further, there is a vast slew of videos that have been backlogged, when I was actually FILMING all these travel adventures. Of course, actual editing was delayed because THINGS. JUST. KEPT. COMING.  But what use is the filming if there's no one viewing it?  So I promised to bring this little project together, and maybe these stories wouldn't seem like disjointed ramblings? We'll see.  There are other ideas and projects that ramble in my head, but I will wait until they actually are pawing at the opening gate before I cry it all over town.

In the meantime, I wish you daily peace, and the strength to mountain-climb your life. I hope all manner of creativity and witty wisdom head your way. I wish you quiet nights, and laughing with friends and family, and knowing it will be alright, in the end. I wish your family health, and your furry friends, too (if you are the animal-loving sort), and breathtaking moments that make you amazed to be alive. That is the Wish Caravan, making its way to you.

Until then, tell me, what are YOUR wishes for this year?

The Beekeeper's Lament....

                                       
There is an old--perhaps ancient?--tradition amongst beekeepers. How this curious custom began, I've little to go on, but it recognizes the importance, and perhaps the super-perception of these creatures..and it goes something like this:

Should something happen in the beekeeper's family, it must be told to the bees. The bees were considered part of the family, and would only thrive in families that upheld them with regard.  Usually, the bees are told is when the beekeeper himself, dies but,  if there are weddings, births, or deaths, the bees should know. There are some that say you should knock once on the hive, and then whisper it from the side of the hive, into the entrance, but all manner of the telling was done: beehives were shrouded in black cloth when someone died, or a piece of funerary cake and wine was left at the entrance of each hive. In some cases, the hives were even repositioned to face the grave of the beloved deceased.

Hives were beribboned for weddings and births, and sometimes the simplest thing to do is to lean over and tell the bees, hive by hive, of the news, and then walk away....

I've nary an idea as to why there is this tradition of Telling The Bees, but there are records of this in old Ireland, England, Olde Europe, as  far back as the Middle Ages.


So then, I ask you, what happens when the great news to tell the bees is actually about the bees themselves? How does one tell them?

What if the bad news involves not being able to deal with those little winged families, and that the "death" is within a business that you have grown to love?

To backtrack: I promised you the truth of this little journey, and as far as I find this road inspiring (and it IS inspiring), I also promised to tell you as much of reality as I could muster...

You may know I am a beekeeper---as was my mother, and grandfather. In fact, some of this old-time beekeeping mayhem has gotten me to Iowa and Illinois, has fueled part of the mini-Beyond Vagabond journey, led me to new friends, and has become part of my life.

The truth is a bit more complicated. The bees which I had worked with, which had made my name and purpose, were not mine, but my ladlord's and landlady's, owned outright by them but worked by me, as part of an urban revitalization project. After almost five years of work, there were differences in vision, and then, this past weekend, I would bid farewell to those animals, as I was suddenly no longer part of the project.

Whether this is temporary, I do not know. To be fair, there are many things afoot, and on shaky ground right now,  but I will say, it's rather like getting part of one's personality chewed off.

There is part of me that knows that I will regroup. It is easy enough, with so much Lifeblood full of beekeeping knowledge, to continue with that journey. There is money enough and time and resources to build. I have met loyal friends and customers, and I would hope they would continue the journey with me. I believe it will happen.

But another part of me laments for those creatures I've lost. Sure, you may laugh--shake your head, even, at the small grief over smaller bugs, all of which look alike. Perhaps it is no consequence for you. But each of those bugs--Apis Mellifera--was a teacher. Each showed me the need for calmness, and the way in which to truly think as they did. I have become a master problem solver, and have bridged a gap from old stories of my grandfather, to a living method of teaching. I was led into awe with each new discovery, and developed a profound respect for the powerful might of these small families.

And mostly, I have grown closer to my mother, who had shared never-before heard stories, some which she had nearly forgotten, because of this little project.

For this, I am forever grateful.....