Savannah

I've reached it, the city that Sherman didn't raze to the ground. It's beautiful. Like something out of every person's quintessential thoughts of the olde south. The buildings are stagnant in time, trying to remain upright and in tact through the rain, heat and humidity. Moss stretching from trees and green leaves like rich pieces of candy hang lazily in the wind.

The rain only recently let up and the night has become somewhat cool. I'm staying in the Savannah Pension, a second story apartment in an old residential building turned hostel. I'm the first and only guest of the season. This is one of those places that you know you will return to.

John C. Campbell is also one of those places I will return to. The people there were wonderful and welcoming. The pieces that people created.. Such a depth of talent and creativity came out during the course of the week. Among those creative minds was Joey, the Alaskan boat-builder. Here he is holding one of his pieces:


He started by bending flat stock to create a box and then proceeded to forge a metal in-lay based upon the mythological Norse tree of life. He knew what he wanted to create and was able to create it without much planning. If I'm not mistaken the box isn't complete, I believe he is going to continue forging decorative pieces around the other sides.

I was glad I was able to talk to him as much as I did. At 19 he was in the amazon with a friend or two floating down the river on a raft that they created with the machetes they carried. He's been apple picking in New Zealand, hitch hiked with his girlfriend from NY to Montreal, worked on a pig farm in England and so much more. He has become learned through travel, funded by bouts of work, much like what I did to get to where I am now. A fun fact, he plans to turn those pants that he is wearing in the picture into chaps; they're so hardened by god knows what kind of oils and dirt and debris that they're unwearable without long johns underneath..

Sitting around or driving for long periods of time listening to regional radio stations, it has dawned on me that when you're in the south you have to listen to country music. When you're anywhere else you can choose your poison. Its something about being in the place where the music comes from. Perhaps you can understand it better. I'm listening to Joe Purdy at the moment. He's more folk than country but his voice comes from the mountains, and anywhere there is mountains, good music is made.

The banjo (pronounced banjar) making instructor at the folk school actually left where ever he was from to spend years up in the mountains of North Carolina to learn classical banjo from those who came out of the womb with one in hand.

I'm signing off here and will be back to blog tomorrow.