Perspectives: In the Eye of the Beholder

  

My husband and I rode our bicycles along the paths of Robinson Preserve, sharing the road with legions of fiddler crabs and a pair of roseate spoonbills as a storm front approached from across the bay whipping the sea grapes and palm leaves into a clattering fury.  Great egrets and ibis were startlingly white figures trying to make their way across the deepening violet of the clouds to the shelter of low trees and bushes.  It was a dramatic afternoon of nature’s beauty that left me thinking about the influence of perspective in the making of art.  Why does a pink bird in blue water against green trees make us stop and observe? Why do some people see and stop while others see and continue, or don’t see at all?  From where does our perspective spring? 


http://www.yesartworks.org/2012/01/shop-yes-art-works/

Many years ago, I was invited to spend a day with a group of mentally challenged artists who were creating works for an upcoming exhibit at a city library. I met painters, weavers, sculptors and collage artists but the person whose work affected me the most was a draughtsman named David.  David was a timeless figure, neither young nor old.  He did not speak and he looked at you without acknowledging your presence.  He seemed either completely empty or so full that there was there was nothing that could be added to him.  Eating and putting his clothes on were the basis of his outward involvement with the world.  Thankfully, at some point in his life someone had given him a piece of paper and a marker.

That day, David sat at a long table, rocking back and forth in his seat in front of a 22 x 28-inch piece of drawing paper.  In his left hand he clutched one red and one blue chisel-tip marker.  In his right hand he held a black marker.  He was a pointillist, and working to the rhythm of an internal metronome he touched down the marker tip with precise pressure at precise intervals, starting always at the lower left-hand corner of the paper and working outward until the work surface was transformed into an elaborate cityscape. He would introduce blue or red buildings as it suited him, giving the drawing a visual depth that perhaps bespoke his own.  The pieces took hours to complete and despite the familiar and repeated shape of skyscrapers, each drawing had its own personality, including David’s if you looked closely.  Somewhere in one of the buildings, peering out of an almost imperceptibly small window, you would find a smiling face.  The staff assumed the smiling face was David looking out at you from his drawing.  Perhaps it is someone who waits for David each time he picks up a pen.  We will never know and David is not telling.

Sandy French, a stained glass artist working in The Village of the Arts in Bradenton, has a brother who recently lost his sight due to complications from a stroke. He is a photographer.  Hoping to come up with inspiration to encourage her brother to continue his work with photography, she searched for information on the work being done by blind photographers.  As you might expect, the creative process, by its very nature, adapts to continue. 



Evgen Bavcar, The Flow of Time
Renowned in Europe but little known in the United States, Bavcar lost his eyes in two separate childhood accidents. Of his work, he says, "I have a private gallery, but, unfortunately, I am the only one who can visit it. Others can enter by means of my photographs, but they do not see the originals, just the reproductions."

 In May of 2009, the University of California at Riverside’s Museum of Photography mounted a show entitled “Sight Unseen” which explored the work of photographers working in, or near, total blindness. Photographs from the show were also featured on the Time Magazine website. Douglas McColloh, a sighted photographer who curated the show, points out that “the truth is, these are very visual people. They just can't see. And what they do is populate their minds with images. They crave images the same way we sighted people crave images. They can look at their images by directing our sight at the images and having sighted people describe it to them. As Eugene Balchar, one of the photographers in this show, says, "I have never seen that photograph, but I know it exists and it affects me deeply." 



Gerardo Nigenda 
"Entre lo invisible y lo tangible, llegando a la homeostasis emocional"

 Pete Eckert, who gradually lost his vision to retinitis pigmentosa views his work as a conduit. "I slip photographs under the door from the world of the blind to the world of the sighted."  Scottish artist Rosita McKenzie feels she can be experimental because she doesn’t see. “Instead, I sense light on my face. I hear the rustle of the wind in the trees or smell the fragrance of the flowers in the air. People ask me how I compose my shots.  Well, I don’t!”  Gerardo Nigenda, born in Oaxaca, Mexico, calls his images "Fotos cruzados," or "intersecting photographs." As he shoots, he stays aware of sounds, memories, and other sensations. He then uses a Braille writer to punch texts expressing those things he felt directly into the photo. The work creates a symbiotic relationship between the artist and the viewer: Nigenda needs a sighted person to describe the photo, but the sighted rely on him to read the Braille. 

Sandy French is encouraging her brother to return to places he has photographed before to capture them again beyond the boundaries of sight. When he does, she will display the before and after photographs in her gallery.

 The intricacy of the brain is perhaps the most treacherous terrain that human beings will ever explore. When you consider that each person on the planet experiences the world through the workings of their own individual mind, it is nothing short of amazing that we are able to find commonality on basic levels that allow us to be together as a species. We begin within our perspectives, perceiving the world with the tools available to us. But when our basic set of tools is altered by missing chromosomes, accidents, illnesses or experiences, how we continue comes purely from within the creative self. We lose sight only when we lack vision.  

http://digdeep1962.blogspot.com/2012/05/1-may-2012-pelagic-off-tanjung-dawai.html

For more information on the “Sight Unseen” exhibit and the blind photographers mentioned, visit these links:

-http://www.scpr.org/news/2009/05/28/628/uc-riverside-photography-museum-hosts-exhibit-blin/

-http://www.time.com/time/photogallery/0,29307,1897093_1883576,00.html

-http://laughingsquid.com/peter-eckert-the-blind-photographer/

Roseate Spoonbill image from Twinkietown.com

(This article originally appeared in the July 2012 issue of The Village Magazine.)

When Worlds Collide.



Mexican Pottery Sink at The Refuge at Wit's End

 One of the interesting things about eBay is that it makes you remember things you had forgotten.  After looking at handbags, pizza ovens, buffalo turquoise rings and Russian paintings, I thought of the beautiful hand-painted Mexican pottery sink in the kitchen of The Refuge at Wit's End in Abilene, Texas. I continue to lust after that sink and repeatedly kick myself for not buying one similar to it when we were at Market Square in San Antonio shortly before moving to Florida. At the time it seemed foolish to spend money on a sink when I didn't have a place that needed one but to be honest, that was just lack of vision and Yankee frugality.

Talavera Mexican Pottery

Deruta Pottery

The search for hand-painted sinks led me to looking at Mexican and then Italian pottery.  We have two dishes from Dertua that came from my cleaning days for West Lake Beach Dave back in Austin.  They are lovely and look even better with cake on them.  Deruta made me think of Vietri.  Both towns are centers for painted pottery in Italy, and I visited Vietri with my friends the Wilsons when they were living outside of Naples. Vietri produces pottery for companies all over the world-Williams Sonoma for example-but they also have created a great marketing tool for restaurants in their country.  In many establishments you can order the house specialty and it will either be served on a commemorative plate/bowl or you can purchase the dish separately. What a clever souvenir and indeed the plates are quite collectible.

Damariscotta Pottery

Seeing all this hand-painted pottery then made me think of my life in Maine when I worked at Praxis, a fine craft cooperative, and sought out pieces here and there from many of the state's talented potters.  Remembering of Praxis reminded me of my year working in Damariscotta at Two Fish and being introduced to Rhonda at Damariscotta Pottery.

Vietri Pottery

Thinking it would be fun to have some pieces of Vietri and Damariscotta pottery in our cupboards, I made a practice of checking eBay weekly for pieces to come up for auction. It turns out that people are buying and selling both brands at hefty prices far beyond my budget.  Frankly, I was surprised to see Damariscotta pottery even listed, for despite its being known nationwide, in part because Barbara Bush ordered a set of dinnerware when her husband was president, it's still pretty much a tiny potter's studio with no mail-order or website. As with the Vietri commemorative plates, you have to visit the place to leave with those special items which is what makes what happened next so odd.

I had been on my eBay pottery patrol for several weeks when I stopped at the Goodwill store on Cortez. It's a great thrift store in a neighborhood that is a little bit ghetto, a little bit barrio, a little bit assisted living.  I had dropped off a donation of clothes and was doing a quick scan of the shelves when a little hand-painted pitcher caught my eye. The pink, blue and white floral design seemed very familiar. 







  It couldn't be, I thought to myself, but picking up the creamer and turning it over, there on the bottom stamped into the clay was Damariscotta Pottery.  Well blow me down.  It looked to be piece probably from the late 80s early 90s when the glazes were light and the flowers very abstract.  The price tag was 99 cents. Too right I was having it.   On the off chance that there were more Dam Pots nearby, I moved carefully down the aisle.  That's when another familiar decoration on a plate caught my eye.  Picking it up, I giggled almost hysterically to myself.  It wasn't Damariscotta Pottery but it was a commemorative plate made by Vietri.  The restaurant is The 12 Apostles in Verona, Italy, and the chef's specialty was a veal creation.  It was $1.99.  After carefully checking to see if the shelves would give up any more treasures, I marched my treasures up to the cash register giddy as a school girl.  Who would believe it!  Each time I open the cupboard door now I have to smile.I don't know why it tastes better to have my milk poured from a Dam Pots creamer, but it does.  I don't know why I reach for the 12 Apostoli to put my toast on, but I do.  And I don't know why a little thrift shop in a small city in Florida has pottery from across the country and across the globe, but I'm certainly glad it does.

If you have the time, have a look at these links, especially the video for the 12 Apostoli restaurant which is quite beautiful.  If you find yourself in Damariscotta, Maine, take a walk up the little side street past Reny's andThe King Eider Pub.  Cross the parking lot and go down behind the big gray building that is home to Weatherbird and some art studios.  Tucked underneath you will find Damariscotta Pottery.

Ristorante 12 Apostoli
Commemorative Italian Cuisine Plates
Hand Painted Mexican Ceramic Sinks
Damariscotta Pottery
                                                                           Talavera Mexican Pottery
                                                                           Deruta Pottery
                                                                           Vietri Pottery



 



 

On Deciding to Become an Artist

Some days the path is very clear but recently I’ve been struggling with how to proceed in my life.  I think a recent trip to Office Depot, however, has helped me to clarify a few things.

I had arrived at the store in need of an ink cartridge for the printer as the old one had stopped working, as they always do, right in the middle of an important print job.  Entering the vestibule from the sidewalk, I could see two men monitoring my arrival.  One was tall, probably in his early fifties with styled graying hair, and his starched collar and clipboard quickly said ‘manager’ or ‘regional supervisor.’ The other man was young, average height, in short sleeves with various Office Depot badges and ribbons adorning his shirt. The men stopped talking as I walked through the sliding door and as if let off his line by the supervisor, the young man came bounding up to me like a dog set free in the park.

“What’s brought YOU to Office Depot?” he asked with fervor in his big eyes. His name tag said ALAN.  My first reaction was to take a step back so I didn’t get muddy paw prints on my pants.

When I said I was there for ink he asked in rapid succession,

“What kind? What color? Do you know where it is? I can help you.”

As I was all ready moving towards the ink cartridge aisle, he leapt in front of me and led the way the remaining few steps. Now faced with thousands of choices, his eyes glazed over and he looked at me expectantly.

“It’s HP 74 I’m looking for,” I said, zeroing in on the area I needed.

He stepped in front of me, scanning the shelves and began to babble.

“Let’s seeeeeee…….HP 74…….Do…dododododo….HP 74…….dododododo…” 

I leaned forward to select the voucher needed to take to the register but his hand shot out and grabbed one ahead of me.

“Here you go,” he said triumphantly with a nod of his head. “Just take that up front and someone will get that for you and you can be on your way unless there’s anything else I can help you find.  Paper?  Envelopes?  Stamps?”

I said no, thanks for the help, and started towards the empty cash registers.  Alan had a slightly panicked expression on his face.  The tall man was looking around with a grim expression on his face. As a cashier appeared from behind them, both men intercepted her so that by the time she got to the cash register she all ready knew what I wanted, though she congenially double-checked as she pulled the cartridge off the shelf and rang me up. The two men walked past me out the doors. Finishing the transaction, I popped the cartridge box in my purse and left the store.

Outside, the two men were leaning on the brick wall in the shade.  The tall man, who was staring out across the lot, seemed to not hear Alan who was waffling on about sales figures and computer programs. Once safely in the car, I started laughing.  What had just happened in there? It was like something out of a sitcom. What was worse, it was like something out of a human resources role playing exercise on customer service. What was designed to make me feel attended to and valued left me feeling that I, too, was being watched by a man with clipboard and that my free will within the confines of the store was something to be challenged and subjugated.

(Take a minute to watch this clip from the very funny British series, Black Books.  It started running through my head as soon as Alan descended on me!http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fyowdq4bVxQ  )

The more I thought about Alan, I came to realize I stopped being him when I decided to pick up a paint brush and create.  Once you consciously separate yourself from procedures and trends that regard you as a cog in the machine rather than as an ambassador of the message, then it becomes increasingly difficult to spin the spiel and dance the dance.  The need to create something of your own and add your voice to the universal good becomes your trend, your procedure, your message.  The desire grows to connect with yourself and others through colors, sounds, words and works, not because a man with a clipboard full of statistics says so but because it feels intuitively the right way to move forward.  Despite the natural way of it, it’s not easy to be in today’s world as an artist and yet here I am, sensing that it might just be more beneficial to create something beautiful than to sell the most boxes of ink cartridges.

Roseate Beach Peeps, Easter 2012

Anna Maria on Dwellable

A Handbag’s Tale

As any woman (or fashionable man) will tell you, it’s a sad day when your favorite purse wears out.  Chances are you and your purse have been through a lot together and when the day comes that a strap rips off, or a vital zipper breaks, or a mysterious odor arises, then a number of difficult decisions have to be made.

I’ve been lucky.  My old messenger bag, bought off the sale rack at TJ Maxx at the Arboretum in Austin, hasn’t had a major malfunction.  It’s just that her pseudo-leather skin is seriously thinning and stretching in places, not unlike my own. It’s only a matter of time before there are ruptures and tears and quite frankly, I can’t put her through that.  We’ve had many an adventure together. Trips to England to see Jamie.  Beach days in Maine, Texas, Florida and Yorkshire.  She was there when I got married and when I buried my dad.  She’s held notebooks and drawings. Cameras and croissants.  She deserves a quiet and happy retirement.  Donating her to Goodwill is out of the question. I’ll keep her full of scarves and sweet-smelling soaps and we’ll continue to grow old together.

But her rapid decline put me up against the herculean task of finding another to take up the cause.  It’s been quite a learning experience.

I’ll admit that I have never really put much thought into buying purses.  Usually I see something on sale and find a way to make it do.  This time, however, I knew I needed to go into this with clear objectives.

1.     Must be leather and sturdy.

2.     Must be able to hold 35mm camera, eye glass case, sketchbook, sub-purses of varying content and if possible, a rotisserie chicken.

3.     Must have a strap long enough to wear the bag cross-body style.

4.     Must be within my less than modest price range.

Those didn’t seem like big demands.  Handbags are everywhere, how hard could this be?  Pretty hard. 

 As we were out and about, I would do quick searches of the purses nearby.  Here on the Gulf Coast it’s a strange mixture of massive, ugly, short-handled bags in the shops.  It’s pretty clear that a girl on the go in Sarasota is looking for fashion accessories shaped like purses, not shoulder companions.  I quickly became disenchanted with retail offerings.  The prices were outrageous and the styles were so dictated by the flavor of the day that everything was looking the same.  Visits to charity shops were little comfort, full of designer knock-offs and the sad remains of Walmart and Target purses.  Where were all the affordable, utilitarian and non-abusive handbags hiding?  And then it occurred to me:  they might be on eBay.

I had never been to eBay and in some ways I wish I’d never gone.  Like Craigslist and Uncle Henry’s, it sucks you in.  The more you look, the more you find. One minute it’s 7 o’clock on a Friday morning and the next thing you know it’s 2pm and you’ve not had breakfast, bathed nor even brushed your teeth.  Everything you can possibly imagine, and few things you don’t want to, can be found on eBay. The only thing I remembered about the website was a story that at some point eBay stopped allowing people to sell dirty underwear.  I know…gross in so many ways.

Right now, at 11:41am on this 29^th of March, if you type ‘Handbags’ into the search bar on eBay, you will get 638,407 results, which is down 100 results from when I did the search just five minutes earlier and is now up to 638,414 in the past couple of seconds.  Things here are constantly on the move. After the initial giddiness subsided, I dove into my bag search with great determination.  The perfect bag was out there and I was going to find it.

That was weeks and a couple hundred thousand bags ago.

It quickly became clear that if I was going to have a life outside of eBay and keep my marriage intact, I needed to be ruthless with my searches.  I used the price, color, material and brand filters. But eBay is clever--use one brand criteria and ten more show up for you to check as well. Is the style a tote or a shoulder bag? What is the desired strap drop? Is the bag NWOT (new without tags) or perhaps in EUC (excellent used condition)? eBay is truly its own universe with its own language but it is quite fabulously human and once I stopped being concerned with finding the perfect bag, the real fun began.

People trying to sell things, especially things they no longer want, are the most upbeat and positive life forms on the planet.  What’s more, they have great faith that you are going to want their stuff  even if they don’t put a photo or a description, or in spite of the fact that they have.  To keep my sanity, I ultimately limited my searches to Coach and Cole Haan bags as I knew the quality of even their older bags would be good, plus there were enough women my age getting rid of out-of-style bags that I was finding things that would actually work for camera bags and travel.  I have to say that the sellers of Coach bags have really won me over, bless their neurotic, fashion-savvy, altruistic minds.  Here’s a sampling of some of the ads.

The coach purse you are bidding on is pre-owned and is in very good condition except torward the bottom of the purse as you can see in the picture it had laid on something wet and made it a different color on the bottom and if you washed it , it might come out  & the one hook on the strap does not work the spring broke so i put tape on it as you can see in the picture other than that its in good condition and there is nothing wrong with the inside of the purse the strap is adjustable or you can remove it. it has a zippered pocket in the front and a pocket inside. i have only had it for 2 months and still needed my bigger bag so iam giving someone else a chance to have a coach bag at a lower price.

Nice authentic coach purse pre owned. 13" wide 11" tall 3" deep with a 6" strap drop. The fact it is swade it has certain stains and blemishes but it does come with a genuine swade brush. Please see all photos because I am selling as is. 

You are bidding on a used in good condition Coach Purse.

 Slightly Used Authentic Coach Black Leather Handbag!!!

 Used only about 7-8 times, I bought it at a authentic Coach store in Columbia Mall, Maryland

 Dimensions - Length 13" x Width 3" x Height 7"

 ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL LEATHER

 For daily use, special occasions, friendly meetings, etc!

 Sadly, I do not have any space in my closet anymore so I must get rid of this beautiful bag I am truly sorry to let it go and wish the winner a happy use with this bag!

 MSRP: $299.99

Coach Pop Seq Wrslt, SV/OPAL, new with tag but price cut off, I will give a free lipgloss I will pick color and brand. Smoke Free Home. Shipping 5.95 Cont USA others ask
















Selling a pre-owned brown Coach hobo style handbag, with inside zip pocket, fabric lining.
Condition is fair, with some normal wear and tear to the outside of the bag, inside lining is well used, and there are some pen markings that are not that noticeable except up close.  The strap is broken as shown in the picture, but can easily be repaired at a leather shop or sending in to Coach for repair.

There are thousands of ads like these and the gusto, or lack thereof, with which they present their product has been the source of hours of entertainment.  Truly, if you have a bout of insomnia, log in to eBay.  It’s better than the tele.

In the end, I ended up with two bags: one for the camera and wallet, the other for days when the kitchen sink needs to come with us. An inter-changeable strap, also found on eBay lets both bags fill their complete destiny in the Pearson universe so I’m happy as Larry.

In fact, it was the quest for the strap that led me to the happiest discovery of this whole handbag adventure.  At PurseBlog.com I came across a discussion thread among Coach handbag owners that had me in tears.  At first, they were tears of mocking laughter.  Who on earth refers to their purses by their model names? Why does someone’s world simply not work if the metal on the strap doesn’t match the metal on bag?  But the more I read, the more I had to smile.  We are passionate beings, we humans, and while a closet full of Coach handbags might not be as important as curing cancer or feeding the hungry, it’s still about being  devoted to something that matters to us.  If we’re capable of having an abiding love for a handbag, then we are, as a race, capable of the most extraordinary things.  In the long run, that's got to be a good thing.  And even when we have peace on earth, we’ll still need a place to keep our keys.

(All photos from Google images.  And yes, I did end up with a Cole Haan bag, a dream come true for a Freeport girl who always felt terribly under-dressed when she followed Holly into the store on Main Street.)

Signs of the Times

I love a good sign, it's true.  Whether it's pathetic or clever, I simply can't resist a good, long look at something designed to catch my eye and Florida has offered up its fair share of beauts.  It's rare that the car doesn't turn around for a photo but when that's the case, well, I do mourn the loss for the next few miles. Sadly, we were quite lost when we drove past "Curl Up and Dye" so it would take a bit of investigating to track it down again.  It's a beauty parlor as you might have guessed.  Then there was the Salvation Army Donation drop box that had the additional words "Rescque Me" stencilled on the front.  And it's a sure bet we won't ever be in Lakeland again on purpose to snap a picture of "Shake-N-Go Beauty", a beauty supply store.  Oddly, it's right across the street from "Steak and Shake" which is a fast food chain. That particular restaurant should be called Steak, Shake and Regurgitate. We only stopped for a bathroom break but bought a shake and a small fry because it seemed rude to just use the loo. Everything there was scary, but I digress.

So here's a sampling of favorite signs from the past 10 months.  Some are self-explanatory.  Some are very clever.  And some, well, we'll let you decide.

Farm Stand outside Wauchula



Really hope the illness  wasn't the cause for the missing "s"




Sodding typical cowpen sod. 




Pastor Rick seemed to think Sunday might be iffy




Pastor Mike always has a great sign at Bethany Baptist



You kids knock it off down there....



Do you suppose there's a website for pastor inspiration?




You have to look close but someone has added two 'nots' to the tailgate comment to soften the emotional blow for the owner. 




A cold day in hell (aka Sebring at the time)



A sure sign you are in the south



 
In fairness, I haven't stopped in at The House of Style to find out if this is meant to be a joke or a catchy ad campaign, though there is a message scrawled on the neck that if you steal the model, numerous things will be inserted up your backside.  My favorite comment on this picture was from a friend of Jamie's in Yorkshire:  Even the head looks sad!



I'd always had my suspicions.




It is, of all things, a freight company that hauls citrus.




Slightly frightening




And here's me spending money on  moisturizer when apparently all I need is a smoke!




Absolutely no idea....



Amish Surprise

When Jamie and I had decided to look in the Bradenton/Sarasota area for housing and work, we spent a day driving through neighborhoods to get a feel for what the area was like.  At one point in the journey we passed what seemed to be an Amish-themed shopping area but it was pushed to the backs of our minds as we traversed the city boundaries. That was back in July.

A few weeks ago, with the happy discovery of O’Brien Family Farms ten miles east of home, we bought butter and kettle corn that came from Troyer’s, a business in an Amish community in Ohio according to the label.  Then one evening Jamie and I had an Amish collision.  I had seen an ad on Craigslist for a baker’s assistant at Yoder’s Fresh Market and Jamie had a recommendation from locals for Troyer’s Restaurant, both of which are Amish-run operations in the little settlement of Pinecraft, an Amish village in Sarasota on Bahia Vista. It was the very area we had discovered eight months ago. We never need an excuse for an adventure but it just so happened our two-year wedding anniversary was that Saturday. Prepared to celebrate, we hit the highway south .

According to an article in The Amish Country News and The History of Pinecraft 1925-1960: A Historical Album of the Amish and Mennonites in Pinecraft, Florida, by Noah Gingerich,  what is now Pinecraft began as a the Sarasota National Tourist Camp in the 1920’s. Amish and Mennonite visitors came to camp in tents not only as a respite from northern winters in Ohio, Pennsylvania and Indiana, but also to farm during their southern stay.  One particular crop farmed was celery, which is a vegetable that has a place of honor in Amish wedding feasts.  Celery makes its way to the table in a traditional stuffing with chicken, as creamed celery and as a table decoration in vases.

Over time, the camp area was developed into small homes and today remains a close community of little lots.  Some members of the community live in Florida year-round, owning their homes as well as additional rental properties.  A large portion of the Amish and Mennonites arrive from the north via chartered buses.  Homes in the settlement are a very sought after commodity with the price per square foot higher than in other neighborhoods of Sarasota.

To be honest, the whole thing has blown my mind a bit.

As we waited at a stoplight a few blocks from the Bahia Vista and Beneva intersection that is the stepping off point for Pinecraft, I could not believe my eyes as three ladies in white kapps and traditional blue and purple dresses, zoomed over the crosswalk on their large three-wheeled bikes at breakneck speed.  The baskets on the rear of the bikes were full of grocery bags from SweetBay, a chain supermarket in the mall further up the street.  One gal had a large fashionable handbag on her shoulder and was pedaling in flip-flops.

It turns out that bicycles are the primary mode of transport for the citizens of Pinecraft and as it is primarily an older population, the tricycles abound. No room for horses and carriages here.  We were dumbstruck and kept trying not to stare as we searched for our destination, Yoder’s Restaurant.  When we found it, there was no parking nearby and the line of customers was snaking through the carpark.  Yoder’s also offers a green grocers, a gift shop and a bakery/deli in separate buildings.  We were determined to have a nose about even if lunch was now postponed so I pulled down a side street in search of a place to leave the car.  That in itself was a visit to the twilight zone.  The small streets were clogged with tricycles and people visiting their neighbors. Men in hats with long beards, long pants and suspenders stood in groups chatting.  Women in dresses, aprons and kapps sat in lawn chairs and on steps.  There were good natured waves and smiles as we slowly navigated our way through the melee but the Taurus seemed immense.  It was like driving through someone’s living room and we couldn’t get over the feeling we were trespassing and invading many privacies. 

We parked at strip mall several blocks away and entered the daily lives of the Amish of Pinecraft.  They were everywhere.  Outside the health food store, an older lady in a  cornflower blue dress was looking at a model of a human spine being shown to her by an instructor from Palmer College of Chiropractic Medicine who was offering free spine checks. A couple in their early 70s waited at the crosswalk with us.  Jamie spied the telltale label of a bottle of Pepsi in the plastic bag the gent was carrying.  On the sidewalk and in the bike lanes, women on tricycles navigated the cars and pedestrians.  I say navigated but it was more that they dictated the flow of traffic.  You don’t mess with a lady in a white kapp on a trike!  There was good business at Big Olaf’s Creamery for ice cream and a steady stream of traffic to the small post office.

In the market we found jams, jellies and all manner of canned goods, including the fabulous Jake and Amos Pickled Brussel Sprouts that Dave’s  Aunt Jean always brought back on her trips to Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. There were breads and pies, coffee and ice cream and a deli full of meats, cheeses and salads.  Everything looked and tasted fabulous.  The green grocer area was much the same.  Beautiful produce and great prices. We lined up with teenagers in their short and baggy shorts, ladies from Siesta Key dripping with gold and money, retired farmers from Iowa and Amish and Mennonite folk out doing their daily shop.



Peanut Butter Pie



Given the continued length of the line to get into Yoder’s we decided to head for home with our booty, content in the knowledge we would come back during the week at an off hour for a meal of their famous fried chicken and a piece of peanut butter pie in celebration of my upcoming birthday. Doing anything on the Gulf Coast in winter is an exercise in patience.  Doing it on a Saturday prepares you for sainthood…or anger management classes.  It never occurred to us that everyone else in Sarasota would be going to Yoder’s for pie.

As we drove the highway back to our little gaff we reflected on the experience of Pinecraft.  Despite having the camera, we took only one photo and that was from afar of the gal on the trike. Why had we been so quiet and extra courteous moving among the shoppers and villagers?  Why had it felt so wrong to be driving a car through the tiny streets of the village?  Why had we found ourselves staring at people and then feeling guilty about staring?  Why did it seem somehow naughty to find Pepsi and flip flops there?  Why didn’t it seem polite to take pictures?  All it took was a conformity of dress, appearance and belief among other people to make us acutely aware of our own actions.  That’s really kind of strange and powerful when you think about it.  

I stumbled upon this Pinecraft Blog while looking for photos to include.  Have a peek.  It's quite interesting!

        

(All photos from Google Images except for the last three and the earlier photo of the lady in blue on the tricycle crossing traffic.)

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