Artwork of Warning

I remember vividly snagging Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 from the school library.
That night I pulled out the my Christmas stocking flashlight to illuminate the cave under my quilt, confident that if my Dad came to check on me that my light could be extinguished before he discovered I was reading past my bed time. My eyes reddened with sleep as the horror of the book numbed my raw nerves; burning fires consumed libraries in my dreams that jolted me awake from between the pages. It was a powerful, and I hated it. Terrible, terrible book. The reading was a vital lesson in my experience of literature, for it was my first experience with reading and then feeling the power of an artwork of warning. It affected me like the Shakespeare’s character of Aaron in Titus Andronicus when he places corpses on their friend’s doorsteps, carving in their flesh to never forget. Perhaps this is overly dramatic, but it led me to a similar question what vile hole of the imagination this book came from? It has been many years since I read the book but I now care for it deeply, because it respects the life imbued in literature by warning of the dullness and chaos that fester when people lose touch with the voices of meaning. Literature is valuable for myriad reasons, and books that are artworks of warning are vital to our humanity because they make us feel the importance of our virtues, values, and very souls.

Recently I learned that the word nigger has been taken out of a version Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Fin. Not only does this desecrate the author’s workmanship and deny the historical dialect, it says disturbing things about our society. Nigger is a powerful word that causes a reaction. If we censor books or ban books, then we are well on our way to burning libraries as well. Attempting to burn words we despise makes our aversions into ghosts that will not leave our dreams. I would rather read powerful words that give me something to reflect on, confront face to face, and improve. Why are we so afraid of hearing our fears voiced aloud? Artworks of warning are powerful because they awaken our feelings, inspiring action to preserve or create something good. Fear leads us to beauty and to love.


“I grew up fostered alike by beauty and by fear.” – William Wordsworth

Dirt Sticks with You

Spring and Spring Break twirled my steps with the breeze, leaping into the first day of break to feel the air and sun before plopping down into rich dirt for a day enjoyed gardening. Norb had invited me to join him at his house for prized hours of working in the dirt and discussing mysteries of life and living. His garden is a beautiful place in which to be. Rather wild. Flowers and vegetables and trees are in full bloom, the roots of several nestling colorful stones collected from creek beds and various states. Garden tools peep from the sheds like old friends. One of my favorite parts about gardening with Norb is his wonder of the soil. After aerating the soil with a shovel to prep the bed, he paused and gazed fondly at the dirt for a bit, saying, “Isn’t just beautiful.” Indeed, the earth was loamy and delicious as coffee grounds. An egg shell peeped from the dirt every now then- a testament to good compost.

“Norb, how long have you been nurturing this soil?”

“For ten years now. When I moved from my earth house I had piles and piles of dirt. And when we moved, I told them that I was taking it with me.”

The earth was so precious to him that he could not leave it behind. In my Environmental Anthropology class that soil is alive. There are thousands of living organisms in just a handful of soil! Once you begin gardening, how can it not be treated with reverence and awe?

Later in the day, I drove to Little Rock and joined Wayne for another gardening session at Little Rock urban farms. We worked on inoculating shiitake mushrooms logs, drilling holes and hammering in fungi spawn that would, in time, produce piles of delectable gourmet mushrooms. Seeing how happy Wayne was learning and working at the farm confirmed for me that even though things has been a dulling, anxious busy lately, we will have calmer days and are learning to balance the more tempestuous ones.

However, the joys of gardening still held surprises for the day. Melissa, my stepmom, called to tell me about Nana’s new kittens. Eventually, we began talking about spring planting in the first Pitts’ family garden. She said that Anna had fallen in love with the garden, and while Dad was whisked away on his business trip, she tended the garden without being asked, frequently sneaking away to water the budding seedlings. Love of the soil is relatively new to me, but it is becoming a growing part of my life and the experience of those I love. It is a present retreat that offers a time of peace and reflection, but it is also a learning experience that is filled with the hope of a meaningful lifestyle that enlivens my life with meaning. Still more wonderful, it is twining it roots into my home, becoming a shared experience with my family and partner Wayne.

I still have much to work on and work through, but as Dr. Anderson says, “This too shall pass.”

Thankfully, I will carry my dirt with me.

Knitting, Giving, and Conway Cradle Care

One of my proudest achievements in the past year was a class project that helped raise awareness about teen pregnancies in my community. The organization that we selected was the Conway Cradle Care, which is a non-profit group that provides day care and parenting classes for teenage parents as well as encouraging them to enjoy community service. Many of these young girls and boys, with the help of Conway Cradle Care and others in the community, are pulling together their resources to create a meaningful future, one that is not only for themselves, but also for their child. The teenagers who participate in the Conway Cradle Care project are becoming parents amidst the bog of identity insecurities attributed to the adolescent experience. My involvement with Conway Cradle Care focused on the community and the teenage parents. A few friends and I organized an event in the courtyard of my university to raise awareness about teen pregnancy. To do this we made a large chain of our hand-knitted items, and pinned a little fact to each. We passed out pamphlets about the organization, and told how volunteering helped these students and their children continue their education. We showed how the success of the parents and the infants was good for the community. My favorite part of the project was more personal. My friends and I knitted hats for the mothers, children, and volunteers at the Conway Cradle Care so that they would have a special gift at their Christmas party. Many of the parents were struggling financially, so I hoped that a warm hat would fill a practical need while also giving them a unique thing that they would be proud to wear.
While reflecting Conway Cradle Care project, I am learning that, as a maker, I have to ultimately trust the recipients. Giving is a release. This is a positive action that helps me grow as a maker and adds to another person’s experience. However, this act of giving becomes a problem if the release is only done on a physical level, and I existentially cling to my work. My knitting is a gift, and I have to remember that the recipient is capable of using it in a way that best suits their needs. There is a difference between giving and then thoughtfully considering the act of giving, and giving with a naïve expectations. Giving knitted items should be a complete act of mind and body and thoughtfully considered. The imparting of a gift is freeing, because then both my hands and imagination have grown with a new skill of giving that can be applied to a new project.
I learned how to be a better giver when I looked at the pictures from the Conway Cradle Care project and saw my as-yet favorite hat on beautiful, little girl. The hat was upside down. The angle of the hat made it look lumpy and awkward, and not in the least like the fanciful, autumnal cap I had my sister model for me over Thanksgiving. The sweet child’s face was not happy, and I began to have doubts about my creation. I felt that it should have been pink or have a more traditional round shape, and maybe then it would be a better match. The picture did not match the expectations that I had for the experience of giving. Then I caught myself, and realized that it was only image. And this image came to represent the disappointment of unrealized expectations. These are emotions that do not promote a spirit of giving. Remaining existentially tied to a creation is not only arrogant, but in the end, taints the beauty of giving. The expectations of giving should not form strings that are tied to the maker’s ideals, but rather, they should lift the recipient’s own motivations and creative power. My knits should be given in excitement about another’s experience. That is why the gift was given in the first place, to uplift the spirit of another. One of my friends chuckled when he saw the picture, saying, “Don’t worry. They will figure it out.” I hope that they will find learning and joy because of my gift, even if it is in a small way.
A positive attitude of giving is productive and necessary. Giving hand knitted items is like motherhood. My knits are soft, colorful, and designed to both please aesthetically, nurture with a spirit of care, and fill a practical need. However, I must realize that my knits are born into a life of their own after they pass from my hands. Coupled with a concern for others must be flexible expectations, so that the experience of giving can be thoughtful and produce future inspiration rather than judgmental stagnation. This can be painful when the gift, the product of many hours of labor, is not used in the way that I expected. One of the giving skills that I learned from the two projects and will carry on to future service is that you have to balance time with making the gift carry something that makes it special. For example, I did a simple, beautiful pattern for one of the infant hats, but made it special by using a fiber of exquisite texture, the heathery softness of bamboo yarn. My last hat for the Conway Cradle Care Project had tassels that would dance with the light footed meanderings of a child. These details, while unimportant to others, helped me to find meaning, especially for projects where the recipient is unknown. However, the picture of the little girl showed me that I will need to do some charity giving where I can create a knit that is tailored to the recipient’s preferences. I also enjoy giving notes with my gifts, because writing accomplishes the following two things: 1.Notes personally communicate care and goodwill. 2. Writing allows me to find closure with the project and process my reflections internally.
In light of the Conway Cradle Care Project, I will be more sensitive to the positive and negative aspect of the giving experience. I was shocked to realize that giving well takes great courage; the investment is personal and emotional. Helping people have better lives is one the most amazing parts about living, because it is an experience that involves construction, creativity, learning, and caring. I want my gifts to help others experience those emotions. The success of giving to others should be thoughtfully examined and learned from, so that future giving will bloom into new and better paths. But first, I have to release the gift, move on, and let it take its part in the lives of others. I loved knitting for others so much that I have based a New Years resolution on the experience. My goal for 2011 is to knit several hats and scarves for charity, and to continue helping others through knitting, writing and volunteering..

Families Grow in Strange Ways

When I talked to my brother and sister on the phone today, I was struck at how mature they are becoming, and how this is evident in the way our conversations are rapidly developing into thoughtful discourse. Between catching up on the day-to-day and sharing stories or jokes, we are able to discuss the nuances of our shared background and interest as well as learn from the other’s special interests. Today Josh explained to me some of the basic machinations of gaming, doing so on both an intellectual, social, and personal level. He laid out a rational explanation for how the games work, and then described how they related to one’s health and could be used by different age groups. He revealed his sensitivity to the well-being of others when he excitedly explained how the new system was designed to be easy on the eyes of the elderly. Many people denounce gaming as a dangerous waste of time, but my conversation with Josh helped me to see how it too can be part of a balanced life-style. He said that his favorite place to game was in the car, but that he had not played his game for several days because he was captivated by The Hobbit. My younger brother possesses a remarkable capability for balance that I admire deeply. Appropriate balance and moderation are something that I am continuously experimenting with in my own life, especially learning the difference between making wise choices "most of the time" and setting unrealistic expectations. I like talking to Josh, because we are alike in that we both have a wide variety of interests. The pursuits of Josh include robotics and technology, and I sense that gaming has become a source of inspiration as well as entertainment for my brother. Hopefully, I will be able to learn more about the positive aspects of gaming from him in the coming year, and see how he applies his skills in his robotics research and science projects.

The highlight of my day was when Josh told me that he was learning to knit. Over the holidays, a family of clicking of needles made our home cheery as I sat down with Anna and Melissa for a garter-stitch tutorial. Discovering that the lesson had continued after I had returned to Conway makes me even more pleased with the creative and emotional benefits of knitting. Melissa has become skilled at casting on and casting off, and has used her knowledge to craft high-quality, efficient dish cloths. Anna is using her new skills to make a scarf for her American Girl. And now, Josh has picked up the skill. This connects him with his guy friend who is currently knitting a scarf. Josh looks forward to eventually knitting a pirate beard. This makes my recent tinkering with cables and picot edgings even more enjoyable. I do not know if knitting will be a passion that they will find rewarding in the long run, but I am glad that they can take pride in the work that they accomplished and that we enjoyed the experience of learning a new skill together.

Keeper of the Snuff

Christmas Eve 2010 is the day that I became Keeper of the Snuff. A strange title, but for me it holds the nostalgia of memory and the responsibility of kinship. The snuff tradition is held every Christmas Eve at the annual home of that wonderful nights festivities, the warm, rustic cabin of my Uncle Ricky and Aunt Glennae. However, the tradition of the snuff goes back to the days before they hosted the celebration to when Meemaw Russell was alive and the family gatherings were full of joy in her warm and chaotic home. I spent many days in my childhood at Meemaw’s home, which in truth was the cornerstone of our family. Meemaw was notorious for never letting anyone leave her home hungry. She tended a large garden in her back yard, and I can still taste her boiled new potatoes. At the dinner table she would serve her chicken n’ dumplins made from scratch and then plop another spoonful or two or three into your bowl. I spent many adventurous days with my cousins Julie and April at her home. We would taunt each other through games of sorry, look for snakes in Meemaw’s well kempt garden, playi riotous games of freeze tag, or admire her crocheted octopus in the guest bedroom. I remember spending as much time arguing about whether hide and seek or sardines was better as we did scurrying for hidden cover in the back yard. When I was alone, I would occasionally have the honor of having a sleepover with Meemaw, which was unpleasant for her as I was a restless sleeper and kicked by bedmate. I remember vividly her telling me that she thought she had slept with a “booger monster”!!! When Meemaw died, it was very hard on the family. The snuff tradition is performed every Christmas Eve in honor of Meemaw. All of the females in the family over the age of eighteen slip their names into a hat, and the name that is drawn must keep the snuff in honor of Meemaw. I did not know about Meemaw’s affinity for snuff until the first Christmas Eve that we celebrated without her. Self-conscious, she kept the habit hidden, especially from the grandchildren. Now, I look forward to the tradition every year, and taking the time to remember my great-grandma, tell funny stories, and treasure my family.

As keeper of the snuff, I want to honor her this year by working on certain aspects of my life to honor Meemaw. One of the ways that I want to do this is to become a better gardener and help my Dad and the kids with their new garden. There will be new potatoes. Meemaw used to quilt and sewed her loved ones pillows and thick blankets. I too hope to show my family that I love them with home-made gifts.

For all of those in my family reading this post, please take a moment to think about the days at Meemaw’s house, and maybe share a comment about what Meemaw or our family means to you. How has Meemaw influenced practices in your own life? I love you all!

burn and yet I freeze

I find no peace, and have no arms for war,
and fear and hope, and burn and yet I freeze,
and fly to heaven, lying on earth's floor,
and nothing hold, and all the world I seize.

A cold chill burned my nose as I poked my head out of my down sleeping bag. I shimmy into my boots so that I can join Wayne at the fire for coffee and eggs. Wayne and I had returned to one of our favorite camping spots on OHT, a lovely stone fire ring that is nestled in a valley cove. A gentle murmuring rose from the stream that twisted in the bank below; the water was running high amidst huge moss covered boulder. The area, rich with Arkansas sandstone boulders, was the locus of our most recent adventure. We had passed through the area on a recent backpacking trip, and Wayne was fascinated by the wealth of stone, and ever since we left the trail, had his heart set on developing the area for climbing. It was exciting to see Wayne have the opportunity to pursue his passion. His gumption led him to run through the woods from rock to rock, taking pictures and feeling the stone.He always returned with a sparkle in his eye as he described the climbs that he was planning to set. The frigid air and the rocks had a nasty bite to them so I took advantage of the campfire or went on my own hikes. When I unscrewed my thermos, I found that the remnants of last night’s chai were frozen to the bottom. The tea bag stuck out like a sinking ship; it's comical little flag dangling when I tried to shake out the ice. To free my mug for a cup of joe, I held my mug over the fire to melt out the tea drop by drop. Shhzzchhhss While I waited, I amused myself by watching my breath crystallize into a haze that intermingled and then disappeared into the smoke of the campfire. After breakfast we hiked into the boulder field, and Wayne worked on some more problems. I was a warm in my down jacket and coccoon of underarmor, except for my toes which burned with the cold. With each step I could feel my heat energy flowing from my feet into the frozen earth. I made a mental note on Wayne's suggestion of knitting a pair of hardy wool socks. The boulders werebeautiful, moss covered giants, and under a climber's eye, their cracks and lines whet a desire for discovery. For me, this would be during a warmer weekend. I had long ago decided not to attempt climbing when the weather was below freezing. When your hands crimp on cold stone it feels like they are being welded to the rock by blue fire, and you are too frozen to pull the next move. Leaving climbing to a sunnier day, I tended the fire. I became rather cross when Wayne, dangling from a harness on a boulder above me, knocked a pile of debris into the jet boil - fresh oatmeal, which remained delicious despite its durt-and-twig seasoning. The high position of the sun and our empty food bag let us know that it was time to leave the mountains for another day in the near future. I enjoy hiking alone and continued ahead when Wayne paused to rest. Halfway up the trail I saw powdery flakes trickling through the forest of pine boughs. Snow! The woods transformed

as I hiked through the mountain’s saddle and then up the hill. The leaves became speckled with white and soon the whole ground was covered with snow. I love walking in the woods, and the uphill burn combined with the cool nips of the snow flakes was invigorating.

Unfortunately the snow that made the mountains breathtaking did ugly things to the roads. When we made it back to the car, we found that the roads were covered and we crawled along the dangerous curves and hills of the mountain. Our stomachs tensed in fear, but we blamed it on the post hiking munchies. Our food had run out around noon, and our stomachs had been making sound effects for the stormy skies for a few hours. To keep our minds off the danger, we talked about the kashi cookies, coffee, and bagels that we wanted to devour when we reached Russellville. We had left two bananas in the car for our return, but they had frozen. Delicious, but icy. Wayne’s mouth was numb, leading him to accidentally crunched down on a few bites of the peel. Up ahead we saw head lights. My heart jolted as I saw them start to spin, every muscle tensed as I saw them go off the road, and I was scared that they were out of control. Wayne put on his breaks at a dangerous speed for the slick rode. We slid by and I saw that it was a four wheeler. Hmppphh. I looked back in the rear view mirror and saw yellow lights swirling and twirling in a series of 360s. I wholeheartedly agree with making your own fun in Arkansas, but he chose a dangerous curve at which to do so. Our own journey was not yet free of danger. The highway was slick with ice, and even driving at a slow pace, we fishtailed, slithering between the two lanes. Then when we got off the exit ramp at Conway, we hit a patch of ice and the Aztec whirled in a circle. When we parked the car, I was thankful for our safety. I waltzed in the glittering snow; on these adventures I burn and freeze. I can not control events or always guarantee my safety, yet the fearful encounters help me to appreciate the life that I have.

I see so much of the sublime in the earth. My relief from arriving safely was a buffer when I saw that my plants were buried under the snow. I brought them inside, and hope that I can help them recover. But if not, the days to come will be filled with the peace of planting and the age-old power of growth.

The Archies: 60 Peaks in 2010

One of my professors encouraged her blog readers to participate in the Archies, which is an event that honors valuable components of the past year before you delve into the next one.

60 Peaks in 2010 (excluding family, friends, and Wayne)

1. Home Roasted Coffee, especially the Sumatran and Ethiopian
2. Ella Dance
3. Wordsworth
4. Ginkgo trees
5. 24 Hours of Horse Shoe Hell – completed!!!
6. Jake’s Homemade Audio book of From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil Frankweiler
7. Road trip to three National Parks
8. Making handmade buttons for my knits
9. Josh saying that Solomon was Sparkle’s (the cat) "arch enemy"
10. The Ozarks
11. Porch Garden
12. Conway Cradle Care
13. Beekeeping
14. TAG acceptance letter
15. Anna and Melissa knitting
16. Backpacking and climbing trips
17. movie- Captain Abu Raed
18. Banned Books Week readings
19. Knitted beards
20. Dr. Anderson agreeing to be my thesis advisor
21. Wood burner
22. Petij Jean Americorps (friends, gardening, research, and free - herbs, fruit, vegetables)
23. Dried Turkish Figs
24. Little Rock Climbing Center
25. The Natural Tale
26. Playing Settlers of Catan with my family or Matt and Andrew
27. Edward Abbey
28. Seeing Sara Bayle’s garden every time that I drive down Bruce Street
29. Sharing the rescued kittens with Cathrine, even though they didn’t make it
30. Moss
31. “Song to Celia” – Ben Johnson
32. Ravelry
33. Searching the forest for wild mushrooms and then devouring them- especially oyster, hen of the woods, and chicken mushrooms
34. Exploring Bone Cave with Jake
35. Valencia heirloom tomato
36. The brilliant red tree outside of Irby during Autumn
37. Seeing a moon ring
38. Classical Radio station 90.5
39. Blanket forts with the kids
40. Gardening with Norb
41. Clipping-in on my first lead climbs
42. Elizabeth’s Colorado wild flower honey
43. Aspen leaves in the wind
44. Shakespeare Theater at Boulder, Colorado and at Conway, Arkansas
45. Working with Dad in his workshop
46. Wayne’s bouldering expressions
47. Knitpicks circular nickel plated needles
48. Down Jackets
49. Whole foods
50. Delta Garden Study with Chris Hiryak
51. Tim Ernst Photography
52. The Hobbit audio cd
53. Ponca Lost Valley CAnoe - Amiable folk, Simba the Cat, organic grub and handmade wares
54. Seeing thousands of fireflies after chasing tornadoes
55. Mr. Hartlerode's work ethic/ inventiveness
56. Fisherman's rib
57. Christmas Eve- I became Keeper of the Snuff
58. Jonathan Safran Foer, read this year: Eating Animals, Everything is Illuminated
59. Beef Beef's blog
60. Once upon a time and always and forever- Stories