“So what did you think of blacksmithing?” friends ask.

“I loved it,” I say.  “Though it was one of those classes I could have loved or hated based solely on the teacher’s ability to convince me I could actually do it.  Thankfully, I had an encouraging teacher.”

In my ten weeks here at the Folk School, I haven’t just been studying blacksmithing, or cooking, or writing.  I have also been studying teachers, and myself as a student.

During my years of “traditional” schooling, I learned to do what was asked of me: memorize information, spit it back out.  I was also one of those kids who wanted to please the adults in my life – namely my parents and teachers – and so I did what it took.

My education here is a little different.  First, there’s more freedom for creativity to flourish.  But you can’t memorize creativity.  Needless to say, I’m still working on developing my creativity muscle.

Secondly, though I’ve mostly gotten over my need to please other people, sometimes that fear of not doing “what the teacher wants” rears its head.   Holding the beginnings of what would hopefully become a hook, I asked my blacksmith instructor (Matt Jenkins) what he thought of my work so far.  “Well, do you like it?” he asked.  “Yeah,” I said, wondering what that had to do with anything.  “If you like it, it’s good,” he said.  Wait – I determine what’s good here? At first it was a little alarming.  I don’t know what I’m doing.  How do I know if it’s any good? But then the idea started to grow on me.  After all, I was the one who was going to take this hook home and use it.

Later I told another student what my instructor said.  “That’s what so great about this place,” she said.  “You’re not trying to please a teacher – just yourself.”

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Rebecca Gallo is a host at the John C. Campbell Folk School.  This entry originally posted at http://renaissancerebecca.wordpress.com

Beth and I went to sit down on the porch, overlooking the mountains.  She took one rocking chair, I took another.  “Oh – this is the one I don’t like,” I said as I got up and moved to another chair.   Beth looked at the chair I had vacated and said, “Yeah, I don’t like that one either.”  We conferred for a few minutes about what made one rocking chair better than another.  Then we both paused for a moment, stared at the view, and Beth said, “I love that I’m living at a place where we actually rate rocking chairs.”  I couldn’t have said it better myself.

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Rebecca Gallo is a host at the John C. Campbell Folk School.  This entry originally posted at http://renaissancerebecca.wordpress.com

Somewhere in Denmark right now, our documentary video, Sing Behind the Plow, is being viewed by hundreds of Danes who are being introduced to Brasstown’s version of a folk school. Lissi Oland, a woodturner who lived and taught in Brasstown for many years, and has since returned to her native Denmark, is hosting an exhibit of her large woodturnings, as well as historic photographs of the early days of the Folk School. The photographs were taken in the 1920′s by Folk School’s co-founder, Marguerite Butler Bidstrup, with whom Lissi was very close.

For the exhibit’s opening, Lissi gave a talk about her time at the Folk School and showed the documentary, which gives a great overview of the history of the school, as well as a feel for what it’s like today. Lissi says the response has been overwhelming and everyone is fascinated with our folk school. One couple has even been here to take classes. Many thanks to Lissi for sharing this special place and continuing the connection between Brasstown and Denmark.

“So have you made a lot of things so far?” my new co-host asked me. Having taken eight weeks of classes here at the Folk School, one would assume I have a cabinet filled with the fruits of my labors.

“Actually, no,” I said.  “I’ve purposely chosen classes where I don’t make a lot of stuff.  I may hold the record for the Host who produced the least amount while at the Folk School.”

I explained that I’m kind of a minimalist.  It was the first time I’d used that word to describe myself but I felt like it fit perfectly.

• Scottish Cooking and An Abundance of Appetizers left me with delicious recipes.
• Nature Writing left me with some blog posts and stories – all stored electronically.  And one hand-made book.
• My Building A Garden Shed class was tasked with creating a shed for the Folk School – nothing for me to take home except the knowledge that I’m not cut out to be a builder.
• From my Genealogy class, I gained a destination for my trip to Italy in March: Corigliano.  It is in that class that I learned the name of the town my great-grandmother came from.  I now own a copy of the ship manifest that shows her arrival in the port of New York on the Perugia on June 7, 1913.
• I have an eight-ounce cup full of Glass Beads, most of which I’ll donate to Beads of Courage.
• I made five hooks, two bottle openers, and a fork in my Blacksmithing class – all useful things either for myself or as gifts.

In fact, everything I’ve made can fit into my purse.  Which fits my minimalist lifestyle just fine:)

This morning at the Folk School the blacksmiths pounded steel and the woodcarvers gouged bowls. The cooking class fried stuffed peppers and the rug hookers dyed wool.  Where was I?  Lying on my back staring at the clouds – doing “cloud therapy” as my writing instructor called it.

It was while watching wispy clouds flow towards each other that I thought back to the the last time I did this.  I was a child – and it wasn’t called therapy.  It was just something we did because it was fun.  In fact, there are a lot of things we did as kids that, as adults, now have the word “therapy” after them: music therapy, art therapy, physical therapy – even play therapy!  How interesting that when we’re ill, our healing involves going back to those things that we did as kids.

Here’s the good news: you can get all that therapy in one place.  Right here at the John C. Campbell Folk School.  You can hear music every morning at 7:45, every Tuesday night at the dance, every Friday night at the concert.  You can get some physical activity by doing Morning Walk every morning at 7:15 (with yours truly), or by participating in the aforementioned weekly dance.  You can take classes in all sorts of arts and play for hours in your chosen medium.  Therapy, after all, isn’t just for the sick.

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Rebecca Gallo is a host at the John C. Campbell Folk School.  This entry originally posted at http://renaissancerebecca.wordpress.com

“Oh – look at your pretty toes!” she said. I smiled as I looked down at my Merlot-colored toenails.  They hadn’t been out in public in quite some time.  No, it wasn’t the beginning of summer.  This was last week.  Weather-wise, we are still in open-toed shoe season, but here at the Folk School I’ve taken classes that require me to do something I haven’t done since I was twelve: wear sneakers for a week straight.

I’m not the sneaker-wearing type.  There was a two year period in college when I didn’t even own sneakers.  In general, I’m not a casual dresser either.  Yes, I wear jeans.  But usually with a cute top, earrings, and nice shoes – heeled boots in winter, platform sandals in summer. I don’t have a floor-to-ceiling closet full of shoes like my youngest sister Meg, but I’ve got my fair share.  Unfortunately, most of them haven’t been worn for quite some time.

Why?  Because I’ve chosen classes over the last few weeks that have an unwritten dress code.  In woodturning, there are plenty of sharp objects that can go flying – or falling.  So close-toed shoes are a must.  So are high-collared shirts for women.  No one mentioned this to me, but I was smart enough not to wear my usual V-necks to class.  What I thought was a high neck-line didn’t cut it, though.  Thankfully, the resident woodturner is a woman (Marsha Barnes).  She understood and had a T-shirt on hand that I adopted as my smock for the week.  Prior to that, I had woodchips in places that I don’t care to get into here.

Also no-no’s in woodturning: hair worn down or in a pony tail.  Getting your hair caught in a lathe spinning at 1200 RPM’s – not good.  Getting anything caught in a lathe spinning that fast wouldn’t be good – so jewelry is also out of the question.

After my adventures in woodturning, I took a cooking class.  You would think you could wear whatever you want while cooking, but not in a place that has liability to worry about.  Knives can fall and slice toes, so once again my open-toed shoes were relegated to the back of my closet.

Last week, I was building a garden shed.  Well, trying to learn at least.  You don’t see open-toed shoes on a construction site.

Thankfully, there is at least one night per week that open-toed shoes, earrings, and even dresses are seen on campus.  Every Tuesday night, there is a Contra and Square Dance in the Community Room.  Locals join students for this weekly event that even has live music.  No experience necessary, and no partner is needed.  In fact, this is the only place I’ve been where I’ve actually witnessed a shortage of women at a dance.

So on Tuesday nights, the dresses I used to wear so often in my previous life finally get to see the light of day.  I reach into the depths of my closet, pull out my open-toed shoes, slip my feet in and smile at my painted toe nails.

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Rebecca Gallo is a host at the John C. Campbell Folk School.  This entry originally posted at http://renaissancerebecca.wordpress.com

I had never been to Murray Martin’s house (Hill House) before today. I met Murray many years ago when she used to attend Resident Artist, Billie Shelburn’s painting classes. Murray Martin came to Brasstown in 1935 and was a craft teacher at the Folk School during the time of Folk School founders, Olive Campbell and Marguerite Bidstrup. She certainly gave a lot to the school and the community. To help local folks make a better living, the Brasstown Carvers were mentored by Murray and rose to a place of national recognition for their carvings. She retired in 1973 and lived in Hill House from the 1970’s until her death in 2005.

Murray Martin holding a Brasstown Carving

Hill House is one of the many buildings on campus designed by original Folk School architect and instructor, Leon Deschamps. Danish style architecture with dormers embrace the lovely views. The front facing view has curved stone steps upward to a small deck. The half-heart shaped ironwork stair railing is repeated in quiet simplicity. A full heart pattern repeats on the hinged fireplace screen, whose rock chimney sits centered in what is now an open room. The contractor and a carpenter have almost got the underneath flooring installed. They show me pictures of these same wooden panels for the flooring, being used first to brace the outside stone walls while additional concrete is poured into rebar to reinforce inner walls. Obviously, it is no small effort to restore an old house of this nature. This house will be a place for Folk School students to stay when finished. Students are gonna love living here – I know I would!

Hill House is currently undergoing renovations and will provide 5 private bedrooms for students.

Becky Souris, who recently finished her four months of hosting, shares thoughts on her time at the Folk School.

It’s Saturday and students and instructors are leaving as breakfast comes to a close. I talk with several who come up to say thanks, chat, or give a goodbye hug. It has been a great week with a really congenial group of people, for every group has its own personality. I hope our paths will cross again.

After going to unlock a studio for an instructor who gave up her key too soon, only to remember a belonging which she left behind; someone else calls out to me. Now, I’m off to get my vehicle and “jumper cables” to help someone start a rental car so she won’t miss her flight from Atlanta later in the day. On the way back to Keith House, an instructor hands me his studio keys and I unlock the office and put those away. It is really my weekend off but I’m not going away and the other host is as busy as I with guests’ last minute needs.

I go to put my laundry on to wash and then, off to town for some toiletries. It is 11:00 am. I hurry back as I am going to help with “Empty Bowls.” On arrival, my fellow host and I tote tables and chairs from Keith House to the Dining Hall for the evening’s event. I shift one load of clothes to the dryer and reload the washer before getting ready for the event, which turns out to be a huge success. It is gratifying to see this community raise a very considerable sum to feed the hungry in Clay and Cherokee Counties and I realize how many potters and volunteers have contributed to this annual event. Now to return tables and chairs to Keith House, where we also move the 100 chairs in the Community Room for Sunday’s orientation.

It’s 11:00 pm and my laundry is not finished. Tomorrow will come early and studio rounds start at 1:30 pm, then instructor orientation at 4:30 pm, student orientation at 5:30 pm, followed by dinner where we will sing the blessing and be sure to enlighten guests on more dining hall procedures. Now it is 7:00 pm and our evening studio rounds begin. We gather paper towels and flip charts, markers and myriad other items to deliver to different studios and check for other needs. My fellow host is taking a course this week. As I have chosen not to do so, I drop her off to try to catch up with her class at her studio. I’m thinking that a cup of hot peppermint tea would taste good.

At 9:30 pm, a guest and I walk across the field to Hubbell House. It is a nice night for a walk but he is mortified that he has locked himself out of his room. I, however, am overjoyed, for it is not a toilet overflow. Tree frogs chirp, and the ring of keys, jingles, as I stroll back. The moon is a fat crescent shape and shows me a partly cloudy sky. A late arriving student awaits me in Keith House for directions to his housing and studio. It’s 10:00 pm, I dump the coffee grounds out of the coffee machines and rinse out the containers, then make my daily “sweep” of the downstairs communal areas to turn off lamps, check thermostats, and pick up used cups. I remember that I never had that peppermint tea. Suddenly, I’m weary, so I’m off to bed, because tomorrow will come early again. I’m glad my fellow host is leading Morning Walk at 7:15 am.

It’s Monday and someone asks if I am taking a course this week. “No I’m not taking a course this week,” I answer. “Oh really, you’re not taking a course again,” comes the judgment. “Why?” “How can you miss out on the opportunity?”

I’m puzzled that anyone else would assume the ability to recognize the opportunities which would best serve me or feel that I am unwittingly depriving myself. I’m actually pretty good at taking advantage of opportunities.

So if you see me walking briskly across the field behind Davidson Hall or lying on my back on the sun-warmed planks of the Rainbow Bridge, seeming to be doing nothing, be assured that I know what I am doing. I’m LISTENING….and I’m good at it and good with it. I’m listening as the water flows and burbles in the creek beneath me, as the crows cry out harshly across the field toward Orchard House. I’m still listening as the songbirds twitter nearer by and incidentally I’m also doing some FEELING. I’m feeling grateful to be here living this moment, this now, which will soon enough elude me.

Rainbow Bridge- a perfect place for relaxation and contemplation

Now if you should walk beneath the windows of my temporary quarters in the historic Keith House and hear some rudimentary dulcimer music, know that I am up here APPRECIATING. Yes, I’m appreciating the contentment that I feel at having learned to play some tunes on the dulcimer. That feels like something I will continue to do for my own enjoyment. Know that having just taken a weekend and week long course on playing the dulcimer, that it seems a really good idea to me to reinforce the skills I have learned, instead of beginning a new skill this week, while juggling host duties on a daily basis. It’s okay if you don’t feel that way, but I have my own plan, and by the way, I’m also appreciating my own moment in the history of this old building with it’s warm and mellow wooden walls and floors, this building which is more than a building, now approaching a century of age. I have the contented feeling that friendly spirits do indeed move about these halls, as many claim to have experienced.

If you should see my light on late at night, it could be that I’m painting, sketching, or writing. Taking two watercolor courses enhanced and reinforced my love of painting. Then there have been at least six other courses besides my painting and dulcimer courses. By now, I have pretty well identified what pursuits feed my soul or bring contentment and when you identify those, then you just need to do them.

Perhaps you haven’t lain in a hospital bed, awaiting a verdict which you prayed would offer you hope, when suddenly life is threatened. Perhaps you haven’t faced your own mortality as yet or suffered even greater loss. Those who have will relate to the ways in which your perspective gets altered by stark reality.

I know what renews me and I know it because of years of living and introspection. I know it because of need born of trying circumstances. I know it because of years of working in a field which brought me in continual contact with too much human suffering and misery.

The classes here are only a part of the whole and I’m here for the WHOLE EXPERIENCE, and I am earning it. I’m here to savor interesting people from near and far and share good experiences. If I can make others’ experiences a little more convenient and help things run a little more smoothly, well, know that makes me happy, too. By the way, I’m also here to enjoy interacting with the staff who work here and even to be fed well for four months by some hard working, warm and talented people.

Oh, and the music, the glorious music from old time to bluegrass to English and Irish Folk and more, on a daily basis. It’s a rare experience in this world and a very special thing in this place. So I soak it in and appreciate all who share with the rest of us, just as I daily am awed by the myriad works of art that are produced here.

This host experience offers me escape from city traffic and hostility and a more deliberate and gentle pace. I’m here for the woods, the fields, the streams. I’m here for the Snowbird Mountains and the way it makes me feel when I watch the changing play of light on those mountains at different times of the day. By the Grace of God, I’m here to breathe, and if that is not the same “why” that you are here, that is alright. I’ve no judgment to make on that. Puzzle not for me though, and don’t be threatened by my contentment with little things, as I wish the same for you.

I turned off the lights in my studio and set out for Brasstown, just 12 miles away.  Around the curve and up the hill to Keith House, the signs of buds and new growth are everywhere. I park by the old oak tree outside the fiber arts studio so I can walk down the hill to Tower House, my first stop. I’ll mention here that since it was fairly spring like that day, I had worn a bright pink skirt with lace trim, a hand-dyed pink jacket with rhinestones, and my trusty pink tiger striped hi-tops. Topping this outfit off was pink heart shaped sunglasses. Voila!

Tower House looks like part of a castle that got left in a field, and with the renovations that have been done, it has all the sturdy charm its original designer intended. The first time I ever visited Tower House, Tom Ellis, (then resident enamelist) was living there. It had a rudimentary kitchen on the back wall downstairs.  Before I leave, I go upstairs.  Windows all around, with the dormer insets and closets built under the eves, it still has all the original wood walls, ceiling and trim. Pure romance that is practical in every way for light, ventilation, and storage. One wall has a massive rock fireplace, which provided heat to what used to be a bedroom. The view of fields, ridges and mountains is so lovely from every spot in the room.
Continuing upwards, I glance over to my right and on the further edges of the field, I can see the work-study students in the garden. The work-study program is one of the original Folk School programs. They live on campus for a period, exchanging work for class time. The work-study group is always a fascinating mix of mostly younger ones who are investing themselves in unique experiences, learning a particular craft, or wandering awhile before settling down.

Trees burst with Spring color at Keith House porch

I then arrive at Christie Rogers’ weaving class to visit my quilter friend, Nancy Hinds, who is there to use up extra fabric. The class has the looms almost warped and some students have begun their rugs. Nancy and I look at colors and make some design decisions about the Fall Festival banner which we are in the early stages of creating. She shows me the locker hooking technique for another rug she is making which is similar to needlepoint, (a new interest on my part.)

We then visit Pat Meinecke in the quilting class next door. There we find great pieced stars and trees, which I would like on the banner. Pat explains to me a bit about the piecing and appliqué processes, the precision of which fascinate me. As an impulsive painter, I don’t have the temperament to execute designs with mathematical accuracy.

Continuing along on my walk, I check out the front and newly added side to the Jewelry Studio. Not to muddy my tiger stripes, I decide not to go further around the side for viewing. However, I can see that the addition doubles the size of the building and that is exciting!

With anticipation, I go down the staircase to the bookbinding class in Lower Keith House. Annie Fain Liden is teaching and I am so excited to see her and the various papers and book designs the students are crafting. Annie Fain introduces me as her former Little/Middle Folk School teacher (from when she was 6 years old.)  She really is just as adorable now as she was then! As a teacher, I can tell you that it never gets old to see a former student doing well. I don’t ask her this, yet she volunteers anyway that summers at Little Middle Folk School did inspire her at an early age to keep making things with her hands.
I then get ready for the Tuesday night dance at the Folk School. The Dog Branch Cats are playing. There’s a fiddle with them tonight and something inside me leaps for joy when the fiddle carries the tune! My skirts are twirling and I relish the familiar steps and faces of dear friends. The evening concludes with a circle gathering: holding hands as Bob leads us in a final goodnight song. The stars guide me home and I’m smiling all the way!

The following is a Christmas remembrance relayed by local blogger, Tipper Wilson Pressley. Visit Tipper’s blog, Blind Pig & the Acorn about all things Appalachia.

Christmas in Appalachia 1938

My Great Aunt, Hazel Currie, recently shared a Christmas memory with me-an Appalachian Christmas memory.

The first Christmas I can recall clearly was in 1938. We lived in Cherokee County, NC along the Hiawasse River on the Harshaw Farm, where my Poppa was a sharecropper.

I remember Poppa bringing in a pine tree he’d cut in the woods-he’d even found one with pine cones-already decorated by nature.

My step mother, Carrie, allowed us children to use flour and water to mix up a paste to make chains of paper. In those days, flour was hard to come by- it still pleases me to know she wanted us to enjoy the act of decorating enough to allow us to use her flour. We also drew pictures of trees and stars and cut them out-threading a string through the paper for hanging on the tree.

We heard the John C. Campbell Folk School was having a Christmas party for children. The road to the school went along by the side of the river-it was about 3 miles in distance. I remember my step siblings, Mary Jo, Francis, Frank, Wayne, and I walked to the party. I can still see the beauty in my mind’s eye. The school had decorated a huge Christmas tree and they had a little play about the nativity-with Mary and Joseph and a little crib for baby Jesus. I sat there lost in wonder-trying to take in every detail so I could relive the magic over and over.

After the play, Santa Claus arrived. I’d never seen Santa before and could hardly believe he was there. Santa carried a toe sack instead of a fancy bag-and in the toe sack were dozens of small brown bags full of the prettiest hard candies I have ever seen. Santa handed out the little brown bags chug full of candy tied at the top with a string. To say we were happy doesn’t do justice to the emotion we felt.

On the walk back home, I wanted to talk about the play and go over every detail of the party, but the other kids were so happy they laughed the entire way home not wanting to talk-just wanting to celebrate.

After reaching home, I shared a piece of candy with Poppa and Carrie then I hid the rest-wanting to savor every piece of happiness I’d received from the party. The other kids soon ate their candy-but they never did find my hiding place!