Intentional Observation: Mennonites in flip-flops

“A little bit of dissonance is really required to have something
that will hold our attention for a longer period of time.”

- Pete Pinnell

Two things in the past few months prompted me to ponder the idea of contrast.

First off, I’ve taken note this year of the mennonites (at least that’s what we assume they are) shopping at our local Walmart. I’ve long had a fascination with Amish (and old order Mennonite, thus) cultures, probably in large part because of what seems to be their slower paced, more relationship and community based lifestyles. Another part of my interest almost certainly stems from the culture’s seeming affirmation of working with your hands.

There are two observations I’ve made with respect to contrast in observing the local mennonites. First of all, the men dress in such a way that you can’t pick them out of a crowd: Boots, jeans and t-shirts, but you know they are mennonite because of the lady on their arm donning a modest handmade dress, with a bonnet or cap in her hair.

Secondly, the women’s more conservative dress is often at odds with their footwear. I’ve seen them wearing tennis shoes for years now, but it was only a few months ago I saw some of them wearing flip-flops for the first time. This wonderfully jarring discrepancy scrawled a grin on my face that lasted all the way into the parking lot. The nearly neon flip-flops next to pale blue, floral, handmade dresses worked for me in light of Pinnell’s quote at the top of this post, and apparently work for mennonites too. Brightly colored synthetic footwear is simply at odds with the common (mis)conceptions harbored by those of us not immersed in that culture.

Mennonites in flip flops

I wanted to take a picture with my cameraphone, but abstained from bothering the young ladies. Instead I searched through Flickr and found the fantastic image above, taken by Jizzon, showing a group of mennonite women, some in bright colored flip-flops (click on the image to go to the Flickr page where you can enlarge it). The clothing contrast in Jizzon’s photograph isn’t as stark as it usually is in the Siloam Springs’ Walmart. The girls in his capture are wearing much brighter handmade dresses than I’ve ever seen the group in Northwest Arkansas don.

If you’re craving even more paradox, look at this image of two mennonites in dresses and bonnets on a jet ski.

Secondly, after looking through an album posted by a photographer friend, Aus10, on Facebook I commented as follows:

    Interesting to me how so much portraiture (including wedding photography) in the past five years or so has been about creating contrast — or so it seems to me as an observer. The well-groomed subjects are placed in rough and rustic environments: Against decrepit buildings with peeling paint, along derelict railway tracks covered in weeds etc. Seems to me this is a new trend for the media, and one that I like (unlike this everybody jump up in the air phenomenon). Is my observation correct in your professional opinion? And can you talk about why you think this is the case, if you think my assessment is correct?

The photographer’s reply was more or less to say that the high school seniors, in the case of the album I responded to, see their friends’ photos or advertisements for Urban Outfitters and want the same thing. Regardless of these teen’s, um, less than intellectual desire for this aesthetic, I must reiterate that I think it works and works well.

My own senior picture was from one of those gimmicky old-time photo rooms (which is what I wanted it to be, although mom had me submit a color image from a $10 Sears sitting for the actual yearbook.) However, I would have liked something akin to this popular contrasty style if I would have thought it was worth it for my parents to spend $400 (I’m sure it’s much more nowadays) for proper senior photographs.

Wire drawing of espresso machine

My friend Joel Armstrong recently created the following wire drawing of an espresso machine for the Cafe on Broadway in Siloam Springs, Arkansas.

Joel espresso machine

On leaving Arkansas

The day before we flew to Florida we received an offer on our house. We didn’t expect it to happen this quickly, and I think the realtor was even more floored than we were (We knew we had a great little house, but weren’t always convinced our realtors thought the same way.). After looking it over we decided to accept the offer rather than counter given the current market.

The timing of the offer, considering our present circumstances, seems Divinely orchestrated. Although there are still a myriad of things that could cause the deal to fall through (it’s still quite early in the process), at the moment we expect to be living with my parents up in Nebraska by the end of July.

On the assumption that we’re moving back north, I thought I’d write a little lament about leaving Arkansas and Siloam Springs.

Other than the pervasive lack of sidewalks, Siloam Springs is a great little community. Sure, it has [other] peculiarities and political, um, intrigue, but so does every town. Overall we’ve come to love this place and its people. Upon moving we’ll especially miss:

  • The people, first and foremost. It’s quite rotten that, being summer, some of our closest friends are traveling and won’t be back before we move!
  • The flora, something the Ozarks are known for. We’ll miss the the golden raintrees, southern magnolias, mimosas, myrtles, dogwoods, wysteria etc etc
  • For the time being, we’ll miss being in a community with a liberal arts university.
  • I will miss the sound of summer nights, when a chorus of insects pierce the still, muggy air. Although we won’t miss the insects.
  • Tower Bar-B-Q, and barbecue in general.

We’ll also miss the quaintness of the community and the renewed downtown with its parks, just three blocks from our house. I walked through yesterday evening and noticed significant progress on one of the few remaining vacant buildings. A swanky Greek restaurant is going into this building, something that downtown Siloam Springs has wanted for years.

Emelias

On not being poor vs. doing what you love

    “Screw cash. Do you know what it’s like to wake up knowing that you’re doing what you love?”

    - People on Twitter quoting Gary Vaynerchuck at BEA

Over the course of the past ten years or so I’ve heard a few different people declare that they aren’t going to “be poor!” This is usually in the context of college majors, career choice or current job. I haven’t probed when it’s come up, but I’m guessing the sentiment is often the result of personal past impoverished experiences. If I recall correctly from a book of his I read five years ago, Dave Ramsey’s wife has a bit of this complex.

My wife and I are in a pickle, as I explained a week or so ago, and might be on the poor road very soon (if we’re not already). Just after moving to Arkansas in 2003 we were in a similar financial situation. Needless to say it’s not a fun place to be. We’ve given ourselves to the ministry we moved down here to serve with and making money, beyond what we need to live on, has not registered on the radar.

The question all of this is raising in my mind is as follows: Is American affluence driving people away from their gifts? In other words, does the cultural pressure in our consumerist culture keep people from pursuing careers they might enjoy and excel at, instead wooing them to pursue more secure and higher paying marginal careers?

It’s on my mind in a personal way as we think about what will come of the rest of this year, and the years to come. The hope is to move to a place with lower housing costs and more part-time work to supplement our continued service with the ministry. In theory, our living expenses would be cut to the point we wouldn’t have to maintain full-time employment, freeing up more time for both of us to work on our crafts.

It seems to us that our plans are pretty modest. We’re eager to pursue the things in life we’re passionate about — missions, sculpture, writing, the fiber arts. Despite these seemingly modest aspirations, though, I’m wondering if we’re actually going to be able to execute this plan. Learning the house isn’t worth as much as we figured and noticing yesterday that we haven’t paid off as much as I’d thought in the past four years were chinks in our armor.

I’ve never developed or cultivated an aversion to poverty, assuming we still have a roof over our head and food on the table. Regardless, our present circumstances have been testing our faith. I really like the so-called plan we’ve sketched out (on a napkin, so to speak) and hope it works out. If we can’t make it work, I have positively no idea what we’ll we be doing or where we’ll end up.

And while I won’t refer to that as “scary,” it’s certainly the kind of situation that makes most of us humans very uncomfortable.

Never say never, or you’ll end up moving there

Rebecca Horton quotes herself, and then her grandmother’s reply, on the Passionately Alive blog today:

    “I am not interested in living in the suburbs, end of story.” – me

    “I’m just going to warn you Rebecca, and please take this to heart, if you say things like that then you will never get married.” – Grandma

Methinks grandma is a little out of touch with modern culture, but that’s really none of my business and not the point of this post. Rebecca’s post reminded me to never say never. And here’s why.

Reason number one: My mother grew up in New Jersey. She attended college in Minneapolis. When in college she and the girls road-tripped it to Colorado for fun. They happened to stop in a fairly non-descript town called North Platte. My mother distinctly remembers saying how she could never live in a place like North Platte.

A few years later she met my father while teaching in Washington D.C. They moved back to Nebraska when dad got out of the Air Force, and after brief stints in Hastings and Grand Island, they ended up in North Platte.

Reason number two: When I was being reared by my mother — whilst we dwealt in North Platte — we road-tripped it to north-central Arkansas. Some years earlier my father purchased property in a supposedly up-and-coming development as an investment. The investment tanked, largely, but we drove down to this resort town anyway on account of the connection.

I was around thirteen years old at the time.

On that little vacation, my first taste of the Ozarks, my mother remembers my announcement that “I could never live down here. There are too many trees.” This makes sense coming from a boy growing up on the Plains. However, and needless to say at this point, I now live in Arkansas, on the western edge of the Ozarks.

Boston mountains

Photo from Wikipedia of the Boston Mountains, the southern Ozarks.

Intentional observation, as I clean

Tidying up the house and yard in a bit of a fury, and at the same time trying to get a sense of where we’ll end up. As I was picking up sticks in the backyard this Memorial Day weekend (the eleventh anniversary of the day I met my wife!) I found this rotten little specimen.

Lichen

All of the futuristic postulating was dented this afternoon when the realtor we’ve begun working with told us our cute little bungalow was probably going to to for $5,000-7,000 less than I was hoping for. That’s a whole lotta cash in our little economy, and makes finding a suitable replacement for our Siloam Springs’ home more challenging — even in less expensive Nebraska. According to the real estate agent, the disparity comes as a result of foreclosures entering the market, foreclosures which are selling for less than other properties and thereby dragging the value of other houses down with them. Curse the greedy New York bankers, and the gullible Americans they suckered into bloated mortgages too!

Not surprisingly, we’re a bit worn out on the whole mess.

House for sale in Siloam Springs, Arkansas

Even though we plan to employ a realtor to help us sell our little bungalow — we don’t have the time to do it ourselves — I’ve established a website (using WordPress) featuring the Hygge and Fika. I’m adding photos as I go, but there’s enough there already to give you a decent idea of the house already posted.

Garrett St banner image

Visit House for Sale Siloam Springs Arkansas for the details, and share it with anyone you know who might be interested in a great little bungalow in Northwest Arkansas!

In a pickle

I haven’t mentioned the whole moving scenario in a while. After not being comfortable, so to speak, with Enid real estate I decided to pursue a job at John Brown University, more specifically their Soderquist Center for Business and Ethics. A friend had recommended me for the position, a part-time design job which would allow me to continue working for M-DAT through the end of the year as I hope to do.

It seemed like I had a good shot at getting the position. I was qualified — based on the draft of a job description I was sent — and my own design aesthetic fit well with the Center’s intentions. Further, despite figuring there would be competition in an economy like this, it didn’t seem like there were many other candidates. If any. And of course my friend, a JBU professor who helped create the position, gave them my name. Regardless, I learned yesterday afternoon that I was “not selected for this position.”

Upon reading the rejection in my inbox yesterday afternoon, my gut conjured up one of those sinking sensations. Thankfully it didn’t last long, but to say the near future looks comfortable would be quite absurd. A year ago we would have been more comfortable in this kind of situation, but a slew of unexpected expenses over the past six months or so have damaged the savings account.

My wife and I really don’t know where to go from here (although we have some ideas). Two quite promising part-time jobs have not panned out in the past four months, a building we hoped to turn into living/retail seems out of range financially (thanks to mandatory fire sprinklers) and the doors to Enid, Oklahoma — where the in-laws live — seem to have all closed. In all likelihood we’ll have to put the house on the market and hope it sells very quickly.

Moving map

I’ll conclude this little rant by posting links to my portfolio and resume. While I may not be featured in PRINT magazine any time soon (which isn’t necessarily a bad thing), I am a good designer with a fairly broad level of experience in print media, and a good knowledge of the internet even though I’m not a programmer.

Adding: I’ve published the portfolio and resume. When I posted this entry they were not yet public.

No more clay for Northwest Arkansas

After dropping my wife off in Prairie Grove this morning — she participated in a sheep-to-shawl gathering of spinners, weavers and knitters — I tootled on over to Flat Rock to purchase some clay. I’ve been productive in the past month or two, thankfully, and was in the mood for some more Texas White. I’ve been out of it for six months or so. Last time I went to pick some up the truck was two-plus weeks late, and they’d run out of just about everything. Much to my confusion, the store was closed this morning during its posted hours.

It was only 14 months ago that I found Flat Rock Clay Supplies in Fayetteville, Arkansas. In a phone call with the presumed prospective owner today I learned, much to my dismay, the store is closed pending a change in ownership to be followed by a move to the Russellville area of Arkansas. I didn’t ask why the new owners plan to move the business, but for ceramic artists and potters in Northwest Arkansas this is bad news.


View Larger Map

Flat Rock Clay is the only ceramics supplier in Arkansas. The next nearest is an un-vetted outfit in Colcord, of all places, Oklahoma, and as I recall they only stock two or three clay bodies. There was also a clay store in Tulsa last I knew, which is a 90 minute drive (plus tolls) from Siloam Springs. From the I-540 corridor it’s more like two-and-a-quarter hours.

Paying to ship wet clay is just plain not desirable. Buying raw materials and mixing your own is great, if you have the space and money to buy a mixer, neither of which I have.

Getting over an American dream

My wife and I are, in essence, being forced again to think about moving. We’d like to believe we have a variety of options, that we can go anywhere we want to put down new roots on a whim. That’s part of our American culture, isn’t it, the freedom to be transient?

We considered cities and small prairie towns. We talked specifically about moving to a community known for the arts, and thought about moving north to be in a colder climate more conducive to my wife’s knitting and crocheting.

So when the best we can come up with after wrangling with ideas for six months or more is moving back to the nondescript midwestern town in which I graduated from high school, the whole scenario feels regressive. The American dream entails either moving to the city or to an estate in the suburbs (not that I’ve necessarily ever aspired to these). Plains communities of 50,000 people just don’t qualify.

Why this would bother me to begin with I don’t know. I’ve never really been a fan of the progressive ideal — which seems more like an excuse to embrace any and every new philosophy that comes along than an ideal. But last night, in a half-asleep and slightly irrational 5 a.m. moment, it did bother me. It kept me awake for more than an hour. I tossed and turned and tried to get it out of my head altogether. I just wanted to go back to sleep, knowing the paranoia would dissipate at an hour proper for humans to think about serious matters.

And it did.

We’ve rehashed the thought of moving again and again. Real estate in Grand Island, Nebraska, the Plains city in question, is very inexpensive, particularly the building we have in mind which would serve as our apartment and my studio — a large studio — with 1,000+ square feet of retail besides. It is further north, which is good for my wife’s craft and for my allergies. It’s on the prairie which is great for storm chasing. Point being, it’s not just the easy way out, moving back to where the family lives.

Further, I’ve become more interested in the past year at how the arts can really thrive in smaller communities. In some ways, ways that aren’t as immediately accessible to me here in Siloam Springs, moving back to Nebraska will allow me to play a more integral role in that city’s artistic nexus.

I suppose I’ll just have to live with being a regressive person. Drat, and blast. Of course, in the scheme of things, isn’t part of the progressive ideal being counter-cultural? And if I’m bucking the American dream and know it, isn’t that counter cultural and thus progressive?

Such wonderful logic.

gitornadopic2

Photo of the 1980 Grand Island, Nebraska, tornado outbreak. From Wikipedia.

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