May 13, Mechanicsburg, Ohio (20 miles, Christian Fellowship grounds.)
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Picture perfect.
May 13, West Liberty.
Postcard day in the picture perfect little hamlet of West Liberty with a playground and a small brook to entertain the children, and Dylan takes his teddy bear Charlie everywhere with him, and Nicolas climbs into his little car all by himself.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
Yeee papapaaah!
May 11, Coldwater.
I needed that after a day of rain and more rain, again.
When Fridman throws him up in the air he's gotten to say something that sounds like yeee papapaaah!
The earth is flat.
May 11, Coldwater.
We moved last night; we have the day off today for Mother's Day and management wanted everyone to enjoy sleeping in. The route said: "Happy Mother's Day and enjoy your day of" with nine exclamation points.
Going to Paulding early in the morning yesterday there was a dense fog; leaving at dusk I discovered a landscape flat as a tabletop as far as the eye could see, the flatness intensified by the lack of any vegetation other than the dried-up stubs of harvested corn, and the houses we passed looked lonely and exposed in the immensity. Paulding was nice to us.
We moved last night; we have the day off today for Mother's Day and management wanted everyone to enjoy sleeping in. The route said: "Happy Mother's Day and enjoy your day of" with nine exclamation points.
Going to Paulding early in the morning yesterday there was a dense fog; leaving at dusk I discovered a landscape flat as a tabletop as far as the eye could see, the flatness intensified by the lack of any vegetation other than the dried-up stubs of harvested corn, and the houses we passed looked lonely and exposed in the immensity. Paulding was nice to us.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Submarine.
May 9, Decatur.
In the trailer as it rained and rained yesterday we were floating, surrounded, hushed by water, rivers of rain drops on the window panes never more than three feet away, and soon they fogged up and still it kept raining.
There was a dove's nest in the field here this morning; it was crushed by one of the forklifts which drove right on through it despite the little arrow signs Chris had put there. He's the one who parks us and lays out the route with the arrows to guide us, and he had put markers around the nest so we would know there was something to watch out for. About a month ago he signaled another nest in the same manner; that one was right next to our trailer and Fridman watched it like a hawk all day; we saved the nest. The mother bird hovered around frantically for a while then came back to the nest and lay on her eggs. There is a sweetness in Fridman, how things like these make him sad in a way that doesn't show otherwise; it always comes as a surprise to me, this concern.
Better news: Grania, Sarah's daughter, turned one year old Wednesday and she had a birthday party at the cook house today. Sarah's mother flew in from New Hampshire in the morning for the occasion.
In the trailer as it rained and rained yesterday we were floating, surrounded, hushed by water, rivers of rain drops on the window panes never more than three feet away, and soon they fogged up and still it kept raining.
There was a dove's nest in the field here this morning; it was crushed by one of the forklifts which drove right on through it despite the little arrow signs Chris had put there. He's the one who parks us and lays out the route with the arrows to guide us, and he had put markers around the nest so we would know there was something to watch out for. About a month ago he signaled another nest in the same manner; that one was right next to our trailer and Fridman watched it like a hawk all day; we saved the nest. The mother bird hovered around frantically for a while then came back to the nest and lay on her eggs. There is a sweetness in Fridman, how things like these make him sad in a way that doesn't show otherwise; it always comes as a surprise to me, this concern.
Better news: Grania, Sarah's daughter, turned one year old Wednesday and she had a birthday party at the cook house today. Sarah's mother flew in from New Hampshire in the morning for the occasion.
Friday, May 09, 2008
A hole where the fridge used to be.
May 8, Gas City.
There is a gaping hole open to the outside and lined with dirty twenty-year-old fiberglass where the old fridge was in my trailer; it's been raining all day, and rather cool, I keep a heater on so the babies won't catch a cold and have been trying to steer them clear of the fiberglass.
A few days past, in Pittsboro, a motor home that belongs to the circus' management, had to be towed in after the engine gave out, the last in an endless series of problems, and they decided to forget about it (not worth the money nor the headaches, and only one person living in it.) So yesterday here goes Fridman buying it to take advantage of the parts, a one-year-old Dometic fridge, new tires, an expensive gas generator, and more. This morning he took out the old fridge which worked fine but only with propane now, costing us dearly, and drove the 80 miles back to Pittsboro with Castro to get the new fridge.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
A trailer with a view (and more.)
May 7, Flora, Indiana (36 miles, community park.)
Things forgotten along the way: Castro, don Sandro's mechanic, joined us last week in Washington; the circus needed one badly, its fleet of semis and trucks just like us, not getting any younger. And on Friday the owner of the circus, John North, came back from Ireland, where he lives, to join us for a while.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Les premiers pas de Nicolas.
May 5, Greencastle.
Nicolas took his first steps today.
I love that we were all there to see it, even Gigi, we were right there surrounding him, I was saying to Fridman isn't it funny how life goes, here is Gigi a month younger than Mingo and she stands up by herself and walks and he's not walking yet. He took two steps away from the screen door and I didn't even realize it. Landmarks. Peanut is on the move for good now, Dylan's better watch out.
Monday, May 05, 2008
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Persuasion.
May 4, Pittsboro.
The Democratic nomination campaign hit Indiana last week and local election signs are everywhere again. That and the "Jesus is coming" signs, on a square white sheet tacked on a tree, or the one that read just "Jesus," hand-written on a piece of cardboard, also tacked on a tree; there was a giant cross somewhere in southern Indiana, I didn't write down where, some 200 feet tall, gleaming white and angled, both menacing and incongruous in its over-the-board zeal.
The Democratic nomination campaign hit Indiana last week and local election signs are everywhere again. That and the "Jesus is coming" signs, on a square white sheet tacked on a tree, or the one that read just "Jesus," hand-written on a piece of cardboard, also tacked on a tree; there was a giant cross somewhere in southern Indiana, I didn't write down where, some 200 feet tall, gleaming white and angled, both menacing and incongruous in its over-the-board zeal.
Saturday, May 03, 2008
Downpour.
May 2, Nashville.
Today was Johnny Moss' tenth birthday, and the party under the cook house tent was soon followed by a downpour, the field rapidly turning into a lake, the usual story. The whole town seemed to come out to see the crew put up the tent in spite of the weather, school bus after school bus, I counted at least six, the added spectacle of semis being pulled out of the mud by other semis; a storm just preceded us onto the field, presage of more to come throughout the day. We're set to pull out of here and onto a parking lot after the show.
From left, Jared Rosales, Nathaniel and Johnny Moss and their mother, Reyna, at Johnny's birthday party.
Digression on a view.
May 2, Nashville.
A few hours apart, morning, noon and dusk, the shifting of light and atmosphere: photography exposed, truth with a camera, but also the elusive objectivity of the medium.
The same is true of writing of course, but writing is one more step away from reality, its lack of objectivity more easily recognized and accepted.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Savannah days/Bird on a wire.
April 30, Sullivan.
Rummaging through my computer I found some old souvenirs, Savannah in the winter of 2005, seven months pregnant with Dylan, blues days, days of endless rain, alone in a wrecked trailer, waiting, oblivious to the beauty of the city, sulky in its irrelevant glory.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Signs of war.
April 28, Palestine.
I first noticed them in Carmi, a few days back. Signs on the streets in front of homes, Tony J. Tiddix, U.S. Marine, Ted Glenn, U.S. Army, Scott Glenn, U.S. Army at the next house (brothers?) I counted six in less than a block in Gordon, last the village before Palestine; in Robinson, the town before that on highway 33, they sported a waving U.S. flag at the top above a yellow strip, in Gordon a big yellow ribbon crossed at the top and underneath the names on a white background. The signs read from U.S. Marine to Army to National Guard to Air Force, the gamut of the armed forces of this country, and sometimes they seem to be on every corner; modest houses, well-tended cottages, all-American lower middle-class homes in the heart of America, the bread and butter of the troops in Iraq coming from small towns and villages like these in southeastern Illinois, where, I imagine, the jobs are scarce and the prospects limited.
I first noticed them in Carmi, a few days back. Signs on the streets in front of homes, Tony J. Tiddix, U.S. Marine, Ted Glenn, U.S. Army, Scott Glenn, U.S. Army at the next house (brothers?) I counted six in less than a block in Gordon, last the village before Palestine; in Robinson, the town before that on highway 33, they sported a waving U.S. flag at the top above a yellow strip, in Gordon a big yellow ribbon crossed at the top and underneath the names on a white background. The signs read from U.S. Marine to Army to National Guard to Air Force, the gamut of the armed forces of this country, and sometimes they seem to be on every corner; modest houses, well-tended cottages, all-American lower middle-class homes in the heart of America, the bread and butter of the troops in Iraq coming from small towns and villages like these in southeastern Illinois, where, I imagine, the jobs are scarce and the prospects limited.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Spring is back.
April 27, Toledo.
We've entered spring again after moving back into winter since leaving Texas, naked dark trees, except in the lowest-lying areas, and not the promise of a bud. And then.
We've entered spring again after moving back into winter since leaving Texas, naked dark trees, except in the lowest-lying areas, and not the promise of a bud. And then.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Friday, April 25, 2008
A trailer with a view.
April 25, Carmi, Illinois (59 miles, White county fairgrounds.)
The picture doesn't do justice to the lot, beautifully wooded grounds, an enormous, stately elm (I think) by the front door.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Illinois days.
April 24, Flora.
The driving is flat, corn fields and more of the same, farmhouse dotting the road, silos like exclamation points on the horizon, gone are the daily beauty of the drives, I had forgotten about Illinois.
Endless driving as a photographer for The Jacksonville Journal-Courier, crisscrossing nine counties all day long and in all weathers, Schuyler, Brown and Morgan, Scott and Cass, Sangamon and Greene, and into Pike and Macoupin, Sundays my favorite, alone on the shift (and I met Fridman photographing the circus, a big happening in a town of 15,000 people,) the frog jumping competitions, the church pancake breakfasts, the harvests, the farmers at the cafe counter, the county fairs, listening to the week end programs on NPR, Steve Copper laying out the pages on the desk, his quiet wit, always a welcome in his eyes, the picture of debonair but the ultimate professional; flat, boring Illinois - and I miss all of that.
A dress rehearsal for the Berea Church cemetery walk outside of Ashland, Illinois, a Sunday assignment a long time ago, des souvenirs bucoliques.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
(Poor) Earth Day.
April 22, Hillsboro.
Today is Earth Day, not that we would know it. At this circus recycling seems to be a foreign word, and the Latino community in this country in general I've noticed to be the most ignorant in regards to the environment.
And yet, just next to the lot today there is a recycling center, the irony, and I've been mulling over starting a recycling service at the circus, trying to convince people to pitch in and make a small difference. It would be a matter of finding recycling centers along the way, setting up bags where people could bring their recyclable items and gathering them up at the end of the day; the main problem would be where to stock them, space is precious in the traveling circus world, trailers are not spacious, storing is not an option, you learn to go bare, to strip down.
To be continued.
Today is Earth Day, not that we would know it. At this circus recycling seems to be a foreign word, and the Latino community in this country in general I've noticed to be the most ignorant in regards to the environment.
And yet, just next to the lot today there is a recycling center, the irony, and I've been mulling over starting a recycling service at the circus, trying to convince people to pitch in and make a small difference. It would be a matter of finding recycling centers along the way, setting up bags where people could bring their recyclable items and gathering them up at the end of the day; the main problem would be where to stock them, space is precious in the traveling circus world, trailers are not spacious, storing is not an option, you learn to go bare, to strip down.
To be continued.
Birthdays.
April 21, Mascoutah.
There was a double birthday party today for Noricella Rosales, who turned eight, and Georgia Cainan, who turned five.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Old moves.
April 19, Cahokia.
Because it rained all day yesterday and the field was soggy and many tractor trailers would inevitably get stuck, we moved last night, a reminiscence of Circus Chimera - and all that I didn't like about it.
Because it rained all day yesterday and the field was soggy and many tractor trailers would inevitably get stuck, we moved last night, a reminiscence of Circus Chimera - and all that I didn't like about it.
Friday, April 18, 2008
The winning ticket.
April 18, Herculaneum.
This circus seems to have found the winning strategy for making good business in rather difficult economic times. A month into the season and there has been people at the circus every single show, and week ends more often than not a full house, even if not quite the one we had yesterday. Just last week we heard from our friends the Russians, Genia and Berengere and their sons, with whom we worled two years ago at Circus Chimera, and the circus they were touring with in California closed unexpectedly.
This circus seems to have found the winning strategy for making good business in rather difficult economic times. A month into the season and there has been people at the circus every single show, and week ends more often than not a full house, even if not quite the one we had yesterday. Just last week we heard from our friends the Russians, Genia and Berengere and their sons, with whom we worled two years ago at Circus Chimera, and the circus they were touring with in California closed unexpectedly.
Sold out.
April 17, Ste. Genevieve.
The show is sold out: more than 1,700 tickets sold, thanks to the sponsor here, when the circus only seats about 1,200. The crew is putting extra seating in, and people are probably going to have to stand in the aisles too.
Armando took one of the elephants to the people at the care center above the circus; I thought it was sweet.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
The Mississippi.
April 17, Ste. Genevieve.
We're on a hill overlooking the Mississippi river, but cannot see it for the levees. Thinking of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, reading and re-reading Mark Twain, and the years in Missouri, the great flood of 1993. The river is mythic to me.
We passed our first cultivated fields, first in a long series now that we're entering the Midwest for good.
We're on a hill overlooking the Mississippi river, but cannot see it for the levees. Thinking of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, reading and re-reading Mark Twain, and the years in Missouri, the great flood of 1993. The river is mythic to me.
We passed our first cultivated fields, first in a long series now that we're entering the Midwest for good.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Princess.
April 16, Ironton.
Casey's truck broke down 10 miles from town, the road hilly again; later his daughter, Georgia got dressed in her princess outfit and danced a princess ballet.
We drove through Mark Twain National Forest again, still part of the Ozarks still. I got curious about all the logging trucks I saw on the road, and found out that the U.S Forest Service does a lot of timber business here; somehow I thought national forest meant protected forest but it seems to be far from reality. According to The Missouri Coalition for the Environment, "commercial timber harvesting, including even-aged management and clear-cutting, is promoted by the U.S. Forest Service as a primary use of the Mark Twain."
The house of my dreams.
April 16, Ironton.
Breakfast at a café called Perk on the Square in the tiny, tidy downtown Ironton; pretty good food, great service, and Dylan breaks a pottery for sale and they don't even charge us.
I saw the house of my dreams (I'd just need to move it to a big open field, possibly with a creek and lots of trees around the edges.)
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Middle age and free opinions.
April 15, Eminence.
We crossed Mark Twain National Forest on highway 19. I'd go back for a hike but not with a trailer.
Some of the hills seemed like walls rising in front of us, so steep you had to take them in first gear, grinding down to a painful crawl. Go out of the road and truck and trailer capsize and roll down the mountain. One of the circus trucks couldn't take it and had to be pulled by a tractor trailer, both inching along up the hills, a loony sight; the trucks are bright red and painted with the childish cartoons of the circus world, the crazy clown bellowing up the hill, out of steam but grinning; the strange caravan stopped once, almost at the top of a hill, and looked like they were going to slide all the way back down, a road service tractor and I behind with nowhere to turn but into the deep.
We're in Missouri.
I used to live in Columbia, going to graduate school at the University of Missouri in journalism. My friends Greg and Sally Foster still live there and I haven't seen them in over ten years; our friendship is of the word. Crossing into Missouri was like entering familiar territory, another one of all the homes I've added along the way, loving it, hating it but always wanting to go back once I left, a bad case of chronic dissatisfaction. Nowadays it's the opposite and whatever place I happen to be in is home, and maybe that's what they call middle age, the days are counted and you know it so you enjoy it while it lasts - and finally I do, staying hungry, staying foolish.
A sign in the fake frontier village shopping center behind the circus.
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