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October 29, 2006
Selling Out
I've been a reluctant blogger lately. Dragging my heels. In part because I have been perpetually behind, writing about things weeks past. Today I will take a break from the crushing backload and talk about today.
Today we are in Reston, Virginia at the Central Atlantic Region conference for the Fedeated Garden Clubs of America. We are here to sell Seiko's pottery to aspiring Ikebana flower arrangers. Seiko is something of a celebrity in the Ikebana circles, and the people who come to our booth are consistently disappointed to find Bob, Robbi, and me and not Seiko, who is in Tokyo at present.
We left Chestertown at the crack of dawn on Friday morning.
See how cheerful we look, how full of excitement for the adventure ahead? Within five minutes Robbi, Iggy, and I were dead asleep while Bob navigated the van through the early darkness across the Bay Bridge and around the DC beltway to Reston. Reston is, apparently, a planned community, though it seems decidedly un-deliberate to our untrained eyes.
We arrived at the Hyatt and Bob disappeared to find Dineen, who was in charge of the boutique. While he was prowling about the bowels of the hotel, I spoke to Robbi, who was feeling decidedly less enthusiastic about the day than she had upon our departure.
Iggy sensed an opportunity in Bob's absence.
Once Bob figured out where we were supposed to go (Ballroom A), we moved the van to the closest access door and started to unload. Of course, we were there a full 8 hours before the actual commerce was to begin, so we had the place to ourselves. We settled in for a long, leisurely, deliberate setup, which is just how Bob likes it.
We were so outrageously early that even Dineen had yet to arrive, so we did not know which tables were to be ours. So we made a large pile of boxes in the middle of the room. Eventually Dineen showed up and told us where to go. Robbi and I opened boxes so that Bob could see what he was working with.
Robbi and I thought it might be helpful to set up some pottery on the long table. Bob quickly disabused us of this notion. Bob has a complex and intricate scheme for pottery placement, wholly beyond our powers to comprehend. We watched in mute amazement as Bob did his thing.
Eventually, more pottery appeared on the table.
Robbi and I were feeling a bit rough. Bob had gone to sleep at a reasonable hour the night before. We had tried to adopt this reasonable approached, but failed, and had turned in about 1:00, meaning we managed about 4 of the 8 hours of beauty sleep we both seem to need to feel and look our best.
Case in point:
Believe it or not, Robbi is trying her very best to smile.
Since Bob seemed to have the setup situation in hand (and about 7 hours remaining in which to accomplish it, we headed back to the van, which was at this point parked in the adjacent garage, pulled out our sleeping bags, and conked out for about three hours. By the time we awoke, Bob had placed about 6 more pots.
We helped out some more. Eventually the table was ready for our hordes of customers.
Our long table from the middle of the room:
From the left:
At my perch:
From the right:
Detail:
A few hours before the boutique opened at 4:00, the other vendors started to arrive. Some of the other items for sale include metal garden scupltures, orchids made of soap, zanily-painted wooden people for one's garden, and a cookbook full of photos of late/middle-aged women in the nude. I'd post some shots here if that didn't violate the terms of copyright.
We had a few modest sales during the 4-7pm period that the boutique room was open. But the turnout was largely disappointing. Hoping for better luck over the weekend, we piled back into the van and headed west to the home of our host for the evening, Wild Bill Marable.
This is Bill in his garden on Saturday, but I want you to have an image of the man in mind as I describe him.
It was pouring rain as we left the Hyatt. We drove 45 minutes on paved roads before turning off onto Ropp Road, where Bill lives. According to Mapquest, Ropp Road is "partially paved," but there appeared to be no pavement in sight as we slid in the mud of the narrow, hilly road. We passed a number of attractive houses on either side of the road and I began to think the accounts I had heard of the dire rusticity of Bill's house had been exaggeraged.
Suddenly the road seemed to end in front of us. We pulled to a stop in front of a heavy gate. A sign on the gate read, "End of State Maintenance." Apparently Bill's house lay beyond the sign. Here's where the trip got interesting. For the next .6 miles, through the driving rain, Bob navigated the van up hill and down gully, our van lurching sometimes at alarming angles, sometimes at terrifying ones.
When we finally arrived at the top of the hill on which Bill's house sits, he was waiting for us. The fire was lit. The interior cozy against the winds outside. We were ready to rest on solid ground. We were ready to be inside and out of the rain.
Bill heats entirely by woodstove. Here is the main stove, the top of which doubles as a toaster.
Bill had been cooking in anticipation of our arrival. He offered us some tea and tended to his various pots and pans. Here are Bob and Bill in the kitchen:
We took our tea and retired to the living room for a spell. The second woodstove is here. It was also doubling as a cooktop for the evening's soup course: chicken and corn. Delicious.
Here is the stove and Bill's chair.
The house is not Bill's, but he has been living there for the better part of 30 years. Apparently, Bill, a generally genial and likable guy, ingratiated himself to a wealthy landowner who said that Bill could live on his land "for the time being." This tenuous arrangement continued for 25 years. Eventually the old man died. When the time came to execute his estate, the old man's granddaughter was considering selling the farm. But ultimately decided not to. Apparently she had only seen her grandfather smile once. The smile was capture in a photo of her grandfather taken with Bill. This unique gift of a smile was reason enough to make her decide to continue honoring her grandfather's wishes. Bill's tenure in the house is still day-to-day, but he likes it that way. It keeps him continually aware of the precious and tenuous nature of everything, he told us. It keeps him appreciating things in a constant and immediate way.
Bill's living room ceiling:
The main course that night was venison in a rich gravy on a bed of roasted vegetables. We also enjoyed a mountain of fresh sliced tomatoes from Bill's garden.
After dinner we sat in the living room and talked and I immediately fell asleep in my chair. Robbi hustled me upstairs and we went to sleep. In this comfortable bed, I slept for eleven and a half hours.
I might have slept longer, but Robbi awoke me that I might not miss the "bumpin" breakfast that Bill had prepared. Eggs, home fries, homemade sausage, coffee, fresh squeezed orange juice.
After breakfast, we took a tour of Bill's garden. Bill doesn't have a regular job. He picks up work here and there, including helping out in our booth at the Philadelphia Flower Show and fishing in Alaska. But basically Bill gets by on not much cash. And his garden is his primary dietary mainstay. He shoots a deer or two when they encroach on the garden. He butchers a pig and cow now and then. But mostly he tends the soil and does a lot of canning.
Bill seemed at home in his garden.
Unlike most gardens, in which the gardener puts as much work into maintaining the neatness of the rows as to the cultivation of the crops, Bill's garden is an unruly sprawl. He walked us around and showed us a dizzying variety of vegetables, herbs, fruits, etc., but had I happened upon this "garden," I wouldn't have known it from the jungle.
Except for the tomato plants, perhaps. They were 10 feet tall and still producing fruit on October 28.
Apparently, Bill has unwittingly created a new bean through years of germination.
He told us about it in a matter-of-fact sort of way.
Bill's bean is a cross between a lima and some other kind of bean I cannot now remember the name of. It grows in a a green bean-like pod. The bean is delicious, apparently.
To set the stage, here are a few shots of Bill's house and Bill's yard. Around the house is open farmland. A river surrounds the property on three sides. Eventually the farm may be reclaimed and turned into condos. But I hope that it's not until Bill moves on of his own accord.
While Bill showed Robbi and me the garden, Bob sat on the porch enjoying the view of the countryside. Notice the big skillet on the side of the house. Bill says that, using it, he can make breakfast for ten people at once on his outdoor fire pit.
After breakfast we packed up and headed back to the Hyatt for more disappointing commerce. More on that to come.
Posted by bogenamp at October 29, 2006 11:36 AM