42nd National Old-Time Music Festival and Pioneer Expo
August 28 – September 3, 2017
Plymouth County Fairgrounds—LeMars, IA 51520
Funny, how a small Bavarian village (where I spent most of the summer) can harbor all kinds of memories. But country music? When the Ascholding riding club let out a few country western tunes, it sent me down memory lane. Those tunes sounded much like the skiffle group that I taped two years ago at Bob Everhart’s Festival at Le Mars, Iowa (above), or back then at guesthouse Lacherdinger.
Country music was nothing new in Ascholding. More than 30 years ago, old-time country music ambassador Bob Everhart came to perform in my quaint German hometown. Maybe those stones got rolling there?
During his European trips, Bob and I and another few put several country music acts on stage in Germany. I will never forget when the Black Bottom Skiffle group heated up the fully stuffed “Saal” and eventually made off with all the door money, or when Jeff Doty ran up the phone bill mile high at my friend’s house. Kathl, by now almost 90 years old, still remembers the story. Jeff had the love-sick blues. Duh, that explains the phone bill. Luckily, there were more stints to come in Wolfratshausen and Munich.
Bob Everhart has been promoting traditional country music all his life. He has recorded classics for a select album for the Smithsonian Institute (Folkways Records), runs the Old Time Country Music Hall of Fame, “live-streams” the traditional tunes (Wabash Cannon Ball etc.) at countless appearances and hosts every Labor Day the Old Time Country Music Festival in Le Mars, Iowa.
Bob Everhart is a country boy to the bone, as he reveals in his autobiography, “What I Saw”. Bob came from a day laborer family, which was terrorized by an alcoholic, violent dad and held together by a saintly mom. The singer had his first “radio appearances” in the Navy as a radioman. Maybe he also caught the travel bug there because the Navy took them as far as Japan.
Soon after his college studies, music fever led Bob Everhart into the hard-knock music business. Big record labels called the shots, and good bands got their songs stolen. In his early beginnings in the hard-hitting music industry, newspaper reporter Bob met the Rolling Stones when they toured America early in their career before the Battle of the Bands in Omaha, Nebraska.
I visited Bob’s Traditional Country Music Festival in 2015 and was amazed that his flagship event was still going. My friend Maria (also from Ascholding) faithfully played the zither there at several workshops as 30 years before. Bob apparently had not changed much; but he was close to 80 years old now (did I miscount?). How did he keep up this energy? Music keeps him young.
Eventually, I stopped at the festival information booth. Boy, some of these photos seemed familiar. When I was a student at the University of Texas, I attended Bob’s Old-Time Country Music Festival several times. And took pictures. Yep, some of my snapshots stuck out of the photo display. Bob had kept them all these years! Even Bob’s Folkways album cover seemed awesomely familiar. I remembered that performance in the 80ies. I came to Iowa from the University of Texas. Could I have taken the picture for the album cover and didn’t know it?
Bob Everhart has a fabulously strong voice, Nashville-good. But he didn’t want to go that route, selling out to the music industry. He decided instead to serve the Midwestern people’s old-time music and friendships. It’s no easy feat to pull off such a large festival each year. Seems the audience has gotten a little older. But many young musicians join the lineup just as well as the old faithful make the pilgrimage to present faithful crowd pleasers.
If you like traditional people’s music and want to spend a couple of casual days with friendly people, the Traditional Old-Time Country Music Festival is just the right place for you.
“Water Is Life” No debate about that. Thousands of people from all over the world gathered last fall 2016 at Standing Rock Reservation for a camp out. The Dakota tribe protested the pipeline because the DAPL violated tribal autonomy, desecrated cultural treasures and gravesite, and put the water resources–above all the Missouri River–in great jeopardy. To no avail. After a short-lived halt of construction by the American Corps of Engineers, the pipeline was finished by executive order and the protesters cleared away in January 2017. There are many stories of camp endurance, nonviolent resistance, and bravery in the harsh Dakota winter. Solidarity and support (such as donated wood-burning stoves from Germany) poured from all over the world.
Listen to this Native American speaker at a Phoenix solidarity protest march.
Nevertheless we humans keep building industrial conundrums. In the process we are soiling & spoiling our water resources. Industries sprout like there is no tomorrow. What kind of tomorrow will it be? The North Dakota Access Pipeline is finished and open for business. Pipelines spill all the time. Only we don’t hear much about it, unless an offshore drill platform bursts into flames–mega disaster. Deep Water Horizon?
People from all over the world joined the Dakota Nation for Thanksgiving 2016. Native Americans are the Greenpeace of our times. We all need clean water. The descendants of Sitting Bull and Red Cloud are still fighting the legal battle for sovereignty and the environment. Let’s stand with Standing Rock. The debate about water is here to stay.
My friend Earley is a Jack of many trades. Yes, Jack Earley is his name. Much to say about him (Jack on right; middle, Kate Earley; left, me)
Jack has been creative all his life, one way or another. He is a painter, book dealer, philosopher, and writer. His wife Kate keeps Jack’s back free for artistic exploration. We have been friends with the Earleys since our Loveland (Cincinnati, Ohio) days. Jack’s paintings hang on our walls in Arizona. They make us feel like we are still neighbors.
Jack’s “earliest” passion was writing. “I have been writing since I was 18,” Jack said. He got interested in literature around the time when he started college. “Everybody was talking about the weird guy next door, so I went over to meet him.” That guy got Jack to read all the great novels, about 20 of them—Moby Dick, War and Peace, Brothers Karamazov, The Red and the Black, and so forth. He has been writing every since.
Only in the last 2 years Jack has produced finished products.
Like many circumspective writers, he catches a good story when it comes around. “One morning, I was doing tai chi, and I heard a news article”, Jack recalled. “There the novel just came to me and I started writing it. It was like I was a secretary transcribing what automatically appeared in my brain.”
Jack’s novel is called “Through the Ice”. A man drives his car through the ice on a lake. In shock and far away from any help, he has to walk back to town with a coyote. Imagine that!
After this revelation, many short stories started popping into Jack’s mind. He collected 103 twitter-like vignettes together in a volume called “Saturday Nights”. They are all related to Saturday family events, poker nights, and memorable pranks. Recently, Jack has started another series called “Every Day of the Week.” He has more than a dozen together but wants to come up with over 100 to match the “Saturday Nights” stories. He records the readings of his stories for YouTube, where people can subscribe for free.
Each of Jack’s short stories contains a little snap, a little epiphany. “We all go about doing things that we think are right. Suddenly, out pops a piece of knowledge, an unexpected awareness. According to James Joyce, such an epiphany normally means that God revealed himself in the streets.”
Jack camouflages these real life events by fictionalizing the characters, but all experiences are his own. In “Steak Every Night” he cast himself as the young dude getting annoyed with a loud-mouthed Polish coworker. There is a true learning moment there. If you pay attention, in each of Jack’s stories a little light bulb goes off.
All right, easy enough. But, then, ask Jack about science. Scientific discoveries may not come on accident. “In science, people are working their tails off in one direction,” Jack said, “until a little epiphany takes them into a completely different direction—because more stuff is coming at them than they are aware of.” His conclusion: Science is the art or attempt of predicting the future.
Now we are getting philosophical. Let’s take it one more step further.
According to Jack, neither painting nor story are linear, they only appear so. All of the time is right now, regardless in which order the paint was laid down or the characters enter the scene. The future is only the place where the energy is heading.
Get it? Along the way of our unsuspecting lives we are collecting more knowledge than expected. So that is called a learning experience.
Based on his definition of the common man’s epiphany, Jack is bothered by a movie called “Arrival.” In it some aliens gift humanity with a “una-language” for perfect communication and a glimpse at the future.
“However, if you can see the future, it means it is already here,” Jack said. “And if it’s already here, it means everything already happened. And if everything already happened, what’s the point? What’s there to learn? Why aren’t we just catatonic? Why do anything?”
Good question.
Quick, Jack, just write another story, paint another picture.
Mark Twain is my American literary hero. Recently, I had a chance to take a picture with my idol at Tlaquepaque in Sedona. Wow! Our chat felt nice.
Mark Twain, aka Samuel Clemens, was a journalist before he was a novelist. He started to craft stories as young as 12 years old. He ceaselessly honed his art as a newspaper reporter, first in St. Louis, MO, and then many other places. Twain found just the right words, perspective, and dosage of humor that he was able to “get away with murder.” Lesser scribes would have been hung.
I believe in Twain. A master of social criticism and satire, he pointed out hypocrisy, absurdity, and profound human misery. Imagine, a seasoned alley cat like Huck Finn coming to his own conclusions about the runaway slave, Jim. These unlikely companions float down the Mississippi on a raft with plenty of time to learn from each other. Use your brain, man! So Huck did. In his own way, Huck Finn was a humanitarian of the simplest kind. Kind.
Another character I admire is the dude in the Connecticut Yankee at King Arthur’s Court. That’s a story of brain power gone awry. The Yankee’s square-headed mentality and modern weaponry caused total destruction in the chivalrous, medieval world. In a doomsday scenario, royal jousting spiraled fully out of control.
Yes, Mark Twain showed us the whole spectrum of human nature.
Twain was a master of religious satire and got away with it as well. Captain Stormfield’s Visit to Heaven tells a story of how the afterlife turns out much differently than expected for the main character.
One of our greatest problems is, which Twain often indicated, that we people like to overrate our own importance. “All you need in this life is ignorance and confidence, then success is sure.” Dang it! We see that all the time.
I learned a lot of good words from Mark Twain as well and added them to my American street vocabulary. Although by now antiquated, I still thoroughly enjoy expressions like “low life, bottom feeder, scallywag, carpet bagger” and many more. We might use other words today but the same character types are still lurking around each corner.
Finally, Mark Twain’s excursions into the German language are hilarious. How can the prefix from a verb break off and resurface at the very far tail end of a sentence? And he sure admired the German knack for assembling some of the longest composite nouns in the universe, such as “Donaudampfschifffahrtskapitänsmützenabzeichen” (Danube Steam Shipping Company medal for the captain’s hat).
And if Twain were still alive, he might play even mightier tricks with words. Especially now that we have entered the age of alternative truths and official lies are not even concealed any more.
Language has always been a creative process. It has to, because the world keeps changing all the time. If Latin were still a living language, someone would have made up new words for “aircraft carrier” or “underwater mortgage” or “fragile facts”. Or borrowed them from another language?
Let’s face it. Since the last elections, our vocabulary will soon add some new inflexions: That’s so trumpish! What the trump just happened? Don’t trump me! Let’s join the Trumpler Club. (Not me. I am not a Trumpionista.) Atta trump!
Oh, trump! Where will this end? Let’s read those Mark Twain stories again.
Music by Waco Brothers, live at Monty Hall, Harm’s Way.
Yes, I am submitting my docu-shorts as a new category to the movie academy in Hollywood. If I don’t win, then Molly would for sure. Molly, aka Susie, does the Rubics cube in under ten seconds. What a Speedy Gonzalez. Whatever–Happy Oscars to you!
Music by Josh Armistead, Full-time Casual album, Peace with my Brothers.
Music by classy firetruck.
Music by catch-me-if-you can police. Video by Susmita Makin.
Renate Mousseux gathered with her friends Bruno, Barbara, and Brigitte at the Fountain Hills Gallery after a body language presentation. Like many, they had been looking forward to Renatle’s Mosaic of Life with suspense.
“Renatle, Mosaic of Life” is now out on Amazon. The cover looks sassy and the story is full of suspense. I am so excited! Renatle’s mosaic of life adventures came beautifully together in her memoir. It is out on Amazon as paperback, plus a digital version on Kindle. Here is a review from the Fountain Hills newspaper.
YOU ARE INVITED: Friday, January 27, 2017, 7 p.m. Renate will be reading excerpts from her book at my house. Please RSVP to my e-mail.
One fine day, I chatted Renate up after the German luncheon about doing a story about her for Amerika Woche. Right there my own life changed. For this interview, Renate and I met in an Indian restaurant. She gave me the full scoop about her body language expertise—and some playacting examples. We had a fabulous time.
Several weeks later, Renate approached me about writing her life story. I had no idea what all was to come in Renatle’s Mosaic interviews. I was in for some genuine enrichment.
We started taping Renate’s story. Once a month I drove to her house on top of a Fountain Hills peak and listened to her true tales. War times in Germany. Concealed at birth. Prankster childhood. Love gone awry. Down and out in Los Angeles. More than once, my jaw dropped. Renate laid it all out. Barred none.
I won’t give away more than what is on the back cover: Renate was the love child between a French jazz trumpeter and a German patrician business woman. Renate’s questionable existence was concealed from the family for months. Aunt Liesel finally discovered the baby and brought her home.
As a toddler, in 1944, Renatle survived the infamous Tigerstorm carpet-bombing attack on her hometown Freiburg (Germany). The whole town lay in shambles. In that night 3,000 people died. Renate’s uncle and other good Samaritans brought aunt, grandmother, and baby Renate to a Luftschutzbunker—with nothing else but a blanket wrapped around their nightgowns.
Yes, but her mother and father, Trudel and Emile, were buried alive in rubble of the dental lab where they worked. By a miracle, both were rescued days later and put into a hospital for a year. They never fully recovered . . . and then, mother . . .
Tears welled up in her eyes. She asked me to stop the recorder.
More pauses were to come. Why did Renate go to America? She was expecting and wanted to give her baby a home—but not a brute, bisexual, drug-addicted father. Renate escaped, but barely. Finally, things seemed to fall into place in Arizona, with her teaching immersion classes for French and German. It all seemed good, or was it? Her new husband had charm and pedigree.
“I never dwell on the past, even though I sometimes cry”, Renate said. She is one of the most cheerful and people-oriented persons I know. And like any serious Girl Scout she is looking to do at least one good deed a day. She always carries a gift for unforeseen occasions in her purse.
Now it’s two years later and the book is done. “Renatle” turned out well. And so did her book.
Since we started writing, Renate has made many appearances at TV stations commenting on presidential candidates’ body language or the expression of witnesses in high profile murder cases. She started her flourishing BodyLanguage4Success business after her retirement as an Arizona foreign language professor for almost 30 years. More information at BodyLanguage4success
All this fame could have spoiled Renate, but quite to the contrary she is a charming, helpful, and very open person. A gem. And I learned a great deal from her. Each interview and every editing meet was a lesson for me. Here we are at the Fountain Hills Gallery presenting Renatle’s Mosaic.
“If nothing else, there is always a Jim Horton’s in Canada,” a friend of mine joked. True, we saw one on every corner. But there was so much else. And my expectations of bakeries and sceneries were not disappointed. Our Canada trip was a worthwhile journey of nature immersion and city scouting. The landscape was gorgeous.
Canada is the country of lakes and forests. Hills and dales glowed with undulating wheat fields and pick-it-yourself strawberry farms. The farm scenery reminded me much of Germany. Trees, trees everywhere. Compared to our subdued desert vegetation, they were huge. Between Toronto, Ottawa, and Montreal, we cruised along countless waterways and swampy gulches, and very scenic lakes. Everybody seemed to be fishing in Canada. Our family reunion on Rice Lake at Serenity Estate (a gorgeous cottage on the lake with canoes, paddle boats, and a pier) turned out marvelous. We had ourselves an Indian-German-Canadian party; almost all the cousins and half the uncles had gathered.
The “cottage” (6 bedrooms) had a game room with billiards table, a full-size bar, and a poker table. By the boat landing was a fireplace all prepared. At sunset—what an amazing glow—squadrons of black flies would attack. Close the screen door, quick! On the road again, the four of us stopped over at the Hastings House Bed & Breakfast. What a gem of a cottage! We felt like living in a cute jewelry box that left no detail to accident. Housekeeper Elise cooked a luxurious breakfast with ham, egg, and homemade jellies for us. We should have stayed another night.
Next day we reached Ottawa from the Nepean side on the eve of the NAFTA summit. Our sightseeing was busted for the next two days because President Obama was to meet the other two “amigos” (pres Trudeau and pres Peña from Mexico).
So we did a walking tour along the Rideau Canal, the locks, the Parliament area, and ended up at the Byward market. We luckily got in a visit with the “We are persons” (women’s rights) sculpture set. The museums in the heart of town were barricaded against tourists because of the impending state visit. But the Moulin de Provence Bakery made up twice for the disappointment. Their cream tarts and chocolate mousse domes were exquisite. The patisserie had a showcase with Obama cookies—maple leaf gingerbread—but his picture wasn’t on them. So we didn’t buy any. Oh, well.
We whiled away the next day with the cows and ground hogs at the Experimental Farm in Ottawa, and finally, after departure of the foreign dignitaries, we saw the amazing National Gallery of Art. Of course we didn’t get done with it. The Canadian naturalist paintings of the Group of Seven reminded me of Georgia O’Keeffe; the Inuit exhibit was awe-inspiring. So much creativity from almost nothing! But it was time to head over to Montreal.
Our dear friend Evelyn gave us a blitz tour of Mount Royal, old town, the harbor, and the museum district. The food at the Andelfinger home was outstanding; crepes with blueberries for breakfast, naturally grown beef for dinner. And the croissants! We had the greatest time at the Montreal Jazz Festival, fireworks included. Next day, we browsed through the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts on the Golden Square Mile. We passed up the Ritz Carlton because we already had the best lodging in town.
Back in Toronto we tried the Fringe Festival of independent theater productions, some experimental. Blind to Happiness was according to the reviews an audience favorite; we liked the one-man, three-character act with an imaginary cat and other pendants. Number two was a set of two burlesque, one weird mime act set in WWI and a Commedia dell’ Arte–style piece, produced by a whacko clown troupe; it was a raunchy, bawdy performance, to say the least, but still quite comical. We left the theater and didn’t know what had hit us. Oh, well. Never stop learning.
We finished off our Canadian tour with a trip to the Central Island in Lake Ontario via Tiki Water Taxi from Toronto.
Why are there never any big headlines about Canada? We observed an amazingly colorful mix of people. Canada is huge, but 20 percent of its population huddles along the great lakes, with Toronto the largest city. We came to the conclusion it’s a good thing that Canada is staying out of the headlines and therefore out of controversy and mass shootings. They have a really dashing prime minister, Trudeau, whose father also held that top office. He makes for such a handsome picture. That’s why they put him on the cookies too.
Congratulations, Edda, now it’s out! Texas Kaktuswein, a collection of Texas ranch stories was released on Amazon this April. Kaktuswein provides an enjoyable glimpse into the Buchners’ first-hand-living experience. Much of their Bat Cave Ranch experience follows the German pioneer tracks.
Texas Kaktuswein—written in the German language—was five years in the making and covers 30 years of ranch life. When the Buchner “greenhorns” (Edda, Helmut, daughter Virginia) arrived in Texas, they started supplemental farming. Through learning by doing, Edda soon collected story material: circus acts with chickens, adventures in the vegetable garden, meeting the snakes, raccoons, and vultures.
The Buchners sought the simple life away from consumer society. They built up the “rock pile” (a half-built stone house with no electricity, no running water, but a windmill & water tank) with their own hands’ labor. Along the way, they taught themselves with library books, advice from the hardware store, or the proven experience from their farming neighbors.
Bat Cave Ranch was always a little paradise for me. There I could recover from college deadline pressures. The Buchners have left the pasture under the majestic live oak trees grow naturally. “The animals were here before us, so we can get along”, Edda likes to say. Get along for the most part. Snakes, or ringtails, or pesky squirrels are evacuated to the wild when the chicken when they are causing too much damage.
One fine day, about five years ago, as I was lying in a hammock and Edda was feeding me mustang grapes, we made a plan. These stories must be published! We eagerly sorted, remixed, and laid out the course. I was still sorting after I got home. My whole living room was plastered with chicken, snake, vulture, and even grasshopper stories.
Five years, why so long? I learned the Word formatting and Create Space magic soon enough. But then came the changes, rearrangements, and turnarounds. All right. Too many tough choices. What pictures are the best? There was no end to it. Now I know much easier ways right from the start.
But the result was all worth it. And come to think of it, I never got tired of the stories. Nothing was made up. In my mind, I often strolled across the deer pastures under the mighty oaks.
And I laughed out loud: Who else grabs a big snake by the tame end and hurls it around until they are both dizzy? Or who sticks a half-drowned baby opossum under her sweater to warm it back to life, skin-on-skin? Or who catches fruit flies for an injured humming bird or road kill for a vulture? Answer to all three: my friend Edda. She is very compassionate.
All in the Buchner family are nature-oriented and grandsons Tristan and Markus fully enjoy their childhood in the country. They don’t know how lucky they are.
Finally, the Buchners really do make cactus wine from prickly pear fruits, as the title Texas Kaktuswein says. If you want to find out how, buy the book and brew your own.
Let’s not deal with politics but character—A case study
Horoscopes and psychic methods are fun toys. I like to read my daily or weekly predictions, calculate my “daily number,” or watch out for the typical omens, such as a black cat. On the left, the Tyrolean Numbers, my newest discovery. Let’s do the wheel on Trump after I explain the basics.
Oooh, yeah, numerology. When I am having a really “interesting” day, I calculate my daily number to see if I should have expected everything to go wrong. Definitely. Everybody has his or her own pet peeves or superstitions. Unfortunately, I never made it far enough to calculate my ascendents, descendents, transcendents, or, for that matter, houses and angles, and the planets orchestrated therein. I am so failing as an astrologer. Astro-logic? Maybe there is no logic, but I find this sort of intelligence enticing.
Now, here we go again. I “discovered” the Tyrolean Wheel of Numbers. “Das Tiroler Zahlenrad” by Johanna Paungger and Thomas Poppe (Graefe Unzer Verlag). Based on a person’s birthdate numbers, this easy-to-remember method provides an analysis of personality, character, and talents. Johanna Paungger collected this traditional tool for healing and decision making from her childhood experience. She grew up in a small mountain community with little money but a lot of folk wisdom. The English version of her book is available from Simon & Schuster.
I have used the Tyrolean Numbers on the analysis of friends and family members and was perplexed how well it struck a chord each time. All you need is a person’s birthdate. What is it good for? It can be a decision help in childrearing, partnership, or business deals. It helps you think about people you are dealing with.
The Tyrolean Wheel of Numbers has five pairs of numbers and five colors. The numbers of a birthdate are entered in the wheel by color designation (see below); zeros are only entered as parts of double digits (10, 20, 30 etc.); years are only counted as the last two digits (zeros ignored in, for example, 2003 = 3)
North: 1 & 6, color blue = intellect, creativity, new inventions, sensibility, analytical capacity; water is on the move and finds its way; looking beyond the current horizon; professions are journalists, scientist, pioneer, or diplomat; negative: may feel lonely, bored or anxious; easily offended; may show attitudes and power lust
East: 3 & 8, color green = compassionate clarity, diplomatic and pedagogical, shows musical and “green” talents, caring, harmonious, generous, hopeful; great success in healing and agricultural professions; negative: can be pedantic, meddling, nosey; stubborn regardless of consequences; wasteful; may give too much (depletion)
South: 2 & 7, color red = passion and temperament; charismatic and entertaining; early risers, talented dancers, enthusiasm; inspiring and motivating; great problem solvers; tend to gather awards and recognitions (public life); professions are in religion, show business, philosophy, art; negative: can be despotic, arrogant, tight wad, extravagant, exaggerating, overly dramatic, or depleting him/herself
West: 4 & 6, color white = business acumen, well versed with money, rational, reliable, enduring; talented in the crafts; driven for success; critical and ambitious; keeps up relationships well; professions are builder, mechanic, pilot, lawyer, inventor, merchant/business; negative: contradictory, pedantic & petty; materialistic, corruptible, destructive; egocentric and power hungry; manipulative; critical to others, but easily offended himself
Middle: 5 & 0, color yellow = centered character, reliable and self-reliant, trustworthy, deep spirituality, rooted in traditions, taking care of people; born as natural helper; enduring; professions: farming, forestry, geologist, mother, (sincere) merchant; negative: spendthrift and wasteful; brooding in deep thought; tolerating too much without protest; detached from reality.
Let’s do the Tyrolean numbers, for example, on D Trump, born June 14, 1946. As you can see, we filled all the numbers into the blue and the white areas. The green, red, and yellow talents and personality traits do not factor. Disclaimer: the “missing” areas don’t mean that the person entirely lacks these capabilities; he/she can also work on developing the missing traits to complete all areas. It will take conscious effort to balance every personality.
Now let’s ask the colors. Is this person creative and a “starter”? Yep. Does he come out “reborn” after sinking the Trump Mahal? Definitely. Is he a visionary? In business, all right, to his own pocket’s advantage. Is he clear in speech? Might seem so, but too simple. Is he good in business? Duh. Is he a good builder? Right, he does real estate for a living.
Other questions: Is he a good boss? Well, yeah, if you suck up to his vanity or like to be fired, because the corporation (so human???) is always right. Does he like sharing? Are you kidding me, he wouldn’t have come this far if he did. What about love and passion? Move that over to the “white” business side (for money, yes). But he takes care of kids and exes from his empire by making them CEOs in his enterprises.
And here comes the “middle.” It’s not there. This person might create constant fuzz and buzz and wealth just to make sure he confirms through bank accounts and the mirror effects and adulation through indentured servants, and the media he buys—that he EXISTS. He is NEEDY for attention and extremely smart. A dangerous combination.
Now go, Donald, develop your better sides. You have a lot of work to do. Stay cool, stay in business. Stay out of government.
Someone is playing the (sorcerer’s) Apprentice game. He wants to win at all cost.
He knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.
He manipulates the “judges” (voters) at all cost. But this is not a game.
He brings out the worst in all of us.
Donald, you are so fired in my book! Stop selling the constitution back to people who wrote it in the first place.
It’s Feasting Time again, and don’t we all love pie! Now this lazy cook/baker won’t be telling you anything new about pecan pie and pumpkin pie, only this: You can whip them out in no time from the package recipe and bake them in tandem.
Here you go, two-at-a-time Pecan Pie and Pumpkin Pie: Have your ingredients handy! Your 9-inch deep pie shells are in the freezer already. Preheat your oven at 400 F.
Step 1: Put the pecan halves in one of you your pie shells; mix up the liquid ingredients in a bowl with a hand mixer, and pour that batter over the pecans. Rinse the bowl.
Step 2: For the pumpkin pie, cream the eggs in your mixing bowl and add all the other ingredients. Whip that up. Pour the batter into the other frozen pie shell.
Step 3: Put the pies on a baking sheet and bake them at 400 F for 15 minutes. Then lower the heat and bake the pies for another 45-60 minutes.
I like to “overbake” the pies because the pecans turn out so much crunchier, caramelized like cinnamon roasted nuts at the fair. I like my pecan pie to have a “praline” flavor, but not darkened too much.
The pumpkin pie, at this baking style, will also get a crunchy crust and turn a more solid, custardy texture. This is for people like me who don’t like their pies “mushy.” Now crown your delectable efforts with a puff of whipped cream. That’s a holiday!
I didn’t fall to pieces, but I fell in love with this girl. Lillie Mae Rische drew me in at first sight and sound. She is a folk/country singer with attractive looks and great personality. Not only can she sing like Nancy Griffifth (with a touch of Taylor Swift and a pinch of Joan Baez), a little moody and smokey at times, she also plays the fiddle amazingly well. At LeMars she carried ahead of her a whiff of world travels and bigger things to come.
Lillie Mae has a CD out called “Rain on the Piano”. She wrote several songs on it herself. I liked each one of her poetic tunes. Her work has a consistency about it, showing that she knows what style she is driving. “No surprise that Lillie Mae Rische is a complete bad-ass and an all-round powerhouse of melody,” her ThirdMan Store record distributor writes. No wonder, she is a Nashville girl.
And then there was this dude by the name of Frank, maybe Carter or maybe Rische. Methinks he is related to Lillie Mae. He played guitar so handsomely. Here he is with “Gentle on My Mind.”
Fred Techau and his wife Dorothy presenting the Overture to Wilhelm Tell.
One fine morning as I was strolling the LeMars fairgrounds, I stumbled upon a dulcimer workshop at the Village Square. Dorothy and her sister Marilyn were initiating another player into a whole other way of tuning. There was one extra dulcimer. So what should they do? They placed that instrument on my knees and handed me and extra sheet of notes. Play. OK. The dulcimer has four strings on its keyboard (left had) to make chords with. The right hand plucks the rhythm with a plectrum. After you know three chords, you can play to accompaniment to most country songs. Playing the lead is a different story.
The mountain dulcimer is a soft-spoken instrument. It harmonizes well with many acoustic sets and is an important sound element in traditional country music and the Appalachian folk life. The frets are arranged in the diatonic scale. It can be tuned in the Mixolydian or Ionian mode. Now, Dorothy didn’t let me worry about that too much, but instructed me to move my set of fingers in tandem three notches up the board. There! Anyone can learn this in ten minutes. I spent the most relaxing half hour that morning tuning into the dulcimers. How nice it is to play music!
Harry Rusk was introduced into the Country Music Hall of Fame by Bob Everhart at LeMars in 2015.
Harry Rusk is a widely known country music artist and Nashville performer from Alberta, Canada. He is a Native American from the Slavey tribe, born at Fort Nelson, British Columbia. In his autobiography “Beyond the Bend of the River,” Harry wrote down his painfully honest and sometimes heartbreaking life story of discrimination and survival. He is one of the very few people remaining who grew up in the traditional trapping lifestyle of the Pacific Northwest.
In his youth Harry suffered from tuberculosis and was hospitalized at total bedrest for four years. Both his parents and brother perished from TB. Through all the early tribulations, the country singer who got inspired by old-time star Hank Snow, cherished any small kindness given to him as a great treasure. He was not fond of the heartless Catholic missionaries, who almost refused to give his mother a Christian burial. Then, in 1975, Harry found Jesus. Since then he uses his musical talent for his ministry. But I haven’t gotten that far in his book yet. I have enjoyed one page after another of insights into a much varied life of self-determination.
Meet an authentic singing farmer: Ervin Pickhinke from Sioux City, Iowa. I stumbled upon one of his performances at Bob Everhart’s festival, but, too slow, buffalo, I had missed my shot. That’s why Ervin repeated his John Deere ‘wheelings’ especially for me, because by then he had also run out of CDs. This song was truly funny, it had taken me by surprise. I was delighted.
Ervin Pickhinke and his daughter Sara Sennert have country music in the blood. “Living Country” is the title of their heart-warming joint album. Ervin retired from farming after working his property for 41 years. His young neighbor bought the farm and proudly continues the tradition. Ervin’s business card says, “A Farmer’s Trade Is One of Worth.” Ervin is of German roots, and there are still Pickhinkes living in Germany, as Sara found out. Apparently, Ervin’s grandfather set sail for America and didn’t tell his parents, where he was going. They later found out the truth from a cousin.
Below you can see a John Deere at work, plus a classic Hanomag.
Meet Maria Petersen, from Omaha, Nebraska. She was raised in the same Bavarian village as I and got me into country music. Here Maria is performing Amazing Grace with friend Jeff Osthus minding the saw. The zither has a keyboard of strings for melody and accompanying chords. Maria has performed often at the German American Club in Omaha, for many social groups, and at Bob Everhart’s annual country music festival. She plays Bavarian folk songs, country music, classical pieces and children’s songs. Maria founded a zither society and arranged a national convention of zither players in Omaha in 1999. She has released four CDs with her own recordings.
“My father was a carpenter, wheelwright, and passionate musician. So he decided to have a little house music with us children, my brother and I. Anderl, would soon give up on the zither. So father taught him the guitar. The zither also cut hard into my small fingers. But I practiced for hours at a time, because I wanted play it like my dad did. Well, my mother was very happy with me practicing too. She let me get off the chores when I was making music. She praised me consistently, even though all that practice might not have sounded so good. Here I am, still playing after all these years.” Amazing Grace on the zither!
Will the circle be unbroken? Yeah, I don’t think it ever was broken. Rather I came all the way around at Bob Everhart’s 40th country music festival. I went to LeMars. Where, Mars? No, Le Mars! That is a small town in Iowa. After a long time I went Country again (once a cowgirl, always a cowgirl), listening to famous tunes four days straight.
Bob calls his brand of event a “mouthful.” To be precise, we are talking about the “National Old Time, Country, Bluegrass, and Folk Music Festival and Pioneer Exposition of Arts, Crafts, Flea Market, And Agricultural Lifestyle & Rural Living Convention.” I am calling it Bob and Sheila’s (his wife) country music festival.
Now I don’t know if time was standing still, I skipped a few decades, or I was fast-forwarding to the Plymouth County Fairgrounds from my yesteryear Texas college days—I still recognized some faces of the old-time music hardliners. I’ll be darn, the music festival, as I had known it from Avoca (Iowa), although smaller, was still going strong.
Granted, a number of musicians had passed on. Yet, just like I vividly remembered, there was this array of RV campers and a village of show barns filled with musical entertainment. For seven days during Labor Day week, on ten stages, all day long, traditional country music would play itself out. You could get an endless earful of acoustic folk music, “exotic” instruments such as dulcimer, autoharp, or singing saw included. Some performers came from as far as New Zealand. READ ON BELOW JACOB AUSTIN BAND VIDEO
Bob Everhart, the organizer of this medley, is a great performer, recording artist, promoter, and encyclopedia of country music. He and his wife Sheila have earned a spot at the Smithsonian’s Traveling Museum. Bob chose his country music mission early on in life. He didn’t try too hard to become a star. Why? He put a value instead of a price tag on his favorite music. Bob didn’t sell out to the music industry, because those traditional tunes feel best when everyone sings and plays them together. So the Great Plains troubadour started many a friendly competition. Bob has always kept good-natured about the (tough) music business. His favorite key is “h” for humor. He likes to joke when things go wrong. And the show always goes on somehow.
Not only has Bob put on his festival (and many other gigs) for 40 years, he also founded the National Traditional Country Music Association and established a prairie “roots music” Pioneer Music Museum in Anita, Iowa, with America’s Old Time Country Music Hall of Fame and many music memorabilia in it. Call it “Planet Country Music.” Sheila plays music (bass) with Bob and helps him with the organizing and hosting the awards at the big, annual NTCMA festival. For the rest of the year, all three (add daughter Bobbie Leah to the mix) have planned a number of events at their Oak Tree Opry in their hometown Anita, Iowa.
How do I know Bob Everhart? Let’s go back to prehistoric 1979. My friend Leni (alias Maria Petersen) from Omaha took me along to his country music festival. She and I come from the same small village in Germany (Ascholding). Now as then, Leni was scheduled for a number of appearances with her zither (so far the one and only at this festival over the last 30 years). This time, I followed her around, taking pictures for her portfolio.
Oh, what a memory lane I got on! I had organized, as a teenager, some country music appearances for Bob and his travel companions around my German hometown. That was such a thrill and highly unusual at the time. Here’s another thing: On stage I had to translate the introductions of songs for Bob. He kept telling the listeners about the famous Carter family in country music. You know what I thought? Jimmy Carter, President. I was confused. Now, how did the presidents suddenly get into country music? So many Carters out there?
Finally, where is today’s “Home on the range?” At Bob Everhart’s country music festival, I’d say, “where never is heard a discouraging word.” People, this was a lot of fun for me. Be sure to tune in for more country music soon at this station. I’ll play you some.
First, in preschool or kindergarten (oh, so late!), you open an aggressive 529 college savings account. Then you go to school for 12 to 14 more years. In your junior year you start looking for a college by hearsay and websites. Or the colleges will send you heavyweight, ultra-glossy, four-color brochures (see right). So many schools are courting your attention and your parents’ money. It’s sweet to feel so popular!
That’s how you get to college
Next you start attending college presentations every week at school or in town. In your senior summer you go on college tours, like a Department of Education inspector, to compare services and curricula. Do they have Nobel laureates? Do they offer scholarships for out-of-state students? How’s the campus lifestyle? How does this college rank in engineering? By August you have memorized the stats from the online US News and World Report. That’s how you get to college
Then you retake SATs, ACTs, and special tests until your points are maxed. In between you practice essay writing and take SAT-Math coaching. Eventually, you get on College Board or other academic launch pads to view your future. One thing is for sure, each application costs about $100. (Colleges charge before you get one class.) That is how you get to college
By September you whip a spreadsheet together to control the mind-boggling deadlines and requirements for 15 open applications nationwide. Did we include the SATs, ACTs, ECCs, APs, Parchment transcripts, high school rank, essays, portfolios, recommendations, FAFSA, IDOC, resume, service hours, and certifications? Bummer, they wanted the math scores by February 1. Forget about it now. You work each deadline until midnight—the midnight in your state. Applying to the East Coast gives you a few more hours when you live in Arizona. That’s how you get to college
Then you don’t just sit around and wait for March 1. You pick up more service hours, push a charity project to fruition, study for AP classes, and cruise the social circuit. You want to make the most of your time with your old friends before you make the new. It will be a while (uncertain) until you see them again. That’s how you get to college
Now the results are in. You made it into two-thirds of schools on your list. The ball is in your court again. Perhaps you revisit one or two of your favorites. Too expensive. Too far away. Program not exactly as desired. Ah, but there is a reasonable scholarship and the curriculum looks good too. Daddy, pay the deposit now. Pay two or three, if I can’t decide by May 1st. That’s how you get to college
Your life has changed. Fine-tune your grades, send in your final transcripts and AP results, go to graduation, have a huge party with aunties from afar. If possible, do a trip around the world as well and have a delightful piano recital to top off your accomplishments. Delve into excitement, suspense, and nervous giggles. Many last time rituals to follow. And then start shopping for your dorm. Target, if you will, is mother’s best guess. That’s how you get to college
Then drive like a (sun) devil through the uncertain night into desolate towns and find comfort in El Fidel Fettucine Alfredo that you didn’t expect in such a hitching post that time of night. The antique hotel has Hippie pictures on the wall. Who would have guessed. A nice surprise. Then keep on driving for another long stretch along sunflower-fenced territorial highways to your mountain college. Keep a steady speed to make the move-in date on time, because next day will all be purple and orange, and they kept blue just for you. They shut down the town for buffalo stampedes. Take a police escort to your room, if you will. That’s how you get to college
Well, you forgot a bunch of things at home, and some necessities come as a surprise. Chit chat, your dorm neighbors fill you in quickly, and off we go to Target again. In the meantime engineering orientation starts, the convocation gathers up its freshmen, and the welcome wagon throws out chicken wings and concerts to the newbies. Wait a minute, what about the bursar, the class schedule, and some two dozen passwords for online services and practice units? You come away from the bookstore with another hole in your pocket.
That’s how you get to college. And then you study and repeat the last couple of sentences three more times until you’re done with it and move on to the next level. What can I say, this is only the beginning. Go get them Buffs!
We almost didn’t make it to JFK. Whatever pick up time your taxi company gives you, add at least 2 hours to be safe. Getting out of Manhattan can seem hopeless, when you are caught in a jam. No wonder that New Yorkers walk with so much determination. We were lucky not to know any of these constrictions as we were still strolling on Fifth Avenue. We took a ride up the Empire State Building and had the observation deck almost to ourselves because it was raining. The ushers and security staff seemed like the same ones I had seen decades ago on my first trip. The Empire State is a very traditional site and a masterpiece of human construction. Yet times were simpler then. The bid for construction cost fit simply on one page. My picture today is called SMILOPHILE. I don’t know what the rest of it says, since the skyscrapers were jumbled together so densely. Never mind, this image helped me see the light as I was fretting about catching an international flight. We are in London now.
Day Three
Now let’s back up a bit from what I said yesterday about the New Yorkers. I had given up asking them direction. But, voilá, as confused as we looked over the subway map (going in the wrong direction again?), some locals took pity on us and volunteered strategic information. Another thing I learned: New Yorkers walk with steadfast destiny through the daily masses. You can’t just flag them down. You need to catch someone’s eye. Try looking. Pin a glance on someone and then smile. Finally, we even engaged in playful banter with a hot dog vendor. We had a great time: Liberty Statue, Museum of Natural History, Metropolitan Museum of Art, Top of the Rock, Intrepid Naval Air & Space Museum, Greenwich Village, MoMa, 911 Memorial, the Subway, Time Square, neighborhood delis, French bakeries, and many other places.
Day Two
You must be Intrepid when asking New Yorkers the way. Some will blankly stare through you as if they hadn’t noticed you are talking to them. Some will determinedly rush by you with a stone face, never mind you’re waving at them. Others will detour in a wide bow around you with fear you might want to hit them up for money. Some may pretend not to speak English or Spanish or German or Hindi. The nicest ones will say, “I don’t know,” shrug their shoulders or shake their head and scurry on. We asked, “Is this sub going uptown?” Yes, yes! That man sent us in the wrong direction altogether. One friendly New Yorker, however, saved our day. He walked us through the maze of Central Park to come out on Fifth Avenue next to his favorite knish place.
Day 1
This picture captured the world’s attention
Pictures, pictures everywhere. We take so many to never see them again. Having a selfie-stick helps to get more. You don’t need to ask a stranger to help you with the group pictures. Not us, we like hitting on fellow travelers.
I will give you one picture a day of our whereabouts. Unfortunately, none of our gazillion digital pictures are bound to be famous. Here is one image by Alfred Stieglitz that became a legend, “The Steerage,” from 1907. Compare that with the Liberty Island tourists above, voyagers have it quite a bit better today. Happy trails to all of you and them.
A Most Wonderful and Healthy “Orange” Celebration!
Orange is a really good color. At first I didn’t like it because it seemed too shiny and “unreal,” almost artificial. Of course, then the Longhorns’ burnt orange of my UT Austin, Texas, Alma mater made me biased. Recently, I have come to see the influence of orange on many TV ads as well as in print. Orange is a strong color, it stands out. By now you can tell that I also like oranges (our little clementines just ready for harvest), pumpkins, carrots, butternut squash, mangoes etc. Orange is healthy.
OK, you hear, do the squash and pumpkins for Thanksgiving! When else would you cook them? Take your time. Do the work. Wait until it is baked. Set the table nice. Enjoy!
Thanksgiving is not a “fast food” feast. I like Thanksgiving because it is an intercultural celebration, not a political holiday, you don’t have to go to church, and its all about the food. Who does not love to eat! Thanksgiving is perhaps the only day in the year when all of America truly cooks. If you went shopping today, you saw the crazy carnival at the grocery store. As if the world ended tomorrow!
We complain about the labors of cooking the meal, but we should cook like this more often. Why? America does not appreciate food enough. That’s why a large segment of the population suffers from obesity. Am I making sense? We often stuff our mouths without gratitude or MINDFULNESS (I don’t want to go into the psychology). Thanksgiving makes all of us more “down-to-earth” about nutrition and family collaborations. If you have tried to process butternut squash, you know what I mean. Or have you made Chinese dumplings or ravioli together? We should cook like the Amish more often. It seems they do have Thanksgiving every day.
OK, maybe it will be enough if we reduce our fast food impulses.
I cracked the butternut! As I have told you earlier, I am a slow learner. But hope is not totally lost, it seems. Remember, when I complained over the preparation of the tough-to-peel butternut squash? I thought it would be easiest to buy those cubes at the grocery store before ending up in the hospital for cutting off a finger.
Bing! A bulb recently went off at the kitchen tools section. I found the most wonderful, handy tool for the job. Butternut, no problem!
The Best Turkey Left-Over Recipe
This spicy and savory recipe is perhaps the only one that I could remember from a television show. I would call it “Mexican Turkey Shuffle”
You will need:
turkey leftovers, cut into small strips
1 Tbs. olive oil
1-2 jalapeños, diced
1 onion, diced
1-2 shots tequila
1 cup of heavy sweet cream
10 sprigs cilantro, diced
salt & pepper to taste
optional: cranberries, mushrooms, peas & corn
Heat the olive oil in a large pan, sizzle onions and jalapeños for about 5 minutes, then add the turkey pieces. Keep stirring until turkey gets a little crusty and onions light brown. Glaze that off with the tequila and cook for another 5 minutes. Add the sweet cream, cilantro, salt & pepper, and heat all the way through. Serve this stir fry over basmati rice. Bon appetite!
Country music was nothing new in Ascholding. More than 30 years ago, old-time country music ambassador Bob Everhart came to perform in my quaint German hometown. Maybe those stones got rolling there?
I visited Bob’s Traditional Country Music Festival in 2015 and was amazed that his flagship event was still going. My friend Maria (also from Ascholding) faithfully played the zither there at several workshops as 30 years before. Bob apparently had not changed much; but he was close to 80 years old now (did I miscount?). How did he keep up this energy? Music keeps him young.
Eventually, I stopped at the festival information booth. Boy, some of these photos seemed familiar. When I was a student at the University of Texas, I attended Bob’s Old-Time Country Music Festival several times. And took pictures. Yep, some of my snapshots stuck out of the photo display. Bob had kept them all these years! Even Bob’s Folkways album cover seemed awesomely familiar. I remembered that performance in the 80ies. I came to Iowa from the University of Texas. Could I have taken the picture for the album cover and didn’t know it?
