Category Archives: between books

Onwards and Upwards – –

Jack’s Wednesday guest post reverts to Thursday again –

It’s certainly no secret anymore that we are actively looking to pass along Tales of the Lonesome Pine to as yet unidentified new owners. The building/business should be listed very shortly.

bookstore

One of the interesting things has been producing a briefing sheet showing the financial information over the twelve years since we opened, as well as a narrative describing the things that worked/didn’t work to promote the business.

The financial report was relatively easy as we have kept careful records, could consult bank statements and sales tax returns as well as saved card sales. Of course running a bookstore in a small rural town in an economically challenged area isn’t easy. But what was obvious when I ran the figures was two things. Opening the Second Story Café had a significant impact and so did the publication of ‘The Little Bookstore’. There was a big trade-off between the bookstore and the café, and the book continues to bring folk from all over the country and even from around the world.

We wanted to pass along to any potential new owners all the insights we had gained and experiences that had ‘educated’ us. We also wanted to try to share our enthusiasm for the place – not just the business but the town and the community as well.

‘The Little Bookstore’ is almost a working manual in itself, but it’s now six years old and life moves on. Things that worked then don’t necessarily work now and lots of different opportunities have presented themselves.

Our fondest hope is that ‘Tales of the Lonesome Pine’ will continue to operate and flourish as a bookstore and hub of this community, and doesn’t end up being sold as simply the house we stumbled on twelve years ago – but that’s in the hands of fate!

Where we, personally, end up next is anyone’s guess right now but there comes a time when you just know it’s time to move on. The world’s a much smaller place now so you never lose touch with friends and we might not be too far away anyway.

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Surprise, Surprise!

Jack’s Wednesday post limps in on Friday this time – –

Well – what a week it’s been and it isn’t over yet!

First of all we had a phone call from California from folk who have read ‘The Little Bookstore’ and intend to visit Big Stone Gap, then we had another call from a couple in Charlotteville who will be celebrating their 51st wedding anniversary by doing the same thing next week (having read Wendy’s book when it first came out five years ago). This is great for the town as they will stay in a local hotel and shop locally while they are here.

(BTW – Wendy and I celebrate our 20th anniversary next Tuesday.)

Meanwhile a radio station in Scotland has agreed to air my weekly radio show ‘Celtic Clanjamphry’, so it will now be broadcast in Tennessee, Virginia and Scotland.

But the icing on the cake happened yesterday afternoon when a group of folk came in the door and explained that they had driven down from Toronto. They were all from Korea originally and included a friend who was just visiting for a short time. He was the real reason they came to the shop because he works at the publisher in Seoul who put out the Korean language version of ‘The Little Bookstore’. He had brought both an English language and Korean copy of the book to have Wendy sign them. They spent some time with us and luckily Wendy was here to socialize and chat. To say we were gob-smacked would be putting it mildly!

book-cover-korea

koreans

That’s Mr Young-Eun Goh of Danielstone Publishing on the left.

We had some fun describing the convoluted email conversation Wendy had with the Korean translator back when that edition was being prepared and we proudly showed the copy we still have.

We actually received six copies from the publisher when it came out and sold five of them here in the bookshop. We thought that was pretty amazing, but getting a visit from the publisher was something else entirely!

We look forward to visits from the Polish, Portuguese and Chinese publishers – – –

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The Monday Book: WE ARE ALL COMPLETELY BESIDE OURSELVES by Karen Joy Fowler

contentYes, yes, I know it’s Tuesday. YOU try making the buses run on time the week after vacation. *grumps*

Sad thing is, although I really enjoyed reading it, this book didn’t cheer me up at all. I got it from Rachel, our shopsitter, when I went rushing through the bookstore the day before we left on holiday.

“Something to read, something to read,” I muttered, and Rachel almost without looking hauled this baby off the shelf.

“You’ll love it. It’s amazing,” she said, and I grabbed it from her hand and packed it.

And almost lost my mind night after night in the lodgings as I entered a world where chimp and human babies were raised side by side in an experiment that was subject the vagaries of funding, public pressure, and human fickleness. You can see from the beginning (and also the back blurbs) that this is a heartbreaking book. You know from the beginning what’s going to happen; in fact much of the book is tracing back from what happened. I like the way the author says, “I’m going to start my story in the middle, then go back and fill in, but on the way we’ll stop at the ending.” That’s not an exact quote but that’s what she does.

Her depictions of life through the eyes of a narrator you can’t quite trust, of events that seem surreal, among characters you feel you know (remember I’m a sucker for characters, and it is true they drive plot)… amazing work. I kept reading EVEN WHEN I KNEW A KITTEN WAS GOING TO DIE because Fowler writes so matter-of-factly about hearts and feelings and fear and hope. It’s just life, she seems to say. Get on with it.

My guess is that tender-hearted people and CEOs read this book on two different levels, which really interests me. It is hard to get a story going that holds humor and lessons that vary by reader, but Fowler has created a “He said/she said” that doesn’t answer questions so much as ask them: What does it mean to be human? What is our responsibility to each other? Who’s in charge here?

Two opposable thumbs up for We are all completely beside Ourselves.

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Takuwe, Wounded Knee, Little Bighorn

Early in the trip, we went to Takuwe (translates as “why”) which is a temporary art and narrative exhibit in South Dakota dedicated to helping people understand what happened at Wounded Knee (the first time mostly, although the second is mentioned). Then we went to the actual site. This is an intense thing, because the exhibit is beautiful and full of recordings and written words from survivors and eyewitnesses. The site itself has only what the indigenous people put up because the US government keeps reneging on a promise to build a national monument and park there. Graffiti told white people to stay out of the cemetery until promises about the land were kept, and sage had been burned and left in a bundle at the entrance.

At Little Bighorn (aka Greasy Grass, aka Custer’s Last Stand) an actual battle took place in which a WHOLE lot of white people died, whereas Wounded Knee was a full-on massacre with soldiers shooting into a ravine full of unarmed women and kids.

Both started with the the kids, though, because when Custer was sent to round up the Indians who had decided to not move to a reservation, he was expecting about 500 people; he didn’t realize the riverbank camp held more than 7,000, many of them Cheyenne Warriors because they and the Sioux were camped together as allies.

Also, the cavalry troop sent around to the South was probably drunk, because the commander (Marcus Reno) pretty much started the whole thing by ordering his men to form a skirmish line and rush the South end of the camp mowing down little kids and elders. Which went really badly for the soldiers because it set the torch paper to the dry wood of fury among the people who already felt crowded out and endangered. You hit someone else’s kid, you get what you deserve, and several of Reno’s men died badly.

It’s a site you should visit in person or online, because the whole story is too hard to tell, but there were two very poignant things to me. One is that the government eventually put up tombstones of red granite for natives and white marble for incomers  wherever they found bodies. Many of the white tombstones only say “a soldier of the seventh cavalry fell here.” And they start in a clump in fortifications on top of hills or behind valleys, and they end in pairs, backing up the hill. Which means that the guys killed their horses and used them as barricades in a circle, then when they ran out of ammo, they paired off and stood back to back fighting with their hands.

Custer went into the battle not thinking it would be a fight; he would round up the Indians who had refused to go to the reservations, and the Black Hills they had been promised, which held gold, would be sold by the elders to the US Government and opened for settlement. How far into the battle was he before he realized several mistakes meant he’d killed not only himself but  more than 250 men? Most of these were immigrants, about 40% Irish, a handful of Poles and others alongside. They’d come to the West to get rich. But the Indians had always been in the West, and the killing of the seventh cavalry became a symbol as well as an actual victory.

Those tombstones in pairs on the hills made me swallow hard.

After the battle Sitting Bull took everyone who wanted to go North into Canada. They lasted five years before harsh winters forced their surrender-versus-starvation to the US government.

In the battlefield museum was a picture of a Lakota woman taken in 1880, four years after Little Bighorn/Greasy Grass and ten years before Wounded Knee. She’s kneeling, holding a baby at the entrance to a teepee, the baby looking out with happiness and excitement at something unseen in the distance. The woman is looking at the baby, and in her face is captured every mother’s wish for her child: to grow up safe and happy, to have a sweet life doing things with their dad and grandparents; to become someone who does good while walking softly through the world. And underneath it, fear: what was her child’s life going to be now?

That was when I started crying.

You can see much better pictures online than these. I was in the moment and didn’t take many or very good ones. The guy in the bright shirt is Leland, our battle site guide.

 

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Filed under between books, folklore and ethnography, Life reflections, Little Bookstore of Big Stone Gap, Scotland, small town USA, Uncategorized, Wendy Welch

Day Seven: Buff Steals the Show

Still at Sylvan Lake, soaking in water and woods by day, and cocktails by night. Because the wifi is hard to get, I’m putting all the photos and video at the bottom in a string again.

When you’ve seen a six-foot male buffalo kick up his heels in a dirt bath, you know the definition of “party animal.” These massive creatures turn into eight-hundred-pound puppies, legs waving in all directions as they wriggle on their backs like worms. It’s like watching the Pope go swimming: one minute plodding along all dignity and grace ignoring the tourists with cameras, the next doing a high dive yelling “Bonsai!”

Thoughtfully, the buffalo had aligned himself about twenty feet beyond a sign describing the American bison, so the braver tourists dashed three feet from their cars to take a picture of Buff the Bather gamboling about like a prairie dog, just beyond the interpretive plaque depicting him as the symbol of Prairie Dignity.

In the car, Oliver, Barbara, Jack and I agreed: Buff had drawn the afternoon shift. While all the others were hiding out from the heat at the local watering hole, buying each other rounds, he had the high-traffic entertainment shift. Hence his need for a party piece, the ol’ hof-waving, back-wriggling, kick-’em-up high routine. Packs the house every time.

About an hour later, leaving the Wildlife Loop Trail, we passed the Custer State Park office. Barbara indicated it with a nod of her head. “That’s where they collect their weekly wages. Buff is the highest-paid, because of his dirt dance routine, but he’s training twin calves to take over next year so he can retire.”

It is a sign of how far we have traveled together that the rest of us nodded agreement, Jack adding, “Took him two years to work his way up from night shifts.”

None of the crew are as interested in the antics of the prairie dogs, though, and I have had to resort to trickery to get my daily fix. While Oliver very much enjoys the charm of the wildlife and the beauty of the Black Hills, he tailgates the person ahead until they pull over, then races on. Even a rare sighting of an antelope failed to stop his drive to, well, drive. So the next time I saw a particularly cute prairie dog village, I shouted, “Look there!” Oliver practically put us into a ditch, swerving to the side. I snapped the dogs, and since we now had to let all the people we’d passed pass us, Oliver scanned the horizon for what I’d been pointing at. Turned out to be a dying Black Hills Spruce. (The beetles are doing for them, 95,000 acres damaged). Oh dear, so silly of me to mistake that reddish tree for a buffalo/coyote/antelope/mountain goat. Well, let’s press on, shall we?

Tomorrow, I drive….

 

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Day 3: Roadside adventures in SD

IMG_4188We planned a day of looking at stuff as we meandered across South Dakota’s Interstate 90 until  we reached the Badlands. Jack and I dragged the unsuspecting Barbara and Oliver into the Porter sculpture park first thing. Greeted by a gopher on arrival, Oliver looked suspicious and annoyed.

But he cheered right up when Wayne remembered us, and traded us t-shirts again–our shop one for two of his–and then comped all four of us into his park. I brought him a long-promised copy of Little Bookstore, and he asked how long it had taken to write. I asked how long it took him to make that huge bull that is the park’s signature nationwide. Turns out, it took us about the same length of time.

IMG_4224If you expand the goldfish picture to look under it, you will meet the gopher who unnerved Oliver. We remembered Wayne feeding the gophers chocolate last time we were there, but he told us they were on peanuts now. “Chocolate is bad for them, turns out. Too much carbs and sugar.” So even gophers are on the Keto diet now…

Next stop: Mitchell, because if you are hauling Brits across the States, you need to see some tacky stuff. Also, they have really good ice cream. Barbara and Oliver were suitably impressed with the idea that someone could cover a brick building with decorative corn murals and revitalize a dying economy. “Heavy price to pay,” they noted, given the traffic and the, well, corniness of it all. Remembering Farmington’s gentle dignity down by the river, plus the empty buildings everywhere, who can judge whose choices?

 

From the ridiculous to the sublime, we sped our little Nissan along 90 to Chamberlain, where the famous “Dignity” statue awaited at the Lewis and Clark interpretation center. The sculptor used three indigenous models to create her: a girl, a mother, and an elder.IMG_4240

Finally, I found out what Lewis and Clark had been doing all that time: looking for a passage to the Pacific. (Who knew?) It’s one of those things Americans feel like we ought to know, but when it comes down to it, you don’t.

And then, the Badlands. Which gobsmacked the Brits as much as we expected it to. *smirk* More on that tomorrow.

 

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Day Two: SQUEEEEEverly

Farmington, Iowa to Sioux Falls, South Dakota

highway 2 mapSo there are a couple of things you need to know about our rag-tag band of Brits: Barbara is famous back in the UK, as in, can’t eat out without being approached for an autograph famous. Her husband Oliver is the calmest classic Englishman ever, complete with handlebar mustache, and Jack, well, y’all know Jack.

So when Barbara the “seen it all twice” star loses her cool, it is fun to watch. The words “Everly Brothers” send her into full meltdown fangirl mode. Which is extra funny because the unflappable Oliver is the one who met Phil during a filming–a fact he uses to great aplomb in scoring marriage points when needed.

We missed the Everly birthplace in Kentucky on the way out because it was west of our desired trajectory, but when I took coffee to the porch of the Farmington B&B and opened my laptop to plan our route across Iowa, the musical muses of mischief intervened.

Who knew the Everly brothers had a museum at their childhood home in Shenandoah, Iowa?

barn 1Iowa has three or four ways to cross it, the swiftest being Interstate 80. But across the bottom is a little thing called Highway 2, cleverly populated with unusual barns in a desperate attempt to get people to drive it. You know the tourism board is reaching when they tell you why a particular roof slant is “unique.”

But I wanted to drive it because, as one rather caustic Trip Advisor review pointed out, “The main selling point of Highway 2 is that it isn’t Interstate 80.” So it took about .2 seconds to convince Barbara that we wanted to go the slow route to Sioux Falls and enjoy the scenery, because at the far end of Highway 2 lay Shenandoah-gri-la.

everleyWe called the museum, as it looked like one of those places that closes if the volunteer’s granddaughter needs picked up from ballet lessons. This was fortuitous; when the volunteer heard Barbara’s enthusiasm, she offered “the works,” a tour of the home and an overview of relics collected from this corner of musical America.

We arrived in yet another dying small town’s main street, full of beautiful buildings with nothing in them, but the Depot Deli proved full of artifacts as promised; Barbara could scarcely eat for excitement.

At 2 pm our dignified diva left us in a mad dash, smoke curling behind her feet in Flintstone-esque fashion. Oliver came back from the loo, noted her absence, and said, “Ah, it’s open then?” We nodded. Oliver picked up his hat and followed his wife.

Post-tour and equipped with a guidebook gifted by “her new best friend” the volunteer,  Barbara entertained us with Everly Brothers trivia as we turned sharp north and headed up the side of Iowa, following the Lewis and Clark Trail toward Sioux Falls. The Brits had hoped to bag another state briefly in Nebraska, but we missed it by about five miles–which meant we also missed seeing my friend Kate Belt, who lives in the area. But by now Barbara had the guidebook memorized, so count your blessings, Kate.

Since we had crossed Iowa at an almost-perfect right angle, it took longer to, as Oliver put it, “get out.” The Brits now understand that some parts of America are indeed flat.

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