foodies in the ozarks?

The Chomping Donkey food truck

Plum Food Group truck and catering hq.

Are we in Austin? This can't be West Plains (pop @10,000) Missouri. But yes, two food trucks decided to open up simultaneously, serving organic fast food with a few pretensions—sweet potato fries, bbq with bacon, crawfish rolls, tacos and carnitas. You can find the Chomping Donkey at the Farmers' Market on Saturday, and Plum Food group at the flea market by the railroad tracks several days a week.

 Check Facebook for hours and specials. Both serve Ozark pop with Real Sugar and feature Nice Young People as chefs.

roundup

Madison and 35th. Kate Knapp

On a morning like this, when it's 62 and the kids are about to go back to school in Missouri, thoughts turn to New York City. And how better to enjoy it than vicariously through Kate Knapp's watercolors fabulosos. They are up at the Front Street Gallery in Housatonic, Mass, if you're anywhere near there.
And speaking of New York, here's a map of NYC places mentioned in songs. Love maps.
And while on the East Coat, here's a crib sheet for what fish it's correct to eat. And which not. . .
And speaking of maps, there are famous artworks on billboards all over the U.S. Looks cool! Check it out!
And in other of my locations:
This is a fab video of Block Island from above using a drone. I have been sensitized to drones by he-who-is-alwayd-on-the-cutting-edge.
A fascinating piece on an amazing storm a hundred miles wide and a thousand miles long that flattened acres in the Ozarks, written by she-who-owns-the-truck.

goose on google earth

The Goose by Google Street View, Spring 2009.

The Goose today, Summer 2014

Google street view, 2009

Goose 2014

The old truck in the yard (and me, painting), 2009 Google

The new truck in the yard, 2014—and they laughed at my privet transplants!

We did not see the Google Earth truck come by as we worked. I had just bought the Goose, and Chris had come from Santa Fe to help me fix it up en route to help Erin build her house. But there I am, painting in the back yard, and there Chris is unloading tools from his rental truck. And here we are now. Drive by again, O Google. The place has changed.

devil and angel

Unka Simon, aka Mr. Cool, and his niece Camilla, aka Mimi Mouse

one mo' time

A guy has a bunch of these signs on his junkpile of a place

Yes, I do believe those are bullet holes. Big surprise. Enough, you may say, with the romance of the road already. But it's so American! And, hell, I'm living in  a gas station!
  Something to look forward to: before and after pix of my gas station. Coming your way. Hitchhike, hitchhike, Darlin'. The middle of nowhere? No way, we're in the heart of the country, where the Midwest, West and South meet. We're not in Nueva York any more.

old cars of the ozarks

In my neighbor's car graveyard: TK

I'm not really one to make fun of car graveyards. Some of you know where my old Fiat is buried.  But you're not telling, right?
    I stole that Fiat. From my boyfriend. (Who coincidentally or not bought the thing accompanied by the man who subsequently became my husband, if you can follow that. They all met at Time.) The boyfriend also had a VW bus, and for some reason put the Fiat in my name when we were starting a newspaper together in Springfield, Ill. Bad plan. When he took up with Another Woman, I took up the car and headed East, back to New York City.
    It got towed away the first day. (I had never had a car in New York before. Speaking of car graveyards!) Me and my next boyfriend had a lot of fun in that car. Maybe too much, but I won't go into that.
    The boyfriend I started the newspaper with sold it and split the money with his business partner. They both broke up with the girlfriends who had lived and breathed the thing with them, and the girlfriends got squat. I figured I deserved the car and so I told the ex-boyfriend when I saw him next. Besides, he had put it in my name—almost the same as giving it to me, right? He said if I would give him a viyella Brooks Brothers shirt we could call it even. So I did, and we did.
   The takeaway (besides the radio) from this whole adventure should have been never to engage in startups without a piece of the action. However, I did not learn: I worked my heart out for Billie Jean King's womenSports relaunch (fail), People magazine (success), TV Cable Week (major fail), Picture Week (never launched), Life weekly during the first Iraq war (cancelled) and innumerable redesigns of Life monthly (fail).

My own car graveyard: the Fiat radio.

Actually, I did get stock options, which enabled me to develop the property where the Fiat might lie. (The radio from it is the only souvenir. It now dwells in my yard in the Ozarks as is only appropriate.) And I got a nice pension from People. And the other girlfriend made good at National Geographic, while the boyfriends got out of the magazine business. So it all worked out and everyone lived happily ever after.
   Except the Fiat.

logoo gone

Before

 For some reason the TRD logo bothered me. Maybe it reminded me of T_RD. I like how the new truck handles, but I didn't like its looks much.
Much happier since taking my fingernails and a lot of Goo Gone to it. . .

After

gluten free

Cousin Richard takes an outdoor shower.

When I was a little girl, I was the big boss of my Alabama cousins, and the next in age to me was Poor Richard. The things I made my tribe do! Building wigwams in the woods, playing games of my devising and charging all over the rose garden at Grandmother's house. Now Richard is the big boss of Grandmother's house. He is also gluten free, which led certain people to suggest a call-in radio show called "Bubba Richard's Gluten-Free Hour." Recently, he was able to overcome his fear of me, Yankees and cold water to visit the North.  He and his son paid a quick visit to Hannah's in Block Island (I was not there). His favorite time of day there was shower/cocktail hour.
  Yes, martinis are gluten free.

old rides

The school bus cum chicken coop

The Buick (?) cum Pasture Pal

Since I come out to the Ozarks to enjoy splendid isolation (and a handful of real friends), I'm not much on socializing with the neighbors. But sometimes my curiosity—and their persistence—gets the best of me an I succumb to, say, a picnic. "I'm one of those people who thinks a stranger is just a friend you haven't met yet," said Randy (every man in Thomasville seems to be named Randy, a name I can't but deplore, or Rodney). So off I went to see the horses, the fruit trees, the above ground pool, the home-raised and home-canned pork, the wild plum wine stock, the persimmon moonshine and the old cars that inhabit the pastures and woods. Don't be a stranger!

art roundup

Kate Knapp's view from Hannah's porch.

In art news, Kate Knapp's Block Island show opens tomorrow. Here's what Katie wrote about the picture above on her link.
Speaking of Block Island, here's a list of best places to eat there and places to go.
Another abstract expressionist you might want to check out is Keri Picket, who is better known as a photographer and filmmaker. You can see her whole book on Blurb in the preview, but of course she'd prefer you bought it!
The talented young photographer and friend who did the Flying Henry series has put some photographs of motherhood up on Feature Shoot.  Please comment.
In the life as art category, a feature on Hannah in Provy Love (which sounds faintly off color, maybe because of pervy?). And speaking of Hannah, here's her new site.
And in the art-as-life-threatening category, we have a depressing story on alcoholism about Elaine from LatinoUSA. Which I actually did listen to.
And in the art as death category, we have a review of a show at the Vietnam vet museum in the Chicago Tribune that calls Bill Dugan's sculpture the most powerful piece in the show. And speaking of Bill Dugan, he and Carla will do the West Plains, Mo., Art Walk this evening and then take off for Arizona.

Carla and Bill Dugan

where i'm at

Duck Dynasty throw pillows in the discount catalogue shop.

The taxidermy wing (not open to the public)

The Bass Pro Shop hq is another world, with kids sighting down crossbows at you and an NRA museum, RVs and boat trailers parked in the acres of parking lots and racks upon racks of camo. Here is a link.
   Yes, folks,  this is a different America than the one I or the majority of Americans spend most of our time in and it goes a long way towards explaining the situation in Congress. It doesn't do to forget that it exists.

the amish have an english breakfast

Near Seymour, Mo.

Everybody's got a uniform.

And they were all inside with their caps and hats and beards chowing down on MickieD. Apparently the Amish love the place. Maybe they're Americans after all.

o beautiful

The long road home

The weather is perfect, the river is perfect, the Goose is perfect. Only thing is, I have work to do. So will hope to satisfy the readership with this picture.

backwoods barbie

Big Girl

Missy

She bills herself a hillbilly (should that be hillbillie?) and Backwoods Barbie. Missy, 29, says she has hundreds of kerchiefs and overalls for all seasons. She loves animals, good food, margaritas and ink. She's got a zipper tattoo over the scar on her leg and something (pistons? screwdrivers? haven't seen) on her thighs. She has bear paws on her breasts, put there because an ex with huge hands still couldn't engulf her big girls. "You'd need bear paws," she said. So she inked 'em.
   Sorry, boys, keep your paws off: She's taken.

floating bigtime

Someone wound up up shit creek without a paddle. Or a cooler. Or a shoe. Or a hat. Or a wedding ring. A John-boat rescue was involved. Someone else floated the Eleven Point for three hours and five miles sharing the kayak with a water snake. It was discovered by the terrified outfitter at Turner Mill when the water was dumped out. But other than those two moments of excitement, the float was quiet and beautiful.
Wild river indeed.

the last ride

Denise takes the wheel

I no longer have an old truck and a new truck. I only have a truck. Yes, I was sad. I believe there are many more years in the old F-150. But Denise needed a truck, and I don't need two. Her old truck had a blown head gasket and, alas, croaked on the way to the junkyard, where she was planning to sell it. But my old truck is her new truck, and it's gone to a good home where it will hopefully live a long and happy life on the farm.

beautifying the goose

Note new pots. Crepe myrtle not visible—or blooming either.

New pot with maypop vine.

The hope is that the crepe myrtle will frame the pillars and the maypop vine will grow up the pillars. We shall see. The crepe myrtle planted last year has been disappointing but is still alive.
Now if I could just find someone to mow the freaking lawn. . .

what?

Near Black Rock, Arkansas

What on earth were these people thinking when they named their chain of gas stations?
In other news, the shakedown run went well, and the new ride is back at the Goose.

The new ride

Certain people have criticized the new truck for being a city slickers' truck. I suppose that is a just critique, as I was indeed hoping it would be easier to park than my last truck. And, yes, the bed is small.
However, there is room for the garbage cans, the bales of Bounty, and for the potting soil and giant pots currently catching a ride, so thus far it meets my needs.
Also it has AC and automatic shift. I must be getting old.

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new truck/old banana

Tradition is important

the yard

Airstream in the yard

OK, just spent $10,000 more on a silver Toyota pickup than I spent to buy the Goose and its yard. I'm fainting. Don't call me.

neighbors

Older bro: Having a problem with his Christian brothers and sisters in Missouri

Younger bro: The newest addition was thought to be a piece of paper on the roadside.

Went to dinner with the neighbors and their four dogs! They showed me their rooms. Very fun. More later. Things have gotten a little nutz here.

summertime

 And the livin' is easy. . . especially when Kate does the cooking!

they're from texas

The Airstream joins the soon to be ex-truck in the yard of the Goose

Kate does her hell yeah y'all Texas thing

That would be one Texan, two Ozarkers or maybe three

They rolled in like a silver storm, bearing figs and smoked brisket, talk and out-of-state tags. Lo Lady Kate and Dennis (far left) fraternized with the locals at an Entertainment amidst the mosquitoes and chiggers. The tiki torches, sadly, have seen better days and might have to join the free pile. Well, they would if anything on the free pile was left. Someone swooped in yesterday and scooped up the lot.

there goes the neighborhood

Many of you have asked for Bear sightings. They have been few—he appears to be living in the woods as he often does in summer. And who could blame him? Despite natural air, the house across the street looks to be pretty hot in the summer. The two vehicles are his old rides, but at least the Nissan is out of my yard, and he's off-loaded the restored two-tone Chevy pickup. He's driving some kind of old maroon car now.
    He won't speak to me. He said, "I told you when I give back your keys—I'm done."
    All or nothing with Bear. Either over for dinner every day or MIA.
    The rest of the neighborhood is pretty vacant as well. The house next door to Bear's was razed a few years ago. The Shady Lane church has been on the market for a couple. The cafe across the street shut down in October. The beer store is long gone. My next door neighbors have moved a few houses away. They are some of the few people with kids here.
   Rural America is emptying out, folks, except for the second back-to-the-land movement.

mighty mississippi

I like rivers. I like big famous rivers the best—the Amazon, the Yangtze—but I like the Mississippi best of all. I'm always trying to take its picture. But with, in this case, a large semi headed at me on a narrow two-lane bridge, I couldn't. Mostly the pictures aren't that good anyway—some trusses, some water far below. But still. The Mississippi.

going to the y

Going to the Y means something different here in Thomasville.

The Y is where the road to Thomasville meets the main road at the top of a hill. You will often see folks parked up there on their phones, because down in the town, in the Eleven Point River valley, there is little reception, and none for AT&T. Which I have. However if you need to reach me you now can as, a week late, my land line (same number as last year, one benefit of a dying town) has been hooked up and my Internet is sterling. I can play Words With Friends again! Read the Times! Talk to my grandkids on Face Time! Huzzah!

Location: Tville

The open road

Fifteen hours of driving. Stopped in Beaver Dam, Ky.

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put yr kidz in a box

Stuff to mention.
Johnny has 2 weeks in July available on Block Island. Check this link.
If in NYC, there's Daughter of Bad Girls  gallery show. Jessica Rath's are the red, um, lingums or whatever.
And in the Art department note Chien-Chi Chang's gallery show in the south of France.
On Block island, a lovely blog post about Edie's garden.
A BI beach won kudos from Yankee Magazine as one of the 10 best.
Also, your correspondent will be headed  out to the Ozarks manana. Word is the place is dry. 
I mean, no floods. The water is turned on. Missing the grandbabies already

gun control

Did you know that movie extras take classes in how to handle guns realistically? Me neither. But our own Catherine took such a class. Appropriately, the class took place in Georgia, where approximately everybody is packing weapons and they have just enacted the most liberal carry laws in the nation, allowing guns in bars, schools and airports—to the point that the police are frightened.
    "I couldn't really follow the teacher's instructions," Catherine said. "So I just stopped listening and did what felt right."
   Apparently, like many Georgians, she didn't need much instruction. In frustration, the instructor finally said, "Well, if you need any more tips just copy Catherine. She's a natural!"