In the Pioneer Village gift shop I spotted a section of small brooms. I’d been looking for one to use in Liberty as full-sized brooms do not work well in small living spaces.
Meet Pat Haight – official broom maker at the village.
He invited me into his workshop and demonstrated the process, which was captivating.
This equipment holds the stick so the broom straws can be wired on.
A press of the foot spins the entire assembly allowing the wire to wrap smoothly and tightly.
The first layer is on, a second being added.
Then a reversed layer is added which is bent back over to create smooth shoulders.
Final wire wrap is held in place with a small nail.
Here the broom head is stitched so it lays flat.
Final step is the trimmer which efficiently chops the straws to an even length.
Pat makes a variety of brooms for different uses, and has added dyed broom straw for his Fall and Christmas versions.
In this same building is another artisan.
This is Fran Curtis. She uses an antique loom to make rag rugs.
I own several made on a similar loom by my grandmother and consider them far too precious to place on a floor where someone might actually walk on them. Memories of Grandma making these rugs has long since vanished, so I was thrilled to spend time watching Fran at work. Like Pat, she is proud of her creations and excited to share the process.
It is with this treadle (foot powered) sewing machine that Fran pieces together the long strips of fabric.
Here is some of Fran’s completed stock.
I purchased this one in shades of pink and told Fran that while I would treasure it, I would put in on the floor next to my bed. She laughed and said that many people use these rugs as table runners or on sofa backs rather than risk foot traffic.
The fun story here is the playful competition between these two craftsmen. Pat walked me over to Fran’s area and introduced me, adding “And she bought one of my brooms so I’m ahead.” It seems they keep a tally of dollar amounts sold. Pat however says, “I have to work much harder, as I must sell two brooms for every one of Fran’s rugs.”
After visiting with Fran and watching her work, I bought two rugs and she gleefully planned how she would tell Pat that now she was ahead!
Pat and Fran love to demonstrate these old skills to school groups that come through the museum, and are justifiably proud of their work. I will remember the enthusiasm, generosity and warmth of these two fine people every time I sweep or climb out of bed.
The Loom Story (as copied from the tag on my rug)
This loom was built by John Abrahamson, who lived southwest of Axtell, Nebraska. He used the beams of his sod house which was built in 1867, and torn down in 1878. It was fitted and pegged together, as looms and buildings were in the days before nails were common.
Mrs. Abrahamson received 10 cents per yard for making rugs from rags furnished by her folks for whom she did weaving with this loom.
As you know, I started traveling the US at the end of August. Upon my return to AZ on Friday the 14th, I’d visited 27 states. In those states I talked to people, lots of them. From rich to poor, old to young. White, Black, Hispanic, Asian, and Native American. I didn’t find a single person that wasn’t worried. The economy, government control, taxes, politicians that don’t listen, education, environment, big corporate control, health care…I think that covers most concerns.
I didn’t start these “political” discussions, but was a bit surprised at the number of citizens who did. We the People are worried, mad, scared, disgusted, and sick about the direction our country is going.
As a pilot of a small plane, I land at small airports (for the most part) and thus visit small towns. Towns where the depression has hit hard. In every single one I saw closed businesses. In one, while walking 2 long blocks I passed 3 closed down motels – on the main street. I met a car salesman who has taken a second job as people aren’t buying. People in their 30’s with good educations who are applying for jobs where they are one of several hundred. In bigger cities like San Antonio and Atlanta the signs are not as obvious, but the conversations were the same. Jobs, healthcare, end of war, fuel prices, rising food costs.
In South Dakota while visiting cousins I heard about the occupation of Wall Street. I heard about the 99% movement and I rejoiced. We the People are getting up off our fat butts, turning off our televisions, game consoles and computers and doing something. Not just talking about it, not just complaining. I cannot remember how many times I’ve said that if we do not stop being complacent sheep, we cannot be surprised when led to the slaughter.
Yesterday, at Cesar Chavez Plaza in front of Phoenix City Hall I was proud to join with a lot of Americans at “Occupy Phoenix”.
Who was there? Babies, toddlers, Moms, Dads, Grandparents. One thing was the same about everyone there – they were mad as hell and didn’t want to take it anymore. I wandered through the crowd talking, listening, reading the signs. Speakers were supported with cheers. Signs were laid out for those who had none.
This man's sign speaks for seniors..
This one for many...
A grandmother brought her granddaughter to learn about American Freedom.
Volunteers wandered passing out and refilling water bottles. A group supporting peace setup a food line and served a fine lunch to hundreds. People’s stores popped up with clothing, shoes and books free to those who needed them. Representatives of many causes took the opportunity to hand out literature.
One group arrived on the north edge of the plaza and started a confrontation. I heard it said that they did not feel they were appropriately represented at the Occupy. Some occupiers faced them, but others encouraged “Don’t engage, turn and walk away.” “Let’s keep it peaceful here.” And it was.
Phoenix police were everywhere. I had never before seen so many patrol cars and other police vehicles in one place. I counted 45 in 3 blocks. Wearing all black uniforms with gas masks and billy clubs hanging from their belts the officers remained along the north and south sides of the plaza, many standing in the 105 degree sun. They didn’t look happy to be there, and must have been afraid of what might happen. I read this morning that when the Rally moved to a local park, arrests were made and pepper spray unleashed.
I would encourage us to remember that police officers are just folks like us, doing a job to support themselves and their families. Each officer who is issued pepper spray in my county in Washington is required to take a heavy spray direct to the face so they know exactly what the people they must spray will be experiencing. Are there officers who enjoy pushing their weight around? Sure. The same as with any other position of power – some jerks exist, but I firmly believe, from personally knowing many officers, that they are just doing a difficult job, and doing it fairly more often than not.
Citizens were polite, considerate and helpful to one another. The few exchanges resulting from strong differences of opinion were of short duration. Sign carriers, and those in costume cheerfully posed for photos. Video cameras were everywhere. The atmosphere was upbeat, a party atmosphere with people seeming to feel hopeful that what they were participating in would make a difference.
I’d like to think they were right. I encourage all of you to watch for local plans for 99% or Occupy events. Get up and go. Write to your electeds. It usually seems like they don’t care, and simply respond with a polite form letter, but if we keep trying…it couldn’t hurt…and it just might help.
Since September 9th, I’ve traveled across much of the country. I’ve visited a lot of interesting places, and had some unforgettable experiences. Starting to sound like the journey is over, and this portion is winding down. I’m now in Minden Nebraska which is roughly 800 miles from the Arizona house. I’ll probably make that run in two days flying.
But meanwhile, let me tell you about what I discovered here in Minden. The Pioneer Village Museum. The creation of Harold Warp, a Nebraska native, entrepreneur and visionary. With the success of his plastics business he made the decision to collect and preserve our history and achievements. He started with 20 empty acres and built his museum, bringing in historic buildings, and beginning the process of finding, collecting and housing a shopping list of Americana.
Geesh, I’m starting to sound like a brochure. What I want to get across is that from the outside I found myself thinking “Well, I’m here, so even though it doesn’t look like much, I’ll check it out.” A few steps inside the main building and I found it hard to keep my mouth closed as my jaw kept dropping. 2 ½ hours later I’d managed to almost see most of that one building. Thank goodness they have a reasonably priced hotel I’d already checked into. This is a museum that takes, no demands, a full day plus to see it all. Admission automatically includes the second day. For RV travelers they have a large, free parking area (no hookups).
I took several hundred photos and would like to tell you what display was my favorite, but cannot – too many to choose. Every facet of the American way of life, every tool and machine is represented all laid out in chronological order. Depicting laundry, for example, starts with washboards and then presents what has to be every form of washing machine invented up through the 60’s. Here is one that is dog powered!
I’ll post later about some special people I met here, but meanwhile want to encourage you to put The Pioneer Village on your list of must-see places. I can, without reservation, say this museum is the “Smithsonian of the Mid-West.”
As a part of planning where I would go, at what airports I would land, I often let whimsy guide my hand.
Decorah was one such place. I needed to land in Iowa…where? All Spring I’d started my work morning by logging onto The Decorah Eagle Cam. I watched those baby eagles, worried about them, observed their interactions with each other and the parents. Would they survive the surprise Spring snow? Would the last to hatch (I called her #3) manage to get her share of food and not be destroyed by #1 and #2? It was a tough job, but I wasn’t alone..thousands watched, learned and marveled at nature. Without perspective, its hard to appreciate how big this nest is. 6-8 feet across, 4 feet deep. Many of those "twigs" are wrist sized.
Sometimes the keeper of the camera, would move its focus away from the nest and reveal surrounding countryside. Ah Clues! I soon had a clear picture of nest location with a little help from Google. Turned out that Decorah has an airport (DEH) and it offers a courtesy car. Decision made.
Leaving Indiana, my first stop is in Wisconsin, at Platteville (PVB) just a few miles east of the Mississippi River. Just as I finished filling up with cheapest fuel so far on this trip - $4.90 per gallon, I spotted a Jet taxiing up to the FBO, followed closely by an arriving helicopter – military Black Hawk. Oh, and then three unmarked police vehicles. Guys in suits climbed out of the jet. Guys in officer uniforms from the copter, and very serious looking police stood guard. After all the suits and uniforms went inside I approached the police and asked what was going on. They indicated they could not say. I was also told that I could not enter the FBO. Hmmm… I took pictures, as best I could.
Eventually I did get permission to go inside and use the bathroom, but a lot of very serious men kept a very close eye on me. No one had a clue what was going on, or would/could not say. I hate not having curiosity appeased.
But I was telling about Eagles of a feathered kind. Driving to the nest site felt like a pilgrimage. To see a place thousands of miles from my desk, standing along that familiar road, looking up at the nest I’d spent so many hours watching was an incredible experience.
The parents had delivered a lot of fish to the eaglets and knowing a hatchery was nearby, I had a theory. I spoke with a man at the hatchery and he confirmed. Some of the fish where “stolen” from the holding ponds, but most were donated to the eagles. Each morning the crew scoops out any fish that have expired during the night and the eagles roosted in nearby trees waiting for free breakfast.
Parents stay in the immediate vicinity of the nest, but at least one of the eaglets has been tracked into northern Wisconsin. No, I didn’t see the eagles, but it wasn’t really necessary, I was content with seeing the nest site in person.
The balance of the flight on to my next stop at Buffalo, MN was uneventful, but slow with constant headwind. Total flight 435 nm. 4 hrs 40 minutes. States: Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Minnesota.
It’s true. Every word of this post.
For those of you who don’t know, my name is Joyce Rust. Since Saturday I’ve been a guest in the Indiana home of Joyce Rust. Note the word “guest.” That means exactly what it seems. . . there are two of us.
Two years ago I Googled myself (it was all the rage) and discovered that I owned a grass airport in Indiana. What a nice surprise, I’d always wanted one! Maybe a year later I looked for this Joyce on Facebook – and there she was. We exchanged a couple messages, moved to email and started to learn a little about each other. I renamed us “Joyce West” and “Joyce East”.
When I learned Joyce East is also a pilot…and flies a Cessna, I knew we had to meet and that someday I would land on her grass strip. Saturday I did. Well technically I arrived over the strip, circled fruitlessly for over 10 minutes and flew to the nearby town airport. Ever try to find a grass strip in farm country? Every other field looks good to land on, the farm buildings look like hangars.
Joyce is a wonderful person who has made me feel like family. We’ve had fun watching people’s faces when I’m introduced. “Hello. I’d like you to meet my friend, Joyce Rust.”
“Your joking, right? “ “Nah, you got to be making this up.”
Yesterday Joyce East flew me to town, after circling a couple times to point out landmarks so I could find the field. Two hours later I fulfilled my goal to set down on Rust Landing.
Our similarities grow with every conversation. From simple things like food preferences to our way of approaching challenges. I believe I’ve found a lifetime friend.
