The ANTecdote
A Crowded Table
A Crowded Table Carpentry 101 instructors Heidi Rogers and Anna Baker This past weekend, we held another Carpentry Course, one of our programs of the Red Ants Pants Foundation. Taught by women, for women. Beginning carpentry was the focus, learning everything from pounding nails to running table saws. It’s a grand time filled with really strong women, expanding comfort zones, sawdust, empowering moments, and perhaps most importantly, really, really good food. Our dear friend Claudia is the chef and she’ll be the first to tell you in her sing-song Colombian accent “Ladies, the most important ingredient in all my cooking is love!” And she is never wrong. We hold this course 20 miles west of White Sulphur on the Camas Creek Cattle and Sheep Co., better known as the Doggett Ranch. Jamie and Jock Doggett, longtime friends and community pillars, host us at their place, camping in the pasture and teaching in the barn. Typically, we have our chainsaw course taking place concurrently, but this year we had a smaller group. So, Jamie insisted on inviting us to eat inside their home rather than on our dusty picnic tables. Our Crowded Table It is worth mentioning that Jamie stops short at nothing shy of 100%. There were new tablecloths and themes for each meal. Wine glasses and individual salt and pepper shakers graced each place. Saturday night she insisted on bringing out her Grandmother’s china, as well as her high heels (which lasted roughly seven minutes on her feet). Jock in his humble, quiet way, after donning a fresh pair of suspenders, poured wine for the ladies. Toasts were made. Bellies and hearts were full. They in fact, still are. Reflecting around the bonfire we were all so touched by the generosity, the humor, the intimate transition of strangers quickly turning into family. “If it’s love that we give, it’s love that we reap.” – The Highwomen If you have not heard this song yet, please take a listen. It hits home in all the right places. “I want a house with a crowded table. And a place by the fire for everyone. Let us take on the world while we’re young and able. And bring us back together when the day is done.” – The Highwomen Thank you, Jamie and Jock for the home. Thank you, Claudia for the meals. Thank you, instructors for the teaching. Thank you, ladies for building the chairs. And to all of us for making it a crowded table. 2019 Timberskills Carpentry 101 participants
Learn moreOn Song Writing
On Song Writing Earlier this winter, I had an interesting experience at a songwriters festival down South. We were at a brunch venue on the Gulf Coast. It was a packed house, yet still intimate enough to view the performer from the bar, where we had managed to snag grapefruit mimosas and just enough standing room. The songwriter was Stephen Kellogg, a heartfelt musician from New England who I very randomly remembered seeing some twenty years ago back at my college coffee house. It was one of those chapters in life where I was going through some challenging personal stuff, and was fully thrilled to be day drinking with good girl friends, taking in a show. Then Stephen had to sing some song about objects in the mirror, reflecting on losing parents, celebrating family and big life moments…you know where this is going. Suddenly and unexpectedly I found myself fighting back tears with every ounce of strength I could scrape together. And it was not enough. The song ended. Then dear Stephen Kellogg, who was watching my emotional response to his song says to the entire crowd, “You! You there, in the brown. Yes, you. You are the reason I was put on this earth to play music.” My friends turned to me, wide eyed, followed by the entire crowd. I turned and looked behind me, hoping…nope, he was indeed talking to me. Songwriters are the story-tellers of our generation. They have the power. The power to draw the tears out, even if we aren’t ready for them. The power to remind us of some truths. To make us feel all the feels. They can move us in ways we don’t know we need to be moved. So this is my plea. Buy the record. Go to the live show. Host a house concert. Get these songwriters into your lives, your ears, and your hearts. I first dabbled into the music world by simply hosting traveling bands in my little pants shop. It takes no money to bring music alive in a town. It literally requires a few calls, a potluck supper, and a hat passed around so the band can make it to the next gig. There are stories being told, let’s give them a listen. And I should add that both my parents are in good health! Stephen Kellogg, Objects in the Mirror:
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On Letter Writing
On Letter Writing A friend recently wrote me a letter, typed on an actual typewriter. These days when we text way more often than write, this felt like a treasure. He mentioned that he gave his 9-year-old daughter a typewriter of her own for Christmas. He told her, “There, now you can text all you want.” Best parenting ever. Thanks JF. I used to write letters all the time. They are such a joy to write, to receive and to keep as a record of our lives. I would write from my tent on trail crews, from farms in Belize, from aspen stands in the Rockies. I wrote to old college buddies, Outward Bound instructors, and occasional fellas on whom I had crushes. More recently, my letters are from mentors, festival fans, and even the late and great Ivan Doig. Talk about a keepsake. And yes, I framed that one. It certainly takes time and a shift of priorities to sit down and write a letter. Something about knowing that the writer touched the paper with ink and penmanship brings a connectedness that is unsurpassed by most means of communication. For me, putting pen to paper unlocks a part of myself that allows me to process, reflect, and record. It is an attempt to understand where I am in my own life. Although, I’ll admit I do often write through a rose-colored lens. It was Hemingway who said, “I was trying to write then (speaking of his apprenticeship) and I found the greatest difficulty, aside from knowing truly what you really felt, rather than what you were supposed to feel, and had been taught to feel, was to put down what really happened.” In the late 1990’s, my father was going through his parents’ attic cleaning out the farm house. He came upon a trunk that contained piles and piles of letters written between my great, great, great, great grandparents, their children, and extended family. All 831 letters were bundled by ribbon and bits of string, organized chronologically. It was an incredible primary documentation of life in New England between 1820-1879. Dad spent over 13 years reading, interpreting, and transcribing these letters. To be fair, his typing skills involve a lot of ‘hunt and peck,’ but he succeeded and even had it bound into a book. What a gift. So, here’s to more letter writing, more letter receiving, and more life recording. More honesty about what we actually feel, not what we are supposed to feel. More catching up with friends and family, old and new. More penmanship, and even more typewriters.
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On Ancestors and the Future
On Ancestors and the Future It is the Monday eve of Thanksgiving. I am digging through a recipe box searching for my Mom’s pecan pie recipe. It calls for both bourbon and maple syrup, so you can see why it’s a good one. I sat down to write a piece about shopping local and using our powerful dollars wisely this holiday season, for they truly do count. And as much as I believe in supporting our small businesses, the thing that brings me to tears is this recipe box. It used to be my grandfather’s Guernsey cow record box, back on the dairy farm in Connecticut. I found an old recipe clipped from our hometown newspaper, faded to yellow. It was for my grandmother’s holiday sweet rolls, which had been so popular that it made it into the paper. Frank Calhoun was a Republican, and a state legislator. Polly was a staunch Democrat. They were both pillars in the church and the community. Thanksgiving was a huge event with a minimum of 65 guests at the table. Everyone who needed a place to go came to the Calhouns’. It was a lovely and important tradition, one which I sorely miss. I have been thinking a lot about whose shoulders we have stood upon to get where we are today. I so wish I could sit down at their old farm table by the wood stove and get some advice and perspective about how we move forward in this world. I imagine Polly and Frank would say keep working hard. Keep taking care of the land. Keep an open place at the table for anyone who needs it. Keep loving a Republican. Keep loving a Democrat. Keep baking sweet rolls and share them with everyone you know. Oh, and spend your hard-earned dollars wisely. Happy Thanksgiving to all.
Learn moreOn Neighboring
On Neighboring When I was ten years old, a tornado came through and wrecked our farm. The three-hundred-year-old Cathedral Pines crashed down all around us, ruining fence lines and clipping the barn. I remember seeing the apple trees my great grandfather planted get uprooted and fly horizontally through the air. No lives were lost, human or livestock, but it took months and months to get back on our feet. Friends and neighbors pitched in all summer long helping with cleanup. That tornado taught me some valuable things about rural, small town living. When you need help, your neighbors pitch in. When your neighbors need help, you pitch in. Last week I had the honor of meeting a pretty phenomenal group of women in Jordan, Montana. Last year, Northeastern Montana got hit with one of the worst and largest wildfires this state has ever seen. Farms and ranches, homes and communities were devastated. The entire county has a population of around 1,200. All hands were on deck in attempts to save what they could. Every able-bodied human was working the fire line, fueling trucks, fixing meals, looking after the neighbor’s kids…ten-year-old children were literally driving trucks to help out. Farmers and ranchers from all across the state and even as far away as Oklahoma organized convoys of semis loaded with hay and fencing supplies, feed and fuel, donating necessities to the fire victims. I was in Jordan to award these ladies a $5,000 grant from the Red Ants Pants Foundation to the Garfield County Fire Foundation. There was one line in their grant application that struck me so hard and true that I still cannot speak it out loud without getting choked up. “Jordan, where ‘neighbor’ is a verb.” This describes the heart of rural living pretty darn well. It resonates with my experience growing up, as well as my thirteen years spent in White Sulphur Springs. Whether it is the rancher who organizes a team roping to raise money for his neighbor who has cancer, or the bake sale that raises enough money for the widow who needs help with funeral expenses. We as neighbors help each other out. We need each other. And it makes us a lot stronger together. So, a big thank you to the community of Jordan for redefining ‘neighbor’ for us. And may we continue ‘neighboring’ in all of our communities, large or small.
Learn moreOn Learning
On Learning My goal before this snowy, icy, windy, miserable winter was over was to learn how to do a donut. A real one like the high school kids do, with a rear wheel drive car. Not sure how I managed to get through my teens without learning this right of passage. But it was time. Last week, in the dark of the night at my friend’s ranch, we went out and did donuts in his side by side. A little tippier than a car, but man, were they fun! Yes, even this tiny ounce of letting go of control was a rarity and a damn fine experience that I recommend for everyone. Here’s to learning, regularly.
Learn moreOn Self-Reliance
On Self-Reliance A jar of cider my friend pressed because he could. Enjoyed while taking a breather from cutting firewood. Running your own saw, working for your own heat, 3x over. A good dog and an old stick shift pick up truck. Knowing how to change your own tires. Getting unstuck in the first winter’s storm that came earlier than expected. Shipping calves, after the year’s work feeding, calving, branding, haying, gathering… Neighbors helping neighbors, pitching in at the stockyard. Celebrating afterwards with homemade dilly beans and lots and lots of Busch Light. The skills, the values, the tools. If we don’t have them, let’s learn them. If we do have them, let’s pass them on. Cheers! Calhoun
Learn moreOn Hard Work
On Hard Work Having a strong work ethic is something we value hugely here at Red Ants Pants. We toss the phrase around loosely and we certainly work hard, but we don’t spend much time thinking about it, or why it is so darn fundamental to our company values. Having our home base in Meagher County, where the top industry is agriculture, we are fortunate to be surrounded by some really hard-working people. People that work from 5am to 10pm this time of year, when the grain has to be harvested, and the second cutting of hay has to be put up, and the cows need to be gathered from the high country. And when a tire blows on the combine, you need to know how to replace it ($2,700 for a new tire!) and when the starter goes out in your grain truck, you need to know how to fix it. You need a good parts store nearby, you need a good welder, you need the right skills and equipment, but you also need the work ethic to keep moving forward. “Ethic” is defined as a set of moral principles. I like that a work ethic is tied to morals. A good farmer/rancher friend of mine gave me hell for sleeping in the other day (past 5:00am). “People die in bed you know…that’s what my Dad always says.” Fair enough. So here’s to the elbow grease, the early mornings, the duty of it all. Here’s to the men and women working incredibly damn hard to feed this country, to build and maintain the infrastructure of our cities and towns, our roads, and our lives. Our hats are off to you. See you at 5:00am tomorrow. In love and gratitude, Calhoun
Learn moreOn Perseverance
Perseverance Hello all, this spring has been a challenging one for lots of folks in our circles. It seems that far too many bones and hearts have been broken. Perhaps it is the reality of getting older, as life seems to intensify with the years passed by. Or perhaps it’s just a tough season. Regardless, perseverance seems pretty relevant right now. per·se·ver·ance \ˌpər-sə-ˈvir-ən(t)s\ Noun: steadfastness in doing something despite difficulty or delay in achieving success. Steadfastness. The word itself reminds me of the lilacs and apple trees that were planted by our grandparents on these homesteads. Plants that push through really long, cold winters, and hard dirt, and they persevere, always. If White Sulphur grows one thing well it is our lilacs! And so we keep pushing too, onward and upward. Despite the difficulties, we get our work done, we take care of our families and our responsibilities, and hopefully we take care of ourselves too. So go pick some lilacs for your kitchen table to remind us of our steadfastness. Persevere. Onward and upward my friends! Calhoun This poem was just shared with me by a friend and mentor. He said the Spanish version is even more beautiful. Enjoy. Throw Yourself Like Seed Shake off this sadness, and recover your spirit sluggish you will never see the wheel of fate that brushes your heel as it turns going by, the man who wants to live is the man in whom life is abundant. Now you are only giving food to that final pain which is slowly winding you in the nets of death, but to live is to work, and the only thing which lasts is the work; start then, turn to the work. Throw yourself like seed as you walk, and into your own field, don’t turn your face for that would be to turn it to death, and do not let the past weigh down your motion. Leave what’s alive in the furrow, what’s dead in yourself, for life does not move in the same way as a group of clouds; from your work you will be able one day to gather yourself. ~ Miguel De Unamuno ~ (Roots and Wings, edited and translated by Robert Bly) Spanish: Soneto: LXV SIÉMBRATE! Miguel de Unamuno Sacude la tristeza y tu ánimo recobra, no quieto mires de la fortuna la rueda como gira al pasar rozando tu vereda que á quien quiere vivir vida es lo que le sobra. No haces sino nutrir esa mortal zozobra que así en las redes del morir lento te enreda, pues vivir es obrar y lo único que queda la obra es; echa, pues, mano á la obra. Ve sembrándote al paso y con tu propio arado sin volver la vista que es volverla á la muerte, y no á lo por andar sea peso lo andado. En los surcos lo vivo, en tí deja lo inerte, pues la vida no pasa al paso de un nublado; de tus obras podrás un día recojerte.
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