Maggie's Farm

Smokestack Lightning, 1964

A foggy morning at Newcomb Hollow, Wellfleet, 2 weeks ago

Our friend sent us these pictures he took yesterday, experimenting with his new Leica:

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Back by popular demand!

This funny but handsome hodge-podge of a place�is called Morning Glory, now undergoing long-delayed major renovation and necessary graffiti:

�I like this simple�look very much. It could use a garden, though. Or maybe not.

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We linked Vanderleun's Frame Up photo essay yesterday, but I thought it was worth further highlighting - or framing, as it were. Especially because my photography teacher friend thought that his idea was cool, and plans to use it in her classes. A few random thoughts and a quote:

- Vanderleun is apparently a big Hopkins fan, as am I. Hopkins was a student of the medieval metaphysician Duns Scotus, from whom he seems to have come up with his notions of "inscape" and "instress." While Hopkins never defined these terms, he attempted to realize the immanent presence of God in his poetry with rhythm and imagery (eg, here.)

- Are photographers simply artists with ADD? I am (obviously) no photographer. I specialize in minimally-composed, poorly-lit, half-focused snapshots with a camera I don't know how to use, which are more intended to document a thing than anything else. In my youth, I drew and painted but I never developed those interests. I have always had too many interests - a dilettante in the perjorative sense of the word. However, I know that when you paint a thing you enter fully into it, of necessity, with brain, soul and hand. Same as playing a song with piano or guitar.

- Framing has, indeed, a magical effect. It has always been a wonder to me how putting a frame on a canvas transforms it. Or how a wall, fence or hedge gives structure and architecture to a garden. Or how framing a fact with context does the same. Or how putting a quote in a "quote box" inclines one to read it. Are frames our tools or are they our protection from TMI, or even from the terrors of the infinite and of chaos? Or both? I'm in over my head now. One day, long ago, I took a B&W random photo of an old dock piling with a spike in it and some weeds next to it, on the West Side of Manhattan. It was one of the 20 photos I've taken in my life that came out well. Produced it in the darkroom myself. I put it in a $1.99 black frame and it looked like art. It's long lost, though.

- In a comment on Vanderleun's piece, the internet metaphysician and master neologist Gagdad Bob has this to say:

This is an extremely provocative subject. The other day I posted about the importance of boundaries in the creation of meaning. In the absence of a frame there is no art or science. But who knew that simply providing one allows one to appreciate the superabundance of beauty that is always pouring forth from virgin nature?

In fact, you may remember the young videographer in American Beauty, who was able to perceive beauty by virtue of framing it with the camera, whether is was a paper bag blowing in the wind or a dead animal by the side of the road.

I often go mountain biking in my area, and just by virtue of taking along a camera and framing the shots (even if I don't even take a picture), a different level of beauty suddenly emerges. You start to see things from a "God's eye view," for what is creation but a finite limitation on infinite possibility, i.e., the imposition of boundary conditions on the infinite?

One could say the same thing of the formal structure of a poem, or of the structural narrative of a great novel that elevates the mundane to a higher plane, or the stage in theatre, which is also a kind of frame.

Bottom line: in the conduct of your life, choose your frame very carefully. It makes all the difference. On one level the frame is an artifice, but on another level it is the doorway into the infinite and eternal.

I guess it goes without saying that I see theology as a frame though which we may see, know, and experience all sorts of things (i.e., truth and beauty) that will go unnoticed in the absence of the frame.

Image is from Vanderleun's piece.

Outside a handful of majors -- engineering and some of the sciences -- a bachelor's degree tells an employer nothing except that the applicant has a certain amount of intellectual ability and perseverance. Even a degree in a vocational major like business administration can mean anything from a solid base of knowledge to four years of barely remembered gut courses.

The solution is not better degrees, but no degrees. Young people entering the job market should have a known, trusted measure of their qualifications they can carry into job interviews. That measure should express what they know, not where they learned it or how long it took them. They need a certification, not a degree.

The BA degree was created for scholars, and as a foundation for the professions. It meant that you knew Latin and Greek, probably German and French, the sciences, math, and history - but it mostly meant that you wanted to be a scholarly person who intended to study stuff for the rest of your life. I think I'm on safe ground in saying that that is no longer the case. Education is such a huge, entrenched industry today that things are unlikely to change, but it's still worthwhile thinking about rational alternatives.

A small harborside boathouse in Wellfleet, at low tide

A witty friend once said that the most fashionable thing to have parked in your driveway is a green dumpster.

Well, I've had that for the last two weeks, but the mess and the cost and the dirt and the dust and the inconvenience of the demolition and slow reconstruction of the master bath isn't fun anymore. Carpenters, plumbers, electricians, painters, tile guys, new fixtures and vent fans... Turns out the leak had spread further than initially thought, so the entire bath had to be gutted. If you are interested, we did decide on a honed limestone floor instead of marble. Not just cost: it's a warmer, more homey look.

And now I see why we had that mysterious, very occasional leak in the downstairs coat closet: the shower stall had a leak too. Homeowner's insurance, I have learned, doesn't cover chronic leaks, just the acute ones. I had both.

Indeed, water and houses do not mix. Outhouses weren't such a bad idea, and outdoor showers are the best idea ever. I am inclined to cut back on a bit of my previous grand plans, not only because of the cost but because of the disruption of normal life routine. I can't find anything after having moved out of the master bath and halfway out of the bedroom.

My only question: Where's FEMA?

Bush obviously doesn't give a damn about my problems.

Photo:  Some nice limestone floor tile.

An obit from Sipp, who knows whereof he speaks (unlike most of us).

His piece led me to this oldie (Isn't that Steve Cropper playing? And how did they book Booker T and the MGs for that aerobics class?) which is not by Hayes but was from Stax records:

Newcomb Hollow beach in Wellfleet, last week.

You know, you've had your day
Don't stand around
You've been a good old wagon
Daddy but you done broke down

You'd better go down to the blacksmith shop
Get yourself an overhaul
There ain't nothin about you
Make a good woman bawl

When you were in your prime
You used to love to run around
You been a good old wagon
Daddy but you done broke down

When the sun is shining
That's the time to make hay
Now it's rainin all the time
And you can't make your old wagon pay

Nobody wants a baby
When a real man can be found
You been a good old wagon
Daddy but you done broke down

Ain't no use in cryin
Or to make a big show
This man has taught me more about lovin
Than you will ever know

Well he is the king of lovin
Just minus of a crown
He's a good old wagon
Daddy and he ain't broke down

Here's the late, great Dave Van Ronk reminiscing, and playing the song:

With all of our posts about our beloved Cape Cod recently, our readers deserve a decent map to see what we are talking about. You can see that Wellfleet has ocean, harbor, and bay beaches - and plenty of wonderful ponds too. All with entirely different characters. Pop quiz on the map later.

The green is JFK's Cape Cod National Seashore. Best thing (and one of the few things) he ever did. What would this Wellfleet road look like this if he hadn't protected it from development? It's not "barren" - it's lovely.

More at Dr. Merc.

Maine's Seaway Boats are designed as much as work boats as recreational hulls which means, for one thing, that they are seaworthy in foul weather and seriously bumpy seas. I think there is the soul of a Maine lobster boat inside each one of their handsome  designs even though they say they can all get up on a plane.

And, by way of contrast, here's Al Gore's new boat. Looks like a ferry, or a royal barge. Designed for sunbathing, eating and drinking, and definitely not Yankee-style: