Transcendentalist Chic

I thumbed through a copy of Above magazine this evening. This issue, in fact:

Above Magazine

It’s a parody, right? Paint a windblown model green and add a tag saying “for the earth.” But as my friend pointed out, “she actually researches vertical farming and stuff.” Indeed, she does. Plus, there’s an article on the Florida wetlands that’s decent, and the photography’s pretty fly.

Here’s what Above says about itself:

Above magazine is made by and for those who recognize that the true appeal of beautiful objects and places derives from their inherent rarity and fragility. For them, desirable often means simple rather than extravagant, and living more responsibly without succumbing to self-righteousness is one of the greatest forms of sophistication.

The transcendentalist-chic rhetoric matches the content. Mostly.

Above’s latest issue featured thoughtful articles on suspension artist Claire Morgan and photographer Richard Rothman, stories about environmentalists, fashion spreads and compelling graphics which, while somewhat inaccurately presented (see the “Billion Dollar O-Gram” on page 46 for obvious discrepancies), might be the most effective way for our generation to understand information.

Some of it comes across as attractive greenwashing. Some of it’s pretty solid. I still don’t know what’s up with the extra-thick pages, but at least it’s nicely presented.

I feel conflicted about it. My respect’s high for the art, iffy for the sustainability. Anyone can bank off of environmentalism right now—it’s sexy. Really sexy. So I get suspicious. On the other hand, if they’re reaching a certain audience with good messages, it’s not a bad thing, right?

Now that my college is half-finished, I’m on the prowl for magazines that might publish my writing. Funny how that softens one’s criticism. If the world were smaller and I were a phenomenal writer, I’d just aim for Orion and National Geographic without bothering with other things. For now I’ll just aim for more skill, more exposure, and more experiences and see where that takes me.

Or I could just become a model.

Rest in Joy, John Wynn

This spring when I called John Wynn, he listened to my pitch about a mandolin art history project and invited me out to his shop. When I arrived in a big red Chevy, Mr. Wynn said, “a girl who drives a truck—there’s a girl I can trust.” He laughed, and I laughed, and we were off to a great start.

He showed me his latest works in progress that already looked stunning.  We talked for a few hours about his start in music, his Welsh and Dutch heritage, the value of helping new musicians, his apprentices, how cool he thinks his wife is, and so many other things. He had great stories, and was also interested in hearing mine. When occasion arises to talk about the visit I made to Ozark, it gives me joy to tell other people about Mr. Wynn. He is truly one of the kindest, most thoughtful people I have ever had the pleasure to sit down with.

His shop was dusty, filled with years upon years of pictures, books, inlay scraps, instruments, knick knacks, tools, bluegrass DVDs, festival fliers and American flags. Here’s a video of Mr. Wynn playing “The World is Waiting for the Sunrise” with video pans around his workspace:

His talent really floored me, and he admitted it wasn’t easy. But, my goodness, the man made it seem so fluid. My grandmother nearly melted when I showed her the video, and she asked if I would put it on a CD.


I bought a mandolin last week, and my hope was, honestly, to get good enough to justify purchasing a nice one made by Mr. Wynn. I’m so sad to hear about his death, but maybe I can honor him by following through with learning how to play.  I hope to upload more videos of him as soon as I get time.

Mound City

I stayed in Mound City while working at Big Lake State Park. It’s a funny little town, and seems to live on the interstate accidentally. Besides a Super 8, McDonald’s and Subway, only small businesses have a place in it—Mound City Foods, Quacker’s, State Theatre, a little ice cream stand, an awesome taxidermy shop with a big old Singer sewing machine in the middle of it.

Every time I went into a restaurant in Mound City, the workers would stand up from a dining table and hop to taking my order and making my food. In Quacker’s, the waitress was smoking, but she knew everyone by name. They set the television to the Weather Channel and decorated with stuffed waterfowl, some deer, and a bobcat. I think there was a picture of Jesus holding a gun tacked next to the door, but I forgot to check on my way out.

Worth a second look. If I’m ever that far northeast again.