Maridadi in Boston

My dining room table is awash with beads.  Several partially completed necklaces lie in a row.  Half way through designing one necklace, I have an idea for another or for several others and I reach over to pluck new beads from bowls and string just a few together to see how they would work in unison.  It is  finishing them off that is difficult for me.   Repetition, completion ---- not my strong suit.  I’m happier launching in to something new, the unknown.

Luckily I have a deadline.    In October, my friend Roseanne is hosting another Maridadi jewelry show for me in Boston.   I named my business (and my red Prius) Maridadi.  It is a Swahili word and means “stylish, tasteful, pleasing to the eye”.  

Roseanne visited us a few times when we lived in Kenya and came with me to the colorful, sprawling outdoor markets where vendors from all over Africa displayed their wares.   We would sit on small three-legged stools under the equatorial sun.  Sometimes a trader would hold a large colorful umbrella over us for shade while we sifted through baskets of old Venetian trade beads and ornate silver pendants from Ethiopia and Yemen.  We would finger strings of beads hand -crafted from Kenyan bone and horn and ostrich eggshell.  Colorful recycled glass beads from Ghana, tiny striped trade beads, bronze bi-cones, bauxite, coconut, malachite ….. 

Roseanne purchased dramatic necklaces and developed a  passion for wooden headrests.  She has quite a collection now, arrayed artistically in her high-ceilinged Boston apartment.  I will be able to use these to display my jewelry -- drape the length of a slim necklace over a finely carved Ethiopian headrest,  coil a chunky choker at the base of a solid Samburu one.

I have an embarrassment of beads.  I could open a shop.  They fill cupboards and drawers, spill out of baskets, roll under the table.  It’s an addiction.   And stringing them in pleasing and unusual designs is also an addiction and one of the most pleasurable things I know. 

The Boston show has given me an excuse to clutter my long dining room table again. Whole days will fly by as I sit happily working with these tiny bundles of beauty.  Many of the beads have traveled vast distances over huge spans of time.  It seems amazing that they have arrived here, in my possession.   I hold them in my palm and, as I thread them on to a necklace, I  wonder where they are headed next on their journey.   Massachusetts, perhaps?

   

  

and still beads galore!

Blue Ridge

I must go up to the hills again, the blue hills and the sky.  

And so we did.  

Off to Brevard and slightly cooler temperatures, breathable air,  waterfalls and vistas awaiting.

There's something in me which craves a big view.  I want to see the sky stretched out.  I  want to see the lie of the land.  I need to experience that humility of being small in a vastness of geography.  

And I must be a participant, not just an observer.  I need to walk, cover some distance, be there long enough to see the changes in the sky, have time to notice the small things at my feet.  No heroics here.  I'm not one of those who has to scale the highest mountain or build up a sweat.  I'm not made of such stern stuff.  A few hours of walking, a picnic with a view,  the joy of nature's surprises ....  

Art Loeb trail Tennent Mountain

When we hiked here last year the wild berries were abundant.  The slopes were freckled with  blueberry pickers, bent over, foraging like troops of baboons.  We gathered handfuls -- blueberries and blackberries -- way beyond saturation, the flavors sweet in our mouths, stains on our fingers and lips.   

This year there were no pickers, no fruit.  Small hard clusters which never ripened.  Barren bushes.  Weather they said.  Some talked of hail early in the year, others of drought.  We heard of the sad hunger of bears and their desperation for food.  We learned that a part of the Mountains to Sea trail had been closed due to bears.  Their crazed hunger.

Blue Yonder

 It's the mountains that call to us.  And the rivers -- their fresh joyous tumble, 

their rush and their songs, their burbles and their falls. 

Choosing our picnic rock

boulder hopping

This area is known as the "Land of Waterfalls".  

And we have hiked to many over the years.

This visit we took a long hike through DuPont State Forest and got caught in a tremendous thunderstorm which stalled, thunder and lightning directly overhead for almost 90 minutes, 

the torrential rain rushing over our ankles in a red rivulet along the narrow steep forest paths.  

We came to Bridal Veils Falls and clambered up the slick granite.  The sun came out.

You can walk (stooped) behind these falls.

The meadows are full of Queen Anne's Lace.  Butterflies.  Busy bees.

And in the forests all manner of wonders hidden and sheltered

And then you reach a peak, look up and out and, like an ocean of land, 
there are the Blue Ridge Mountains.  Folding and rising. 
Gathered peaks, waves of blue.

 

Mists like sea foam

We stayed, for the second year running, at The Red House Inn in Brevard  -- charming, knowledgeable hosts  (Tracie and Daniel),  full English breakfasts served on the veranda, (local produce, fresh flowers in vases), and a choice of excellent restaurants a short stroll away. 

 Reluctant to leave the area, we spent a few hours in Asheville 
-  a dose of charm before heading home

  Stop here

Urban forest.  Beauty and promise

 

A short break, but just what we needed. A restorative few days
with the space and the grandeur to breathe deep, to look ahead.
To take the time to notice the little things.
To be in awe.