My fall awake was as effortless as my fall asleep. Waking up in Lumsden, I felt calm and charged with humour. The first day here had ended in the pub, with room temperature beer and brand new smiling faces. With anecdotes flowing freely and new perspectives being considered, I feel already that my trip feels too short.
I'm a person who really loves people, but you can't always find people who feel the same. Yet the people here at SSW seemed to have struck this delicate balance between giving individuals their space, and revelling in communal living. Like a weeble toy, I think the core of this 'artist's' community is so grounded, that if knocked by stressful projects, funding crises or the frustrations of rural living, it would roll back upright again. Like a really steady ship.
The banter over meal times and boiling kettles is infectious and yet strangely I'm inspired to focus on work and enjoy the task in hand. Saturday I was to meet Ann from the Old Smithy, for tea and an all butter biscuit. I had introduced myself on Friday and asked her to pop over to the workshop to talk to me a little about Lumsden life. Ann is popular and frequents the SSW regularly; for fun, for company and for the joy of being near people who create.
The voice recorder I knew may pose a worry for Ann, as everyday words were proving elusive since the onset of her recently diagnosed Dementia. She expressed (rather succinctly actually) that she thought she might sound stupid if she ruined the recording with her lack of eloquence. I told her I could understand her just fine and if she or I couldn't find the words, they aren't worth hearing anyway.
The recorder was placed just out of sight and within reach of our conversation and we talked for just over an hour. Ann spoke of her arrival in Lumsden just 6 years ago, but also of the lifetime that paved her way to the village. She cared to remind me of the stories that weren't for public consumption and we agreed that what I would keep, would be the tales of what makes her happy, what nourishes her wellbeing and the positives of the Lumsden community. The listeners could fill in their own gaps.
So for an hour I was engrossed and we laughed and we spoke of family, friendship and the community pulling together in times of need. When editing the material alone later that day, I discovered it was going to be a challenge to produce a worthy recording of our conversation. This made me sad an somewhat disappointed. I could follow Ann's train of thought so easily by being with her, seeing her physically act out the words that were just out of reach. But hearing it again, I found myself wishing I had her there with me. Like the comfort of a book with pictures when you're learning to read. I suppose there is something poignant about how easy it is to understand her in her presence, but how distanced it feels to hear only her voice. I feel happy that her family live only next door.
Consoled by the joy of my live conversation with Ann, I looked forward to the promise of her popping by again soon, but I needed a break away from the lap-top and craved some banter with Craig and the others. Soon our plans to go to a neighbouring village pub were scrapped in favour of a bonfire at base camp, with marsh mallows, whiskey and an American with a banjo. The company was SO delightful and cheeky, and I could totally be myself. Such naff impressions and tenuous puns would be social suicide in the hands of a lesser mortal.
We poked and stoked a precarious and ladened mass of wood that Brigitte, the resident Aussie, had set alight with a giant blow torch. I realised (as crude and miscellaneous artifacts were chucked on the flames) that part of what I already love about this place, is being in the presence of not only down to earth people, but earthly matter itself. Great hunks of wood and welded metals, and stone and glass amidst all the elements. It's safe and healthy here inside this bubble of rubble.
I knew, the moment I thought I could solve burning problems of prejudice in Uganda, I should bid my fellow pyromaniacs adieu, and take my warm and cosy feeling to bed. Also the zip on my jeans had gotten so hot in front of the fire, that I was beginning to scorched my lady parts.
Today, Craig and I gleefully finished off our prep for the kids 'recording' workshop tomorrow at the school. And now I lie here in my humble abode, satisfied from Ross' skillful and sublime roast pork Sunday dinner, and the knowledge that I wake here again tomorrow.
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