Feminist Friday: Single Girl, Married Girl

The Carter Family's 1927 version of the folk song "Single Girl, Married Girl" is probably one of the oldest recorded songs that I would classify as dealing with feminist issues, and boy does it ever. The lyrics seem radical, even by 21st Century standards:

Single girl, single girl

She's going dressed fine

Oh, she's going dressed fine
Married girl, married girl

She wears just any kind

Oh, she wears just any kind

Single girl, single girl

She goes to the store and buys

Oh, she goes to the store and buys

Married girl, married girl

She rocks the cradle and cries

Oh, she rocks the cradle and cries

Single girl, single girl

She's going where she please

Oh, she's going where she please

Married girl, married girl

A baby on her knee

Oh, a baby on her knee

And with those few lines, the writer cuts right to the quick of the modern liberated woman's struggle to "have it all". Not such a modern problem, it turns out, though obviously, we are fortunate to have many freedoms that were unavailable to women when this song originated at least 150 years ago. While we may have more choices today, the isolation and sacrifice that motherhood brings is a universal truth spanning the ages.

Museum Trip

We recently visited the Will Rogers Museum in Claremore, Oklahoma. The witty rope slinger who never met a man he didn't like was born less than 20 miles from my home, and although I count him among my heroes, I'd never been to the museum in Claremore. I pretty much want to just move in there and live in this room, a recreation of his study in his California home.



After we'd had our fill of Will Rogers memorabilia, we headed just down the road to the J. M. Davis Arms and Historical Museum which houses the largest private gun collection in the world. There were guns, yes, but so much more. Here are some of the things that caught my eye.

WLS Photo Shoot

After thirteen years, you would think that Mr. Hall and I would have boxes and boxes of photos of the two of us together. Sadly, that isn't the case, and photos of the two of us since we became Mama and Daddy are even more rare. So, last weekend we decided that it was high time we had a little old-timey Welcome Little Stranger photo shoot. We enlisted the help of my Mama for a few shots of the two of us in the wild plum thicket, where the humidity coupled with it being 4 million degrees lent a spooky, ethereal mist to the photos.



We also snapped a few shots of one another in front of an old-timey dilapidated building otherwise known as our detached garage. Thirteen years later, and I think he's more handsome than ever.



Here I am channeling Mother Maybelle with June's hair.

El hotel eléctrico

I'm putting the finishing touches on my bathroom this weekend, including wiring in two new light fixtures (scary!). Speaking of electricity, I stumbled upon this fantastic video of "If You're a Viper", Bob Howard's 1937 cover of the ode to Wacky Tobacky, ingeniously paired with scenes from El hotel eléctrico.



On an unrelated note, I want to thank each and every one of my faithful readers for sticking with me through all my blogging starts and stops, and for leaving your thoughtful comments. I truly appreciate each one of you, and I apologize for sometimes failing to respond. This is something that I intend to work on, so let me ask you, how do you respond to comments left for you on your own blog? Comment leavers, how do you prefer to receive responses to comments you have made? In the comment section itself? On one of your own blog posts? By email? It seems that there's not a one-size-fits-all solution. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

My Mod Victorian Asian Log Cabin...OF DOOM

I've been having a bit of fun lately making "inspiration mosaics" with Flickr photos. Now that I finally have the time to devote to finishing all the house projects that I've been putting off, I've swung into full home decorating mode. As time goes by, I find myself straying further and further from the strictly kitschy/mid century modern aesthetic I used to crave. I'm beginning to gravitate toward a bit darker, quirkier, more eclectic look--kind of mid century mod meets the 30s and then travels back in time to an 1850's Ozark Mountain cabin before ending up in the Victorian Age combined with lots of folky, handmade touches and Asian stuff. Pretty awesome, right? Without further ado, here are some lovely found photos representing a lot of what I'm working with, and some of what I'd like to find to complete my demented vision for our home.


1. Fabric11, 2. Antique Print, 3. Lampshade Heaven, 4. vintage globe, 5. Small tole trays, 6. Jack on the Circle Rag Rug DONE!, 7. New Couch., 8. birthday of Sri Krishna..., 9. Antique quilt, 10. vintage floral circa 40's pillow detail, 11. mirror, mirror..., 12. Heart of concreat and broken tiles, 13. 2007 nichos, 14. statue, 15. Harmony Mccoy in Mist Blue 1961, 16. Window Glass View, 17. favorite souvenirs, 18. Luxe Red and Gold Powder or Dresser Jar, 19. The Great UCM Museum, 20. Vintage Paint by Number, Geisha with Parasol

The Shiloh and The Searcy House

On our little Arkansas trip, we stopped at a place that I'd wanted to visit for quite some time. The Shiloh Museum of Ozark History is a truly wonderful little museum with interactive exhibits and close to a million historical images of life in the Ozarks housed in their research library.


In addition to the museum building itself, the pretty shaded grounds hold six historical buildings.




One of those buildings is the Searcy House, a home originally built in the 1870s, renovated in the 1940s, and donated, along with much of its contents, to the museum in the 1980s.




If you too are an Old Time Ozarkophile, I highly recommend a visit to The Shiloh. And lest you think this place is all butter churns and banjos, allow me to inform you that they offer podcasts on a range of fascinating topics, and that they (along with the rest of the free world) have a twitter account.

One of the very best things about the Ozarks is, of course, the music. The two cd collection of Arkansas folk music recordings culled from the Max Hunter Folk Song Collection that we bought in the gift shop has been on near constant rotation in the Hall household. I was also excited to learn today that a group of Sacred Harp singers meets there monthly. I don't think the Shiloh has seen the last of this gal.

Turtles, Ticks and Dynamite

The Sweethearts went on a little excursion last Monday to one of our most favorite places, Osage Hills State Park. It's where we got hitched nearly seven years ago, and the first (and last) place Mr. Sweetheart accidentally threw a rock at my head. In fact, my head and various rocks have had more than one meeting at Osage Hills. But, those are stories for another time.
Thankfully, the days are getting a bit cooler, so, helmets on, we headed out for a nature hike on a rocky, wooded trail we had never been down. After a while, we came out into a little clearing where we stopped to smell the weeds and watch a deer bound down the hillside.


Then we met a turtle. Here the turtle is hearing all about our summer trip to Silver Dollar City, another of our most favorite places.


Eventually we came upon a couple of small rock buildings built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s. Most of the native sandstone structures in the park were built by the Corps, including the shelter where we held our wedding ceremony.


This tiny, dilapidated building in the middle of the woods was built to house blasting caps, dynamite being needed to build all of the sandstone structures, I presume. It stands only about five feet high, and entering would require you to crouch down and duck through a small door.


The heavy iron plated door still opens and closes, but the roof, made of corrugated tin supported by timber beams and covered with flat stones, has caved in.


Out there in the middle of the woods and rocks, the sound of the wind in the oak trees and the calling of wild birds were the only noises to be heard. It felt like we'd stepped back in time. Anyone that knows me knows that there is nothing I love more than stepping back in time.


I spent a very long time staring at the weathered wood and rusty nails on the inside of the door.


Then we hiked back to the car, came home, discovered about a million teensy weensy ticks on ourselves, and scrubbed ourselves bloody in the shower. The next day Sugar Pea and I came down with yucky colds that we're just, today, starting to shake.
Tick bites and a cold are small prices to pay for stepping back in time with my two favorite people.

Welcome Little Stranger

Know what Mister and I did on our Summer vacation? We went and started ourselves a band. I use the term "band" pretty loosely here. "Recording project" is more accurate. Actually, "Whatever we can accomplish with our crappy recording equipment after Sugar Pea has finally gone to sleep for the night, if we're not too tired, or don't have a Netflix movie with dirty words that needs to be watched Project " is probably the most accurate term. I'm not really sure why it took us eleven years to combine our talents, but we're having a big time doing it. I'm lucky to be married to a very talented musician/songwriter/recording engineer who lets his less gifted, but extremely enthusiastic wife strum away at an autoharp and write dark, folky lyrics about Masonic funeral rites and Voodoo. Life is sweet.


The name comes from the heartbreaking Victorian tradition of waiting to see if a baby would live before he or she was named, just in case this life didn't take. Presents of small pillows and pincushions were often given to a new mother with messages spelled out in pins, which in themselves were a valuable gift. "Welcome, Little Stranger" was a common sentiment from that time. Bet you didn't know I was an Old-Timey Goth, did you, Dollfaces? I'm just full of surprises!
So if Folky Goth holds any appeal for you, click on that pretty little picture up there, or on the "Welcome Little Stranger" button on the sidebar, and have a listen. Add us to your friends and drop us a line, if you like. Why suffer longer?

Pioneer Girls

A while back, our friends Heather and Audrey accompanied us to The Little House on the Prairie, Laura Ingalls Wilder's home site near Independence, KS, for a day of exploring and picnic-ing. I had not been since I was a little girl, though I've lived within a couple dozen miles of there most of my life. As a child, I was smitten with Ms. Wilder's books, and used to roam the pastures and creek beds of my grandparents ranch, pretending I was a pioneer girl, straying too far from the homestead. I loved anything old timey. I read all the pioneer diaries the library contained, and wanted more. I dreamed of one day living in a log cabin full of twig furniture. I desperately wanted a wardrobe of long period dresses to wear. I wanted to play old-timey instruments and sing folk ballads. Really, not much has changed. I'm still that girl. As much as I love the sleek lines of an Eames chair, and the futuristic, light-filled airiness of a Joseph Eichler home, the rustic simplicity of a bent Willow rocker just speaks to something deep inside me. I'm not inclined to believe in anything as magical as past lives, but if such a thing exists, then I must have once lived in a little cabin, tucked away deep in a mountain holler.
My little one doesn't yet have the attention span required for the Little House series, but soon enough, she will. I'm looking forward to sharing with her the books that were such a large part of my own childhood. For our Little House excursion, I decided to put her in a dress I had worn when I was her age, sewn for me by my mother. Here's my little Sunbonnet Sue in the dress her Nana lovingly stitched, nearly thirty years ago.
She and Audrey had a wonderful time exploring the site together.



It's great to have friends who share our love of the old-fashioned. I think a lot more adventures are in store for these pioneer girls.