Cyberia - The City of Ladies

I expected to be ignored, so it came as a surprise when the ferry woman returned my smile of recognition. Taking it as a hopeful sign, I slowed my steps and veered slightly towards her, ready to abandon any idea of conversation if she should suddenly turn her back on me.

Her boat, the The Sow’s Ear was tied securely to the dock and swayed gently, rubbing against “bumper” tires that protected the weathered boardwalk planks. The smell of river water and mud, mingled with decaying vegetation was strong, but not unpleasant.

“Finished for the day,” I asked, “Or is there an evening tour scheduled?”

“Done. No crossings tonight. It’ll be a peaceful one.” Denim overalls covered a sturdy body and a short sleeved shirt bared hefty forearms, dark from the sun and powerful enough to pole the big boat to the Isle of Ancestors. “Heading for supper. Join me?” she asked, pointing to a diner across the street.

“Thanks, that would be nice,” Nervous that the slightest display of pleasure might cause her to run off, or worse, lead to an hour of awkward silence, I kept my tone neutral and said no more. We’d met once when she’d ferried me to a midnight adventure, but although I’d tried to engage her in conversation both going and coming, she’d hardly uttered a word.

We quickly settled into a small booth at the back of The Salt and Pepper Diner and after we ordered, the ferry woman looked me square in the eye and bluntly asked, “What do you want?” She held up a beefy hand when I began to protest. “No,” she insisted, “you sought me out. Why?”

“I recognized you from Heather’s drawing and wanted to ask your advice on a writing project.” Her eyes didn’t waver, so I continued. “What with all the portraits in one place and the identity poems the Ravens have been writing, I wondered. . . . . . .”

“Not my business, I captain The Sow’s Ear.”

“I thought an interview perhaps, or an anecdote you’d be willing to share. The portrait doesn’t even give your name. I’ve loved Lemuria from the start and only want to know the people a little better.”

“Didn’t see that comin’,” I heard her mumble.

Just then waitress arrived—lemon chicken piled high with mushrooms for me and the largest bowl of beef stew I’ve ever seen. “Here’s your regular, Mir, let me know when you and your friend are ready for dessert.”

(Portrait of Miriam Konrad by Heather Blakey–Soul Food Cafe–www.dailywriting.net)

Interview with Ferry Woman, Miriam Konrad:

Porchsitter:First, I’m delighted you agreed to be interviewed. I’m assuming, you’re a native of Lemuria and Duwaimish, yes?

Miriam:Lemuria, yes, Duwaimish, no. My great, great grandfather swam ashore after a shipwreck near Duwaimish when he was a young man. The Alluvial Mine had just been discovered and all along the coast people were talking about it. He decided to continue the adventure and get rich if he could, so he joined the first group headed inland. They got lost and arrived at the mines nearly starved. My great, great, grandmother was one of the first to offer the party food. It was love at first sight and he stayed. Worked the mines the rest of his life, and his sons, and their sons.

Porchsitter: And did he get rich?

Miriam: He found a fair amount of gold. The area built up fast, but there wasn’t any real luxury, it was too far from the coast to bring in big stuff, roads were bad, the countryside was arid and sparse. But they lived well.

Porchsitter: And your parents?

Miriam: Dad mined some, trucked food in on the side. I joined him for a few years, but the deeper you dig the harder it is to shore up tons of rock and dirt. Walls and ceilings had been caving in. Too many men had died. The owners finally closed it.

Porchsitter: Mining’s an unusual occupation for a woman? Were you the only one?

Miriam: Then, yeah. Now tourists come, mostly women; some to find a nugget or two, others to do soul work.

Porchsitter: So when the mines closed the family moved to Duwaimish?

Miriam: No, just me.

Porchsitter: Lemuria’s a big continent. Why Duwaimish? Following your ancestor’s footprints?

Miriam: Partly, but I’d always wanted to see the ocean. Once I got to the coast, though, I knew it wasn’t the sea calling me, it was the river and the Isle of Ancestors.

Porchsitter: Did you become a ferry woman immediately?

Miriam: No, that’s not permitted. First, I did odd jobs around town, later I held the main torch job on the Island.

Porchsitter: Torch job?

Miriam: Someone has to maintain the torches that light the cavern and the passageways for the ancestors and those who seek them. Torch workers also check for structural cracks and damage in between the regular scheduled inspections. With my experience in the Alluvial Mines, I was a natural for the job. You know, the isle’s honeycombed with hundreds of tunnels branching out from that main cavern. A famous Lemurian myth warns that one day all of Lemuria will collapse and sink into the sea and it will begin in the Hall of the Ancestors.

Porchsitter: That’s chilling! And after the torch job?

Miriam: I worked the orchards on the island. Loved the apples, the trees, the fresh air. I put a request in for ferry woman and one day I was called. Thought at first I’d made a mistake when I saw all the studying.

Porchsitter: Studying?

Miriam: Yeah, didn’t expect it. River lore, Lemurian history and myths, geography and geology of the whole continent and specifically this area. Then all the practical stuff: tides, engine and boat maintenance, poling, emergency procedures, communications, daily reports.

Porchsitter:Why the academic subjects?

Miriam:To qualify for an “Ancestral” job, you have to go back at least three generations on one parent’s side and two on the other, then you have to pass academic courses, practical ones related to the specific job and finally, you have to be apprenticed to an elder. There are studies for that, too and workshops. And, of course, I had to meet one of my own ancestors in the cavern.

Porchsitter: I had no idea!

Miriam: I studied nights and weekends for three years, while I saved to buy the Sow’s Ear. Fortunately, there’s no charge for schooling and room and board was included.

Porchsitter: Amazing! One more question. The Sow’s Ear is a strange name for a boat, how did that come about?

Miriam: We don’t usually disclose our choice, but since this is for Soul Food Ravens I will. Part of our final exam is to use the experience of meeting our ancestor to name our boat. My two sisters were very lovely, delicate and sweet as a teacup, mother used to say. When she left us and took them to the City of Ladies, she wanted to take me, too. I overheard my parents argue and father say, “Miriam stays with me. You can’t turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse.” It hurt so much. I left soon after and never saw him alive again.

When we met in the cavern and I asked my one question, all I could manage was, “How could you?”

He cried and told me he knew it would break my spirit if I’d gone with them and been forced into a life of afternoon teas and party dresses. In my heart I knew he was right and had always loved me. What I thought cruel, was just his unfortunate and clumsy act of love.

the full all out video, with soundtrack, versions can be seen at www.gooboobtube.com and soon on my website

Aletta

a few moments in the afternoon with some of my favourite mammals

I purchased a hand-painted silk poncho from a vendor at a convention I recently attended. The artist displayed a wide array of colors–vivid hues of black, red, purple, blue and more subtle colors overlaid with the hand-painted designs. My choice features teal with a leaf design. Another woman complimented me on the beauty of the piece saying, “You seem to just float along when you move.” She caught the feeling exactly of the light weight beautiful fabric fluttering with every movement.

The shop overlooks the sea, in a sunny position, with a flourishing herb garden and lots of geraniums pouring out of big stone pots. I love this location - apothecary’s shops are sometimes thought of as dark, poky little places, but I need lots of light and the scent of the sea.

There is plenty of living room at the back of the shop, and though it is simply furnished with rugs and baskets from the bazaar, it is very comfortable. I spend most of time in the still room, anyway, where I have put shelves and drawers for my herbal supplies, and a big roll top desk where i keep my receipt (recipe) book.

The interior of the house is lovely, with buttery cream walls and deep hearths for cold nights. I know I will be very happy here.

I have been stocking the shop - Heather’s Goddess of the Hearth has pride of place, of course. I have a new set of brass scales from the bazaar, glass jars filled with dried herbs and home made confections - horehound candy, peppermint creams, violet comfits.
There is home made ginger beer, sarsaparilla and lemonade verbena to drink; rows of pretty glass bottles filled with lavender water, Hungary water and other scented delights; big rush baskets overflowing with pot pourri; and creams and potions for every need - calendula cream, honey and garlic paste, four thieves vinegar and sweet smelling essential oils to lift every mood.

You can linger and enjoy a cup of herbal tea with some rosemary scones, lavender shortbread or oatcakes with lemon and ginger marmalade. And yes, that is a pack of tarot cards you see on the table by the window. The Gypsies have been to the shop to stock up on herbs and have offered to read your tarot cards while you sip your tea.

My journey began months ago when I was so weary of my life, and what it had become that I decided to book a trip by myself, a long trip. I ended up joining a bicycle touring group, a way to have an adventure but be a bit controlled and feel like I was slowing down and really able to see all that was around me, I could smell the fresh air, the ocean, the sounds that surrounded me were not of cars and radios but of nature. The day I discovered the cottage it was gray and overcast, the road was overgrown and narrow I was tired and slowed down to get away from the group when I saw the sign “B&B, rooms available” and instead of continuing on my journey as I had been doing for 8 days now, I stopped and decided to take a room, I had my bags, I needed nothing else. No more traveling, time to sit still for awhile. At the time, I had no idea why I was stopping, but the desire to stop was so strong that I could not ignore it, as I walked my bike up the driveway I started to look around, it was then that I noticed the gardens, they were overgrown and needed attention, the house was OLD, wow, what was I thinking? When I knocked on the old door an old woman answered, a crone I think she would be called, she was stooped over, wrapped in a lace shawl the color of slate, and I knew I was in the right place, in the window, next to the door was a sign that said for sale, this was my calling, this was what brought me here to the door. This is where I belonged.