THE AMERICAN GUIDE

IN PRAISE OF THE HANDMADE SIGN - TENNESSE, VIRGINIA and KENTUCKY
Self expression is everywhere in the rural Southeast. People express themselves with t-shirts, tattoos, front license plates and lawn decorations. There is a fierce independence in the area. And you see that spirit everyday in the handmade sign. The signs are made for a plethora of reasons: to delight, to inform, to threaten, to sell, to protest, to save.
One thing they have in common is the human touch. Letters are lovingly cut from thin wood, words are pinstriped in red and outlined in white, messages are hastily spray painted. The hand is visible and the results are imperfectly perfect.
* * *
Tammy Mercure is a State Guide to Tennessee. She was recently named one of the “100 under 100: The New Superstars of Southern Art” by Oxford American magazine.
Follow on Tumblr at tammymercure or on her website, TammyMercure.com. Support her work at TCB Press.

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IN PRAISE OF THE HANDMADE SIGN - TENNESSE, VIRGINIA and KENTUCKY

Self expression is everywhere in the rural Southeast. People express themselves with t-shirts, tattoos, front license plates and lawn decorations. There is a fierce independence in the area. And you see that spirit everyday in the handmade sign. The signs are made for a plethora of reasons: to delight, to inform, to threaten, to sell, to protest, to save.

One thing they have in common is the human touch. Letters are lovingly cut from thin wood, words are pinstriped in red and outlined in white, messages are hastily spray painted. The hand is visible and the results are imperfectly perfect.

* * *

Tammy Mercure is a State Guide to Tennessee. She was recently named one of the “100 under 100: The New Superstars of Southern Art” by Oxford American magazine.

Follow on Tumblr at tammymercure or on her website, TammyMercure.com. Support her work at TCB Press.

CAT SQUARE PARADE - VALE, NORTH CAROLINA
Whenever people had asked me if I’d ever been to the Cat Square parade it’d always be followed by a chuckle and knowing look in their eye. They’d tell me about that one time they went and there were elaborate homemade floats on old cars, parade-goers tossing out cans of beer and cigarettes, and lines of horses as far as the eye could see, five for each person there. For the past several years and since I graduated from college, I’ve been wanting to attend this much talked about and surely rowdy time.
The Cat Square Christmas parade has taken in place in Vale, North Carolina for the past few decades. Each December, this little census-designated community of Cat Square sees an influx of a couple thousand people turn out to line up along the side of Zur Leonard and Cat Square Road to watch the parade trot by. Each year I’ve been told the number of spectators and participants grow larger. A few high school bands join in, almost every female in Lincoln County it seems is a beauty queen of some sort and is escorted in a convertible. North Carolina is not short at all of celebrations of its culture, but the Cat Square parade seems a little bit more special to me. I know because almost everyone I know in my hometown has been at least one time and they always have a story about it along with a slight shake of the head, smile, and quick look at the ground.
The parade is a big part of this area around Christmas and a tradition that’s been going strong for years with few people outside of the area taking notice. It’s uniquely ours. It’s the people of the community that keep all this afloat. The parade’s participants and its visitors are the subject of these pictures. A street preacher with a lazy eye handing out tracts, a man selling new and used knives, teenagers watching from their vehicles and younger volunteers in costume or in floats. Just a few people out of the thousands that caught my eye that day and sometimes let me talk to them a little. I’m anxious for next December to come around or the next time I’ll be able to tell my own story about the parade to someone who has never been.
* * *
Aaron Canipe is a State Guide to North Carolina. He was born and raised in Hickory, North Carolina and received his BFA in photography from the Corcoran College of Art + Design in Washington, D.C. Aaron also helps operate Empty Stretch, a DIY-publisher and blog. He’s exhibited work throughout the South and has been published in the Washington Post and the Oxford American’s “Eye on the South” blog. Follow him on Tumblr at mysteriesmanners and see more work on his website, aaroncanipe.com.

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CAT SQUARE PARADE - VALE, NORTH CAROLINA

Whenever people had asked me if I’d ever been to the Cat Square parade it’d always be followed by a chuckle and knowing look in their eye. They’d tell me about that one time they went and there were elaborate homemade floats on old cars, parade-goers tossing out cans of beer and cigarettes, and lines of horses as far as the eye could see, five for each person there. For the past several years and since I graduated from college, I’ve been wanting to attend this much talked about and surely rowdy time.

The Cat Square Christmas parade has taken in place in Vale, North Carolina for the past few decades. Each December, this little census-designated community of Cat Square sees an influx of a couple thousand people turn out to line up along the side of Zur Leonard and Cat Square Road to watch the parade trot by. Each year I’ve been told the number of spectators and participants grow larger. A few high school bands join in, almost every female in Lincoln County it seems is a beauty queen of some sort and is escorted in a convertible. North Carolina is not short at all of celebrations of its culture, but the Cat Square parade seems a little bit more special to me. I know because almost everyone I know in my hometown has been at least one time and they always have a story about it along with a slight shake of the head, smile, and quick look at the ground.

The parade is a big part of this area around Christmas and a tradition that’s been going strong for years with few people outside of the area taking notice. It’s uniquely ours. It’s the people of the community that keep all this afloat. The parade’s participants and its visitors are the subject of these pictures. A street preacher with a lazy eye handing out tracts, a man selling new and used knives, teenagers watching from their vehicles and younger volunteers in costume or in floats. Just a few people out of the thousands that caught my eye that day and sometimes let me talk to them a little. I’m anxious for next December to come around or the next time I’ll be able to tell my own story about the parade to someone who has never been.

* * *

Aaron Canipe is a State Guide to North Carolina. He was born and raised in Hickory, North Carolina and received his BFA in photography from the Corcoran College of Art + Design in Washington, D.C. Aaron also helps operate Empty Stretch, a DIY-publisher and blog. He’s exhibited work throughout the South and has been published in the Washington Post and the Oxford American’s “Eye on the South” blog. Follow him on Tumblr at mysteriesmanners and see more work on his website, aaroncanipe.com.

HONOLULU & WAIKIKI, HAWAII

It has beauty not derived from magnificent architecture, grand boulevards, shaded avenues or spacious parks. Yet it has charms of its own, charms almost impossible of description and not susceptible of analysis. There is scarcely a single feature which is not surpassed by other cities, but there is a harmony, a combination of the whole that renders it matchless.
—The Aloha Guide (1915)

* * *
Jordan Lum, your State Guide to Hawaii is a sushi-rolling, self-motivated, freelance photographer. He shoots film and digital. He enjoys shooting the streets and the people in them, as well as landscapes, friends, and family. He’s more than happy to take your picture, too. Peep his work at leafybug.tumblr.comor on flickr.

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HONOLULU & WAIKIKI, HAWAII

It has beauty not derived from magnificent architecture, grand boulevards, shaded avenues or spacious parks. Yet it has charms of its own, charms almost impossible of description and not susceptible of analysis. There is scarcely a single feature which is not surpassed by other cities, but there is a harmony, a combination of the whole that renders it matchless.

—The Aloha Guide (1915)

* * *

Jordan Lum, your State Guide to Hawaii is a sushi-rolling, self-motivated, freelance photographer. He shoots film and digital. He enjoys shooting the streets and the people in them, as well as landscapes, friends, and family. He’s more than happy to take your picture, too. Peep his work at leafybug.tumblr.comor on flickr.

NEW LLANO, LOUISIANA
We are looking for the ghost of the longest running secular socialist commune in American history, a town named New Llano that lies some twenty miles north of DeRidder. On some maps it is Newllano. In some mouths it is pronounced New YAW-no, but many locals say New LAN-no. Confusion around basic details- the spelling, the pronunciation-seems to be a defining characteristic of the place. The geographic roots are also muddled. In 1914, the commune was born as the Llano del Rio Corporation in the California desert, and struggled there for three years before decamping to this rural corner of Louisiana. In 1917, Llano del Rio purchased the entire town of Stables, Louisiana from the Gulf Lumber Company, dreaming of a fresh start in the fertile South. Out of the 900 people living at Llano del Rio, only 65 journeyed from California to Louisiana. They re-christened the town New Llano, but the new name did not change the massive organizational and social problems within the community.
The historical record surrounding the colony is strange. Much of what can be found speaks of New Llano, of Llano del Rio, in glowing terms. Colony members, and outside supporters, claimed New Llano was the first step towards dismantling capitalism, a community designed to share burdens and successes, a place where no man exploited the weak or favored the ruthless. All community members had equal say in how the town was run. The children and the elderly were well cared for, and no one wanted for food or clothing. These were all lies.
This is an excerpt from an article by our new Louisiana guides, Breonne DeDecker and Darin Acosta.
Read more. Trust us.
(Archival Images: Birds-Eye View of the Llano Cooperative Colony. Artist Unknown. Louisiana Research Collection, Tulane University; As Picket Sees It. Llano Colonist. August 28, 1937. Louisiana Research Collection, Tulane University.)
* * *
Darin Acosta has spent his entire life exploring and documenting the wetlands, oil infrastructure and forgotten blight of South Louisiana and studied urban and environmental planning at the University of New Orleans. Breonne DeDecker was born near the headwaters of the Mississippi River and now resides at the end of it. She has degrees in photography and sustainable development.
Their current work, The Airline is a Very Long Road, is an experimental biography of Louisiana, which you can find at airlinehighway.tumblr.com.

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NEW LLANO, LOUISIANA

We are looking for the ghost of the longest running secular socialist commune in American history, a town named New Llano that lies some twenty miles north of DeRidder. On some maps it is Newllano. In some mouths it is pronounced New YAW-no, but many locals say New LAN-no. Confusion around basic details- the spelling, the pronunciation-seems to be a defining characteristic of the place. The geographic roots are also muddled. In 1914, the commune was born as the Llano del Rio Corporation in the California desert, and struggled there for three years before decamping to this rural corner of Louisiana. In 1917, Llano del Rio purchased the entire town of Stables, Louisiana from the Gulf Lumber Company, dreaming of a fresh start in the fertile South. Out of the 900 people living at Llano del Rio, only 65 journeyed from California to Louisiana. They re-christened the town New Llano, but the new name did not change the massive organizational and social problems within the community.

The historical record surrounding the colony is strange. Much of what can be found speaks of New Llano, of Llano del Rio, in glowing terms. Colony members, and outside supporters, claimed New Llano was the first step towards dismantling capitalism, a community designed to share burdens and successes, a place where no man exploited the weak or favored the ruthless. All community members had equal say in how the town was run. The children and the elderly were well cared for, and no one wanted for food or clothing. These were all lies.

This is an excerpt from an article by our new Louisiana guides, Breonne DeDecker and Darin Acosta.

Read more. Trust us.

(Archival Images: Birds-Eye View of the Llano Cooperative Colony. Artist Unknown. Louisiana Research Collection, Tulane University; As Picket Sees It. Llano Colonist. August 28, 1937. Louisiana Research Collection, Tulane University.)

* * *

Darin Acosta has spent his entire life exploring and documenting the wetlands, oil infrastructure and forgotten blight of South Louisiana and studied urban and environmental planning at the University of New Orleans. Breonne DeDecker was born near the headwaters of the Mississippi River and now resides at the end of it. She has degrees in photography and sustainable development.

Their current work, The Airline is a Very Long Road, is an experimental biography of Louisiana, which you can find at airlinehighway.tumblr.com.

SOMEWHERE OVER THE WEST

“I really don’t know one plane from the other. To me they are all just marginal costs with wings.”
-Alfred Kahn, airline economist (1917-2010)

Commercial air travel has changed a lot over the years. Since the US airline industry was deregulated in 1978, fares have dropped and lots more people have been flying. Airlines have merged and morphed and vanished. The rise of hub-and-spoke airline systems means that a major delay at one important airport can ripple across the country for days.
What hasn’t changed is the incredible vastness and variety of the country you see out the window. On a recent round trip from southern Colorado to Portland, Oregon (via Phoenix), I saw the Grand Canyon and the Colorado river valley, tract housing as far as the eye could see, and irrigation circles laid out like giant board games in the desert. I saw dormant volcanoes in Oregon and a bird’s eye view of the oil fields of the San Juan Basin in northwest New Mexico.
Commercial flight is the only way most of us will ever get to see those wide, wide views. Every time I fly, those views remind me of all the thousands of places in the US that I haven’t been to yet. And that takes the sting out of the scores of little annoyances along the way.
Because wow, America.
Guide Notes:
Read about the history of commercial flight in the US at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum’s America By Air exhibit.
Read about Alfred Kahn, who headed up the Civil Aeronautics Board that oversaw airline deregulation, in his obituary from The Economist (January 20, 2011).

* * *

Amadee Ricketts is an At-Large Guide to the West. She’s worked as a cemetary groundskeeper, a shoeshine valet, and a bill collector. More recently, she’s been a children’s librarian in five states. She takes a lot of pictures and lives near Durango, CO. You can see her photos at textless.tumblr.com.

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SOMEWHERE OVER THE WEST

“I really don’t know one plane from the other. To me they are all just marginal costs with wings.”

-Alfred Kahn, airline economist (1917-2010)

Commercial air travel has changed a lot over the years. Since the US airline industry was deregulated in 1978, fares have dropped and lots more people have been flying. Airlines have merged and morphed and vanished. The rise of hub-and-spoke airline systems means that a major delay at one important airport can ripple across the country for days.

What hasn’t changed is the incredible vastness and variety of the country you see out the window. On a recent round trip from southern Colorado to Portland, Oregon (via Phoenix), I saw the Grand Canyon and the Colorado river valley, tract housing as far as the eye could see, and irrigation circles laid out like giant board games in the desert. I saw dormant volcanoes in Oregon and a bird’s eye view of the oil fields of the San Juan Basin in northwest New Mexico.

Commercial flight is the only way most of us will ever get to see those wide, wide views. Every time I fly, those views remind me of all the thousands of places in the US that I haven’t been to yet. And that takes the sting out of the scores of little annoyances along the way.

Because wow, America.

Guide Notes:

Read about the history of commercial flight in the US at the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum’s America By Air exhibit.

Read about Alfred Kahn, who headed up the Civil Aeronautics Board that oversaw airline deregulation, in his obituary from The Economist (January 20, 2011).

* * *

Amadee Ricketts is an At-Large Guide to the West. She’s worked as a cemetary groundskeeper, a shoeshine valet, and a bill collector. More recently, she’s been a children’s librarian in five states. She takes a lot of pictures and lives near Durango, CO. You can see her photos at textless.tumblr.com.

ALCATRAZ ISLAND - CALIFORNIA

ALCATRAZ ISLAND (Sp., pelican), in the bay between San Francisco and Sausalito, is one of the world’s most feared and widely publicized penal institutions, the Federal prison for incorrigibles (visitors by warden’s permission only). Alcatraz, known colloquially as “The Rock,” a 12-acre island, was fortified by the Spanish prior to American occupation. From 1859 it was used as a military prison and a United States Army disciplinary barracks; during and after the World War many conscientious objectors were removed here from Fort Leavenworth. Alcatraz was made a Federal penitentiary in 1933, to house unruly prisoners form other Federal institutions. The rigid discipline, its elaborate barriers to prevent escape, including the “electric eye” to detect the presence of metal on a prisoner, and the names of its notorious inmates have combined to make thousands of newspaper headlines. Swift currents flowing around “The Rock” make escape by water practically impossible. Two prisoners made the attempt in 1938, but their ultimate success or failure is unknown.
—California, A Guide To the Golden State (WPA, 1939)

Before visiting Alcatraz I was worried the island would be some kind of weird Disney type of tourist trap. Such a famous landmark with so much history can often be sucked dry of the uniqueness and truth of the place. I was surprised to find that Alcratraz, although a bit touristy in certain aspects, was pretty damn authentic. It had creepily empty corners and areas everywhere I looked, and I wasn’t left feeling like I had been robbed of the authenticity of the place. Every shadow dripped with history and the past and my mind couldn’t help but creating story lines for every shot I took. Disney it is not.
* * *
EE Berger is a photographer Detroit bred and Brooklyn based. She seeks out emptiness, solitude and peaceful moments and was recently selected as one of Photoboite’s “30 Women Photographers Under 30” for 2013. You can find her on Tumblr at eeberger.tumblr.com, and find her website at eebergerphoto.com.

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ALCATRAZ ISLAND - CALIFORNIA

ALCATRAZ ISLAND (Sp., pelican), in the bay between San Francisco and Sausalito, is one of the world’s most feared and widely publicized penal institutions, the Federal prison for incorrigibles (visitors by warden’s permission only). Alcatraz, known colloquially as “The Rock,” a 12-acre island, was fortified by the Spanish prior to American occupation. From 1859 it was used as a military prison and a United States Army disciplinary barracks; during and after the World War many conscientious objectors were removed here from Fort Leavenworth. Alcatraz was made a Federal penitentiary in 1933, to house unruly prisoners form other Federal institutions. The rigid discipline, its elaborate barriers to prevent escape, including the “electric eye” to detect the presence of metal on a prisoner, and the names of its notorious inmates have combined to make thousands of newspaper headlines. Swift currents flowing around “The Rock” make escape by water practically impossible. Two prisoners made the attempt in 1938, but their ultimate success or failure is unknown.

—California, A Guide To the Golden State (WPA, 1939)

Before visiting Alcatraz I was worried the island would be some kind of weird Disney type of tourist trap. Such a famous landmark with so much history can often be sucked dry of the uniqueness and truth of the place. I was surprised to find that Alcratraz, although a bit touristy in certain aspects, was pretty damn authentic. It had creepily empty corners and areas everywhere I looked, and I wasn’t left feeling like I had been robbed of the authenticity of the place. Every shadow dripped with history and the past and my mind couldn’t help but creating story lines for every shot I took. Disney it is not.

* * *

EE Berger is a photographer Detroit bred and Brooklyn based. She seeks out emptiness, solitude and peaceful moments and was recently selected as one of Photoboite’s “30 Women Photographers Under 30” for 2013. You can find her on Tumblr at eeberger.tumblr.com, and find her website at eebergerphoto.com.

ROUGH & READY - MOUNTAIN VIEW, GEORGIA
From Rough and Ready to the roar of engines overhead.
Just outside the Fulton County line, a little west of Hartsfield-Jackson Airport, lies what was once the town of Mountain View, GA. Originally named Rough & Ready after the local tavern, the city was incorporated and renamed Mountain View in 1956. In January, 1978, the Georgia General Assembly voted to repeal the town’s charter, abolishing Mountain View as a city. Years of corruption presided over by the Mayor, a general lawlessness, and the ever-growing size of the airport sealed its fate.
The Georgia Department of Aviation bought up most the land, and relocated the residents. A few restaurants and businesses are still around, but only one or two houses still remain. The old neighborhoods slowly became the woods they once were. The remnants of roads and house foundations show what was there. The planes still fly overhead. At times it’s almost deafening.
Top and bottom left images: Johnathon Kelso
Text, middle and bottom right images: Michael McCraw
* * *
Michael McCraw is a State Guide to Georgia and Alabama. He’s a photographer who’s spent his whole life in the South and when he’s not photographing or writing you can find him with his family or stocking shelves at his work. Follow his work on tinytinybirds.tumblr.com or at his website, michaelmccraw.net.
Johnathon Kelso started taking photographs while living in Memphis, Tennessee. He’s now living and photographing life in Atlanta, Georgia. Find him on Tumblr at johnkelso.tumblr.com or at johnathonkelso.com.

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ROUGH & READY - MOUNTAIN VIEW, GEORGIA

From Rough and Ready to the roar of engines overhead.

Just outside the Fulton County line, a little west of Hartsfield-Jackson Airport, lies what was once the town of Mountain View, GA. Originally named Rough & Ready after the local tavern, the city was incorporated and renamed Mountain View in 1956. In January, 1978, the Georgia General Assembly voted to repeal the town’s charter, abolishing Mountain View as a city. Years of corruption presided over by the Mayor, a general lawlessness, and the ever-growing size of the airport sealed its fate.

The Georgia Department of Aviation bought up most the land, and relocated the residents. A few restaurants and businesses are still around, but only one or two houses still remain. The old neighborhoods slowly became the woods they once were. The remnants of roads and house foundations show what was there. The planes still fly overhead. At times it’s almost deafening.

Top and bottom left images: Johnathon Kelso

Text, middle and bottom right images: Michael McCraw

* * *

Michael McCraw is a State Guide to Georgia and Alabama. He’s a photographer who’s spent his whole life in the South and when he’s not photographing or writing you can find him with his family or stocking shelves at his work. Follow his work on tinytinybirds.tumblr.com or at his website, michaelmccraw.net.

Johnathon Kelso started taking photographs while living in Memphis, Tennessee. He’s now living and photographing life in Atlanta, Georgia. Find him on Tumblr at johnkelso.tumblr.com or at johnathonkelso.com.

FRANKENMUTH, MICHIGAN

A German settlement known throughout the State for its chicken dinners, served harvester style, and its Frankenmuth beer. It was settled in 1845 by a group of Franconians from Bavaria and, later, by refugees from the unsuccessful German revolution of 1848.
The neat village, spread out for some distance, has retained its German flavor; most of the inhabitants are descendants of the original settlers and speak the German language.
—Michigan: A Guide to the Wolverine State (WPA,1941)

Postcard Key:
1. Maypole 2-4. Frankenmuth Bavarian Inn 5. The Fischer Opera Haus 6. Schnitzelbank Shop 7. Bavarian Festival 8. Bodenbender’s Apfel Haus 9. Bronner’s 10. The Edelweiss Trio
* * *

Jordan Smith is the guide to ephemeral America for The American Guide. He currently works for the University of Notre Dame during the day and scans at night. He lives in South Bend, Indiana and you can find him on Flickr, his blog, or one of several Tumblr sites.

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FRANKENMUTH, MICHIGAN

A German settlement known throughout the State for its chicken dinners, served harvester style, and its Frankenmuth beer. It was settled in 1845 by a group of Franconians from Bavaria and, later, by refugees from the unsuccessful German revolution of 1848.

The neat village, spread out for some distance, has retained its German flavor; most of the inhabitants are descendants of the original settlers and speak the German language.

—Michigan: A Guide to the Wolverine State (WPA,1941)

Postcard Key:

1. Maypole 2-4. Frankenmuth Bavarian Inn 5. The Fischer Opera Haus 6. Schnitzelbank Shop 7. Bavarian Festival 8. Bodenbender’s Apfel Haus 9. Bronner’s 10. The Edelweiss Trio

* * *

Jordan Smith is the guide to ephemeral America for The American Guide. He currently works for the University of Notre Dame during the day and scans at night. He lives in South Bend, Indiana and you can find him on Flickr, his blog, or one of several Tumblr sites.

SOUTHERN EXTREME BULL RIDING - ABINGDON, VIRGINIA
Every Tuesday night for several months in the winter, the Washington County Fairgrounds’ largest building is warmed by giant space heaters so that a crowd of hundreds can root for their favorite bull rider. In the front of the building, the crowd sits in the bleachers laughing at the clown who is doing a goofy dance while they wait for the gate to burst open. He chats easily with regulars while throwing down the donated hat in the front that will be “signed” (stomped on) by the upcoming bulls.
In the back of the building, the well-oiled machine comprised of cowboys and locals begins. Bulls are walked through intricate chutes to keep them calm and secure. Eventually, they make their way to the small compartment at the end, just big enough for them to stand. The next man up has been stretching, preparing his personal rope and glove with heated-up rosin. He’s getting in the zone. The usually cocky guys with colorful chaps, wild boots and bull-legged swagger are quiet. They seem to be playing out over and over in their head the perfect eight seconds. Several cowboys stand near for safety reasons. Then, the cowboy slowly lowers down on top of the bull and tightens his rope around the giant beast’s belly. Time slows down and the man nods at the gatekeepers. One man hits the latch. Another man pulls on the lead that has been clipped to the gate so that it flies open. The bull is out, bouncing from his front legs to his back legs, desperately trying to knock the rider off of his back. The rider tries to counter balance and stay upright. If it happens like his vision, he will soon hear a bullhorn and have lasted to the magical eight second mark. And when the horn blows, the rider dismounts and tries to jump free of the spiraling, jumping animal. Then, the bullfighters jump into action and motion in front of the bull — sometimes even tapping their horns — so that the bull will move away from the recently freed rider. Most bulls find the open gate attractive and trot gently back. Sometimes the bulls will not head right in, which is affectionately called “taking a victory lap” — looking for someone or something to bump or chase. The well trained fighters do an intricate dance, the crowd is directed to yell, “go home,” in unison and the cattle dog is called out to nip at his heels.
Other entertainment includes games of skill for the audience and “fan of the night” for the fan who danced and cheered the most. “Mutton Busting” is when young children, who idolize the riders, get their chance to try something similar. They are placed atop a sheep and hang on for dear life while the small animal runs. Some kids fall and immediately burst into tears. A few will jump up and mosey over to the gate to climb over like the big guys. The kid with the highest score will get a crisp ten dollar bill and an itch for adrenaline.
The activities and riding continues for a couple hours. There are triumphs and disappointments and injuries. The night usually ends on a high note with loud music and lots of prizes handed out to the crowd. The cowboys move up and down in ranking from their evenings scores. It all happens again the next Tuesday night.
* * *
Tammy Mercure is a State Guide to Tennessee. She was recently named one of the “100 under 100: The New Superstars of Southern Art” by Oxford American magazine.
Follow on Tumblr at tammymercure or on her website, TammyMercure.com. Support her work at TCB Press.

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SOUTHERN EXTREME BULL RIDING - ABINGDON, VIRGINIA

Every Tuesday night for several months in the winter, the Washington County Fairgrounds’ largest building is warmed by giant space heaters so that a crowd of hundreds can root for their favorite bull rider. In the front of the building, the crowd sits in the bleachers laughing at the clown who is doing a goofy dance while they wait for the gate to burst open. He chats easily with regulars while throwing down the donated hat in the front that will be “signed” (stomped on) by the upcoming bulls.

In the back of the building, the well-oiled machine comprised of cowboys and locals begins. Bulls are walked through intricate chutes to keep them calm and secure. Eventually, they make their way to the small compartment at the end, just big enough for them to stand. The next man up has been stretching, preparing his personal rope and glove with heated-up rosin. He’s getting in the zone. The usually cocky guys with colorful chaps, wild boots and bull-legged swagger are quiet. They seem to be playing out over and over in their head the perfect eight seconds. Several cowboys stand near for safety reasons. Then, the cowboy slowly lowers down on top of the bull and tightens his rope around the giant beast’s belly. Time slows down and the man nods at the gatekeepers. One man hits the latch. Another man pulls on the lead that has been clipped to the gate so that it flies open. The bull is out, bouncing from his front legs to his back legs, desperately trying to knock the rider off of his back. The rider tries to counter balance and stay upright. If it happens like his vision, he will soon hear a bullhorn and have lasted to the magical eight second mark. And when the horn blows, the rider dismounts and tries to jump free of the spiraling, jumping animal. Then, the bullfighters jump into action and motion in front of the bull — sometimes even tapping their horns — so that the bull will move away from the recently freed rider. Most bulls find the open gate attractive and trot gently back. Sometimes the bulls will not head right in, which is affectionately called “taking a victory lap” — looking for someone or something to bump or chase. The well trained fighters do an intricate dance, the crowd is directed to yell, “go home,” in unison and the cattle dog is called out to nip at his heels.

Other entertainment includes games of skill for the audience and “fan of the night” for the fan who danced and cheered the most. “Mutton Busting” is when young children, who idolize the riders, get their chance to try something similar. They are placed atop a sheep and hang on for dear life while the small animal runs. Some kids fall and immediately burst into tears. A few will jump up and mosey over to the gate to climb over like the big guys. The kid with the highest score will get a crisp ten dollar bill and an itch for adrenaline.

The activities and riding continues for a couple hours. There are triumphs and disappointments and injuries. The night usually ends on a high note with loud music and lots of prizes handed out to the crowd. The cowboys move up and down in ranking from their evenings scores. It all happens again the next Tuesday night.

* * *

Tammy Mercure is a State Guide to Tennessee. She was recently named one of the “100 under 100: The New Superstars of Southern Art” by Oxford American magazine.

Follow on Tumblr at tammymercure or on her website, TammyMercure.com. Support her work at TCB Press.

SUNRISE TO SUNSET AT GRAND CANYON - ARIZONA
National Park Week - April 20-28, 2013
There is no better place to accidentally find yourself during the National Park Service’s free week than the second most visited park, Grand Canyon.
With nearly 5 million visitors a year, Grand Canyon is as good for its people watching as it is for the view itself. You can go a long time without hearing a single word of English, but easily make out that everyone has the same mix of marvel and disbelief as they walk up the trail to Mather Point and catch their first glimpse of the South Rim.

The dark pines of the Kaibob National Forest conceal the Grand Canyon of the Colorado till the rim is reached. There, spread out for seemingly endless miles, is an ocean of color. From misty blue depths rise gigantic islands of crimson sandstone. Their undulating bands of red and purple grow softer in color and outline towards the horizon, where a single firm stroke seems to separate the rosy depths from the sky above. Its immensity is awful; the boldness of its contours overwhelming; its immobility terrifying.
—Arizona, The Grand Canyon State: A State Guide (WPA, 1940)

Guide Note: National Park Week occurs each spring.
* * *
At-Large Guide to the West James Orndorf was born in Minnesota, but knew at a very young age that the future lay out west. He is currently photographing and illustrating outside of Durango, Colorado. You can see what he’s up to atinlandwest.tumblr.com and roughshelter.com.

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SUNRISE TO SUNSET AT GRAND CANYON - ARIZONA

National Park Week - April 20-28, 2013

There is no better place to accidentally find yourself during the National Park Service’s free week than the second most visited park, Grand Canyon.

With nearly 5 million visitors a year, Grand Canyon is as good for its people watching as it is for the view itself. You can go a long time without hearing a single word of English, but easily make out that everyone has the same mix of marvel and disbelief as they walk up the trail to Mather Point and catch their first glimpse of the South Rim.

The dark pines of the Kaibob National Forest conceal the Grand Canyon of the Colorado till the rim is reached. There, spread out for seemingly endless miles, is an ocean of color. From misty blue depths rise gigantic islands of crimson sandstone. Their undulating bands of red and purple grow softer in color and outline towards the horizon, where a single firm stroke seems to separate the rosy depths from the sky above. Its immensity is awful; the boldness of its contours overwhelming; its immobility terrifying.

—Arizona, The Grand Canyon State: A State Guide (WPA, 1940)

Guide Note: National Park Week occurs each spring.

* * *

At-Large Guide to the West James Orndorf was born in Minnesota, but knew at a very young age that the future lay out west. He is currently photographing and illustrating outside of Durango, Colorado. You can see what he’s up to atinlandwest.tumblr.com and roughshelter.com.

THE SPACES BETWEEN THE PLACES – UPSTATE & SOUTHERN TIER, NEW YORK
There have been numerous references throughout history to “the journey, not the destination”; the idea that one should savor the road being traveled, it being the actual reward above and beyond the destination itself. For me, the journey that consistently offers up its bounty is the vast expanse of upstate New York and its Southern Tier.
To travel this region is a great reminder not only of the current state of things in rural America, but also of what used to be. The forests and watersheds allowed much of this area to thrive in the late 1800s, which made way for the prosperity of farms and small factory towns in the first half of the 20th century. You’ll see many stores, farms and factories, some still thriving, some barely hanging on and some in a state of disrepair, now only a remnant of what was and likely will never be again.
It’s the ruralness of this area that can take you by surprise; the fact that these folks make do much by themselves so far from any greater metropolitan area. You can imagine that everyone must know their neighbor’s business. For the traveler passing through it seems that so little must have changed over the years, except that the vacant store fronts must once have been open for business, and the barns that are now collapsing in on themselves must have strongly stood upright in the afternoon sun.
For the rare small town that somehow shrugged off decay and demise and manages to carry on despite it all, it offers a glimpse of how it used to be better. It can genuinely give you a sense of stepping back in time, of driving into a town from decades past. And then you blink your eyes and you’re through it, back into the farmland until the next small town appears.
* * *

Guide to the Northeast Brett Klein lives in Connecticut and works in New York, but prefers small town life and his homestate of Maine. Any chance to get rural is a mental vacation. Follow Klein on Tumblr at The Coast is Clear. His curatorial collection of Americana, rural life, other artists and ephemera can be seen on Tumblr at Tons of Land.

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THE SPACES BETWEEN THE PLACES – UPSTATE & SOUTHERN TIER, NEW YORK

There have been numerous references throughout history to “the journey, not the destination”; the idea that one should savor the road being traveled, it being the actual reward above and beyond the destination itself. For me, the journey that consistently offers up its bounty is the vast expanse of upstate New York and its Southern Tier.

To travel this region is a great reminder not only of the current state of things in rural America, but also of what used to be. The forests and watersheds allowed much of this area to thrive in the late 1800s, which made way for the prosperity of farms and small factory towns in the first half of the 20^th century. You’ll see many stores, farms and factories, some still thriving, some barely hanging on and some in a state of disrepair, now only a remnant of what was and likely will never be again.

It’s the ruralness of this area that can take you by surprise; the fact that these folks make do much by themselves so far from any greater metropolitan area. You can imagine that everyone must know their neighbor’s business. For the traveler passing through it seems that so little must have changed over the years, except that the vacant store fronts must once have been open for business, and the barns that are now collapsing in on themselves must have strongly stood upright in the afternoon sun.

For the rare small town that somehow shrugged off decay and demise and manages to carry on despite it all, it offers a glimpse of how it used to be better. It can genuinely give you a sense of stepping back in time, of driving into a town from decades past. And then you blink your eyes and you’re through it, back into the farmland until the next small town appears.

* * *

Guide to the Northeast Brett Klein lives in Connecticut and works in New York, but prefers small town life and his homestate of Maine. Any chance to get rural is a mental vacation. Follow Klein on Tumblr at The Coast is Clear. His curatorial collection of Americana, rural life, other artists and ephemera can be seen on Tumblr at Tons of Land.

FIDDLEHEAD FERNS - VERMONT

Of ferns, the highest class of flowerless plants, there are eighty-one distinct species in Vermont.
—Vermont: A Guide to the Green Mountain State (WPA, 1937)

Fiddleheads are the tightly curled fronds of a young Ostrich fern (Matteuccia struthiopteris). Ostrich ferns grow wild from northeastern North America, across Europe, and into central Asia, but the fiddlehead is especially prized as a traditional delicacy in Vermont (where harvesting is a rite of spring). Until January of this year when a bill was introduced in the legislature naming kale the state vegetable of Vermont, the fiddlehead unofficially held the title.
From “Neighborhood Cooking,” published in 1993 by the East Barnard Community Club of East Barnard, Vermont, a recipe courtesy of Sabra Field:

Pick fiddleheads in early May on the sandy banks of a brook. Look for last year’s dry black “plume” to locate the new growth. Once the fronds begin to uncurl, they are “gone by.” You don’t need a knife, just use your fingers. Allow to dry a few hours. Shake in a lettuce basket to loosen brown outer “wrappers” and discard. Place in cottage cooker in large saucepan. Blanch and discard water. Add more water and steam until bright green and just tender. Toss with a little butter and lemon juice.

Other recommended preparations include triple blanching, then topping with cheese sauce. Under no circumstance should fiddleheads be eaten raw, as they can be quite tannic and bitter, even toxic, when undercooked.
They have been known to taste like wild asparagus with the crisp texture of a slightly undercooked brussel sprout. Some people from outside the region say they taste a bit like wet dirt.
* * *

Tara Wray is the State Guide to Vermont. A photographer and award-winning documentary filmmaker (but mainly a mom of two-year-old identical twin sons), she is drawn to photography as a means to combat the otherwise general and fleeting nature of life. Follow her on Tumblr at Tara Wray Photography. Also, see her chapbook, “Barnard People, Vol. 1, Photographs of Vermonters.”

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FIDDLEHEAD FERNS - VERMONT

Of ferns, the highest class of flowerless plants, there are eighty-one distinct species in Vermont.

—Vermont: A Guide to the Green Mountain State (WPA, 1937)

Fiddleheads are the tightly curled fronds of a young Ostrich fern (Matteuccia struthiopteris). Ostrich ferns grow wild from northeastern North America, across Europe, and into central Asia, but the fiddlehead is especially prized as a traditional delicacy in Vermont (where harvesting is a rite of spring). Until January of this year when a bill was introduced in the legislature naming kale the state vegetable of Vermont, the fiddlehead unofficially held the title.

From “Neighborhood Cooking,” published in 1993 by the East Barnard Community Club of East Barnard, Vermont, a recipe courtesy of Sabra Field:

Pick fiddleheads in early May on the sandy banks of a brook. Look for last year’s dry black “plume” to locate the new growth. Once the fronds begin to uncurl, they are “gone by.” You don’t need a knife, just use your fingers. Allow to dry a few hours. Shake in a lettuce basket to loosen brown outer “wrappers” and discard. Place in cottage cooker in large saucepan. Blanch and discard water. Add more water and steam until bright green and just tender. Toss with a little butter and lemon juice.

Other recommended preparations include triple blanching, then topping with cheese sauce. Under no circumstance should fiddleheads be eaten raw, as they can be quite tannic and bitter, even toxic, when undercooked.

They have been known to taste like wild asparagus with the crisp texture of a slightly undercooked brussel sprout. Some people from outside the region say they taste a bit like wet dirt.

* * *

Tara Wray is the State Guide to Vermont. A photographer and award-winning documentary filmmaker (but mainly a mom of two-year-old identical twin sons), she is drawn to photography as a means to combat the otherwise general and fleeting nature of life. Follow her on Tumblr at Tara Wray Photography. Also, see her chapbook, “Barnard People, Vol. 1, Photographs of Vermonters.”

NEAR WORTHINGTON, MINNESOTA - I-90
Open year-round, Interstate 90 in Minnesota is 276 miles and traverses the southern side of the state, parallel to the Minnesota-Iowa state line. The route connects the cities of Worthington, Albert Lea, and Austin.
Near Worthington, Minn., Oil on Canvas, 20 x 42 inches, 2013
* * *
Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. he curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.

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NEAR WORTHINGTON, MINNESOTA - I-90

Open year-round, Interstate 90 in Minnesota is 276 miles and traverses the southern side of the state, parallel to the Minnesota-Iowa state line. The route connects the cities of Worthington, Albert Lea, and Austin.

Near Worthington, Minn., Oil on Canvas, 20 x 42 inches, 2013

* * *

Nate Burbeck is a State Guide to Minnesota and an At-Large Guide to the Midwest. he curates a few regionally-themed art tumblrs — beyond 9th avenue (Northeastern artists), fly over art (Midwestern artists) and in the new frontier (Western artists) and has himself been named one of “Ten Artists to Watch in 2013” on the Walker Art Center’s mnartists blog. Follow Nate’s work on Tumblr at nburbeck.tumblr.com or on his website.

QUAKE LAKE, MONTANA
Nature is so amazing. Late one night in August of 1959, a huge earthquake measuring 7.5 on the Richter scale sent a massive 80 million ton landslide rushing 100 miles an hour down Sheep Mountain in southwest Montana. It buried homes and cabins, destroyed roads and buildings, and killed 28 people who were camping on the shores of Hebgen Lake and the Madison River. (And you thought bears were all you had to worry about when camping, right?) The landslide completely choked off the flow of the Madison River, which began to backfill in the valley upstream, and within a month the six-mile long Quake Lake was created. Today you can drive around the lake, over the visible landslide and stop in the visitor’s center to learn more.
(Archival images: USGS)
* * *
KC O’Connor is a Guide to Wyoming for The American Guide. He’s a writer and photographer based in Lander, Wyoming. Follow him on Tumblr at kcowyo.tumblr.com and on Twitter.

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QUAKE LAKE, MONTANA

Nature is so amazing. Late one night in August of 1959, a huge earthquake measuring 7.5 on the Richter scale sent a massive 80 million ton landslide rushing 100 miles an hour down Sheep Mountain in southwest Montana. It buried homes and cabins, destroyed roads and buildings, and killed 28 people who were camping on the shores of Hebgen Lake and the Madison River. (And you thought bears were all you had to worry about when camping, right?) The landslide completely choked off the flow of the Madison River, which began to backfill in the valley upstream, and within a month the six-mile long Quake Lake was created. Today you can drive around the lake, over the visible landslide and stop in the visitor’s center to learn more.

(Archival images: USGS)

* * *

KC O’Connor is a Guide to Wyoming for The American Guide. He’s a writer and photographer based in Lander, Wyoming. Follow him on Tumblr at kcowyo.tumblr.com and on Twitter.

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