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art movement

Jo e k e l l e y o p e n s b l a c k s b u r g ’ s n e w e s t a r t h o u s e on progress street

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green star farm’s produce is organically delicious

Fired up on the mtn

the new appalachian feud erupts at a WV rally against surface coal mining

musical interlewd LOGOS writers tackle the sticky subjectS of loneliness and desire

04 Chatterblocks 06 Politics: Bad Jokes for Troubled Times 10 Cooking With Trent 12 Artist: Holly Scoggins

19 Comic: Keep on Smokin’ 22 To Do List 24 Summer Festival Guide 26 Idle Minds 27 Support Our Advertisers

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Arts and Culture Magazine July 2009 Issue #17 A division of 16 Blocks Media LLC. Contact us for subscription rates, general questions, corrections, if you’re interested in submitting short stories for our Logos Section, letters to the Editor, or if you just want to say hey. 16blocksmagazine@gmail.com www.16blocksmagazine.com

editor’s note: Sustainability is a word that means more than survival. It’s not about hunkering down and duct-taping yourself into your basement, breathing the pthalate fumes of cheaply bottled water. It is, if I can reclaim this word, about hope. The apocalypse is not a new idea. Over two thousand years ago, a number of the faithful not only anticipated the world to come, they craved it. The world was hard. Would it never end? The riots of disappointment when the last judgment apparently failed to come were documented across Europe. In our own lifetimes, we experienced another false eschaton when Y2K failed to crash our carefully configured new world order. For the apocalyptically inclined, 9/11 perhaps came as a relief.

We read of the American crisis every day, or see its auspices on the news. For those reading this magazine, it’s most honest to admit that this experience, regardless of our personal capacity for empathy, is mainly vicarious. And yet there is a sense of collective responsibility that thrives in this green, mostly pleasant land. Seasons change. Gardens thrive up against the unpredictable ravages of creature appetites and weather. It’s boom and bust. One day you hear, “Do you like lettuce? We’ve got more than we can deal with.” In the same week, you’ll hear, “Damn deer jumped our fence. We lost half the garden overnight.” America’s economy turns out not to be “too big to fail.” Like it or not, Blacks-

burg gets a huge, new expensive Kroger that takes an hour to navigate for the simplest items; and somehow it’s no coincidence that more folks are shopping at the Farmer’s Markets or trying their green thumbs on a garden for the first time. Do a price check between local veggies, herbs and meat and their organic equivalent at the supermarket. There is no contest in terms of value for money spent. Sustainability is a simple concept: everyday people organizing their lives around the idea that waste depletes the future, and that there is a future. Given our ingenuity, it should be possible to live well in anticipation not of an apocalypse, but of a future that our descendants will be able to enjoy, if only we cherish the land by whose grace we live.

myspace.com/16blocksmagazine

Special Events: This Summer and the Next

Check us out on Facebook! P.O. Box 279 Blacksburg, VA 24063 No part of this publication may be reproduced without written permission of the publisher. CORRECTION: Issue #16 Chatterblocks was written by Richard Todd Stafford

Nancy Newman of the Blacksburg Partnership:

Erika Johnson of Across-theWay Productions:

16B: What was the Fork and Cork all about?

16B: Please describe briefly what the Floyd Fandago event entails for those who don't know?

Page 14 16 Blocks’ Graffiti Contest Runner-Up Joey Paulekas Page 15 16 Blocks’ Graffiti Contest Winner Chris Lowe [Located in Ceritano’s Warehouse]

NN: The first annual Blacksburg Fork and Cork was held on Saturday, May 2nd, 2009 at First & Main Town Center. It was the area’s first food, wine and art festival. In attendance were 14 wineries, 6 local restaurants and over two dozen artists and other vendors. Live music from Cheryl Lunsford and the Star City Hot Club, Lenny Marcus and the Water Drops, and The Porch Loungers provided entertainment throughout the day. The Blacksburg Partnership was the event organizer.

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16B: What inspired Fork and Cork?

Editor in Chief, Publisher

NN: The Partnership wanted to create a quality signature event that offered residents a new entertainment experience and enticed visitors to come to Blacksburg to see what the community has to offer. It was also an opportunity to showcase area artists and restaurants.

Cove r

Illustration by Joey Paulekas

Hart Fowler

16blocksmagazine@gmail.com David Franusich

Head Print Designer, Art Director

16blocks.graphics@gmail.com Christina O’Connor

Director of Photography, Art Director

16blocks.photo@gmail.com Amy Splitt Editor

asplitt@gmail.com David Williams Webmaster

dtw@vt.edu

C ON T R I B U TO RS Danny Phillips Illustrator Aerin Toler Illustrator Elizabeth Spencer Photographer Courtney Myers Photographer Pris Sears Features Writer Johnny Kilroy Features Writer Garrett Bobb Features Writer Trent Crabtree Features Writer Holly Scoggins Featured Artist Chuck Ronco Chess Guru Brian Zickafoose Guest Writer Marshall Flaw Guest Writer Courtney Kimball Guest Writer

16B: How did the event turn out? NN: The event was an overwhelming success. We estimate over 2,500 people were in attendance. The feedback we received from the vendors and wineries was very positive. The community also was very complimentary about the event. 16B: Do you plan to continue the event next next year and if so, are there any changes in store? NN: Blacksburg Fork and Cork 2010 is scheduled for May 1st of next year with minimal changes to the overall structure. [But] we would also like to announce our newest festival: «Blacksburg Brew Do,» a Craft Beer Festival to be held at First & Main on Saturday, October 24, 2009.

EJ: Floyd Fandango was a first of its kind beer and wine festival with GREAT MUSIC, wine and food with artists and craft vendors. We knew that people loved beer and wine festivals and thought WHY NOT merge the two. Add camping and the 4th of July and we thought, what a great combo to please our festival attendees. 16B: Please describe your role with the event? EJ: I oversee the general day to day operations, excluding the musical facets. 16B: How did the event go? EJ: We had a great day on the 4th of July. The 5th was a bit rainy. We had 6,000 people and wonderful food and craft and art vendors. 16B: Do you plan to continue the event next year and if so, any changes in store? EJ: Yes, we will bring it back next year. We will continue to make changes to our infrastructure and improving the site. 16B: Floydfest is happening from the 23rd through the 26th of July. Anything new we can look forward to this year? EJ: We will have camel rides, a hammock village, a brand new Front of House for the Hill Holler Stage, and MORE MUSIC THEN EVER BEFORE!!!!! Jocylyn Surface, Collegiate Square: 16B: This was the first year of the Spring Forward festival over at Collegiate Square. Can you tell me what the event was all about and what inspired

it? JS: Spring Forward was an idea based on letting the community know we, Collegiate Square, is here and alive with Downtown Blacksburg to celebrate spring for Mother's Day and for the students to enjoy after exams. It consisted of booths selling food: Bud Foster's and India Garden. Services offered by New Tech Fitness, Verizon, and CMG Leasing. Downtown Merchants was there to remind us what a Special Place Blacksburg is with Steppin' Out and Gobblerfest. We cannot forget the products [local vendors] and local crafters offering a variety of neat, useful and fun crafts. For the kids we had Ziggy the Clown performing magic; face painting, Tivon fun with nails and hair, sand art, marshmallow shooters, cork pop guns, scrap art, pony rides, ladder fire truck and rescue vehicle, a jumbo pirate ship bouncer and a blow-up obstacle course for kids and adults to run through. And last but not least we had four awesome bands (Bitter Hill, The Roscoe, Andy Hollander, and All Kinds of Gravity) along with the always fun Earl Brown as the D.J and emcee. 16B: Please describe your role with the event? JS: I was the the planner for the event with help from Krista Wilson and Rob Martinez from All Kinds of Gravity. I had strong support and help from Downtown Merchants and Collegiate Square merchants. 16B: How did the event go? JS: The event went well considering it was the first year and with only 2 months to plan. Weather had an impact: tornado warnings the night before, windy day-of, and a small rain shower. But I was thrilled and pleased... I want this to grow into another special day for our community to gather and celebrate family and friends.

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by Amy Splitt and Pris Sears illustration by Danny Phillips

It’s

hard to be funny these days. Most people get their political information from entertainment stations like Comedy Central and FOX News. How do you know what’s good for laughs and what’s just going to get you picketed? For instance, if you’re going to make fun of a teenage kid’s sex life, you have to make sure she’s of age. David Letterman, BORING! Secretary of State Hillary Clinton is still healing from a broken elbow. The stress of her job must be taking its toll, because I don’t remember her breaking anything when Chris Matthews and Ken Olbermann threw her under the bus during the primaries. HEY-O! Speaking of elections, comedy fans (at least the liberal ones) are cheering as Al Franken finally takes over his disputed seat in the US Senate. His finally defeated opponent Norm Coleman has a busy summer ahead of him as the new Head Writer for Saturday Night Live. Another guy who’s had a busy summer, South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford has now admitted that his “soul mate” in Argentina was actually a cover story. He then acknowledged having sex with 17 different women in every hiking shelter along the Appalachian Trail. Park Service officials have ordered that the extensive journals he left in each spot be removed, citing complaints by hikers actually interested in the weather and trail conditions. Addressing rumors that NY Governor Eliot Spitzer had offered him introductions and discount coupons to the “Emperors Club VIP”,

Sanford neither confirmed nor denied the rumor but mentioned Spitzer’s lack of “moral clarity,” and added “Furthermore, I prefer the outdoorsy type.” In other horny dude news, thousands of liberal white males crashed Twitter in a flurry of posts protesting the sudden lull in media coverage of hot Iranian chicks showing no skin whatsoever. As if we weren’t already perplexed enough, National Public Radio has officially banned use of the word “torture” to describe waterboarding and other Bush administration treatment of prisoners of war. NPR prefers the terminology “aggressive interrogation methods” and “alleged abuse.” NPR would also like to remind the public that it is not considered proper to characterize the more than 100 detainees dead from these “aggressive interrogation methods” as “Tailgating with Jesus,” as this is insensitive to their religious preferences. While we’re discussing crime and punishment, as we all know, Bernie Madoff was sentenced to 150 years for massive fraud. The question is, how will he spend all that time? According to a press release, Madoff intends to perfect his gym technique, write several volumes of social philosophy, and find about seven versions of God. Upon his projected release date, he states, “I’ll basically be Megatron.” And finally, so-called “Elephant Man” John Merrick ‘s estate is in negotiations to buy Michael Jackson’s remains. What, too soon? You people are tough.

Read more of our political satire online at www.16blocksmagazine.com

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y r e l ga l a local artist gives new life to An historic landmark by Hart Fowler photos by Christina O’Connor and David Franusich

or nearly a decade, artist Joe Kelley made a home and studio of a rickety two-story house down Ellett Road. The place had no electricity or running water, and looked as if it had weathered two centuries, sitting across a creek that was often impassable during flood season. Maintaining the property was a lot of work. Kelley needed to move, but could he find a place that offered comparable space and freedom? His friend, Ann Linden, suggested the grand old “Swoop House” at 512 Progress Street. In the tradition established by her late mother, artist Jeanette Hamlin, Linden is a loyal patron of fine art in Blacksburg. The student-run XYZ gallery on North Main Street has long been possible because of the patronage of mother and daughter. The Swoop house happened to be a few doors down from Hamlin’s former home. To tie in yet another loose end, Hamlin was the owner of the old house in Ellett Valley, and Joe Kelley has also been involved with XYZ since its inception, often doing maintenance on the property.

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Linden thought the unoccupied house could make an interesting art gallery, and called on Kelley, also a carpenter, as the potential curator-in-residence who would be qualified to handle the minor renovations required. Kelley agreed. Less than a year later, Kelley is living upstairs and the new Swoop Gallery has hosted two of the most interesting local art exhibitions of 2009. Kelley’s look reminds one of a 1950s rockabilly player: he wears his shirts tucked into the waistband of highwater jeans or work pants, cuffs barely reaching the top of his shoes. It isn’t just a fashion statement: in fact he fronted a rockabilly and old-time country band, called “Joe Kelley and His Country Orchestra”, that played local gigs here in town for a few years, starting in 2001. His singing voice sounded a bit like James Mathus of Squirrel Nut Zippers. Kelley’s regular talking voice cracks sometimes, probably from inhaling traces of plaster and sawdust over the years. He’s 42, with broad shoulders and thin arms, strong and wiry from the building work he does every day.

He describes the house like a new friend: “It has a lot of classic old American style molding, with the floor trim and the picture rail, and the ceilings are nearly 12 feet, and there’s wood floors,” he said. His watery blue eyes peer from behind glasses that rest on his Roman nose. “It just has a really nice feel to it spacewise; the rooms are nice and big. You can really move around in them easily. Nice wall space. Yard is really big, beautiful porches, casual feel to the place, very homey. I enjoy living here as well.” “We painted the inside, fixed the plaster on some of the walls and stripped out the old wallpaper. We’ll be refinishing the floors sometime before the end of the summer,” he said, referring to his helper, Bob Browder (who builds banjos as well as houses), punctuating the sentence with his wry, closed mouth grin. Just inside the doorway, the two large gallery rooms with their big windows and white walls wait for their next exhibit, empty and quiet as a vacant church. Kelley often finishes his sentences with

a soft chuckle, as if displaying some inside amusement. His strong features express the subtle movements of thoughts, which could be one reason why he gets asked to do a bit of acting now and then. He made his big-screen debut in the recent local film production “Fishbowl” by Ed Gendron, playing the lead role. (16blocksmagazine. com/2008/02/swimming-in-thefishbowl/) The Swoop Gallery’s first show was held in April and featured Francesco di Santis’s traveling exhibition “Voices for Appalachia, Written and Narrated by Hundreds,” recommended to Kelley by local musician and artist Liam Kelley and sponsored by the group Mountain Justice. The show displayed charcoal portraits alongside the subjects’ own personal narratives. Di Santis has nearly 300 of these pieces online at the Mountain Justice website. He invited local residents to pose and write their stories too, during the show’s run at the Swoop Gallery. “I kind of liked mine, I thought I looked like the new James Bond,” Kelley said with a laugh. “I like the idea of ... creating a space that people interact with, instead of just a static gallery. It brings something more, a whole ‘nother type of opening.” In late May, Kelley’s next show featured an installation and paintings by Amber Erbschloe. Kelley had known Erbschloe for a number of years, but a piece she installed at the XYZ gallery grabbed his attention as a curator. “She came up with this great sculpture made out of discarded old junk; a skeleton DJ playing two turntables and there was giant speakers behind the DJ, real fantastic, made out of stuff she had found. You could see her own vision, her own experience in it,” said Kelley. Erbschloe made a playlist that ran through the speakers, bringing the installation to life. He added: “It’s a sincere, mature sculpture. It’s exciting to provide someone with a venue to do that. She’s someone that’s still developing in a lot of ways but has a definite vision. Someone you can see is going to develop into something else is very interesting. She’s got a lot of will and a lot of ambition.”

in Floyd. Some other time I’ll hear about how he made a movie called “Lovecrusher” that involved a giant machine crushing his old station-wagon; he has traveled and installed numerous shows with local painter Ray Kass; and he worked with internationally renowned artist and composer John Cage at the very first Mountain Lake Workshop.

He thought the downtown was more “funky” when he moved here as a student in 1985, with more of a music scene due to the fact that college was cheaper and had a better crosssection of students. But he also feels that Blacksburg still retains a wealth of great people surrounded by beautiful scenery. He’s also excited by the new Arts Center going up a block away, and recent plans for an Arts District which would contain the Swoops Gallery.

Leaning back in his chair on the porch with a big yawn, the darkened gallery space at his back, Kelley looks forward to installing his own show. “The Natural History of the Imaginary Bird” is a series that he’s been working on for years but has never displayed in its entirety. Kelley’s imaginary birds are inspired by the time when westerners were starting to discover and draw “new” species around the world without observing them in nature. He says, “They would often get a [specimen] that was mounted in a completely inaccurate way, so then they would paint it that way and the features would be exaggerated.” “They were creating these imaginary species themselves, based on reality; and I liked that idea for myself, creating these birds that have maybe never existed, or from my unconscious recollection of birds.” Kelley gets true excitement from imagining something new. About his new life as a curator, he says, “It’s real exciting, something fun to do. I look forward to it. I hope I can do it for awhile. I think it will be fun. I’ve always been a person that wanted to be involved with a lot of things that interested me and do something positive with those things,” Kelley said; and then, “Good night.”

Kelley has more stories but he’s also got an early morning restoring a house

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by Trent Crabtree

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photos by Christina Oâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;Connor

ush aside the shopping cart and leave the crowded grocery aisles behind. Summer is the perfect time to investigate the ever-increasing shopping sensation outside the supermarkets. The new trend? The local Farmers Market, of course. When people start looking for ways to shop outside of their local grocery store they get hooked on the freshness and variety of locally grown foods. Self-described “locavores” take it a step further and attempt to eat only foods grown within a limited distance of their homes. Although people used to do it all the time by necessity, in our world eating strictly local can be challenging. This is where your local Farmers Market comes in to play. Whether you are attempting to support your local economy or just adding the Farmers Market to one of the many places you shop, one thing is for sure, it’s a great social environment that provides the freshest local food available. “It’s a very relaxed, friendly environment” says Rebecca Rader, who has frequented the Blacksburg Farmers Market for almost a decade. “I come here to get free-range, pasture fed meats and love that I’m able to talk to the farmer who raised the beef or lamb without being rushed.” The biggest problem local farmers markets have had in the past is that they didn’t have the variety of items needed for someone to put together a full meal. I put this to the test, convinced I could create a healthy and delicious meal bought only at the Blacksburg Farmers Market.

I ventured to the market at around 10 A.M. and was surprised at the number of people who were already shopping. I made a slow walk-around to check out what all the booths had to offer. I found fresh vegetables and greens, locally raised meats, fresh baked breads, and plenty of herbs to choose from. I knew then that building a complete meal would be easy and fun. My first thought was to purchase what would be my main dish. Fresh chicken and beef were available as well as pasture fed lamb raised in Floyd County. I certainly had plenty of choices but I was most intrigued with the lamb. It isn’t very often that I see lamb so readily available at an outdoor market, so I grabbed a few flanks from David Grimsley of Wind Hill Farms. At this point I had a good idea of what I wanted to make, so I needed to grab some vegetables and fresh greens to round off my meal planning. The selection of fresh greens was as good as it gets. There was baby lettuce, spinach, mustard greens, arugula, and frisée. To make things easy I chose a bag mixed with all of the above from Green Star Farms and added some fresh raspberries to give the greens some color and extra flavor. Finally I bought squash and garlic to finish my shopping. I felt rather pleased with myself after leaving the market, my first step to becoming a locavore completed. Although I was confident I could build a complete meal, I didn’t know it would be so easy, spontaneous, and relaxing.

Lamb Kebabs with Orange Basting Sauce Ingredients Orange Basting Sauce 1 cup butter 1/4 cup red wine 1 garlic clove, crushed Juice from 3 oranges (no, the oranges aren’t local, but this was a small cheat in the interest of the recipe) Kebabs 3 lbs lamb flank 1 orange 1 medium yellow squash (these are surprisingly already available from some local farms) 4-6 whole garlic cloves Skewers Salad 1 lb fresh mixed greens 1/2 pint raspberries Take all the ingredients for the orange basting sauce and bring to a simmer in a sauce pan for approximately 5 minutes. Let cool. Cut the lamb flank into 1/2 to 3/4 inch chunks. Do the same for the squash and the orange, leaving orange rind on each piece. If you are using bamboo skewers, be sure to soak them in water for 2 hours to prevent them from catching fire. Skewer the lamb, orange chunks, yellow squash and garlic cloves (one clove per skewer: freshly harvested organic garlic is very strong) alternating all the ingredients. Grill the kebabs on moderate heat for 7 to 12 minutes for well done. Baste the kebabs with the orange sauce frequently while grilling. Serve the kebabs on a bed of fresh mixed greens sprinkled with raspberries and serve with a vinaigrette dressing of your choice. Serves 6.

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Garden as Art | Holly SCoggins Designing with plants is, in my humble opinion, a visual art just as any other – you work with color, texture, and form; an added challenge is the fact that your medium is a living organism that will, in fact, grow larger (or die); and is subject to seasonal changes, variable rainfall, and, of course, deer (most artists don’t have to worry about hungry ungulates ravaging their creations). Many landscape designers are terrific “planners” – they see finished product in their mind’s eye, record their ideas on paper, and specify which plant goes where. But I think it’s safe to say most of us gardenertypes simply draw inspiration from the plants themselves. Certain combinations of colors and textures just seem...right. Most often, I look over my “inventory”, and then, plant in hand, walk about until it “finds its place”. I take into consideration the mature size of the plant, when it will bloom, and other aspects of interest – for example an ornamental grass such as Panicum lends vertical interest and glorious fall color, and does double-duty by holding its shape through the winter. Like most gardeners, I have a few favorite combinations, some of which I’ve inflicted (ha!) on the Hahn Horticulture Garden over the years as well as our own home perennial borders – for example I love the soothing combination of shades of purple & lavender blooms with a splash of lemon yellow flowers and silver foliage. And the “zing” of mixing tropical foliage with bright flower colors – burgundy ornamental bananas, chartreuse coleus, and hot pink flowers of some sort - it really does work. There’s lots more inspiration out there - the New River Valley is home to many, many lovely gardens; each one is a passionate expression of that individual gardener’s aesthetic (or as much as the deer will allow!).

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photos by Courtney Myers

by Garrett Bobb

photos by Elizabeth Spencer

ooseberries ripen to the color of wine in the sun. Vegetables of all kinds pop from beneath their leafy mulch. Medicinal herbs spring forth between hand-built terraces. Chickens cluck near the beehive by the edge of the field. In these days of green-mania, hip environmentalism, and local food frenzy, Lauren Cooper and Andrew Schenker of Green Star Farm are doing it up right, just as they have been for the past 18 years. After meeting as interns on a farm in West Virginia and during a stint at an intentional community outside Charlottesville, Lauren and Andrew decided to move to Blacksburg. “Lauren’s dad bought this house in 1980, thinking that she might want to live here at some point,” said Andrew. The hundred-yearold Chestnut cabin became home for the couple, who were eventually joined by daughter Kaily, now 13, and son Julian, now 6. With shovel and mattock in hand, they made the land around their place on Jenelle Road suitable for planting. “Andrew pretty much single-handedly did a lot of the terracing and shaping of the landscape,” says Lauren. “There’s this little A-frame and you hang a string with a rock, and as long as the string hangs in the center of the thing going across then both ends are level, so that’s how you make your terrace,” explained Andrew. The tiny garden grew year by year, eventually expanding to the old coal miner’s property across the street and to Emily Stewart’s property on Glade Road in town. Friends and interns helped to maximize the little farm’s potential. “That’s a lot of what this is about here, working with something really marginal and seeing how productive you can make it,” Lauren proudly proclaims. “We have two livein interns, and a whole set of part-time

barter interns … they find us, one way or another.” She credits the National Sustainable Agriculture Information Service website (http://attra.ncat.org/) with steering interns their way, as well as providing a plethora of other useful information. The Town of Blacksburg has also been helpful, delivering leaves vacuumed from the curb each fall to serve as mulch in their gardens. The fruits of the little farm’s labors are brought to the Blacksburg farmers market every Wednesday and Saturday from spring through fall, and to Eat’s natural food store downtown as well. For the past dozen or so years, Green Star has also sold Lauren’s herbal preparations. “I started making herbal medicines just for our family right when we got here … if you make a little it doesn’t take much to make a lot.” Though the tinctures and salves draw rave reviews, when it comes to health advice regarding her herbal remedies the best advice Lauren can give is, “Educate yourself.” This small local farm’s success goes to show what people can do with a little piece of land and a good dollop of elbow grease. Here one family has created a little slice of green heaven on earth, with two and a half acres of certified organic cultivation surrounded by nature preserve and oak forest. Lauren and Andrew stand as exemplars of true green living, with OG (original green) cred’ stretching way back before it was the new hotness. All this right here in the ‘Burg. Be sure to check out Green Star’s booth at the Farmers market in downtown Blacksburg every Wednesday 2-7 and Saturday 8-2 through October. Check out http://www.bbfarmersmarket.org/ for more details.

support more local goodness: The Green Market “Farmer Ron” Holdren has been digging in his greenhouses for 30 years and farming full time in Giles County since selling his convenience store in 2000. He grows perennials, bedding herbs, starter plants, and other specialties, and represents Ayers Orchards of Carroll County selling their plums, peaches, cherries, nectarines and 40 different varieties of apples. He is at the Farmers Market each week and at the YMCA Thrift Shop on Thursday and Friday. He also sells herbs to Oasis World Market. Ron encourages flower lovers to check out his daylily display garden representing 300 different varieties. Stop by his booth at the market in downtown Blacksburg to find out where the party is. Wild Hill Farms David and Agatha Grimsley have been farming in Floyd County for two years now and their beef, lamb, pastured veal, and eggs are always super fresh and from well cared-for animals. Look for them at the Farmers Market, Eat’s, and Annie Kay’s. Stone Crop Farm Bert Webster and Gwynn Hamilton began farming in Giles County in 2003 and provide a delicious selection of vegetables, herbs, and flowers to the Farmers Market, Annie Kay’s, and several local restaurants. Ed: Garrett Bobb works at Waterbear Mountain Farm in Floyd. Their products are available at Roanoke Natural Foods and occasionally at Eats and Annie Kay’s in Blacksburg. Contact Ilima at the farm’s website for information on joining the CSA. http://www.waterbearfarm.com/ csa.htm

Defending

Land Livelihood

Activists and Miners Converge

at a Demonstration in Coal Country words and photos by Johnny Kilroy

volatile group of demonstrators amassed at Marsh Fork Elementary in the mountain community of Naoma, West Virginia on Tuesday, June 23, 2009. The issue was mountain top removal coal mining (MTR), conducted largely in the state’s southern counties by Massey Energy Company. The event was carefully planned. Live music and keynote speakers raised the crowd’s energy at a rally at the school, which was to be followed by a march to the neighboring coal processing plant run by Massey. The final intent was to deliver a letter of grievance to company representatives. Orchestrated by those with an interest in seeing MTR stopped, the civil disobedience involved some prominent figures including conservation activists Maria Gunnoe of the Ohio Valley Environmental Coalition, Judy Bonds of Coal River Mountain Watch, Larry Gibson of Keeper of the Mountains Foundation, along with NASA’s chief climate scientist James Hansen, former West Virginia Congressman Ken Hechler, and actress Daryl Hannah. The latter three were arrested later that day after trespassing on Massey Energy Company property. The crowd was threefold: activists, hoping to halt what they consider catastrophic environmental degradation

spread by a corrupt industry; mine workers and their families, wanting nothing more than to earn an honest wage and be left alone; and police, prepared for a riot with index fingers straight on the trigger guard of their M-4 assault rifles.

ley protestors stood around the stage exchanging glares and insults. Some of the miners jeered at the hodgepodge band members and speakers. “You can tell by looking at him he don’t get laid,” one man said. “You know any Eddie Van Halen?” shouted another.

A lively mob gathered on the school baseball field to the sounds of twanging bluegrass music and rapid-fire speeches issued from a small amplifier. I found a handy spot in the makeshift press box, which was a beat up green pickup truck adjacent to the wood planked flatbed trailer that made the stage.

At one point the band’s sound system cut out, but they continued playing acoustic. “Crank up those windmills,” a miner wisecracked, “I can’t hear you.”

Clearly segregated by their beliefs, blue-and-orange clad miners and mot-

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An ironic scene occurred when former Congressman Ken Hechler took the stage. Hechler had spent his life in office defending West Virginian miners’ rights and working conditions with legislation like the 1969 Federal Coal Mine

Health and Safety Act. At 94 years of age, he stood and addressed the miners to their faces. Instead of warm greetings, he received Harley noise and jokes about his age. Out of the racket, distinctive themes from either side still came out clearly. The anti-MTR speakers warned of the impending danger to the people living below a dangerous dam, and decried the depravity of big industry. The miners discounted them as outsiders trying to take their jobs away. The elementary school made an iconic staging ground for the confrontation of wills. The backdrop all but told the story: a humble elementary school

made of brick and best efforts, a massive grey silo, streaked with black like tears through mascara, and a nine hundred foot tall buttress of earth and rock far in the background, plugging up the hollow. And behind the dam? Several billion gallons of coal slurry are stored in the Brushy Fork impoundment. Slurry is the liquid refuse resulting from the sorting and cleaning of coal, usually thick with pollutants such as flocculant, lead, mercury, and arsenic. Activists see the slurry impoundment as an imminent threat to the Coal River community in two ways. It currently leaches poisonous chemicals into the local water supply. Also, if the dam failed at its maximum capacity, 8.1 billion gallons of sludge would flatten the elementary school and the community in minutes.

filed out onto the road in a column of twos. The cluster of blue and orange shirts had disappeared, so I ran up the road to scope the bridge that led over to the processing plant. At the near end of the bridge, surging into the road, was the mass of miners forming a human wall waiting to meet the marchers. The police had taken ample precautionary action. Several dozen of them were gathered on site: state troopers, local police, a special operations team, and a

destination I was standing beside Judy Bonds, a long time activist and native to the area. Suddenly, a miner’s wife stepped out of their line and struck a swift blow to Bonds. Flailing and shouting insults, the riled woman was the first arrest of the day. The protestors accepted that they would not get through the line of miners without incurring physical violence, seeing as they had already received a sample, so several dozen of them sat

if the dam failed at its maximum capacity, 8.1 billion gallons of sludge would flatten the

elementary school and the community in minutes

The Buffalo Creek spill of 1972 was the tragic precedent. When a Pittston Coal Company dam broke in Logan County, WV, it released 132 million gallons. Of 5000 residents in the hollow, 4000 were left homeless, of them more than 1200 injured. One hundred twenty-five people lost their lives. The workers had come to defend their livelihood. One very amicable miner had driven almost an hour from Beckley, WV, to attend the protest. Cradling his infant granddaughter, he spoke frankly about how Massey was “very fair” and had taken good care of him and his family. “I’m all for clean energy,” he said “but these [protestors] have to understand that you can’t get rid of coal just like that,” flicking his hand. He was on duty June 19th of this year, when a group of demonstrators climbed a dragline shovel at a Massey mine site in Charleston, West Virginia. “Concerned for their safety,” he and coworkers urged the intruders to dismount the machine. That protest ended in a physical altercation between mine workers and protestors. Here in Naoma, the demonstrators finally circled around the ball field and

K-9 unit. Several of the special ops guys were strapped with automatic weapons. A few of them were in a huddle when the march arrived, discussing strategy.

down in the road.

As I heard it, the final statement of the protest would be fairly simple. A select group of demonstrators would cross the property line and accept arrest as a gesture of non-violent civil disobedience.

Police remained cool, gently warned the seated demonstrators that they were impeding traffic, and then proceeded to fill a van and squad cars with the approximately thirty people who remained to be arrested. The officers even brought a man dressed as Uncle Sam down from his stilts and cuffed him.

When the protestors reached their

The procession never reached its desti-

nation, and its letter went undelivered. Shortly after being turned back by police, the crowd disbanded back at the school. While gathering some last minute interviews my film crew and I were soon urged to follow suit. Without the dozens of cops, the energy of the day’s powerful event was drifting slowly towards chaos and the scene was no longer safe. On my way out, I heard a familiar voice behind me. I turned around and at my shoulder was a woman in a black tunic and white collar; her blue eyes quietly absorbed the spectacle. It was Denise Giardina, the acclaimed author and activist I once interviewed for this magazine. She hails from the coal camps of southern West Virginia, and her life’s work is in defense of her native land. “Denise?” I called. “Johnny!” she greeted me with genuine pleasure. When I interviewed Giardina in early 2009, she told me about her previous participation in non-violent protests against the coal industry such as the Pittston Strike of 1989. She intimated that she has not been as active in demonstrations of late, since her run for the West Virginia governorship in 2000. Nonetheless, the event at Marsh Fork drew her and a number of other clerics to give corpus to the strong stance against MTR that is shared by several religious sects. Although the protestors of mountain top removal did not make it onto Massey’s property, the message was delivered: a strong alliance of scientists, celebrities, politicians, West Virginians, and other Americans of all walks of life collectively believe that mountain top removal must end; and they are willing to go to jail to affirm their beliefs. The miners’ cry rang back with equal vigor: they will not simply abide by an extermination of their livelihood. But one voice has not yet answered the call. How will Massey Energy Company ensure that its sludge dam will not break and swallow the elementary school at the foot of the hollow? This struggle is by no means over, and it will define how America evolves through our world’s new energy crisis.

I S S U E 1 7 17

: speech. word. reason.

ometimes Mikey listened to the same song over and over. At the point where the song faded he could restart at the first opening note, so the music seamlessly circled into a continuous resonance. On his drive home, a song with an upbeat tempo in a low key washed in and out of his ears like waves over the shore. The car was stuffy and smelled of penne and cheap marinara but the cold drizzle outside made him keep the windows up. The windshield wipers added a steady beat to the pulsing bass and staccato vocals. Mikey felt relaxed and restless and sighed, sinking into the driver’s seat, staring at the red stop light blurring in the rain and sharpening as the wiper passed over the windshield. Janice had been wearing a pink bra with fluffy white trim today. As she’d leaned down to lift a rack of drinking glasses, an inch had peeked up from beneath her white undershirt and rested there until she’d clocked out and left. It was nothing new: there was always a piece of Janice exposed from her uniform. The tuxedo shirts and black pants were designed for a man but were adequate for woman. At least that’s what the catering upper management assumed. Really they were extremely ill-fitting

sateen

and

marinara short fiction by Courtney Kimball illustration by Aerin Toler

and it took all of Mikey’s student management skills to keep the staff fully clothed during service much less when clocked in. Often he’d glanced a butterfly thong clutching at an ass crack beneath drooping black pants or a black bra showing through the required white undershirt. Usually by the end of the shift, while speed-clearing plates of half-eaten, poorly made dessert and dragging bags of table cloths and napkins stained with always two choices of salad dressing, raspberry vinaigrette or ranch, Janice’s white spaghetti string tank top would sink slowly down and the swelling of her feet and the sweat dripping down her neck would be enough for her to ignore her slight indecent exposure. Her work bras were usually white or beige so as to not be seen through the boxy tuxedo shirt. The pink bra was delicate and feminine. He caught a series of tiny white dots on the cups as she leaned backwards hands on her hips stretching her back. A string of profanities that would shame a sailor ripped out of her mouth when a shining metal chaffer landed on her foot, but Mikey still couldn’t lose the visceral image of hooking his index fingers on the edge of her shirt and slowly peeling it down her chest like skinning

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an apple leaving spirals of red on the cutting board. He wouldn’t cheat on Dana. The thought of sitting her down, of the crumble and twisting of her face as he came clean with her made him literally ill, his heart beating too fast and the flush of blood to his face reminiscent of the time he was caught with an unpaid for KitKat by the cashier at Winn Dixie supermarket at eight years old. He loved Dana. But the idea of taking someone purely for the purpose of having them appealed to him, broke up the monotony. It reminded him of the rush of adrenaline he felt as he watched his parents drive away his first day on campus. Putting his hands wherever he wanted without the chore of weighing the good against the bad and without thinking of what women do and don’t like. To be able to sink his teeth into skin and go in as deep as was physically possible without recognizing that squinting eyes meant it hurt, without thinking about their annoyance at explaining bite marks at work. In his mind he came from behind Janice as she saran wrapped leftovers in the fridge, cradling her jaw line in his palm and slipping his fingertips under that perfect pink white polka-dotted little bra until he brushed a sudden change

in flesh. He rested her left breast in the palm of his hand, the skin smooth and warm, while gripping a large box of lemons for balance As her breathing grew deeper making thick plumes of white in the recirculating cold air, his hand slid lower and lower under the illfitting black pants sewn to leave room for a male package and he would find the warmth hidden just below cotton underwear. Finally pulling through the intersection, Mikey quickly restarted the song, and the last bass chord faded into a thumping at the top of the song. The windshield wipers moved in time and he joined in, slightly dipping his chin. When he got home he shook his hair of rain and walked to the kitchen where Dana stood hard-boiling eggs. He buried his face briefly in her neck in greeting. She reached up behind her and scratched his head absent-mindedly. He bit her shoulder lightly, eliciting a low irritated murmur from deep in her throat, then he headed upstairs to shower the smell of dishwater and sweat off his back. Drying off, he saw a bra scrunched up against the wall by the sink. He held it in his hands. Blue shiny material. Smooth like sateen. He rubbed his thumb across the edge and tossed it in the hamper.

I S S U E 1 7 19

A : speech. word. reason.

dam had been the night shift clerk at the hotel for six years, and he spent much of his time contemplating Mahler’s Symphony No. 2, which he figured to be Gustav’s acceptance and embrace of inevitable mortality. To consider the relationship between the eternity theme and the glockenspiel, he thought, one could say that the glockenspiel stands for hope. When Adam initially got the job, he had imagined he would be some Nathaniel West, forming a nocturnal bohemian collective which theorized over art, music and life amidst copious bottles of liquor. But after only a few months his fiancé left, assuring him of the reality of his lot. There were no bohemians, only businessmen. Though he still tried to see himself as shepherding families of pilgrims toward vacation meccas, mortality often seemed less an end than a goal. Mahler expressed hope with his glockenspiel; Adam tossed off to Girls Gone Wild infomercials. It had been a hectic shift. Everything at the hotel was malfunctioning—water, computer, fish tank. The morning shift manager was agitated, so Adam pretended to be working hard to avoid his wrath. After Adam completed his tasks, he awaited the shift change. John the housekeeper shuffled to the front desk, excited. A guest had left a bottle of bourbon in a room for him. “I’m going to have this with some steak and potatoes!” John blurted giddily.

Sy m ph o n y

No. 2 short fiction by Marshall Flaw illustration by Danny Phillips

“I’m going thought.

kill

myself;”

Adam left the hotel exhausted and felt dirty. Finally he pulled into the rusty beige village of apartments, got out of the car, walked three flights to #326 and opened his door. Faint musk of cigarette smoke and discount retail wine. He crawled into bed and realized with dismay that he couldn’t shut his eyes anymore. He tossed about, sulking that his sleep was frustrated. He reached for the picture on his bedside milk crate and contemplated Lily’s face, rose-hued by the morning sun filtering through the threadbare curtains. Her olive eyes were soft and her smile inviting. She was the one he should have given it all up for. He met her at a party and fell in love with her as soon as she opened her mouth to speak. She said: “The first boy I ever kissed is in jail for manslaughter. He was the worst kisser ever, my God.” Adam was smitten. He told her that she was all seven of the perfect notes repeated in the eternity theme of Symphony No. 2. She had no idea what he was talking about. They shared three years of the dramatic passion that only the completely irresponsible could achieve.

Adam

With only a few minutes left on the shift, an irate guest brought Adam a detailed comment card, filled front and back with the meticulous indignation that only a total asshole can articulate. He was one of the bad apples. Most guests were cute little families who loved each other very much. This guest was angry: the sink was too low and the shower drain was slow. Adam stared at him blankly and assured him that hotel staff would respond immediately to the deficiencies in the room and would he care for a coupon good for twenty-five percent off his next visit? The guest was not placated. He bombarded Adam with extensive explanations of every complaint he had listed in his comment card essay. Adam left the hotel fortyfive minutes after the manager had taken him off the clock. He ambled to his car with slumped shoulders, contemplating the psychology of the comment card. Life, even a shitty life like his own, was too precious and short, he thought, to waste a moment of it on a comment card. He wondered what sort of people chose to fill out comment cards. Were they al-

20 1 6 B L O C K S

truists who desired nothing more than to help hotels and fast food restaurants improve? Did they actually think these establishments gave a shit about their complaints? Were they bored and lonely, reaching out through the only avenue available? He knew naught but that he wouldn’t walk among them. He started the car.

Adam woke to a bright and sunny afternoon offset by shadows of the neighboring electrical tower crisscrossing his room. He looked at Lily’s picture again. Her olive eyes glared out and her smile was hard. Anger hidden behind cheshire smiles and crocodile tears. Where was she now? Not that it mattered; she had beaten him at his own game. While she loved him, he was afforded the luxury of paying her no mind. Now that she was gone, he thought of nothing else. The hotel was his second job out of college. He’d been a telemarketer for a few days first. His supervisor’s name was Lunchbox. Lunchbox gave high fives to people for showing occasional competence. While instructing Adam on “the pitch” he interrupted himself to high five two other guys who had just made sales. Adam came back the next week to get his check and tried to forget it had ever happened. He started work at the hotel a month later, but the romance had already been damaged beyond repair. He wasn’t playing music with her much anymore, and she no longer feigned interest in Mahler. He had slept with two of his coworkers from the telemarketing place, and she

wasn’t accepting apologies anymore. To top it off, he was already starting to lose his hair. It was clear that he was not likely to get a real job anytime soon and that Lily’s forgiveness for his antics had disappeared along with his hair and songs written especially for her. There were no more notes to be struck. Lily stuck around for another few months until she found some dope worth seducing and then left. No note, nothing. Just gone one day. Adam shuffled into the bathroom and inspected himself in the mirror. Six years and she was still there, judging him. She laughed as he nicked his face shaving, shook with laughter as he tried to comb his thin, greasy hair. He was no longer a ravisher of women. She sneered at him as he rubbed deodorant under his arms. What, he thought, could be more beautiful than her cold stare? Adam walked back into his bedroom and rummaged around the floor for some clean clothes. He was meeting Seth for dinner and drinks tonight. It was a weekly rendezvous at a pub called The Garden of Eatin’. Seth was the only friend Adam had managed to keep from the college days. Seth was a philosopher, a jolly fat philosopher who dressed in black and still listened to goth. Seth hated those commercials for herpes medication that depicted beautiful people running on the beach. “People with herpes don’t frolic on the beach,” he said. “They skulk in squalor and filth.” Seth hated pretty much everything, but it was hard to fault him for it because his reasoning was usually pretty sound and he was so cheerful about it. “Last night I watched a retarded fat man jack off in his sleep for half an hour,” said Seth. He worked the night shift as well, monitoring test subjects’ sleep patterns for the psychology department at the university. All of the subjects had something wrong with them. They were schizophrenics, retards, chronic masturbators, and various combinations thereof. They were lone rejects herded together for Seth to watch while he drank coffee. People frequently soiled themselves. There was no dignity in Seth’s room. “He had the smallest dick I’ve ever seen,” he went on. “In his sleep, his left arm held up his belly while his right yanked furiously. It was ghastly, horrible. I was transfixed by the utter pointlessness of his life. We are the image of God.” Seth loved his job, for not only did it pay well, but he never had to read a single comment card. Adam chewed on a french fry, too distracted to be disturbed by Seth’s story. Seth sighed and affected a mockingly dramatic tone. “Here it is again, you and your lost love.” He snickered. “Get a grip, fool. Love is lies and propaganda.”

Adam looked at Seth’s splotchy red face, sparsely covered with stubble, sideburns and a scraggly goatee. “What can I do about it, Seth? I mean, I love Lily, I screwed it up, and I’m going to be paying for it forever.”

my subjects haven’t multiplied.”

“You’re a fool for believing in that hogwash. I don’t want to have anything to do with that noise, Adam, and neither do you. That love thing is mythological, a fake reward for fake guilt over fake transgressions.” Seth grinned at him and took a swig from his beer.

“It’s good you came to me for help. A lesser man might have turned to Jesus. We shall leave the restaurant forthwith and go to Xanadu for exposed women and perhaps fellatio. You see why I’m happy? I go to Xanadu and I fuck. Tomorrow I will be alone and free. There will be no haunting apparition. And if I ache for want of a hug, my friend, it is nothing but a hangover.”

“There’s no such thing as love, Adam. Here’s why: love as a concept carries with it some idea of permanence, at least moral permanence. But that’s not real. There’s no constant, only a flux of pleasures and pains. Pleasure can be

Immediately two by a young

Adam stared into his beer. Was Seth making sense, or were the beer and sleepless nights getting to him? “All right then, Seth, what do I do about it?”

Adam had never been to Xanadu, the most popular and sordid gentleman’s club in town. For so long, women had

beers appeared, borne

vixen whose busty

bounty was an offering worthy of the gods of antiquity.

pain’s reward, and pain can be pleasure’s price. The trick to getting as much pleasure as possible out of life is learning how to seek it properly. You have to learn how to accept real pain and reject fake pain.” Adam rolled his eyes and signaled the waitress for more beer. “Seth, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said as he lit a cigarette. “I know I’m pathetic, but your grand ideas of hedonism aren’t going to bring her back. It was my hedonism that made her leave.” “Wrong, buddy boy, okay? Love is just as much a state apparatus as religion. You’re taught from birth to latch on to some girl with wide hips and stick with her long enough to nurture new soldiers and consumers, and then you die. That’s it. If you were smart, you’d fuck only when you wanted to fuck, talk only when you wanted to talk. People are vile things, and that’s true of you and me too. Our real moral imperative is to minimize our emotional contact with one another. Our physical needs for gratification are the real source of social behavior. Recognize it and be enlightened.” “You’re full of it, Seth. You’re jaded because you watch freaks sleep and putrefy. I see families on vacation, wives and husbands and children. They’re fat and happy.” “I’m fat and happy. You see the same putrefaction. Families dragging slime trails across the countryside until they sink into suburban, Sisyphean nightmares. They’re screaming in your hotel, Adam. You just don’t have monitoring equipment as good as mine. And at least

pursued him, the dashing musician. He looked down on strip club patrons as desperate and pathetic, but tonight he walked among them. And so they left the Garden and drove to the outskirts of town to find stately Xanadu’s parking lot already full, though it was not quite ten o’clock. Adam was silent on the way over. Lily haunted him. Had he really been happy with her, his little green glockenspiel? Maybe Seth was right and he should just do as he wished, follow his bliss. He could exorcise his demons, or at least exercise his desires. The two approached Xanadu’s gaudy gates where they were greeted by a burly man who nodded his familiarity to Seth and opened the door. Seth waved to the bartender. Immediately two beers appeared, borne by a young vixen whose busty bounty was an offering worthy of the gods of antiquity. Adam was beginning to enjoy both his buzz and the enormity of the pleasures surrounding him. “Follow me, drunken sailor. We shall sit at my usual spot, from whence you can see all there is to see,” said Seth. He led Adam to the side of the stage, a few feet from the well-polished brass pole which stood sentinel behind its sirens, who were to begin their performances in but a few minutes time. The two men drank and waited. Adam’s carnal impulses, dormant since Lily left, were stirring back to life. He grinned stupidly at Seth and surveyed the room, a sea of similarly grinning sheep who thought themselves wolves. As he glanced around, a flash of bronze caught his eye. A red-headed stripper was staring right at him from the

doorway of the lapdance room. Adam nudged Seth. “Hey, Seth, look at that red-head. She’s staring at me, I think.” Seth looked over and laughed. “That’s Sonja, my friend. She’s great, and the only red-headed stripper in the whole town. Natural! What are you waiting for? Go get a lapdance from her!” Seth’s face was as red as Sonja’s hair, and his teeth gleamed in the neon lights. Adam was hammered, but he was on a mission, so he got up and made his way unsteadily to the doorway where Sonja waited for him. “Is this the room for, uh, you know….private performances?” he stammered. Sonja giggled at him, a green melody of constant notes squeezed from the throat against the back of her teeth. “Come on in, cutie; I’ll give you a special show.” Grabbing his hand, she led him into the room, pointing at a couch where he should sit. She clicked on a boombox full of some truck stop’s greatest hits, which could barely be heard over the noise outside. Nevertheless she began writhing and squirming under a fluorescent light awkwardly covered with a purple shade. She wore a thong bikini the color of holly and silver thigh-high boots. Her long mane of hair snapped and licked the air as she gyrated furiously. The bikini flew into the corner of the room. Adam pulled out a roll of dollar bills. He was fully in this world now. He held the bills in his sweaty palm and letched. He letched with his eyes. He letched with his mouth. He letched with his tongue and fingers. Her back faced him now, and he saw the unbridled splendor that only a professional stripper could show a man. Sonja vibrated one cheek of her ass furiously while keeping the other perfectly still. It was poetry. One cheek in chaos, one stationary. One stationary, the other in chaos. Both in chaos, both stationary. The Yin, the Yang. The Yang, the Yin. Magnificence. She turned toward him, extending a silver boot to his shoulder so that he could see her scarlet wonder. Adam stared into her mystery, mouth gaping in wonder. It burned, pulsated with flame. Adam felt the heat, felt himself melting into her. Then he heard it speak. It beckoned him to lean forward and listen. He cocked his head and concentrated, but he couldn’t make out the words, only trilling laughter. Its giggle sounded the same notes over and over in his soul but they were imperfect; they were the mocking sounds of Lily’s laughter. In horror Adam tore his eyes from her thighs and looked her in the face. It was her: Lily staring down at him and laughing. There was no complement to the eternity theme.

I S S U E 1 7 21

t s I l o D O t S k c 16 bl0 find out what’s goin’ on!

ouTdoors FRIDAYS 7/24 - 8/28, 4-9PM Am rh ein Wi ne ry ke County) Bent Mountain, VA (Roano er the und sic mu Dinner, wine, and person per $30 und aro s ket stars. Tic a and nt, include food, entertainme spot of vino.

7/25 & 8/8, 9AM-5PM

All season

en s YMCA Co mm un ity Ga rd with p hel can you how out d Fin project. the Y's local Peace Garden ltural ticu hor es bin com This garden m to alis ide al itic pol and ity divers and a create a living work of art ling of hea the te pla place to contem ca@ ym at rid Ing t tac Con rld. our wo . vtymca.org for more info

aRt 7/3 - 8/5

Perspective Gallery Squires Student Center, Bburg Presence: New Paintings by Jennifer L. Collins. Landscapes and portraits render realism with a tinge of the uncanny.

ROCK CLIM BING of Take the hazy and lazy out in West g bin clim summer, try rock burg cks Bla the at et Virginia. Me rick Henry Pat at ter Cen nity mu Com ediate Drive. Beginning and Interm soned sea m fro rn lea climbers will gear and n atio ort nsp tra rs. instructo d. $30 age our included. Kids over 11 enc it vis n atio istr reg For more info and of tion sec tion rea rec and the parks www.blacksburg.gov

Art Along the Market Blacksburg Farmer's Market An exhibition of local work of all sorts. Come early for the annual Breakfast at the Farmer's Market -- berries are coming into season and there should be some good stuff to eat.

couNty faiRs 7/2 - 7/12

Live Art Auction The Jacksonville Center 220 Parkway Lane South, Floyd Browse and bid on gorgeous, one-ofa-kind objects, including sculptural ceramics, wooden furniture, and a handmade violin.

7/18, 9AM-2PM

7/16 - 8/22

Sale m Fair 1001 Roanoke Blvd, Salem The biggest rides and the wildest crowds. This is why we love it. Recommended: the «Extreme», especially after dark. Ride the «Zipper» too, but before funnel cake, please.

7/18, 5PM

Eleanor D. Wilson Museum Hollins University, Roanoke Barbara Bernstein: Things are not what they seem, nor are they otherwise. The artist plays off of the architecture and landscape of the University itself, challenging assumptions about the everyday.

7/21-8/28

Armory Gallery Conversations. RISD printmaker Liz Ferrell's recent body of work explores places where you wait. Opening reception and remarks by curator Heath Ballowe, 7/21, 4-6 PM.

7/20 - 7/25

New Rive r Vall ey Fair NRV Fairgrounds, Dublin This 5-day riot of family fun technically begins with the Goat Check-in at noon, but we all know the true opening ceremony is the epic Demolition Derby starting at 7:30 Monday night. Gate Admission: Adults $6; Children 7-11 $3; 6 & under free. Rides: PayOne-Price Wristband $17 or Individual ride tickets are also available BUT COME ON YOU ARE GETTING THE WRISTBAND.

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