Where All The Lights Should Be Bright

Mr. Prairie Roots has referred to some posts I have brewing about downtowns (especially small towns' downtowns) and how vital they are to communities. First, though, I'll talk about this place, the old Masonic Temple, most commonly known around town as Masons on Main (the name of the restaurant that occupied the building several years ago). I finally had the chance to see the inside a couple months ago, and despite its current state of somewhat disrepair, I was pleasantly surprised. It's a stunning building. There is no place in town to rival it. As our local newspaper editor wrote recently, it would indeed be a loss to the community to allow it to fall into further disrepair.

I have no idea what Masons' new owner plans to do with the building, but I know the business I'd love to start there: a moviehouse. Now, Madison already has a movie theatre, the West Twin. As we understand it, the owners of the West Twin keep the theater open essentially as a public service to the town, and for that, I'm very glad. However, I think a movie theater can do much better than break even in Madison.

I also believe a great movie theater is an incredible asset to a small town. For one thing, it provides a great entertainment venue for kids and families. One of the real disadvantages of the current theater is that it's located on the west edge of town. That's hugely unfortunate for kids, who make up a good share of a theater's audience. Right now, if kids want to walk or bike to a movie, they have to cross the intersection of two highways to get there, and there are no sidewalks leading to the theater. The building itself is surrounded by a huge gravel parking lot--not exactly an inviting environment.

Instead, wouldn't it be wonderful to have a theater located in the heart of town within easy (and pleasant) walking/biking distance of most residential neighborhoods? (Next door to the Dairy Queen, I might add.) The Masons building, which is essentially the gateway to downtown, is a perfect location.

Here are a few of our ideas:

• Convert the main area into a single-screen theater (would have to remove the center staircase that was added when the building was a restaurant).
  
• Build a proscenium stage, so that the theater can also be used for live events like concerts.
• Get both digital sound and projection systems to allow for renting out the space for business meetings, playing video games on a big screen, private screenings of home movies and family slideshows, and other similar uses.
• Convert the fabulous front rooms of the building into the concessions area. Instead of a typical theater lobby where patrons merely purchase their popcorn and Milk Duds, though, this would be a cafe stocked with locally baked goodies like brownies and muffins and furnished with tables, chairs, and comfy couches. It would be a real gathering place for the community. We'd open it before the movies started for the day and keep it open after the last movie ended (adjusting hours according to customer demand, of course).
• House the projection room, as well as a possible additional cafe/lounge area, on the small third story. The spectacular balcony would function as additional space (also furnished cafe-style) for non-movie events.
• Spruce up the beautiful front portico and brick patio and add tables and chairs for an awesome outdoor brownie-eating, people-watching, solving-the-world's-problems spot, right at one of the liveliest corners in town.

It's pretty obvious that we'd like to run a business that facilitates interaction between members of our community. We wish there were more places in town to do that. This theater would also be a concerted effort to increase the nightime activity downtown, which is currently limited to the China Moon restaurant (which we love, and are so glad is open late!) and the "four corners" bars at the south end of downtown.

I'll get into more of the philosophy behind this type of business in upcoming posts, but I will mention now that an article in a recent issue of YES! Magazine hits on the things that draw me so much to the social commons of communities...and why I want so much for the social commons areas of my community to be better:

. . . in localities throughout the nation, there are efforts to resurrect the economy of the social commons that the corporate market has displaced. The opposition to Wal-Mart, for example, is as much about reclaiming the social productivity of traditional main streets as it is about the big box giant’s treatment of its employees. The so-called new urbanism is really the old village-ism, a rediscovery of the wisdom of traditional patterns of human settlement in which interaction is built into the flow of daily life. (emphasis mine)

And another quote:

. . . common spaces give expression to a "we" side of human nature that is both universal and deep. I have a brother-in-law in the Philippines who helped build a water system in a rural village there. He told me that the women continued to come to the common containment pool to wash clothes in the morning, even after the project was completed and the water ran to individual homes. The spontaneous social interaction was as important in its own way as the water itself, just as in community gardens the community is as important as the garden. (emphasis mine)

Fellow Madison-area residents (or former residents), what do you think?


Coming up: more thoughts plus a photo tour of downtown.

Cosy Knitting

It’s dark, rainy, and blustery this afternoon—perfect for tuning in to the world’s greatest radio station, baking up a batch of homemade brownies, and talking about knitting. I don’t intend to write much about knitting on this blog, but it does fit into my emphasis on sustainability, so I'll add something about it from time to time. I’ll start by talking a bit about the woman who taught me to knit: Cosette Cornelius-Bates.

I met Cosy at Regent almost three years ago. We were both new students, and we connected right away. I had a lot of fun hanging out with her throughout the year, together arguing the pitfalls of capitalism in our “Christianity and the Economic Order” class, and learning to knit from her.

I almost hesitate to talk about knitting because it’s so trendy right now. But Cosy knits for much better reason than trendiness. For her, knitting is a redemptive, incarnational activity. It’s about stewardship, community, and theology, things that I, too, am keenly interested in. I’ll let her do the explaining here, here, and here.

For me, knitting is about roots and sustainability, aside from the obvious pleasure in producing something both practical and beautiful. Cosy taught me to go for the wool rather than the cheaper acrylic. (And acrylic is a petroleum-based product, so wool is definitely the sustainable choice.) Every hand-knit piece I wear is one less that was produced by a machine. Often I know the person knitting the piece (especially if it’s me!), sometimes I know where the wool came from, sometimes I know who dyed or even spun the wool. I’m enamored with alpacas and may eventually own one, so someday I may even personally know the animal from which I got the wool.

My progeny wearing a square hat knit by her mama.
Pattern, recycled yarn, and hand-dyed yarn from Cosy.

I’m not blind to the great pleasures that living in a post-industrial society brings. I have absolutely no desire to make the majority of my own clothes, let alone weave my own fabric from which to make clothes. But I do think we live an economy that values speed and uniformity over true craft and beauty. Knitting is a good “focal practice” (to borrow a term from Cosy, who borrowed it from Albert Borgmann) and is therefore worth my effort. It helps me take a step out of an overwhelming industrial production cycle and makes me a bit more mindful of the creation that sustains me.

I also believe that anything that teaches us to pay attention is worthwhile to consider taking up as a regular practice. Since I first read the following quote several years ago, I have tried to take on practices like knitting and gardening that teach us to pay attention:

The French philosopher Simone Weil saw that the everyday studying that students do—learning math or grammar or history—can form in them rich capacities for attention. Indeed, she suggested, this is study’s most important purpose, for those who learn attention in this way become able to give attention also to other people and to God. They become able to be present to those who are suffering, and they become able to pray [Bass, Dorothy C., Receiving the Day: Christian Practices for Opening the Gift of Time (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass Publishers, 2000), p. 36].

Our culture does not teach us to pay attention very well. In fact, we have so much that seeks our attention (cell phone calls, e-mails, media, advertising, etc.) that we learn to pay very little deep attention to anything. Knitting, like gardening, is an antidote to my culture's absent-mindedness.

Among the places you can find Cosy (her blog and her shop) will, I hope, soon be a bookstore near you. She has a knitting book in the works, for which I am very happy to have been able to test a pattern (see pic above). If you're a knitter and interested in adding some lovely new patterns to your stash, keep an eye out for Knit One, Embellish Too: Hats, Mittens, and Scarves With a Twist next spring.

In the Beginning

This is my favorite method for germinating seeds. If memory serves me correctly, I got it from Dr. David Nelson, my philosophy prof at SDSU.


Set individual seeds on cotton balls or cut-up cotton balls and place in a plastic container with a lid. Spray the cotton with water so that it's fairly wet but not sopping. Keep the container in a cupboard or other warm, dark spot until the seeds germinate. With the lid on the container, the cotton shouldn't dry out. As soon as the seeds sprout, plant them in small containers (I reuse yogurt cups) and set them in a sunny spot where they can continue to grow until ready to transplant into the garden.

And the Winner Is...

...not me. I'm not the grand prize winner of the Go Green on Gather Contest (read the winning entry here). Alas. As a finalist, however, I do have $100 in trees from the Arbor Day Foundation coming to me. Good thing I love trees! Since I was a kid, I've wanted a weeping willow. The Arbor Day site says that they're not good for our zone 4, but I've seen a few around here. And since they thrive where there's lots of water, I think we can get one to grow. We have a spot where rainwater tends to collect and a little Cottonwood grove has taken root soaking up the water. Might make a good weeping willow spot, too.

Since the contest is over, I'm posting my entry here:


Practicing Permanence

Recycling, composting, driving less, buying and consuming less, installing compact fluorescent lightbulbs, xeriscaping, organic gardening, shopping locally. All of these are excellent and necessary steps to take in earthkeeping. But I agree with Alan Durning and Wendell Berry that striving toward sustainability starts with being rooted in a particular spot. Durning speculates in his book This Place on Earth, “There may not be any ways to save the world that are not, first and foremost, ways for people to save their own places . . . begin with place, and specifically, with one place.” I think he’s onto something. So, my resolution is a quiet, simple action. I’m staying home.

My husband and I have decided to do everything we can to stay in one spot for as long as possible—we hope for the rest of our lives. That particular spot is on the shores of a little lake in the midst of the farmland of eastern South Dakota. We’ve chosen a spot already familiar to us. It’s where my husband grew up and it’s 50 miles from where I spent most of my life.

Deciding to let our roots continue to grow here is both frightening and liberating. It can be frightening, because we’re in a rural/small-town area, and finding like-minded people here is often challenging. Always in search of community, I sometimes feel the sting of isolation and miss the times in my life when I had near-daily contact with close friends. Then there’s the job market. It’s not bad for a town of 6,500, but it certainly doesn’t carry the potential of the more metropolitan areas of our region.

Our decision, though, is also incredibly liberating. We have dreams of an organic demonstration garden, some market gardening or a CSA, a straw bale greenhouse, and a straw bale art studio. Someday we’d love to open a café supplied with food produced as locally as possible, maybe even from our own garden. Will we accomplish all this? Probably not. But staying here for the long haul means we have the freedom to think about plans like this. Acting on those plans means caring more and more about our place and our community each day.

For a person like me, who often finds more excitement in the contemplation of an idea than in its execution, practicing permanence is real discipline. It curtails my tendency to dream about greener pastures: where there are more people with similar convictions, where there are more and better jobs, where it’s possible to live car-free and buy local food at huge farmers markets.

Of course, staying in one place can lead to provincialism and isolationism. That’s why it’s important to invite outside influences, to experience other cultures and places. I’ve enjoyed and treasured my times away from South Dakota and appreciate what I learned while in different places. For instance, we recently spent eight months in Vancouver, British Columbia, a city that is the polar opposite of our little town in so many ways. There we learned the discipline of living without a car. We walked to the grocery store, rode our bikes to work and class, and navigated the public transit system. I took an organic gardening workshop at the City Farmer demonstration garden and learned about community kitchens.

These great experiences, however, didn’t convince us to pull up our South Dakota roots. We deeply love our place and can’t imagine planting ourselves anywhere else. We know there is work to do here. There is prairie to restore. There is a regional food network to build. There are people to encourage along the way. So, we’ll do something profoundly counter-cultural: stay put. Choose place above career. Integrate our vocations with our place. Practicing permanence will allow us to learn much more about the land here, its creatures, its ecology, its people, and its history. I hope that practice will help us care for the land more deeply.

Ultimately, I believe what Wendell Berry says in his last poem in A Timbered Choir: “There is a day when the road neither comes nor goes, and the way is not a way but a place.” That day has come for me. The way to a more sustainable life indeed is a place.