Marideth Sisco: She Seems Like an Old Friend

Sometimes you find someone—a writer, or a musician, say—whose voice resonates in your spirit like a perfectly tuned guitar. I’ve gradually been realizing that 2018 needs to go down in my personal history as the year I made the acquaintance of such a person. Y’all, I’d like to introduce you to Marideth Sisco (in case you haven’t heard of her yet).



She’s built an admirable career for herself, one that I’m frankly jealous of. She’s a celebrated folk musician (who, good grief, has gained international fame for her contribution to the soundtrack to the critically acclaimed, award-winning film Winter’s Bone). She’s an accomplished journalist, writing the kind of pieces we all wish we could write—they’re like letters from a home you didn’t realize you’d wandered away from. She used to write a regular column in the West Plains Daily Quill on Ozark gardening (now collected into a book). Now, she’s been doing monthly radio essays in a series called “These Ozarks Hills” on Springfield, Missouri’s NPR station KSMU.

There are five books she’s written, and I counted six music CDs and two spoken-word CDs available on her website’s shopping page. (Look, I’m betting she’s been involved in a lot more recordings than what’s available through her website.) Her band is called Blackberry Winter, named for that occasional rude April or May cold snap that nips away the blossoms of blackberry canes (it’s springtime’s analogue to the better-known Indian summer of autumn).

Yep, and she’s also a blogger.

Where has she been all my life? And how did I finally learn about her? Funny you should ask, because now I have to make a plug for something else: the Big Muddy Folk Festival, which occurs each April in Boonville. We’ve been attending for several years, now, and enjoying the hell out of it each time. Every year, perched in my lovely balcony seat, soaking up beautiful live music, I think of all the friends and family I wish could be with me to enjoy it, too. You simply must check it out. Or, think about it this way: I’m personally not an avid folk music fan, but this is great, live entertainment, by accomplished musicians from all over the world.

Then, at the end of July, I got to drive an hour to Sedalia and hear her and Linda Stoffel perform at the Daum Museum of Contemporary Art. I had to go alone, because Sue had broken her ankle the week before and didn’t feel like doing any excursions at that point. (But after twenty-five years together, Sue really does “get” me, and she encouraged me to go.) This was my second exposure to what is, for me, basically an addictive substance.

But I first saw Marideth Sisco and her “Accomplices” playing at the Big Muddy in April 2018, and I was immediately intrigued. Here was this rather unassuming, slightly older woman, nothing flashy about her at all, calmly reading her prose, poems, and song lyrics off a digital tablet, surrounded by the members of her equally laid-back, extremely talented band, singing songs that were deceptively simple (you know the kind: when you breathe deeply and really listen, you discover the depth of emotion hiding in places like the held notes, and in the negative spaces between words and phrases).



I bought some of her CDs the next day, and I’ve been listening to them ever since. One of them, in particular, is like nectar to my soul. It’s almost uncanny, how much I love it. I’ve had a hard time figuring out why I’m drawn to it, but I think, after about a bazillion listens, I’ve finally figured it out.

The CD I’m talking about is her four-disc set of “These Ozarks Hills” readings. They’re little essays on her reflections of life in the Ozarks, and each CD focuses on a different season. Recurring themes include gardening, weather, nature, folklore, personal history, personal insights, her family and childhood memories, enduring values, and—only sometimes—politics, the economy, and current events, and those usually on the way to making a point about enduring Ozark values of tolerance, compassion, charity, thrift, and self-reliance.



These essays, like her musical delivery, are deceptively homespun. She speaks in her authentic Ozark dialect (some people have called this accent a “drawl”), after a little acoustic-guitar intro based on “Ozark Mountains,” a song on the Blackberry Winter CD Still Standing.

But boy, oh boy, her prose is tight. She’s a master writer, and she knows exactly what she’s doing. She has impeccable taste when it comes to her flights of fancy—she never gets full of herself; she “murders her darlings”—and she maintains a good sense of humor. She takes herself lightly. She stays on topic (I can never do that), and she crafts arresting beginnings and satisfying conclusions. (I’m an editor, and I really, I mean really, appreciate and admire such things.)

She’d probably read this and think, “Well, of course! I practice my art, and I’ve had plenty of time to get good at it. No big deal.”

Maybe this is part of why I’ve been enjoying her work: her voice is so natural, it almost seems like an extension of my own brain. And that’s the job of a writer, isn’t it: to speak inside your head in a voice authentic and natural enough that it almost sounds like your own self talking. And it expands who you are.



And here’s another confession: I’ve been listening to her spoken essays at night, when I have trouble falling asleep. This is not to say that I find them boring—far from it. My attention remains rapt, like a little kid listening to a favorite bedtime story. Sleep overtakes me because I’m simply exhausted and finally relaxed.

I find her voice soothing, familiar. It’s something about her accent, I think, that activates memories buried deep inside me, of the way a lot of people used to talk in central Missouri when I was a kid. Indeed, the region where you’re likely to hear an authentic Ozark accent seems to be contracting . . . and I hadn’t even realized it—until now.

As I write this, it occurs to me that my readers might not care about the different forms of southern or midwestern dialects, or where the two intersect, and all that. But to me, it’s of vital interest, and I realize I cherish this link to a part of my history, my heritage. I cling to it like a security blanket.



For the past few months, I’ve had the “Autumn” CD in my bedside player, and one of my favorites of her essays is on it. And there’s an aspect that makes it especially personal for me.

For a decade, now, I’ve been the behind-the-scenes compiler, editor, and poster of MDC’s annual Fall Color Reports. It’s a fun gig, a celebration of my favorite season. It also has given me an intimate knowledge of the patterns and nuances of autumn’s progress across Missouri, plus I’ve gotten to know several top-notch foresters from around the state. But . . . I’m actually losing that part of my job after this year, so this year’s surprising flash of amazingly bright fall color has been excruciatingly bittersweet. It’s gorgeous, but it fills me with grief.



But Marideth Sisco’s description of our glorious Ozark woods thrills me with its artistry. I share a bit of it with you here, but I encourage you to check out the whole thing, on her blog, or better yet, on the CD four-pack.

Sometimes I think autumn in the Missouri Ozarks is one of the most well-kept secrets left, and certainly the most little known anywhere. Granted, the scenery will not glow so incandescently as the blazing fire from acres of sugar maples, the major draw of New England autumns. Here, the colors of the Ozarks hills blend into more of a wonderfully colored tweed, with highlights that include the burnt orange of the Sassafras, the vermillion of the gum tree, the bright gold of the hickory, the butter yellow of Catalpa and the blood red of the sumac, all on a field of the caramel and cafe au lait of the oak forest. And underneath, the feathery goldenrod, the bittersweet berries and little clumps of fringed lavender where the fall asters grow.

I think the version on the CD is even better honed, but you get the idea. You can pretty much taste the fall color here.



And that’s the final “ping” that makes me enthusiastic about finding Marideth Sisco: It turns out that, although I never set out to become one, I’m a writer, too. (Hey, everyone, look at me! I have a blog!) Marideth Sisco’s kind of like the Opulent Opossum . . . only she’s waaaaaay better. Simply put, she’s what I aspire to be.

She’s doing it folks; she’s the real thing, and this here dilettante is simply awestruck. It’s worth doing: Celebrate Missouri’s glories; savor our Ozarks.

Check out Marideth Sisco.



Photos in this post were taken by me at various times and places in central Missouri this fall.

Our June Trip: San Francisco!

My friends, if I absolutely had to go live in a big city somewhere, San Francisco would be high on the list. At least, that’s what I’ve been thinking since our trip there last month.

The thought struck me immediately as our taxi waited at an intersection with Market Street, on our way to our hotel our first day there: I noticed that all up and down Market, the “main street” of San Francisco, at regular intervals, there were rainbow flags. Big ones. As far as the eye could see.

June, of course, is Pride month internationally (it commemorates the Stonewall riots that occurred in New York in June 1969, which mark the beginning of the modern gay rights movement). And San Francisco has one of the biggest LGBT pride celebrations in the world, with a huge parade that goes down, yes, Market Street. Everybody goes.

I was fortunate enough to have an internship in San Francisco during the summer of 1990, so I got to attend one of those festivals. I saw the parade and everything. By the end of that summer, I was practically a “resident” of the City.

(I used public transportation a lot!)

(But even though I used public transportation a lot, I still had a big hill to walk up to reach my house! That burned a lot of calories!)

People like to talk about how wonderful America is—about our diverse population, the immigrants cherishing their freedom and opportunities, and so on. It’s not so much of a “melting pot” as it is a stew, where people from various ethnicities and cultures blend harmoniously, yet retain distinctions from the “old country.” To be proud Americans, yet retain what is precious and colorful about our roots. At least, that’s the goal, I think.

Of all the places I’ve seen, San Francisco seems most “American” in this way. It is proud of its diversity. It goes well beyond tolerance—the citizens of that city seem pleased to have cultivated a place where everyone can be who they are.

Of course I wax nostalic—I know it’s not a utopia. But how can I not be irreversibly impressed, and deeply moved, when I come from the Midwest? Sue and I don’t dare fly our rainbow flag outdoors in our neighborhood, in our city. It would be begging for vandalism, because too many Missourians think that it’s cool to put down gay people. I know it will be many, many years before Jefferson City puts rainbow flags all along High Street!

Anyway, you just have to imagine how it feels to a gay person from the homophobic Midwest to arrive in a city that goes out of its way to show you that you are not just tolerated, but valued as a contributing member of society.

Here's another example. This is an inscription on one of the walks at the AIDS Memorial Grove at Golden Gate Park. The grove is an exceptionally beautiful, peaceful place. The city dedicated park space for this memorial grove.

Well, that’s enough words for now. This trip, we were flat-out tourists, and we had a great time trying to see as much as possible in the three days we were there.

We rode the cable cars!

We had a breakfast at the venerable (and touristy!) Sears Fine Food, on Powell Street across from the Sir Francis Drake! (I had actually never eaten there before, and you know what? It was really good! They deserve their reputation!)

Then there is the big Asian influence. Yes, Chinatown is always rather fun, but so are lots and lots of other Asian areas, such as Japantown, and the Japanese Garden at Golden Gate Park (this is the entrance of it):

Because of our interest in Asian art, we also had to visit the Asian Art Museum! (When I lived there, this building was the main branch of the public library!) The collections are spectacular and varied, including a wide geographical range, and ancient through contemporary works. Very impressive!

Do I even have to mention the excellent Asian food?

With all the delicious chow available, San Franciscans should be grateful there are so many hills to climb, and beaches to walk. Even when it's windy!

Anybody familiar with this part of the coast ought to know these flowers: ice plants! These are some of the plants that grow closest to the beach. They smile at you coming and going.

Another thing this little tourist was eager to see was the rebuilt Steinhart Aquarium, part of the California Academy of Sciences (and also in Golden Gate Park). The last time we were in San Francisco (2005), they had torn down the venerable old aquarium and had moved to temporary new quarters, and this new building was basically only a big hole in the ground.

So it was a real treat to see the "finished product," a "green" building with up-to-date displays and interpretive information. I'm not convinced that video screens, which need electricity to work, are in any way better than printed signs, but what do I know. Still--the state-of-the-art aquaria was neat to see.

Here I am at the entryway to the new Steinhart. That above me is a life-size model of the jaws of a megalodon, a Cenozoic shark that was 52 feet long and lived in ocean waters worldwide. The teeth are about 7 inches long. Whoa, nelly!

The aquarium is on the lower level of the California Academy of Sciences, though some of the larger tanks are two stories high and can be seen from above and below. There's a nifty tunnel beneath one of these huge aquariums full of large freshwater species. If I lived in San Francisco again, I think I would come here to just sit on the bench and read.

In this big tank are three arapiamas, which, I think, are the very same fish that lived in the Steinhart back in 1990. I used to visit them! I have a special appreciation for arapiamas. Did you know they are the largest strictly freshwater fish in the world?

Okay, now, a disclaimer: In this post, and in the last one (about Florida), the BEST pictures are the ones taken by Sue! Mine are the pedestrian snapshots. Here's one of my pedestrian snapshots, of Sue as she's taking a real photo!

My abundant thanks to Sue for letting me post so many of her photos!

Gift Idea: TV B Gone

Okay: Let’s say you’ve decided to go out for dinner someplace. Maybe you’ve been driving all day and you want to relax and get a bite to eat. Or maybe you’ve got someone you want to visit with. Like, an out-of-town friend you rarely get to see, but hooray, she’s visiting, and you get to have dinner together. Or maybe you’re lunching alone and are relishing the chance to collect your thoughts for the afternoon’s work. Or maybe you’re having an important conversation with someone, like a client.

And there’s this ignorant television hanging up in the corner of this otherwise quite nice restaurant, flickering and flashing, showing some godawful sad, sensationalistic trash, or some talking-head politics guy whose every word gives you a sour feeling in your stomach.

You know, television programs and the advertising they exist to serve are designed to grab your attention—the change of camera angle every five seconds or less; the rate of flashing; the emphasis on “big” (never subtle) emotions; the pacing of dialogue, the tone of voice. It plays with your monkey mind in ways you’re scarcely aware of—all you know is, it’s hard to get your eyes off the screen.

I’m not joking—and I do encourage us all to educate ourselves about television and how it manipulates our attention, feeds our thoughts, and (I believe) pollutes our culture and damages our democracy. To everyone, I recommend this book: Four Arguments for the Elimination of Television, by Jerry Mander. It’s not a new book at all, but what is says is just as relevant today as when it was written. If you don’t believe me, read the Amazon reviews.

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THAT was my prologue. The gift idea mentioned in the title of this post, now, should need no explanation, beyond this: It is a handy, keychain-sized universal remote control that only does one thing: It works as a power button on all different types of televisions. It is an “off” switch! Of your very own.

They’re about twenty bucks, batteries are included, and you can get them online here: Cornfield Electronics.

Look, how many times do I tell you to “buy” stuff? Never. But here I am, telling you: You will love having the power to turn off those offensive TVs wherever they may be: The doctor’s office. An otherwise decent restaurant. The waiting room at the service department at your car dealer’s. At the laundromat. Maybe even in the gate area at the airport!

Oh, joy!




I got mine and tried it out at Ruby Thursday’s! I was kind of worried a riot might break out, with people deprived of their TV teats, but no one even noticed the TV had gone black.

And yes, these would make great stocking stuffers!

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Special thanks and an Op Op Hurray! to Jane Phillips, who told me about this lovely product and reports great success with it in places ranging from restaurants to the DMV!

Arkansauce: Check It Out!

Okay, now, what do the following all have in common:

—Mammy Hannah’s Fried Chicken

—Grapette

—Pan-fried squirrel

—A hundred pounds of pickled beef

—Fried green tomatoes

—Purple hull peas

—“Grape acid”

—Butchering a hog

—Blackberry cobbler

—Green beans

—Fried crappie

—Barbecue pulled-pork sandwiches wrapped in wax paper

—Turnip greens

—Beans and cornbread

—Rhoda’s Famous Hot Tamales

and

—Sweet potato pie.


I know: You’re thinking, “southern food” and “Ozarks food,” right? Well, sure, but we should be more precise: these are all mentioned in the premier issue of Arkansauce: The Journal of Arkansas Foodways, a new (currently annual) publication of the University of Arkansas Libraries Special Collections department!




The journal is a forum showcasing the university libraries’ wonderful collection of elderly cookbooks, old menus, and other printed culinary materials, but it’s also a place for reflection on Arkansas food history, traditions, and folklore, as well as the current status of food and cooking in that state.

The inaugural issue is online and can be read right here.

Note that it’s a pdf file, and with all the nifty pictures and graphics on twenty-four pages, it will take a while to load. Don’t worry: it’s worth the wait.

Or, you can receive the publication in the mail for free (yes!) by contacting Diane F. Worrell (dfworrell@uark.edu) or by calling her at 479-575-5577. (Naturally, she’ll need your mailing address.)

I hope you’ll check it out!


Special thanks to Op Op friend Michael Saar for telling me about this fun new journal!

The High Lonesome Sound

One of the most delectable, opulently opossumable things about living in the Ozarks is our access to superb bluegrass music. No, they don’t play it at the malls, and you don’t hear it at Ruby Wednesdays.

But if you go poking around at localities like the Hitchin’ Post down at Hartsburg, or Cooper’s Landing near Easley, or at several of our wonderful local church suppers and town festivals, you’re gonna hear it.

Sometimes it’s a bunch of old dudes in overalls sitting there, playing all this great music while wearing the taciturn expression I’ve come to consider my stereotypical “Missouri farmer” look. Sometimes, it’s hippies! (Hooray for hippies!) Or college students who’ve discovered something truly cool while attending MU. And sometimes, the musicians just look like . . . I dunno . . . editors. (I’m just sayin’.) Or MU professors!




But it’s all around us; it’s in the air; it bathes us, just like this doggone humidity that all summer long transmits the rich spicy scents of bottomland soils, of shiny corn stalks shooting toward the sun, of raccoon grapevines dangling from hickory trees down by the river, and of cattle pushing their noses into endless grasses. Sure, you might live in a city, in your boundaries, in your head, but your city lives in the country, and ’round here, its soundtrack is a bluegrass one.

Bluegrass “fits” Missouri. It’s appropriate music during any season, whether you’re snowed in on a February night, or it’s a swelteringly hot July afternoon and you’re sucking on a wedge of icy cold watermelon. It’s the perfect background music for leaf-peeping in October and wildflower walks and morel hunting in April.




I hope you won’t think this is too hokey, but when we first moved back to Missouri, we lived in Columbia, clear on the other side of town from my parents’ house, and at that time my Grandma Renner was living with my parents. We tended to visit them a lot on Sunday evenings, and drive back home late at night. Clear across town.

And there’s this long-running show on Columbia’s community radio station, KOPN, called the High Lonesome Sound. It’s bluegrass on Sunday evenings (9 p.m. to midnight, Central time). And somehow, as we drove home on those Sunday evenings, the car radio would get tuned to KOPN, and we’d enjoy that high and lonesome sound all the way home.

Don’t get me wrong—I never knew Grandma Renner to listen to bluegrass—but there is something incredibly honest, straightforward, and intense about this music, the sweet harmonies and the compelling, prayerful quality of the lyrics, that tended to touch me deeply those evenings, during that time while Grandma was alive but no longer really “with” us.

I do know that bluegrass, like elderberry jam, is an acquired taste, but I encourage you to sample it or revisit it. I’m lucky, since I grew up in Columbia and have listened to KOPN and its diverse programming since about as long as I could twirl a radio knob.

And I can think of no better way to get acquainted with it than to tune in to KOPN on Sunday nights, when the dinner dishes are done and all that’s left is to put the weekend to bed.

B. G. Brown, the DJ for this show, is a local bluegrass performer and has been playing bluegrass on KOPN since the 1980s. She knows her stuff, and listening to her comments between songs is a great way of learning who’s who in this genre.

And for those of you who are not in radio range of the KOPN signal, you can tune in via the Internet; just go to www.kopn.org and click on “listen live.”




Now, by the time you read this, it will be too late for you to tune in to this week’s program, because I’m listening to it right now! But don’t worry, I’ll remind you later on so you don’t miss next week’s show.

By the way, they’re taking requests tonight! (When’s the last time you heard of a radio station taking requests?)

Cheers to B. G. Brown and the High Lonesome Sound!

Mark it down: Sundays at 9 pm Central; streaming live at kopn.org.

Martin Luther King, "Beyond Vietnam," and Today

A few days ago I was driving around and listened to a radio program talk about Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s speech "Beyond Vietnam: A Time to Break Silence." The conversation resonated with me, and I encourage you to look at the complete transcript of Dr. King's speech, which you can find online here.

This particular speech isn't nearly as well-known as his rightfully immortal "I Have a Dream" speech, but it's worthy of our attention, considering several of the discussions our nation is having today.

Some believe that this speech, in which MLK came out strongly against the war in Vietnam, and which was delivered exactly one year before MLK's assassination, was the reason for his assassination, and for the timing of it. In this speech, the activist for black civil rights came out as an antiwar protester.

But the speech was much more. If you read the speech today, you will find it rather chilling in its predictions about the course of US foreign policy and the effect it might have on the rest of the world. He questioned the fairness and justice of our policies in Asia, Africa, and South America, and he encouraged America to mend its ways.

Here's an excerpt.

A genuine revolution of values means in the final analysis that our loyalties must become ecumenical rather than sectional. Every nation must now develop an overriding loyalty to mankind as a whole in order to preserve the best in their individual societies.

This call for a worldwide fellowship that lifts neighborly concern beyond one's tribe, race, class, and nation is in reality a call for an all-embracing--embracing and unconditional love for all mankind. This oft misunderstood, this oft misinterpreted concept, so readily dismissed by the Nietzsches of the world as a weak and cowardly force, has now become an absolute necessity for the survival of man. When I speak of love I am not speaking of some sentimental and weak response. I am not speaking of that force which is just emotional bosh. I am speaking of that force which all of the great religions have seen as the supreme unifying principle of life. Love is somehow the key that unlocks the door which leads to ultimate reality. This Hindu-Muslim-Christian-Jewish-Buddhist belief about ultimate--ultimate reality is beautifully summed up in the first epistle of Saint John: "Let us love one another, for love is God. And every one that loveth is born of God and knoweth God. He that loveth not knoweth not God, for God is love." "If we love one another, God dwelleth in us and his love is perfected in us." Let us hope that this spirit will become the order of the day.

We can no longer afford to worship the god of hate or bow before the altar of retaliation. The oceans of history are made turbulent by the ever-rising tides of hate. And history is cluttered with the wreckage of nations and individuals that pursued this self-defeating path of hate.

I find Dr. King's notion of a "revolution of values" a compelling idea. He was urging us to reexamine our paradigm, which, of course, is what Jesus did when he encouraged his followers to not demand an eye for an eye, but instead to turn the other cheek. When he washed the feet of the downtrodden, and dined with the outcasts.

It's a hard role model to live up to. We're animals--we're needy, we're afraid, we're hungry, we want to survive and to thrive. And we're sneaky; even when we think we're being completely altruistic, upon reflection, we find we may not be.

But we're much more than animals--we think ahead, we reflect on the past, we have conscience, we have free will--and that's where the revolution must originate.

King pointed out how government funds for helping the poor had been sucked away by the Vietnam War. Instead of being helped, the poor were sent in high proportions to serve and be killed as soldiers. And in the case of human history, that's how it's always been. But must it always be?

Our country--no, our species--needs the revolution in values King talked about. If not for the sake of the poor, then for the sake of the souls of the rich.

And meanwhile, the recent speech that President Obama gave in Tucson still rings in my ears. In fact, that whole episode--the madman whose sickness was "overlooked," a nation with huge problems with its health care system, the hatred that political candidates use to acquire funds and get people to act, the question about whether it should be okey-dokey for people to buy semiautomatic weapons that can fire off 15 or 30 rounds without reloading . . . it all makes you think about where we're going.

Obama had a simple request: Let's all try to act the way our children expect us to act. That little girl who was shot down would want us to act like the grown-ups she believed we are.

And over and over again, I think to myself that human culture is the biggest democracy there is. Culture is defined collectively, by the people. Every day, we each have a vote; we vote by the way we behave and speak. Human culture may resemble a school of fish, which all seem to move together as a unit. But even schooling fish are capable of moving independently, and so are we. No one is forcing us to follow the pattern.

I suggest that we not wait for television and our political or even religious leaders to shepherd us in whatever direction they think is best. Advertisers rule the TV; politicians answer to their funders. Ministers, sadly, too often follow their flock, who, sadly, too often follow their television. Instead, I think we should each strengthen our habits of big thoughts, fair thoughts, compassionate thoughts, and forethought.

I've recently been reading some of the writings of Benjamin Franklin, and I have been impressed by his expository powers. Did people in the late 1700s actually take the time to read paragraphs, and essays, and articles? If so, they are smarter than we are today.

There seems to be a great trend today to see things in black and white, good or evil, to make summary judgments. The quick decision, the simple thought, the pithy reply, the tweet, is valued over the ponderous essay that addresses many angles. To me, the trend away from seeing the "gray areas" is a trend away from true understanding. Big ideas require more than tweets and sound bytes. Take the time to read something "real," and reflect on it.

I wish that I could express myself as well as Dr. King, but I cannot, and that's why I'm not a writer. But I encourage you to read Dr. King's speech. It really made me think.