POSTING #131

Moscow's Izmailovsky Market, and a Mysterious Artist

Addition to Posting #131

Images of two more paintings by the Russian artist Piganov have been added to the end of this posting, through the kindness of the owner of the paintings, Jürgen Brauweiler (nickname, Jules), of Berlin. A description of how this came about is included with the new pictures.

March 13, 2012

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  

Tourists love flea markets.

Just watch the crowds in London's Petticoat Lane or Portobello Road, or in Paris' Marché aux Puces, or in the Middle East's souks and bazaars.

When we were working in Moscow in 1995-1997, the city was in the midst of creating its own flea market, Izmailovsky Market.

Now, some 16 years later, the Market is on the agenda of every tourist visiting Moscow. The New York Times describes it this way:

"Izmailovsky Market, near the estate where Peter the Great played war games as a boy, is a sprawling open-air market that evolved out of the first Soviet experiments in capitalism: the flea market. One area has been refashioned into a souvenir paradise, with stalls offering nesting dolls, lacquer boxes, art, antiques, carpets and things you cannot imagine. The market, open weekends from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m., is at 73 Izmaylovskoye Shosse, but don't expect to see any sign. Follow the crowds from the Partizanskaya metro station."

One weekend in the autumn of 1995, I decided to visit the Market. I got off the Metro at Partizanskaya station and did what the Times suggested: followed the crowds, which while not as large as they are today, were still substantial.

Inside the Market, everything was a jumble with goods displayed in sheds, or on tables in the open. There was a large section devoted to oriental carpets from the Caucuses, which were lying in piles 10 or 12 deep on the ground or suspended from rough frames.

After wandering through the maze of stalls, I ended up in a section devoted to art: paintings, water colours, collages, carvings, and so on.

Most of the art was clearly designed for quick sale to tourists looking for a Russian souvenir--pretty scenes of onion-domed churches, peasant cottages in Siberia, renderings of Red Square and so on.

In the midst of all this 'commercial' art, was a stand with four or five paintings that were different. They seemed to me to be attempts by the artist to say something that he felt strongly about. They appeared to be painted for him, not for a buyer.

One of them attracted me---of a young woman looking straight ahead with a haunting, questioning look. I stopped and studied it. Then I moved down the row of stalls looking at the other works of art.

Coming back, I stopped again at the painting and tried to understand why I liked it, and what it was saying to me.

A man sitting nearby on a chair watched me.

Although I liked it, I decided that I hadn't come to buy a painting, so I started to wind my way back to the entrance.

Part way there, something told me that I was making a mistake. I turned around and went back to have a third look at the painting.

I asked the man sitting on the chair if he were the artist.

He shook his head and, trying to find English expressions, said, "I sell for my friend. He....funny man." He tapped his forehead, and I thought he meant that the artist was a bit loco, perhaps another Van Gogh.

He seemed to realize that I was getting the wrong impression and he dug into his English vocabulary for some other adjectives.

"Deep, deep, thinks all time...religious."

I asked how much the painting was---rubbing my thumb and forefinger together in that internationally understood gesture.

He took out a scrap of paper and wrote an amount that was more than the 'pretty' paintings were selling for but was not unreasonable.

I had been told that at Izmailovsky Market one was expected to haggle, so I wrote out a lower amount  on the man's paper. As I did this, I realized that I had destroyed any bargaining position I might have had by stopping three times to study the painting.

He shook his head and pointed to the price he had quoted.

I nodded that I would buy the painting at that price and started to pull out my billfold. He shook his head and, taking my arm, pulled me behind a nearby bush. There, out of sight of passersby, we completed the transaction. Moscow was a pretty lawless place at the time, and he wasn't taking any chances on being mugged on his way home.

Back at our apartment, I hung the painting. 

Notice the three apples on the table in the forefront of the painting. We think the artist included apples because of  the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, and he showed three because of the trinity---but who knows.

For me it came to symbolize the turmoil in Russia. On the right of the painting, the woman's hair is covered with barbed wire, while on the left, her hair is threaded with ribbons and pearls. The woman seems to be trying to discern whether the future of Russia would be repression and fear, or prosperity and love.

I liked it very much. When Pat came over for her regular visits, I found that she liked it as well.

In the summer of 1996, our daughter and two sons came over with their spouses for a two-week visit. They also liked the painting.

Talking about our family's visit, may I be permitted a short digression?

Thanks!

As a family, we 'did' all the main tourist attractions in Moscow and St. Petersburg and between the two cities, but looking back on the trip one of the high-points was our trip to Izmailovsky Market. When we got to the Market, each couple went off in a different direction, the agreement being that we would meet in two hours at the carpet section.

Pat and I were waiting at the carpets in two hours but no kids had appeared. Then one couple showed up. Since the others weren't there yet, they said they would just nip off for a few minutes---but be right back. "This is a great market!"

Then another couple arrived. They too would just nip off for a  minute or two---while the others assembled. They would be right back. "Wow, this is really a great market!"

Finally, we had to insist that whoever arrived had to stay put until we were all there.

Loaded down with purchases, we trudged back to the Metro, with many backward glances and some muttering about not having had enough time.

End of digression---thanks for your tolerance!

As my contract with the Russian authorities neared its end---in March 1997---Pat came over to help me shut down the project and pack up our belongings in the apartment.

Looking at the painting one night, we agreed it would be good to meet the artist and see if he had any other works that we might take back to Canada.

Yuri, my office manager (not his real name), located the artist, who said he would be interested in meeting us and showing us his studio.

The artist suggested we meet on a street corner---not an unusual suggestion because house numbering in Moscow can be confusing. Yuri's daughter would act as our guide and interpreter.

When we arrived at the street corner, there were a number of people standing around, some waiting for a bus, others just standing. We tried to identify the artist, someone who looked liked the friend's description of him at Izmailovsky Market: 'funny...deep...religious'.

No one matched that description.

Then a middle-aged man in a traditional Russian fur hat with ear flaps, but wearing a western-looking, bright red jacket, came over and introduced himself.

Our artist.

He didn't look 'artistic'. His dark hair was worn short and neatly trimmed. He had gold-rimmed glasses and a small mustache. He looked like dozens of managers I had met during my time in Russia---it later turned out that his day-job was that of a manager in a hospital.

In his studio, there were a few paintings on easels with others leaning against the walls.

Two of the paintings on easels interested us.

One, obviously in its very early stages, showed a woman in a long white robe, leaning forward with a rope over her shoulder, straining to drag a boat across a desert. The artist explained his symbolism: the woman represented Russian women; the boat represented Russian families; and, the desert stood for the tough economic times the nation was experiencing. The woman represented all the Russian women who were bravely struggling to keep their families together.

The other painting, nearly complete, was more complex than the first picture, containing a rich assortment of religious and other images and symbols. It was intended to convey the artist's view that, in the end, Russia's future depended upon a return to religion.

The artist said he could finish the second picture in a few days, allowing us to take it back with us to Canada. The other would take some weeks to complete.

We agreed quickly on a price and he said he would bring it to my office in a few days.

The picture below shows the artist, Mr. Piganov, with the painting in my Moscow office at the Russian Federal Employment Bureau.

On the coat-tree in the background, one can see Mr. Piganov's Russian hat, and his red, western-style jacket---items he was wearing when we met him on a street corner near his studio.

In preparation for our trip home, we removed the two paintings from their stretchers, rolled the canvases and placed them in cardboard tubes. Back in Ottawa, we found a restorer who worked regularly for the National Gallery repairing their paintings. She commented that the paint in both pictures had been applied very thinly. We wonder whether the artist preferred this approach or whether he was concerned about the high cost of imported oil paints in Russian at that time.

She attached the canvases to stretchers, touched them up a little and placed them under a special kind of Plexiglas to protect the thin paint from damage by ultraviolet rays. 

Here is the second painting, over the fireplace, in our Virgil home.

There is so much symbolism here it would take a separate Posting to begin to do justice to it, but notice the young woman rising out of a gilded cage. This symbolizes the artist's admiration for women and his support for their emancipation. (Because the paintings are under Plexiglas, the photos show some room reflections---sorry about that.)

When the paintings had been framed and hung, we began to think of the other painting that we had liked---the one of a woman dragging a boat through the desert. Yuri  contacted Mr. Piganov only to learn that the painting had been sold---to an American couple.

We kicked ourselves that we hadn't put a deposit on the painting.

While we were still operating a bed and breakfast, we loved sharing the two paintings with guests. People would stand in front of them, discussing---and sometimes arguing---about what Mr. Piganov meant by this or that symbol.

I have used the Izmailovsky Market painting of the woman at several talks about Russia, and it is amazing how effective it is in conveying the turmoil and uncertainty of the 1990s, as Russia was starting to make its transition from a communist to a market economy.

Now, we simply enjoy them as works of art and for the memories they bring back of our time in Russia and, especially, of our visits to Izmailovsky Market.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Addition to Posting #131

On March 9, 2012 this comment was left at the end of Posting #131.

"Hello, I am Jules from Germany. To search for information about J. Piganov in the Internet. I found your blog. I worked in Moscow between 91 and 93. Izmailovsky Park was a weekend "must" for me. I saw Piganov sitting with 3 pictures near the Metro station. I ...bought one of his works. Arriving at my Hotel I was so happy about it, that I went back to the market and bought the other two. Now 20 years later it's a beautiful and amusing memory of the time in Moscow. If you like, I would send you a photo."

I told Jules that I would love to see photos of his paintings.

Jules sent photos of his three paintings, and has kindly agreed to let me add two of the them to Posting #131. The paintings were done in 1991 and reflect the emotions---fear, anger, love and more---the artist felt as the changes brought about by Glasnost, Perestroika and the demise of the USSR swept across Russia.

Jules and I have agreed that the third painting is a bit too horrific for a family blog. It is a powerful painting reminiscent of Picasso's brutal Guernica, which portrayed the death and destruction caused in the 1930s by the bombing of Spain by the axis forces. I love the picture but feel it would be a mistake to include it here, in a blog with readers of all ages.

Here are the two paintings.

The artist called this painting 'The Icon'

This painting is called 'The Revolution'.

I told Jules that perhaps this will be the start of a fan club for Mr. Piganov, with other purchasers of his pictures stumbling (Googling?) onto my blog.

He liked that idea!

If other readers have paintings by Mr. Piganov, I would be delighted to add them to this Posting.

Once again my deep gratitude to Jules for letting all of us see these paintings. 

March 13, 2012

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

See you on December 4th for Posting #132 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting,  or email me at johnpathunter@gmail.com.

Note:

Have you read the latest Posting on The Icewine Guru blog? You can read "Are Canadian Politics Dull?" at http://theicewineguru.blogspot.com/

POSTING #130

A Community Divided by a Surveyor's Boo-Boo

In my first few months at Queen's University---while I was trying to get my head around political science concepts such as 'the state', 'the government', 'the administration'---my yellow-jacketed friends in engineering were out surveying the campus. Taking turns squinting through a level or holding the range pole, they recorded the results in sturdy notebooks.

The tools used by the student surveyors were not too dissimilar from those used by the men who marked out property lines and boundaries during the settlement of Canada and the US.

Pushing through forests, swamps and over and around mountains, fighting off mosquitoes, deer flies and malaria, the unsung heroes---like bush pilots from a later era---did their jobs without fanfare. And made it possible for  our ancestors to buy and sell land, confident that their ownership meant something.

Heroes, yes, but sometimes they goofed.

As in trying to follow the 45th parallel in drawing the boundary between Quebec and Vermont.

It was the summer of 1964 and  I was having lunch in a restaurant in Rock Island, Quebec, part of a community that would have been totally in Canada except for an error by some 18th century surveyor.  I can see him in my mind's eye, swatting at mosquitoes, sweating because of a recurrence of malaria, trying to figure out just where the 45th parallel should lie. He took a stab at it, but his line went a little too far north.

A simple mistake, but a mistake that meant that a single community would be split by an international border and the community would be divided into two towns, Rock Island, Quebec ---known now, thanks to amalgamations, as Stanstead---and Derby Line, Vermont.  (The current size of the community is about 3,800 with about 3,000 in Stanstead and 800 in Derby Line.)

In 1964, I had just returned from a posting in the United Kingdom, and was on a cross-Canada re-familiarization tour with three other Foreign Service Officers.  The tour was to give us up-to-date information on jobs for potential immigrants and opportunities for entrepreneurs interested in starting businesses in Canada. After the tour we would be returning overseas.

Led by our guide, the Officer-in-Charge of the Rock Island Immigration Office, we had spent the morning talking to the Chamber of Commerce and touring local plants and businesses. As we drove along placid, tree-lined streets to our meetings, our guide would explain that we had just left Canada and were now in the US, then a moment or so later that we were now back in Canada, and on and on as we crossed back and forth over the invisible border.

Note how the US/Canada Border runs into the Haskell Library and Opera Hall in the background

During our morning drive we saw an imposing brick and stone building that seemed to be sitting right on the border. Our guide told us it was a library and opera house, and he promised to tell us its story at lunchtime. 

We were satisfied with the economic and business information we had collected, but we were full of questions about how a single, small community functions when it is split by the US-Canada border into two towns.

As we ate lunch, the Officer-in-Charge explained that the Webster-Ashburton Treaty of 1842, instead of correcting the 18th century surveyor's mistake, had simply confirmed it. The locals had been living with that decision ever since.

As promised, he told us about the Haskell Free Library and Opera House. Built in 1904, the structure was a gift from a bi-national couple, an American, Carlos Haskell, and his Canadian wife, Martha Stewart Haskell. They insisted that the library and opera house should be built right on the border so that people from both sides could use it freely. Our guide said there was a line on the floor in the library marking the border that patrons went back and forth across as they sought out books. In the Opera House, actors on the stage were in Canada, while most of the audience sat in the US.

Our guide introduced us to some men at the next table who lived on the US side of the border, a few streets from his home. We told the men how much we were enjoying our visit to their community.

Back at our table, we started discussing the latest news from Ottawa. The House of Commons was debating the adoption of a new flag, and the Leader of the Opposition, John Diefenbaker, was threatening to filibuster if necessary to prevent the passage of legislation for the new flag. (The Government of Lester Pearson eventually had to invoke closure, in December 1964, to bring the flag legislation to a vote. The legislation was approved and the Maple Leaf flag was flown for the first time on Parliament Hill on February 15, 1965---and raised on Canada House in London at the same time, one of my proudest moments, but that's another story.)

I eavesdropped on the Americans at the next table, and found they were discussing the Vietnam War and what was happening in Congress. A friend of theirs had received a draft notice and they were soberly discussing what it meant.

I recalled a story a Canadian friend in London had told me just before I had come back to Canada. His son was attending an American high school in London and one of his pals, a young American, received a draft notice when he turned 18. He flew home to the US, joined the army, went to Vietnam and was back at the London school within a year---minus one of his hands that had been left in a Vietnam jungle following a grenade attack.

I thought about how bizarre all this was.

People living a few feet north of an invisible line were looking to Ottawa and a debate going on in Parliament about a new flag, while people living a few feet to the south were looking to Washington and the possibility and danger of being shipped off to a deadly war.

After lunch the Officer-in-Charge took us on a sightseeing tour of the two towns. He explained that there was a volunteer fire department that protected both towns with fire fighters from each side. People from both towns shared churches, sports teams and service clubs. In most senses, it was one community but the line was always there. Living north of the line, you were Canadian, south of the line you were American.

He told us that there was a factory that straddled the line, with goods being manufactured moving back and forth across the border. The local customs and immigration officials had found a modus vivendi that allowed the business to function.

We stopped for a quick tour of the library and the exquisite opera house. (If you have time, I would suggest you come back after reading the Posting and check out these websites, especially the one for the opera house, with its murals and gilded decoration.)

Getting back in the car, our guide said there were a number of homes that were located right on top of the border, with the food being cooked in the US kitchen and served in the Canadian dining room.

As we drove along, he pointed to a modest bungalow on a well-maintained lot that had just been built by a friend, an officer with the US Immigration Service. His friend  had looked for a long time to find a lot where he could built the dream house that he and his wife had been designing in their minds.

Being a US Immigration Officer, he wanted to make sure the lot was totally in the US.

He found a lot that he and his wife liked, and then hired a highly recommended surveyor. After careful calculations, the surveyor assured him that the lot was completely in the US.

The house was built and the Immigration Officer and his wife moved in and were delighted with it.

Then a problem emerged to threaten their happiness. A neighbour, who wanted to sell his house, was required by the buyer's bank to have a survey completed of his property. 

The survey done for the neighbour showed that although his property was fine, the US Immigration officer's house was right on top of the border, with the living room in Canada and the kitchen in the US.

Repeat surveys confirmed that the Immigration Officer's house was indeed on the border.

I suppose there could be a lot of explanations for the surveyor's error, but I like to think that the ghost of that 18th century surveyor was behind it. He gave a little tilt to the surveyor's level, or pushed the surveyor's fingers into writing down the wrong coordinates. Then the ghost giggled, "That will teach you to make fun of the mistake I made 'way back in the 18th century!"

000

I have a long list of things on my 'bucket list'---things I want to do before I kick the bucket---and high on that list is a return visit to Rock Island/Stanstead/Derby Line.

I love libraries and would enjoy spending some time browsing in the Haskell Free Library, while Pat went, perhaps, antiquing.

Then in the evening, Pat and I could go to the Opera House and see a play (I note that all the proceeds for this September 15th performance of a comedy, "Nunsense', were donated to the victims of Hurricane Irene), or listen to the Vermont Symphony Orchestra.

And, I would love to wander around and see how 9/11 has changed life in the two towns.

A news item from around 2007 said that Homeland Security wanted to block off all the streets that crossed the border to prevent terrorists from entering the US. According to the item, officials of the two towns were meeting with Homeland Security to try to come up with ways of accomplishing that goal without destroying the closeness of their community. I haven't heard what happened.

Here is a notice from Haskell Library and Opera website that gives some hints on the modus vivendi that the community and Homeland Security may have arrived at:

"Attention!
First time visitors and old friends of the Haskell Free Library and Opera House must be aware that the border between Canada and the United States that runs through our building is real and it is enforced.

Visitors from Canada must park their cars on the Church Street side of the building or report to US Customs via Cordeau St. and Dufferin/Main St. Visitors from the United States must park in our parking lot, on Caswell Ave. or another Derby Line street.

It is expected that all visitors will return to their country of origin. Law enforcement authorities have recently increased their presence in the vicinity of the Haskell and visitors found to be in violation of border crossing rules are subject to detention and potential fines."

I think I can hear the ghost of that 18th century surveyor chuckling, "I fouled things up real good, didn't I?"

But rules like that won't stop me from going back to Rock Island/Stanstead/Derby Line.

I'm just waiting for that wish to come to the top of my 'bucket list'.

P.S.

On reading the above, Pat was full of questions about how everyday life unfolds in a divided community like Rock Island/Stanstead/Derby Line. For example, she said, what if we lived in a Canadian house, and I was baking something that called for milk but we were out. Could I go across the lawn to our neighbour whose house happened to be in the US and get the milk? If I went into her house, would I be guilty of illegally entering the US? If she gave me the milk (remember, Vermonters are very kind people!), and I brought it into our house, would I be guilty of importing a dairy product into Canada?

The questions are many but we couldn't come up with any answers.

More reason to make an early visit to Rock Island/Stanstead/Derby Line and hopefully find some answers!

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

See you on November 27th for Posting #131 with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting,  or email me at johnpathunter@gmail.com.

Note:

Have you read the latest Posting on The Icewine Guru blog? You can read "Are Canadian Politics Dull?" at http://theicewineguru.blogspot

POSTING #129

Fighting City Hall

Converting a house to a bed and breakfast usually involves multiple contacts with the folks at city hall---about things like zoning changes, building permits, signs and parking.

We have found that the secret to getting what you want is to be patient, persistent and creative, and not to protest too much about decisions that seem illogical.

For example, at one bed and breakfast we wanted to put up a sign by the road. We were told that we would have to pay for a permit that would entitle us to pay for another permit that would allow our proposal to be considered. I won't try to explain why two permits were required.

You may be reading this Posting over breakfast and I don't want to upset your digestion.

We knuckled under, kept our muttering to ourselves, bought two permits, and eventually got permission for a sign.

But there was one fight with city hall that ended in a most remarkable---almost 'biblical'---fashion, that I would like to tell you about today. I won't be naming the municipality in order to protect a good Samaritan who came to our aid.

The issue was the installation of a new pipe from the water main at the road to our house.

Our plumber told us that the existing pipe was too small and too corroded to give the volume and pressure of water needed for the extra bathrooms and the 'souped-up' laundry room that we wanted.

Digging a trench, five feet deep, from the house to the road would require a backhoe machine and would cost about $1500 (five feet deep, so the pipe wouldn't freeze in the winter).

So far, so good.

Then, the plumber added that we better talk to City Hall about connecting the new line to the water main. There might be a charge, and there might not be---it would be better if we got the details from the horse's mouth.

The officials told us that there was a charge of $2000 to connect a new line to the water main.

Wow! We said---under our breath.

But---the official continued---if the city workers found that the existing connection was not copper but was instead galvanized steel, there would be no charge. The City had a policy of replacing, without charge, galvanized connections throughout the water system. Our connection would then be considered just a replacement of a galvanized connection, and there would be no charge for it.

Are you still with me?

I told Pat to keep her fingers crossed that the workers would find a galvanized connection.

The big day came, the backhoe arrived and we soon had a five feet deep trench to the road. The plumber and his crew connected the larger copper pipe to the meter in the basement and ran the pipe through the basement wall and out to the water main.

One of the city workers clambered out of the trench, with a big smile. Good news, he told us, the connection is not copper but it's not galvanized either.

It's lead!

Now we know today that lead anywhere in a water system is a really bad thing. The house was old and at the time the water line was installed, people weren't aware of the dangers of lead.

So, the worker, told us, there will obviously be no charge for the connection.

Pat and I did a little dance.

The worker asked if he could use our phone to call his boss, tell him the news, and get a crew out to turn off the water main so the connection could be made.

He wasn't smiling when he came back from the phone call. His boss had agreed that there would be no charge for the connection, given the lead. However, he had decided that a crew could not be dispatched to turn off the water main until sometime the following week. Everyone was busy at the moment.

The worker said he had explained that the backhoe was waiting to back-fill the trench, and if the connection could not be made right away, the machine would have to come back---an additional expense for us.

His boss had been adamant.

We asked the worker if there was anything we could do. Something was obviously going through his mind, and he replied that we should let him think about it.

He went back into the trench and we thought that he might be trying to figure out how to make a temporary connection. 

A few minutes later, an explosion of water erupted from the trench---a veritable Yellowstone Old Faithful Geyser that shot through the branches of an overhanging maple and flew into the sky.

The worker, soaked, scrambled out of the ditch.

He said, with a grin, that there had been an accident. A heavy wrench must have fallen on the lead connection and the soft metal had given way.

This is an emergency, he said, and asked if he could use the phone again to call his boss.

He came back to say that a crew was on its way!

It didn't take long for the crew to arrive but it is amazing how much water can flow from a broken water main connection in a very short time. The street, our driveway, our neighbour's driveway and of course the trench were all flooded. Traffic was blocked on the street for nearly half an hour. (You can see why I used the term 'biblical' earlier on.)

The water was finally turned off and the worker went back into the trench. Toiling in the muddy water he attached our new pipe to the water main, using a copper connection. We tried to keep a straight face as we thanked him for the 'accident'. He shrugged off our thanks.

I got the impression that he might have just won a battle in a continuing war with a difficult superior.

The backhoe operator filled in the trench and the plumber was ecstatic with the new water flow and pressure.

I said earlier that creativity is sometimes necessary in fighting city hall.

We found that sometimes that creativity can come from an unexpected source.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

See you on November 20th for Posting #130th with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting,  or email me at johnpathunter@gmail.com.

Note:

Have you read the latest Posting on The Icewine Guru blog? You can read "Are Canadian Politics Dull?" at http://theicewineguru.blogspot.com/

POSTING #128

Stories About Vermont

Vermont has always been one of our favourite states, and we have visited it many times.

During breaks in my overseas consulting assignments, we would often visit Vermont  to decompress after the stresses of Russia or the Middle East (staying usually at the superbly comfortable and hospitable Palmer House Resort in Manchester). By the time we said goodbye to Vermont, I always felt relaxed and refreshed, ready to do battle once again. 

We watched in horror last August as the flooding from Hurricane Irene devastated many Vermont homes, businesses, roads, and bridges (see a dramatic video shot by a friend, Lester Humphreys, which shows part of a large building being torn loose by the flooding waters in Brattleboro).

The 620,000 or so people of Vermont are tough and creative, folks who work cooperatively to tackle challenges. We wish them well as they fight back after Irene.

Meanwhile, here are some stories in honour of Vermont.

            "Heat Is Your Friend"

On one visit to Vermont we toured the studio of Lynn Newcomb, a blacksmith/sculptor and printmaker, in the village of Worcester.

Above the forge where she heats steel so she can hammer, twist and pull it into artistic creations I saw a handmade sign, "Heat Is Your Friend". Lynn saw me studying the sign and told us the story behind it.

It was, she said, a reminder of a lesson from the man who had taught her to be a blacksmith.

He was an older man who had trained many men in the art of blacksmithing but teaching a woman was something new for him. Lynn said there might have been some hesitation on his part at first but as soon as he realized she was serious he treated her as just another student.

He watched approvingly one day as she worked at the forge and anvil but soon realized that because she didn't have the upper body strength of the male students, she was having trouble hammering the red-hot steel into the shapes she wanted.

He had her experiment with leaving the steel in the forge longer than the men so the steel got hotter and therefore more malleable before she transferred it to the anvil.

That worked!

Pleased, he said, "Remember, 'heat is your friend'.

She turned the advice into a sign, so she wouldn't forget.

Later on, in my work as a public service manager and as a consultant, I often told the story of Lynn and the sign to make the point that when problems are challenging, the 'heat'  given off by them may actually make it easier to find a solution. (It seems to me that the oft-quoted nostrum of President Obama's former Chief of Staff, Rahm Emanuel, that 'one should never waste a crisis' makes the same point.)

            Some Laconic Vermonters

Vermonters have the reputation of not talking very much. That's a stereotype, of course, and we have met Vermonters who were as garrulous as drunks in a Dublin pub.

But we have run into a few who give validity to the stereotype.

Pat was getting gas at a rural service station. After some terse questions about what kind of gas she wanted and how much, the attendant---an older man---started to fill the tank.

Noticing the Ontario licence plates, he said, "A long way from home."

Pat replied, "Yes, but I'm not lost".

"Didn't say you was lost, said you was a long way from home."

000

A friend who visited a particular rural antique store each time she was in Vermont noticed one year that a piece of furniture that she liked, but thought was a little too expensive, was still unsold. She asked the dealer whether he would take a little less for the piece.

He shook his head, "Nope".

She pointed out that she had seen the same piece for several years and that was why she wondered whether he might be prepared to lower the price a little.

He shook his head again, "It don't eat nothing".

            Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream

In the 1980s we heard from a son at McGill that there was a fantastic home-made ice cream store run by a couple of hippies in a converted garage in Burlington Vermont. He told us that McGill students regularly drove the 155 kms to Burlington to sample what they claimed was the richest and most imaginative ice cream they had ever tasted.

We began to hear and follow stories about the hippies, Ben Cohen and Jerry Greenfield.

Astonished by the success of their ice cream, they launched some scoop stores that they supplied from the Burlington garage. Then they built a plant in Waterbury to produce pints of their unique flavours that could be sold far and wide (we were able to buy Ben and Jerry's in Amman, Jordan!).

Then we heard that the two young men were feeling guilty about their success. " We worried we were becoming a cog in the economic machine, whose values we had detested all our lives,' Ben remembers. Jerry Greenfield left the business and moved to Arizona.

Then Ben invented a new business philosophy he called 'Caring Capitalism' in which the company could 'do good while doing well'. Jerry rejoined the company.

In the early 1990s, we visited the plant. It was fun for me because it gave me a chance to compare experiences from the two high school summers I had spent making ice cream at the Royal Dairy in Guelph.

The plant was operating-room clean and the output was delicious.

As we toured the plant, the guide explained that under the Caring Capitalism philosophy Ben and Jerry had stipulated that their salaries should not be more than 7 times that of the lowest paid person in the plant.

I was impressed because my favourite management Guru, Peter Drucker, was arguing (and is still arguing) that the ideal ratio should be no more than 20 to 1, this at a time when the differential was much more than that---often 80 to 1. (Of course, today the ratio is in the stratosphere---often many thousands to one.)

Unfortunately, the company that had been profitable initially, lost money in 1994 and Ben and Jerry decided that they needed to bring in a professional manager. It appears that they had to pay the successful candidate substantially more than 7 times the lowest wage, but I haven't been able to find the exact salary of the new CEO.

In 2000, the company was sold to Unilever, a British-Dutch multinational food giant. I understand that although Ben and Jerry have no Board or management position, and are not involved in day-to-day management, they do influence the behaviour of the company. For example, the company has come out in support of controversial social, environmental and other causes. The current website of the company proclaims that "We stand with the 99".

The company has also named ice cream flavours in honour of causes the two men support. For example, there was 'Yes, Pecan' that recognized Obama's 2008 victory. And in 2009, the company renamed 'Chubby Hubby' to 'Hubby Hubby', to celebrate Vermont's passage of legislation legalizing same sex marriage.

Not every new flavour is tied to some 'good cause'. In September this year, the company introduced a flavour called, 'Schweddy Balls'---in homage of a Saturday Night Live skit. In a press release announcing the new flavour, the company said it consisted of,  "Fair Trade vanilla ice cream with a hint of rum and is loaded with fudge covered rum and milk chocolate malt balls".

Apparently some super market chains have found the title to be a little over the line, and aren't stocking it.

It seems that the two men who had fun concocting exotic and shocking flavours in that Burlington garage are still enjoying themselves.

Health Care

I have been impressed with the effort that Vermont is making in the field of health care. It has had free or low cost coverage for children under 18 and pregnant women for some time and is now in the midst of introducing a single payer health insurance program for everyone---taking advantage of some exemption provisions of the Obama health plan.

Its former governor, Howard Dean, while happy with the introduction of a single payer system, is hoping that the state will also tackle the method of payment to health professionals and hospitals. Rather than the fee-for-service basis, which studies indicate leads to unnecessary expenditures, Dean would like to see some system of flat rates based on the nature of the illness. This is a complex and controversial issue, one which we Canadians have not been able to resolve.

In Canada in the 1960s, Saskatchewan, with a population (925,000) not much larger than Vermont's today, pioneered health care changes that led to our national Medicare program. I am hoping that Vermont will develop and test a new payment method that other states can adopt---and that we can 'steal'.

Perhaps that is asking too much at a time when the state is trying to rebuild itself after Irene, but the people of the Green Mountain State  are tough and resourceful. I think Vermont might just be able to do both things.

0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

See you on November 13th for Posting #129th with more stories from our family’s universe! If you have comments or suggestions, please leave a comment at the bottom of this posting,  or email me at johnpathunter@gmail.com.

Note:

Have you read the latest Posting on The Icewine Guru blog? You can read "Are Canadian Politics Dull?" at http://theicewineguru.blogspot.com/