Living Arts

Don't you just love this season? The air is delightfully brisk, as if it were alive, and the sky, when unadorned with clouds, is crisp and clear. And, best of all, everywhere you look there are signs of Christmas.

About three weeks ago I wasn't thinking about Christmas at all. I was thinking of papers and thanksgiving, but only in a back-of-the-mind sort of way. What really filled my every thought was theatre. Specifically the Barter Theater. I have been developing a love of theatre ever since I went to New York and saw The Phantom of the Opera on Broadway. There's something intoxicating about live performance. Since then I've been able to enjoy some well done college productions. In fact, the night before I left for Abingdon VA, where the Barter Theatre is located, I was able to enjoy Jane Eyre: A Musical. Having just completed reading the novel the week before, I found this adaptation amusing in some parts, but nonetheless spectacular.

But what about Barter? The Barter theatre has a really cool history, which my group and I found out on our tour. It was started by actor Robert Porterfield during the Great Depression. Since there was no money in New York, the usual home for stage folk, and more food than money in the country, the enterprising Portefield came down with a bunch of his friends and they proceeded to barter their acting skills. Thirty-five cents worth of food would buy you a ticket, and people from all over would come with their pails of milk, corn, and baby pigs. Now days the Barter theatre takes paper money and credit, but not livestock. They also have two stages, a gift shop, and an old collapsed tunnel in their basement that is supposed to be haunted.

We got to see three shows while we were there: Frankenstein, Tom Sawyer, and Heaven Sent. I had read Frankenstein back in October, and Heaven Sent was an adaptation of Silas Marner, which I read during the summer, but to my continual embarrassment I have yet to read Tom Sawyer. That didn't effect the performance though, the plays were all amazing in different ways, though my group like Heaven Sent best of all.

Frankenstein had some impressive child actors. At one point the monster throws a little boy off the rocky mountain prop onto a thick, blue fall mat, marked with a huge white X. It's a height of about sixteen feet, and the cushion is, of course, hidden from the audience. I had seen it on our tour backstage, but oh! The thrill that went through my heart when I saw that child slice through the air. Another cool aspect of this show was the stage. There were numerous tracks on the floor so that different props, like doors and beds, could slide on and off stage easily.

Tom Sawyer had so much energy. It was preformed by six adults, but it featured over ten characters, a troublesome bit of math on paper but not at all a problem for Barter. Most of their plays feature few actors playing several parts. Tom Sawyer was performed on the second "stage," though this was more like a floor, with the seats rising up around it. I rather wish I could have gone with my younger siblings, I think they would have enjoyed the wonderful creativity of it.

Heaven Sent, though, that was the cream of the crop. It was almost a musical, but not really. Set in Kentucky during the Great Depression, and therefore filled with the smartest period clothing (there are aspects of that era's style that I just love to pieces). It featured the most adorable little girl, and an equally endearing crotchety old man. It kept us in smiles, while sometimes wandering close to tears, and I wouldn't mind watching it again.

The whole trip was enjoyable. Abingdon is a beautiful little town, amid equally beautiful rolling green hills. If you're you're ever traveling through Virginia and find yourself with an extra day or two do yourself a favor and check it out. Everyone's better with a little theatre.

Which puts me in mind of a book......

Of the last three Saturdays it has rained, to some extent, on two of them, which definitely makes me think of this story I once read. I can't quite remember if it was a L.M. Montgomery story or a Kate Douglas Wiggin story, but I suspect the latter. At least, I seem to remember it was the latter. At any rate, the fact that it usually rains on a Saturday, when added to the belief on the side of the weather men that it would rain whether it was a weekend or not, makes that one bright, if chilly, Saturday all that much more amazing – especially since there was a parade.

I might as well tell you now that I was in it, and that the float I helped out with belonged to the Victorian Society, and having said that there is nothing really left to add but that I was colder than I wished but warmer than I expected. I was in costume, of course, and my family surly will remember how much effort my dear mother put into the dream dress that I wore. A decidedly summer dress, for a most uncannily fall-like day. But all in all the parade was fun, I loved being in it: throwing candy at children, watching the looks on the girls' faces as they were presented with carnations, listening to the fiddle being played right beside me. And it was just as much fun preparing, with paints and papers, hot chocolate and tea, and wonderful examples of creativity springing forth from every quarter. I never knew so many crafty people to gather in one place, but there we were.

Maybe I will one day look back on this time and wonder at myself for passing over these monumental events with such a careless form of acknowledgment, but really, if I was to be every day journalizing the occurrences that leave a deep impression on my mind I would never leave off writing. Last night one of the girls in our little apartment chased a spider out of her room. It was the largest spider I have ever seen outside of a pet shop. It's body must've been bigger than a quarter, and it was so furry and quick. Ugh! I hate feeling squeamish a over a little thing like a bug, but this was no little bug. It was monstrous. A mutant, equally likely either to give us extraordinary powers or kill us with it's venom. It was too disgusting to capture on film, and too sneaky to let out of my sight while I looked for my camera. But believe this fish tale of mine, it was a whopper.