tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34476049838269558452024-03-05T10:44:26.429-05:00GleaningsM. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-80061763453451030932012-12-19T23:14:00.003-05:002012-12-19T23:14:24.347-05:00Philip Cohen on Naming Trends<a href="http://www.theatlantic.com/sexes/archive/2012/12/why-dont-parents-name-their-daughters-mary-anymore/265881/">Philip Cohen Article on Name Trends</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Excerpt:<br />
<br />
"In the tradition of treating statistical trends as horse races, I
imagine that there is one person named Mary, who is constantly falling
behind: first behind Linda, then Lisa, Jennifer, Ashley, Jessica, and so
on, all the way to Isabella and now Sophia.<br />
But that's not how it happens—it just looks that way because of the
amazing regularity in human behavior, which produces an orderly
succession of names. Incredibly, out of 1.7 million girls' names
recorded by the SSA in 2011, I was able to predict to within 87 how many
would be named Mary. By simply taking the number born in 2010 and
subtracting the 5-year average decline, I predicted 2,584 would be born;
the actual number was 2,671 (an error of 3.3 percent).<br />
Somehow, out of the millions of individual decisions parents make, they produce steady trends like this." M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-44520743264556510062011-12-11T19:34:00.001-05:002011-12-11T19:34:59.058-05:00Near Okefenokee Swamp, July 2011<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHfjbxPjhYYM8B_uRtlyZern4zY0_LHbSW13ErxLJbfyMvROYRAGXZbua_lkPpr_-OOn2AKXVXzjzL7JhrxmYfu2fz2trwOK0eOn0h0AtpHc1Q9wMsoHHplN-01hLQN9rQZ_BPZFNEYDXq/s1600/Tree+near+Okefenokee+July+2011.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 290px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHfjbxPjhYYM8B_uRtlyZern4zY0_LHbSW13ErxLJbfyMvROYRAGXZbua_lkPpr_-OOn2AKXVXzjzL7JhrxmYfu2fz2trwOK0eOn0h0AtpHc1Q9wMsoHHplN-01hLQN9rQZ_BPZFNEYDXq/s320/Tree+near+Okefenokee+July+2011.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5685033790420556738" border="0" /></a>M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-87640290663998170612011-01-23T23:06:00.010-05:002013-08-27T00:46:08.176-04:00By the Numbers excerpt<br />
<br />
Say that I showed him heavily<br />
how I saw him<br />
from above: no wanderer but a map, unmoving<br />
though a man thinks he can hide in changes.<br />
<br />
-James Richardson, _By the Numbers_M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-13697223525261865072010-06-01T23:18:00.002-04:002010-06-01T23:21:38.781-04:00Angie Estes' poem Dark Spots<span id="poem"><p><a href="http://poems.com/poem.php?date=14762">Dark Spots</a></p><p><span id="poem">In the late nineteenth century, some photographers<br />claimed not only to capture images<br />of loved ones from beyond<br />the grave, but to be able to photograph memories<br />of the deceased, their auras still glowing<br />around the bereaved,<br />as if to capture light reflected off a body could preserve<br />that body over time as Beatrice explains<br />the presence of the dark<br />spots on the moon to Dante in <em>Paradiso</em>, how<br />the brightness of a celestial body<br />reveals the angelic<br />gladness that quickens the body, <em>letizia</em> that shines as joy<br />shines through an eye. <em>Visit Fort</em><br /><em>Courage—Take Pictures</em><br /><em>of the Past</em>, the billboards across Arizona advised,<br />and at the base of the mountain in<br />New Mexico, a note taped<br />to the gasoline pump read, <em>Hold tight to your money—the wind</em><br /><em>will carry it away</em>.</span> In the snapshot of<br />my grandmother in her<br />casket, wearing the Elizabethan collar and perm'd<br />curls she never wore, my mother<br />gazes through her<br />to a planet she always knew existed but which, without<br />the darkness, she could never see<br />before. They call<br />some bruises <em>shiners</em> like the violet stars of the Rose of Sharon<br />that come out in the morning and shine<br />all day in their leaf-black<br />shade, shade carved into the yard like fish scales covering<br />the sarcophagus in Sant'Apollinare in<br />Classe near Ravenna<br />or the stiff, veined hands of the sycamore stretched wide<br />in applause, the Italian gesture<br />of mourning.</p><p><br /></p><p>Poetry Daily poem of the day June 1, 2010<br /></p></span>M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-39150329355234237682010-03-24T00:47:00.001-04:002010-03-24T00:48:31.103-04:00Excerpt from The Summer Book, Tove Jansson.The family had long realized, without ever discussing it, that Eriksson didn't especially like fishing and hunting and motorboats. What he did like was harder to put your finger on, but perfectly understandable. His attention and his sudden wishes raced here and there across the water like ocean breezes, and he lived in a perpetual state of quiet excitement. The sea is always subject to unusual events; things drift in or run aground or shift in the night when the wind changes, and keeping track of all this takes experience, imagination, and unflagging watchfulness. It takes a good <span style="font-style: italic;">nose</span>, to put it simply. The big events always take place far out in the skerries, and time is often of the essence. Only small things happen in among the islands, but these, too---the odd jobs that arise from the summer people---have to be dealt with. One of them wants a ship's mast mounted on his roof, and another one needs a rock weighing half a ton, and it has to be round. A person can find anything if he takes the time, that is, if he can afford to look. And while he's looking, he's free, and he finds things he never expected. Sometimes people are very predictable: they want a kitten in June, for example, and come the first of September they want someone to drown their cat. So someone does. But other times, people have dreams and want things they can keep.<br /><br />Erikkson was the man who fulfilled these dreams. No one knew exactly what he found for himself along the way---probably a lot less than people thought. But he went on doing it anyway, perhaps for the sake of the search.<br /><br />from The Summer Book, Tove Jansson,<br /><br />Translated from the Swedish by Thomas Teal.M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-44038436720577123562010-01-10T21:38:00.004-05:002010-01-10T21:43:36.046-05:00The future enters into us<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi81KCyG-70sXgz7lgOZJ2aZxNg1GU_YOQaDrTY-TCh2yfhUCrApvQa37Bp9DtnQhXcrKWxjkj7sZV2cIlxxth2CpzO1GZ2VNpjuniEbaRVpPoVoWr1SKC6d9qAt24av7hsTTXGjjonsOJe/s1600-h/likeyouEmmet-Gowin2_PaceMacGill_09.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 317px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi81KCyG-70sXgz7lgOZJ2aZxNg1GU_YOQaDrTY-TCh2yfhUCrApvQa37Bp9DtnQhXcrKWxjkj7sZV2cIlxxth2CpzO1GZ2VNpjuniEbaRVpPoVoWr1SKC6d9qAt24av7hsTTXGjjonsOJe/s320/likeyouEmmet-Gowin2_PaceMacGill_09.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425306859848655794" border="0" /></a><br />Ruth, Danville, Virginia, 1968<br />photographer: <a href="http://www.bombsite.com/issues/58/articles/2012">Emmet Gowin</a><br /><br /><br />The future enters into us, in order to transform itself in us, long before it happens.<br />-Rainer Maria Rilke in Letters to a Young PoetM. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-25378333438616547122009-12-20T19:42:00.002-05:002009-12-20T19:46:40.426-05:00excerpt from "Finding Her" by Brenda HillmanListen. You don't have to do anything.<br />The raccoon is in the garbage can, selecting an eggshell;<br />there's a patch of moonlight<br />on the rug. Get up, stand in it, be seen through---<br /><br />And out in the night<br />where the ragged patches converge:<br /><br />everything that lets go<br />still has its memory of attachment<br />and that which refused to let go<br />still has its uses---<br /><br />excerpt from "Finding Her" by Brenda Hillman, from _Death Tractates_.<br />Wesleyan University Press. 1992.M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-26447351540824676462009-12-19T18:11:00.003-05:002009-12-19T19:06:10.436-05:00Susie and Bill/ 1968<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8xPcuxv5HCiG8COgVtVcoWcwH-nnNKj5Pt1XLRj_XmqW2xjV4LOuDoYMSLOZCSJs9VgE_oyDs6E8i_PKo-oUPBub4dmioQvnlWoRImiX795-gDsWhGZncSFZexXY_2Xun7YhpapWS2Y3S/s1600-h/1968.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8xPcuxv5HCiG8COgVtVcoWcwH-nnNKj5Pt1XLRj_XmqW2xjV4LOuDoYMSLOZCSJs9VgE_oyDs6E8i_PKo-oUPBub4dmioQvnlWoRImiX795-gDsWhGZncSFZexXY_2Xun7YhpapWS2Y3S/s320/1968.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417102858856074338" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTjdBjv_GZZb8VPmUIn-gqGmkI7BS7d23RkdbpTiwOhwnI3VSslDAPxC9ubVcava-46bdTLqp0kyu37_B7PATuRSxlxO31Y_coJTTSU5fw5caEh0k1OCPfBWxwVHqDKLkI_BXu9TcBppZx/s1600-h/Susie+and+Bill.+1968.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 318px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTjdBjv_GZZb8VPmUIn-gqGmkI7BS7d23RkdbpTiwOhwnI3VSslDAPxC9ubVcava-46bdTLqp0kyu37_B7PATuRSxlxO31Y_coJTTSU5fw5caEh0k1OCPfBWxwVHqDKLkI_BXu9TcBppZx/s320/Susie+and+Bill.+1968.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417089197525833634" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik7vVRuZHQjOhtaycgw_HAApEtmFHt7QGxCUTAweBQyFdP3TsuIdiRHcHhQiKwwgEINUuhVPLbzl7PmU_-_PYygbg7j_T1YqFKPF5300WKEggiIRQ9C8-RAhTkAjF1hwkiISB7jYnhhaf3/s1600-h/Susie+and+Bill.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 245px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik7vVRuZHQjOhtaycgw_HAApEtmFHt7QGxCUTAweBQyFdP3TsuIdiRHcHhQiKwwgEINUuhVPLbzl7PmU_-_PYygbg7j_T1YqFKPF5300WKEggiIRQ9C8-RAhTkAjF1hwkiISB7jYnhhaf3/s320/Susie+and+Bill.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417089313941672130" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />From Jimmy's collection of found photographs.M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-24499418508722644762009-11-27T23:19:00.001-05:002009-11-27T23:20:25.863-05:00The parted water reunites behind our hand.The parted water reunites behind our hand. Pleasure is taken out of pleasant things, profit out of profitable things, power out of strong things, the moment we seek to separate them from the whole. We can no more halve things and get the sensual good, by itself, than we can get an inside that shall have no outside, or a light without a shadow. "Drive out nature with a fork, she comes running back."<br /><br />Ralph Waldo Emerson, from "Compensation"M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-4446311209752039842009-08-26T21:53:00.002-04:002009-08-26T21:56:07.689-04:00Carl Martin Photography<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCGrECEqhS7PfUq6Nfxe_rzFP9PdjC5e7eBYq0ef-fMuyO7vfyXNFrXAwlTfn0jJgJSgmwLlMoamXVrTcboAKjvNR-1R8MVoLKJhm_rxFcvyL9j0EOQLsrczQ6Ouhv-xegLEqRAqq96jHJ/s1600-h/19.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCGrECEqhS7PfUq6Nfxe_rzFP9PdjC5e7eBYq0ef-fMuyO7vfyXNFrXAwlTfn0jJgJSgmwLlMoamXVrTcboAKjvNR-1R8MVoLKJhm_rxFcvyL9j0EOQLsrczQ6Ouhv-xegLEqRAqq96jHJ/s320/19.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374456290800336610" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRs7bMK-ka6zabq9su1A_BjStG8zQNTkdaui3WcTHz7TV0TlLLKvOsD2mEklpZUMI9sgqcJgWWTCDwrmJqPF4zDxnSSAwSRBZc95HsWw7gl0saeJDC29G4U6c6vr4QhIRDRxUsMi6ugrqH/s1600-h/14.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRs7bMK-ka6zabq9su1A_BjStG8zQNTkdaui3WcTHz7TV0TlLLKvOsD2mEklpZUMI9sgqcJgWWTCDwrmJqPF4zDxnSSAwSRBZc95HsWw7gl0saeJDC29G4U6c6vr4QhIRDRxUsMi6ugrqH/s320/14.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374456095410675234" border="0" /></a><a href="http://carlmartinart.com/">Carl Martin's Photographs</a>M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-50134973464702094802009-07-16T21:53:00.002-04:002009-07-16T22:01:08.890-04:00Eula Biss, Notes from No Man's LandI'm midway through this book and am really liking it.<br /><br />You can hear Biss read the book's first essay <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VS-CsfHHYb8">here</a>.M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-51689892644841806052009-06-29T20:20:00.003-04:002009-06-29T20:26:29.104-04:00Sitting With Paintings<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgugMXdaJNfRmrE3d4-GduANCrSIT5N1QoLpBJt7DpQHdjr6U-gtfSB4hUc-nUtve9l3nZBerz18exYHsmRefgYrmXpLXQqEi4RDrsTiYxHyejv9aBadtnelZNePanFH2mdyR9pD02oyA-H/s1600-h/New_Tretyakov_Gallery_2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 221px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgugMXdaJNfRmrE3d4-GduANCrSIT5N1QoLpBJt7DpQHdjr6U-gtfSB4hUc-nUtve9l3nZBerz18exYHsmRefgYrmXpLXQqEi4RDrsTiYxHyejv9aBadtnelZNePanFH2mdyR9pD02oyA-H/s320/New_Tretyakov_Gallery_2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5352910358668570130" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.andyfreebergphotoart.com/guardians.html">Photographs by Andy Freeberg</a>M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-5606369677352678922009-06-14T21:04:00.007-04:002009-06-14T21:11:30.627-04:00Judy Linn Photographs<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9mqqVIEoGzISSc0wWeA7a3_Ga4K8LZfHJyZgKAdNI2VJD5MS_JnOl1eHJ7tKLQrxAdiY1DzqrAOVyTTJr3s7qfpnCzreTgPP-wh26rqvRiRj07u9eKPT8xnv58Ze2GXeLrGFXiMS6MXOh/s1600-h/jlf0601L.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 258px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9mqqVIEoGzISSc0wWeA7a3_Ga4K8LZfHJyZgKAdNI2VJD5MS_JnOl1eHJ7tKLQrxAdiY1DzqrAOVyTTJr3s7qfpnCzreTgPP-wh26rqvRiRj07u9eKPT8xnv58Ze2GXeLrGFXiMS6MXOh/s320/jlf0601L.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347354834824426258" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://www.featureinc.com/artist_pages/linn_artistpg.html">More images by Linn here. </a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1fKyXs1OkYep8I16CZny5aZ3b7z9Q5GaNY6mX0taZAoKU381oFqPjs05jyqFhNRvzmtwlHbBGiK18Cvn8UcFZ8boDpTbz3-J8mWVD7x2nwCdWdz_nri1bI8qMMeNj3JUY0CPFQypsSnyl/s1600-h/jlf0601s.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 1px; height: 1px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1fKyXs1OkYep8I16CZny5aZ3b7z9Q5GaNY6mX0taZAoKU381oFqPjs05jyqFhNRvzmtwlHbBGiK18Cvn8UcFZ8boDpTbz3-J8mWVD7x2nwCdWdz_nri1bI8qMMeNj3JUY0CPFQypsSnyl/s400/jlf0601s.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347354479765757346" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmK25l3r_brpr1vYPIqSDfTsvz5qSo3piDVMbBftoPqJAdRmsTYXrpvk0Cdb-ALfFpOhWILlv6bAqqoMthEL_dAWDkhoWg8D9fLla2Ba90arVmjvaUG4JjKlRJqN5HAt6eMVni_QMEPfQh/s1600-h/jlf0306-L.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 263px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmK25l3r_brpr1vYPIqSDfTsvz5qSo3piDVMbBftoPqJAdRmsTYXrpvk0Cdb-ALfFpOhWILlv6bAqqoMthEL_dAWDkhoWg8D9fLla2Ba90arVmjvaUG4JjKlRJqN5HAt6eMVni_QMEPfQh/s400/jlf0306-L.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347354160469949634" border="0" /></a>M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-13158153641816104622009-06-12T19:56:00.003-04:002009-06-12T20:04:19.005-04:00Portable Gardens for Vacant Lots<a href="http://www.sltrib.com/news/ci_12387291">Salt Lake City Wasatch Gardens project</a><br /><br /><span id="slt_site"><span id="slt_article">"....The relatively new concept takes a vacant lot, in this case a 0.2-acre site owned by the Redevelopment Agency of Salt Lake City, and transforms it into a temporary community garden through the use of 36 4-foot by 16-foot boxes of soil. Neighborhood gardeners rent the plots for $25 a year, which includes water."<br /><br />Article By Tom Wharton for <span style="font-style: italic;">The Salt Lake Tribune</span><br /><br /><br /></span></span>M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-14459227356068449922009-06-12T02:57:00.001-04:002009-06-12T03:02:12.185-04:00Mars Hill Beauty Shop<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPT31D2Ytfq8kCOqlpKuPbDuVbxGKjDJLY9GuBv3SHZSWsyU6gfQRA0PNNsKjqU7NimARd2Qsf3HfAUb1jik0ymdSlRMs883AmLZhlczGM6HdD_-C2Om31nZi_H9k6e3dpmF0jmd-PQbS1/s1600-h/Mars+Hill+Beauty+Shop.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 305px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPT31D2Ytfq8kCOqlpKuPbDuVbxGKjDJLY9GuBv3SHZSWsyU6gfQRA0PNNsKjqU7NimARd2Qsf3HfAUb1jik0ymdSlRMs883AmLZhlczGM6HdD_-C2Om31nZi_H9k6e3dpmF0jmd-PQbS1/s320/Mars+Hill+Beauty+Shop.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346331987744374130" border="0" /></a> May 2009, Mars Hill, NCM. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-34631359171437009362009-05-05T21:51:00.001-04:002009-05-05T21:52:59.826-04:00Twins on a Boat<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBXCjENLmg2-y7p8WYz_YFsw0zXNiY1OHekFQWQAohqc18Uc0Ls3fXT-lVlcu6N8Hpcz1-J1z0zr_Go52Qgx2HgtXUIyHPlMHqic9-ofXshYhi-mDJHG9EH8Da4VRiWwO2q1jRs2i0Io4g/s1600-h/twins+on+boat.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 166px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBXCjENLmg2-y7p8WYz_YFsw0zXNiY1OHekFQWQAohqc18Uc0Ls3fXT-lVlcu6N8Hpcz1-J1z0zr_Go52Qgx2HgtXUIyHPlMHqic9-ofXshYhi-mDJHG9EH8Da4VRiWwO2q1jRs2i0Io4g/s320/twins+on+boat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332522990959531730" border="0" /></a>M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-48864726505179863492009-05-01T20:17:00.004-04:002009-06-12T20:08:56.246-04:001402<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPauCXk68hmyfhQoCnBKUhgGouUd2tTM0CDEpik8u8o21GaPqzRZbWfI3VNBcUB5-if6izCGDDPIfQaWs8j94Jv8sUMUAU-30ThQUgmQfHz8_e6yZNkKkHj6Bf4trsd_pUWfpy_zYaK0fF/s1600-h/Photo+29.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPauCXk68hmyfhQoCnBKUhgGouUd2tTM0CDEpik8u8o21GaPqzRZbWfI3VNBcUB5-if6izCGDDPIfQaWs8j94Jv8sUMUAU-30ThQUgmQfHz8_e6yZNkKkHj6Bf4trsd_pUWfpy_zYaK0fF/s320/Photo+29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331014933320184098" border="0" /></a><br />Architect David Adjaye in March 2008 issue of <a href="http://www.dwell.com/">Dwell</a>: "As cities grow, and as the experience of urbanism becomes overwhelming or intoxicating, I think the notion of the domestic retreat becomes more and more important."M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-46765463926403567322009-03-20T21:45:00.002-04:002009-03-20T21:49:20.287-04:00farmhouse near Byromville, GA<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK9Kf9zql4-VYn859hylwotWTo0lrUhozczP8GiaDjfs7OiLL9XggdsNN5Doz_VB_oyeIv59BDRPVY9ZULeEMI7scYXuUSHGnprS5a5pajnocynGGwjXDuOMwMAWn8o7Cp6KQv5OL_894a/s1600-h/window+and+curtain+Byromville,+GA.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 294px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK9Kf9zql4-VYn859hylwotWTo0lrUhozczP8GiaDjfs7OiLL9XggdsNN5Doz_VB_oyeIv59BDRPVY9ZULeEMI7scYXuUSHGnprS5a5pajnocynGGwjXDuOMwMAWn8o7Cp6KQv5OL_894a/s320/window+and+curtain+Byromville,+GA.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5315451706578779618" border="0" /></a>M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-66112000092525778792009-03-08T16:52:00.004-04:002013-08-27T00:50:49.878-04:00near Blvd Dr and Ralph McGill Blvd<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAcvJs7zZ0jHPi24yKhdOb8hGGSaXW0NEIAzkr3yVZMA3QWdAmH_RWhjvR6sud4PVebagUFcCioxnZ5bszmZK-l89fWuMMxhOCHchs5kysAur44U_tkJ1sSJSG2Of8RgNupRxWmCOOFNBo/s1600-h/Stuffed+Animals.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310922941108252258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAcvJs7zZ0jHPi24yKhdOb8hGGSaXW0NEIAzkr3yVZMA3QWdAmH_RWhjvR6sud4PVebagUFcCioxnZ5bszmZK-l89fWuMMxhOCHchs5kysAur44U_tkJ1sSJSG2Of8RgNupRxWmCOOFNBo/s320/Stuffed+Animals.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 210px;" /></a><br />
<br />M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-12808753929490144672009-03-01T15:18:00.004-05:002013-08-27T00:44:25.968-04:00Dec 60<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMYbfGYsCJB-rrr7k86kzM74LoWrp3AoqQxdXtPahljr2wT2TBUo3Eo97wC-Zx6zq1g_zo8dNTeZzVsxEfwycnU-ShIX3RloKiAXsq5t9ychGXXX1wm92DNvAbQe08mUHAD9IhxKyd7oW7/s1600-h/reverse+Chinatown.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308317312354755170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMYbfGYsCJB-rrr7k86kzM74LoWrp3AoqQxdXtPahljr2wT2TBUo3Eo97wC-Zx6zq1g_zo8dNTeZzVsxEfwycnU-ShIX3RloKiAXsq5t9ychGXXX1wm92DNvAbQe08mUHAD9IhxKyd7oW7/s400/reverse+Chinatown.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 378px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-L8V1EaOBvUJMRXPiTreGepM-l4SQ6Q8OWA6fKhtOb5V4hdVvP702KPy6LxP-Iq3qVOxBTBRmZP_jFW6-FY0AcS_WX4RjSTOk7szgzlWvpVstFZoMR455v2R2v20Gksha3wscQ2VZb3o-/s1600-h/Chinatown+New+York+1960.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308317305742117090" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-L8V1EaOBvUJMRXPiTreGepM-l4SQ6Q8OWA6fKhtOb5V4hdVvP702KPy6LxP-Iq3qVOxBTBRmZP_jFW6-FY0AcS_WX4RjSTOk7szgzlWvpVstFZoMR455v2R2v20Gksha3wscQ2VZb3o-/s400/Chinatown+New+York+1960.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 374px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<br />M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-87561410067670595302009-02-01T22:20:00.010-05:002012-06-25T08:27:04.107-04:00old namesI've been spending a lot of time lately squinting at PDFs of old US census data, especially from 1920 and 1930. I'm doing research for an essay, but I get sidetracked by jumping from name to name...so many of them rarities now. Exie, Euna, the surname Necessary, Izola, Versie, Dolphus, Argant, Octavia, Pleamon, Rodie, Otulkie, Nomy, Leety, Mancy, Cassian, Eleazor, Viga, Willaby, Lilla, Neddie.<br />
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Also interesting are the community names---many of them seem to have fallen out of use. I've learned that in the early to mid 1900s many people in Clinch County, GA had my maternal grandfather's surname, especially in a place called Mud Creek. I don't know what scale this name matched up to: neighborhood, unincorporated town, or a sort of landmark.<br />
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It makes me wish more places still had names that described the surroundings---that we still made a point of really looking around and identifying a place by its features: like meeting a new person, learning a new face. Towns named after creeks or rocks and springs, for instance. There are so many places named Fairview and Midway, but how to know what that fair view looked like, and midway to where, now. Mixed in with the call-it-as-you-see-it community and town names are ones that seem tied to stories or incidents: I'm looking at Bandana, Faust and Day Book, NC right now on a Google map.<br />
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I'm also wondering what's the latest on Georgia's decision to pull many unincorporated towns off of the DOT maps, for the sake of legibility.<br />
<a href="http://www.csmonitor.com/2006/1220/p03s03-ussc.html">http://www.csmonitor.com/2006/1220/p03s03-ussc.html</a><br />
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A later headline said that uninc. towns with zipcodes would be restored, but I don't know what's happened since or how many of the almost-500 would be reinstated by zip.<br />
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It seems that now, so often places (prime example: subdivisions and housing developments) are named to elicit some kind of impression without having anything physical that actually makes an impression. "Impression"---the material sense: there is a depth that presses into something and leaves a dent. That brings Eliz. Bishop's ending of The Imaginary Iceberg to mind:<br />
<span name="KonaFilter"><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%;"> <span style="color: black; font-family: times new roman;"><br />Icebergs behoove the soul</span> <span style="color: black; font-family: times new roman;">(both being self-made from elements least visible) </span> <span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;"><br />to see them so: fleshed, fair, erected indivisible.</span></span></span></span><span name="KonaFilter"><span style="color: maroon; font-family: Arial; font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2QyU_psq9NMbFLv42ekXMHxU57ZRKDJFVRd7-v-GsIUfu4r7Aqd_l5qHPvgnHm1uKrNO7r9eh4k8Qg4ognkagdfYgxMmlx7MOreA1-aum-jiqjaO5Yi9Gv9q74lqfLamUACH7Y-lcMTlg/s1600-h/Foxtown.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5298049609169543634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2QyU_psq9NMbFLv42ekXMHxU57ZRKDJFVRd7-v-GsIUfu4r7Aqd_l5qHPvgnHm1uKrNO7r9eh4k8Qg4ognkagdfYgxMmlx7MOreA1-aum-jiqjaO5Yi9Gv9q74lqfLamUACH7Y-lcMTlg/s400/Foxtown.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 300px; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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Foxtown image found here: <a href="http://fcit.usf.edu/florida/maps/local/polk/Foxtown.htm">fcit.usf.edu/florida/maps/local/polk/Foxtown.htm</a>M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-67410202264256651672009-01-24T13:05:00.002-05:002009-01-24T13:07:08.363-05:00Notice Tree<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7lmJFuEp9tXK7n9xyQfzWKQSWSvkNn7bgqt45U97sPaSHshkq1hOLrVeJvHNgLMUDrIXEX89cToF2hLz0NcwlYi0szL2qJF3hZGEHaWswnmxay0ENl_Ej4deWJS9PKuqEedWGWUAVM-eF/s1600-h/notice+tree+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7lmJFuEp9tXK7n9xyQfzWKQSWSvkNn7bgqt45U97sPaSHshkq1hOLrVeJvHNgLMUDrIXEX89cToF2hLz0NcwlYi0szL2qJF3hZGEHaWswnmxay0ENl_Ej4deWJS9PKuqEedWGWUAVM-eF/s400/notice+tree+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294923326733892306" border="0" /></a><br />Taken a while ago on or just off of Huff Road in Atlanta.M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-62287713714654527912009-01-10T18:05:00.006-05:002013-08-27T00:51:29.257-04:00Century Plant Bloom<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFMpv2pp3OlgnZC5flNgyHRHxwHjpWjJ0NwxmhwHqyj6nZYUkHWeyYUXAR1058ZCz3s_oaBxQ44lzs1-2yZ-Z791-n3aiQ0-m_tH-iiaBLa4Aq38llqJ0pW9sw03hqOFY3cKAGFBirEkG7/s1600-h/cent.plant.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289806469200965378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFMpv2pp3OlgnZC5flNgyHRHxwHjpWjJ0NwxmhwHqyj6nZYUkHWeyYUXAR1058ZCz3s_oaBxQ44lzs1-2yZ-Z791-n3aiQ0-m_tH-iiaBLa4Aq38llqJ0pW9sw03hqOFY3cKAGFBirEkG7/s400/cent.plant.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 369px;" /></a><br />
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This was taken in Mystic, Georgia in late December, 2008.M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3447604983826955845.post-69091016208831656322009-01-03T20:30:00.002-05:002009-01-03T20:34:27.569-05:00Photograph 1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Puon5xiYOGI7_E0KI2rjZQ_qMuxKR78hgEOn6L5nk6VMS-i6CWI_8Z0ujNv97NmslRZ1oQNr7Hw6Ei4LOcbKeHZgl12piTpZIrq1KNwoAtSgsUutpfCMApgjvd6zoKQocPCMg-U91dYm/s1600-h/pigeon01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 294px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Puon5xiYOGI7_E0KI2rjZQ_qMuxKR78hgEOn6L5nk6VMS-i6CWI_8Z0ujNv97NmslRZ1oQNr7Hw6Ei4LOcbKeHZgl12piTpZIrq1KNwoAtSgsUutpfCMApgjvd6zoKQocPCMg-U91dYm/s320/pigeon01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287245689079397730" border="0" /></a><br />A pigeon, yes? No date or note on reverse.M. Harperhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10042684956262672006noreply@blogger.com0