* * Celebrating our Tradition Keepers

We try to do some good things in our lives, things people will appreciate. Things that are win-win; they’re good for us, good for others. I’ve had a few moments like that in my life. But I can never recall doing anything that made SO many people SO happy as with my new project, Keepers of the Tradition.

Here’s how it came about.

In November 2013, I lost the only election I ever contested, a race for the Virginia House of Delegates. I have a dear friend, Leslie Roberts Gregg who was concerned about my possible letdown. Leslie is as thoughtful and empathic as anybody I’ve ever met, and she called to tell me she was concerned. She had called my wife to inquire about my mental state. Jane said, “He’s fine, but he needs a project.”

Thinking about it, she realized she’d long wanted to paint some of the area’s matriarchs and patriarchs. Ya see, she’s a professional portrait artist, and had made her living for a generation with commissioned works. Within 20 minutes we’d decided to work together on chronicling an assortment of these folks. The name generated spontaneously, as did a handful of potential subjects. From that seed, we reached a deal. We would track down people throughout the area and ask them to participate. We’d look for quilters, herbalists, luthiers, and moonshiners. I’d interview them and write their stories. Leslie would paint them. The “deliverables” would be a collection of portraits and a book that featured them. We hammered out the financial arrangements and got started, hoping we’d find enough receptive people. Oh, we did!

The first person we asked was Floyd County’s Jason Rutledge. Jason is a restorative forester – a nationally renowned silviculturalist who raises magnificent Suffolk Punch draft horses that he uses to drag cut tree trunks from the forest. We met at his barn on a wicked cold winter day in late December and got to work.

His story was fascinating, expertly told, with a surprising brilliance. I wrote up what I’d heard, sent it for his concurrence, and waited for Leslie’s portrait.

“Okay,” she said. “You can come see it.”

Not letting me see her work until finished, she drew a cover over his visage in pastels, and I was pleasantly flabbergasted! “When he sees this, he’ll wet his pants,” I quipped. It was a magnificent; far superior to any of her earlier work I’d ever seen. Jason’s image stared at me, a hand hanging languidly behind him to some tack hanging on a barn peg. The coloration was perfect, the face lighter and bolder than the background. I instantly realized that while my stories would be important, Leslie was the superstar.

On we went. We met Jimmie Price of Prices Fork whose family dates back to the mid-1700s. Jimmie told us about the family business that for 210 years carved buhrstone from the southern slope of Brush Mountain and chiseled it into millstones. Jimmie has taken it upon himself to keep that fascinating legacy alive.

Arthur Conner is a nonagenarian who taught himself how to make exquisite violins in his retirement years. A man with a 7^th grade education, he mastered the complex mathematics of turning pieces of wood into a priceless instruments.

Our efforts were reinforced by the words of appreciation we heard. Each person, in his or her own way, spoke about how pleased they were to be included.

My work took less time per person than Leslie’s. I was enthralled, motivated to have done twenty people, but Leslie was spending fifty to sixty hours per portrait. By the time we’d done eight or nine, she and I compromised on a dozen.

Jane and I had acquired Pocahontas Press when the founder died a few years earlier, and we decided to eschew the big publishing houses and publish Keepers of the Tradition ourselves. We found a printer, digitized the portraits, designed and typeset the book, and placed our order. Meanwhile, we scheduled the unveiling at the Alexander Black House in Blacksburg on April 26^th. We invited our “Keepers” and their friends. We hung, and then draped the portraits. The books arrived. Excitement built.

Bear in mind that none of them had seen their portrait. Each Keeper would see his or hers with everyone else.

The day came. I expected a big crowd, but NOTHING like what happened! One by one, I announced the names while Leslie worked with each Keeper to pull the drapes. Eyes moistened. Friends and family members hugged. When the last one was unveiled, I showed the book. People streamed to the sales table for their copy and brought them back to the Keepers for signatures.

Two weeks later, Leslie and I are still floating in the clouds, reveling in the appreciation of our Keepers. I hope never to come down.