text:
A Moment to Arise
Coast Lines - July 2019
After fifty years of adoration, a Paul McCartney fan shares an intimate moment with him - along with 18,000 other fans.
- story by Ellis Anderson
Paul McCartney leads the crowd of 18,000 fans in a sing-along in a New Orleans performance, May 23, 2019. Photo by Ellis Anderson
The song "Blackbird" hadn't even been written when I fell in love with Paul McCartney.
The year he performed with the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan show, I was only seven. My memories of the night start with the ride home from the Sunday evening church service.
The preacher had gone long that evening, perhaps attempting to foil members who planned to watch the Beatles when they made their first appearance on American television. The sermon probably included scriptures condemning men for wearing long hair and young women who incited lust by dancing.
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While my dad was a church elder, he was a lively 42 years old in 1964 and possessed an extremely curious nature - and a love of puns. The band's name caught his fancy as much as their advanced press. I could tell he was looking forward to seeing the Beatles as much as me and my older sister, Diane. My family didn't live very far from the church, but Daddy drove faster than usual. He turned on our clunky console set as soon as we got in the front door.
My family in 1961, a few years before becoming one of 23 million American households who watched the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan show.
My mom served us all pound cake and milk before settling on the sofa next to Daddy. Hailing from deep Appalachia, she generally viewed any new trend like the Beatles with suspicion; if something was fun it was likely to be an instrument of Satan. Like rock n' roll. And mini-skirts.
On the other hand, she felt a great fondness for Elvis. One of the Jordanaires who backed up Elvis was Ray Walker and Ray was a leading member of our denomination. That fact completely offset Elvis's devilish hip-swiveling routines.
Mom was sure Ray would convert Elvis any day now. She could just tell by Elvis's rendition of "You'll Never Walk Alone" that he'd eventually choose the straight and narrow path – ours. The one where any dancing at all was a sin.
Diane, seven years older than me and an actual teenager, possessed reams of Beatles knowledge she reeled off while we waited for the show to start. John was married with a son while the rest were single. There'd been an earlier drummer before Ringo, Pete Best. By the way, Ringo's real name was Richard Starkey.
She and I nested on the floor right in front of the TV, ignoring our mom's warning that the radiation would zap us blind if we sat that close. At the time, no one realized I was already legally blind. From sofa distance, all I could see on the TV screen were grey blobs moving around.
I thought the world was blurry for everyone, and that while the extra radiation made things clearer on TV when I sat close, it was a dangerous habit. That night, the risk seemed worth a lifetime of darkness.
When the Beatles began playing against a backdrop of shrill screams, the bright sounds that flooded my ears were unlike any I'd heard before. The supremely simple songs weren't overwrought with croons and warbles and horns and back-up singers.
Yet the music kicked up its heels, unlike the time-worn tunes by the forlorn folk singers I admired. The four cute boys on stage wearing preppy suits and jumbo-bowl haircuts performed their songs with unpretentious energy and merry spirits. I sat mesmerized, wanting the music never to end.
The Ed Sullivan Show First Appearance of The Beatles in video on Jukebox[4] from Zip Code on Vimeo.
My sister helped make that happen. She used some of her baby-sitting money the following week to buy the Brits' first album, "Meet the Beatles."
Passion overtook me one afternoon while I listened to the album alone, mooning over the stark blue tinted faces on the cover. I circled the handsome head of my beloved and wrote – in ballpoint pen – "I Love You, Paul!"
Diane was apoplectic when she saw it a few days later.
"You idiot!" she screamed. "You not only ruined the album cover, you wrote on John's picture!"
She was right. I'd gotten the two singers confused. My embarrassment lasted until the album was lost in a move decades later.
"I haven't forgotten," Diane says now when I remind her of the incident. "But I have forgiven you."
There's a little edge in her voice that makes me wonder.
After the album cover incident, Diane's attraction to the Beatles faded. Her devotion to Elvis redoubled as his acting career soared. So my sister never learned of more serious damage to her album. Since my school let out hours before hers, I'd spend afternoons quietly playing the album in her room on her portable record player.
Over and over and over.
I learned the words to every song.
While I adored the songs, there was a greater purpose to my memorization. Somehow, at some point in the future when I was an actual woman, Paul and I would have a chance meeting. The details were fuzzy in my fantasy, but he'd invite me to sing with him. Our voices would harmonize perfectly on every tune, our tones becoming twins. His heart would instantly be mine forever. That was my destiny. I just knew it.
But by the time I'd learned all the songs, word for word, deep grooves in the vinyl distorted the sound. The crackle and hiss of scratches marred those clear, dear voices.
I repeated the same crime 15 years later.
The original version of "Blackbird." This video gets really interesting around 1:18
As a college student learning to play the song "Blackbird" in my little studio apartment in Nashville, I played the White Album song repeatedly. After finding one of the fingerings on the neck of my guitar, I'd put it aside, stand up and go to the record player, pick up the stylus and move it back. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
Forty years later, the price of a new album seems a small price to have paid for learning the song that's brought me so much joy, so many times. With that mysterious musicians' alchemy, my hands seem to have brains of their own when I play it. They move independently, without conscious direction from me.
Sometimes I watch as if they're someone else's hands. The left hand scoots up and down the guitar's fretboard, putting pressure on this string and that, while the right hand plucks the proper strings at a precise moment needed to create Blackbird's melody. How do they do that?
I don't know. Playing an instrument eventually becomes a miraculous process that by-passes the ego, connecting the player's soul directly to a universal power. I believe all musicians feel this. It gives us a joy like no other. It's the reason we're always encouraging kids to take up an instrument.
Paul and I never did meet and Linda snatched him up before I made it out of middle school. The only time we've been in the same room – if you can call it that – is when he played in New Orleans this May.
A nosebleed seat turned out to be a great advantage, giving me a stupendous overview of the event. We didn't need front row seats to catch the good will the former Beatle radiated.
And I finally got my invitation to harmonize with Paul. Along with 18,000 other people, I lifted my voice as he led us all in song. I hadn't been the only one wearing out the albums. We all knew the words. The intensity of the show wrung tears from my friend and me several times. Glancing around, I saw tissues dabbing at eyes everywhere.
And then Paul played Blackbird.
Alone on a darkened stage, he fingered the acoustic guitar with utmost confidence. He knew the brains in his hands were not going to falter. I struggled not to sob because it'd shake my own hands that held a phone, capturing the moment for me. Crisp and pure, each perfect chording became a sweet spear that pierced my heart.
When Paul finished the song and the roars had died back, he asked the audience, "How many of you tried to learn how to play Blackbird?"
A surprising number of hands shot up all across the stadium. Maybe one in ten.
Paul laughed. "And you never got it quite right, did you?" he asked.
We all laughed with him. It was true. Even though I'd worn out a record learning, I had caught a few notes in the songwriter's performance that differed from my own version.
But "Blackbird" is not a song about perfection. It tells of having broken wings and still being able to fly.
Dedicated to Jeannette Bolte, who made the experience possible (and was the perfect concert companion), and to Bill Morrison, who sacrificed his own concert ticket to me in the interest of journalism!
Robot in the Room
Coast Lines - April 2019
A roving robot named after an English butler becomes a beloved new pet, despite the skepticism of the family dogs.
Former Alpha dog Jace challenges the new Alpha in the pack.
My husband and I have adopted a new pet, but this one sucks up dog hair instead of shedding it.
And although the creature is battery-operated and possesses no snuggling attributes, our Roomba has already made himself a beloved and indispensable part of our household.
In case you're wondering why our Roomba is a male:
I grew up hearing that old adage, "women's work is never done." That was certainly true in my own 1960s childhood.
My mom was the perfect example. Since my bedroom was next to the kitchen, I'd go to sleep hearing her pack our lunches for the next day, or stitching away at her sewing machine.
When Mom knocked on my door at 6am to wake me for school, I'd smell the coffee she'd already brewed, and the bacon crisping in her favorite cast iron pan. She'd have already set the table for Dad and me.
On chilly winter mornings, my mother urged me to stand in front of the den fireplace to warm up; the split logs would be already glowing since she'd made the fire an hour before.
Mom saved the noisier task of vacuuming for afternoons. Back then, vacuum cleaners had the decibel level of a bull-dozer and weighed about as much too. My five-foot tall mother would drag the behemoth into a room and wrestle with it, contorting herself in attempts to force the attachments beneath beds and behind furniture.
Of course, my dad pitched in around the house too, but he mostly took care of the more interesting outdoor tasks. Edging the sidewalk or taking out the garbage could turn into a real adventure if you spotted a raccoon or possum. So when pressed into labor, I generally tried to land the outside assignments.
If that ploy wasn't successful, I would even offer to scrub the bathroom to avoid vacuuming, I hated the big Blue Beast. The infernal monster hurt my ears and spewed dust if you accidently sucked up a sock. The attachments never attached properly, so they'd fly off, at times causing bodily harm.
Scarred by her own childhood experiences with the Blue Beast, my older sister, always a meticulous housekeeper, has also detested vacuuming her entire adult life.
A few years ago, my sister became the first person in my circle to recommend a robot vac. She claimed it randomly scooted around the room without any human direction whatsoever, minding its manners and doing an excellent job. I was skeptical. How could a round thing clean corners?
Her son, a musician who dotes on his cats, later gave an even stronger endorsement: "I think the floor's already clean, but when I empty my Roomba, I can't believe all the cat hair it still managed to pick up."
This made a bigger impression. We own two dogs and one of them, Sherman, a white German Shedder, produces great snowdrifts of hair year-round. Still, the price tag of the new-fangled vacuum kept me pushing my conventional upright around – but only when the drifts - and the guilt - piled up.
A gift card and a Black Friday sale convinced me to take the plunge finally. I brought new Roomba home and set it loose in my living room. Within ten minutes, a flashing light warned me that its container was filled. Although I'd cleaned the room with the upright a few days before, in the space of an hour I had to empty the Roomba's dust bin two more times.
The pint-sized robot came with its own app, which I loaded onto my phone. The app asked me to name the vacuum.
Using a woman's name was out of the question. Besides, I'd always wanted an English butler, like Giles, the one actor Sebastian Cabot played in the popular 60s TV show, "Family Affair."
I typed "Niles" into the app.
Like any proper British butler, Niles exhibits great dignity. The dogs learned to respect him within a few days. Our small terrier, Jace, at first tried to protect his toys from the relentless rolling machine. Since Niles showed no fear and is clearly an Alpha, Jace now snatches playthings out of the vacuum's path and hides them in another room.
Sherman, who was bushwhacked once when Niles emerged from beneath the sofa and ran over his tail, is wary. Although he's five times the size, he retreats into his kennel when the robot rules the room.
I too, think of Niles as a plucky personality. If he's supposed to be working, but has suddenly fallen quiet, I know he's not loafing. I worry that his battery might have run out beneath the sofa. Or I get concerned when Niles sounds a distress call (likely by sucking up a sock) and I run to the rescue.
I thank Niles on a regular basis. Profusely. Although I have evidence that Sherman is still shedding as much hair has ever, I only see it now when I empty Niles's dust compartment. The drifts in the corners have utterly vanished.
Best of all, so has my perpetual guilt.
Cruisin' in the Bay
Coast Line - Sept/Oct 2018
Shoofly Magazine publisher Ellis Anderson looks back to the first Cruisin' the Coast event in 1996 - and her introduction to the Pat Murphy Band.
The same year Cruisin' the Coast began – 1996 – was the one I moved full-time to Bay St. Louis. I'd just opened a second location of my French Quarter gallery in a historic cottage on Main Street - right next door to the courthouse.
My new neighbors welcomed me. Other shop owners and Old Town residents would drop by to visit as I hammered and primed and painted during the renovation. They'd fill me in on town goings-on – sometimes while lending a hand.
That's the first time I heard about Crusin'. It'd take place in October. Cruisin' the Coast was a brand new festival – or something. No one seemed very clear about the concept.
Bay-tique Boutique on Main Street
It's a classic car show that takes place in Biloxi, they tried to explain. But it's in Gulfport as well. And it's even coming to Bay St. Louis. There'll be live music too! Do you have a poodle skirt I can borrow?
It was very confusing to me. An event takes place in a single location, right? And hey, even though I'd moved over from New Orleans with several costume boxes, I was sadly lacking in poodle skirts.
Later, we'd all learn that Cruisin' was sort of like a progressive dinner party, drive-thru style. A large part of the fun for participants was, well, cruising. Antique or vintage car owners would register in Biloxi and have their passes stamped at each of the participating coast cities.
They'd all roll down the coast road in their antique cars, enjoying the scenery and getting a good gander at other collectible cars in the process. Slews of vintage automobile fans from around the region were expected to attend. They'd have the opportunity to time-travel back to when car seats rumbled and fenders had fins.
Except, there weren't that many cars to look at in 1996. In that inaugural year, only 374 vehicles participated. Spread out across 70 miles of coast, the showing didn't make an enormous visual impact. But I didn't care – the festival was a huge success to me: I'd gotten to hear the Pat Murphy Band for the first time.
My neighbors had also clued me in about the band. I listened to them rhapsodize about Pat (you can't help but dance!) and his wife Candy (Lord, can she belt 'em out!), and the other musicians (those horns, the rhythm, the lead!).
Pat Murphy Band during Cruisin' on the Courthouse stage, around 2000. Photo courtesy Pat Murphy archives
The Pat Murphy Band at Bay Bridgefest, 2011
I found out first hand when the Pat Murphy Band kicked into its first set on Saturday afternoon of that inaugural Cruisin'. I was helping a customer in the gallery, when the music from the courthouse stage slid in through my open French doors. The boogie beat beckoned.
I rushed the customer out, stuck a note on the doors and locked them. Next door, a large crowd had already gathered before the stage. With the courthouse as a backdrop, people swung and swayed and the burden of responsibilities and cares that every one of us shoulders got dropped to the ground as we danced.
When the first Cruisin' was over, organizers might have been disappointed, but participants sure weren't. They returned home to Hattiesburg, or Baton Rouge or Mobile and told their friends. Who told their friends. Who started polishing up their cars for 1997.
From 1996 – 2004, I watched each one of the Crusin' events from the front porch of my Main Street gallery. The rest of the year, I rarely looked twice at the design of a ride, but during that week, the car craze proved to be contagious and I oogled with the rest of specators. For one whole week, Bay St. Louis, drenched in a lovely 1950s charm straight out of Mayberry, RFD, became a movie set from the past.
But seeing the Pat Murphy Band was always the highlight for me. Although the stage got moved eventually so it wasn't right next door, I was always swaying in the crowd when they played.
The event's grown past anyone's expectations. According to the official Cruisin' the Coast website, in 2017 more than 8,300 vehicles registered. Participants hailed from forty states. Antique car enthusiasts flock to the coast by the thousands, to catch the chrome, the costumes and the brightly colored cars, glistening under coats of paint so rich and syrupy, you can almost taste the fruity flavors.
Pat's band has morphed into "Sippiana Soul" these days. John Bezou is still tearing up the lead, while Pat's cranking on the keyboards and Candy's reminding us all that while heartbreak is inevitable, music and movement and great friends make it all worthwhile.
Catch "Sippiana Soul" during the 2018 Cruisin' at the Beach/Court St. stage, on Saturday, October 6, 1pm - 2pm.
Poodle skirts not required.
For a full Cruisin' schedule of Bay St. Louis/Hancock County events only, click here for the Shoofly Magazine's Upcoming Events page!
Pat and Candy Murphy with 'Sippiana Soul," March 2018
Lead guitarist John Bezou and Candy Murphy
Pat Murphy
Days in the Bay
These three fun itineraries for idyllic days in "The Bay" are tailored for fitness buffs, families with children and BFFs who want to explore Old Town's shops. You won't go hungry either, with our local eatery suggestions. Feel free to mix and match at will - you really can't go wrong.
- itineraries and photos by Ellis Anderson
Fitness Lovers
Start the morning with breakfast at Lulu's on Main (126 Main Street, inside Maggie May's). Fuel up with one of her specialties like fried chicken beignets or a BLT with a scrumptious bacon remoulade sauce.
Nancy Moynan, chef and owner of Lulu's on Main
The fried chicken beignets at Lulu's
Pick up your copy of the historic walking/biking tour at Lulu's or click here for the digital version. The Old Town Biking/Walking Tour winds 1 1/4 miles through the town's lovely historic district, and the guide recounts colorful snippets of the past.
Click on the icon to open the digital tour!
The historic city hall, one of the highlights of the tour
The tour winds up near the Starfish Café (211 Main Street) with its garden-to-table menu – literally. Many of the creative and delicious dishes are made with ingredients harvested from the front garden. The menu changes seasonally – but look for local favorites, like grass-fed beef burgers, fish tacos with mango slaw and veggie spring rolls.
Seasonal salads at the Starfish are bursting with flavor
The fish tacos with mango slaw are Starfish customer favorites
After lunch, check out Green Canyon Outfitters (108 S. Beach Blvd). Perched in the top floor of the French Settlement building, it's the only retail shop on the beach and a must-see for new residents who lead an active lifestyle. Green Canyon proves one can find big-city brands on the coast. More pluses? One of the best views of the harbor and beachfront scene - and it's dog-friendly.
Green Canyon Outfitters, photo courtesy Melanie Howard
Rev up again by biking or walking the serene beach path (start at the Washington Street pier). This five-mile paved trail runs between the peaceful beach and an old-fashioned two-lane coast road that hasn't changed much in the last 50 years. Along the way, keep an eye out for skimmers, osprey, pelicans, and even bald eagles.
Don't have a bike? You can rent them at Bodega (just off Beach Boulevard at 111 Court Street). Feeling more adventurous? You can also ply the local waters with kayaks and paddle boards, also available for rent there. If you want to explore the Jourdan River Blueway, a few miles north of the Bay, click here for the map.
Afterward, you won't have to dress up to enjoy dinner at Trapani's Eatery (116 N. Beach). It's one of Jimmy Buffet's favorite watering holes on the Gulf Coast. Reward yourself with the fried green tomatoes with crabmeat or feast on the low-calorie raw Tuna Poke.
Kids' Adventure:
The family-friendly Buttercup Café (112 N. Second Street) is located in the heart of Old Town and offers dining both inside and out. The younger set will crave the fluffy pancakes that smell like birthday cake when they're served. Adults will want to sample local favorites like the crawfish étoufée omelets.
Jamie Temple, owner of the Buttercup Café
Then pile into the car and head out to INFINITY Science Center in the western part of the county. The museum exhibits and a free bus tour of the adjacent (and restricted access) Stennis Space Center complex give a glimpse into the science behind space travel. Interactive exhibits like the Carnivorous Plants Conservatory and seasonal tram rides through the surrounding wetlands give lessons in natural habitats.
During summer months, drive to your next stop, Buccaneer State Park (1150 South Beach Boulevard, Waveland). The extraordinary wave pool and water park are open seven days a week all summer (closes after Labor Day). The Sea Dog Galley offers hamburger/hot dog basics.
During the rest of the year, grab lunch at the INFINITY Café and set out for the Louisiana/Mississippi border for a swamp tour. Cajun Encounters is only 15 minute drive from the science center. They offer two-hour boat tours - even off season – with three early afternoon tour times (see the schedule at www.cajunencounters.com). Expect to see all types of wildlife in the majestic Honey Island Swamp. Get your cameras ready during warm weather, the alligators will be basking. The tours last about two hours and everyone will be sad when it's over.
Finish your day back in Bay St. Louis at Cuz's Oyster Bar and Grill (108 S. Beach Blvd.). it has both patio and indoor seating. The younger set can devour fried shrimp and catfish while the adults will dig into specialties like raw and grilled oysters and boiled seasonal seafood.
Shoppers Delight:
Breakfast at the Mockingbird Café (110 S. Second Street) gives any day a special start. They offer some of the best biscuits in the south (homemade jams available!), specialty coffee drinks and if you're feeling especially celebratory, order up a strawberry-lemonade mimosa or Bloody Mary to go with the pulled pork and grits or chicken with waffles.
The commercial district of Old Town BSL isn't large at all, but it's evolved as two sections, clustered around the first and second blocks of Main Street. Each "block" has its own distinct personality. The Mockingbird is a touchstone for the "Second Block." It's right next door to the vast Century Hall (112 S. Second Street), a renovated historic gem that contains more than a dozen shops.
Check out Bay Life Gifts for beachy décor and gifts and Gallery Edge for contemporary art. Also on Second Street you'll find Smith & Lens Gallery (106 S. Second Street), Magnolia Antiques (200 Main St) and Social Chair (131 Main Street) and Antique Maison (111 N Second). A bit off the beaten track (only a few blocks), is Antique Maison Ulman (317 Ulman Ave.). This enormous building is stuffed with finds and treasures. You can rest your feet in their tearoom and garden - you may need to!
Antique Maison (111 North Second Street) and Antique Maison Ulman (317 Ulman Ave.) are treasure troves for collectors and antique buffs.
Glenda Schornick and daughter Shay Sugars at Magnolia Antiques (200 Main Street)
On the actual second block of Main Street, the three "must visits" are the anchors. French Potager (213 Main Street) is known for florals and exciting finds. Gallery 220 (220 Main) is one of the oldest artists co-ops in the state, while next door is California Drawstrings (216 Main Street), a boutique specializing in chic, artsy natural fiber clothing.
Artist and floral designer Martha Whitney Butler in front of the French Potager (213 Main Street)
Gallery 220 is one of the oldest artist co-ops in the state, featuring work by 20+ artists
California Drawstrings, 216 Main Street, carries an enormous selection of artsy clothing, including Flax styles.
It's a quick half block stroll past churches and the historic courthouse to get to the "First Block" area. The focus is on lifestyle and fashion here. The enormous building at 126 Main serves as home to several shops, brimming with art, stylish boutiques and home décor. Check out bijoubel Boutique and Joan Vaas (next door) for high-end clothing and jewelry without the sticker shock.
bijoubel Boutique (126 Main Street)
Melissa Hamilton, owner of bijoubel Boutique (126 Main Street) and Joan Vaas Off Broadway right next door.
Bay-tique Boutique (across the street at 125 Main Street), specializes in fun, edgy styles for all ages. For artful garden décor, don't miss Twin Light Creations (136 Main Street). Bay Books (131 Main St.), Biz-zee Bee children's apparel and monograming (111 Main Street) round out the afternoon of shopping.
If you're flagging, perk up with a coffee and sweet at Serious Bread Bakery (131 Main Street). You'll want to take home at least a few of the delicious loaves, flatbreads or muffins. Of course, the aromas are so divine, they may not make it home.
Artisan loaves at Serious Bread Bakery
Bay-tique Boutique, 125 Main Street
End the day at a restaurant that's been featured in national publications like "Vogue." The motto at Sycamore House Restaurant (210 Main St.) is "come casual, we supply the elegance." The menu offers classic coast fare with inventive twists. Local favorites include the "flautas of the day," the tenderloin and the fish of the day. Save room for divine homemade ice creams (the salted caramel will make you swoon) or one of the best crème brulees in South.
The Home That Had Never Been a House
Coast Lines - Dec/Jan 2017
In the century since it'd been constructed, the building had served as a school, a community center and a place for healing broken lives. But no one had ever called it "home."
- by Ellis Anderson
Webb School around 2002, when it was serving as Rebos House, photo by Ellis Anderson
To get acquainted with my new town, I bicycled back streets. Each day, I explored a little further afield from the historic cottage I was renovating on Main Street. I'd purchased the cottage earlier that year, 1994. When it was finished, it'd serve as a home for my gallery, my silver-smithing studio and me.
As small as Bay St. Louis was and despite the time I'd spent there before moving over full time, it was surprisingly easy to get turned around. Some streets followed the curve of the coast and others ran on a grid. Almost every expedition revealed new discoveries, even if I thought I was covering familiar ground.
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Coast Lines columns
Like the day I first saw Webb School. Biking up Citizen from the beach, at the second stop sign, I came to a dead halt. The white building across the intersection seemed more windows and porches than walls. It looked like some decrepit West Indies plantation house, with the main living area on the second floor. Eight windowed doors opened up onto the deep veranda. How had it landed in this neighborhood of modest historic cottages and '60s ranch style homes?
The white building beckoned me onto the property, and I stood under the boughs of three giant oaks looking up at it. After a while, it became clear the place hadn't been built as a house. It had a civic feel to it. Maybe a city hall? A school?
On the concrete facing to the front steps, "Rebos" had been painted in bright blue. The place seemed abandoned, so I walked up the front steps. Curtains blocked the windows on doors, so I couldn't see in to confirm.
I biked back to Main Street, and began asking my neighbors. Yes. It'd been an elementary school, built in 1913. Starting in the 1960s, it'd become a community center of sorts, with city offices, and space for programs like scouting and art classes. In the early '90s, it'd been bought by a non-profit that used it for 12-step group meetings. Everyone had started calling it Rebos House. Those in the know explained that Rebos was "sober" spelled backwards.
Webb School, 2002.
I biked over often after that, approaching from either the Depot or the beach, my heart lifting a bit whenever the school came into view. I had carved out a small efficiency in the gallery building on Main, but in a few years I planned to buy a real home in Bay St. Louis. Something historic. A place that I could lavish with love for the rest of my life.
But the school didn't seem logical. Even if I could scrape together the money to buy the building, I'd done enough renovation projects in New Orleans to know the scope of this one would be gargantuan. I'd be going it alone since I was single. And a working artist. It's a career path that demands nerves of steel. Graph an artist's income and it usually resembles the path of a bungee jump. Off a very high bridge.
The years passed. Offers I made on other houses in the Bay didn't go through for one reason or the other. But in 2002, when I heard that Rebos House might be coming up for sale, instead of approaching the owners and making an offer myself, I tried to persuade a friend of mine to buy it. By that time I'd turned 45 and some common sense was finally starting to take root.
When my friend passed on Rebos, a wild idea took hold in my mind. It grew rampantly overnight like a jack-in-the-beanstalk seedling, feeding off my longtime dream like Miracle-Gro. Overnight, the thick leaves of possibility smothered the straight new shoots of sensibility I'd been nurturing.
Still, I called my long-time accountant in the morning.
"I know it's crazy, but I want to make an offer on that place," I said. I expected Gina to talk me off the cliff.
Instead, she pushed.
"You drove me by there eight years ago and told me that building was going to be your home someday. You gotta do it."
So I made an offer. The non-profit's board accepted. I shook in my boots. I drove my old boyfriend by to see the vast, ramshackled building.
"Aren't you glad we're not together anymore?" I asked after a quick tour. I was joking.
"Hell, yes!" he said, not joking at all.
From the original plans for the school
The Rebos board cautioned me that the building had some deed restrictions, something to do with "historic stuff." They didn't know exactly what. So I rooted around in the courthouse to find details. I discovered the building's original name, Webb School. The deed had terms I didn't understand. Designated Historic Landmark. Permanent Easement.
I decided to call Mississippi Department of Archives and History and find out more before the closing the following week. But I'd be cagey. I wouldn't let them know what building I was buying. After all, I might not want state officials looking over my shoulder during the renovation, right? I didn't yet understand their job as stewards of the irreplaceable assets of the state.
After a few pass-alongs, I was connected to a man named Richard Cawthon. I introduced myself. "I've got a contract to buy a historic building on the coast, and the deed says it's a Historic Landmark. What does that mean exactly?" I said.
"Which one is it?" Cawthon asked, not bothering with pleasantries.
Nervous suddenly, I hedged. "Uh, I'd rather not say right now. But it's somewhere in Hancock County."
"That means it's one of five buildings," Cawthon said without pause. "It's either the courthouse or the train depot, the Second Street School, the Old City Hall or Webb School. Which is it? I presume you're not buying the courthouse."
I came clean. I found out that a Landmark is the highest architectural designation that can be bestowed by the state. At the time, there were only about 500 in the entire state. The program works to save the most important buildings for future generations of Mississippians as part of our shared heritage.
The designation came with restrictions. Mississipppi Department of Archives and History even has a say with what happens to the inside of landmarks. Every major change would have to go through the state for consideration.
"Will you allow me to make the interior changes needed to make it livable as a house?" I asked.
I was told I'd have to submit scale drawings. The Mississippi Landmarks board would approve or deny. Although they only met once a month, I was in luck. The next board meeting was in three days.
The closing was the following week. And I couldn't close on a building I couldn't make into a home. That gave me seventy-two hours to come up with plans.
I wasn't married to an architect then. So I took a tape measure to the school and measured and imagined and drew up sketches on graph paper I normally used to design jewelry. Those days are a blur now, I didn't sleep much.
From the original drawings - the windows and doors of the school
The MDAH guidelines stated that they wanted the character of the building to remain intact. Chopping the space up by creating lots of permanent interior walls was forbidden. I'd learn later, after architect Larry Jaubert became my husband, how much of a wonder Webb School is. The ingenious architect John Henry had used a support system that made the building incredibly strong without walls or columns to break up the huge, high-ceilinged classrooms.
So I sat in the middle of those old schoolrooms at Webb for hours and tried to listen. It was a happy building, generations of children's laughter and song embedded in the walls. A lot of the windows were boarded over, but the light still was magnificent. Why would I want to change that? Why would I try to remake it into the average suburban house?
On my sketchpad, the two grand classrooms became two large apartments. I'd live in one and rent out the other. The two cloakrooms in the back became kitchens. The central hall, a library accessible from my side. The former schoolrooms would become loft-style living areas – with plenty of room on each side for dining, living and and a partitioned off bedroom area.
On the morning of the meeting in Jackson, I faxed several graph paper sheets of scale drawings to the MDAH office. I knew the board would be expecting formal architectural renderings. I imagined them snickering at my amateur efforts and then shaking their heads. I saw the eye-rolls. I imagined the different ways they'd tell me "no." But since they'd been gracious thus far, I guessed they'd at least be polite about rejecting my plans.
The call came finally. "We voted. It was unanimous," the official said.
I sighed with disappointment. On some level, I'd known it all along.
"Yes," he said. "We all voted yes."
to be continued....
Note: The Taylor School referenced here, later served as the Bay-Waveland Garden Club. It was destroyed by Katrina.
Webb School around 1986
Webb School as a functioning school, circa 1950s.
Something Wonderful Is Always Happening...
Coast Lines - Oct/Nov 2017
One man helped shaped the creative heart of Bay St. Louis in ways that will happily reverberate for generations to come: meet Jerry Dixon.
Shoofly Magazine Home
Artist Joey Rice and Jerry Dixon at the grand opening of Gallery Edge, August 2017
On a bright Bay St. Louis morning thirty-odd years ago, artist Kat Fitzpatrick and her mother were both painting in their shared Main Street studio. The two women rented a second-floor space in the historic Stokie Building and kept the huge windows open while they worked.
This particular morning, Kat remembers hearing the sputtering of a diesel engine below. She looked down from the window and saw an older model Mercedes. The driver, a short, dark-haired man, popped out and unlocked the front doors of the vacant Stevenson building, directly across the street.
The man stayed inside only long enough to hang a sign on the glass doors, facing outward. Kat could make out the sign from her vantage point.
It read, "Something Wonderful Is Always Happening..."
Kat turned to her mother, Jean Hammett. "Mom, you need to see this. Something really interesting is going on."
Jean came to the window and the women waved down to the sign poster. He waved back and the car pulled away.
Bay St. Louis changed forever. Jerry Dixon had come to town.
At first, Dixon opened a small metaphysical bookstore in the enormous building he'd purchased. He called the place "Serenity," as if that's what customers could expect to find. The small sign on the door was replaced with a large painted one mounted on the building's roof. It had the same message, writ large: Something Wonderful Is Always Happening…
The three ellipses trailed off, leaving it to the viewer's imagination exactly where good things were happening. But if you asked anybody in town to tell you what it said from memory, they'd forget all about the ellipses and swear it said " in Bay St. Louis."
It didn't matter what the sign said or didn't. Good things did start happening in the Bay. Interesting things. Flower baskets began appearing, hung from street lights. Informal gatherings were often held at Serenity, a wide range of speakers sharing their expertise and interests. Jerry would often stand outside his front door and engage longtime locals and visitors alike in conversation, so Serenity became a community touchstone.
The art gallery grew gradually, but eventually encompassed most of the building. Dixon rented out individual spaces to artists or entrepreneurs who he wanted to nurture. Nancy Blance opened a used book store. John McDonald, the portrait artist, set up his studio there. Kat and Jean became gallery mainstays, showing their work there for nearly two decades. Artist Vicki Niolet remembers having one of her first shows at Serenity in the late 1980s, sharing the spotlight with fellow artist Brenda Randolph.
"I was just starting out as a working artist and to be honest, my work back then probably wasn't good enough to show in a gallery," says Vicki, whose artistic career since has won her national recognition and awards. "But Jerry wanted to encourage me. He gave me the confidence to push forward."
An article from 1999 featuring Serenity Gallery.
Folk artist Alice Moseley credited Jerry Dixon for her decision to move to Bay St. Louis at age 80. In 1989, Moseley and her son, Tim, came to exhibit in a Main Street art festival. Her booth was in front of Serenity Gallery and when a storm came through around noon, Jerry helped Alice move her paintings inside. He invited her to remain set up in his gallery for the rest of the day.
Tim remembers that Alice returned to North Mississippi with a Bay St. Louis real estate booklet. About a month later, the retired schoolteacher called Jerry Dixon and declared she was moving to the Bay.
"But Alice," Dixon said. "You don't know anybody here."
"I know you!" Alice said.
Tim says it was a move his mother never regretted. She became a fixture in Bay St. Louis and Jerry would visit with her every Monday afternoon when Serenity was closed.
When Alice passed away at the age of 94 in 2004, hundreds of people attended her memorial service on the Depot grounds. Today, the Alice Moseley Folk Art Museum in the Depot is one of the town's major attractions. It's just one example of the amazing Dixon trickle-down effect.
"Scores of people moved here because of Jerry Dixon," says Tim. "He was the glue that held the early art community together."
"I can't tell you how many times I heard the same story," says Kat. "People would tell me that they found their way off the interstate into Bay St. Louis and then discovered Serenity Gallery and met Jerry. By the end of the afternoon, they were shopping for real estate."
I can testify to the truth of that. In a large part, I'm in the Bay because of Jerry Dixon.
In 1994, after fifteen years of living and owning an art gallery in the French Quarter, I was ready for a change. I'd visited the Bay's art galleries during a small event called "Second Saturday" and toyed with relocating.
By that time, a lively art colony was taking shape - Bay St. Louis would soon be recognized as one of 100 Top Art Towns in the country. Jerry Dixon's friends (and artists) Keith Karlson and Tony Eccles had opened Mississippi Gallery across the street from Serenity. Jerry and Keith had cooked up the concept for a monthly gallery walk.
They were joined by others, like nationally-recognized modernist jewelry authority, Marby Schon, and her husband, Andrew Tilden, who operated a gallery at 110 S. Second Street (where the Mockingbird Café is now). And Vicki Niolet - by then a Bay resident thanks to the influence of Jerry - had recently opened Paper Moon on Main Street (Gallery 220's location).
An original Second Saturday postcard from 1994
Every artist I met encouraged me to make the leap, but Jerry was especially welcoming. I began combing Bay St. Louis for a building that could serve as my home, studio and gallery. Finally, a decrepit Creole cottage next to the courthouse won my heart. The problem? It wasn't for sale.
I went into Serenity Gallery one afternoon, seeking Jerry's advice.
"Well, darling," he said. "I've always had great luck just knocking on the door and asking."
It worked. Less than a year later, after renovating the building, I opened the Bay St. Louis location of Quarter Moon Gallery.
Through the next ten years, whenever I had a problem, Jerry lent a hand. Whenever I became discouraged, he offered words that lifted my spirits. I was only one of many, many people who counted on his wisdom and guidance.
I teased Jerry back then by calling him the Godfather of Main Street. Kat referred to him as the Mayor of Main. "He sweetened the place in every way imaginable," she says.
Vicki has another honorary title for Jerry, "He's the closest thing to a saint I'll ever know."
Jerry sold the Serenity Gallery building months before Hurricane Katrina. The storm destroyed his art-filled historic home in Cedar Point. A few years later, his longtime partner, Wayne, passed away. Trying to regain firm footing, Jerry moved to Natchez, where several other Bay residents had relocated.
But the longing wouldn't let up. Jerry visited often, kept up with friends. This spring, he returned to the Bay for good, to the delight of all who knew him well. And to the delight of newcomers too.
Recently, a woman who moved to Bay St. Louis a few years ago asked if I'd met her new neighbor yet.
"He's the nicest man! His name is Jerry Dixon."
Startled, I asked if she was talking about THE Jerry Dixon.
She had no idea what I meant. She didn't know that Jerry had lived here before. Or that the town she'd fallen for had been shaped in pivotal, permanent ways by the love and dedication - and vision - of this humble, diminutive man.
So I write this little history for her, and for those to come who will also give their hearts to this very special place.
A place where something wonderful is always happening…
Coast Lines - Aug/Sept 2017
Free Willy Gone Wrong
An impulse to save a crafty crab ends well for the creature, but its rescuer has reason to wish she'd eaten it instead.
- story and photos by Ellis Anderson
Shoofly Home
Bob of Bob's Crabs, 2007
Growing up far from any coastline, I was unfamiliar with the treacherous nature of crabs — until I rescued one from the boiling pot.
In the North Carolina hills where I was raised, our only crustaceans were the small crayfish that scurried across rocky beds of swift moving streams. No one dreamed of eating the tiny critters. Back then, the only seafood for inland dwellers consisted of mushy frozen flounder or the soggy fish sticks served up in school cafeterias. Fried shrimp were a rare delicacy reserved for birthday meals at chain restaurants.
I moved to New Orleans in 1978 when I was 21. People there ate things I'd never imagined. Like raw oysters, frog legs, alligator sausage and monster crawfish that seemed like small lobsters to me.
Folks back home thought I was joking when I reported that shrimp were so plentiful in Louisiana they were used as filler for sandwiches, and you could buy these delectable creations called po-boys from corner markets. Which I did almost daily.
Friends took me to Smitty and Maggie's at West End for my first meal of boiled crabs. We sat on picnic tables outside at dusk and and swatted mosquitoes as they taught me the proper techniques. While I'd never worked so hard for a small morsel of the meat, by the end of the evening I understood the lengthy ritual increased the meal's pleasure, allowing more time for conversation and laughter.
In the '90s, after I'd moved to Bay St. Louis full-time, I found myself contemplating a crab boil, so a friend and I drove out to Bob's Crabs in Lakeshore on an exploratory mission. The business headquarters consisted of a small cinderblock and screened building on the banks of a canal, wire crab traps piled high outside, open boats tied to pilings.
Inside, a large rectangular holding tank was tucked into one corner. I peered in the shallow pool and found it held several inches of water, but no creatures. We pressed on to the adjoining room, which held more tanks.
Bob was helping a customer who was buying up all the available live crabs for a family reunion. They'd corralled all the ones in the front tank and were now depopulating the rear ones. Frantic crabs raced around the shallow pools, easy targets for the tongs Bob wielded with expert accuracy. He snagged them and dropped them into seething bushel baskets.
Returning to the front room to wait our turn, my friend and I noticed a single crab, motionless in the corner of the empty tank. The tank was a tan color and this sole survivor had cunningly camouflaged itself in the shadows. While the others had scrambled to escape, this one had frozen, like a fawn or baby bird, hoping the predator would miss it and move on. Even Bob's expert eye had passed over it.
The idea occurred to me that this intelligent crab should be rewarded. Saved from the boiling pot. Why perhaps this crab represented the next evolutionary step up for its species! It obviously had developed a reasoning of sorts. A cunning that overcame panic.
When Bob returned and the customer left, I told him I wanted to purchase the single crab.
Are you planning to eat just one? he asked.
I answered that I intended to release it. Then I gave my reasoning: It's smart, so it should be out there enhancing the gene pool, I said.
Bob was polite enough not to ridicule me outright, but that can't have been easy, especially with my friend rolling his eyes and snickering in the background. Yet he fished out the dark crab with his tongs, declaring it a female. To me, that seemed an omen: She would go forth and propagate more intellectually superior crustaceans.
Single crabs didn't merit a basket though, so Bob asked me to hold up a bag. But I had no idea the extent of a crab's reach. During the awkward transfer, the beast unfolded a claw and fiercely clamped onto my thumb. I shrieked with pain and dropped the bag.
In a whirling dervish frenzy, I hopped up and down shaking my hand, hoping the creature would let go before dismembering me. Bob and my friend weren't much in the way of help; howls of laughter bent them over. They were useful only as witnesses to this spectacle of woman versus crab.
Bob finally recovered enough to snag my tormentor with his tongs and pulled her away from my hand. My thumb bled freely onto the concrete floor. Bob led me over to a sink to wash the wound, and then dispensed a Band-Aid.
I'm thinking you'll be eating it now? he said, wiping at his eyes.
I asserted that the incident had merely convinced me that the crab was as courageous as it was intelligent. Yes, I was still going to turn it loose.
Bob said something about biting the hand that releases you and said there'd be no charge.
I'm not going to guess how many times Bob told that story over the years.
But he never knew the real ending. Once we hit Beach Boulevard, I pulled over and parked, then clambered down the seawall steps with my hard-won prize to face the Mississippi Sound. While my thumb still throbbed mightily, this was a Free Willy moment. I could tell.
Cautious now about the long reach of those crane-like claws, I put my entire body weight behind the throw. I hurled the crab from the bag, aiming to get her several yards out.
It worked. She sailed through the air toward freedom and her future — without taking any of my flesh.
But I didn't see her hit the water. My pitch threw me off balance. My sandals skated beneath me on the slime-covered seawall steps. I slid like a luge toward the water, feet first. My backside slammed the concrete and hammered against each step all the way down.
My friend helped pull me from the water, filthy and drenched and covered with algae that stank. He struggled to keep a straight face, without much success. For a good five minutes, laughter cut off his sentences before he could finish them.
I might have laughed too if I hadn't hurt so much. For weeks after, I bore the blackened bruises of the afternoon, a generous double-dip in humiliation and hilarity. The only balm was the thought of generations of ungrateful crustaceans who would soon be carrying the genetics of Bob's Chameleon Crab.
Several years later, I returned to Bob's Crabs, this time as a magazine photographer. My mission was to catch shots of Bob at work on the water, plying his age-old trade. I introduced myself as if we'd never seen each other before. While certain he wouldn't have forgotten the event, I was relieved when he didn't seem to connect me with the goofy crab-bite victim.
We left before dawn, motoring his skiff through the mists toward Bayou Caddy, then out into the sound. The sweeping sky, the hiss of wind across the water and birds silently winging overhead wove a fabric of total tranquility. I began to envy a profession that started each workday with such beauty.
Bob cut back the motor and coasted up to his first trap. When he began emptying it into a crate, I crouched down in the bottom of the boat with my camera, seeking the best angle.
Hey, you better back off a little, the fisherman said. Those crabs have got a hell of a bite.
The rising sun behind Bob's head made it hard to see his expression, but there was no way to miss the wide grin.
Coast Lines - July/August 2017
A Newcomer's Reconciliation
Learning to see the invisible net of community - woven from both past and place - enriches the life of one suburban transplant.
I've lived in Bay St. Louis for twenty years and may for another thirty, but I'll always be a newcomer.
Of course, nobody tries to make me feel that way. From Day One, I've been welcomed and accepted with open arms. The night I opened my Main Street gallery in 1995 stands out as one of the most joyous in my life.
Twenty-two years ago, when I handed out invitations to the evening opening, the response was always the same: What can I bring?
I was baffled. After being a part-time Bay resident for years, I'd just moved over full-time from "the city." In New Orleans, one attended the grand opening of a business expecting to receive, not to give.
But since I'd blown my party budget by hiring a great band, there wasn't much left to spend on refreshments. So my answer was, how about bringing a little snack, like potato chips or pretzels?
On the designated night, hundreds of people – or at least it seemed like hundreds to me – streamed down the sidewalks toward the gallery, plates of food held before them. Friends had to fetch more folding tables to hold the feast. Soon every available surface on the gallery's porch was filled with casseroles and cakes, shrimp pastas and sandwiches, salads and brownies.
At one point in the party, an astonished friend who'd driven over from the city asked who my caterer was.
"They are!" I said, gesturing toward the crowd gathered on the gallery's front yard and dancing in the driveway.
Tears sprang to my eyes several times that night. I'd never imaged such a generous a community could exist. I felt embraced, like the new member of an extraordinary tribe.
Opening night at Quarter Moon Gallery
But I didn't know enough local history then to understand that I'd always be the new kid on the block. Being a real local is an accident of birth. While newcomers may live here for decades, if someone in Bay St. Louis or Waveland says that they're a native, it's likely their ancestors settled here two centuries ago. Or longer.
A short time after my gallery opening, one local startled me by saying his family had been residing in Hancock County for nearly 300 years.
That's a good example of hyperbole, I thought.
Then he explained that his direct ancestor had been one of D'Iberville's crew members when the explorer claimed the territory for France.
Later, I'd see censuses from the early 1800s, filled with names of my neighbors. Like Dubuisson and Dedeaux, Morain and Ladnier, Labat and Socier. Necaise, Quaves, Garcia, Lafontaine, Baribino and Seal. While the spelling and pronunciation of the names may have changed a bit over the centuries, for the most part, the families' attachment to this place has not.
I try not to be jealous. My own heritage is more free-floating, although I did trace one ancestor back to the 1700s. My multiple-great grandfather, Isaac Anderson, fought in the Revolutionary war. Then the Scotch-Irish immigrant homesteaded as far from civilization as he could, settling in a remote corner of North Carolina's Appalachia.
But the Great Depression scattered his descendants from that Blue Ridge cove. By the 1960s, only one of my mother's six siblings still lived in Ashe County. My parents landed in Charlotte, where I grew up. In just a few hours we could drive to my mom's hometown of Crumpler (which boasted one general store/gas station/post office) – but it was light-years from the city.
Charlotte's population was exploding at the time. To further entice developers, the city sold its birthright: thousands of irreplaceable historic buildings were razed, ones that graced its streets and served as emotional anchors to its citizens.
Residents swung in and out of Charlotte's teeming ranch-house neighborhoods so fast the Welcome Wagon had to chase them. I graduated from a newish high school 100 times the size of Crumpler. Its 1,500 students were pulled from a 10-mile radius. Our most popular community gathering spot on the weekends? The mall.
I moved away for good in 1976. While I missed my parents, I never once felt homesick. That particular malaise requires connection to a place. While Charlotte's got a lot going for it, endearing it's not.
Many millions of suburbanites like myself have been raised without a stabilizing core of long-term residents in their neighborhoods. In cloned and characterless landscapes jammed with strip malls and billboards, gas stations and fast food joints, we find nothing to cherish.
Then, there's life on the Mississippi coast.
It seems everyone who grew up in Bay St. Louis has their favorite childhood fishing spot, or tree, or place on the shore where they have watched sunrises. They experienced their first kisses on the porch swing of their aunt's house, or the steps of the old city hall.
They can point to just about any cottage in town and reel off the names of those who grew up within those walls, who was born in the back bedroom or married in the yard. They might transport you with a story about camping in that very attic with other rambunctious kids, determined to catch a ghost.
Longtime locals can stand before an empty lot and perhaps see a three-story house that no longer exists – and its roofline their grandmother walked across as a girl, just to satisfy a dare. Or they can gesture to the spot on the beach where their daddy launched a sailboat he and his brothers built over an idyllic summer.
Coast natives see threads of continuity running everywhere through the landscape. They can pick up an end anytime they choose and follow it back generations.
These ties are invisible to newcomers at first, but I can see more every year I live here. Each story told by a local reveals another strand that's woven into an astonishing, yet invisible net of fellowship.
While it may not be my family's net, simply knowing it exists imparts a certain kind of peace.
Coast Lines - June 2017
Paying Your Respects
Could an outpouring of community condolences on the loss of an antisocial dog stem from the coast's hurricane culture?
- story and photo by Ellis Anderson
Coast Lines - May 2017
God's Perfect Creatures
The Gulf Coast's on-going battle with Formosan termites will have us swatting the swarmers this May as the over-achieving insects scout out more trees, homes - and boats - to devour.
Coast Lines - February 2017
Mardi Gras Miracles
The New Orleans celebration seen on TV around the country differs from the local experience, where miracles - both small and large - are commonplace.
Coast Lines - January 2017
Compare Answers, Not Ads
A new non-partisan website gives local candidates a place to introduce themselves and share detailed answers to important questions. Elections in Bay St. Louis may never be the same.
More Shoofly Stories!
Coast Lines - December 2016
Santa in Shrimp Boots
Adults in Bay St. Louis conspire to keep secret the identity of the Santa who wore shrimp boots and arrived by seaplane each year.
- story by Ellis Anderson, photos courtesy Pat Murphy, Prima Luke and Melva Luke
Coast Lines - November 2016
Kind to Insects
Of course, bugs can't think or communicate with humans - or can they?
photo by Ellis Anderson
Coast Lines - October 2016
Open Windows
After a seemingly endless summer, the first cool evening of the fall has coast residents turning off the A/C and reveling in fresh air.
- story and photo by Ellis Anderson
We who call the Gulf Coast our home live for this: The first night we can sleep with the windows open.
Of course it's not the first night ever, or even the first time of the year we've been able to drift off to the pulsings of crickets. We call it the "first" because it's been months since the windows have shifted in their casings.
Gradually, as the six-month summer has worn on, we've sealed ourselves in to our homes. To save on energy bills, we have plugged every crack and crevice where the precious air conditioning might escape.
Coast Lines - September 2016
Animated Vs. Animals
The Pokémon GO craze may have more people walking around outdoors, but they're oblivious to local flora and fauna, in pursuit of tiny cartoons.
School children on the duck pond bridge, before the Pokémon infestation.
Gigi is my guide.
She is nine and I am 59. I have since learned that is an age spread not unusual with players of Pokémon GO.
While I am a Pokémon novice, I'm in capable hands. Gigi Madden has captured and imprisoned dozens of the little cartoon creatures on her smart phone over the past several weeks, which is the object of this new game. She has kindly volunteered to teach me how to play.
She has brought me to the grounds of the historic depot in Bay St. Louis, a gathering spot for some of the rarest Pokémon creatures. The depot grounds are also bristling with places where players can restock the balls that they use to capture the digital beasties.
Coast Lines - August 2016
It turns out the trees are social beings that have feelings and can communicate. Some folks aren't surprised.
Ouida Sue: at an estimated 540 years old, she's the oldest live oak tree in Bay St. Louis,
Recently, I had the opportunity to meet the oldest tree in Bay St. Louis. She's registered under the name Ouida Sue. Who knows what she calls herself? Ouida Sue is estimated to be 540 years old.
It's hard to imagine the coast when that tree was a sapling. Columbus hadn't stumbled onto this hemisphere yet. Humans didn't even know there were such things as hemispheres. Buffalo still roamed right here in Hancock County. We know that because the explorer Bienville's men hunted them in 1699, when Ouida Sue was a mere 223 years old.
This is a tree with some stories to tell. And maybe someday, humans will be able to understand her language.
A Shoofly Way of Life
A change of name kicks off an International Shoofly Awareness campaign, in hopes of reviving a fine and neighborly tradition, while creating a new Mississippi export.
- story by Ellis Anderson, artwork by Zita Waller
This amazing painting of the BSL Shoofly is by beloved artist Zita Waller, who passed away earlier this year. It hangs in the headquarters of the Hancock County Historical Society on Cue Street.
One of the most satisfying creative moments in my life? The instant I hit the button changing www.bslfourthward.com to www.bslshoofly.com.
The original Bay St. Louis 4th Ward Cleaver — a folksy neighborhood online newsletter, began in 2011. We graduated to a higher level of communications in 2014, becoming a sponsor supported magazine. For nearly two years, we've been showcasing writing and photography by more than a dozen dedicated contributors each month.
Now, with the support of loyal readers and sponsors, we feel it's time for a name that reflects how far we've come, and who we are now. That's why from here on out, we are the Shoofly Magazine.
Bye Ward, Hello Shoofly!
Ward and June are going into retirement, as the Fourth Ward Cleaver web-zine changes its name to "The Shoofly" in July! Read on for why.
Shoofly drawing by architect/planner Bill Dennis. The Bay St. Louis Shoofly was originally designed by architect Kevin Fitzpatrick and constructed in 1991.
Most people know Nan Parati as one of the creative forces of Jazz Fest and owner of Elmer's, an iconic New England restaurant. Here's the little-known backstory of her first creative enterprise.
Nan Parati at the Jazz Fest Sign Barn - photo by Ellis Anderson
In the 1980s, my friend Nan Parati worked for Jimmy Buffet as a set designer. Her pièce de résistance creation was a huge fake volcano. At concerts, when tens of thousands of people started singing along with Jimmy, "I don't know where I'm a gonna go when the volcano blows," actual fireworks would shoot out of the top of that landmass-sized prop. The volcano caught on fire once, but no one was seriously hurt and the crowd thought it was all part of the show. That's another story.
The point is that's the kind of mind Nan has. Need a great show finale? How about a volcanic eruption? Impossible? Hardly. Where there's Nan's will, there's a way.


text:
Q: how many ways to make $k$ faces Consider a set of $k$ closed curves (or just triangles) in the plane that cannot intersect. How many different ways can you make faces out of these lines? So if $k = 2$, there are two possibilities since you can have the closed curves separate or you can put one curve inside the other. Either way, there are two faces (other than the third unbounded face) induced by the curves. Similarly, I believe there 4 possible ways to have three faces with three closed curves. How can this value be expressed in terms of $k$? Sorry for the strange wording, I'm not entirely sure how to express the question.

A: Given an arrangement of $k$ closed curves, construct a rooted tree on $k+1$ vertices as follows: there is a vertex for each closed curve, and a root vertex corresponding to the entire plane (or a giant curve large enough to enclose all the $k$ given curves). Two vertices are connected if one of the two corresponding curves contains the other, but there is no third curve containing the inner one and contained in the outer one.
This correspondence gives a bijection between the number of "$k$-face" configurations you describe, and the number of rooted trees with $k+1$ vertices (equivalently, with $k$ edges). (The attached picture shows an example of this bijection when $k=4$.) No closed formula is known, but a lot of information can be found on OEIS for example.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


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text:
Staff Host Account / Monday, March 25, 2019
Wary of Iran's missiles, US strikes port deal with Oman
The US embassy in Oman said in a statement on Sunday that the agreement granted the US access to facilities and ports in the towns of Duqm as well as in Salalah, which sit on the coast of the Arabian Sea. It noted that the port deal "reaffirms the commitment of both countries to promoting mutual security goals." The deal serves Oman's plans to develop Duqm, which was once just a fishing village 550 km (345 miles) south of capital Muscat. Oman has long sought to transform the port city into an industrial hub. For the US, however, the deal serves a whole different agenda and tries to address growing concerns among top Pentagon officials about Iran's advancements in overcoming sanctions and diplomatic pressure by Washington to develop sophisticated missiles that can block the Hormuz. An unnamed US official told Reuters that the deal improved the US military's access to ports that connect to a network of roads to the broader region. "We used to operate on the assumption that we could just steam into the [Persian] Gulf," one US official said, adding, however, that "the quality and quantity of Iranian weapons raises concerns." Last year, when US President Donald Trump threatened to drive Iran's oil exports to zero, Tehran warned that it would close down the Strait of Hormuz and stop all oil exports from the Persian Gulf region. While the threat seems to have worked its magic by prompting the White House to issue waivers for Iran's main oil buyers, US military officials are worried that the current levels American military presence in the region cannot stop Iran from shutting down the crucial waterway. In November, The Washington Post said US commanders worried that Iran could easily fulfill the task by using it robust arsenal of ballistic missiles and its ability to plant naval mines. Back then the Pentagon officials were specifically critical of Trump's shifting priorities. The Republican head of state thinks China and Russia pose the greatest threats to the US. He has ordered the Pentagon to move some of the American forces out of the Persian Gulf region and station them in bases across the Pacific region instead. One unnamed US official noted that the new agreement with Oman would expand US military options in case of a real standoff in Hormuz. "The port itself is very attractive and the geostrategic location is very attractive, again being outside the Strait of Hormuz," another official said, adding that Duqm was large enough turn around an aircraft carrier. In late November, the Islamic Revolution's Guards Corps (IRGC) warned that US bases in Afghanistan, the UAE, and Qatar as well as the US aircraft carriers in the Persian Gulf were all within reach of Iranian missiles. "The US bases around us are within our reach and are easy meat for us," IRGC Aerospace Commander Brigadier General Amirali Hajizadeh said. Competition with China The deal also helps the US to push back against China's growing influence in the region. Chinese firms once tried to invest up to $10.7 billion in Duqm in what was expected to be a commercial arrangement. "It looks to me like the Chinese relationship here isn't as big as it appeared it was going to be a couple of years ago," the second US official said. "There's a section of the Duqm industrial zone that's been set aside for the Chinese ... and as far as I can tell so far they've done just about nothing."
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wwwiagram›Fuse Box›Honda1997 Honda Accord Ex Interior Fuse Box Diagram – The stream of coolant doesn't cycle through the radiator unless it's hot and has to be cooled. Bear in mind that the brake fluid ought to be renewed periodically. Examine the face of the jug to be sure the amount of the coolant is in between the very low line and the complete line.
wwwa››Honda›Accord›1997 Honda Accordi need the 1997 honda accord ex fuse panel diagram - Honda 1997 Accord question. Search Fixya Need diagram for 1997 Honda Accord Fuse Box, to locate fuse for AC I need the interior fuse box for my 96 accord ex. It should be on the cover. Dec 05, 2009 | 1996 Honda Accord.
Mar 10, 2017kuudesign - 97 Accord Interior Fuse Box. Hondas have multiple interior fuse boxes including in the trunk - the video above will show you where the interior fuse box of your 1997 Accord is located.


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@interface testmdapp1Tests : SenTestCase

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Susan Sarandon - Biography
After a string of forgettable screen roles, Susan Sarandon finally made a splash with the 1975 cult hit The Rocky Horror Picture Show, in which she cavorted around scantily dressed to much acclaim. "It must seem to a lot of people that I am always naked or making love in my films," says the celebrated actress. "I think it's very hard to be in a scene and not be upstaged by your nipples."
She graduated effortlessly to less revealing roles, however, and went on to earn five Oscar nominations, all while living according to her personal motto: "Plan to be surprised".
Susan Abigail Tomalin was born on October 4, 1946, in New York City, but grew up across the bridge in New Jersey, the eldest of nine children. Despite her current image as a sexy, politically active mom for the new millennium, she was schooled in a convent and went on to study at Washington DC's Catholic University Of America.
She never even planned to be an actress, let alone a major star. But after doing some advertising work in order to pay the bills, she ended up reading for director John Avildsen and landed a role in the 1970 feature film Joe. Soap opera stints followed, before Rocky Horror and Pretty Baby co-starring a then 12-year-old Brooke Shields brought Susan into the limelight.
After the questionable accolade of being voted "Celebrity Breasts Of The Summer" by Playboy readers in 1981, Susan enjoyed professional acclaim in the form of her first Oscar nomination for her role in 1982's Atlantic City. Another four Oscar nods followed, and in 1996 she took home the coveted trophy for her tour de force performance as a nun who befriends a death-row inmate, played by Sean Penn, in Dead Man Walking.
Although her position on the A-list is secure, Susan has never been one to play the diva. She's more likely to use her fame to campaign for the freeing of detained refugees. The oft-arrested star her involvement in anti-Vietnam protests in college landed her in jail and even today she is often detained as a result of her activism relishes the chance to "use my celebrity instead of being used by it".
"It would be harder to live with myself if I did not take advantage of my celebrity," says Susan, who serves a special representative to the United Nations Children's Fund, UNICEF. "I feel my life is saved by the fact that I am able to use my celebrity to shine a flashlight on information not necessarily being represented in the media."
Proud as she is of her work as an actress and on behalf of charity AIDS research is among the causes she espouses the role to which Susan is most devoted is that of a mother. After the demise of her 1967 marriage to her college sweetheart, actor Chris Sarandon, Susan took up briefly with Italian writer-director Franco Amurri, with whom she had a baby girl, Eva, born in 1981.
She also has two sons by her partner Tim Robbins, whom she met in 1988 on the set of Bull Durham. Jack Henry was born in 1989, and Miles Guthrie followed three years later. A mum before all else, Susan refuses to shoot films during the children's school holidays.
When accepting her Dead Man Walking Oscar, she dedicated it to longtime love Tim, the film's director saying: "This is yours as much as mine. Thank God we live together".
In the multi-talented actor and director she seemed to have found her soulmate - someone who shared her passions for film, political activism and family. So the showbiz world was rocked when, in 2009, they split.
"Susan Sarandon and her partner of 23 years, actor Tim Robbins, have announced that they separated over the summer," came the announcement from the actress' publicist.
Months of speculation followed until Susan finally spoke out about the collapse of her relationship, often considered as one of the strongest in Hollywood. "I did a movie a long time ago where I had to fly in a glider," she said.
"You get towed up in the air by a plane, and it's loud and annoying. And at some point you pull the cord and you're suddenly floating, and in your mind it makes absolutely no sense. But it's exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. That's where I am now."
She added: "It's a long time to not be dating and then go back into it. I certainly love the idea of being in love, and I love the idea of companionship.
"Whatever happens next in terms of romance and partners, I don't know. But it's exhilarating and terrifying. I think the point is just keep moving, and to just say yes to life."


A few weeks ago I got my shiny new American version of Tom Wright's book on justification. It has since garnered dust in my growing "books to read" pile. Therefore, in the hope that I'll actually read it, here's what I intend to do. Since bunches of bloggers have already weighed in on Wright's book, I plan on coming approaching it from a different angle. I'm going to read Wright's book in conjunction with Piper's book, and evaluate the strengths and weaknesses of each construal of justification. I hope to determine where the heart of the disagreement lies, and suggest some potential ways forward.
Q. You seem to argue that initial justification and final justification are on the same basis, but you also take seriously that there will be a judgment of human works, including the works of Christians. Are you saying that apostasy is possible for Christians, or do you take the more Reformed view that those who fall away were probably not Christians in the first place, being self-deceived?
I think Piper, Schreiner, and Calvin would each answer the question similarly. Wright clearly subscribes - in Witherington's words - to the "more Reformed view".
People get quite anxious over what Wright has said about justification. I understand some of the concern, and take issue with a number of points in his articulation of justification. However, statements like the following should caution us against fecklessly throwing Bishop Tom under the Pelagian bus. His work is far too thoughtful and complex to merit such a response.
Can someone who spends far more time agonizing over phrases like justification please answer the following? It seems that our seemingly unlimited expenditure of time, ink, and electrons on whether or how or why someone is "justified" stands on sand. I would assume Paul was aware of the Jewish creation story (I will not say myth in respect for his contextual belief) as do all other church fathers. However, unless one chooses to ignore over 150 years of science, we were not "created" perfect and then chose to "fall." Logically then we cannot be "justified." I don't argue that humans are beautifully flawed, and "justification" could be seen as a path towards a more "righteous life" but to agonize over how one is "justified" for something I have no power nor was responsible for (seem that God is responsible) strikes me as profoundly unhealthy. I don't intend this question as a challenge, but having been raised in a Reformed faith, seeing this emphasis week after week, and leaving that view behind, I am frankly perplexed.
It may help us (me) if you focus your question, as you seem to have several here. Is your main concern with a 'literal' reading of Genesis? or that Reformed views of justification seem implicitly to violate libertarian notions of free will? or that Christian anthropology is 'unhealthy'? Would like to know.
Thanks for the response. I will attempt to be more precise. In a 21st century context and understanding, what are we being justified from and to? Perhaps, in my limited scope of understanding, I have a false or imprecise concept of the use of the term. I assume, perhaps wrongly, that it is used here to "qualify one for salvation."
We are justified from the futile way of life apart from Christ (Acts 13:38-39; Rom 6:7) so that we can be enslaved to God. Using "from" and "to" language in relation to justification can be problematic if the prepositions are construed in such a way as to make sanctification synonymous with justification.
I think justification is the decisive verdict whereby, in virtue of Christ's death and resurrection, God acquits sinners and sees them within the righteousness of his Son. Once we are in union with Christ, we are of course freed from sin and enslaved to God. However, I still hold there to be a logical distinction between the declaration and the resultant transformation.
As to what it means for 21st century Christians to be justified, I think it means what it meant in the 1st century (though the significance might be different). If Paul's anthropology is fundamentally flawed, I don't care all that much what he thinks about justification, since the two are integrally linked.
First, many Protestants have maintained that justification is the crown jewel of theology. It is the manner in which we are made right with God. However, N.T. Wright maintains that justification is an ecclesiological doctrine; a way to tell who is saved. It is not fundamentally about the means by which we are saved. This shift in focus is significant. If Protestants are wrong on this issue, they are wrong on a host of others.
Second, I find the debate interesting.


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Ravens' Interaction with other Birds
Ravens' Interaction with other Birds essay
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The common raven belongs to the bird family corvidae. The family includes the magpies, crows, jackdaws, rooks and jays. This bird's habitats are diverse and spread all through the northern hemisphere. The common raven is found in California, in Alaska, in the Scandinavia, Scotland, in Russia, Iceland among other places in highly diverse habitats (Dudley, 2002). The bird is known to live even on the Everest at extremely high altitudes of above six thousand meters. The common raven is an all black bird with a stout beak, and shaggy feathers around the beak. The bird is actually the largest song bird on the planet. Corvas corax is the common crow. There are about a hundred and twenty species of the corvid family, however, some are extinct.
Feeding habit
The raven eats a wide variety of food. The bird is omnivorous. They feed on grains, arthropods, reptiles, amphibians, prey on small birds and other vertebrates. They are notorious scavengers that await other animals, such as the fox, to make a kill. The raven is also known to hide/cache food. The raven also notoriously raids cached food by its fellow ravens and other birds and animals. The raven regurgitates indigestible food into pellets. The raven has been observed flying into the nests of fellow ravens and consuming eggs and fledglings. This however, is not limited to ravens only; it also raids other birds' nests. With urbanization, ravens and other birds constantly flock at dumping sites in a bid to feed on food remains (Schaefer & Rudd, 2004).
The raven is also a victim of predation in some occasions. However, it is also a large bird weighing up to 1.2kgs and of a height of about 63 centimeters, which is capable of dealing ably with predators (Green, 2009). Its main predators include the owls, wolves and other predator birds. These predators, though, mostly target the fledglings as the adult raven can rise to a predation occasion ably.
The raven's nest is mostly made of twigs intertwined with roots, then covered with soft materials such as animal fur. The nests are mostly on high mountainous trees and cliff edges and rarely on human structures.
The raven mates after 3 to 4 years. The curting stage takes a long time, and consequently, the mating stage is marked by a lot of acrobatic flying crafted to impress the mate. The raven is considered a monogamous bird unlike a large number of other birds and exhibits a remarkable devotion to family. However, raven relationships are generally quarrelsome. The raven lays 3 to 7 eggs in the nest, which hatch into fledglings. The female raven broods the eggs while the male raven is merely an onlooker. However, both parents feed the hatched fledglings. The fledglings stick in the nest for about six months before they turn rebellious and fly out of the nest and form flocks with other such rebellious young ravens. They are known to live for about 21-29 years.
The young ravens are known to flock together and are playful. They are attracted to bright objects. The older ravens generally couple and live in solitude with their mate for the rest of their life and become neophobic. The raven is extremely territorial. Together with its mate, it maintains a territory which they guard religiously and sometimes maintain it for life. According to Newton & Brockie (2008), the loyalty of ravens is witnessed due to their monogamy and the act of defending each other from predators.
Vocalization
Scientists have recorded up to 30 different types of sounds produced by ravens which are for interaction purposes. Some are vocal while others are not. Some are alarms such as chase calls, flight calls, and alarm calls. Non vocal sounds comprise of wing whistling snapping of beaks. Witnessed in male ravens more than in a female is clapping and clicking. Other sounds include mews, high-pitched cries, dripping water sounds, and glooks. For instance, if a mate is lost, a raven will call it back in a distinct way.
It is has been found that ravens together with ants, bees and humans are the only species that possess displacement capability. This defines the ability to communicate about things that are absent in both space and time. For instance, a young raven might see a large carcass under the custody of adult ravens. It will fly back to the rest of the flock of young ravens and the next day the flock will fly to that exact spot to chase away the earlier custodians. The linguistic displacement is only shared by humans.
It is thought that the raven's solving of problems put before it is purely instinctive, but studies have shownn that the raven is quite intelligent and innovative. Several ravens in an experiment were able to pull up a piece of meat hanging by a string up instead of trying to yank it off the string. The raven also exhibits remarkable intelligence when it makes calls inviting foxes and wolves on finding a carcass. It cannot tear the flesh itself, but the carnivores with their canines to descend on the leftovers there after.
Ravens commonly cache food while their fellow ravens are watching. The latter will remember this occasion and steal this cache of food. It is for this reason that common ravens move to some distance from the food source to try secure its cache. Sometimes a raven will play a decoy by playing to be hiding the cache while it has not done so, then proceeding to hide the food elsewhere.
Playful Behavior
The raven is a playful bird. The young ravens are more playful and undertake spectacular acrobatics in the air by flying high into the sky. They are also the only birds that use toys in their play. They pass twigs and feathers in their talons as they play in the air. They have recently been noted to slide on snow banks for fun. They fly in loops and interlock talons during their play.
Ravens and Humans
Ravens interrelate with humans in many ways and have been known to destroy crops and cause harm to livestock (Sjonger & Kalman, 2005). Over and above, ravens have been featured in literature, myths, culture. For example, Noah in the Bible sent out a raven after the flood which did not obey him. It did not return to the ark. He sent out a different species of birds, the pigeon which obeyed him by returning to the ark with a twig indicating it had found the land after the great flood. North mythology features the raven as well. The western mythology conversely uses the raven in many occasions, and in many cultures the raven was viewed as a bad omen.
The raven like any other bird has been affected by urbanization. The biodiversity of the bird is remarkable in its relationship and interaction with other birds, humans and other species. The ravens' intelligence is unmatched by other birds and evidently by a majority of other animals. Urbanization has seen flocks of ravens and other birds changing their diets and habitats. Ravens having been nesting on human built structures and feeding at dump sites.
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Researching the untold story of Canada's keypunch girls
Sonia Mendes
Ingenium - Canada's Museums of Science and Innovation
Last summer, the Canada Science and Technology Museum offered up access to its collection so that researcher Jennifer Thivierge could study "keypunch girls" — the women who punched holes in data cards and fed them into machines or tabulators, starting in the 1950s. The University of Ottawa's Gazette writes about her findings, and what they say about gender discrimination within the field of computer science.
Student-made robot sets new world record for solving the Rubik's Cube
Since its invention in the 70s, the Rubik's Cube has entertained, challenged, and frustrated users around the world. Last month, a pair of students at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology devised a robot capable of solving the popular 3D puzzle in an astounding 0.38 seconds. Read the full story – and watch a video that shows the robot in action. http://news.mit.edu/2018/featured-video-solving-rubiks-cube-record-time-0316
Raising the Avro Arrow
Canada Aviation and Space Museum
Using Kraken Sonar Inc. advanced high resolution sonar technology to scan Lake Ontario, a team from OEX Recovery Group Inc. launch the search and recovery of nine free-flight Avro-Arrow models.
How the Canada Science and Technology Museum designed an accessible, modular headphone jack | Innovation150
Accessible headphone jacks aren't hard to find nowadays, but they're always built into your average neighbourhood fixtures, like an ATM. This isn't the most welcoming design since there's no way to get the device as a standalone product. But the Canada Science and Technology Museum strives for inclusive design, and since they couldn't buy an accessible headphone jack, their innovators decided to design their own.
Atoms-thick layer of silicon-based semiconductor may allow us to better understand the harsh environments of Venus
In 1967, Venera 4 was the 1st probe to transmit data from another planet's atmosphere. 8 models, and close to 15 years, later we were able to receive the 1st colour panoramic views of that same planet's surface. Today, Venus still very much remains a mystery with probes unable to withstand the extreme temperatures and atmospheric pressures for more than 127 minutes. However, researchers at Standford University's Extreme Environment Microsystems Laboratory are working on developing an atoms-thick
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Result of conversion 5.99 Ringgit (MYR) to Bitcoin (BTC) with latest fiat currency exchange rate and crypto-currency price. Calculate how much is 5.99 Ringgits in Bitcoin using latest exchange rate of foreign currency and live price of Bitcoin. Use this free calculator to convert other values between Ringgit and Bitcoin with result in MYR-BTC table and MYR/BTC historical chart.


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/*]]>*/ Vineyard Wind Faces Federal Permitting Delay - North American Windpower
Home Wind News Offshore Wind Vineyard Wind Faces Federal Permitting Delay
Vineyard Wind Faces Federal Permitting Delay
The U.S. Department of Interior's Bureau of Ocean Energy Management (BOEM) has delayed the issuance of Vineyard Wind's final environmental impact statement (EIS).
In a statement, Vineyard Wind says the agency is "not yet prepared" to issue the final EIS.
"We understand that, as the first commercial-scale offshore wind project in the U.S., the Vineyard Wind project will undergo extraordinary review before receiving approvals," says Vineyard Wind.
"As with any project of this scale and complexity, changes to the schedule are anticipated. Vineyard Wind remains resolutely committed to working with BOEM to deliver the United States' first utility-scale wind farm and its essential benefits – an abundant supply of cost-effective clean energy combined with enormous economic and job-creation opportunities."
Vineyard Wind, a 50/50 joint venture between Avangrid Renewables and Copenhagen Infrastructure Partners, is developing an 800 MW offshore wind farm off the coast of Martha's Vineyard, Mass. It was selected in 2018 as the winning bid under Massachusetts' 83C offshore wind solicitation.
The EIS is a mandatory document that sets forth the impact of a proposed project on its surrounding environment and informs the work and decisions of policymakers and stakeholders, the company explains. In December, BOEM published a draft EIS for the project, followed by a public comment period and public hearings (which were delayed due to the government shutdown).
The EIS is part of Vineyard Wind's comprehensive public and regulatory review process that involves evaluation by more than 25 federal, state and local regulatory bodies, including BOEM, the Army Corps of Engineers, the Massachusetts Department of Environmental Protection, the Cape Cod Commission, the Martha's Vineyard Commission and local conservation commissions. To date, Vineyard Wind has received permits or approvals from the Massachusetts Energy Facilities Siting Board, the Massachusetts Environmental Policy Act office, the Cape Cod Commission, the Barnstable Conservation Commission, the Martha's Vineyard Conservation Commission and the Nantucket Conservation Commission.
As of press time, BOEM's permitting timetable for Vineyard Wind is listed as "being updated."
In addition, according to a local report from The Martha's Vineyard Times, the local Edgartown, Mass., conservation commission has voted 5-1 to deny a cable permit for the project. The developer is proposing to build two underground export cables one mile off Chappaquiddick from the wind farm to a site in the Town of Barnstable, with which Vineyard Wind has a host community agreement.
AEP Utilities Seek To Add 1,485 MW Of New Wind Generation


I had a wonderful time at Coho. They have an awesome customer support system. Great experience.
Had to relocate to Gurgaon post completing 5 years at IIT Kanpur. Had never dealt with brokers and property owners before. Glad my friend connected me to CoHo. Didn't have to pay a single penny to get my AC fixed and got my refund also in full. Although they took some time to process the same.
What kind of companies are there in udyog vihar?
Is udyog vihar a good place to live?
Yes. udyog vihar is a really decent place to live, especially for the working crowd of gurugram. This is because a lot of really amazing corporates are situated in this area and therefore it becomes quite convenient for the employees to work here as there is barely any travel involved.
Are there any weekend spots near udyog vihar?
Quite a few actually. If you are planning to spend an entire day with your friends, dlf cyber hub is the place you need to be. With assortments of restaurants such as social, the wine company, soi 7, the dhaba and many more, this is the place you can definitely chill at.
What are the hangout spots other than cyber hub?
There are quite a few different places you can hangout at near udyog vihar. For all the shopaholics out there, ambience mall is where you wanna be, with its plethora of brands and cafes. There are also some spots in golf course road and mgf metropolitan mall.
How difficult is the commute from udyog vihar to rest of gurgaon?
Difficult is not the word i would use here. The commute from udyog vihar to the rest of gurugram. There are easy and cheap local commute options such as shared autos or pool cabs. To go for long distances, you can always go for the delhi metro railway network which is quite efficient.
How is the cleaning staff?
The cleaning staff with the coho flats are pretty efficient and considerate. They understand the importance of hygiene as well as care and believe that everyone deserves to come back to a clean and pleasant place after a long and hectic day at work. They are quite hard working.
What is the arrangement for meals?
There is a cook facility that you can choose to avail. They will prepare the meals for you. We know that while rushing for office, it becomes difficult to take care of your eating habits, especially so in case of bachelors. Not to mention eating out everyday is pretty expensive.
Is it affordable for a student?
Yes. the flats as well as pgs with coho are quite affordable for students as well as newly working bachelors. Depending on your budget, you can go for either a sharing room or a single occupancy. These flats are fully furnished and have all the amenities that you need.
Is it available in single occupancy?
Yes. these pgs as well as flats are available on both single occupancy as well as sharing and double occupancy basis. This way every individual can choose his or her pg depending on their comfort and financial feasibility. This is very helpful in getting affordable accommodation.
Are the pgs fully furnished?
Yes. the pgs in udyog vihar are absolutely fully furnished. They are beautifully decorated with comfortable couches and beds and television and everything else that you may need in a flat. They also have Xbox and pool tables for the hidden gamers in the residents!
Lodging near Udyog Vihar is cheaper than its surrounding places. People generally prefer to live as a paying guest since it is more convenient for workers because they do not get enough time to manage work and home simultaneously. PGs are convenient since most of the house owners also provide food options in the same package you'd rent a flat in.
Also, here's some healthy suggestion – It is better to talk to the owner when you are planning to rent a flat than approaching a broker because that way rent can also be negotiable and you wouldn't have to pay the commission which is too high than it should be.
So, we must always go for without brokerage or zero brokerage hostels because a broker only complicates it. While you look for a PG on the internet, do not book any in a go, schedule a visit to the one you plan to live in and then decide, because pictures can be deceiving. Also, always consider talking to the people who have already lived there in order to obtain some information and second-hand experience, because it helps.
Whenever you want to book a PG, look for its nearby places so that you have an idea about the locality. Paying Guest generally provides a maximum of three accommodation in a room. Udyog Vihar is a nice place to live in, there are many nearby places where you can hang out with your friends.