The ANTecdote
Hearts
Hearts Artichoke and palm Valentines made by hand Hand over my heart Same hand pulling on your heart strings Strings of hearts hanging from the kitchen beam Boxes for life-long love letters Heart beats thudding fast A hummingbird’s heart beats 1260 times a minute Cross my heart and hope to die The Queen of Hearts Let’s shoot the moon Baby And come down in the heartland No change of heart here Feels like home Home is where the heart is Here’s to keeping up the heart work For it is, as always, heartfelt
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Calhoun’s 2021 Festival Welcome
Well, hello there! It’s really wonderful to be able to welcome you back to our favorite cow pasture, in person, together at last. We gather here to enjoy the good company of our friends and neighbors, to celebrate that we made it through a very tough chapter of our lives, and to celebrate our 10th year anniversary of enjoying live music together. We have much to be thankful for. A friend recently posed this question: “How are you making time for things that matter?” I was on a Smith River trip thinking about this and had lots of time to gaze up at the canyon walls to contemplate the things that truly matter. Family, rivers, community, my dog, leaving this world a little better than we found it, and of course, music. Photo by Eric Heidle How can we describe the value of music in our lives? What is it about songs that can help us heal? Music allows us to access the emotional side of ourselves that we don’t often make time to let in. It lets us feel deeply and perhaps most importantly, reminds us that we are not alone. Hearing about someone else’s experiences of hardship or joy invites us to reflect on our relationship both with ourselves and with others. It invites us to think about our place and purpose in this world. I posed this same question to several friends: “What is the value of music?” One particularly insightful 10-year-old named Willa summed it up well, “Music makes everything better. Like when I fight with my brother, all we have to do is put on our favorite song, and bam…we love each other again.” Music reminds us to be joyful, to dance! It says things we don’t know how to put into words. It steadies our souls. Music is the story that captures what it means to be alive. So here we are, gathered together to hear the songs that move us. As day slips into dusk, and the big Montana sky envelops our collective experience with grace and so much beauty, please take a moment to look around at these smiling faces. Let’s embrace this, and each other. Let’s lead with all the love we can possibly muster. Let’s take care of one another the best we know how. For it is this, our collective human experience, that truly matters. With so much love and gratitude, Sarah
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On Giving
This past week, we spent time selecting gifts from our beautifully stocked Red Ants Pants shelves for some folks who need a little extra joy this holiday season. In November, we asked our customers for suggestions of people they knew who had an especially tough year. The responses came pouring in. And I assure you, there has not been a dry eye in the place. Some of you lost your homes and all your belongings in wildfires. We understand that nothing can replace a home, but perhaps a new pair of pants and a carpenter pencil will give you some strength to start rebuilding. There are stories of single moms losing their jobs, of husbands serving overseas, of isolated elderly neighbors. There is a mom who has to drive her 12-year-old son across state lines five times a week for cancer treatments. We can’t cure your son, but a hoodie and some strong coffee may bring some warmth to your early mornings. But, perhaps most remarkable, were the Red Ants Pants customers who responded to our query by sending additional support in the form of donations, their own gift contributions, and even by returning pants they outgrew to pass along to someone else who can use them. Giving is contagious. There is no doubt that people are hurting out there. But we’re seeing an awful lot of love, too. And kindness. And joy…even if we have to look a little harder for it this year. So, here’s to lifting each other up the very best we can. In love, kindness, and joy, Sarah
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America
Dear America, I’ve driven across you four times in the past few months. Makes me wonder what you are thinking. Our wide-open plains, Great Lakes, Northern woodlands and the wise old Appalachian Mountains. What are you thinking of us these days? You have seen a lot happen over the centuries. The Blackfeet, Lakota, and Mohawk. The fur trappers, wagon trains, Lewis and Clark. Bison herds come and gone, elk and grizzly once roaming the prairies and now populating the timbered high country. The songs I played on repeat while driving remind me of the tremendous work and toil that has gone into building this continent. The Edmund Fitzgerald and The Canadian Railroad Trilogy. My Dad and I wore out the record player listening to Gordon Lightfoot a few winters back. “Living on stew and drinking bad whiskey” about sums it up these days. But when driving along Lake Superior these plays are a must. Iron ore, railroad empires, and engineering feats like the Mackinaw Bridge. And as she always does, Dolly brings me home. Light of a Clear Blue Morning is my new anthem. Let’s show these lakes and woodlands that there is a hell of a lot of hope for humanity. We have strong backs, strong minds, and strong hearts. We know how to build community. We know how to take care of one another. In love and gratitude, Sarah
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Harvest
These past few weeks I have been thinking about the harvest, turning to our gardens, farms, and fields for some grounding. On recent visits with friends I have been sent away with ripened tomatoes, onions and potatoes just pulled from the ground, pumpkins still on the vine. I have been able to spread my modest bounty of plump plums and crisp pears from my backyard orchard (…and yes, I use that word ‘orchard’ very generously). And driving across our rural spaces it is always something to behold, the great swaths of wheat, lentils, alfalfa. Corn and soybeans stretch as far as I can see while I’m bucking the sun heading East. Hoop houses, grain trucks, and combines with headers wider than my house. The amber waves of grain. Truly, a beautiful thing. In downtown White Sulphur you can hear the cows bawling in the stockyards as their calves have been recently weaned off for shipping. 4-H steers, hogs, and meat birds have been well raised, sold to the highest bidder at the local fair, and sent off for processing. Bow hunters have enjoyed a good harvest, and upland bird hunters have been sending their dogs across coulees to flush the pheasants and grouse. It’s a good season all around. How lucky we are to live in places where we can access this bounty. Where we have public land, water, and resources to be self reliant in our food systems. A huge thank you to all the farmers, ranchers, and gardeners out there keeping us well nourished. In the week since I first drafted this, a foot and a half of snow and -10˚ below temps haven’t crept in but blasted forth. Reminding us that we are still in Montana. And we still can’t control the weather. And that is a good thing. Rifle opener for deer and elk was on Saturday and the tracks are fresh. We hope your firewood stacks are deep, your hunting rifles are sighted in, and your harvest has been rich.
Learn moreA Letter To Our Community
A Letter To Our Community Dear Red Ants Pants Community, Years ago when I was an Outward Bound instructor I led several courses where I was the only white person, and the only female. On one particular course with a group of Black students from Philadelphia, we had a storm in the middle of the night. Once the lightning ceased, I went out to make the rounds. Not used to seeing me in form fitting long johns, one of the 12-year-old boys goes, “Ms. Sarah! You got a Black girl’s booty!” Fast forward to a Tour de Pants stop in downtown LA for a Women in the Trades show in 2009. A lovely curvaceous Black woman tried on Red Ants Pants for the first time. She exclaimed, “Damn! They even fit my booty!” Red Ants Pants fit Black women. They fit white women. They fit gay women. They fit straight women. They fit Asian, Hispanic, and Native American women. They fit farmers and ranchers. They fit gardeners and carpenters. They fit union pipe fitters and welders. They fit mothers, daughters, and grandmothers. They even fit men. Here at Red Ants Pants, integrity and courage are core values in our mission. The time has come to lean even further into these values. We stand in solidarity with Black and Indigenous people, and with all communities of color. It is time to work harder, for we have much learning to do.We commit to doing the work, doing the listening, doing the learning. We commit to partnering, supporting, and amplifying voices of color. We encourage our Red Ants Pants community to join us. In love and gratitude always, Sarah
Learn moreSkids
Skids This week I learned the difference between a pallet and a skid. A pallet can be moved with a fork lift from all four sides, a skid just from two sides. A skid is a simpler design, although not quite as strong. The skid is the original version of a pallet. Yes, I had to look it up. Yesterday I reached out to several freight companies to get 2,800 yards of ripstop nylon trucked from California to our partner’s cut and sew facility in Billings. This shipment consists of 22 rolls of fabric approved for Level 1 and 2 hospital gowns. One full skid. To be clear, not all freight companies deliver to Montana. And not all freight companies are created equal. So, after reaching out to a few of them without luck, the shop phone rang. Daniela is on the other end, from Chicago. I let her know I needed to set up a new account to get some freight moving for PPE. She immediately launched into a string of gratitudes for companies like us who are pausing our usual production and pitching in to manufacture PPE for our front line workers. I was taken aback from this rush of talking, then the line went quiet. And then I realize that she is crying. Daniela then tells me she lost her sister to COVID-19 last week. Choked up, we connected about the emotional and very real challenge of all this. We then collected ourselves, got the account set up, and got the freight moving. And that seems to be the thing that helps…keep the freight moving. Each day, each hour even, seems to have such variable emotional, mental, and physical challenges. I am fortunate to have a distraction to keep my mind busy. But it is not easy. Sleep evades me. Concern for delivery timelines, wash tests, price points, wanting to please everyone while trying not to over promise and under deliver. These concerns keep me wide awake at the darkest hours before dawn. This is the new reality. It is not a sustainable one, for any of us. But we must keep moving forward. We must keep the freight moving. Onward. xoxo, Sarah
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A Crowded Table
A Crowded Table Carpentry 101 instructors Heidi Rogers and Anna Baker This past weekend, we held another Carpentry Course, one of our programs of the Red Ants Pants Foundation. Taught by women, for women. Beginning carpentry was the focus, learning everything from pounding nails to running table saws. It’s a grand time filled with really strong women, expanding comfort zones, sawdust, empowering moments, and perhaps most importantly, really, really good food. Our dear friend Claudia is the chef and she’ll be the first to tell you in her sing-song Colombian accent “Ladies, the most important ingredient in all my cooking is love!” And she is never wrong. We hold this course 20 miles west of White Sulphur on the Camas Creek Cattle and Sheep Co., better known as the Doggett Ranch. Jamie and Jock Doggett, longtime friends and community pillars, host us at their place, camping in the pasture and teaching in the barn. Typically, we have our chainsaw course taking place concurrently, but this year we had a smaller group. So, Jamie insisted on inviting us to eat inside their home rather than on our dusty picnic tables. Our Crowded Table It is worth mentioning that Jamie stops short at nothing shy of 100%. There were new tablecloths and themes for each meal. Wine glasses and individual salt and pepper shakers graced each place. Saturday night she insisted on bringing out her Grandmother’s china, as well as her high heels (which lasted roughly seven minutes on her feet). Jock in his humble, quiet way, after donning a fresh pair of suspenders, poured wine for the ladies. Toasts were made. Bellies and hearts were full. They in fact, still are. Reflecting around the bonfire we were all so touched by the generosity, the humor, the intimate transition of strangers quickly turning into family. “If it’s love that we give, it’s love that we reap.” – The Highwomen If you have not heard this song yet, please take a listen. It hits home in all the right places. “I want a house with a crowded table. And a place by the fire for everyone. Let us take on the world while we’re young and able. And bring us back together when the day is done.” – The Highwomen Thank you, Jamie and Jock for the home. Thank you, Claudia for the meals. Thank you, instructors for the teaching. Thank you, ladies for building the chairs. And to all of us for making it a crowded table. 2019 Timberskills Carpentry 101 participants
Learn moreOn Song Writing
On Song Writing Earlier this winter, I had an interesting experience at a songwriters festival down South. We were at a brunch venue on the Gulf Coast. It was a packed house, yet still intimate enough to view the performer from the bar, where we had managed to snag grapefruit mimosas and just enough standing room. The songwriter was Stephen Kellogg, a heartfelt musician from New England who I very randomly remembered seeing some twenty years ago back at my college coffee house. It was one of those chapters in life where I was going through some challenging personal stuff, and was fully thrilled to be day drinking with good girl friends, taking in a show. Then Stephen had to sing some song about objects in the mirror, reflecting on losing parents, celebrating family and big life moments…you know where this is going. Suddenly and unexpectedly I found myself fighting back tears with every ounce of strength I could scrape together. And it was not enough. The song ended. Then dear Stephen Kellogg, who was watching my emotional response to his song says to the entire crowd, “You! You there, in the brown. Yes, you. You are the reason I was put on this earth to play music.” My friends turned to me, wide eyed, followed by the entire crowd. I turned and looked behind me, hoping…nope, he was indeed talking to me. Songwriters are the story-tellers of our generation. They have the power. The power to draw the tears out, even if we aren’t ready for them. The power to remind us of some truths. To make us feel all the feels. They can move us in ways we don’t know we need to be moved. So this is my plea. Buy the record. Go to the live show. Host a house concert. Get these songwriters into your lives, your ears, and your hearts. I first dabbled into the music world by simply hosting traveling bands in my little pants shop. It takes no money to bring music alive in a town. It literally requires a few calls, a potluck supper, and a hat passed around so the band can make it to the next gig. There are stories being told, let’s give them a listen. And I should add that both my parents are in good health! Stephen Kellogg, Objects in the Mirror:
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