Day 22: Homecoming

I’ve never spent any appreciable time on a ship, certainly never slept on one. But at times I imagined my vessel a simulacrum, especially climbing in and out of a bed on stilts— in the back of a truck. No wonder it felt like being on the ocean. Wobbles on top of wobbles.

All of that’s to say that, feet on the ground, getting up from the guest bed felt like standing on bedrock. Solid ground. Shore.

I was home.

Not all the way home, but an extension of it. A satellite. Not Dawn’s home specifically, but Alfred generally. Though Dawn’s home had a certain familiarity to it, in its decor and feel. Very similar to the beautifully renovated and curated homes of my childhood. And, of course, the ceramics. One fun thing about anyone who lives in Alfred, or went to Alfred, or had a kid who went to Alfred, or has a great aunt and uncle in a former chicken coop in Alfred, is that their kitchen cabinets and dishwashers look like this:

I wish I’d captured more of Dawn’s house to show you. Especially the wall around her kitchen window. Gorgeous. But I didn’t want to be too much of an obvious snoop, especially when she was sitting right there.

A light breakfast and then I was off to explore campus. Dawn had to work. The boys, I think, had adventures planned. Something about getting spring water from a highly secretive spot in the woods. You hippies.

Back down to Main St. I got more glimpses of houses I’d consciously forgotten, but the familiar forms of which occasionally render into dreamscapes. Oh Alfred, how I’ve missed you.

In the heart of “downtown” there is a small strip of businesses and apartments. Bland’s bus stop is right on the outer edge of them. I made sure to snap a few photos to show Bland. I don’t remember his exact response, but it was somewhat self-deprecating, which surprised me, considering what a win this project was.

I’ll explain.

Between the two Alfreds (AU & Alfred State) there existed some ongoing tension: accusations of classism, occasional name-calling, and probably the kinds of territorial and legal disputes that would be expected by quasi-competing large institutional fish in a very very small pond. With this backdrop, Bland’s bus stop project, cleverly titled COTTA (Community Outreach Through The Arts), was able to pull together faculty, administrators, and students from both schools to all collaborate and work enthusiastically together. It was such a win that he almost* got the highest award the university offers, the, uh, something-something-you’re-awesome award. Bland is another gifted networker, but without the bullshit. He’s a natural leader, cheerily orchestrating ambitious projects and inspiring others to join him. Which they eagerly do, in no small part, because they see him working harder and faster and with a better attitude than everyone else. Artists, macho State dudes, the maintenance staff, the Deans, anyone who works alongside Bland— much respect, much wow.

*Bonnie, an equally impressive student, from China, won the Most Awesome award with her multi-year spanning A2A (Asia 2 Alfred) festival celebrating Asian culture- another ambitious community-building exercise that bridged not just the institutions of our little educational valley, but literal continents. Such a warm and wonderful woman, Bonnie. I wonder what amazing things she’s up to now…

One of the biggest visual shocks was the absence of the Jet. That little sculpture park right there used to be two more units of the row, complete with Alfred’s beloved greasy spoon, the Collegiate. A kitchen fire torched both buildings, to the extent that they were razed. Not sure why John Ninos (who owns most of Alfred) chose to make a sculpture park. Maybe it’s a tax write off.

The Jet, instead, lives now in what used to be a total dump of a sandwich shop. Much improved.

I stopped by the Terra Cotta coffee shop, another Alfred gem, also owned by John Ninos. Though that was, apparently, about to change. He was selling it to one of his employees. This lady, who’s name now escapes me. But I do remember that we were at Alfred at the same time, I think she was also an art student, though maybe a BAFA (as opposed to BFA, which is a can of worms I’ll leave alone).

The Terra Cotta was almost singularly frozen in time. 15 years later and the exact same art is on the walls. And the staircase. And the upstairs. Like, nothing had changed at all. I almost expected to look under the couch and find something I’d lost as a freshman. My virginity. Kidding, kidding. Though I kind of wish that I had a hilarious anecdote about clumsily losing it on a Terra Cotta couch after hours. With my luck, just when it was getting good John would have walked in, turned around and walked back down the stairs while shouting “I’m sending you the cleaning bill.” And then actually sent us a bill for steam cleaning the compromised couch. (Do you steam clean couches in real life? No idea. But you do in my spoof Terra Cotta virginity-losing story).

Anyhoo.

There was one discreet, but pretty large change— the upper deck had expanded and sprawled to include the roof space of neighboring buildings. Must be so much fun in the peak season. People everywhere, all sugared up.

I ordered my favorite drink - a vanilla chai latte. I’d no basis for comparison when I first started drinking these at the Terra Cotta. All I knew was that it was sugary and delicious. Later in life, I learned that it bears very little resemblance to actual chai. Don’t care. Still love it. Here’s a very uninteresting photo of it, exclusively for nostalgic purposes, adding literally nothing of value to you, dear reader. Also don’t care.

Hey, you got on this train.

I took my very frothy, sugary, American descendant of a chai latte and wandered around campus. It was bright, with large intermittent patches of gray, occasionally spitting. Apropos.

The Brick. A beautiful dorm building. The basement… is home to the BAFA program. (There’s your peek into the worm can).

Oh hello tacky sign, you’re new.

Ah yes, King Alfred. Still not sure if this was a real king, or a mythical one, or if the town was named after him before the schools, or what. Honestly, I don’t care enough to look it up. One fun note about our “king” is that he is periodically dressed up by the students. Generally with a sense of humor. Case in point:

Some of the buildings on campus are pretty remarkable. I always loved this little castle, built out of every random rock they could haul onsite. The inside is SO cool. Wasn’t open :(

This bell tower, which you can actually take a class to learn how to play, was actually a big fuck up for the university. Apparently, somone conned them into thinking that the bells were expensive antiques and they got vastly overcharged for them. At least that’s the student lore. We liked to laugh at the administrators for it. You dum dums.

Admissions, another really interesting interior.

I forget the name of this one, Konoinoinia or something. Beautiful space, really liked having classes there. Like an Eastern Religions class with Father Ian Adkins. Not the professor, though he did dress like one. That is when he wasn’t wearing an actual, honest to god, cassock. Total character. Highly entertaining.

This little patch of grass always intrigued me. No one hangs out here. But I kind of always wanted to.

Sadly, this very well might have been someone’s art project. The little stream on campus tended to have that effect. It served as an artistic crutch to many an uninspired art student. I remember Dave Naito, my sophomore glass professor, distinctly warning our class not to put art there: “projects in the stream generally suck.” So, naturally, for our first graded project, a stoner-bro put his piece in the stream. Didn’t listen or didn’t care? Unclear. But Dave was right, it did suck. And I told him it sucked. And everyone laughed. AITA? Yes and no. Always a fine line to walk in critiques, which is THE MOST SUBJECTIVE AND BIASED method of grading imaginable. But also an accurate reflection of the whims of public opinion, which, as an artist, are the waters you swim in. Stoner bro’s piece sank that day. Though, in hindsight, I was more of an asshole than was necessary. My bad.

Before leaving town I made sure to stock up on snacks at, you guessed it, the Rogue Carrot. Also a chance to buy some Father’s Day gifts, because it was that very day. The timing was perfect: I’d announced to my parents that I’d be returning to the east coast on a Mother’s Day Zoom call, and now I would be showing up on Father’s Day itself. It was also a way to be supportive of Dawn, as she’d refused to let me pay her an Air BnB fee for the room I stayed in.

As we were saying our goodbyes, Dawn requested a photo of the truck in front of her store, and I requested a photo of us together. In piggyback formation. It made us both laugh.

On my way out of Alfred I drove by Bicycle Man, which is believe-it-or-not, a nationally renowned bike shop. The bike world is weird that way. These little off-beat shops like Bike Friday, or Bicycle Man, can wield a surprisingly outsized amount of influence and cache inside of the industry. No one was there. It was a Sunday, and Father’s Day, after all. So I snooped for a minute, peed in the bushes, and continued on.

The remaining drive was fairly straightforward. I knew most of the roads now, visually anyway. I’d done this drive many times while in undergrad. Though I still relied on Google Maps to make sure I made all my connections. The terrain was back to being interesting, undulating and wooded.

Somewhere on the border with PA the truck began limping again. God fucking dammit. I pulled over as soon as I could, and into a podunk gas station. I let it sit for a few minutes, ate some snacks, and literally got on my knees and prayed that it would make it all the way back to Philadelphia. I was SO CLOSE.

Prayers heard.

I drove it cautiously with a light foot. It didn’t complain again, but I also didn’t push it.

Getting closer!

Lol, don’t remember our signs being so cheery. But it sure felt like a good omen, maybe even a blessing :)

Somewhwere on the PA turnpike I had to pee. I stopped at a vaguely familiar oversized rest stop. Much to my delight there was a traveling carnival there, presumably also peeing. And I ended up parking right behind the folded-up teacups. What a weird thing to encounter.

Less than an hour away. An increasing amount of familiar landmarks. A phone call to coordinate timing. My parents were at the Yardley Inn, one of their favorite restaurants. By my ETA I’d be arriving just as the place was closing up shop, though they said they could still serve dessert. Oh, how unfortunate. Poooooor me.

A little bit of a tight squeeze, these historic Eastern towns with their narrow roadways, built for horse and buggies or whatever. Winding a little, now we’re there. Oh, I’ve been here before I think. Hey look, it’s dad!

Aww, my parents :)

After a lovely dinner (of dessert) we made our way back to the Intentional Community where my parents live. My dad unwrapped his Alfred-themed Father’s Day gifts complete with an Alfred t-shirt my friend Alex designed and, of course, a piece of ceramics. So my mom didn’t feel left out I took the opportunity to give her the Pendleton blanket she had me buy for her. Sure, not a present, but who doesn’t like getting stuff, right?

We chatted for bit longer, but I was pretty tired so it was off to bed. Are you sleeping in the front room?

No, I’m sleeping in my truck.

Oh, okay

Good night, love you guys.