A Slice of American Pie: Part 2
Country Clutter

You can pull a lot of names out of the hat when you don’t want to spend three months camping in our domesticated state of being. We pitched the tent and rolled out the sleeping bags and mats in our lounge to toughen us up at least three times before we left New Zealand. Paul’s idea of camping is a Hilton Resort, where I packed with visions of campfires and hot dogs roasting under a starry sky.

Paul met the Stiltner family from Centralia, Washington when he attended Palmer College of Chiropractic with their son back in the Dark Ages. Their doorstep was our re-entry into American Culture. Oddly, I do not feel immediately at home back in the States. I see life through two pairs of glasses now – one that reflects the amazement at seeing this crazy American culture again and the other pair that sees a familiarity that wraps itself around me with the comfort of a child’s first blanket. I test both sets as I observe America once again. I remember when I took my two children back home to the States for a visit when Beannie Babies were the rage. My daughter, Molly, would have been ripe for the buying frenzy had she never left America. Instead, she was able to cast an objective eye and say, “that’s really silly” as we heard tales of people queuing at 5 a.m. for the most recent shipment. Mary Stiltner was one of those brave hearts and admitted to bagfuls of Beannie Babies lining her wardrobes now that the craze was over.

Today I learned a new American Phrase: Country Clutter. When I first heard the name to this chain of stores, I thought “How negative. Who would have chosen that?” and yet it described it to a humourous “t”. American homes are a treasure trove of clutter and most of it must have come from this store.

There were signs, decorations, sayings, teddy bears, flags, flags and more flags that were cute, cuter and cutest. Said one son of same family: “If I heard ‘That’s so cute’ one more time opening Christmas presents with all these women I was going to lose it.” And there on the counter was the latest craze that had edged out Beannie Babies –Italian charm bracelets. Some very smart and now rich Italian resurrected the charm bracelet theme from the 50’s and 60’s and produced an up-market version. Once again, you searched for the perfect charm that reflected your true person – from initials to birth stones.

Mary very generously presented me with my “starter set” – a bracelet and 3 charms: my February birthstone, a pen and quill for my writing interests and a set of pink footprints linked to my love of walking. It is my touch of civilisation that can fit on the motorcycle.

Next to the charm bracelet display was “the very latest” – a display of necklaces and earrings fashioned after none other than the humble jandal with a sparkling jewel where the straps meet. The latest? “I’ll get one for Molly,” I said with no hesitation as the American blood began to thicken.

Mary’s kitchen has a gingerbread theme, with a plethora of gingerbread men on a wallpaper border, painted light switch covers, small wooden ones on the cupboard doors and, of course, cute plaques and signs.

Strolling past the country clutter and copious lamb collection in the rest of their home, my eyes spotted a framed medal hanging on the wall for the “Jefferson Peace and Friendship Award presented by the Washington Historical Society.”

Behind all the fun in this young-at-heart great-grandmother who carries a jewelled purse with matching eye-glass case and tissue holder, lay a fascinating story of history, generousity and respect. She brought out a scrap book to illustrate the tale.

Mary’s uncle was a doctor who worked with members of the Chehalis Tribe in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s. Throughout his years of providing medical care, he received beautiful gifts from various families; some in trade for his medical service and others as tokens of appreciation for the contributions he made in helping to heal the sick. Throughout the years, before and after the death of Dr. Van Winkle, these baskets were lovingly cared for and displayed for all to see on the bookshelves in their homes.

The collection passed on to his daughter upon his death and took up abode in her home in New York. They eventually made the long trek back west to their origins in 2002 and passed on to Mary. Realising the significance of the collection, Mary contacted Members of the Confederated Tribes of the Chehalis Reservation. A delegation arrived at her doorstep. “Some of they cried when they saw the baskets spread out on the dining room table.” They had never seen such a complete collection before and were overwhelmed when Mary indicated it was time for them “to go back home.” She gifted them back to the Chehalis Indian people. I sensed the same reverence that the Maori hold for ancestral items and photos that have survived to tell the story of their history.

Many items have made long journeys to come back home to New Zealand as well. A new centre is being built that will house this for generations to come. It is a small world, connected in so many unexpected ways. Sometimes the differences seem insurmountable and other times the common ties bind us together across race, culture and vast oceans.

As the stories were told and years bridged, two tornadoes touched down nearby, heavy downpours assaulted the windows and hail added another dimension to the fury. We were safe and dry inside for the moment, amidst the Country Clutter.