Chainsaw Granny and Other Wonders of Asheville

My husband, Charles, summed up Thanksgiving day in this way: “We started the day with four bears on the patio, ate Thanksgiving dinner in a brothel, and attended a gospel concert in a dive bar.” Just an ordinary, extraordinary day in Asheville, North Carolina.

 We went to Asheville to be with our son, Chas, for Thanksgiving, and ended up sharing it with Ruth Gaynes (Chainsaw Granny), her son, Amos, and a new friend, Mary Fay.

As a child, Chas went to a summer camp, Green River Preserve, in the area, later attended UNC-Asheville, and now works as an animatronic artist in the UNC-A STEAM lab. From childhood to adulthood, the Gaynes family, whom my husband and I first met 43 years ago, has provided an anchor for our son’s life in Asheville.

When Ruth and son, Amos, heard we were coming to town, they offered to host Thanksgiving dinner at their house. It would be good to remember how we almost lost touch with each other and how a somewhat supernatural event brought us back together.

I was in Ghana, West Africa, watching a poetry performance by American International School students in 1994 led by Jim Nave’ who traveled to several American International Schools each year to teach kids how to write and perform poetry. I don’t remember the lead-in but at a reception following the event, Nave’ mentioned a gifted boy that he met in Asheville, NC, who could extemporaneously create haiku from words thrown at him in a slam-poetry event. I asked Nave’ if by chance that child was Amos Gaynes? He looked at me as if I was a sorcerer.

The Gaynes family goes way back with us. We first met Ruth at Penland School of Crafts in 1977. In 1981 we visited Ruth and husband, David ,in Connecticut out of Charles and Ruth’s mutual interest in Andean weaving techniques. Ruth was editor of the journal, Shuttle Spindle and Dye Pot, to which Charles and I had contributed an article on Ecuadorian weaving. We were traveling with newborn baby Bronwyn. David was an energetic guy into creative advertising. Ruth was an earth mother, a weaver, and her home smelled of baked bread. She was the hugging type, a great listener, with eyes that twinkle. I wanted to be like her. I still do.

It’s important to stay connected to people that inspire your better angels. Who always have time to hear what is going on in your life and help you sort it out, helping you pay attention to what’s really important. Ruth is such a friend. Asheville draws these kinds of people.

Several years passed after these two meetings before my husband and I saw Ruth again. She was teaching weaving at Penland School of Crafts. I recall that we talked for hours in a sunlit alcove of the lodge, while her son, Amos, busied himself with Capsella blocks. He was about three or four years old at the time and worked on his structure with an intensity I did not know existed in a child that age. He never looked up, never asked for anything. At that time, I believed he was exceptional.

It was around 8 or 9 years later that Jim Nave’ mentioned the young boy in Asheville and I remembered that Ruth and David had moved to Asheville since we last saw them and that Amos would be about that age. Yes, like magic, it occurred to me that this child whom Nave’ thought was so exceptional must be Amos. I really don’t know why. There are a lot of twelve year olds in Asheville and I only knew one. A real crazy guess.

Perhaps it was a flag, a sign that we needed to reconnect with the Gaynes family during our 1994 summer home leave back to NC. We drove up to Asheville and visited Ruth and David in their American Craftsman home in a downtown Asheville neighborhood called Beau-catcher Mountain.

During that visit, I fell in love with American Craftsman Architecture. I liked the large,  open rooms, the high ceilings, the stone fireplace, the wood-cased walls of windows, and especially the history of this house. This house had been the brothel portrayed in Thomas Wolf’s “Look Homeward Angel”.

On our Thanksgiving visit, Ruth confirmed that this house was Miss Kitty’s brothel in Wolfe’s fictional town of Altamont (Asheville). She showed me the padded benches covering each side of the large living room wall where the ladies sat, waiting to be selected. The large open room had a stone fireplace in the center wall and by the door, a wooden carved bar served drinks to the patrons. Ruth told me that one year she and David hosted a party at the house and an elderly guest leaned against the mantle, laughed, and told her, “I guess it’s ok for me to say this since so many years have passed, but I was once a patron here.”

We hadn’t seen Ruth and son Amos since David passed but I’ve been following Ruth’s Facebook posts and learned that she was now artfully carving wooden bowls with a chainsaw from interesting pieces of wood she finds in the forest. What a curiosity. You would think that the chainsaw wood carver would have been a craft taken up by the young Ruth and weaving something she turned to when she grew older and less mobile. Ruth never follows the norm. She calls herself Chainsaw Granny.

I was eager to finally see her new art form when we joined Ruth and Amos for Thanksgiving. Since David’s death, Amos now lives in the main house, which is perched on the side of a mountain, like many houses in Asheville. Ruth now lives in the apartment on the lower level, giving mother and son extra time together, as well as support as she nears eighty. She uses one of the rooms as a studio for the wood-carving.

It was such a joy to be in the home of such calming, loving and interesting people and to also meet Mary Fay, who is adding to her large skills bank by studying spinning and weaving with Ruth. After dinner, Charles and I went down to Ruth’s apartment and studio to see her bowls.

The loom stood in the center of her living room and reminded us that the act of weaving beautiful and comforting textiles has always been central to Ruth’s life.

Several racks of woven samplers hung on her kitchen door showing techniques and designs she developed over the years. Many contained ribbons of cloth made from clothes she had worn. We were glad to hear that Ruth continues to weave, while she also carves.

Earlier this year, Ruth grew concerned that her beautiful hand-spun and dyed yarns would be tossed into a dumpster after she dies. That was the beginning of her “Leftover Yarn Collection” of woven scarves.” So far, she has woven seventeen scarves and has scarcely made a dent in the yarn supply.  Ruth said, “Weaving is clean, quiet, and safe, a way to relax after the carving which is dirty, noisy and dangerous.” 

She asked Amos to give these scarves to close friends as a way to remember her after she dies, but from the supply of yarn and the numbers of friends, her mission, thankfully, will not be completed for many years to come.  

Ruth’s apartment was a museum of her creative arts. We first met Ruth when she was an established weaver and well known in the field of textile arts. As we looked at her textile collection, we reminisced about her career as a weaver.

The brown piece was woven in 1967 as a tribute to Anni Albers, design instructor at Black Mountain College. Anni Albers was a leading textile artist of the 20th century. She was credited with blurring the lines between craft and art. Black Mountain College, where she taught, was founded in 1933, providing holistic learning approaches and the study of art as central to a liberal arts education. The college closed in 1957.

Ruth describes her good fortune at meeting and interviewing Anni Albers and several other Jewish weavers who had lived and worked at Black Mountain College, a renowned center for art and crafts. Ruth laughed and told us that producing the Anni Albers study piece was inspired not only due to admiration of Anni Albers, but also, to get an “A” for her graduation show at San Francisco State College.

The red and wool poncho and the brown alpaca poncho are samples of her weavings from January 1968 until she left San Francisco State University to teach at Penland School of Crafts in September 1974. In addition to teaching, she wove various items to sell such as placemats and napkins until 1980. At that time her husband’s mother suggested that she a weave a prayer shawl for her cousin’s Bar Mitzvah. From the first shawl, many orders were placed, launching a successful business in production of prayer shawls for the Jewish community.

Ruth explained, “I continued to weave prayer shawls until I retired from weaving in 2007. In the final sixteen years, all the prayer shawls were commissioned by individuals. It was the stress of always having to please the customer that led me back to Penland in the summer of 2006, looking for something to shake up my creativity.” A chainsaw workshop with Howard Warner did just that.

After that, life got in the way of Ruth pursuing her newly acquired skill. Luckily, in 2019 she was offered some pretty wood and she started carving bowls with small chain saws.

She showed us her collection of carved bowls and talked about each piece of wood. How it talked to her and directed its shape, attending to the swirls, coloring and eccentricities of formation. Some of the bowls are so highly polished that they could serve as touch stones. They are simply wonderful.

This very large bowl, under construction, is made from beech wood. It will become a glass-topped table. While working on this project, Ruth takes a break and makes small bowls from peach and plum tree wood.

She uses a room in her apartment as a carving studio. She showed us some of the cool tools she uses, as well as her safety equipment. The orange chaps shown in the cover photo are OSHA approved chainsaw safety equipment. “They are filled with fiber that will tangle with the chain saw and stop it from cutting off my leg,” she told us with a smile.  Amos took photos and was her safety monitor during the process of getting approved for the work. Chainsaw wood carving is another good reason for having your son live just footsteps away.

We talked about how Hurricane Helene devastated the forests around Asheville. Even in urban areas with high elevation and no flooding, the soil was so saturated by the heavy rains that old trees just pulled up their roots and crashed, leaving scars in every neighborhood. Ruth will try to shape some into something beautiful. Nothing can redeem the storm’s devastation, but her Helene bowls can serve as memory bowls for paradise lost and found.

After Charles and I finished a tour of the chainsaw gallery, we gathered in the living room with the others. When I entered the room, Ruth, Chas and Mary Fay were sitting together on one of the sofas and talking softly. Chas is facing important decisions in his life and I could tell that they were drawing him out and listening to him. He often goes to this house when he has things on his mind and knows he will find a listening ear. I am so grateful for the role that other adult mentors have played in our children’s lives, those like Ruth who balance out my skills and offerings as a parent. Listening and guidance skills where I falter.   

This gave me the opportunity to talk with the fascinating kid Amos, all grown up, who I remembered as the child with unusual concentration. During Amos’s childhood, David and Ruth were family friends of Bob Moog, who was a pioneer of electronic music. Moog developed the electronic synthesizers used by rock bands starting in the sixties. One day, Mr. Moog asked Amos if he could solder, seeking a replacement for the part-time employee who soldered equipment but had recently quit. Amos said, "Yes," and promptly learned how to solder. At sixteen, Amos took a part-time job at the Moog factory and worked his way up in the organization.

While working at Moog, Amos attended UNCA. He enrolled there to study music but switched to electrical engineering and mechatronics. He wanted to learn how to repair the Moog instruments. Eventually he began to design and build instruments for Moog. After some years, Amos was promoted to head the Creative Development Department. At some points in his career with Moog, Amos set up London and Amsterdam offices to represent the company products. Now he has his own business and is working on three new electronic instruments for clients.

I admitted my bias against electronic music. Amos talked to me about the multi-layers of complex and beautiful sound that can be produced with these instruments, and how by changing and re-arranging parts of the instrument entirely new sounds can be created. While I’ve botched the hour he spent explaining the processes and sophisticated musical outcomes, I left realizing that I had been musically naïve to berate electronically produced music. I was stuck on classical music as the pinnacle of composition and sound, without realizing a different world of music has emerged that is equally exceptional to the traditional classical instruments and compositions.

After saying goodbye, Charles, Chas and I headed off to listen to a wild and crazy gospel rock group from Chicago playing at a dive bar, The Double Crown, in our son’s West Asheville neighborhood. I asked my husband, “What is a dive bar?” He told me I would see for myself.

Outside the bar, picnic tables filled with food were being offered to neighbors, friends and the homeless in the area. Much too frigid to be eating outside but people seemed to be having a good time.

Inside was lively. Walls were covered in a photo gallery of gospel bands, taken by Steve Mann (https://stevemann.company.site/), the bar’s co-owner and noted Asheville commercial studio photographer. Mann also travels across the U.S. to photograph gospel groups, and interesting cultures - a native Indian rodeo, the secret societies of Mardi Gras krewes in New Orleans. The bar provides Steve with a place to hang photos of the gospel rock groups and a place to invite them to perform.

The drinks were cheap, the bartenders friendly. The bar was framed in twinkling lights. The room was packed and warm from body heat. When the music started, everyone swayed and clapped. I figured out that a dive bar is a neighborhood hangout that doesn’t sell food although this one was giving it away. It’s a spontaneous party, a warm room on a cold night, where everyone knows your name.

Over the years, special friends have circled in and out of our lives. I am thankful every time it happens. This experience with the Gaynes in Asheville was like so many others. Where we can pick up like it was just last week when everybody was cooking, eating, dancing, making music, and sharing stories into the night. It has happened to our family in many places around the world. This time it was in Asheville.

In writing this blog I learned some lessons. I will be reminding myself and my readers to be a little more like Chainsaw Granny, not giving up on life as we age but opening eyes and heart to new creative passions-aging with bravado. To fulfill the final stage of life by pursuing new interests that provide sparkle to our daily life, to allow wisdom and benevolence for humankind to unfold and dominate daily choices, and to prioritize time for listening to and supporting others to unravel their own good life, no matter the age.

I am also reminded of lessons that grew out of Hurricane Helene’s devastation of Western Carolina. We ended our time with our son talking about how he and his friends were processing the traumatic event.

Over recent years, Chas has become frustrated with Asheville’s untamed, over-development. The creative community, that made Asheville so attractive for migrants from across the country and a heavy flow of tourism, is no longer able to find modestly priced homes and apartments because owners switched to more profitable short-term rentals.

The gorgeous Art Deco sky line has been blotted with concrete hotels bringing so many tourists to downtown that the locals stopped going. Not only are the sidewalks and restaurants over-crowded, but finding a parking place requires endurance, and the cost is too high for locals. 

After describing the woes of urban growth,

Chas praised the protection of nature and public lands, the parks that he loves and the places he regularly hikes.

He then surprised us by saying, “The flood re-ingratiated Asheville to me.” He described how people who could not manage life without water and electricity, and could not face the destruction and debris, left town. He went on, “The rest of the community rose up, banned together, and fixed things. They checked on neighbors and shared what they had. They helped me remember what I love about Asheville. It’s still an amazing place.” 

His words inspired me to write a poem, shared below, and to realize that good things can arise from bad, hope from tragedy.  The lasting lesson for sustaining hope and resilience, as modeled by Asheville citizens, is to create communities like Asheville wherever you live. Communities that play and work together for common good, who look out for each other as daily practice. It’s the one good thing.  

Written by Deborah Llewellyn

Deborah.llewellyn@gmai.com

Deborah-llewellyn.com/blog

Asheville’s Helene – The One Good Thing

Written by Deborah Llewellyn for her son, Chas. 5 Dec 2024

There is a deep sadness

in the giant oak,

its roots pulled from the mud

that flows ‘round the rocks

on the steep mountainside.

Now collapsed

in a forest family named Beech,

Maple, Poplar.

Struck down in broken formation

as if grabbing hands, falling

to the fate of a hundred-year-storm,

laid bare to witness

through the leafless trees of late autumn.

Summer will come, covering the graves

with vines and seedlings

taking root on the rot.

Tripping the hiker

who will one day tell his grandchildren

that the French Broad swelled,

formed oceans of madness

In peaceful mountain communities.

Rain falling in sheets, rivers surging

carrying porches and people and pets,

sewage and industrial toxins.

The exquisite beauty of Western North Carolina,

storm-pillaged and broken-hearted,

yet serene, in aftermath, like bygone days.

Before reckless tourism and developers

cashed in on nature, native crafts, fine art,

music and cuisine that rise from

the inspiration kindled in unspoiled places.

How hotels emptied and

the rich fled to their second homes.

Yet the true believers rose up,

banned together and fixed things.

Fed each other with what they had,

sawed trees and shoveled muck from the streets.

Checking on each other, rekindling

the spirit of what Asheville used to be.

The one good thing.