Rachel Callahan

CDC Warning: New FTD, Lularoe, Now Classified as Pandemic.

November 15, 2016November 15, 2016 Rachel Callahan "Deep" Thoughts by Rachel, Let's Talk about The Internet, This is TONGUE IN CHEEK People - Don't take me Seriously., Utter Silliness

FTDs, or Facebookually Transmitted Diseases, are now at an all-time high. Please be aware of the latest FTD, know if you are at risk, and prevent further transmission.

Lularoe.

Any woman who is Facebookually active can get Lularoe. Lularoe can cause very serious complications if not treated, and is extremely easy to transmit to other Facebook partners.

What is Lularoe?

Lularoe is a Facebookually transmitted disease (FTD) that can infect women. It can cause infections of buttery soft leggings spreading throughout your closet, mix-and-match cotton prints draining your bank account, and sudden urges to create online parties.

How is Lularoe spread?

Lularoe is spread by engaging in online parties with your Facebook partners. If invited to one of these parties, turn off notifications immediately to lessen the chance of transmitting this disease. To ensure prevention, leave the group, although this can cause bruised relationships with those that are already suffering from Lularoe.

Am I at risk of Lularoe?

YES. Pregnant and post-partum women are at particularly high risk for this disease. It can also be spread from a parent to a female child, as buttery soft leggings also come in smaller sizes. There is even a small percentage of males who are a carrier for Lularoe and transmit it to their female partner by inadvertently buying her buttery soft leggings for a birthday or holiday.

I’m pregnant. How does Lularoe affect my baby?

If you are pregnant and have Lularoe, you can give the infection to your baby during delivery. This can cause serious fashion problems for your baby. If you are pregnant, it is important that you talk to your health care provider so that you get the correct examination, testing, and treatment, as necessary. Treating Lularoe as soon as possible will make health complications for your baby less likely.

Can Lularoe be cured?

Yes, with the right treatment, Lularoe can be treated. Treatment involves a rigorous stripping of one’s Facebook Group Memberships. Extreme cases can require the cancelling of the credit card on file.

I was treated for Lularoe. When can I Facebook Again?

You should wait seven days after finishing all treatments before engaging in Facebook activity. To avoid getting infected with Lularoe again or spreading Lularoe to your friends, you and your Facebook friend(s) should avoid having online parties. If you’ve had Lularoe and took medication in the past, you can still get infected again if you have unprotected online parties with a person who has Lularoe.

Although it is currently the most prevalent, it is important to note that Lularoe is not the only FTD for which you are at risk.

Another highly common FTD is Political Intellectualdeficiency Virus (PIV). PIV is a serious disease that infects both men and women. It causes loss of reason and unrestrained support of a political candidate, leaving you unable to see any of their faults. As the disease progresses, the symptoms can include absolute demonizing of all supporters of another candidate. This disease tends to spike in occurrence every four years, and taper off in mid-November, although this year’s strain is projected to last much, much longer. If you find yourself or those you love still experiencing symptoms of PIV, seek treatment as soon as possible.

Other less frequent Facebookually Transmitted Diseases include Oilmydia (click here to find out more about this disease’s progression), Monogramitis, and the occasional Facebookually spread case of Pinterexia Nervosa.

Facebookually Transmitted Diseases are serious illnesses that often require extreme and long-term treatments to eradicate. Please take great caution to practice Safe Facebook.

These are Two Pieces of Important Information.

November 11, 2016 Rachel Callahan Fun With Roadkill, Newsflash, Picture Birmingham

First piece of important information: I want to personally invite any local (or non-local, if you really love me) people to come see me next Saturday, November 19. I teamed up with the fantastically talented Sarah and Allen Woodall to present a pop-up shop at West Elm (at the Summit.) We’ll be there from 10-4 and will have all SORTS of amazing Christmas gifts. We are single-handedly (okay triple-handedly) saving you from the immense pain of Black Friday shopping, people.

All of my Picture Birmingham proceeds are donated to The WellHouse to help rescue victims of human trafficking.

Second piece of VERY important information:

Along with my normal gift products that are perfect for your Christmas Shopping (coasters! pillows! prints! metal prints! note cards! a couple Christmas ornaments! and so much more!), I will have a very limited supply of an extremely special gift item….

Roadkill Note Cards.

They feature four different animal models found and posed in the Birmingham area. Each animal’s name is lovingly scripted on the bottom right hand corner inside the card, and half the cards also have captions to make your notes all the more special:

The note cards are printed on a gorgeous linen paper and are perfect for wedding thank yous, meaningful notes, baby shower cards, election condolences, and other such momentous occasions.

(And obviously your Dirty Santa game will be red hot if you show up with these cards.)

So come to the Pop-Up shop and claim one of your sets of these rare note card. 10-4 next Saturday, November 19. West Elm.

Oh. And if you can’t come to the pop-up shop or you need them SOONER THAN NEXT SATURDAY, you can order a set (or 10) from this super secret link.

BONUS third piece of very important information: I have two sets of these precious note cards set aside to GIVE AWAY to two of you. To win one of these sets, comment below with a short eulogy for one of the animal friends. It can be whatever you want it to be. The more you make me giggle, the higher the chances that I’ll send you a set of Sloppy the Squirrel, Sleepy the Chipmunk, Crunchy the ‘Possum, and Sunset the Armadillo. I’ll announce the winners in the comments section next Friday, November 18.

November 10: National Day of Rainbows and Unicorns.

November 10, 2016November 9, 2016 Rachel Callahan Parent of the Year, Utter Silliness

“You know what the world needs more of today? Rainbows and Unicorns.”

These were my thoughts when I opened up Facebook.

Two minutes into my feed…

“Unicorns. Rainbows. Stat.”

Five minutes in…

“I NEED A UNICORN CRAPPING A RAINBOW THIS INSTANT.”

I opened up my Bitmoji app to try and find the picture of my cartoon self doing just that,

…Only to discover that my Bitmoji front page looked just like my Facebook feed.

And then I remembered.

I had just the thing that I needed. Nay, perhaps what all of America needed. Or all of the world.

This summer, we discovered something quite accidentally. Noah was playing with the hose in the bright summer sunshine, and I noticed the effect.

I ran in and got my camera and pleaded, begged, and bribed him to let me take pictures.

“PLEASE let me take a picture of a rainbow coming out of your butt. I’ll buy you THREE pieces of candy if you’ll let me take a picture of a rainbow coming out of your butt!!!!”

The pictures weren’t perfect, so I never shared them (except with a friend who has an especially strange penchant for unicorns pooping rainbows.)

My plan was to recreate it again and try to get the arc just right and make sure the end of the rainbow connected from where it was supposed to come just so.

But alas, the summer got away from us and I never worked on my photography project.

But that’s okay.

Because America just needs rainbows today. Not perfect rainbows – just any old rainbow will do.

Therefore, I hereby declare it National Day of Rainbows and Unicorns.

So here you go.

He’s no unicorn, but he can poop a rainbow. So basically, he’s a unicorn.

And if you still need more Unicorns Pooping Rainbows, then by all means watch this:

So go out there and spread some rainbow and unicorn love. Send me your cute kids, your puppies, your funny videos, and for sure share if you have someone or something pooping a rainbow.

That’s all I got, America.

Ali Had a Little Lamb.

November 7, 2016November 7, 2016 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Kids: The Experience.

It’s been a while since we discussed my One Hit Wonder Modeling Career, but yes – when I was 10, I sat for a painting by William Hallmark.

It was popular in Christian bookstores in the 90s, but now it can be found largely in antique shops (yes my Mom found me in an antique shop) and consignment stores.

Alas. Aging happens to the best of us.

But I still remember the thrill of getting to hold that baby lamb to pose for the painting…

And I always promised myself that I’d recreate the photo with my clone, Ali, as soon as I got the opportunity.

So, opportunity presented itself last weekend.

We were at my Grandmother’s 90th birthday party at my parent’s house. Mom mentioned that her neighbor had a new baby lamb, and she began taking people up to see it on the golf cart.

Then someone said, “Well then, Ali needs her picture with it!”

And I was like “Ohmygosh you’re right.”

I had, at Ali’s request, put her hair in pigtail braids that morning. My hair in the painting was in one braid. I asked Ali if she wanted to change it beforehand, and she was all like “It doesn’t have to be exact, MOM.”

And she was right.

After all, in my photo shoot I was wearing a nice amalgam of 90s pastel flowers that I would never dress my kid in even in the name of identical photos. Meanwhile, Ali was currently wearing much more of an 80s Lisa Frankesque rainbow dress, which is clearly more fashion forward.

So we loaded all the cousins up on the golf cart and drove up to the barn, setting off on the search for a baby lamb. Their job was to help distract the sheep and rams so that Ali and I could gain access without being rammed.

They were thrilled at the task at hand.

Ali and I stalked the mother and baby, but with little success.

The mother wasn’t having it and we’re both severely too passive to storm in and grab a baby.

After gently chasing the lamb and mother all over the pasture, the cousins got tired of their assigned task and decided to put their much more adventurous personalities to work on our behalf.

They had that lamb in no time.

They all passed her around for a minute,

and Eli had a talk with the Mama to let her know that everything would be okay.

Then they released her to Ali.

….Who was not thrilled with the nervous mother’s checking in.

…or the nervous mother’s nervous friend.

FINALLY, everyone got out of the way for our photography shoot. Except for my mother’s pesky butt.

Like seriously that would’ve been the perfect picture. (And it was, after a little cropping.)

But my mom’s butt shadow is totally still there.

Ali settled in and enjoyed her peaceful ten seconds with the lamb, while I snapped photos as quickly as I could.

And then the mother and all her friends and possibly even the father stormed the pasture and we ran out.

But hey. I get to check something off my lifelong to-do list. And that is the true reward.

Drought Explorations.

November 4, 2016November 4, 2016 Rachel Callahan Uncategorized

This afternoon, I thought I had a hair appointment. But I apparently did not – it wasn’t until the next Friday.

And so, I found myself with no kids and an entire afternoon to fill.

(The misery.) (I’m sure all moms would agree.)

On the way to my nonexistent appointment, I had rolled by our city’s main water supply, Lake Purdy, and had made a mental note to stop by for a photo op on the way home – if I had time. But now that I had more time than any mother ever has to herself, I relished the idea of giving the mostly-dry lake a thorough tour.

I drove back to the parking spot by the bridge, grabbed my camera and my tripod, and set off through the woods, down into the lake bed.

Now, I don’t often think seriously about the fact that we are in a severe drought. My greatest beef with it is the souring of my favorite season, fall. Instead of all the beautiful colors I am entitled to, many of the leaves have just died or fallen.

But when I reached the edge of what used to be Lake Purdy, I had an “oh crap” moment.

This was our water supply.

It looked like an entirely different planet – dust and moon rocks and weirdly shaped piles of mud.

The rocks all had a fascinating squiggly design in them, somehow formed by being underwater for most of their lives.

Every step had to be carefully watched to not fall in a giant crack or get too close to the tiny bit of remaining water – the mud went from dry and hard to slurpy with very little warning.

Animal prints were all over the place – hooves and claws and bird’s feet.

It was both a wonder and a sadness to behold.

I began my slow trek to find what was left of the lake. I knew that a portion of the lake still existed – but I didn’t know how long of a walk it would take to find it.

Along the way, there were many different terrains and interesting finds.

About 3/4 of a mile into my lakebed walk, piles of shells started showing up.

They, along with the flies buzzing around them, added another complication to the act of walking.

Finally, at approximately 1 1/2 miles in, I found the “lake.”

As I grew closer to it, the treasures abounded – clearly many similar things had already been picked up by other visitors in the parts of the lake that had been drier for a longer period of time

These bottles had been lurking under Lake Purdy since I was a kid. Which really made the whole drought thing seem more serious.

I turned around and headed back to my car, following the lake to the stream to the vast amounts of dry land.

The merciless sun and wind made it fairly easy to imagine that I was in a desert far, far away.

I passed my first other human when I was almost back. He’d parked on the other side of the stream, and we yelled back and forth about our finds. I told him that he could get to the lake from my side, and before I could stop him, he started toward the stream to come across. About four feet out, he instantaneously sank into the slimy, putrid mud – all the way up to his thighs.

I screamed at him to be careful – clearly too late to actually be helpful.

He hefted his legs out of the mud by pulling upward with his hands. There was no way to get to the stream to clean up without it happening again, so he walked on, frustrated, now with his legs covered in a tarry mud.

I headed toward the bridge and went under, where an older gentleman was fishing. I don’t know if he was catching anything, but one would think that the fish to water ratio was pretty favorable.

I took one last look around at the vast otherworldliness of the place, then headed out.

I’m still fairly angry at the drought for taking away my vibrant fall colors, but now I can see that perhaps that’s the least of our problems.

For information and permission to use these photos in the media or for any other use, please email me at rachel@picturebirmingham.com.

The Discovery of Trick or Treating.

November 2, 2016November 1, 2016 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, I'm a Glutton for Adventure, Just My Luck, Kids: The Experience.

This is the first year we haven’t participated in our Church’s Trunk or Treat, pouring oodles of hours into creating a family theme (or, in the case of last year, throwing it together at the absolute last minute three days after what would be a half-a-year-changing wreck.)

It’s not that we quit – our church decided to not do Trunk or Treat this year. We are on a break.

So, we had to figure out what it is people do these days, in the 2016s, for Trick or Treating. Is this still a thing? Can you still knock on stranger’s doors and expect to receive candy? Do you go somewhere else or do it in your own neighborhood?

We asked our neighbors, and they suggested a parade / neighborhood somewhat nearby. Their Daddy was out of town and our Daddy couldn’t leave work in time for the 4pm parade, so we decided to band together to explore this new and unknown territory.

I checked Ali out of Gymnastics early so that we could rush across town, park down the street, run up the street, both my children wearing full-length black costumes on the record hottest Halloween in the state of Alabama (pretty sure it hit 120 degrees…or at least 90.)

There were droves of people at every intersection, pouring into the town center to see what must be a magnificent parade. Right?

The sweating kids were excited. This was what life was all about. Collecting gobs of candy from parade floats, then trying out this mystical antiquated thing called Trick or Treating.

I found an empty space next to the fence and set out to hold our spot.

Except that the kids were whiny.

And hot.

And bored.

And wanted to play on the playground.

So I held their light sabers in a spot-saving manner while they abandoned me to go frolic.

The families next to us tried to squeeze out our space. One of their kids was dressed as a policeman and had a whistle that he was determined to break the world record for how many times in a row he could blow it, or at least discover how many blows it would take for my ears to bleed out. I heard a rumor that no candy would be thrown at the parade this year – and that these barriers were new so how would the kids be able to get the candy?

I pondered what I was doing with my life and questioned my sanity for taking this on.

Our neighbors joined us, which added another adult in the effort of saving our fence spot while the now-four children re-abandoned us.

Finally it was parade time. We called our whining sweaty children back from the playground. Noah put on a good pout-and-stomp show – the kind that makes a mother want to scream for mercy and also WHY AM I DOING ALL OF THIS FOR YOU?!

But we got them lined up at the fence and the parade started. After the first two floats, we had scored a life saver, half-crunched.

I groaned inwardly, suffering from the repeated whistling of the boy next to us as he destroyed my ears and my soul.

The floats kept coming, mostly just staring at us and every now and then gracing us with a thrown item. But the items they did throw didn’t make it past the fence, taunting us as if we were penned-up zoo animals.

Finally, I decided it was time to go rogue. I let Ali climb under the fence to grab items that were in the road between floats. She was able to get a few things, including a pretty awesome stuffed snake, some Mardi Gras(?) beads and a Moon Pie, and a few pieces of candy that she divided between the other three kids, all too young to break the law like her.

After this supposedly famed parade, this was the contents of Noah’s bag.

As soon as the last float went through, people immediately disappeared. We found ourselves alone at the fence, the whole village abandoned, and we were very confused.

We thought we were supposed to go Trick or Treating immediately after this, but we looked down the street to the left and no one was doing so.

We had the presence of mind to, before marching our children into the unknown, grab a few pictures.

Their poses and expressions eased our stress and lowered our blood pressure, breathing a tiny bit of new life into our perilous motherhood situation.

We walked left, weaving through the empty neighborhood, avoiding cars careening around the corners, growing in confusion.

What had we done wrong?

Where did the village disappear to?

WHERE were the Trick or Treaters?

After half a mile of sweaty dangerous walking, we picked a random dark house, shrugged our shoulders, and told our kids to go knock on the door.

Considering they’d never done this in their lives, we were surprised they agreed. The love for candy overcomes all fears.

The house was silent, aside from a yipping dog.

The kids all of a sudden jumped with excitement. They yelled back at us, “She said she’s putting the dog up then coming back!!”

After a few more minutes, she returned, with candy carefully laid out on a silver platter.

They ran back to us, high as a kite over their newfound ability to extract candy from a stranger.

But yet, the rest of the neighborhood was still a ghost town – and not in the fun Halloween way.

I texted complaints to Chris and a friend. They both responded with a street name we should try. Of course it was on the other side of the village – another half a mile away, but it sounded right, and they sounded confident.

So we began walking again. Slowly, as our Darth, Random Jedi, Superwoman, and Thor had by now lost 50% of their personal hydration from the heat.

We stopped at CVS for a bathroom break. As I and my kids were waiting (and had bought a water bottle to ensure their life would continue and so we wouldn’t get kicked out of the drug store), a tall man in a business suit looked over at us, scowled, and said loudly to the lady in line next to him,

“THEY sure are sugared up already.”

She looked over her shoulder, scowled, and said loudly,

“You’re right. But what are they doing in here?”

I was so confused by the apparent fact that they didn’t think I could hear or understand them, and also because my kids were wilting, not jumping around. I looked at them and said, “They’re in here because our friends needed a bathroom break.”

The man turned cooly and ignored us. The lady met my gaze and wrinkled her face up into an even bigger scowl. I was ready to knock her ridiculous seven inch wedges out from under her feet, but I held it together. For the children. For the holiday. For my unblemished criminal record.

Finally, we made it to the street that had been suggested.

And our mouths hung open.

Thousands of people filled the streets. Cars could not possibly get through. Every house had a table or a giant theme set up in their front yard. Kids were lined up getting candy from each one.

Nothing could be more opposite than the empty street we’d started on.

Two giant floats from the parade slowly drove up, and then backed back down the street, blasting Michael Jackson.

(And actually housing the ghost of Michael.)

Right as we found this Halloween Utopia, Chris also found us, adding a much needed third adult to our situation.

The kids began running from house to house, filling their quickly burgeoning buckets with the miracle of the season, thanking us profusely for bringing them here.

After a total of three and a half miles of walking and full bags and buckets for everyone, we slowly walked back to our cars in the dark, the children filled with the glow from their new knowledge that Trick or Treating is actually a real thing – because I’m pretty sure they assumed it was just a nice fairytale before last night.

High Ponytails and Parental Grievances.

October 31, 2016October 30, 2016 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Kids: The Experience.

You know how we all have those random childhood memories where our parents let us down in some miniscule way, but for some reason we still remember it clearly 25 years later?

I’m sure I’ve already given my kids libraries full of these, and their childhoods are only 1/2 and 1/3 complete.

Obviously I hardly have ANY of these AT ALL because my parents were nearly perfect in every way and they also loyally read this blog. But let’s assume for a second that my IDYLLIC childhood was a bit more normal – like yours, for example.

Foam rollers were a on-and-off part of said childhood. I loved turning my board-straight hair into beautiful wavy locks, even if it only lasted approximately 25 seconds after the rollers came out. I wanted the curly hair to last, but no matter how hard I willed those curls to stay boingy, they never listened.

I remember this one little girl I knew. I was about Ali’s age and I admired her curly high ponytail every time I saw her. Her hair was always gathered in a perfect knot of extremely curly curls – curls I was pretty sure were not natural, but clearly bounced eternally longer than mine. She always had a glow about her that I was sure was brought on by her fantastic hair.

I wanted to experience this perfection of a look. Maybe there was magic in putting one’s curls into a high ponytail. Or maybe she was just magical.

I needed to find out.

So I asked my mom if she would curl my hair. I didn’t tell her my final styling plans for fear that she’d think I was silly – one must be careful not to provide too much information to one’s parents on the front end of a request.

She lovingly curled my hair, taking forever as it did to have any chance of the curls sticking around. Then, when we took the rollers out the next morning, I popped the question.

“Now can you please put my hair up into a high ponytail?”

She looked at me as if I had just requested to eat cat vomit for breakfast and said something along the lines of “After all that work YOU WANT IT IN A PONYTAIL?? Uh, no.”

And she stuck to her ruling. There would be no high ponytail curl perfection for me.

I was saddened but accepted the fact, (perhaps begrudgingly since I still remember it,) that my request was inconceivably wasteful of my mother’s curling efforts. And I moved on with life, never achieving that mystic curly high ponytail.

Now I have a daughter who occasionally loves a good curling. Her hair is longer than mine was and a good deal thicker, so the process is arduous and can tend to give me back and shoulder aches that require the consumption of large amounts of chocolate after her bedtime.

But fortunately for her, her hair holds the curl much better than mine ever did. We’ll foam curl her hair when it’s wet and watch over the next three days as the curls get longer and longer.

(Yeah we still keep our two baths a week schedule. What of it?)

Not long ago, she asked me for curls. Really tight curls – use the little rollers, mom.

As I was patiently selecting tiny strand after tiny strand and wrapping it around miniscule roller after miniscule roller, she informed me of her styling plans.

“When we take the rollers out tomorrow morning, can we put it in a high ponytail?”

My aching fingers stopped.

My gut reaction was the exact same as my mom’s had been.

Seriously.

After all this work.

You want it in a ponytail.

Nope, nope, nope.

But I stopped myself.

Then I started up again.

Nope, nope, nope!!

Then I internally sent myself to therapy.

I knew I had to end the cycle. The cycle of Childhood Curly High Ponytail Negligence. No matter how much my spasming shoulders protested.

And so, the next morning, after I carefully unwrapped each tiny tendril from each tinier roller, I gathered up all of those perfect curls and created the most amazing, most curliest, most magical high ponytail that ever existed.

As the day wore on, the curls kept getting longer,

and her smile kept getting wider.

And that was when I knew. That even though my kid is bound to have a Britannica-Sized collection of Childhood Grievances with me, the refusal to create curly high ponytails will not be among them.

Editor’s Note: I asked my mother’s permission to write about my deep-seated ponytail issues. As expected, she has absolutely no recollection of this traumatic incident.

Hands-On Alabama History: The Native American Trips.

October 27, 2016October 26, 2016 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, Alabama History, Homeschooling: Not just for the socially awkward anymore.

We’ve still been keeping busy with our Alabama History project and field trips, but I’ve been waiting to catch up on posting about them until I could share some fun news: a dear friend, Carla Jean Whitley, jumped onto our Alabama History bandwagon a couple of weeks after we started. She is an author of books about Alabama history and a journalist for al.com (The Birmingham News.) She and Ali have teamed up to document our year’s journey, through Ali’s eyes, for the news. The first article in the series published last week.

Carla Jean and Ali have bonded over their love for reading, being the oldest child, using Snapchat together, and more. Be sure to keep up with Carla Jean’s exciting and beautifully written series, Sweet Home History, to gain more perspective on what we’re learning.

We had several field trips in a row to appreciate the Native American history in Alabama. Our first was to Russell Cave, Alabama’s only National Monument.

Russell Cave is at the Northern Edge of the state in the small town of Bridgeport, and has an interesting and extremely old history of the Native American people. Cave archaeological finds date people groups using the caves back to 10,000 years ago.

Luke Mason was our guide, and he was a fantastically knowledgeable and animated park ranger. Being Cherokee Indian himself, he was able to add insight and personal experience to our tour.

Although the cave itself is inaccessible to the public because of its status as an important archaeological site (and to protect the bats that live inside),

it was still such a fantastic learning experience as Luke told us how the cave was used by many generations of Native Americans for shelter and life.

To illustrate the richness of the archaeological value of the cave, he stepped across the barrier, dug around in the dirt for about 30 seconds, and unearthed some artifacts. I’m positive he told us exactly what they were, but my mind did not retain those fascinating facts for you.

The kids were given a Nature Scavenger Hunt sheet to fill out while we were on our tour, and they got about 75% of it completed. But they’re serious at Russell Cave – they sent the kids back out until they found everything listed. Then they let them take their National Park Junior Ranger Pledge,

And awarded them with Junior Ranger badges.

I had never heard of Russell Cave before I started researching for this project, and it was such a great find. The museum and the park rangers offered so much fantastic information about early people groups in Alabama, and there were several things that Ali learned there that carried on with her through our next field trip stops.

——————-

We waited around a few weeks to do our next trip so that we could go to the Moundville Native American Festival. And although the Moundville grounds and Museum are worthy enough of a trip,

the Native American Festival really made the experience come alive.

There were storytellers, musicians who also told gripping stories to go along with their songs,

demonstration booths,

and vendors.

Noah chose to buy a bow and arrow, but was too shy to get lessons from the man who handcrafted it. Ali and Carla Jean, however, did not pass up the opportunity.

Ali chose a flute, also directly from the man who crafted it. She’s still practicing QUITE regularly.

They loved going up to the top of the highest mound where the Chief of Chiefs would preside over the tribes. It was easy to imagine all of the commotion below when they explained the scene.

While we were on the mound, Noah spied a shooting range. Since we’d gotten in trouble earlier for letting Noah shoot his bow and arrow (oops – I was given a sheet of paper that I assumed had the contact information of the craftsman but actually said that bows would be confiscated immediately if shot on the premises), we decided to go down and see if we were allowed to practice there.

It turned out to be the weapons demonstration area, but since no demonstration was currently happening, the kind gentlemen gave Noah one-on-one shooting lessons.

The lessons worked, too – I was able to capture him getting a bullseye before the safety-tipped arrow bounced off. Never has my son ever been so thrilled with my photographical abilities.

The other gentleman at the weapons demonstration tent, Bill Skinner, decided that Ali needed to learn to throw giant, man-sized darts with an atlatl. After explaining the physics and math behind leverage and velocity then demonstrating how it worked, he presented her with the weapon.

She immediately fell in love with this Wooly-Mammoth-Killing Apparatus and continued her atlatl practice for some time.

She recalled learning about the atlatl from Luke at Russell Cave, which I found pretty cool because I thought I’d never heard of one before. At least someone is listening.

She’s definitely interested in purchasing or building one of her own. Can you open carry an atlatl?

He also gave her club lessons, explaining carefully that these weapons were meant to break bones, not bruise – and exactly where to hit to break those bones (Head, Hip, Knee – in case you were wondering.)

The girl is prepared for anything now.

——————-

Our transitional stop from Native Americans to early settlers was Fort Toulouse / Fort Jackson in Wetumpka.

Fort Toulouse was actually a French outpost in 1717 – the easternmost point of the French Louisiana Territory. They set it up so that they could trade easier with the Creek Confederacy, especially favoring the Alibamu tribe.

This went along fantastically until the British won the French-Indian War and chased the French away.

In the early 1800’s, Fort Jackson was established by Americans to use in the Creek Indian War. After winning, the American Government took over 20 million acres of land from the Creek Indians, much of which is now Alabama.

(Ali yelled out upon reading the above fact, “AGAIN?!?! HOW MANY TIMES ARE THE AMERICANS AND BRITISH GOING TO TAKE LAND FROM THE INDIANS?!?”)

(I could only say “I know, right.”)

The reason this particular piece of land has been so valuable over many centuries is because it is in the pie piece of land where the Coosa and Tallapoosa rivers converge. So it is beautiful, fertile, and of strategic importance in military terms.

One of the first things that struck us was that every tree was coated in Spanish Moss. We seemed far too west and north for it to be there, and we wondered if it had been transplanted when the fort was originally created.

We didn’t discover the answer, but we did appreciate the elegance it added to the site – we felt as if we had found a wormhole to Savannah or Charleston.

There was a beautiful reproduction of Fort Toulouse – the nice part about visiting a reproduction for is that you’re allowed to climb on and explore it – because you’re not about to ruin some 300 year old piece of history.

And climb my kids did.

They even laid siege to the fort…

And the buildings inside.

We were nearly the only people at the entire historical site, so the kids really enjoyed the opportunity to run around and explore on their own schedule.

I personally appreciated the beautiful metalwork on all of the hinges – whether true to the original or not, I thought it was a nice touch for a French Fort that was meant for peace rather than war – the Fort of Love.

Fort Jackson, the American Fort, still had remnants of its moat and the protections thereof.

(In fact, the satellite imagery of Fort Jackson is pretty cool. They designed moats so very fancily.)

There wasn’t too much to see at the Fort Jackson site, but by far the favorite place to visit in the kid’s opinions was the reproduction Native American Village.

It included examples of winter houses,

and a summer house.

The beds were made of bamboo and were surprisingly comfortable and cool. Perhaps we should reconsider artisan bamboo beds.

Ali tried out the top bunk,

While the rest of us stayed on the lower levels.

(Really. I did try it out too. But alas, no selfies to prove it.)

The last stop on our self-guided tour was a Native American mound, smaller and more overgrown than Moundville’s, but fun to explore. Dated 1100-1400, it was by far the oldest feature of this historied piece of land.

The unexpected thing about all of these trips is how they’ve woven together in quite the unplanned ways. We learned about the atlatl at Russell Cave, then got to try one at Moundville. We learned about the importance and uses of the mounds at Moundville, then got to see another one at Fort Toulouse. I can only hope that the field trips themselves continue to do a better job of educating my children than I could ever plan for.

If you’ve enjoyed following Ali’s reports, you can flip through all three included in this post here:

russell-cave-moundville-fort-toulouse-field-trip-report

The Day The Tide Turned Brown.

October 24, 2016October 23, 2016 Rachel Callahan A Day in the Life, Actually Possibly Informational, Football and I have a Complicated Relationship, Just My Luck

The history of Alabama Football is nuanced and deep in its tradition. Why, for instance, would our mascot be an elephant, yet we’re called The Crimson Tide?

It came from a simple phrase used by a journalist.

In 1907, there was a particularly momentous game – the Iron Bowl, in fact – that was played in a sea of red mud which stained the Alabama jerseys, formerly white, into a deep crimson. Hugh Roberts, a sports editor of the Birmingham Age-Herald, used the catchy phrase “Crimson Tide” in his article to capture the imagery, and that was that.

…So it would be fitting if another momentous game caused a shift in the naming of the team.

Such was Saturday’s game.

It was a huge game from the outset – two undefeated teams this late in the season, ranked 1 and 6. College Gameday was there. The entire city was basically standing room only – forget actually trying to walk in the quad. The gameday attire (or lack thereof) was turned up like never before, and that’s saying something – I saw more body parts sticking from the places they’re typically kept covered than I have ever seen in my entire life.

When game time arrived at 2:30, the 101,821 people that were lucky enough to be inside the stadium had been given ample time for tailgating and general celebration of the occasion, which of course included the consumption of many things – both in liquid and solid form.

The game started happily. Alabama scored, the stadium was wild with excitement over such a fantastic match-up. I admit I wasn’t actually in my seat when the game began – we have hospitality tickets, so I was enjoying the food and drinks provided in the cushy indoor seating where you watch the game on TV, you’re not squished into the people on the right, left, north, and south of you, and the bathrooms are pristine.

I visited those pristine bathrooms when we arrived and noticed that the toilets were eterni-running. They had the flush that never ends, and moreover that was a bit too high in pressure so that they also doubled as a bidet.

Not great, but who am I to complain about overzealous toilets.

Right before we left the Stadium Club to head to our actual seats, I visited the little girl’s room one more time – just in case. This time, the bathroom was silent. Too silent, in fact. Gone was the eterni-flushing. Gone were any flushes. I wiggled the handle – not even a wave emanated from the bowl.

Huh. Weird day in the bathrooms.

Then I quickly moved on.

We got to our seats just in time to see a couple of exciting plays, and then there was….

…the announcement.

Attention: the stadium is currently experiencing water pressure issues. We are working to resolve the problems. Until that occurs, there will be no running water. Please do not use the facilities until further notice.

And then the game continued as if nothing catastrophic was afoot.

My mind quickly went into math mode.

101,821 fans.

32% were too drunk to hear the announcement.

Another 45% heard it, but were too filled with liquids to heed it.

10% were in the bathroom during the news and didn’t hear it.

100% of the stadium concessions were still selling fountain drinks.

28% of the people in the stadium smuggled in their own liquids.

And 100% of Rachel Callahans now had to pee since discovering that they weren’t allowed.

I tried to come to grips with my situation by turning to Twitter.

Surely the issue would be quickly remedied. The population of the stadium alone was currently Alabama’s fifth largest city. Every state employee except Nick Saban was surely frantically working on this.

So I sat and watched the game, crossing my legs, suspiciously staring down each and every person who left their seats, wondering if they were on their way to worsening our situation.

We headed back inside during halftime, severely disappointed that no follow-up announcement had been made. There were lines to the regular stadium bathrooms, so maybe we’d just missed the all clear?

That, or truly no one was heeding the gravity of the situation.

When we arrived at the Stadium Club, we were greeted with grave warnings that all of the bathrooms inside were off limits.

In fact, they were being guarded by a wall of workers. Martial Pooping Law had been enacted.

I decided that I’d had enough of the cramped quarters of the stadium, so I stayed in the club while Chris went back out to the game. Plus, I was hopeful that the bathrooms would be opened any minute. My personal situation was feeling more urgent.

But alas. The Palace Guard was not budging.

After a little while, I went back to the normal stadium bathrooms, thinking that the long lines from earlier had to be proof that they were once again working.

I walked in and headed to a stall. And gasped, then promptly choked on the air I had just inadvertently sucked in.

There was a pyramid constructed of moist toilet paper and who-knows-what-else…all the way up to the seat.

Noooooo.

I walked into another stall. The same sight greeted me.

Third, fourth, fifth stalls – the pyramid scheme was nonstop.

I couldn’t do it. I turned and walked out. But then the urge was too great and so I turned around and got in the back of the now-formed line. Everyone that came out said “Oh my GOSH ladies it’s TERRIBLE in there.”

I got to the front of the line, looked in one stall, and once again backed out.

I just couldn’t.

10% out of sympathy for whoever the poor soul was that was going to have to DEAL with THAT, and 90% out of complete and utter terror from the contents therein and the closeness they would pose to my own body.

Uh uh. I would internally burst first, thankyouverymuch.

I trudged back up to the Stadium Club to wait it out. I sat down next to a friend and she leaned over and said, “Look what’s going on over there….there’s some sort of…LIQUID…dripping through the ceiling.”

There was zero water running through the pipes of the stadium – I had just confirmed that fact by attempting to scrub the nast of the bathroom off of me – but the sink was bone dry. So the logical conclusion was that whatever that was coming through the ceiling did not originate from the pipes that carried clean water.

And it was dripping steadily into a room that was designed for…and full of…food.

We sat and watched it drip into the trashcans strategically yet subtly placed underneath it.

Needless to say, I lost my appetite for any further consumption, and my bladder insisted that I throw away the rest of my ice water (which, oddly, was still available and flowing from the drink machine.)

Meanwhile, I pondered gravity, and the downward motion of the liquids drip dripping away. And imagined the situation on the field itself.

By the fourth quarter, the game was well in hand and my husband, being the type that likes to take mercy on his wife and beat the traffic, decided we should leave early. As we walked down the street by the Health-Hazard of a Stadium, there was a small river running in the gutter… even though our state is currently in a Level Three drought.

That there was not water.

That was the Brownish Yellow Tide.

Roll Tide, y’all. And pass the toilet paper.

40 Spectacular Spots for Birmingham Photo Shoots

October 19, 2016February 26, 2024 Rachel Callahan Actually Possibly Informational, I Love Birmingham, Picture Birmingham

It’s getting to be the season for family photos, and I often have photographers message me for new ideas on Birmingham backdrops for family or commercial photo shoots. We all know that the Botanical Gardens and Morris Avenue and Railroad Park are great, but people want new ideas.

And I like to give the people what they want.

As I tend to get around a bit as a Birmingham photographer, I have a few suggestions for you who are looking for unique backdrops to take photos in Birmingham. I’m sure you’ve heard of some of them, but maybe I’ll surprise you with a few. Some are seasonal and some take longer walks than others, so be sure and read the details for any disclaimers that you might want to know about. And feel free to ask follow-up questions in the comments or by email – I’m always willing (albeit sometimes a little slow) to help!

Also, if you just like shooting cool places in Birmingham, this is the list for you. As you can see, I don’t usually clog up my pictures with people, either.

But first, a disclaimer: Please use common sense. Just because I list a place here does not mean you can have a full two hour photo shoot there without permission. If in doubt, get prior approval.

Now. Let’s begin.

1. Urban/Artsy: The Blank Space Mural Projects near the Alabama Theatre. These are beautiful, bold, colorful works of art that can be found on the north side of 3rd Avenue South and 18th Street.

Details: They’re both in the backs of parking lots used by Alabama Theatre visitors and workday cars, so attempt to time your visits when the parking lots aren’t full for best access.

2. Urban/Graffiti: The “Graffiti building” on 1st Ave S by the Jones Valley Trail between 28th St S and 32nd St S – It’s a giant warehouse building at least two blocks long covered from one end to the other with Graffiti tags.

If this is your thing, this is the place to find it. It’s currently uncovered because of construction going on next to it. There are some really fun, colorful, and unique tags on the building.

Details: There isn’t public parking right next to it, but you should be able to park fairly close by and walk down the walking trail to the graffiti wall.

3. [redacted at request of residents.]

4. [redacted at request of residents.]

5. [redacted at request of residents.]

6. Pastoral View: Tip Top Grill’s parking lot in Bluff Park. With their great gate and the unobstructed view of Oxmoor Valley, this is a spectacular place for a photo – of sunsets or people or both.

7. Night Funk: You’re not going to get fantastic detail of your subjects if you wait until dusk and go to the Light Rails, but hey – you’ll get some cool shots. And if you’re shooting somewhere close by, this might be a fun way to end the photo shoot.

…But even during they daytime, they’re cool tunnels.

Details: There are three sets of light tunnels that run between north and south Birmingham – at 14th, 18th, 19th, and 20th Streets. I currently recommend 18th Street because the others have construction around them right now.

8. Rotary Trail: The Rotary Trail is a fun place to photograph, with or without people. There are so many fun angles, interesting benches and signs, underpasses and fences.