A Visit to the Mississippi Valley Textile Museum

Something has happened to me me. Probably it happened some time ago, and I just haven't noticed until now. This past Friday I took a bus trip with the Cataraqui Guild of Needle Arts to visit the Mississippi Valley Textile Museum in Almonte, Ontario. The museum currently has on display a replica of the Bayeux Tapestry done by Prof. Raymond Dugan-who was lecturing on his work that day. But, before I talk about the display, I still have to tell you what happened to me!

Friday morning was dark and cloudy and grey. We sent out from Kingston towards Brockville (to pick up another group of ladies) , a trip I've taken many times before, but I've never seen it quite like this. Everything excited me! There's nothing much to look at except rocks and trees and water-and I found it all fascinating. A thin width of grass grows right along the side of the highway and it was the most beautiful rich green. Immediately behind the green strip is a wider strip of light brown in the form of dry reeds, standing tall and blowing gently in the wind. There are beautiful rock walls which tower over us, as well as gorgeous rocky plummets to gaze down into. There are forests on either side of us-mostly deciduous trees-brown and naked-but there's a spattering of greens too, from the conifers. The forest grounds are covered in dried leaves. It might seem like autumn, until you look up to the tree tops and get dazzled by the yellow green buds popping out, highlighting the red-brown buds hiding in the red maples.

I am mesmerized by the colours, then the highway narrows and the trees on either side of us are all evergreens now. It's warm and dark and comforting. And almost as fast as I realize that, the highway wides again and we're back to the trees and rocks and water. Only now the colours seem even brighter than they did moments before.

The bus stops in traffic for a moment and I see we are at the top of a drop in elevation. I can gaze down to the still, glass-like water and see the reflection of the trees and think I can stare at this forever. "Stop the bus" I want to cry out loud. I want to take a photo and capture this moment forever. It starts raining and my perfect reflection in the water is fractured-it moves and dances-and I'm wowed by the beauty and the possibilities in the changing image. I find myself overwhelmed and wanting to cry. In fact, I almost did cry-then I snapped myself out of it. I can't cry at beauty on a bus of 50 women of whom I know 1-they'll all think I'm crazy. (Of course now that I think about it, Beth already knows that I'm a little bit crazy-so she could have explained me to everyone else somehow!).

After leaving Brockville, the bus travels along county roads rather than the main highway, so now I have more to look at than just rocks and trees and water. Now there are houses and farms and barns and the occasional quaint little town store! There are more colours to dazzle me, with the early spring flowers in bloom. I'm awed by the designs in freshly plowed berry fields, intrigued by the variety of shapes in houses, amazed at the many lines of windows. I'm fascinated the way the churches stand above their towns and point towards the heavens and cast shadows on the grounds.

Stuck right on the side of the road was a giant fire engine red barn. (Ohmygosh--STOP THE BUS!!!) It is a giant metal barn, painted red from bottom to top, including the roof, but the paint on it is peeling back in layers, revealing the silvery metallic underneath. What wonderful texture! Damn it for being on a bus so I couldn't stop for any photos. Of course, if I had been driving I probably would have spent so much time stopping to take pictures I'd have never made it to the museum, so I guess it's a bit of a mixed blessing.

I can't forget about the hydro pole either. Yes, your regular wood log stuck into the ground and supporting numerous wires. (Stop the bus!) This pole looked like it had been there far too long; rotted away, riddled with holes, chewed up by bugs. It was begging to be touched.

Now, of course, the museum. My first word of wisdom is don't go upstairs as long as the nude exhibit is still there-too weird and not really appropriate for a textile museum if you ask me-and far from the best use for that space. It was photography not textiles. But that's just my opinion. Someone else somewhere probably loved it. As for the tapestry-go see it if you get a chance. Truly, it's incredible. I could have spent a long time looking at it and not seen every detail. While just seeing the piece is wonderful, getting to hear the man who stitched the piece speak about it was even more worthwhile. His knowledge of the tapestry, its history, his passion for it and the obvious love he put into making his replica brought the piece to life. I'm certain that everyone there that day left feeling the trip was more than worth making.

My family and friends asked how the museum was, and I bored them all to death with the details of the ride up. They all just looked blankly at me, said things like, "Jenn, it's just trees and rocks and water. Not like you haven't seen them before". But they are all wrong. I have traveled down that road, but never before have I seen it like this!