I take the liberty of posting another photo from John Barker. This one shows Minnie Price at the front of her wagon. Jeremy Sandford’s book mentions several Gypsies with the surname Price, which is my maiden name.

Here are two more photos from John Barker of Buckinghamshire, England.  The black-and-white photo was taken in 1890 when the wagon was built by coachbuilder George Orton of Burton on Trent, England.

John Barker has sent me photos of a 1914 Gypsy wagon built by one of the most famous builders, Dunton & Sons of Reading, England.

John Barker of Buckinghamshire, England, has asked to include my photo of a Gypsy Caravan amongst the 500 he will publish in his upcoming book on Gypsy wagons! What excitement! At this very moment, three of my Gypsy wagon photos are on the way to Buckinghamshire, England. I understand that John is a collector of wagons. I look forward to seeing his book in May 2010.

     The grandchildren like to open up the costume trunk, dress themselves outrageously, then grab rhythm instruments and make a huge racket while marching around the rooms. Sometimes they present shows, dances, or acrobatic  demonstrations for the assembled grown-ups.

     Today at the Good Will store I found a beautiful Mexicali Blues blouse to tuck away in the costume trunk. We expect the grandchildren to visit us on Thanksgiving.

     At the age of twelve Jan Yoors ran away from home and joined a Gypsy  kumpania, learning the language and ways of the Lowara people. In his book The Gypsies he describes  Gypsy women reading the Gaje’s futures from lines in their hands. In response to the boy’s curiosity about this practice, the noble Gypsy girl Keja intoned on his behalf a long monologue, explaining that ”the avidity for fortune-telling came from an inability to cope with one’s anxieties,” adding that “instead of satisfying, it created a self-perpetuating greed for prophecy, akin to compulsive gambling, only more harmful since one lost not money but insight.”

     This is a book filled with amazing description and wisdom and is the first  I have read that presents an inside view of Gypsy life.

     The photos are of my Auch grandparents and my mother when she was a young child.

While savoring
pumpkin carrot spice cake
I watch dark chickens
hustle about their business
between the sunflowers
and the arch of scarlet runner beans.
Something catches their attention
and they are gone at a run
down the avenues of green tomatoes.
White butterflies cavort
among the peppers and squash.
I hold a skein of two-ply wool,
hand-dyed brown and pale rose-pink.
Holes are torn in the sky.
Could they mend in fifty years
if we are careful?
What do the sheep know?
What does a fluffy full-feathered
white chicken know
about holes in the sky!
“The sky is falling in!”
said Chicken Little
and we thought she was raving.
Do butterflies know?
The sunflowers nod.
Nets over grapevines
billow in the wind.
Accumulating cumulus
is thickly white.
Beyond clouds
the sky is blue.
I see a birdhouse
shaded with vines.
Sipping my tea,
I imagine a country wedding
with flower wreaths,
children of faerie
passing under the arch
of scarlet runner beans.
Four white chickens peck
at a leisurely pace
behind the weathered lawn chair
and wander in front of the stone couch.
Birches sway.
Do they remember frost?
Two have snapped.
Let the Gypsy take fire.
She swallows the last of her tea
and buys more rose yarns
to tuck into her bag.