Icon by @ThatSpookyAgent. Call me Tir or Julian. 37. He/They. Queer. Twitter: @tirlaeyn. ao3: tirlaeyn. 18+ Only. Star Trek. The X-Files. Sandman. IwtV. OMFD. Definitionless in this Strict Atmosphere.
“My name is Corey Alston. I’m a fifth generation Sweetgrass Basket Weaver. I currently run the family business in the Charleston City Market. Sweetgrass Basket Weaving has been a major part of the Gullah Geechee Culture dating back to days of Enslavement. This coastal art form has been recognized as South Carolina State Handcraft and has been known to be kept alive the longest along Sweetgrass Basket Makers HWY of South Carolina. This skill is one of the rare arts of our country that is founded nowhere else in America. Gullah Sweetgrass Baskets are a national treasure.
“Being chosen as one of the artisans of Mt. Pleasant does not only bring awareness to my skill set and my culture as a Gullah Geechee representative, but in collaboration with Acres of Ancestry raises awareness of the unjustifiable treatment that Black and minority farmers have endured. The more that this topic is brought to the forefront, the more that our nation’s leaders will see that treating white farmers one way and then treating Black farmers another way will not be accepted. I applaud Acres of Ancestry for working tirelessly on making sure that everyone understands what our elder farmers are going through.
“These two Sweetgrass Baskets are called ‘Poppa’ and ‘Big Momma.’ It took six months to complete ‘Big Momma’ and four months to complete ‘Poppa.’ They both measure 36 inches tall.”
—Corey Alston, fifth generation basket weaver and cultural preservationist from Mount Pleasant, SC, Artisan Statement
A lone cowboy nobody knew walks into a mining town bar..
He orders two drinks which he downs slowly. When he was done with his drinks, he paid the bartender and walks out to see that his horse with all his stuff is missing.
He turns around, walks back in the bar, pulls his guns from his holster and shoots them in the air.
“Which ever one of you cow dung stole my horse better have it back by the time I finish my next drink, other wise I am going to have to do what I did in Texas. And trust me, I don’t want to ever do that again”.
He walks back to the bar, gets another drink, and slowly drinks it. The people in the bar started murmuring, talking amongst themselves and looking at the stranger with fear in their eyes.
The stranger finishes his drink, walks out and his horse was there where he left it. He got up on it, when the bartender and the bar patrons ran out after him.
The bartender said “Mister, we are sorry for what happened. But please tell us what happened in Texas after somebody stole your horse?”
The stranger looked at him and said, “I had to walk home”.
