Lee Harper's Blog

Maybe I could have handled the return of a sweater to Eastern Mountain Sports a little better yesterday. The following is an approximate recreation of the experience:

Me: I���d like to return this sweater I got for Christmas. It���s defective. See? (I show the clerk where it���s been pilling.)

Clerk: Do you have a receipt?

Me: No.

Clerk: Then you can���t return it.

Me: I have the credit card that was used to purchase it. Can���t you look it up THAT way? I���ve done it here before.

Clerk: No. We���ve changed our policy. (She points to THE POLICY taped to counter.)

Me: Not even if I���m in the Rewards Program? I���ve bought tons of stuff here. I���m a good customer. I get things in the mail telling me how much I���m valued.���
Clerk: (carefully examining the sweater) Hmmm��� it���s got a burr in it.���
Me: Yes, I walk in the woods a lot. What���s the burr have to do with anything, anyway?���
Clerk (pointing to THE POLICY again): The burr is evidence that it���s been used in a non-casual setting. If you read our policy you can see that no items can be returned if they���ve been washed or used in a non-casual setting.���
Me: But I thought all the stuff you sell here was meant for the outdoors!���
Clerk: No, not our casual wear.���
Me: Well, it���s definitely defective. The pilling is unrelated to the tiny burr you���ve discovered. It started pilling on the first day I wore it.���
Clerk: All wool sweaters do that.���
Me: No they don���t.���
Clerk: Are you an expert on wool?���
Me: No, but I���ve had lots of wool sweaters that didn���t pill like this. It���s not even a real wool sweater anyway. It���s some kind of blend. Probably a newly formulated blend that���ll be discontinued by the end of the season because of the pilling.���
Clerk: All wool sweaters are a blend. There���s no such thing as a real wool sweater. Wool wouldn���t hold together without synthetic fibers to hold them together. (She proceeds to lecture me for another five minutes on the topic of fiber science.)���
Me: You���re just making this up.���
Clerk: Making what up?���
Me: The bit about there being no such thing as real wool. If there was no such thing as real wool, what were the sweaters worn by Scottish fishermen made of before the advent of synthetic fibers?���
Clerk: (growing to despise me) I���ll check with the manager.

15 minutes later:

Clerk: I talked to the manager��� he confirmed that it���s against our policy to give a refund on an item that has been used in a non casual setting��� the sweater DOES have a burr in it��� you don���t have a receipt��� the pilling IS normal wear and tear for any wool sweater��� but���

Me: No it���s not! I might not be a wool expert, but in my lifetime I���ve probably owned over 100 sweaters; none of which have pilled like this! Never mind! I���ll just keep this one-step-from-the-seconds-bin piece of rubbish and...

(pause for dramatic effect and in a lower tone of voice:)

I vow to never purchase another sweater from this establishment so long as I live. (I begin to walk away in defiance.)

Krista: (who has now finished browsing and, unbeknownst to me, has come over to the customer service counter to see what has been taking me so long and has been listening to our conversation.)

Ummm��� Lee, I think she was about to give you a refund.

Me: (directed toward clerk?) Really? Where you?

Clerk: I was. But now I guess you���ve decided to keep it.

Me: No, I���d like to return it. It���s defective.

After another ten minutes of negotiating and debating the technology of wool manufacture, I finally got a store credit, which Krista used to buy a nice new wool sweater.

Krista and my 25th wedding anniversary was five days away and we still hadn't decided where to celebrate. We were leaning towards doing something easy like the Jersey shore. But when the weather forecast predicted temperatures in the 100's here in South Eastern PA, it became clear we needed to head north.

"How about Monhegan?" Krista suggested.

I knew of Monhegan since my days as an art student at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts as a place beloved by painters and had always wanted to visit.

"Perfect," I replied.

The next morning by ten o'clock we were on the road.

We stayed a place called the Trailing Yew in large part because it was one of the only places with availability at such late notice, but it ended up being perfect. It's rustic and very communal, kind of like being in summer camp. Krista and I both loved it, even though we had a to do a room shuffle and share a bathroom with other guests. Everyone was friendly, the view was great, and they did a big breakfast every morning that got us through our morning hikes.

I first met P.J. (Pam) Lazos way back in the 20th century before the days of blogs and cell phones. She and my wife Krista (who wasn���t yet my wife) had just graduated from Temple Law School and decided to celebrate with a group adventure to Europe. As Krista now says, I tagged along like gum on their shoe.

These days P. J. Lazos is an environmental lawyer and the author of the eco thriller, "Oil and Water", about oil spills and green technology, and of a collection of novellas, "Six Sisters", about family, dysfunction and the ties that bind us; creator of the literary and eco blog www.greenlifebluewater.wordpress.com; a blogger for the Global Water Alliance (GWA) in Philadelphia; on the Board of Advisors for the wH2O Journal, the Journal of Gender and Water (University of Pennsylvania); a former correspondent for her local newspaper (Lancaster Intelligencer Journal); an editor and ghostwriter; the author of a children's book ("Into the Land of the Loud"); and, because it's cool, a beekeeper's apprentice. She practices laughter daily.

About Oil & Water: When inventor Martin Tirabi builds a machine that converts trash into oil it sends shockwaves through the corporate halls of the oil cognoscenti. Weeks later, Marty and his wife, Ruth are killed in a mysterious car accident. Their son, Gil, a 10-year old physics prodigy is the only one capable of finishing the machine that could solve the world���s energy problems. Plagued with epilepsy from birth, Gil is also psychic, and through dreams and the occasional missive from his dead father he gets the push he needs to finish the job.

I knew the SCBW&I (Society of Children���s Book Author���s and Illustrators) event was going to be a great way to celebrate the release of my new book Ready or Not, Woolbur Goes to School, but I was worried the advertising may have exaggerated the farmyness of my farm:

���Beloved children���s book author-illustrator Lee Harper will give us a tour of his studio and barn; talk about his background, artistic process and school visits; and sign books. Following his presentation, artists are encouraged to spend time sketching the animals on the farm and to visit the Pine Run Reservoir��Bird Sanctuary and��Covered Bridge that abuts the property.�����

I DO have a cat, but the cat lives it���s life in the rafters of the barn, rarely making daytime appearances.


















I have a dog but you don���t need to make a special trip to a farm to draw a dog. The only honest-to-goodness farm animals on this farm were five chicks that had just recently begun their transition to the pasture. It was six chicks a few days ago before the unfortunately named Butterball was lost to a hawk. Who knew how long the other five would hold out? With the vulnerability of the chicken population, I knew I needed more depth at the barnyard animal position.





















Since Woolbur is a sheep, it seemed logical that the next addition to the farm would be sheep. I wanted a Baby Doll lamb because that was the breed of lambs that inspired the look of Woolbur, but my friend that breeds Baby Doll lambs didn���t have any available. I called on several other sheep farmers but their lambs were also all sold. I broadened my search to Alpacas and Llamas but all I could afford in a Llama or Alpaca would be one ready for the retirement community. Then a break: a farmer I found on Craigslist returned my call. She had a whole flock of Jacob sheep available. She explained that they bought the farm from her husband���s brother and the sheep came with the farm. They were multiplying so fast they didn���t know what to do with ���em all.



















I said, ���Perfect!��� but my wife Krista suggested we sleep on it. She questioned whether they were, indeed, actually sheep. In hindsight, Krista���s suspicions were well founded. A week later my friend with the Baby Doll lambs suggested we try a friend of hers who also had some Jacobs lambs available. At first I hesitated because I thought they were going to look like the other Jacobs sheep we���d seen.

















But these lambs were completely different. They were cute and fluffy and looked like, well...sheep!
They were too young to bring home right away, so I arranged to have them delivered the morning of the event! The farmer we bought them from was kind enough to stay with them for the duration of the festivities. I don���t know if anyone drew them, but the event went very well and we are now honest-to-goodness farm folk. We named the lambs Ditty, Dot and Dee.