The Oil Lamp

 sun sets across the mountain

hues of pink and orange

the end of a day’s light

a wick wet with oil

rests between fingers of a golden key

globe black with soot

 eyes squint

match strikes

flame illuminates

 hands grip carrying it nearer

the key rotates, the flame grows

a return to the tedium of a day’s work

still incomplete

A conversation with Granny pt. 1

A while back I got to sit down and record a conversation with my granny. I'm so lucky to still have her to tell her stories to me. There's quite a bit of transcript I'm still working through but this is one of my favorite parts. I've left in her dialect because it's authentically granny. 

Meg: What do you remember your daddy doing most?

Granny: Well he farmed. I guess he enjoyed it that's all he done. They worked hard. Daddy worked hard but Daddy used to be a drinker now he loved moonshine.

Meg: Did he make it?

Granny: Yeah. He just never did get caught but he made it. He sold it. And Mom sold whiskey till she said they was coming across, they carried it outta Boggs Creek. They'd have to go up there and get it and carry it out. And she said one time her and Estel was carrying a load out to sell for the next day you know and it was dark. And said they set down to rest and said Estel was always the type of person that never said any bad words they set down and he never had anything bad to say about anybody. She said they sat down on that log and he said "mom, don't you think there's another way that we could make a living besides this." And she said, "well Estel we'll try it." And she said she never sold another bit after that... 

But that's all they had to do, I mean they had to do something to even survive. And I know she said the ones that used to buy the whiskey from her, I think one of the men was ***** ******** and people like that but anyway said they come to buy some day or two after she said she wasn't selling no more and said he said "Well Pearlie I guess you think you're too damn good to sell whiskey." And she said no I'm not too good but I can make a living another way and she said that right there was the turning point, said she never did sell no more. But my daddy sure did drink it. She used to go up there at the barn and unscrew the cap on the whiskey and let it leak out so he wouldn't drink it. Cause he was the hatefulest man ever lived when he was drunk. God, I was scared to death of him. But then when he wasn't drinking he was a good person. That's just the way they lived. 

Laurel Fork

When you move away it’s always hard to pick and choose what events warrant a six-hour round trip and someone always thinks you should’ve come home when you didn’t. Birthdays, church homecomings, reunions, weddings, etc. As we’ve gotten older and busier we go home less but we try to choose those prime events where we can see the most people and get the most bang for our buck. Some holidays win out over others.

For us, Christmas has always been the constant. We’ve never skipped it. My mom’s entire family is always in Pound for the holiday and both of my dad’s brothers along with their closest cousins are there too. One Christmas, as often happens during holidays, my dad started romanticizing his younger days. His brothers and cousins soon joined in waxing poetic about the Laurel Fork trail near the Pound dam. They hadn’t been up there in years and truth be told it’s entirely possible that not a one of them had ever been there sober. The days when they ran through the hollers and trails of southwestern Virginia were long gone. They got it in their head that come spring when they were all back in town for Easter they’d get on that trail again.

The cold months passed and April arrived, cooler than expected. Easter was never a given for us, we remained non-committal until the last possible minute and always made a game-time decision. This particular year we packed up the dogs in the Subaru drove South on I-81 until we reached Abingdon where the dogs know it’s time to lay down because nothing but curves lay ahead for the next hour while we trekked as far as one can go into southwestern Virginia.  The Pound. 

My husband went ready to hit Laurel Fork with both dogs and some of my dad's family. When it came time to put their money where their mouth was only one of my dad’s cousins and my husband were going to make the trek. These men had hunted, fished, camped and carried on in places like these and maybe they didn’t want to relive it.

I had, personally, never been on the Laurel Fork trail and were it not for the events that transpired that Easter weekend I likely never would have. After not hearing from the husband for several hours I knew something was up and when I called he informed me he'd lost one of the dogs. 

Our Dolly is a rescue who had been a part of our family for only a few months. She’s part hound and part demon, her heightened energy and penchant for whining make her a lot of work. Word soon spread through our tiny town and when family members learned that the closest thing I’ll ever have to a child was missing in the woods it didn’t take long before they rallied to me. Relatives showed up in droves, some of them simply to sit in my car while I cried and threatened to divorce my husband if we didn’t find her.

My dad hiked up on one trail and his brother, Tim, drove up and to walk back down in from the other side. For hours we all traversed the trails and former trails of Pine Mountain. Night fell and still no Dolly. Cut to resurrection morning and my family in the woods calling for a dog instead of at the sunrise service. After a break for Easter dinner, night fell and still no Dolly.

Monday morning held a happy ending for us and Dolly. She'd had her fun and waited to be found in the parking lot at the Laurel Fork trail. Still wearing her hiking backpack and a bit worse for the wear she was ready to go home. 

I like to believe her antics were a ploy to get my daddy and his brother in those woods again but maybe she is just ornery. 

Coal & Roots

My roots are defined by two things. Land. Appalachia is land first and foremost. My roots are deep in the mountains of the first frontier. They are buried in the mountain soil which has been overturned each spring and harvested each fall. Though occasionally stirred they are too deep to uproot. The second part of roots is what they twist around under the dirt. People. My roots are knotted, spun ‘round, and tied up with so many mountain people I couldn’t extract them even if I wanted to.

But you can’t untangle the two. The people would not have survived here without the land. The land breathed life into the people and sustained them. The people of Appalachia have always relied on this land. Logged it. Plowed it. Grazed it. Planted it. Overturned it only to do it all again the next year. This is how the land sustained them. But amidst all this planting and growing our people found something to change the relationship between land and people. Black gold. King coal. And upon its discovery the mutual respect ended. The land had provided for the people in exchange for a fallow year. A chance to catch it’s breath for the promise of another bounty in a couple of years. But no more. The occasional Sabbath ended.

Raped. Plundered and pillaged. Some mountains taken to within an inch of their lives only to put a golf course on top of what used to be a peak and in the words of John Prine  “they wrote it all down as the progress of man.” This threat to our roots came from outsiders, from those who didn’t understand us enough to respect us only enough to manipulate us.

Boom and bust. We lived and died with the price of coal. Layoffs and mine falls. Matewan to Upper Big Branch. And when papaw was on strike UMWA would make sure mommy got her lunch for free. And now, we’ve gone from fighting against the man to fighting tooth and nail to defend him. Arch & Alpha have fed our families so long we’ve forgotten how to do it ourselves.

I can’t extract my roots from coal any more than I can put the top back on Red Onion mountain. But I can tell you it does not define us. We are so much more than “keeping the lights on.” We are a rich people, loyal to a fault, and hard-working as the day is long if you only give us a chance. Our roots are people and land and it’s high time we remember what this land has given us and start to give back to it. It’s sustained us long enough. We must find a way to remain here and sustain ourselves. 

I am apple butter.

I am apple butter.

I take planning and dedication.

My process is lengthy. I am slow-burning and hot to the touch. And I require constant attention and affection.

I am of the mountains. I belong with the hill people, those who appreciate the process. The togetherness. The ones who have biscuits and coffee no matter the time of day. I belong with those who bring me out of the dairy house for family, not just any old person who doesn’t understand the work that has gone into me. I am formed by old timers telling stories over me, praying over me and dedicating days to me

I started so humble-grown on a tree with so many just like me. Then I was taken from all I’ve ever known and while my neighbors got to stay, I’ve been mixed up with other kinds.  

Cooked down until I’m unrecognizable to those I spent my formative years with, taking on flavors of my new neighbors and those I’ll grow old with. I become something they’ll see as unnatural-away from my roots & limbs.

I keep well, for the long-haul: loyal and steady. But I must be canned quickly-I’ve required a lot of sugar to sweeten me up. But that’s apple butter and that’s me. I’m not quite sweet though it seems I should be.

The churning is constant. The turning over and movement from one spot to the other but always in the kettle, What do I want? Who will I be? Where do I want to live? What will my life turn out to be?

I like to be surrounded by people, in theory, but when it comes down to it one at a time is all I can handle. I am heritage, roots and Appalachia. I am fall foliage, sweaters and family gatherings, long and tedious. Fun at first but I quickly turn into a lot of work. More work than I’ll be worth later.

I’m messy and I don’t go easily from the fire. The work never stops until you’ve put me under pressure and shut me up, finally.  Enclosed with thick, black cauldron walls to the cool home of a jar-glass walled and exposed.

I am meant for breakfast with biscuits. Scratch made. More work. And isn’t that just like me? The work never ends. I can’t stand alone, I have to go along with something else.

Cans. Jars. Lids. Rims. Labels. Time. Shelf-space. I wait impatiently surrounded by jars that look like the new me. Looking for our turn: to show the unique flavors I have to offer.

Although I may look like it, I’m not like the others. I want you to like me just a bit more. To brag on me to your relatives and friends, “Now that’s a good jar of apple butter,” you’ll say and they’ll know what you mean, as compared to the others. And I’ll be secretly thrilled.

Maybe I’ll be that batch. The one. The batch they’ll remember each year as they count the hours-stirring when they say “I hope this years is as good as 1989s, now that was good apple butter.”

You’ll run out of me before next year. There’s never enough of me and I won’t make it till next October. So you’ll be left wanting more. But that’s the appeal, if I was around all the time, you’d take me for granted-I wouldn’t be special anymore. I’m not just any old jelly that’s easy to come by-I’m rare. 

Home again home again jiggity jog

Anyone know the rest of that little nursery rhyme?? If you do, 10 points for you, I just taught it to my husband about a week ago and he recites it every time we pull in the driveway.

Drew was on unpaid vacay this past week (Thank you Caterpillar!)So we went home to help my parents with a little demo work as they are beginning a remodel today. I learned how to pull nails out of a wall using a hammer. I always knew it was possible and that the back of the hammer was like that for a reason....However, I didn't know to use leverage against the wall so I was just trying to wiggle the nail out of said wall with said hammer. After almost whacking myself in the face a few times, I figured it out.

My mom almost cried when I told her that. She said it makes her sad when she finds out I don't know how to do pretty basic things like that. I won't tell her it's because she always did everything for us so now all 3 of her children are invalids.

Also while home, I purchased this little pretty from my cousin who is making them like it's her job!!

She has all different color beads and I haven't taken mine off since I got it last week. You can read her blog here and also, I would imagine you can order yourself a snazzy bracelet while there too!

 

 

Also, we had my dad's family reunion over the weekend. Amazingly, (not really) I have no pictures to showcase it, I must have been too busy actually interacting and enjoying myself. I'm such a disgrace to my generation!!!! As my friend Libby said when we had dinner last week "You didn't really have a good time unless you have pictures of it." *insert sarcastic tone*

 

Annndd I want to point out a fun fact: Libby and I were not friends in high school. In fact we were the opposite, but can I just say that I don't know what was wrong with me??? She is so much fun and I love her sense of humor. There's a lesson kiddies: You probably would have had more in common with people outside of your "clique" in high school had you taken the time to get to know it.

 

 

Back to the reunion.... We don't get to see my dad's extended family much so it is nice to catch up with everyone. My granny is always happy to have everyone there together so that makes it all worth it. (Even when she gets all out of sorts and is sent off on a wine-tasting to calm down in the middle of it all).

 

 

As per usual I'm back home and procrastinating on homework and purchasing episodes of Sons of Anarchy on Amazon instant to reward myself for not doing my work...wait, do I have that backwards? 

Retired at 24

Our garden has grown into quite the beautiful creature lately. We have had lots o' lettuce and spinach and soon will have tomatoes. We've taken a lot more pains this year and water it and tend to it like real farmers. And I must admit I'm pretty proud when people come over and brag on it.

Where our garden is located now we can see it from our front porch or our patio. So, we can admire it anytime we spend time outdoors. Even when we spend time in our state-of-the-art Olympic size pool like we did yesterday.

He built a fire in 90 degree weather to keep the gnats off of him.

This weekend I've also been working on our guest room, sprucing it up a bit in anticipation of having company soon.

I love our house and it is so nice to have all of this extra indoor and outdoor space. But I can't help but wonder if we've got it backwards. We're only 24 and we aren't ready for a family anytime soon. I think we got this house in the hopes of lots of company which does happen occasionally but not a lot. Everyone is busy, like us and it's hard to get away.

Our lease here ends next year around the time I'll be finishing my Master's and around the time most of our friends will be leaving. So, some big changes are in store for us. Namely: downsizing and relocating.

I do promise to make the most of this place for the next year and I hope to have a place just like it someday to call our own but we aren't there yet. We need to make sure we aren't retired at 24. So if you want to experience life here on Bishop, make plans for the next 10-12 months, I've got your room ready! And these 2 are lots of fun to hang with.

A little swap

I get tired of things in the same place all the time. I mean if you can't switch things up every once in a while, whats the point of living? Am I right?

 

This is what our dining room has looked like for the last year or so, since we moved in:

 

This is the same room as of today:

 

 

A nice new "study" as Drew says. Also, we had to take down our bookshelves because someone didn't hang them properly so our books have a new home also in the study:

 

Now you may be asking yourselves, "Where's the dining room, did you move it upstairs?" No silly people, we did not.

This was the 2012 living room:

It's a long, kinda awkward room. with, count 'em 6 doorways and 2 windows. Yeah. But this, friends, is the 2013 living/dining room:

 

Only this pic was taken before the shelves came down so pretend they're gone.

 

So basically Drew and I added a room onto our house this morning, what have you sorry people done all day?

 

Now we can have 2 spare bedrooms which means more room for company!!! So come see us!

 

Also I'm aware that some may not like the new set up. It may seem a bit cramped to those of you who like to spread out. But please just smile and nod.

 

Thank you. Now I'm going outside to read and enjoy this heavenly sunshine! 

Becoming a girl....thanks to Gracie

Last weekend Drew and I traveled home for the occasion of showering my soon-to-arrive niece Gracie with gifts. Her shower was a hit and she is so loved already. Plus she will be the best dressed and have the hippest quilts in town.

Above picture represents her haul. Yeah, she's a lucky gal. Also, side note: notice my grandmother parked in her wheelchair facing the wall at the end of the table. That's where my mother her caregiver parked her and left her. Until, Meghan to the rescue to wheel her around aimlessly while she mumbled about all of Gracie's gifts and how they would never be used. A jolly ol' time.

There's the mama herself, enjoying a cheesecake bite while we cleaned up. I won't mention how she yelled at me about how "descriptively" to write down the gifts. So....I don't have a baby and I might mistake a bottle washing brush as a toilet brush and a box to put baby's things in the dishwasher as a pencil box. I was not qualified for that position. And I didn't care for it at all, which is why I passed it off multiple times.And why I have no pictures of Holly opening a single gift.

 Up there is Gracie's bedding which my aunt made. My very favorite gift (and I suspect it's Gracie's too). Handmade gifts are the best. Unfortunately this was mine:

Not hand-made but still cute nonetheless. And pink which is a big step for me. Only for Gracie, peeps.

 

 

Above you will see my sisters. And below you will find my dearest friends. Maybe Gracie isn't the only lucky gal. 

 

A fun time was had by all (except mamaw) and I can't wait to see Gracie's reaction. Just kidding I'm sure her reaction will be sleeping and crying so I'll settle for her mommy's reaction .I'm so excited for her to arrive I may just squeal. Something else I don't usually do. Gracie, you are turning me into a girl!

 

Also this happened while I was home this weekend:

 



Who says you can't go home?

I desperately want to be one of those bloggers who has always has the right words to say. But I'm not. I come from a place where I say "she done it." Especially when surrounded by others likely to do the same. My sister corrected me as if I didn't know I was wrong. Somehow I just think my grandmother understands me better that way. I'm probably not giving her enough credit.

I spent 5 days back home and just returned yesterday. Home is so good. Things about it hurt me though. It feels like home doesn't always understand who I've become or what I'm about but the important ones do. Or they at least try to understand. I appreciate that. I am different. Always have been. Some ways better than others. I was different in bad ways for a lot of years. I was bitchy, cynical, negative and judgemental. And because that was me, I have to start everyday now making a conscious effort to be positive, tolerant, loving and kind. It comes more naturally. I don't have to work as hard at being nice. Being a pissed off teenager actually took quite a bit of effort.

The good things of home were running into an old friend from high school downtown and chatting about "adult" things like money, mortgages and car payments. Getting to snuggle up to a precious baby boy. Fried chicken at my granny's house. Cousins, young and old. Laughing with girlfriends. Laying in bed with my dog and sister. Seeing my brother growing up. Being asked to pray for someone. Sewing. Robo's. Talking religion and politics with people that don't agree with me and being able to still love one another at the same time. Those are things that make me want to stay in Pound forever.

But I do have a husband and a house here in Blacksburg so I returned. Happy to be in the presence of someone I don't have to explain myself to. Someone who understands me and welcomes my opinion. Someone who when I say I feel like people have accused me of losing my faith can look at me and say "so what if you have." He is honest and fair and I thank God for him. (I also thank God that I returned to a freezer full of deer meat!)

My mom is worried about people's perception of me. She says she understands my heart but others are quick to judge. I understand that. Most people cannot understand how I came to the beliefs I hold now from where I once was. But as I said to my mom, those who care about me will ask. I'm not asking anyone to agree with me. But if you love me you will be able to understand where I'm coming from.

You know how on Eat, Pray, Love Liz is trying to find her word. Well I've found mine. It's: give. I believe that's my calling. Give love. Give help. Give hope. Give Jesus. I hope that I can do that daily. If that's my purpose I will devote my life to it. I ask for prayers as I feel disheartened by some but hopeful because of others.

My election prediction: Jesus never fails. I stole a button from a Christian bookstore that said that when I was 2. I still have it and I still believe it. God's will be done. Amen.

A couple highlights of home:

I was not warned that my picture would be taken at girl's night which is why I look so lovely.

My sweet Shelby girl. She is such a hoot.