Good Friday, yes. I did not have to go to work at Co-op. Good Friday is Co-op’s Black Friday, and I saw proof that it was several other retailer’s, as well.

I had some ambitious goals for today. They were as follows:

• Weed flowerbeds
• Plant some flowers
• Spray fence line with herbicide
• Mulch
• Mail payment
• Get lunch
• Take trash off

Would you like to know how many of those were accomplished? Two. The answer is two. Well, technically, I did take the trash off, but I brought it back, so I’m not sure that counts.

Here’s what happened.

I lollygagged around here all morning, drinking coffee, watching birds, finishing my book and doing my New York Times puzzles and helicoptering over Chester, who was acting off. By the time I realized I was starving and sustaining life on a banana, it was nearly noon and I still hadn’t showered. Of course I will do yard work without being squeaky clean, but I didn’t want to go gallivanting around my hometown and run into every person I’ve ever known in my whole life home for Easter.

So anyway, I get ready, load Chester up (I figured it’d either make him carsick and therefore purge whatever had him feeling less than perfect or perk him right up.), anod headed down to Loveday’s. If traffic was this horrific on this end of Sevier County, I do not even want to speculate on what it looked like in Pigeon Forge. I whip into the last spot at the market and I’m eyeing the grounds suspiciously. They don’t have their greenhouses stocked and ready and I see no evidence of bagged mulch. A very bad sign, indeed. I leave Chess in Maggie and go in to see about things.

The line is long, so I look at cheese. Then I look at butter. I shouldn’t buy butter and cheese because I am only on my first stop. I spy Steve or Tim, whichever one, and catch his eye. I ask about bagged mulch. They do not and I am dreading going to Home Depot. Why oh why did I not go somewhere earlier this week? Or for that matter, last month? Dang it. I make an executive decision I will pay a little more and wing into McMahan’s, or whatever it is now but forever McMahan’s to us natives, on the way to the post office.

Well, that didn’t happen because that place was packed as well. And I didn’t see any in the sheds anyway. I continue to the post office.

It is here I complete my first task. Obviously I left Chess in the car again, guarding my pocketbook, but I wish I had brought it in because there was no one in line and I could have bought stamps unhurriedly. Strangest thing ever not to see people lined out the door.

When I topped the hill and saw Tractor Supply’s sign I thought I could swing in there and get some mulch on my way back. And I hate that, since they were such a rival of the Co-op’s, but desperate times call for desperate measures and there’s no Co-op in Seymour. Unfortunately. Because I begged for one. Anyway, TSC had about four spaces left in the lot and I decided on the spot I just didn’t wanna work that hard today, anyway. I could weed and leave the mulching till Monday, or whenever I got by Co-op. I wasn’t about to go all the way over to David’s nursery. This was getting ridiculous.

On to the dump. I wasn’t sure if they’d be open but I had checked Sevier County Government’s website and all it said was the courthouse was closed. Obviously I was flitting about, running my errands, but plenty of times the convenience centers are open when the rest of us are closed. Kinda like the library, I guess since they’re open on Saturdays, as a rule. Well, you guessed it, the dump was closed. I wasn’t the only one who tried- a truck pulled in behind me and I imagine they were as surprised as I was.

I doubled back for lunch. I like making all right turns if possible, plus I didn’t want it getting cold as I hunted bagged mulch like most kids would be hunting eggs in a day or two. I had my heart set on Zaxbys. But I figured at this rate, they’d be out of chicken. Let’s see.

Not much of a line. Yay.

But time to read signage. Egg rolls, really? I can get on board with funnel cakes. Funnel cakes are always acceptable, because they’re a rarity outside the fair and Dollywood. But who says, “I could really go for an egg roll. You know who has good ones?” At this point, person #2 would name a local Chinese restaurant. “No, Zaxbys!”

Says no one, ever.

Cashier was pleasant and had my drink ready. Yay.

Got my food and came home. Decided to eat on the porch.

Chester was looking and acting back to his normal 100%. Yay!

Open box. Inspect sandwich. Sigh. Was not the club, but instead their signature. Was not surprised. Ate it anyway. Was pleased and secretly glad they screwed it up, because I’d been wanting to try it. And since I’m currently boycotting Chickalay’s prices, it was a perfect substitute.

Sat on my porch, decompressed with a good friend, showed off all my fishing tackle, had a beer, watched birds. Fixed some mediocre pork chops for supper with cheater mashed taters. I fixed the little reds tonight. I prefer the garlic ones. Was washing dishes when I heard —and felt— an explosion. Had just turned Chess out and he was raising Cain. Stepped outside, nothing appeared amiss. I don’t know what it was, but the neighbors on the corner in the subdivision had been burning this evening so maybe a propane tank or something got mixed in. Who knows? I never heard any sirens so I guess everything and everybody is ok. It’s about more excitement than I was prepared to handle. I may still be in recovery tomorrow and unable to weed. Time will tell. But I tell you what I won’t be doing: spreading mulch.

Love from Appalachia’s laziest inhabitant,

~Amy

Ok, this one truly is #88. I somehow managed to skip #87 and someone who pays attention to details caught it. I do not pay attention to details. I barely pay attention to the main attraction. Especially if there’s food. Or dogs.

I am really truly looking forward to the long weekend. In a very selfish kind of way….which is obviously the wrong mentality, especially seeing as how it’s Easter. But still. I can’t help it. I just love being home. Even though I’m prollllllly gonna get out; I need to visit a garden center for mulch and some flowers. And if I go to Loveday’s I can get one (ONE!) of them little hand pies. Oh my stars they’re so decadent. The lemon is my favorite. I want to try the chocolate, though. And blackberry is really good too. And of course the peach is always gonna be a hit with me.

Great balls of fire, I wonder what time they open? I just ate a half of a sleeve of thin mints like they were going out of style, and now here I am thinking about Dutch girl pie.

Anyway. I came home and knocked out the key players of housework which leaves my weekend fairly free. But I do want to go ahead and spray and work on my flowerbeds since I neglected them last year. Hey, not my fault. I was dealing with that massive tree that had fallen and it just jacked everything up as far as yard maintenance. We’ve had quite the lovely spring so far. I hate to admit it, but today was the first time I’d walked. Fish and I used to walk almost every single time the weather was fair. We fell out of the habit during Covid and never really picked back up. But today, when I could stand no more of Jake Right Now’s sniffling, I sent out the “fancy a stroll?” Mayday. And he did, seeing as how I’d caught him at an opportune time of feeling like he’d overindulged at lunch. As I understood it, there was gravy involved, so it’s warranted.

And that’s only part of why I wanted to walk. One of my favorite producers came by. As he said, he’s had a really tough year…and it’s not even April. He spent five of six weeks in the hospital, had a stroke that was misdiagnosed at two hospitals as pneumonia, he’s had three broke ribs, just came through a surgery this month of having his pacemaker replaced, I don’t even know what all. He’s not one to complain, but I know he’s tired. On top of that, his wife of 64 years has dementia. I stood out and talked to him for awhile and while I was super glad to see him out and about, I felt selfish for wanting to keep him here. And I wouldn’t, truly…but I do love him. He said he just wishes he could walk. He means unassisted, over his fields and farm. He’s on a walker, and I know that pains and shames him. No reason to be ashamed, especially at his age with his history.

I’m just afraid he ain’t long for this world. He made out like he’s waiting on her, and I made the remark, “maybe she’s waiting on you.” Was it crass? Maybe a little. Was it true? We’ll never know. Did he agree with me? He did.

I hate to see these old farmers quit. They don’t want to quit, and they know what’s gonna become of the place they gave their every spare moment to. The ground they worried and prayed about and obsessed over every day of their life. What they nearly went broke over more than once, what drove them crazy but kept them sane. What they and their families did without because of the love of their land. It’s their heart and soul. And they ain’t makin’ no more.

So if you’d say some prayers for the fourth boy in his family of nine, he could sure use them. And if you can’t pray, go walk, and think of him. Listen to the birds, watch the bees working clover, try to understand how your food gets here. The heartbeat of America isn’t a Chevrolet truck. The heartbeat of America is the farmer. And it’s on it’s last pacemaker.

Love from Appalachia,

~Amy

My day began with dry rain. That’s a term I’ve made up, but I’ve been told it makes sense. It’s the kind of rain where it feels dry between drops, instead of an all encompassing wetness. I thought today was gonna be a total wash out, but it ended up being pretty spotty.

I had a Foundation meeting at 7:30 this morning. I’ve always heard successful people are the ones out stirring before the rest of the world wakes up and I guess it can be believed if you go by this group. It’s basically Sevier County Royalty, if there is such a thing. Excluding me, obviously. I’m just a representative for the library board. My report went like this: “oh, we’re just rockin’ along. No news is good news and I have no updates.” But it was good to see everyone, and to reconnect with a sweet girl I haven’t seen in too long. She has one of the best laughs. It just bubbles out of her, nearly unprompted. I feel like she was a sprite in a previous life. But she’s definitely one of those if she gets tickled, I get tickled, and we’re both getting thrown out of the funeral home. Dangerous for us to be together for long.

On to work for a few hours, to send an email saying I never got the email (this has happened twice in the last month— important ones, too! But always nice to hear I’m not the only one). Watched the circus involving the renters up front. I’d like to give them a really good talking to but it should probably involve, bare minimum, the landlord mediating because my temper flares and blood pressure skyrockets every time I lay eyes on them. They clearly don’t know their address and they seem pretty much oblivious to their two parking spot maximum rule. I haven’t decided if they’re idiots or jackasses.

Then off to Knoxville for a baby shower. I was kind of hoping these days were behind me, but alas, they are not. It was at the Area Office, and after six years on the job, I finally got a tour. I found the majority of cubicles desolate and sad. People just don’t decorate. Only one guy had plants. When this was pointed out to my nickel guide she said in defense, “I have plastic plants! I have a hard enough time keeping myself alive!”

I get it.

The shower wasn’t too painful. Surprisingly, I ended up playing with the one child in attendance. I think it was more out of a sense of survival to entertain each other than enjoyment. Regardless, we made a game out of the streamers while people lingered over cupcakes. This shower was attended by both males and females, which was a first for me. I was a little disappointed we didn’t play the purse game, but only because I always win. I like a little competition when I’m sure of my imminent victory. But again, while baby showers are not something I would rate in top 500 things to do (especially when they don’t offer mimosas), it was still good to mix and see everybody and remind them that I exist.

Back home and a little doze in my chair in the library while the rain pattered. I love my library so much. It’s the coziest spot in the house, made more so by my dog curled up next to my feet on the ottoman. Sometimes it’s tempting to just curl up right here and sleep instead of prying myself out to go down the hall to bed.

Then, finally, my last appointment of the day: my hair. And the one I most look forward to. Christy had her work cut out for her today; my roots were atrocious. But she got me fixed up and I’m back to looking like the supermodel y’all are accustomed to 🤣🤣

I met a nice lady who works in HR and I told her she had the voice for it. I told her she could fire people with that voice and they probably wouldn’t even get mad. She thought that was hilarious. I told her she should seek out publishers and offer to read audio books as a side hustle, or after she retired. She’d be perfect for it.

My hairdresser’s daughter is in school at the university. Her quote for the day is, “college is stupid.” And you know what? She’s right. But sweet girl, if you’re reading, college sets you up for everything else. You meet people that are like minded. You learn how to prioritize and budget your time. Quite simply, you get a dose of the real world, because while you’re rubbing elbows with people like you, you’re also in a melting pot of everybody else. And you gotta go along to get along, at least for a short while. You watch these TV shows and they talk about “old college friends”. Yup, I’ve got several of those. Something about being away from home, away from all the people you grew up around, making more choices every day and trying out your wings from the relative safety of the nest…yeah, it’s good for you. Don’t quit till you really try.

So here I am, cross eyed from writing all this and sorta fried from a nearly full day of engagements and socializing. Usually it’s a life of solitude for me so today was a little draining.

I’m craving ice cream in a bad way. Maybe tomorrow.

Love from Appalachia,

~Amy

I have had a busy day. Lots of traffic at the office. I like it when my customers come prepared with necessary paperwork. I like it even better when my coworker leaves early.

So, Food City tried to rob me today. They wanted $12.99 (or was it $13.99???) for a 24 pack of Mountain Dew. I am not that desperate and I pass Dollar General on the way home, just like everybody else in the south. Granted, it isn’t a shopping experience without hazards, and I do feel the need to bathe in hand sanitizer and get a tetanus booster upon leaving, but you can save quite a bit of money there if you’re in the market for certain products. Well, today, it was Mountain Dew. You could get three twelve packs for $13.98, then download their digital coupon for two more dollars off. So that’s precisely what I did, quite happily. Take that, mega conglomerate. Do better.

Here’s a lesson in southern cookin’. If the recipe calls for olive oil, use bacon grease. If it says butter, double it and salt it. If they start talking portion size, assume they’re stingy Commies and you should prolly make a double batch. There is no substitute for lard. You can almost always add some vanilla to any dessert to improve it. I’m just sayin’, is all. Don’t blame me if you’re still hankerin’ for a double cheeseburger after you make something out of the Joy of Cooking or some such nonsense. I made Brussels sprouts in the air fryer again tonight, and lemme tell you, Blackhorse will not see another dollar of my money for theirs. Theirs are really good, don’t get me wrong, but now I know how to make them and I bought a big jar of hot honey (“fiery sweet”, it was called) at the Buc-cee’s the other day.

The wind is positively HOWLING. I’m glad I’m not a little songbird. I bet it’s frightening living in a tree and feeling like you’re gonna get blown into next week. It’s bad enough in this house listening at it.

Well. Early day tomorrow and I need my beauty sleep. And I still gotta wash my hair. I hope y’all have a restful night. Hope you have a dog to cuddle. Hope you have food in your belly and a soft place to lay your head. And I hope you have a good book to read, because I didn’t quite cut it tonight. I’ll keep trying, if you promise to keep reading.

Love from Appalachia,

~Amy

To catch you up: The dog next door is still wild and free. He’s been relatively quiet today until the sun set. Now it’s nonstop again. I did try to catch him, or at least put him back in his fence, a couple of times today and he wasn’t having it. He’s one of those that will bark while he runs away from you, looking over his shoulder. 🙄 I’m not scared of him, but I don’t want to frighten him worse. I have not contacted the owners because I don’t want to cause undue worry. And I have tried what little I know to do. At least he’s staying out of the road.

Yesterday I switched my closet from fall/ winter to spring/ summer. I told myself I would get rid of lots of things. I never knew I was such a liar. I threw two things away, have one put aside for Angela, and six more items destined for thrift. I am unable to part with any more Lularoe, even though it makes me mad to look at it, since each pair of leggings represents, bare minimum, $25. I also cannot bear the thought of throwing out two pairs of grey stretchy pants, even though they both have multiple holes. One pair I am wearing right now. It’s not like I wear them out in public. Why throw them away when they’re clothes for home? I might decide to paint one day and I’ll need clothes that are on their last legs. Of these, I have a selection. Including the shirt I’m currently donning. It’s not even that old, but it evidently hung in the souvenir shop for ages before I brought it home, because the letters spelling out St. George Island peeled off almost immediately. And there are holes in the cuffs, which is mighty handy for pretending I’m wearing one of those shirts like I like to wear in winter.

I’m a mess, to put it simply.

Isn’t that ironic? But I love the shirt, even if it is holey and grease stained and peeling. It’s also roomy and soft and pink.

Today I discovered that I’m out of baked beans, and macaroni and cheese really does eventually go bad (expiration date of 2017. The cheese sauce powder was almost red. But it was still powdery. I expected clumps). I am also admitting I have an overindulgence problem when it comes to fresh baked chocolate chip cookies. This is known as founder in horses. If I were a horse, I would most absolutely be classified as foundered right now. I don’t know why I can’t stop. I know it’s gonna make me wanna hork. So now y’all know two more of my weaknesses. Although, let’s not forget my ruthlessness with the shoes a few weeks ago and my decrepit alarm clock.

There is as much in these daily accounts as there isn’t. I suppose plenty of people who read them studiously assume they know the intricacies of my life. And they would know a lot. But there’s plenty I don’t say. Just in case you’re feeling like an expert on my life. Sometimes the most important stuff is what isn’t being said. I have two friends that have all but dropped off from posting on Facebook in recent months. I know of the trouble one of them is dealing with, and the other one I speculate on. But have I reached out? No. It never feels like the right time and we aren’t that close. But I still feel guilty. Because I just know. But I don’t want to be right.

Haven’t made much progress with 1984. I’m working on the Wilde sequel. Plus 1984 is in one of those tiny paperbacks and I need super good light for that. It’s been too cold to read outside this weekend, much to my dismay. I liked eating breakfast out at the table last weekend. Oh well. There will be ample time in the coming months for al fresco dining.

It’s almost Easter! I wish I had participated in Lent. I should have cut spending. That would have certainly behooved me with the quilt fiasco. Now, riddle me this: why am I so eager to replace a quilt that doesn’t need replacing, but I can’t throw away clothes that clearly need to be discarded?

It’s also FFA Convention in Gatlinburg. Lord, hep us. Spring breakers, FFA-ers, probably the Pentecostals next. I’m ready for a vacation myself. Somewhere good, like a deserted island.

Well, tomorrow is Monday. Good things in store this week. I have a Foundation meeting and a baby shower to attend Tuesday so I will be poised and elegant at least one day of the week. Good Friday will be a Great Friday since I won’t be on my feet selling fertilizer and taters for ten hours straight. I might work on my flower beds. They are in dire need of attention. I should be ashamed. But I ain’t.

Go check out the moon, if you haven’t already. It was cloudy when I peeped out earlier but maybe it’s cleared up now. Full tonight. Ah-woooooooooo

Love from Appalachia,

~Amy

I absolutely, positively, cannot think of a thing to write. My world is filled with barking and howling dogs. And has been since 3:00 this afternoon.

The neighbors have evidently, accidentally, left their doodle outside. I say accidentally because this has never happened before. Maybe he let himself out and now he can’t get back, like some sort of wormhole. I don’t know, all I know is he’s been barking since three o’clock.

It is now 9:30.

That is a LOT of barking. He is tireless. And when he really gets to feeling sorry for himself, he gets to howling. At which time, Chester gets empathetic and pitches in. Several dogs in the neighborhood beyond also accompany them. It’s truly a cacophony and I’m about to pull my eyebrows out, one by one.

Yes, I could text my neighbor and make sure everything is ok. But I don’t want to worry them if they can’t get home, or can’t send somebody to check. And I don’t know how to put it nicely, “please come home and shut your dog up, he’s driving us all crazy”. I’m not known for my warm bedside manner. Because I feel certain Chester barks when I’m gone. Surely not nonstop like this, but really, who’s to say? And I don’t have a key, so no, I can’t go put him up myself.

Lalalalala…..my aunt just text me to see what all the commotion is. She must have just gotten home or has had every television in the house blaring, one. Poor Chester has worked himself into a dither. I just keep telling him Ace is being dramatic and I better not ever hear of him acting like this.

Full moon tomorrow night, known as the Worm Moon. I looked it up, because it looks full tonight. But it ain’t. And it’s not called the worm moon on account of the earthworms, either. It’s because of the beetle larvae (gag 🤢) that come out of the tree bark this time of year. Named by the Native Americans and was adapted in the 1760’s to our tongue by Jonathan Carver.

I like moons, and I like worms, but I do not like larvae.

I had an aunt who was terrified of worms. It was kinda funny, until I realized that I wasn’t any better, being scared of snakes. Of course snakes are much bigger and toothier…

I ain’t gonna write no more about slitheries because I don’t wanna dream about them.

He’s still barking. Chess is still whining. He’s gonna give himself heartburn if he keeps it up. Gonna be a long night if they’re not coming home. I would think he would’ve run out of steam by now. And where is he getting water? They don’t leave their dogs out for extended periods like this. It’s all very odd.

I made a pork roast today in the crockpot. It was very delicious. A bone in Boston Butt. I diced an onion, poured a bottle of cider beer over it, peppered it real good, and let it cook all day. It nearly starved us to death. Then, when I couldn’t stand it any longer, I drained it, shredded it, and dumped a jar of Buc-cee’s pineapple mango habanero salsa over it. Sooooooo very delicious, if I do say so myself. And I do. I ate it on hard shell tacos. I didn’t even bother with sides. I may make some guac tomorrow. Or I might not. I might make some more cheater mashed potatoes. That’s way more likely.

Ok, I’m gonna go stuff cotton in my ears. I hope y’all have a peaceful night. I intend to, one way or another.

Love from Appalachia,

~Amy

“He was one of them guys.” He looked at me to see if I understood. I did, and I willed him with my eyes to continue. “…one of them guys…you know, one of them guys you can’t get away from and you don’t want to.”

There was more, but he didn’t say, because he knew I knew. But probably also because I said, “keep talkin’, you’re soundin’ like a blog post.”

We all know “them guys”. They worked a job that required skill of their hands and strength of their back. They wear plaid shirts with snaps and the left pocket carries a small spiral notebook, a Bic pen, and a pack of Marlboro reds. Their dark denim jeans show a little wear in a spot or two, maybe a frayed hole from battery acid, maybe some stubborn grease streaks. The pockets bulge with keys, five dollars in change, a lighter, and a yeller three blade Case pocketknife. These men have arms that are tanned and sinewy, scratched and scarred from countless battles with brush, machinery, barbed wire, and their oldest son, who went through a biting phase. They wear a gimme cap from the feed and seed or tractor dealership without fail, not to cover up the grey but because they always had. They were naked without it. And their boots. No fancy doins there, either. Scuffed, muddy, worn, heavy, and brown. A low heel. No pointed toe. Boots that have traveled. Boots that had a long way to go. Probably Redwing brand, but maybe Justin, depending on their line of work and what work was waiting at home. These guys carried their paper check home to “momma”, who scrimped and saved and put meat on the table seven nights a week. She packed his dinner bucket with two sandwiches, a banana or apple or orange, a pack of crackers, maybe some chips. She made a pound cake or Bundt cake once a week and wore an apron from daylight till dark. Momma knew he chewed a little tobacco, but not in the house. And he knew she watched her stories every day and spent a good hour on the phone each afternoon before he got home talking to Margaret, if she didn’t come through the back gate for coffee. These women sold Avon and knew better than to ask for flowers on their birthday, but directed him on where to plant the rose bushes. These men scoffed around the other guys about keeping the missus happy, but you better believe they groveled when they had too many beers on Friday night.

You can find these men all around. Look for an American made truck in a basic color, sometimes with a dog in the bed. Look for them at the auto parts, the local hardware, the Co-op, and any backyard garage. They’ll be around Hardee’s early of the morning. They tell tales on each other: tales of the hunt, the fishing trip, the time they took the family to see the Grand Canyon, and when their best buddy in high school wrecked his motorcycle. They’re all retired, but they still have plenty to do, and an opinion on how you should be doin’ it. They don’t understand the fascination with cell phones or reality TV. They watch the weather and sometimes the news, until it makes them mad. They drink coffee way up into the day and know a little about everything. It’s hard to distinguish the truth from the lie, but you like the story and they’re not one to let a little fact get in the way of the tellin’. They’ve lived through the draft, and known several who didn’t. They pay cash, always. They don’t need to yell to get your attention, you were already listening. They’re the men at the bank that everybody knows, the one the tellers make coffee for. The ones that will linger and harmlessly flirt, saying nice things just to make them smile. One of them guys. If you don’t know any of them guys, I suggest you go get acquainted. They’re pretty handy. You’ll know them by their level gaze and unhurried manner. You best slow down and have a word. You’ll probably walk away a sight better than when you walked up.

Love from Appalachia,

~Amy