Another day of Redbud Winter
Or is it Locust??
Will we get three of those
Since we’re getting three hatches?
Or is this just
Spring
And we need to take every day
As it comes
I think so
As I ladle more soup into my bowl
More insulation
I tell myself
And add cheese
So jittery
From too much coffee
And suppressed aggravation
Downgraded from the rage of yesterday
Looking forward to tomorrow
And coffee
And finishing books
And conversations about birds
Or what have you
It is just words
I tell myself
As I read the story aloud
For the first time
To the one it’s about
Even if he insists it isn’t
And I tear up
And my throat closes
It is just words
Keep reading
Don’t you dare cry
Just words
Why am I such a tender heart
I need to stay tough
Not a wimpy little girl
Way too late for feelings
Adjust the armor
Draw the sword
And march forward
I hope that someday
A poem reaches your heart
And caresses your soul
And makes you yearn
For something you had long forgot
Like when you stumble across a retro toy
In an antique store
Or your grandmother’s perfume
On a scarf in a drawer
In my library
It doesn’t matter what winter it is
It doesn’t matter
What time it is
But it does matter
Because I cannot keep my eyes open
And these are just words
Sometimes It Be That Way
~Jewel
Night with its shattered teeth
Attempts to speak
My pen is present but
Courage left via the sink
And I'm sorry
I snuck up on you
From behind
I'm sorry not all
My love letters did rhyme
And I'm sorry that
Jesus died for my sins
And I swear to God
It won't happen again
And I'm sorry
If it was my swerve that
Tempted you to sway
Oh well
Sometimes it be that way
And Romeo was
A very nice man
He said
"Jewel, I don't think
You quite understand"
And I'm sorry if you had
To explain it like this
I'm sorry I was a point
You were destined to miss
And I'm sorry
I spoke to you irreverently
Down in the hollow
By the old olive tree
And I'm sorry
If my heart breaking
Ruined your day
Oh well
Sometimes It be that way
I said
"Oh well, I got nothing
Left to sell
This love was a bell that
Rang unheard in the air
I was bound to find out
That you didn't care
Oh well
Sometimes it be that way
And Aphrodite with
Her neon lamp
Kissed Neptune
They put her face
On a stamp
And I'm sorry
I used it to mail
A letter to you
I'm sorry I'm glue and
The rest bounces off of you
And I'm sorry not even
This jet's metal wings
Could get across
These simple things
And I'm sorry
If I ever sang
Your name in vain
Oh well
Sometimes it be that way
And Goldilocks
Well she knew three bears
They all ate oatmeal
And tiptoed upstairs
And I'm sorry
I never got to
Find you like this
Sleeping like a baby
And swaddled in bliss
And I'm sorry for
All the times
I forgot to imply something
In between the lines
And I'm sorry
If my heart breaking
Ruined your day
Oh well
Sometimes it be that way
I said
"Oh well, I got nothing
Left to sell
This love was a bell that
Rang unheard in the air
I was bound to find out
That you didn't care
Oh well
Sometimes it be that way
And shadow's long fingers
They dance on the wall
Electricity chases
Its tail in the hall
And I'm sorry
If my arms to you
Were just empty rooms
I'm sorry
I never could comfort you
And I'm sorry
St. Petersburg is
A miserable town
And I'm sorry
If I am bringing you down
And I'm sorry
If I caused you pain
Oh well
Sometimes it be that way
And flame licks the air
With its silver tongue
Night has many hands
But I have just one
And I'm sorry
I walked in on you
Unexpectedly
I'm sorry
I never served you
Camomile's tea
And I'm sorry
I didn't always have a match
That could start
A fire big enough
For your heart to catch
And I'm sorry
If it was my swerve that
Tempted you to sway
Oh well
Sometimes it be that way
Love from Appalachia,
~Amy
There were no sunglasses in evidence Wednesday morning, April 3rd, 2024, when a group of students from the Culinary Arts Division of Walters State Community College met and traveled to a local beef producer’s farm just outside of Sevierville, Tennessee. The spring day was overcast, blustery, and thirty degrees cooler than it had been the two previous days. The old timers would label it “airish” but to the rest of us, it was strictly cold. But a cold day out in the field is still better than a warm day behind a desk, and we were all thankful it wasn’t raining.
The landowner, Lynn McMahan, had taken the day off from trucking to host the group of students, together with organizer Mike Sharp, TN Beef Industry Council & Cattlemen’s Association; Dr. Katie Mason, a professor with the University of Tennessee; Mallory Fancher, a recent graduate student of ruminant nutrition; Sevier County Ag Extension director Adam Hopkins; and Amy Johnson, secretary for Sevier County Soil & Water Conservation District and Natural Resource Conservation Service (USDA-NRCS).
Students were here to see firsthand where the beef they prepare comes from, starting with the calves born on site in October. We drove up the graveled lane to the large barn. We gathered inside, hunkered in clothes that proved inadequate against the wind that howled around the corners. From the front of the barn, the mountain was clearly visible and beginning to fill with vibrant greens as new growth climbed up the ridge.
Lynn, who sits on both the Sevier County Farm Bureau and Soil & Water Conservation boards, Master Beef Producer, and member of the Cattlemen’s Association, runs anywhere from 40-60 momma cows on his property, which he rotationally grazes for optimum forage. It started as a method to reduce parasites, but as time went on, other perks surfaced. The property graciously described as “rolling” farmland would be described as “pretty steep” by anyone who traversed it on foot. But the cows don’t mind. They happily cropped the tender spring grass and quietly moved below us as we talked about farming in this day and age.
Lynn is a thoughtful, methodical, soft-spoken man who depends on his vet of over twenty years for vaccine protocols. He is not one to chase down the latest technology or trends advertised on RFD, relying instead on proven vaccines and dewormer. What works for him as a part-time farmer may not be the ideal program for cattlemen everywhere. He is focused on gentle cows, Hereford Angus cross, who provide a calf every year. He keeps select heifer calves for replacement stock and buys some along as needed. His bulls are kept on site, vet checked in November, turned in with the ladies January 1st, and pulled after heifer checks in early April. Calving season is October-November, weaning takes place the following June, and shipped to market about 45 days later. During this time, the entire herd are inoculated for respiratory diseases, blackleg, pinkeye, tetanus, treated with an injectable dewormer, and provided with fly tags. Bull calves are banded and navels dipped within 24 hours of hitting the ground. Fly mineral with IGR is provided free choice year round. The action never stops at the farm, and there’s always something needing repaired or built between fencing and equipment, and a field needing sprayed, fertilized, limed, or seeded.
Adam and Mike fielded some questions about antibiotic free meat, and how it is a bit of a marketing gimmick, because all meat labeled for human consumption must be free of antibiotics, hence the “withdrawal period” stated on the label. Producers are no longer able to buy over the counter antibiotics, they must all come via a veterinarian prescription, and vets are not licensed to distribute without having a clear working relationship with the requestor. Industry professionals are anticipating vaccines to be prescription only before much longer. It is imperative to always read the label on whatever product you are using, as loading and withdrawal varies by vaccine and brand. The new cases of Avian Flu found in Texas were addressed, and how many diseases are carried through natural water sources and bird droppings. This is why educated producers are focused on transitioning to automatic waterers for all livestock. Two were in sight from our vantage point on top of the hill.
Dr. Mason led us into a discussion about preferred breeds of cattle for industry needs, and the characteristics of specific beef breeds. She referred us to her handout as we walked through the life cycle of a beef cow. It takes two to three years to bring beef from farm to fork. Students learned that calves weigh between 60-100 pounds at birth, weaned at the producer’s discretion between 6-12 months old, finished on either grass or at a feedlot (typically out west) on mainly grain and plant by-products with some roughage. They will weigh 1200-1400 pounds on the hoof at market. Once slaughtered, you are looking at only half that weight as packaged meat. They found this information staggering. Mike spoke up and showed examples of byproducts that are incorporated into feed, which included corn syrup, corn starch, oils, flours, rolled oats, and even jellybeans.
Students were curious about how the selling was handled. Once you have shipped your cattle to market, you aren’t at liberty to dicker and demand a higher price. You are paid whatever the bidder agrees to per pound. That is the end of the farmer’s share, no matter what the finished product brings. It is difficult to equate a quality steer with excellent lineage for marbling bringing $1.40 a pound live weight, and his Porterhouse steak costing upwards of $50.00 in a restaurant. It was a humbling moment looking at it from a farmer’s standpoint. You factor in the cost of equipment: tractors, rotary cutters, hay baling equipment, not to mention land taxes and of course, fertilizer, the lifestyle is overwhelming, and sometimes downright discouraging. Farmers fight all the same things the rest of us do, but they are also fighting or working with the weather. So when a developer comes along with an offer to buy the land for more than you could ever hope to profit in twenty years, and there’s no one in your family seeming eager to take the reins, it’s hard to turn down a life with a little cushion around the edges.
One of the students asked what incentives were offered to keep farmers in business. Amy stepped in to talk about the grants available through NRCS and Tennessee Department of Agriculture on a cost share basis. These programs are in place, along with TAEP, to provide monetary assistance to fence out ponds, creeks, and rivers and put in automatic waterers, build hay and equipment sheds, provide access roads, and many other conservation practices. When the producer has some equity in the project, in addition to financial assistance from a government agency, they are more likely to stay the course. A willingness to farm boils down to passion and loving what you do. Love for your craft cannot be bought. Those of us who have stood with a producer on their place, their Heaven on Earth, know the truth of this as they look you in the eye and tell you their purpose. Their farm is their pride, it is their joy, and sometimes, it is their heartache.
We moved outside to observe the herd a little closer and our discussion turned towards nutrition and digestion, with Mallory explaining the sophisticated bovine stomach. We’ve all observed cattle grazing, but they require more than the sparse grass in winter, and that’s where hay and protein supplements come in.
It is often impossible in education to know if you’re making a difference. Your students move on, and more likely than not, you never hear from them again. If you have an alumni association at the college level, you can maybe track their success. But the children we try to reach, the young ones watching what goes into growing our food, and then into our bodies, it’s hard to tell what sticks past recess, let alone into adulthood.
Just before the class dispersed, Lynn motioned us into a circle. He spoke of a day at school where his 4th grade class filed into the auditorium and a man talked to them about a program called 4-H. He gave details about what the club entailed, from raising chickens or a hog or a feeder steer. Students were encouraged to come pick up a flyer from the front of the room once the presentation ended if they thought they might be interested. But our host was so painfully shy at that age, he couldn’t make himself go talk to the man and get a brochure. He was in the group walking out when the man approached him. Little Lynn didn’t know this man, but this gentleman knew him, and knew his dad, and knew his grandad. “Here, son, take one of these. I think you’d enjoy it.”
And that man was Mike Sharp, the organizer of so many events in our county and beyond. The man who has never tired of spreading the word about quality beef. The man who does it because he loves it, and who was standing with us today, in the barn of a man who has built a life around conservation agriculture…because it started with a pamphlet about 4-H.
When I have found myself
Inordinately angry
Over a little situation
In an otherwise unblemished day
I also find that a Reese’s cup
Or a cuddle with my dog
Or a glass of wine
Or losing myself in a book
Is a successful method
Of moving past it
But when I have caught a liar
-No matter how small-
And plan confrontation
Nothing settles me
Until I have brought matches
And kindling
And kerosene
And dynamite
And lit the fuse
And watched you burn
Hopefully it comes with
A volcanic explosion
Because I find those
Very satisfactory
But I will appease myself with blisters
Do not cross
An Irish temper
With an overly caffeinated Gemini
Who has already had it
With dinging phones
And snot sniffers
And pure laziness
And renters who don’t know their address
Or how to park
Or to wear pants
When it’s fifty degrees
And the wind’s whipping
And there’s snow on the mountain
Do not mistake my friendliness
For kindness
Or familiarity
For friendship
Do not think
Because I listen
I care
And if you lie
Say goodbye
To anything more
Than detached professionalism
Because it is blatant disrespect
That made you tell me
An untruth
And you think
That I am stupid
As you are
No lie is insignificant
Because if you’ll tell a tiny one
For no good reason
Then you’ll lie
About important things
And if you’ll lie
You’ll steal
And now I know
Everything I already did
Love and zero tolerance from Appalachia,
~Amy
P.s. there really truly is snow on the mountain!! I TOLD you it was cold yesterday!
P.ps. I forgot to include a poem from a real poet. So here ya go, from my favorite songwriter, Sturgill Simpson ❤️😍😍😍😍😍
Well that label man said son now can you sing a little bit more clear
Your voice might be too genuine and your song’s a little too sincere
Can you sing a little more about outlaws and the way things used to be
He told me you just worry about writing them songs leaving everything else to me
Daddy was a Highwayman but he never wrote any old country songs
Papaw never stayed out raising hell til the break of dawn
But he raised a proud coal miners daughter and I’m proud to be her son
She told me boy I don’t care if you hit it big, cause you’re already #1
That’s the way it goes in this day & age
You ain’t gotta read between the lines you just gotta turn the page
Well the most outlaw thing that I’ve ever done was give a good woman a ring
But that’s the way it goes, life ain’t fair and the world is mean
Well I still got the wife and the dog but I swapped the truck out for a van
Gonna hit the road find the end of that long white line in the promise land
Won’t hear my song on the radio cause that new sounds all the rage
But you can always find me in a smokey bar with bad sound and a dim lit stage
https://youtu.be/L1ntJzX6Zcg?si=z1PS2kPyILiSzd4D ~for your listening pleasure ~
Yesterday was tank tops and sunroofs
Today was wind and rain
Should have enjoyed it more because
Tomorrow is more of the same
I shouldn’t try to rhyme
It’s too hard to keep up
Momentum
Umm
Ummmmm
Could write about the skies of blue
Birds diving after flies
Could tell you how to sit and watch
For a wood duck to flap by
Good days in boots
Spent caring for the land
Are here and gone before you know
Passed through like grains of sand
I want to linger
Loiter
Frolic and loll
I want to sprawl upon the ground
I want to see the ridge where bobcats stalk
A gurgling creek the only sound
Where do you find your relief?
Where can you lose yourself for hours?
Shadow clouds on windswept grass
Dotted with wildflowers
Turkeys strut
While on their morning stroll
Nothing permeates
The realm of peace
Settled deep within your soul
And time is so short
When you do what you love
Praise be and thank God
In the heavens above
For the blessings abound
When you’re around
You sat here for some minutes
And solitude found
At last, a kindred spirit
I will probably work on this one for awhile. I’m not happy with it and I’m tired of it. But right now I want to take a shower and go to bed.
Here’s the link to one version of Home on the Range. It’s in a book of poetry I have, but no author is credited. I went down the rabbit hole in about .03 of a second with this and this is the one I chose. Mainly because I’m LAZY. https://www.kshs.org/kansapedia/home-on-the-range/17165
Love from Appalachia which is decidedly NOT the range,
~Amy
April is National Poetry Month, a time when booksellers, libraries, poets, publishers, and schools are encouraged to promote the importance of poetry and its significance to society and culture. So I suppose I should share a recognized poem of importance along with my garb. So I’ll do that.
Poetry is tricky business
It need not rhyme
Or have flowery prose
But you can’t write about
Things like
Ruining a good shirt
Carrying black mulch
Or how Dairy Queen
Cost $18.64
For four chicken strips
Fries
A coke
And a small Reese’s blizzard
I have to say
Things like
I watched the carpenter bees work the redbud tree
This afternoon
From my porch
Or I spoke honestly to a friend
And maybe damaged feelings
When it wasn’t my intent
But to bring understanding
And how pushing me into a corner
Is never an ideal spot for me
But the beauty was in
The grace that my words were received
And so April has burst forth
At eighty degrees
With blowing yellow pollen
And tiny yellow flowers
And it was my yellow shirt I soiled
Carrying black mulch
And no blog post is complete
Without mention of my dog
Who is laying at my feet
Smelly and greasy from flea treatment
But better that than itchy
With fleas
{that one was mine, in case you couldn’t tell}
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45521/i-wandered-lonely-as-a-cloud
Hope that doesn’t count as plagiarism, since I provided the link. I’ve always loved that poem, and I think it’s a great one to kick off this month. I hope I can surprise y’all with some quality reading this month.
Love from Appalachia,
~Amy
The last day of March. Wow, it flew. I’ll just go ahead and say those dreaded words, “it’ll be Christmas before we know it.”
I sat on my front porch the majority of the day watching Chester pursue carpenter bees. He killed three that I witnessed. Now he’s laying at my feet, wore out or possibly slightly poisoned. I know he’s been hard at it all day.
Me, on the other hand…not so much. I did wage war on the vines in my flowerbeds but every time I started to sweat I quit. Seemed especially wrong to do any kind of work on Easter Sunday. I still need to spray. That might be tomorrow’s afternoon activity. And of course there are still plenty of vines left to pull. They’re kinda like gray hairs, pull one and three come to its funeral.
I did enjoy my porch time. I watched the neighborhood hawk be chased by the local crows. I observed some buzzards flap around. They weren’t circling, it seemed they had another purpose. I sat there and thought about how much more peaceful my road used to be, and how much I missed the hayfield. Instead of ten acres of hay and ten acres of pasture, now it’s thirty homes. And thirty homes come with about a hundred people. And a hundred people come with about 75 cars. And so it’s a constant commotion of movement, and car radios blaring, and people hollering to one another, and kids squealing, and motorcycles revving. And I miss the drone of locusts as evening comes, and the grass getting taller, and the sweet smell as it cures.
Then the sweating. And the cussing when the baler jammed or when I couldn’t drive straight, or slow enough, or stack tighter.
Nevermind. I’m thankful for the hundred people who dwell there, especially in August 🤣 I just wish one of them had a pool I could use. That would be a sweet revenge. Although Mrs. Conner was always good to me, I still can’t shake the memories of those ultra hot days out there.
I didn’t get much reading done this weekend. I’m disappointed to report I haven’t made it very far into 1984. I think I’m about 40 pages in. I’ll keep after it, though.
I hope you all had a very lovely day with your families eating ham (gag) and deviled eggs. I was quite content here with a warmed up pork chop and cheater mashed potatoes.
The coyotes are serenading me tonight and have Chester on alert. They tend to make me mad with how brazen they are, just announcing to all within earshot that they’re here. They should keep to their skulking. It suits them better. Out here howling at a moon that ain’t even full. The nerve.
April is National Poetry Month so y’all have that to look forward to. I’ll do my best not to be melancholy or contrived. I can’t promise they will be any good, but they’ll be as honest as anything else I write.
Go forth and be blessed! (Has everyone already heard that once today?)
Love from Appalachia,
~Amy
I forgot how old I was today. I couldn’t decide if I was 43 or 44. That’s how it starts, isn’t it?
This blog is work. It’s a job, and one I don’t enjoy when I’m struggling with subject matter or when I’ve left it for very last thing and I’m so sleepy and just want to go to bed. Or when my phone keeps dinging with texts and I feel obligated to answer, because y’all don’t know when I’m writing and when I’m just sitting around. And besides, it ain’t like I’m in the middle of some big scientific breakthrough or other Very Important Task.
Today I went furniture shopping. We started at Big Lots, because it was on the way and you never know. The salesman there was very friendly and helpful. Then our journey took us to Knoxville Wholesale out Clinton Highway, where we met a nice lady by the name of Shannon, who carried a tape measure and wore dress pants with tennis shoes. I get it, lots of running around, but the men were still in dress shoes and slacks. Maybe she had a medical condition. Somehow we managed to evade all the traffic and made it over to Rooms to Go, where we encountered a guy named Wayne. It wasn’t Wayne’s first day, but I don’t think he’d been there long enough to have a birthday. All these people along the way were perfectly pleasant, and answered our questions. It was quite amazing how many people were out shopping for furniture. I mean, truly. But on the way to Haverty’s, we were passing LaZ Boy, and this is where I experienced true salesmanship.
We were greeted by a dapperly dressed man named Chris. He made conversation and determined our needs. He wanted to let us shop, but we kept finding ourselves immersed in furniture questions and he was our guy. Did you know that LaZ Boy furniture is made in DAYTON TENNESSEE??? Did you know that LaZ boy has a lifetime guarantee on the springs and woodwork in their products and they will come to your place to work on it for a small service fee? Did you know that the power controls have a three year warranty and are much easier to work on than the rip cord or levers? And that they offer all their furniture fully customizable, from the grade and quality of leather to different fabrics or power control options?
I do. I know all of those things now, thanks to Chris.
Did you also know that LaZ Boy offers free interior design? Oh yes. Did you know that when I replace my living room furniture I will be driving directly to LaZ Boy, not passing go or collecting $200.00?
We shook our heads and said we should have come here first. But I realized that maybe it happened as it should have: maybe we had to go experience furniture shopping in a mediocre environment to fully appreciate the level of expertise we got from the good people at LaZ Boy.
I think it’s like friends. Perhaps we have to spend time around those we’re not especially crazy about to realize how awesome some of the people in our life are. Maybe you have to have a friend that flakes out on you every time you turn around to appreciate the one who’s always right in your corner, holding a sword, ready to march into battle. Maybe you have to have the friends who challenge you and have the big discussions and ask the difficult questions to be grateful for, as opposed to those who are dim witted, sarcastic, or lackadaisical. Maybe we need to keep close those people who value their relationship with God and have manners as opposed to those who think acting bawdy and crass is cool. Maybe we forget how wonderful our circle is until we’re shoehorned into another one and you realize how we don’t belong, and how you don’t want to belong, because their behavior is embarrassing. But you have grace, and you can pray for these people but you don’t have to become one of them, and you don’t have to be their friend. And you can be honest and say it.
So wherever this Easter Sunday finds you, I hope you have a sense of belonging. I hope you are with your favorite people, those who let you feel comfortable in your own skin. I hope you are at your very best. And I hope you have a very happy and blessed resurrection day, and realize how this was the greatest gift we could ever receive. I hope you haven’t had to try out other forms of non-religion to get here, but if that was your path and you wound up here and saved, welcome home.
Love from Appalachia,
~Amy
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.), and 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 there was 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 its last pacemaker.
Love from Appalachia,
~Amy
Well I will say it was a very beautiful day indeed, and the only thing that put a pall over it was my own brain making up scenarios. The brain is a powerful weapon, and honestly, not always a friend. We would do well to tell it to hush a lot of the time. Lemme see if I can find that poem. Standby.
my brain and
heart divorced
a decade ago
over who was
to blame about
how big of a mess
I have become
eventually,
they couldn’t be
in the same room
with each other
now my head and heart
share custody of me
I stay with my brain
during the week
and my heart
gets me on weekends
they never speak to one another- instead, they give me
the same note to pass
to each other every week
and their notes they
send to one another always
says the same thing:
“This is all your fault”
on Sundays
my heart complains
about how my
head has let me down
in the past
and on Wednesday
my head lists all
of the times my
heart has screwed
things up for me
in the future
they blame each
other for the
state of my life
there’s been a lot
of yelling – and crying
so, lately I’ve been
spending a lot of
time with my gut
who serves as my
unofficial therapist
most nights, I sneak out of the
window in my ribcage
and slide down my spine
and collapse on my
gut’s plush leather chair
that’s always open for me
~ and I just sit sit sit sit
until the sun comes up
last evening,
my gut asked me
if I was having a hard
time being caught
between my heart
and my head
I nodded
I said I didn’t know
if I could live with
either of them anymore
“my heart is always sad about
something that happened yesterday
while my head is always worried
about something that may happen tomorrow,”
I lamented
my gut squeezed my hand
“I just can’t live with
my mistakes of the past
or my anxiety about the future,”
I sighed
my gut smiled and said:
“in that case,
you should
go stay with your
lungs for a while,”
I was confused
the look on my face gave it away
“if you are exhausted about
your heart’s obsession with
the fixed past and your mind’s focus
on the uncertain future
your lungs are the perfect place for you
there is no yesterday in your lungs
there is no tomorrow there either
there is only now
there is only inhale
there is only exhale
there is only this moment
there is only breath
and in that breath
you can rest while your
heart and head work
their relationship out.”
this morning,
while my brain
was busy reading
tea leaves
and while my
heart was staring
at old photographs
I packed a little
bag and walked
to the door of
my lungs
before I could even knock
she opened the door
with a smile and as
a gust of air embraced me
she said
“what took you so long?”
~ john roedel (johnroedel.com)
Isn’t that wonderful? It’s so true. If we could just learn to breathe through situations and put it in perspective that we can’t change people, all we are in charge of is how we react. And it’s just flat not worth getting bent out of shape over. The people who are incensing us certainly aren’t bothered by their behavior. Which brings me to my next subject…
How far should manners extend? At what point do you tell someone to act responsibly and you aren’t going to help them? Should you outright lie to protect feelings?
I pride myself on being honest, and manners tend to fall to the wayside in favor of being honest above all. This is in direct conflict with how the Bible tells us to behave. Well, that’s my understanding, anyway. It preaches love, and I do know that my acerbic tongue could use a good dose of sugar most always. Not that putting things more sweetly is always the best route. Sometimes it just builds on the problem. So say you have someone in your life that you aren’t particularly fond of, but you’re forced to get along. Whether it be a cousin, coworker, doorman at your apartment, whatever. And this person is regularly asking for favors. You never ask anything of this person, partially because you’re self reliant, but also because you’re not comfortable asking favors from people you barely know. So this person hasn’t truly appreciated the things you’ve done for them in the past, and they ask you this last favor and you flat shoot them down, and cite reasons why. And then they’re put out with you all day and say they’ll remember this instance, which doubly infuriates you.
I realize I’m not giving you enough information. But I’m irritated and don’t want to relive it and of the three people I’ve polled, I’m justified in my decision not to help (again). It’s like, should I have lied and made up some excuse why I couldn’t perform said favor? Would that soften the blow? Or would I continue to be asked to do things that I’m not entirely comfortable with? And honestly, the asking will probably continue because this person is an oblivious moron.
You never know who you’re gonna run into or what you’re gonna see when you go out. There’s always a chance it might be something truly spectacular. Tonight we saw these women.
Probably wasn’t very nice of me to sneak a picture, but they were too eclectic to pass up. And obviously it was on purpose. Her shirt was STARCHED. They were out on the town! I love to see women out in groups, sharing secrets and giggling and just having a good time without being in competition or worrying that their husbands are ready to go.
Kay and I were talking about these older ladies who lose a husband, whether it be through death or divorce, and the just stay home and dry up because they don’t know what else to do. Now, it ain’t like I’m setting the world on fire and out there tearing it up, but I do feel like I’m in the mix of things regularly. You wanna get out! It’s good for you. Kay said, “I wanna see the pink ladies!” Indeed. Me too. I wanna be eccentric and not give one red rat’s ass what anybody thinks about me, just like always. I hope I’ve always got a friend who doesn’t bat an eye. But who will also gently persuade me to leave the bunny ears at home. Unless I’m just dead set on them.
Well, anyway, alls well that ends well. And Kay and I ended with mudslides, so that’s a fine a way as any.
Cheers from Appalachia,
~Amy
P.s. I know a man who kissed a dog for the first time today. He was proud of him, and got lost in the moment. I’m as proud of that as anything else that happened today. It’s okay to be a hard ass, but there’s no sense in trying to be one around a good dog. 🥰
