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Browsing Tag: #appalachia
Day 20: Put your music player on shuffle & write the first three songs that play & what your initial thought is First one was “Kiss” by Prince, which I love. Reminds me of Pretty Woman, just like it does everybody else. She’s in the bathtub, with bubbles up to her ears, which are covered by headphones. She resembles a mermaid with all that wild red hair, & is singing her off-key heart out. #2 was “Me & God” by Josh Turner. I listened a moment, but it’s not my favorite, so I went on & got “Some Sweet Day” by Ray Ball, so I suppose I cheated, but hey, this is my story, amiright? #3 was “Loved By You” by Jewel, whom I consider a genius. I love just about everything she’s ever sung or written. She published a book of poetry several years ago & I have it. She recently came out with another one, which I have not yet acquired. She’s great. If y’all have never really listened to anything by her, give her a try. It’s been a fine music morning so far. I had it on 94.9’s Throwback on my way in & heard several good ones (Push It, Jessie’s Girl, Moulan Rouge, & When I Come Around). Yesterday is a different story. Perhaps y’all were wondering what the picture of the goat trail had to do with music. Well, I didn’t listen…
I have a friend who is married to a farmer. They are raising their boys among the cows & corn. The boys have calves they bottle feed & sell, they have horses they check fences astride. They enjoy the day to day life of being outside, helping their daddy tend to the newly born, the ailing, the healthy. One day, I was disheartened to read on Facebook about how one of their sons was being ridiculed at school. A schoolmate called him poor because he lives on a farm. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Trust me, farmers aren’t poor. They meet struggle every day of their life. They are up against it at least fifty percent of the time. Imagine if your livelihood was dependent upon the weather. If it doesn’t rain one day & the sun shine the next, you might be looking for a job in town. And then when hay is ready to cut to feed the cows all winter, you pray for three straight days hot & clear. To get your hay to grow, it must be fertilized. Fertilizer runs around $500 a ton. One ton will fertilize roughly seven acres. If your fields yield well, seven acres of hay will produce maybe 100 rolls of hay. A cow will eat half a roll a day in the wintertime if their pasture is thin. You figure four months of winter, which is 120 days. If you have thirty cows, that…
Mondays suck. It’s just one thing after another. People are crabby because they have to go back to work, I guess. They’re indecisive & needy. But that’s small potatoes. To most of you, this will just look like a good ol’ country baptizing. But to some…oh, it is so much more. This is Miss MacKenzie Henry, being baptized by her papaw (preacher) Danny Henry, & her daddy, Scotty. MacKenzie is a special needs, loving, beautiful child of God. About a month ago, her momma was tucking her in, doing the whole ritual of singing to her & reading a little bit, talking about the upcoming week. “And you know what’s happening Sunday?” Kenzie nodded enthusiastically. Brandi told her again who all was getting baptized. Kenzie nodded more exuberantly & pointed at her chest. “Me!” Brandi was stunned. “You want to be baptized?” “Yes!” Nodding excitedly. She got her point across. Now, we would like to believe that children are protected, until they become the age of accountability, but I could not find any specific verses to support this belief, which is somewhat disturbing. At any rate, MacKenzie had sat through enough Bible School lessons & church services to know that she needed to be saved & it had laid on her heart for knows how long before she was able to communicate her desire. The problem probably stemmed from her fear…
As they say on Steel Magnolias, “There’s a story there….” I’m sure you can tell what this present is 🙂 My good friend TammyLynn (the one who almost got eaten by a bull shark at Douglas last week) brought it to me this morning. Here’s what happened, although I’m ashamed to admit it. It all started last year, when I got it in my head to be a good wife & make my husband homemade biscuits. I’m not a fan of homemade biscuits (just hush) & every time I say that in the presence of a baker, they gasp aloud, & say, “You’ve never had mine!” all scandalized. I have determined that in most of my experience eating them, I have found them dry & hard. I much prefer the frozen type, it’s really hard to mess them up. Anyway, so I went to Pinterest, found the prettiest picture, & used the accompanying recipe. This particular endeavor involved putting the dough in the blender. Johnny chose that moment to walk in the kitchen & took in the scene, blender whirring, flour dusted on every still surface (including my hair). “Never seen my granny use a blender to make homemade biscuits,” he commented drily. “You might not live to see these,” I replied icily, as he beat a trail back to the living room. Well, those biscuits came out…
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl with long golden hair. She met & fell in love with a handsome young man. They were wed in the middle of Crawford’s Notch by Jimmy Temple. The little family grew, & soon they had three wild mules running around the house & over the hills. They had a swimming pool, but preferred the pond. Theirs was a picturesque farm on the river, in the middle of town, with beautiful horses grazing in manicured pastures. As the mules grew up & formed relationships with others, these friends were welcomed as family. Their home was always full to brimming with an ever growing group of people. There was much laughter & fun & plenty of tasty food. We sought counsel many times over the years & found understanding in their eyes and a big hug at every turn. The family remained strong & close knit as the years went by. They gathered every Sunday morning at the main home for biscuits and gravy at 9:30 sharp. It was the one time a week everyone was expected to convene together as a whole. They believed in agriculture, & they all worked hard to keep the Sevier County fair going so it would always serve as a special memory for all the kids of the county. They brought it out of a black hole & made it the best one in the state. And we were proud. This family was loved…
Getting quite a bit of this view today as I pray for my great uncle Roy Dykes, Tammy’s daddy. He’s a tough ole bird and my mind won’t quite wrap around that he’s in ICU and the doctors are not confident. They say it could go either way. Tammy’s momma always said Roy was supposed to go out of this world the same way he came in–by accident. He has survived the following: having been trapped under a tractor for an hour and ten minutes and was among Lifestar’s very first airlift patients. He had his middle finger ripped off at the knuckle while leading a mule (it’s buried in the flower bed…the finger, not the mule), he was attacked by a gigantic emu while trying to load them in the trailer (someone told him he could have them for free- “I ain’t gonna have no little bird hurt me!”). And while we’re on poultry…he was burning leaves out in the barn lot one time & it got a “little” out of control. Well, a rooster somehow got his tail feathers in the flames, & made for the barn. Roy followed in hot pursuit, before he could burn the whole barn down. He succeeded in running him out, mildly scorched but no worse for wear. There was also the time…
If you’re southern, and you call around hunting a product, it goes something like this: “Such-and-such store, this is Do-Lollie, could I hep ye?” “Good mornin’, it’s Amy at the Co-op, how you doin’?” (nevermind I’ve never met or talked to this person prior) “Good mornin’, Amy, I’m doin’ alright, other’n this rain, it always makes my hip hurt. How are YEW?” “Oh, I’m alright. If I’s a pig, I’d be enjoyin’ this mud a little more.” A chortle. “I heard that. What can I do fer ye?” “Well, I’s wonderin’ if Bryan was in?” “Yeah, hang on jest a minute & I’ll git ‘im fer ye.” “Thank you!” “Mm-hmm. You have a good day.” “Hey, you too!” With that, I am placed on hold. {I can imagine the hollerin’ to the back of the store “Bryan! Line one! It’s Amy!” “Huh?” “Line ONE!” “Ok.”} “This is Bryan, could I hep ye?” “Good mornin’ Bryan, how are ye?” “Well, I ain’t talked to you in a coons age! You doin’ alright?” “Yeah, how ’bout you…
For years, I mistakingly believed that “working a double” meant twelve hours. This naïve opinion stemmed from my early retail experience in Pigeon Forge, where the stores were open 9-9. So if I worked open to close, that was “a double”. When I went to work for 911 dispatch, I learned that was not the case. While 12 hours of demanding tourists is enough to kill anybody, it barely holds a flame to spending 16 hours in a 20×20 room with three people tethered to three computers each and a radio system the size of a refrigerator. You don’t get a 30 minute lunch break reprieve in another room, you eat right there at your console with your headset attached. You can go to the bathroom, but you better make it snappy. And that’s the 8 hour days. You don’t work sixteens every day, just the days when weather catches you & your coworkers unaware. Because if you knew a big snowstorm was coming and you didn’t think you could get back, then the county would put you up for the night in some luxury accommodations–the Landmark Inn. It wasn’t the Four Seasons, but it was close to work. And if you got stuck at home, well, the Rescue Squad would be sent to retrieve you. IF they got time, that is. The county has a limited few that are…
This morning felt & looked like January in East Tennessee. What I mean is, it wasn’t super-frigid-freeze-your-fingers-off, but there was a heavy frost. As I drove to work, I took the time to admire all the ice crystals glimmering in the pasture fields & birds sitting close on power lines. There were cattle gathered at gates waiting for their breakfast to be brought around by the bundled up farmer on his tractor. As I drove through hollers, smoke generated by woodstoves & fi…replaces lay low to the ground. There was a stillness to be envied by all those in cities rushing around, too busy to look up (and probably nothing to look at but buildings anyway). I couldn’t help but smile as I looked at the mountain ridge & thinking, “I’ve hiked that…I will hike it again soon.” So you’re probably thinking I crashed ol Patsy into one of those beautiful bare branched trees, but no. I pull into the parking lot & I get a whiff of polecat. I speed around the building, hoping it won’t get stuck in my truck all day. The smell just gets stronger. I hurriedly open my door & bail out gagging. Skunks. Now, that’s life in the mountains…
Alright. Y’all have to read this book. It will take you one day. I would say it will take you one hour, but it won’t, because you’ll have to stop after every story and laugh, then read it to anyone standing near you, then call everyone you know & read it to them. Repeat x81 (that’s how many stories there are). Then you’ll call me & tell me what an excellent recommendation I gave. You’re welcome. Messing With Tourists There’s supposed to be a picture there. Oh well. Here’s a couple of my favorite segments…
