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Browsing Tag: #mountaintough
To be a mountain girlYou must be cold as frost on the tin roofAnd hot as cinders from the wood stoveYou must be witty on your comebacksAnd sharp as grandpa’s yellow Case knife To be a mountain girlYou must be tough as a pine knot And delicate as a monarchs wings as they pulseYou must be soft as spring’s peach fuzzAnd hard as the fallen walnut To be a mountain girlYou must know how to sew with catgutAnd how to heal with aloe and plantainYou must be able to rise and bake biscuitsAnd rest in the heat of the day To be a mountain girlYou must know how to bait your own hookAnd keep up with who’s buried whereYou must know who married whoAnd where their children scattered to To be a mountain girlYou have to talk to crittersAnd go barefoot most of the yearYou must know how to plant by the signsAnd what made that track To be a mountain girlYou will appreciate each day as it comesAnd be grateful to the one who made itYou will prepare as much as you canAnd give grace at every turn To be a mountain girlYou should be capable of shooting straightBoth with a gun and your mouthAnd you should have casseroles in the deep freezeAnd a stack of cards to send in sympathy or thanks To be a mountain girlIs to know which way to the riverAnd where to dig sangAnd hold the note on…
Inferno: A place or region that resembles hell. Two weeks ago the community was told that the state’s call record for November 28th had mysteriously vanished without a trace. Sound familiar? I won’t bring national politics into this, but it sounds suspiciously like another time citizens demanded answers that for some reason, couldn’t be supplied. And now we have the EMA director who was in his position for eight years taking a Operations Director position with a construction company. After a lifetime spent in emergency services, this is unheard of. Something tells me he knows the government has failed. He was the one on the phone with the state, pleading with them to issue an evacuation. The call was dropped due to cell phone towers being engulfed by flames and the evacuation warning never came. The state reasons they didn’t want to send citizens deeper into the inferno, which is a reasonable excuse…however, not doing anything proved to be just as lethal. Some people in the community are saying drop it so we can move forward. We’d be glad to, as soon as we know what happened. Or rather, what didn’t happen. How do you make your peace without answers? Regardless of what officials were telling people in the county, one thing is for sure: 911 was handling it the best they could. For all their training, nothing could prepare them for the night…
For the Mountain People I’ve been whittling on this since the day after. It seems I run a full mill of emotions as I work through it. It’s disjointed and twisty and repetitive but I’m leaving it as it is for now because that’s what it’s been like here-confusing and excessive and unsure. Maybe one day I’ll come back to it and get it right, but for now it will have to be enough to get it out. It’s been seven months and five days since the sun rose and illuminated what remained of Gatlinburg. Seven months and five days later…it is raining. And rain is appropriate. We’ll still take all we can get. Even on the Fourth of July. I say hooray because it will put a damper on fireworks activity. Fireworks start fires. I never TRULY believed that until my days at dispatch. Here’s what happens: It’s high summer, which generally means it’s been fairly dry. People drink all day, out in the sun, then they play with fireworks. They may possibly even hurt their fool selves, or the kids who don’t obey orders to “Get back!” (or maybe the kids were never even warned, or maybe it’s just bad luck). The dogs are barking, or howling, or quivering in the corner. The cattle and horses are…
About a week ago, there was a post on the Sevierville Speaks Out Facebook page. A gentleman was requesting local writers message him their word rate to write a local article, 2000-4000 words, twice a week. I was tagged by four people. So I thought, I’ll humor them. “Good morning” I wrote, using his name. “I was tagged by a few people on your post in Sevierville Speaks Out. I’m a native Sevier County resident. I worked at the Co-op downtown for 13 years, and now work as a secretary for {I’m not publicly announcing my location to potential stalkers}. I’ve met a lot of local color…some might say I AM the local color. 😁 I’ll be completely honest, I don’t have a rate per word. I have a blog that I started last year. Please feel free to check it out and you can get a clear idea of my style. Amysappalachia.com I have written two articles for our local fair book, an article for 911 magazine, and the feature for the first installment of Sevierville Living. I would be interested in learning more about your position. Thank you.” The message I got in response five days later was clipped and standardized. “Hello. We offer 3 cents a word. If you are still interested, please send you name, address, and a sample writing the 3rd person…
There’s this wonderful place you can visit. It doesn’t cost a dime. And once there, the places you can go are literally limitless. This magical destination is the library. I know, I know, I’m the biggest nerd. But seriously. So tonight was the board meeting. And it was typical in all aspects, other than our chairman was absent so the meeting was conducted by my lovely friend (and recent partner in crime), Tracy. Things were clicking along, we were approving budgets for consideration of the county, approving fundraisers, discussing projects that are coming up. I reached for my regional report and found it stuck to the glass topped table. No worries. I’m sure it’s just barely tacked on there. I didn’t even have anything sticky on my plate. What is going on? I finally ripped it free, leaving several bits of paper essentially glued to the conference table. The director had to dribble water on it and scrub. I don’t know how I constantly find myself in these clean up positions. I’m like a three year old. Someday I’ll tell y’all about the gallon of Red Cell I dropped at the Co-op. Or the case of Hearty Hoof that I dribbled from one end to the other. Now, see, I am obviously not a prototypical board member. Especially one you would picture on the local library board. I’…
This is the first time in many years the thought of spring doesn’t fill me with dread. Spring doesn’t mean EXACTLY the same thing in Co-op circles as it means for most people. For the majority, spring means warmer weather, maybe thinking about planting a garden, or putting in a pool, going to the lake, planning barbeques. Spring at the Co-op means an absolute onslaught of people, demanding grass and vegetable seeds, fertilizer, herbicides, pesticides, you name it. Spring means a season of calves brought in thunderstorms by heifers, the constant nuisance of flies, and the persistant worry of when the rain’s coming-will it be soon enough? Can it hold off till you get this last field spread? Old men and new farmers haggle over buggies and sprayers and sod drills. They raise Cain that the price of chemicals are cheaper by three dollars the next county over. They gripe and complain about being subjected to “all these changes” and “you about can’t make a livin’ anymore, with you a-robbin’ us blind!” Yes. Clearly, I’m the one to blame. There’s the warehouse screaming on the radio to quit sellin’ Kennebec seed potatotes, how many times do they have to tell us we’re out till Houser gets back from Tenco? The phones are ringing with people wanting to know when…
I’m having trouble understanding the people who are going to sightsee the ruined areas of Gatlinburg. They ogle, they take pictures, they take souvenirs of ash and more. They are trespassing on all that remains of many people’s homes. I know people are curious, but melted aluminum isn’t “cool”, what’s left of the Castle isn’t “awesome” and the dregs of the apartments on Ski Mountain aren’t to be gawked at. I’m just sickened by what thrills certain people. I can’t bear to look…I still have trouble digesting how many people lost their jobs, their businesses, and their transportation. That Monday night I sat in my living room, surrounded by my life’s work. I can’t fathom what I would try to make it out with. I have no doubt that Shug would get the dogs and hopefully a chainsaw. I’ve lived in this very house almost my entire life. It was built by my great-great uncle for my Grandmother when my momma was still a wee tot. I reside on what remains of the original farm. I know every inch. My town has grown up around me. All these people have moved in and brought with them their restaurants and their way of doing things (namely driving entirely too fast and not waving when they see you working…
You can ask just about anybody where their first date was with their spouse, and they can generally supply you with the name of the city and the restaurant. ‘Round here, it’s frequently “We went up to Gatlinburg.” It’s easy, it’s fun, there are no lack of things to do and see, so even if you don’t like your date, you’re in a pretty place with lots of fudge. I mean, how bad can it be? Y’all have heard about our first date before: hiking, no makeup, no heels, no dainty salad for supper. We went to Texas Roadhouse after scaling the mountain. The one in Gatlinburg. I ordered a barbeque chicken sandwich. Johnny’s pretty confident he got a barbeque pork sandwich. We’ve never been pretentious people. I had already warned him that I wasn’t a girl that ordered salads for a meal. Salads are what tide you over until the beef makes it out. And rolls. Mmmm rolls…. I digress. It was a pretty normal date, as far as dates go. He kissed me. (!) But I couldn’t tell you much else, I had stars in my eyes, and the fact of the matter is, I’m accustomed to the beauty of the mountains at this stage in my life. Johnny works in Gatlinburg a lot, as there’s typically some new building going…
Board meetings, on the whole, are notoriously boring. And I hate to admit it, but the library is no exception…matters of a civil nature tend to be a bit dry. As I prepared for the one this evening, I tried not to dread it. I tried not to think of the things I needed to be doing that were More Important. Because, truly, I typically find my role as a public servant meaningful. As I headed out the door of my workplace, I called off-handedly, “I’m off to save Sevier County…one book at a time.” At the time I did not realize how fortuitous my words would be. First of all, we led with a prayer, which was wonderful and I had been thinking about that the whole way there. I had been wondering why we didn’t every time, but thought it might be against some rule since we’re a public meeting. But I thought today, of all days, we could certainly use one. So thank you Mr. Sarten! It’s like you read my mind. We’re taking care of regular business and in the agenda under new business is the innocuous heading “Recommendation by director to waive any fees for services for fire victims until further notice” This seems pretty obvious, as they can’t very well bring back a book that is no longer a tangible item. But this…
I never thought the sight of pallets would make me cry. I brought 11 from the shop….Food City brought this many: I sorted and folded clothes with the lovely & sweet Lanie Miller, AKA Miss Chattanooga, tonight at Sevier County Rescue Squad. She drove up by herself to help today & was turned away from two receiving warehouses but she was adamant to help! And I couldn’t bear to just drop pallets and leave when they had tents full to bursting…and I didn’t even lay eyes on the airplane hangar. I asked her why she wasn’t wearing her tiara & she said it was in her car. Cracked me up. I woulda had that sucker on for sure. I might wear mine Friday and make everybody think I’m secret royalty…
