My Own Yellow Wallpaper

2017 in Books

2017-12-29T11:15:00.000-05:00

My goal of 40 books this year fell 10 short. Hey, I moved and started a new job and I also spent an embarrassing amount of time watching Peaky Blinders, Big Little Lies, and The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. You should watch ALL of those but only after you do some reading. Here were my favorites this year:

Fiction

Outlander by Diana Gabaldon

Drew and I each bought a copy and read this together. It was the longest book I've ever read and we both LOVED it. I will likely not read any more of them because I liked the way this one ended and I didn't like what I read about the next few. Perhaps we will watch the show instead. You'll love Jamie, he's pretty much the perfect man.

The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood

Oh yeah, I watched this show too but first I read the book. You know all about this already but you should still read it. This was my first Margaret Atwood read and it did not disappoint. Last night I started Alias Grace so that I can watch that soon.

The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas

An amazing young adult story about a young woman who witnesses her friend be shot by the police and the aftermath that ensues. Again, heartbreaking but raw and real for young adults.

Non-Fiction

Why I left Why I Stayed by Tony Campolo & Bart Campolo

Tony Campolo has been one of my favorite Christians for years, the work he does and his heart for justice are what I admire about him. This book is a dialogue between he who is still a minister today and his son Bart who left the ministry and Christianity. It is heartbreaking and honest and desperate but so relatable for those of us who find ourselves somewhere in between.

Evicted: Poverty and Profit in the American City by Matthew Desmond

The author lives in rentals throughout the city of Milwaukee to research this book and as sensitive as I have always been to the issues of poverty I had never put much thought into the urban poverty issue of lack of housing. I learned so much and it read like fiction-which is terrifying because it is real.

Not My Father's Son by Alan Cumming

My only point of reference for Alan Cumming was as Floop in Spy Kids but we bought his audiobook and with his Scottish accent I'd listen to him read the phone book (do they still make phone books?) His complicated relationship with his father was both humorous and horrifying. Drew and I both cried and laughed out loud multiple times as we listened to this on a road trip.

One Day We'll All be Dead and None of This Will Matter by Scaachi Koul

A mostly light and funny read, it didn't get great reviews but I love books of comedic essays and this didn't disappoint.

The Bad-Ass Librarians of Timbuktu: And Their Race to Save the World's Most Precious Manuscripts by Joshua Hammer

Yes, the title is misleading but I tend to think of all librarians as bad asses. People whose job it is to save rare pieces of culture and knowledge in one of the most notorious centers of knowledge in the Islamic world from a fundamentalist terrorist group? Yes please.

What books did you enjoy this year? I'm setting my sights on 50 books for 2018. Check out the Modern Mrs. Darcy's Reading Challenge for inspiration-that's where I'll be starting.

On Community

2017-12-08T14:14:00.000-05:00

I use the word community a lot for a person who doesn’t have a great definition for it. It’s more of a feeling in my bones than something I can put into words when called upon to do so. It is one of those education buzzwords that’s often given in job interviews, like differentiation or graphic organizers, “I want to build a community of learners.” Boom. You’re suddenly entrusted with teaching 75 teenagers the importance of democracy. But in my personal life community has come to be what I am constantly seeking.

I have found community in church and I’ve found it at work. I’ve seen community play out in small towns-the coming together in crisis or rallying around the local basketball team. I’ve been host to community over shared love of books, wine, or Jesus depending on the season of my adult life.

I was raised by community. Small and isolated. Community with big hearts for their own but that rarely extended far beyond town limits. I’ve left community and its comforts many times and inevitably experienced a pang of regret.

And with each move I’ve also experienced isolation, at parties where community is present and I am not a part of it. Having been in this new city for only a few months, my community is only starting to form. It could easily be lost as I attempt to build trust and share experiences. I am grateful for it but always hesitant.

Instead my community lives in Mississippi and Virginia. East Africa and Kentucky. Selfishly, I want community in my immediacy-next door for shared days and meals. But then I wouldn’t be able to experience and give love to a global community of people who do amazing work in their own cities, following their passions and extending our collective community by adding more-building a longer table and not a higher fence-as the saying goes.

Whatever community is I hope you find it and hold tightly to it. When you move or they move, through change and growth, differing opinions and seasons of prolonged absence. May you always come back to your community, not expecting too much of each other but loving each other just as hard when you reunite.

On Laundry

2017-03-19T16:00:00.000-04:00

My mom has a thing for laundry. It’s something of a holy sacrament to her. When I “moved out” I had never done a load of laundry before in my life. And I wasn’t a 17-year old college bound kid. I lived at home or with my grandmother for all 4 years of undergrad so at nearly 22 years old I got married and moved three hours away without the slightest inclination of how to keep myself in clean clothes.

And before you get the wrong idea, I wasn’t “doless” (a nice Appalachian phrase for someone who “don’t lift a hand at much,” I suppose that’s also Appalachian and not terribly helpful but you get what I’m saying, lazy). I wasn’t given a fair opportunity to learn how to do laundry, I was never taught. As the saying goes, knowledge is power- and mom was keeping that particular power for herself.

And I get it from both sides. When I asked my dad if he did his own laundry growing up, he said granny would never let him near it. Granny still washes her clothes to death and once told me that’s what attracted her to my Pap: “his clothes were always just so clean,” she said. That’s all it took and she was head over heels.

Perhaps my mom didn’t have the patience to teach us the practice of laundry but I maintain that it was more about her affection for washing clothes. Each of my mom’s sisters shares this same attachment to laundering. The practices of letting things soak, stain removal, hot or warm water and the ever pressing question: when to use bleach are topics they discuss at length. When I was growing up mom would often lift the lid of our washing machine, which sat in the kitchen in our house, to watch the process in action before her very eyes.

When my mamaw was raising 11 young’uns they had a Wringer washing machine (pictured below next to my papaw on the porch) but by the time the baby-my mama- came along they had built a bathroom where the washer sat while the dryer was housed in the kitchen. My mamaw enjoyed laundry too, she said that seeing all those white diapers hanging out on the clothesline made her happy. Mom said their water pressure was such that they rarely washed much besides under clothes and wash rags. They’d be lucky to get one load done in an evening by the time the washer filled up and didn’t have time to get it dried before papaw went to bed, and the dryer didn’t run when papaw slept.

As mom told me all of this it clicked with her at the same time it did with me: “Maybe that’s why we all love to do laundry now. It’s like a luxury.” So I don’t hold a grudge for my laundry inadequacies.

When I lived with my mamaw in college she would sometimes gather up a few of my things from the floor of my room while I was in class or working. Mostly it was jeans, which I later learned she never actually washed-she would wet the knees and put them in the dryer to make me think that she had washed them. Clever badger. Perhaps her love for laundry took a backseat to her belief that things were not dirty, especially jeans, if they were only worn once.

I called my brother while writing this to ask about his knowledge of laundry to see if at eighteen he was as clueless as my sister and I were when we left home. He is in high school and still at home and I asked him if mom was out of town and he absolutely had to could he do a load of laundry. He gave a confident “Yes!” which surprised me and I asked him to walk me through the process to which he replied, “I’d take whatever I need washed to granny or Wanda.” Problem solved. But I could relate, I would never have dared touch mom’s washing machine when I was at home without her guidance. When she and my dad moved into the home they are in now she only had space for a stackable washer/dryer and to add insult to injury the washer locked while washing, putting days of watching clothes soak and spin in the past.

I cannot say that I share in the enjoyment of washing clothes, although I am firm in the belief that anything can be a spiritual experience if you take joy in it. The being my clothesline, I delight in seeing my clothes drying on the line in the spring and summer months. I think of home and mamaw and mom and their love of it and I feel connected to some small part of their beloved practice of laundry.

Sidenote: my mom’s washers been broken for two weeks now so prayers are appreciated.

The Oil Lamp

2017-03-12T20:01:00.000-04:00

sun sets across the mountain

hues of pink and orange

the end of a day’s light

a wick wet with oil

rests between fingers of a golden key

globe black with soot

eyes squint

match strikes

flame illuminates

hands grip carrying it nearer

the key rotates, the flame grows

a return to the tedium of a day’s work

still incomplete

"Ya'll eat yet?" An Appalachian Greeting

2017-03-05T19:23:00.001-05:00

Encouraging my teenage students to be in tune with and celebrate their home culture is something akin to what I imagine it’d be like to call up my central Appalachian granny and ask her to adopt a new culture for the rest of her life: worship Shiva, Brahma and Vishnu in place of Jesus, begin making and eating naan instead of biscuits and wear a sari instead of her blue jeans and Keds. In other words many of my teenage students seem terribly intimidated by recognizing their cultural norms and practices.

My students tend to see culture as far-off exotic celebrations of fantastical clothing, precise rituals, beautiful artistic expressions and strange foods. Nevermind that my students live in one of the most inherently Appalachian culture-oriented towns in our region. I suppose it makes sense that an appreciation for your home culture often comes after you’ve moved on or meet others with different cultures to have a point of comparison. I certainly didn’t consider myself “Appalachian” until college and since then I have introduced myself as nothing else.

The one thing I often succeed in helping students understand is unique to our culture is our relationship with food. The marriage of growing, cooking, and preserving of sustenance in the mountains is something many of them relate to and appreciate. Food also provides the basis for many conversations.

We Appalachians worry ourselves to death over whether or not each other has eaten. And we don’t go to visit friends or family without calling ahead first to see what they could use from our garden or pantry. My go-to wedding gift to friends and family is something we’ve canned. And I’ve traveled to the Pound many a time with rhubarb stalks, jars of moonshine, pickled peppers and more cukes than I could count. And come back with zucchini bread, canned beans, kraut, and slicing tomatoes.

And as soon as we arrive we can barely get in the door before being asked if we’re ready to eat. And even if the truth is that we ate on the road, we lie. Because they already have chicken fried or scratch-made biscuits in the oven. It’s our answer to any problem (much like the Golden Girls and cheesecake) except ours might just be a sliced cucumber which in my experience is just as effective as cheesecake.

We attended a wedding this weekend and when I finally got a chance to hug the bride at the reception before I could stop it I heard myself ask, “Did ya’ll get to eat yet?” I guess it’s also Appalachian for congratulations.

A Day of Menial Accomplishments or Bryce's First Birthday

2017-02-26T18:38:00.002-05:00

With hair like mine, I didn’t wash it myself until I was nearing adulthood. Hence, the scene: a head full of shampooed curls and my mother leaning over me in the bathtub breaking her back to complete a task most children my age had accomplished years before. With mom and I occupied by the nest atop my head, the task of keeping an eye on my baby brother fell to my younger sister. If you knew my sister you’d know that this plan was set up to fail from the beginning. My sister, even now as an adult, cannot be relied upon for the most basic tasks because of her propensity for distraction. And at six years old with Rugrats on TV, she was doomed. My mom had poured exactly 1 plastic cup of water onto my head when catastrophe struck (catastrophe in this instance is relative to a mother on her son’s first birthday).

Mom jumped up and ran to assess the situation while I sat watching my feet shrivel in the chilly bath water. I heard plenty of banging and yelling followed soon by my sister appearing in the bathroom informing me that she had allowed our brother to pull his birthday cake off of the table. He had proceeded to play in it and while already in his birthday outfit leaving both the cake and his clothes ruined. All of this occurred while she stood inches from the TV laughing at Tommy Pickles get into a fun kind of TV trouble unaware that she would soon be facing the kind of trouble they do not show on Nickelodeon. Furthermore she informed me that mom was after her, I believe she even uttered the phrase “help me.”

Children who live in solidarity with their siblings have always been heroes to me because in that moment I knew which side I wanted to be on and it was not the losing side of my poor sister. So, because I am my mother’s daughter I called upon a look of disgust and shook my head at her while rolling my eyes to ensure she understood what a disappointment she was not only to mom but to all of us.

Seeing she would receive no sympathy from her big sister, she retreated to her room. In the meantime I was left to rinse my own hair for the first time in my life, my brother still managed to turn 1 despite the lack of cake and my mother’s wrath grew less intense after she threw a chair across the kitchen that day. The mystery of whether the chair was thrown at someone is still heavily debated each holiday when we are together. But overall, that was a day of accomplishments: hair-washing, birthday party, and self-reflection. However, the guilty party accomplished nothing and she will still ignore your every word if there is television anywhere near her.

A conversation with Granny pt. 1

2017-02-19T19:43:00.000-05:00

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

Meg: What do you remember your daddy doing most?

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

Meg: Did he make it?

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

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

Laurel Fork

2017-02-12T19:56:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mamaw's Yard pt. 2

2017-02-05T17:31:00.000-05:00

Mamaw never knew what she had bought us for Christmas. After opening gifts on Christmas morning she’d often say, “Let me see what I got you.” She’d give mom the money for us and trust that mom would get us what we needed. This particular year she’d bought me a pair of American Eagle khaki pants and I was pleased as punch.

Another of our family talents is our penchant to make Christmas last as long as possible. Growing up I always enjoyed this tradition of making the holidays last longer. First of all it gave me more opportunities to wear my new Christmas clothes over the holiday break (hello new khakis!) But also I loved holding my relatives hostage in Pound at Mamaw’s house, once they all left I’d still be there and I appreciated the company. Therefore, Osborne Christmas dinner is not held until December 26 each year.

No one gets to sit around waiting on dinner, everyone’s given a job. In the last years of Mamaw’s life she’d encourage me to hone my domesticity around the holidays. For example, the year I got married when she pronounced this would be the year she would let me make the chocolate pies. But in my middle school days the tasks entrusted to me were much simpler though still never anything I looked forward to.

On the third day of Christmas and no doubt thanks to the confidence I possessed in my new pants I was sent to the dairy on the hill to fetch two jars of something I couldn’t be bothered to remember the name of. Chow chow? Kraut? Whatever it was I knew it would not make its way onto my plate.

The back yard is a hillside with 5 little rinky-dink steps on the steepest part. I carefully took the steps up and opened the creepy door to the dairy, ducked my head to enter and pulled the chain so the single light bulb could illuminate the spider webs and mystery jars. I retrieved my treasure swiftly and with jars in both hands headed toward home.

Although disgusted by their contents I knew that much like pimpin’, cannin’ ain’t easy. So when I missed one of those pathetic little skinny steps and began to fall my priority was securing the jars! Unfortunately, this made a casualty of the Christmas khakis.

The only thing injured was my pride, Christmas dinner was served (complete with the mystery canned goods from 1980) and Mamaw patched the knee of my pants with a stiff piece of fabric that never gave the way the knees of pants should. A sobering reminder of my clumsiness each time I wore them and attempted to sit down.

Even now, grown and with a garden of my own, I’m still a disappointment to her (she is a mountain mamaw after all). I haven’t learned to use the sewing machine she left me so that I can patch my own clothes. I’ve never mastered pie-making and my canning recipes come from Pinterest. But each time I use my water-bath canner, gather eggs from the chickens or slice a cucumber I’d like to think she notices and is proud.

Mamaw's Yard pt. 1

2017-01-29T18:48:00.000-05:00

My family owns its own Santa suit. In some ways that tells you everything you need to know about us but another of our more brief holiday traditions may help create a better-rounded picture of us.

My grandmother’s house, where all holidays were celebrated, sat in a cozy little neighborhood in our small southwestern Virginia town and her front yard was home to many a game of kickball and freeze tag. Whatever image you’re conjuring up of her yard, it was smaller than that. Long, skinny and sloped. Also if you kicked the ball too hard it’d go rolling down route 83 never to be seen again.

We went through about a ten-year period where my cousins and I had all aged out of wanting to hide and hunt eggs on Easter. Our mothers still insisted we color eggs so come the day of resurrection we were left with three to four dozen multicolored eggs sitting in the refrigerator with no real intention of doing anything with them.

Boredom was not a word any of us were allowed to use and that made us resourceful. Hence the scene that lay before me that Sunday. Before I could comprehend how it had come about a gutsy cousin was on the pitcher’s mound i.e. middle of the front yard (again whatever you’re imaging it’s too big) tossing eggs underhand toward my brother who waited at the opposite end of the yard with a bat. When the egg made contact with the foam t-ball bat the pitcher’s reaction time was key to shield their eyes and mouth from the egg debris.

This went on for some time considering the number of eggs we’d been forced to color. The pitcher was exchanged every time someone needed to go remove the boiled egg and purple shell from their hair. Each of us had our turn at bat leaving a carpet of boiled egg all over the front yard.

Video cameras rolled while we laughed our asses off at each other and soon Mamaw emerged from her perch on the couch inside to stick her head out of the door and take in the scene. Mamaw, never one to mince words, waited until she had everyone’s attention so she could demand “Who’s gonna clean this shit up?”

Today we have lots of babies to hunt Easter eggs so some of our traditions have returned to the more conventional. My husband still dresses in that red suit with pillows stuffed in his pants every Christmas Eve speaking in an unidentifiable accent (Jamacain?) but our batting eggs tradition died with Mamaw. There was an unspoken understanding that there would be no way to top that opening game with her most sincere reaction. I keep a pack of Marlboro Lights in my sock drawer to light up when moments like those get foggier than I would like. I take a long draw and close my eyes hoping to hear a bit of her sass and relive those moments on Beech Street.

Coal & Roots

2017-01-10T19:43:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

I am apple butter.

2017-01-02T20:53:00.001-05:00

I am apple butter.

I take planning and dedication.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2016 in books

2016-12-31T11:14:00.000-05:00

If you haven't yet started using Goodreads, then do yourself a favor before the new year and set yourself a reading goal for 2017. Goodreads helps you track books you've read, keep a list of books you want to read and suggests books for you in genres you enjoy.

Last year I set my reading goal at 30 books. I had never read that many books in a year and I thought it would be a nice challenge. It proved easier than I imagined and I had completed 30 books by summer so my new goal became 50. And if I finish The Trespasser today, I will have met it.

I have NEVER read that many books, nearly over the course of my life much less in a single trip around the sun. I read poetry, short stories, memoirs, non-fiction, historical fiction, young adult, 1 series, and even a graphic novel.

It also may have helped that I joined my first book club this year so that forced me to read books I, otherwise, may never have picked up.

I spent most of my life thinking that what I read had to be historical and useful to me in my craft but that simply isn't true. I burnt through the first 3 books of The Selection series in less than 48 hours. There isn't much use for a princess competition in my line of work but man oh man did I fall hard into that world.

Here are some that I believe are worth your while. Also, take note, I don't often read books from the current year, some are but most are not.Also for some of them I've treated you to a few nonsensical words to encourage your readership of said book.

Fiction

Euphoria by Lily King

I mean the cover alone is enough reason to read it but it was my favorite book of the year.

The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

Sisters, Africa. Missionaries, Crazy devout father. Enough said.

Historical Fiction

Between Shades of Gray by Ruta Sepetys

I recommend this to my students and always have to give the disclaimer that it is not what they think. Stalin's Soviet Union labor camps. One girls story. So good.

A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles
Slow to get started but probably my second favorite book of the year. A few years following the Bolshevik revolution, a former nobleman is confined to a hotel in Moscow.

Non-Fiction

Born a Crime by Trevor Noah

Just like The Daily Show: witty, honest, and important.

Between the World & Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates

The most important book of the year, in my mind. Made Drew read it too.

The War of Art by Steven Pressfield

Want to be inspired to do that thing you've always wanted? This book'll do it.

Poetry

milk and honey by Rupi Kaur

oh so good.

Young Adult

The Selection series (books 1-3) by Keira Cass

Wonder by R.J. Palacio

The Absolutely True Story of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie

The Making of Mollie by Anna Carey

Already on my list for 2017:

When Women Were Birds by Terry Tempest Williams

Truevine by Beth Macy

Outlander by Diana Gabaldon

What did you read this year that you LOVED? Or what's on your list for next year? Happy reading in 2017! I will likely be trying to figure out if Antoinette is going to find the trespasser as the ball drops tonight.

Winter Solstice

2016-12-23T10:13:00.002-05:00

Shriveled red peppers cling to their plants, still standing in frozen ground. The starkest contrast of life and death, warmth and cold. We didn't get up any of the plants this year, just let them fade and take whatever form came most naturally to them. The peppers hang on the longest. Ironically, that food which rarely stands alone in a meal remains alone in our garden. All signs of life removed and still it sprouts proudly from the ground.

Though the days will soon be getting longer-first comes the cold. The old adage "going to bed with the chickens" plays itself out each night, here. Our girls flee to the warmth of the roost, nestled together. Beaks tucked under wing until the sunshine of the morning warms their coop.

I let the squirrel eat for a while -this time of year he's earned the luxury of leaving his home in the woods crossing the road and sneaking over our cattle gate for a scant bite of scratch feed. When I open the door, releasing Ike & Dolly he'll scurry home-heart racing from the chase but with hunger satisfied.

Each morning the cast of characters expands at the single feeder. Female cardinals are Drew's favorite-the slight hints of red in her mostly grey ensemble (much like those peppers in the garden). The more frequent-the loyalists I call them- appeal more to me: chickadee, tufted titmouse, and finches of all hues. They gather, fill their bellies, and fly off to the barren apple tree until time for lunch.

The life in our yard, this day, belongs to animals-not plants. But it's enough to sustain my heart until the thaw. Although next year a goat might be a nice addition.

Community

2016-12-12T17:33:00.000-05:00

I live in a red county in a state that is blue thanks only to it's proximity to the capital. I sponsor the Diversity Club in a school whose population is 94% white. I sponsor Young Democrats in a school where the 8-10 students who dare attend through the boos and hisses of Carhartts in the hall must also hide their membership from their parents.

On November 9th a handful of them came to our meeting in room 315 with heavy hearts and a million questions. They read comments from classmates on Twitter that made my stomach churn. I did my best to give hard, honest answers and reminded them to consider their privilege as I often have to remind myself. Then from the same tear-soaked face that had just earnestly said "I'm scared" (rendering me more helpless than I've ever felt) came a light bulb, "Why don't we have a community meal for everyone who is scared and hurting?"

So, on Saturday that is exactly what our town of just over 400 will do. We will come together and break bread reminding ourselves that though the world is big and the troubles overwhelming we must begin with our community and grow from there.

If you are in Floyd on Saturday I hope you will join us at Plenty! from 11:00-2:00 to be together in love. Everyone is welcome.

Mountain Mamaws

2016-06-08T09:45:00.000-04:00

Mountain mamaws do a lot of things but one thing they won't do is dote on you. You've gotta have tough skin around mamaw. She is liable to tell you "you're gettin' kinda wide" or "your hair looks like some of them people down at Bingo."

Mamaw doesn't know the meaning of (nor allow the use of) the word "bored" and her hands never idle between the cannin', crochetin', quiltin', picklin', plantin', and porch sweepin'. She has no time for foolishness and your book-readin' doesn't count as being busy. What busy means is your hands are a-movin'. At the very least you could be playin' puzzle but better still you'd be knittin a pot-holder or making that chocolate pie.

Her religious beliefs are more akin to old wives tales than anything she heard from some preacher while sittin in a hard-backed pew. It's simply bout what's practical. You know like the danger of canning kraut during your time of the month. That's something you can live by, you have to can that shit every year. And she is washed in the blood but Jesus ain't gonna dig the potatoes or string beans so she stays home on Sundays to do what Jesus won't.

Mountain Mamaws have gotten the short end of the stick from the word go. They are the loyal wives of drunk husbands who have spent their marriage washing coal dust out with the Wringer washing machine on the front porch. She don't have time to think about arthritis or whether her knobby, gnarled fingers are afflicted with it. Mamaw doesn't make the money but she sure as hell hid it when it came in the door else it would've been squandered, drank, gambled and pissed away by Papaw.

Mamaw is a martyr. It's all she knows and she's earned it. She's raised eleven children and a husband who was still a boy when they drove to the preacher's house in Coeburn and he called them "man and wife."

And when the black lung settlement finally comes, she'll move out of the holler and into town. She'll quit keepin' a garden (save for a few cucumbers) because for the first time in her life she don't have to. But don't for one second think she doesn't expect you to raise one.

You know Mamaw will slice you up one of them cucumbers anytime you ask and she'll run you outta the house stokin' up the wood stove in April to make sure ain't nobody never cold. But Mamaw is still a hard woman. The words "I love you" don't come naturally to her. She shows her love through her works.

There aren't many mountain mamaws left. But they live on in our mamas and the way they struggle to show affection or know when to take a rest. Being raised by a mountain mamaw leaves you with grit and gumption but what it won't leave you with is a tender heart.

These are broad descriptions of several different mamaws I've known. Mostly of Beulah and Marie but also of Shelby, Peggy, Pearlie, Gracie, Georgie, Sally, Eunice, Minnie Sue and countless others.

Where I'm From

2016-05-18T19:12:00.000-04:00

I am from Jacob's ladder quilts
From Tide detergent and biscuits and gravy for dinner
I am from the double-wide with immaculate flowers
it looked like a mansion to my mama
I am from the dogwood trees and mountain laurel that grows thick over forgotten trails
I'm from dinner at the ballgame and a love of Loretty and Conway
From Pearlie and Knoy
and Albert Lee
I'm from the hateful Sexton women
and the hard-drinking Hamiltons

From "friends of coal" and "cut from a different cloth"
I'm from are you washed in the blood and prayer meetin' on Wednesday night
I'm from Bold Camp, apple butter and scratch-made biscuits
From baseball with Easter eggs and "who's gonna clean this shit up"
While papaw smoked his pipe and shook his head
I am from the Cumberlands where night fell long ago and we're still waitin on the sun to rise

On Gardens and Humility

2016-03-25T12:32:00.000-04:00

There's an article circulating on Facebook that several women have shared entitled "I'm not a feminist and that's okay." While I wholeheartedly disagree I did not tweet ugly remarks with a definition for feminism. I waited until this morning when I feel slightly less reactionary but you know me and I have to say something.

In the words of Sarah Bessey in her wonderful book Jesus Feminist:

“Our big and good God is at work in the world, and we have been invited to participate fully-however God has gifted and equipped and called each of us. One needn't identify as a feminist to participate in the redemptive movement of God for women in the world. The gospel is more than enough. Of course it is! But as long as I know how important maternal health is to Haiti's future, and as long as I know that women are being abused and raped, as long as I know girls are being denied life itself through selective abortion, abandonment, and abuse, as long as brave little girls in Afghanistan are being attacked with acid for the crime of going to school, and until being a Christian is synonymous with doing something about these things, you can also call me a feminist.”

You've already heard me quote this here and brag and brag on her amazing book but I just wanted to give you a little refresher and to elaborate. Within the aforementioned article on not being feminist it states that women and men are equal (which is the very definition of feminism dear people).

The part where it seems to disagree with equality is in regards to marriage. It starts throwing around words and terms like "submissiveness" and "head of household" which are terms you learn in youth and Sunday School in your teens. The same time when you realize that only women's names are on the church list for nursery and the list responsible for fixing breakfast. And that in a few years the only way you can have a female Sunday School teacher is if you attend a different class than your husband. Because you know....women can't teach men. (side note: the best Sunday School teacher I ever had was a woman and I refuse to believe her gifts could not be used to teach men).

Last year, Drew and I plowed our garden in our Chacos. It was a long, difficult day but at the end of it I got on my hands and knees and washed my husband's feet. I did the same thing this year. It is a wonderful way to celebrate holy week and the breaking of ground in our garden which will provide us sustenance this summer. It is a humbling, holy practice that I don't think gets the credit it deserves.

All of this to say, we should all humble ourselves before each other. We don't need to make distinctions regarding who is to be more humble or submissive. We should all approach each other with humility; willing to learn whatever we can from one another.

Let's stop pretending this is not a time when men and women may not have typical household roles and stop forcing them on them in church. I mean what do you require of a gay couple in your church? Which one has to fix the breakfast? (Perhaps that's a moot point in your church in which case you have more reflection to do than I thought).

And women when you feel overwhelmed by the breakfasts, the household showers, the nursery duty, decorating the church, etc. remember what Jesus says to Martha, I'm improvising a bit here but he said something like "None of that shit really matters, I matter."

The message I'm rambling about here is that feminism truly supports all women. I LOVE to stay home and I'm still trying to figure out a socially acceptable way to stay home without having children. Stay at home dog-mom still gets looks of disgust when I suggest it in public. Feminism is about supporting one another and lifting each other up. Articles like the one published give a false sense of the true meaning of the word which is why when I look at the people who have "liked" the article it's mostly men.

If there's a woman who is suggesting that you cannot be a feminist if you stay home she's not a feminist, she is a bitch and you need to find new friends.

Also, if you are not a follower of Jesus and you say you are not a feminist allow me to give you some words from Amy Poehler in response to those who renounce feminism:

"That's like someone being like, I don't really believe in cars, but I drive one every day and I love that it gets me places and makes life so much easier and faster and I don't know what I would do without it."

Now that I'm done with this post I realize it has nearly nothing to do with gardens and only a little to do with humility but I'm gonna leave it because if I put feminist in the title my readership goes down.

On Childbearing

2016-02-16T11:24:00.001-05:00

I'm sitting here listening to the Serial podcast (I'm way behind so no spoilies) drinking tea and letting my dogs in and out (in and out, in and out). Dolly thinks it's a game. We've been lucky enough to start this week with a couple of snow days and I'm selfishly hoping for another one tomorrow.

(If you'd like to skip over my ramblings there's a 5 point summary at the bottom of the page).

Sunday night we babysat for some of our friends to enjoy their Valentine's Day. We built forts, made Valentines, made kid food: chicken nuggets, French fries, and mac & cheese (which is not all the different from how we normally eat), painted, and pretended the dogs were grizzly bears.

It is always fun to watch Drew with kiddos because he gets to be his silliest self. Between the kids we have babysat occasionally here and my niece I get to imagine what Drew would be like as a dad. Listening to he and Parker belting out "Let it Go" upstairs the other night filled my heart with joy. He is so in tune with the kiddos needs and jumps on to me when I put too many parameters on their creativity i.e. when I say things like "No, do it like this" (if you know my mother then you know I can't help but say things like that). I know he would be the most loving, creative, involved dad. I would never have to worry about the dreaded "daddy issues" with our future kids. There's only one hiccup...

Neither of us wants kids of our own. And to make matters worse my students have taken it on as their personal goal to ensure that I procreate. The teenagers with whom I spend my waking hours cannot fathom the fact that I don't want children. I'm not sure if they take it personally (like I don't want kids because I'm afraid they'll turn out like my students) or if it is just the cultural expectation: you get married and you have kids. That's what people do. Especially people my age (as one student lovingly pointed out the other day, I'm not getting any younger). They've gone so far as to begin a twitter campaign that goes something like this: "If this gets 10 retweets Mrs. Moore-Hubbard will have a baby." The rumors I heard brought the final number of retweets in at 14 which to them meant victory and they are still awaiting my pregnancy announcement.

I understand the students and I appreciate where they are coming from. They say that they think I would make a good mom and why don't I want a precious newborn baby. I get it, most days. What I don't get are grown people who can't seem to support our decision. One of my favorite grad school professors was the first person I heard use the phrase "childless by choice." I've since co-opted it as my own. My other mantra that I wish would catch on among adults I shamelessly stole from Amy Poehler:

"Good for her, not for me."

My life is full and I wish more people could be supportive/understanding of it. I stopped counting the women who said "Just wait, I was the same way. You'll change your mind." or "I never truly knew what life meant until I had children." What if I said the reverse, what kind of reaction would I get. "Just wait until you have that baby, you'll wish you hadn't. Believe me." That's not okay. Even I know that.

The misconception that I hate most is that because we don't want children we must hate children. Or have no idea what to do with them. Humble brag: we would be kickass parents. We love spending time with kids but we also love sending those same kids home to their parents at some point.

My sister is pregnant and my other "sister" just had her second child. I am over the moon in love with all of the kids in my life. I can never get enough of them and hate that I miss so much living 3 hours away. But I would do anything I could for them. There are so many kids to love in my life that I don't feel as though I'm missing anything.

I worried for years that my mom would never be okay with this choice (and since I require her "okay" for a lot of things it took her saying she was okay with it before I was really okay with it). But the other part that made me sad was that I knew what amazing grandparents my parents would be. They were MADE to grandparent. Thank God my sister saw that and is going to make them the happiest people in the world come July.

Okay here are the highlights if you're confused by my ramblings:

"Good for her, not for me." let that be your motto for EVERYTHING
I love kids.
I will babysit your kid.
Stop telling me to have kids.
Pray for another snow day tomorrow.

Januaryness

2016-01-24T14:31:00.000-05:00

I haven't been out of the house since Thursday evening. If you're counting that is 60some odd hours. I mean, I've been outside but I haven't been out of the yard. Instead I've been bringing the outside in....

I made a video of this experience as well and you can hear Drew complaining in the background. It sounds something like: "There's chickens in the house. They're gonna shit everywhere." And as you can see he was right. Adele did not disappoint. How many of you can say Adele has taken a dump in your kitchen? That's what I thought.

There was a lot of hype about this snow, they were calling for 2+ feet and we barely got a foot. I'm a bit bitter. I was banking on being out of school this whole week and now I'm terrified we are going to go back tomorrow. Not that I don't love my job but I've only finished one book and I haven't even started House of Cards yet.

But our days snowed in together haven't been completely unfruitful. I've read our fortunes. Watched Meet the Patels on Netflix. Filled up bird feeders every hour. Napped. Skyped with our friends in Kenya. Baked bread. Kept the fire roaring. Discussed travel plans and settling down in Floyd (Drew says "It's time we become adults"). Drank warm beverages.Cooked together. Dreamt of what we will plant once it's warm. And snuggled with our pups.

I hope you all have been just as unproductive as us on these snow days. Enjoy the last little bit of it.

2015 Recap

2015-12-29T11:10:00.001-05:00

2015 is coming to a close and I find it easier to think back on my year if I write it down. We've had a fun-filled year with it's fair share of ups and downs but here are some of the highlights of our year.

Books
My reading challenge for this year was to read 25 books. So far I've made it to 23. I'd like to think I could knock out a book a day these next couple of days and I'm sure as heck gonna try but it may not happen. I'm usually late to the game with books so it's not as if any of them are new this year but here's my list of books that are worthy of your time. They are quite varied: political, fiction, religious, Appalachian, cooking, you name it....it's on the list.

1. The Kitchen House by Kathleen Grissom
2. The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
3. On Writing by Stephen King
4. Gray Mountain by John Grisham
5. Deer Hunting with Jesus by Joe Bageant
6. Searching for Sunday by Rachel Held Evans
7. The Red Tent by Anita Diamant
8. Heritage by Sean Brock

Movies

I went to the movies exactly twice this year. Both times with my sister to see rated R female comedies which were funny but I'm not qualified to give you advice on movies considering I don't watch them.

Podcasts
I discovered podcasts this year and my life was changed forever. These are worth your time (as if you didn't already know).

1. Radiolab (the very best)
2. StoryCorps (duh)
3. Gilmore Guys (they break down every episode of Gilmore Girls, it's my guilty pleasure)
4. Serial (which I haven't actually listened to yet but I've heard only wonderful things about it)

Music

This year we bought a record player and started our collection of albums. We saw Old Crow in concert 3 times (Blacksburg, Denver, Roanoke).

TV
I may not know movies but I am an expert TV watcher. Aside from watching countless football games these are the shows I wasted precious hours binge-watching:

1. Drunk History
2. The Mindy Project
3. Sherlock
4. Parks and Rec
5. Orange is the New Black
6. Gilmore Girls for the 47th time

Animals
In 2015 a small fortune in vet bills (2 hip replacements, lots of pain meds, physical therapy, Lyme's disease test) and added some new outside family members to the farm. First 2 hens and a rooster, then 4 hens and minus one rooster. Do the math and we have 6 wonderful hens and said good riddance to a hateful old rooster who attacked all of us.

Food
We grew our largest garden to date and had the widest variety we've ever had. We ended the season with 10 cans of strawberry rhubarb jam, 15 cans of kraut, 16 cans of pickles, 4 cans of pickled peppers, 14 cans of salsa, 6 cans of tomatoes, and 40 cans of spaghetti sauce. We also put a good bit of asparagus, broccoli, rhubarb, corn, and zucchini in the freezer.

Travel
Our big summer trip was when I got on an airplane for the first time and we travelled to Colorado for a week where we hiked, camped, relaxed and decided we didn't want to move there.

We attended our first pro football game in Charlotte and watched Green Bay lose. Drew went to Italy for 2 weeks. We camped with family on Memorial Day. We spent a week on the New River with my parents. We had two weddings in Tennessee and my siblings and I spent a week in Williamsburg.

Here's a little video recap of the year

I hope you all have a wonderful New Years and a joyful 2016 filled with sweet friends, books to lose yourself in, travel to beautiful places, and animals to love on. What were some of your 2015 highlights? Books? Places to travel? Podcasts? Chicken names?

On Floyd Time

2015-12-06T13:39:00.001-05:00

Drew used to call what we live on "Indian time" but since we live in Floyd now it's become "Floyd time." In other words nothing is on time, no one is in a hurry and things may get done today and they may not get done until next summer. Clearly this has become my approach to this blog as well.

Here are some highlights (or low points depending on how you look at them) since my last update:

Drew totaled our car. He's fine and we got a bigger Subaru which the dogs seem to be enjoying.

We found a "new home" for our rooster and adopted 4 more hens. They're a pretty multicultural group now.

Both our dogs have had emergency vet trips. One of them has had 2 hip replacements and the other diagnosed with Lyme's. I spent this past Tuesday morning walking in a grassy patch beside of our vet while a male nurse chased after us trying to catch Dolly's pee in a metal pan. These are the moments that I think I should have my own reality TV show. I could be one year into a PhD program with what we have paid in vet bills since June.

I successfully stayed by myself without getting scared for the first time since living in Floyd.

I go back and forth between adoring my students and cursing them. Usually under my breath but when a fire drill went off in the middle of an awesome review game on Friday I cursed out loud which they seemed to thoroughly enjoy. Moments of "you changed my life, Mrs. Moore-Hubbard" and the creation of CD's for me called "Napoleon's pre-game mix tape" are closely followed by "which month comes after October?" and "wait, wasn't Martin Luther King our first black president?" That is why I go back and forth between thinking I will do this forever and I can't do it for one more day. My fickleness strikes again.

Speaking of which I might be ready to move. Thoughts on Asheville? Or Ireland? Those are the two leading contenders in our household right now. All that's stopping us is figuring out how to travel across the Atlantic with a couple of sick pups and a flock of multicultural hens?

Drew's the same. Thank God. There's not a fickle bone in his body. He's cutting wood all the time and skinny as a rail. He has taken to baking his own bread and he's become quite the coffee snob. The only bad thing about him is how much he wants me to be happy. Sounds crazy but whenever I come home saying "I want to make a living peddling eggs" or "Let's bring the chickens inside" he's always supportive but he's learning I sometimes need a strong hand which is why only one of the chickens has been inside and just for a minute....

I have the best of intentions of updating again soon.....

Colorado

2015-06-17T09:09:00.002-04:00

Remember when I had a life...and a blog. I'm beginning to get back a small part of that now that it's summer. Nevermind the fact that I'm already doing prep work for next year, I have a little more freedom.

I'll do a reflection on the school year at a later time. It's still pretty fresh but FIRST I want to share about our trip to Colorado. If you follow me on insta (mountainmeghan) then you likely felt like you were on this trip with us. But in case you didn't get enough allow me to give you some highlights and pics here on yet another social media outlet.

This was my first time flying and the flight west was amazing! So easy, arrived 30 minutes early and lugged our Osprey packs and luggage around Denver for a few hours while we waited on our room to be ready. We stayed downtown and enjoyed walking along the 16th Street Mall. We were told we had the "swagger of humanitarians" by a friendly street vendor. When I asked her what that looked like she said that we were wearing earth-tones and were smiling as if enjoying vacation but still pondering the injustices of the world. She was pretty dead on actually so we listened to her for 45 minutes.

Denver was a city. Convenient. Wonderful brunch. Lots of people doing their own thing. We attempted public transportation and bragged on ourselves as we got on the bus saying "We are so good at this." Then had to pay a stranger $20 because we didn't have change for our bus fare and after 15 minutes on said bus another well-meaning stranger told us we were on the wrong bus. Despite being a "city" Denver was incredibly friendly. In the end we paid $40 to realize we should just stay downtown and walk to destinations. Lesson learned.

While in Denver we also went to Red Rocks amphitheater which is apparently a rite of passage if you visit Colorado. We would have seen any old band there just to say we went but once we caught wind that Old Crow Medicine Show was going to be there we bumped our trip up from July to June. The venue was breathtaking and OCMS never disappoints. Drew clearly scared our neighbors when they played Carry Me Back to Virginia.

We spent the next day driving into the mountains (we rented a car after our bus fiasco) where we rented sleeping bags to camp in Rocky Mountain National Park that night. We took our Enos and set up camp for the night. We made pork chops and s'mores and lounged and read. Unfortunately it rained and we slept in the car but it was still a great experience.

The next day (my birthday) we had planned for an 11 mile hike along the Lumpy Ridge trail. We chose this trail because it allowed for so many different views, it is supposed to be the best to see all of the landscape of the National Park: mountains, meadows, rocks and a lake that is only from snow melt. Pretty freaking awesome. Sure it rained and I thought I was having a heart attack because my left arm and hand went numb but again totally worth it.

That night we met our friends Sarah and Ben for my birthday dinner in Boulder. I ate my weight in crab legs and we enjoyed catching up with them. Drew and Sarah had planned for us to go to an escape room which was really cool even though we didn't solve the mystery.

We stayed in Boulder for the remainder of our trip relaxing in our awesome Airbnb, or Enos, or eating really yummy food. Admittedly, this trip was to kind of feel out the city of Boulder as a possible move for us in the future and we did love the entire vibe of it. We did a little kayaking and a tour at Celestial Seasonings for our last day.

Our trip home was not quite as smooth, cancelled flights, mechanical issues and an overnight stay in Newark made us more than ready to get home.

The landscape in Colorado was breathtaking everywhere you turned. We WILL go back and hopefully take our family and dogs. But....it's not home. We were so happy to be back in "our" mountains and immersed once again in our small town. It's been so nice to be home and start my summer.

Thankfulness Recently

2015-02-15T15:09:00.002-05:00

On this frigid Sunday there is lots to be thankful for. Like...

Getting to watch my "baby" brother ball so hard for his sweet 16 (that shit cray)

Being able to nap outside in our Eno last Sunday and single digit temperatures this Sunday.

A visit from sista.

A warm fire for the puppies to snuggle up next to.

A Saturday night spent making hats out of coloring pages and singing along to Frozen.

A bouquet of sharpened pencils from my Valentine.

Seeing kids smile at school again after a few days of feeling like they may never again.

The chance to embarrass myself in front of students by doing the Electric Slide at the homecoming dance.

Notes from Kenya.

Minimizing.

Sharing sour punch straws with this cutie.

Husbands who learn to knit.

Inspiration from fellow teachers to learn to crochet

Having seeds sprout indoors while temperatures outdoors hover in single digits.

A beautiful county to call home that shares our values. Lives local. Lives intentionally. Lives simple.

Happy Sunday, friends. Hope you're cozy with a warm beverage in hand.

2014 Recap

2015-01-01T16:39:00.001-05:00

2014 was one heckuva year.

Highlights

1. Graduated with my Master's Degree (and a 4.0 and a couple of awards....)

2. Accepted my 1st big girl job with benefits and the whole shebang

3. Moved to Floyd County
4. Read the whole Harry Potter series & became a believer
5. Saw Old Crow Medicine Show in concert (twice)

6. Added a new member to our family: Dolly

7. Started canning and composting and took our garden game to whole new level.

8. Travelled to Pittsburgh & the Poconos in PA, caught a baseball game in Cincy, and spent our anniversary at the beach.
9. Said "see you soon" to friends and welcomed new ones into our lives
10. My sister married her best friend

11. Became godparents

12. Camping & hiking on Labor Day with family

13. Drew got a new tattoo
14. Rented a place and spent some time at Claytor Lake and the New River (thrice)
15. Drew did LOTS of hiking and I did a normal amount: various portions of the AT, along the Blue Ridge Parkway, Deer Cave & Red Fox Trail

As always spent a lot of time with family and friends. Lots of time reading and watching the Mindy Project and drank plenty of coffee and wine. Enjoyed my sleep, snuggles with Gracie, and getting to know some awesome teenagers.

Here's to 2015: a trip out west, a kick-ass garden, and immersing ourselves in this wonderful community. Happy New Year friends. It's a new year and it's never too late to do something you've always wanted.