February 7, 2018
I love a well told story and while I love to read, I probably enjoy
more a story that is told from one person to another in an intimate
setting. I was thinking today about my
love for story telling and how I have passed that on to Analia. Out of the four grandchildren, Analia has
spent more one on one time with me than any of the others. For the first three years of her life, I was
her second momma. (Alissa has said that
herself, so it is no problem that I relay that here.) I guess I have told Analia so many stories
that it is just natural she loves to tell stories and hear them as well. Alissa and Josh loved to tell stories and did
so very well. I started wondering why that
is, that our family loves the sharing of stories. I don’t remember my dad being one to share
stories on a regular basis with me, although I think he did share more with my
brother and others. Of course, I
remember him sharing from time to time, but he was pretty quiet, at least
around me. Perhaps it was just that I was never in the right setting to hear
him tell tales. The home I grew up in
was very sexist thanks to the teachings of the churches we attended. Women had their place and men did there
thing. My dad, I believe, grieved most of my life
and I think that was part of it as well for I remember him as being fun and
more outgoing before my mother passed away.
I didn’t really understand the whole grieving process, because I was
just a kid, but now I understand now that a significant loss takes a lot of
time to process. For my dad, who lost my
mother when I was seven, I think a large portion of my childhood he spent just
trying to deal with his own grief. For
me, that translated into the loss of another parent in some senses. At any rate, he didn’t tell many stories that
I can remember. But his sister, my Aunt
Druceil, she was so good to share family history and her stories filled my head
and my heart when I had opportunity to spend time with her. How I loved to hear her hearty laugh as she
would tell something she found amusing and there was a strength in the way she
shared the hard things, wiping away a tear quickly so as not to upset us kids. Momma
Helen, whom my dad married after my mother’s death, was also a good story teller
and would often relay stories of her adventures as a single woman traveling in
England and living in a castle there.
She could relay Bible stories and retell biographical history,
especially that of missionaries and other church leaders in such a way that
even small children were mesmerized. She
used her talents to teach Sunday School and Children’s Church. However, I think
the family members who influenced my love of a good story most had to be my
maternal family. It starts way back when
I was a little thing. I remember my
great grandfather “rared back” in his chair telling tales. They were true tales told with such passion
that even a preschool child was caught up in the excitement of story telling
done well. I can remember the large, extended family all gathered around a
table, or outdoors around a cut watermelon with everyone laughing and telling
stories. My great grandfather had once
been a rough man. He had settled down to a second family after his first
marriage ended in divorce. He was a drinker
and, I believe, a woman chaser in his early days and that even carried over
into his second marriage, or at least the drinking did until he “got religion”. He then gave up his drinking and became a
Freewill Baptist Lay Pastor. The
preaching wasn’t a paid position, but he ran a country store and gas station
that brought in a little money. Grandpa
Starnes was full of life and full of stories.
I can remember hanging on to his every word. Grandma Starnes was much quieter, but when
you got her to talking, she could tell a story too. Her eyes would twinkle at the memories and
when she got tickled, not a person in the room could keep from laughing along
with her. Her whole body would shake
with her laughter. My grandpa, or Pa as
I called him, must have learned the art of story telling from his family and I
think he was the best story teller of all.
It mattered not if he was preaching (for he too became a Baptist pastor
midlife), sitting around the table talking to family, or having a conversation
with friends. When he told a story, I
was mesmerized by it even if I had already heard it a dozen times.
My great grandma Armstrong was a story teller as well. She stood not quite 5 feet tall and never
weighed more than 100 pounds in her life.
I don’t believe she ever spoke an ill word towards anyone in her entire
life and she lived 90 plus years. Her
blue eyes always twinkled but especially when she was telling one of her
stories. She looked like she had stepped
out of a page from the history books and in a way, I guess she had. She was born in the late 1800’s, always wore
dresses and aprons and kept her long hair pulled back tight. She could recite poetry she had learned as a
child. Little Grandma, as we called her,
was not as loud as my other set of great grandparents, but her stories were
just as interesting to me. My grandma
(Nan as I called her) loved a well told story just as much as Pa. Nan and
Pa’s approach to life was that every day was an adventure, so no matter how
trivial the circumstances, the story could be amazing if told with the right
perspective and attitude
Because I love stories, I read a lot, from a very early age. This is where my dad and step mom really
encouraged me. They encouraged my
reading and made sure that books were always available to me. Momma Helen always had books for me
to read and made sure that I read many of the classics. I always had a book in my hands. If I had a spare moment, literally, my nose
was in a book. My parents were serious
about children shouldering their share of responsibility with the work load,
but I would rush through my chores so I could run off to the woods to find a quiet spot to read. It wasn’t
unusual for me to read a book of 200 pages in a day. And, I witnessed my parents and my
grandparents always reading, reading, reading and sharing what they had read.
I am sure that these strong influences in my life fostered in me the
desire to share life as if it were an adventure. It is a gift to be able to take the simple,
the average, the mundane, the every day and view it with an adventurous spirit
and be able to share that adventure entirely with words in such a manner that
someone else can connect. But, my family’s
stories were told audibly and rarely put on paper and somewhere along the line
I learned that I love to write and that became my avenue for sharing
stores. There is something magical to me
about being able to write words and watch them come together in a way that
helps me express myself on paper in ways that I can’t begin to express myself
verbally.
February 8, 2018
Mike has been working on the chicken house in Laurel Fork. I had mentioned to him on the trip south that
I really wanted to make the chicken house a priority because I would like to
start using it soon. Because of our
travel back and forth, I have not kept chickens at our new property. With “the transition” moving forward and
Alissa’s classes ending in April, it is time to get serious about the chicken
house. We try hard to be wise about what
we are doing, repurpose where we can and do the work ourselves when
possible. We have some metal roofing
that was used by Mike’s nephew at his commercial chicken house. Evidently these were “scrap” pieces that were
used to protect the actual metal that was to be used. The pieces are in various colors and Mike
went through and picked out all the green ones but knowing there wouldn’t be
enough, also got the plan metal pieces.
He worked yesterday on tearing off the old shingled roof and replacing
with the green metal. There will be some
pieces on the end that won’t be painted but we can get some green paint and
match them up. The metal was free to us
and with Mike doing all the work, we will have a new roof on the chicken house
for nothing but the labor. There were some
really cool vents in the chicken house that came through the roof in two places. I am sure those vents were necessary and
probably to code when the house was used commercially back in the 50’s. Or that’s when I assume the house was built
originally according to the design. However, the rain leaks around the vents and
rather than fight trying to seal them off, we just pulled them out. They are not necessary for what we will be
doing. We won’t be having chickens in
the main level of the house, nor are we running a commercial chicken business. My chickens are typically free ranging unless
the weather is very bad or it is night. There
are windows across the whole southwest side in the second level of the chicken
house which is where I will put my birds when they need to be inside. I will have to either replace the windows or simply
staple in new screen for the summer and then cover with heavy plastic in the
winter. Mike also repaired the small section of floor
that was rotted out inside the house. The
house is about 18 feet wide by 40 feet long and two stories. It’s easy to get carried away with chickens
and one soon has more than they ever intended, but our intentions are to keep
the flock relatively small. We may sell
a few eggs here and there, but really, we just want eggs for our family. I only intend on keeping about 30 hens here
in Laurel Fork. Because the house is so
big, we are considering sectioning off a portion of it as a feed room and a
place to start chicks. It’s fun to dream
and plan and then make those dreams a reality.
I’ve mentioned before that my first “job” was working in a commercial
chicken house. I am sure it was against
child labor laws but no one forced me to work.
I didn’t like the type of work but I liked to work. I hated even then the chickens being housed
in small cages, some of them suffocating as they pressed against each
other. I hated the smell and the heat. I hated the huge rats that made their home
there as well waiting for a weak or dead chicken to eat. The rats were the size of small dogs and
their eyes were creepy looking. But, I
loved to work and I loved the cash money I got at the end of the day. I was only eleven years old and I got paid
half a penny a chicken for each one that I caught and vaccinated. My work in the commercial chicken house left
me not wanting to have anything to do with eating chicken well into my adult
years. My brother loved having a
backyard flock and had a wide variety of birds.
Occasionally I would help him gather the eggs or catch a chicken, but it
was really his project. It wasn’t until
Mike and I married that I wanted a flock of my own. I still didn’t’ care for chickens too
much. All I could visualize was the
nastiness of that chicken house where I worked as a kid. However, I wanted fresh eggs so we set up a
make shift area using Mikey and Kristin’s play house from when they were
children. I started with a handful of
birds that were gifted to me and things just grew from there until eventually,
when my share program was at its peak and produce sales were doing well, we
ended up with a flock of 150 layers. We
won’t be having that many birds in Laurel Fork but the birds we do have will
definitely have a nice place to roost.
February 10, 2018
We got up Friday morning and Mike was in such a hurry to get started
with the day that he postponed breakfast.
He wanted to get enough firewood in for the rest of the weekend and he
wanted to get as much done on the chicken house roof as he could because we are
expecting a lot of rain for the weekend.
The wind was gusting up to 20 miles an hour causing the temps to feel
about ten degrees colder than they actually were. Twice I had to retrieve the ladder after it
fell from the side of the roof and left Mike stranded there. Cell phone service here in Laurel Fork is so
poor that about half the calls don’t come through. Once, Mike was able to call and let me know
he was stranded. The second time, I
actually saw him on top of the roof and could tell by his body language exactly
what had happened. He got the metal all
the way to the end of the house, although I am not quite sure how he did it in
the cold and wind. He wasn’t able to get
the metal cut around the chimney. (Yes,
there is a flue in the building and a place for a wood stove.) Around noon, Mike came in and we had a quick
breakfast sandwich of eggs and bacon on toast before we headed up to a
neighbor’s farm to pick up a trailer load of round bales of hay. A client in Verona needed hay for some
animals at his sister’s farm in Floyd County and called and asked Mike if he
could find some hay here and then deliver it for him. (We are on the Floyd County line and the
sister’s farm was about 40 miles away from our house.) Mike found the hay, got it loaded, and we
made the drive over to Pilot, Virginia.
It was actually a beautiful drive as the sun was shining bright and
inside the truck, we couldn’t feel the biting wind. I know Mike is an extrovert and evidently the
couple we delivered hay to were as well.
They all stood outside talking in the wind after the hay was unloaded
while I sat in the truck. I thought they
never were going to stop talking. I
texted Mike to tell him I wanted to go home after he had been talking for such
a long period of time but the phone sounded off right beside me in the seat and
I knew I had a while to wait. I really
don’t mind waiting on my husband who doesn’t know how to end a conversation,
but sometimes he needs just a little help removing himself from the company of
other extroverts.
When we pulled in our driveway I got the warm fuzzy feeling I always
get when we pull into home here in Laurel Fork.
I have to pinch myself to see if I am dreaming. Never in my wildest dreams would have thought
that we would be where we are now, doing what we are doing, and with our
relationship the strongest it has ever been.
As I walked through the front door of our home I smelled just a waft of
smoke from the chimney mixed with the beef roast and vegetables I had in the
oven. The sights and smells of our
little home filled me with peace and thankfulness.
February 10, 2018
I brought my computer with me to an auction today. I wasn’t interested in what was being sold and I knew
it was a good time for me to find a corner and write. Besides, that’s what introverts like: A quiet corner with something to do to keep
them busy so they don’t have to engage in too much conversation. However, I think everyone passed my corner
spoke to me and that’s all good. I am
happy at the kindness of people. We went early today because we bought a large
roll top desk for $50 last week . The
desk looks like new and was no doubt expensive when first purchased as it is
solid wood (although not an antique). Some
men helped Mike load the desk at the auction house, but we were on our own when
we got home. The only place we had for
it was in the landing at the top of the steps on the second story of our
house. I have been having a lot of
trouble with my back and Mike didn’t’ want to ask me to do too much heavy
lifting, and of course, our hand cart is still in Staunton. Mike was able to take the bottom section of
the desk apart which made it fairly easy to handle. The roll top portion of the desk could not be
easily disassembled and that was the hard part.
Mike said, “I wish we had something we could put it on to roll it across
the yard.” I replied, “Well, there’s
always the wheelbarrow.” So that is what
we did. We lifted the roll top onto the
wheel barrow and then I steadied it while Mike pushed it across the yard. Then we had to lift it up two steps to get
onto the porch. That wasn’t too
bad. We got it through the two doors on
the front of the house fairly easily and then we put it on a rug to “drag” it
across the floor to the steps that go to the second story of the house. We had over a dozen steps to the landing and
then we needed to turn and go up nine more steps. We put a blanket under the desk and with Mike
pulling and my pushing, we got it to the landing but then we were in
trouble. We could not get the desk to
turn so that we could get it up the second flight of steps. We maneuvered and maneuvered and thought and
twisted and turned and finally we got it up on the first step. From there, we used the blanket trick again
with Mike pushing this time and me pulling.
It sounds fairly simple but it took a good while to get all of this
completed. We laughed a lot getting it
moved and then putting it all back together.
We both felt pretty accomplished when it was finished. Both of us had wondered if we could even get
the job done with just the two of us, but we did it and are happy to have a
nice desk to try to organize our paperwork.
After the desk was moved, I got down to business in the kitchen. We had eaten a roast beef sandwich and salad
before moving the desk, but I wanted to make cookie dough for cut out sugar
cookies for the kids on Tuesday. I also
wanted to make homemade Lasagna and homemade French bread to take to church for
our get together meal on Sunday. I got
such a late start that it was 9:30 pm before I pulled the bread out of the
oven.
February 11, 2018
The rains started last night and were torrential. At times, the rain sounded like a roar. I was taking a bath and wondered if it was
even safe with the winds howling and the rain beating so loud on the metal
roof. We have a lot of big trees around
the house and it crossed me mind that the soft ground and wind would make it
easier for them to come down. But all
was well. Again, in the middle of the
night, we heard the same kind of roar and it was the rain beating down as well
as the stream in front of our house that had swelled. Mike remarked that we might not be able to
cross the bridge to get off our property but sunlight revealed a swollen stream
but no where near the height of the bridge.
I rushed around getting the Lasagna put together to take to church,
slicing the bread, ironing Mike’s shirt, and trying to get ready. When we got to church and the pastor read the
Scripture my mind sent off random alert, “You left the percolator on the
stove!” I couldn’t even concentrate on
the Scripture because I was in a panic.
Mike told me to calm down and asked me if I wanted him to go home and
turn it off. I had put it down on
simmer, so I told him to just wait until after the sermon, which he did. As we all gathered to eat, everyone kept
asking where Mike was and I kept repeating my story of how I had left the
coffee pot on the stove and he had to go home to turn it off. After half a dozen folks asked, I laughed and
said loudly, “I am going to make a public announcement.” Then I told everyone what had happened. When Mike walked back in the door as every
sat eating, everyone simultaneously clapped for him. It was really cute. I’m really thankful for our little community
there at Buffalo Mountain Presbyterian.
I’m over labels. I think labels
are restricting and possibly do more harm than good. After being hurt so deeply by “church people”
last year, I wondered if I would ever be able to go to church again. But, here I am possibly happier than I have
ever been in church with a very small community of mostly elderly people who
make me smile and make me want to return.
It always takes me a while on Sunday afternoon to get things wrapped up
around the house. There’s trash to
gather and take away, appliances to check and make sure they are turned off,
turn the heat back and I like to leave things tidy so when we return, it feels
refreshing and welcoming. I got
everything in order and we got the car loaded.
I had extras this week knowing I would have all four grandkids on Monday
for a while and Alissa’s girls until 9 pm.
I made a pot of vegetable soup for our supper on Monday night to take
back to Staunton with me because I figured by the time supper came around, I
would be exhausted and not wanting to cook.
Tuesday, I have planned a little Valentine’s get together for all the
grands and promised them we would do roll out cookies, so I made up a triple
batch of cookie dough for that. We
delayed leaving by about 30 minutes because once again the rains just poured,
but after that, the sky actually began to clear a bit, but ran into an accident
ahead of us on the interstate which slowed us down. I spend my “drive time” trying to catch up on
texts, emails, my journal, bill paying, and all those little things that I have
trouble finding time to do during the week.
I can’t afford to “waste” the six hours of travel time each week. We are currently about 30 miles out from
Staunton in heavy traffic. I will need
to make a stop at the grocery store before we get home and then I plan on
baking one pan of cookies for the kids to get started decorating on Tuesday
while we roll out the rest and let them cut them out and bake them. I also plan on letting them put together some
chocolate chip cookies because they all love to help with the process of making
drop cookies as well. And before all
that, I am going to let them make their own lunches by making “mini pizzas”
from English Muffins. Should be a very
busy but fun few days and I will be ready to collapse on Wednesday!