October 10, 2018
I am never quite sure what the day will bring. Mostly, unless Mike is in Staunton, I plan my
days around whatever project he is tackling.
Most of the time that means I have my own projects, but sometimes I
assist him with what he is doing or I “ride along” with him when he has things
to do away from home. Monday morning, he
decided to tackle a most unpleasant task.
I worry because he tries to do too much by himself and he is quick to
remind me that there is no one else who is going to help do the things he needs
to do. He has a point. It has mostly been that way for us. That’s not to say that we don’t have people
who help us, because we do, but mostly one can’t ask for help with the
unpleasant and difficult tasks. It just
doesn’t work that way. Mostly, over the
years, I have tried to “be the other man” to help carry the loads and lend what
strength I had to the situation, but I am not in a position to do that at this
point. In the unfinished basement of our
home, old, inoperable appliance had been left by previous owners. In addition, with our continued bad luck with
used appliances, we had accumulated non-working appliances of our own. And, there was an old, extremely heavy
1940-50’s era wood stove that could not be used and needed to be removed because
we would like to install an operable wood stove. All of this is heavy and difficult for one
person to manage. In fact, pretty
impossible for one person to manage unless your name is Mike Cupp. Adding to the difficulty is the steepness and
the narrowness of the old steps and the ill though out plan of the people who
bought and flipped this house before we purchased it when they built the deck
out from the back door and made it impossible to get anything in and out of the
basement without squeezing it between the deck and the stairs and then having
to make a sharp, half a turn back to get
it down the steps. The set up makes
bringing appliances in or out of the basement next to impossible. Somehow, someway that man of mine got a
stand-up freezer, two dryers, two washing machines and a wood burning stove out
of that basement and onto the back of the truck. There were times when I would steady
something here or put a hand there, but I did not in any way help with the
lifting. I did fret the whole time that
he was going to end up with a serious injury, if not from stressing and
straining muscles, then from a large appliance falling backwards on him as he
came up the steep steps. Mostly, I
couldn’t watch because then I would blurt out my fear and Mike would get
irritated with me as I distracted him from the task at hand. I was relieved when everything was on the
truck and we could make our way to the scrap yard.
It's a “good little ways” to the scrap yard but not an
unpleasant drive. After Mike got
everything off the back of the truck (a much easier task than getting
everything on the truck) we laughed that the money we got from the scrap yard
would pay for a few bags of feed. On the
way home, we went into Hillsville and picked up some feed after stopping at a
couple of grocery stores to pick up items we needed or wanted. Because the round-trip drive to the grocery
store is close to an hour for us, we always stop in when we are in the area
rather than make a special trip.
Back at home I had supper to fix and the cow to milk before
we settled in for a quiet evening. It
was nice to have Mike back from Staunton and be able to keep him home this
week. He had originally thought to go
back to Staunton this week and make more hay, but the weather coinciding with
Hurricane Michael is keeping him from proceeding with those plans this
week.
Tuesday, I woke up very early being in a lot of sciatic and
lower back pain. When that happens, I
just get up, no matter what time it is, and do something. I have had to eliminate coffee from my diet,
but I can drink hot tea. I drink a lot
of herbal teas and first thing in the morning when I am hurting, I usually get
up and make a double cup of Turmeric tea with a touch of honey. While the water is heating on the stove, I
typically put away any dishes I have left to drain from the previous night and
then I straighten up the pillows on the couch.
I have always been one that has to have certain things in order and the
pillows on the couch drive me crazy if they are in disarray. I am convinced that my need to make order of
things like this is because there is so much in life over which we have no
control. The pillows on the couch, I can
put back in order. I also usually start
a load of clothes at this time because the sooner I can get them on the
clothesline in the morning, the more likely they are to get dry before an
afternoon thunderstorm threatens or before the evening dampness seeps into
them. We still do not have a working
dryer and keeping the clothes washed and dried requires some planning and
diligence on my part. However, I always
enjoy hanging clothes on the line and the idea of not using the extra
electricity to dry them. Having
accomplished my morning routine and seeing it was still only 4 am, I decided to
lie down and see if I could get a little more sleep. The turmeric tea and the hour of movement
were enough to relieve my back a tiny bit so that I could drift off again. I slept until a little after seven and Mike
woke me up and asked if I would get ready and go with him to the produce
auction in Boone’s Mill. He loves to do
this and he enjoys my company. I always
know that I can sit in the car and read or take a nap if things get too
long. It’s also a good time for me to
make phone calls in a location where I have decent internet service. The trip to Boone’s Mill is always
pretty. We take the Blue Ridge Parkway
for about half the way and then we take rural road down the mountain until we
finally arrive at our destination. It’s
really a lovely drive on most days.
Yesterday, the fog was so thick that we could not see anything for most
of the miles along the parkway. Mike
even thought about turning around and going back home, but kept thinking that
we would soon drive out of the fog. The
items at the auction were scarce and high.
That’s how it is this time of year.
I bought a few New England Cheese pumpkins. I am always drawn to this heirloom variety of
pumpkin. It is a pie pumpkin and I
figured I could decorate with them and then use them for baking. I am going to take a few to our antique booth
in Galax. They will look good with the
farmhouse décor items we have in the upstairs booth. For less than the price of a crafty, fall
decoration from Walmart, I have something I can use to decorate several
locations and process and eat when I am finished. Seems like a win/win situation to me, or at
least, that is how I justified my purchase in my own mind.
The trip back was better.
There were still areas of thick fog but mostly it was clear. In one of the areas of heavy fog, we came up
quickly on two motorcycles. It startled
me when we suddenly came upon them. Both
drivers were wearing all black and their bikes were black. If it were not for one tiny, little, red
taillight, we would not have seen them.
We followed them on the Parkway for a number of miles until they finally
exited the road. I wondered aloud if
they realized how difficult they were to see in the fog and how I wished that
they would wear something reflective when riding in such conditions. We drove through some rain but when we
arrived home, the sun was shining. These
mountains are known for their numerous microclimates in the hills and hollers.
Back at home, I worked toward an early meal, and then milked
the cow, took care of the chickens and gathered the eggs before pricing a few
small items we have to go in our booth at Briar Patch Marketplace. It is getting dark earlier which means more
time in the evenings for indoor things before it is time to go to bed. As a farmer’s wife, I have always enjoyed
when the days start getting shorter in the fall because it always meant that
Mike would be home earlier and we could begin to have a little time together
after a long, hard, spring and summer.
Our lives are different now due to the choices we have made and we now
have more time together because of them.
However, the shorter days still give me a sense of coziness as we settle
in together for a longer evening.
October 14, 2018
We had planned to stay at home Wednesday. Mike hoped to get some work done on the large
outbuilding that he is restoring. He has
been working to put a new, metal roof on it.
The building is huge and he has taken this project on without any help
at all. I am not able to climb on the
roof or to lift the long pieces of metal up to him. I don’t even know how he manages, but he does
and he is slowly making progress.
However, the rain started earlier than we expected and we decided to run
errands instead. We had a number of
things we needed to accomplish in Galax and Hillsville, so we just made a day
of it. I was irritable and I don’t
really even know why. I simply hated
every minute of being out that day. I
could not wait to be home again. I
blamed it on impending weather, but that was just an excuse, I suppose.
We knew that we would get some weather off Hurricane
Michael, but the reports that we read initially indicated we were only supposed
to get a couple of inches of rain from the storm. We
had been so prepared for Florence and that storm really ended up not being that
big of a deal for us. We did get a good
bit of rain from it, but being it came over such a long period of time, it
didn’t cause us any real trouble.
Hurricane Michael ended up being a totally different situation for
us. Thursday morning the sky was dark
and the rains from the previous day continued and intensified. Mike had always talked about the potential
dangers of heavy rainfall here, and I acknowledged his concerns, but when it
became a reality, I was taken off guard.
I watched the streams on two sides of our home, and the one across the
road in the neighbor’s meadow that comes through a culvert under the road to
join our two streams where it becomes Roads Creek and then Laurel Fork Creek. The streams have risen and raged before but
never got even dangerously close to swelling their banks. I was trying to work up some apples but I
couldn’t keep myself from running to the dining room where I had a view of the
water. I noticed at one point that it
had risen quickly and significantly in the thirty minutes since I had looked at
it previously. I made my way to another
window where I could see our low water bridge at the end of our driveway. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw water
rolling over the top of the bridge. We have
never witnessed that even with all the rain we have had. At first it was interesting, a novelty of
sorts, until I saw the waters rising even higher and starting to flood the main
road. By this time, I was becoming just
a little fearful. I knew that we were
safe in our home on the bank and that it would take something the size of
Noah’s flood to reach our house, but the site of the bridge under rushing water
and the entire meadow as well as the road looking like a raging river was
unnerving. I was worried about the water
that was pouring down from the mountain ridges behind our house that I knew was
going through the barn. We had left the
doors to the barn open so the animals could get in, but also so that they could
get out. Knowing that animals have good
instincts, we felt that if they were not trapped inside the barn and things go
too bad, they could move on up to higher ground which is what they did. I couldn’t get up to check on them for a
while because of the torrential rains but we found them safe when we were able
to go. The water had gone through the
shelter area off the back of the barn and taken a good bit of dirt with
it. It was wet where a stream had run
through that section but it could have been worse. There is nothing that makes a person feel
quite as vulnerable as raging, flooding water and the knowledge that there is
nothing that can be done to stop it. I
watched in horror as the streams continued to rise until almost as suddenly as
it all began, once the rain slacked off, they began to recede. It actually didn’t take long for the waters
to go down below the bridge once again, giving us access by vehicle to leave
our property if we wished. The flooding
really left us with no real issues. We
never lost power and other than some unwanted debris and some more erosion
caused by the running water, we ended up just fine. It will, however, be something that I never
forget.
I was so happy that the waters receded in time for Alissa
and the girls to make a trip down to see us for the weekend. I have not been able to stay more than 12-18
hours when I go back to Staunton since Princess calved and I have been milking
her. My time there is always filled with
work and business and with Analia going to kindergarten and Alissa working,
it’s hard to get to spend any quality time with them. I was so thankful that they were able to come
down and spend some time with us in our home where we could relax and make
memories. Both girls didn’t’ want me to
be out of their site. Rory, who called
me mom for most of her 18 months and then started saying “T T” for Tita now has
decided that it’s “Teesha”. She didn’t
call me mom even once but repeatedly said “Teesha, Teesha” because she wanted
me to hold her or at least to not leave the room she was in at the time. We had a lot of fun together playing,
reading, seeing the cows and chickens, riding the ATV on the back 40, carving a
pumpkin and just spending quality time together. This morning, we got up and readied ourselves
for church. The girls walked into church
like they had been to that church a hundred times but they had only been there
once before. I think the love and
kindness of the people at church had made such an impression on them the last
time they visited, that they felt loved, accepted and uninhibited. Besides having some minor disagreements over
the stickers I had brought to keep them busy during the sermon, they were
really well behaved and quiet, but it wouldn’t have mattered to anyone if they
had not been. After church we went to The
Parkway Grill for brunch. It was the
first time that I have dared to eat away from home since I got so violently ill
almost five weeks ago. I was a bit
nervous about eating out because it is hard to tell sometimes how a food has
been prepared and I have some pretty strong theories on what some of my
triggers are that cause me to have extreme reactions to the food I am
eating. Having the food served buffet
style allowed me to pick and choose what I thought would work well for me. This is the hardest part, not the being
limited in what I can eat so much, but in how it restricts my being able to
interact with those I love when we share meal times together. I know several times Mike has wanted to eat
out and while I encouraged him to do it, he would not, knowing I would be so
very limited. I’ve been pretty isolated
from these incidents in the last five weeks, but one event we attended included
a BBQ meal. (I may have written some
about that last week.) I had to walk
away because there was nothing there I could safely it. It made me feel very sad. I didn’t want to stand there and have to
explain dozens of times why I couldn’t eat the food and yet to walk away and
wait for Mike meant that he was constantly thinking about me sitting in the car
and I know that detracted from his being able to thoroughly enjoy his
time. But, we made it through lunch
today and while it sent me immediately to the bathroom, I did not get violently
sick. And while everyone was concerned
about me either not eating enough or possibly eating something that would have
adverse effects, we did enjoy eating out together and our time together. I was glad to leave the restaurant
however. It just feels a little strained
rather than fun now.
After eating, we drove a few blocks over to Floyd Country
Store for their Sunday afternoon jam session.
After experiencing the music and atmosphere at the store on several
occasions, I would go every Sunday afternoon if I could make it. We were there about five weeks ago, the
Sunday before I got so sick and had to go to the ER. It was the week that an older gentleman
pulled me out onto the dance floor and I made a complete fool of myself but had
a wonderful time. I told Mike then that
I wanted to take all the grands when they visited, as I want them to experience
traditional music and dance of the Appalachian Mountains. We had to wait a while. I think we got the wrong time and assumed it
started half an hour before it was scheduled.
The kids were getting restless and I began to think that maybe it had
not been such a good idea but with the first note of music, I knew they were
hooked. Analia ran out onto the dance
floor trying to figure out how to make her ballet lessons work with the
Mountain music. I could see she was
struggling but knew she would work it out.
After a couple of songs, I whispered in her ear to watch the feet of the
other dancers and just try to do what they were doing. She did much better then, but was still threw
in a ballet move here and there. After a
while, some girls a little older than her who are regulars came to dance and
they gathered round her and danced so that she would have someone to
follow. Then, during a slow tune, one of
the girls took her hands, never saying a word, and gently showed her how to
dance to the slower music. Alissa had
intended to leave around 2 but Analia was having so much fun and kept begging
to stay longer. One more song was never
enough and they stayed until almost 3 pm, Analia stalling even as she was being
buckled in her car seat.
When the music first began I saw Rory’s head nod forward and
she began to keep time with her body as the musicians played. She came over and stood beside my chair
staring ahead at the musicians mesmerized by the music and the dancing. I leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Do
you want to dance?” Before I could even
get out of the chair, this child who is normally, initially reserved around
strangers, ran through the spectators, through the musicians, and into the
circle of dancers. There she stopped and
stood dead still. We watched her as she
stood there unmoving, staring at the dancer’s feet. I thought at first that maybe she realized
she had run up there alone and had gotten scared until I realized that she was
thinking about what the others were doing and taking it all in. It seemed as if she was studying their moves
and trying to process in her head what she needed to do to make her feet move
like theirs. She was transfixed. The song ended and all the dancers cleared
the floor. Rory just stood there. I motioned for her to come back. I thought she might be afraid but she walked
through the crowd of people and made her way back to me until the next song
began and she ran out onto the floor with the dancers again. This time, we saw her little feet begin to
move and they were keeping time with the music, a little slow and unsure, but
definitely getting it. She was
concentrating hard. As the music
continued, she stood right in front of the man who is kind of the unspoken
leader of the large, group of folks who gather on Sundays to play at Floyd
Country Store. You could see that she
was feeling the music and looking straight into his face. He was smiling from ear to ear, a man who
usually plays with a straight face. As
she found the beat, her whole body went up and down and both feet kept time
together as she rocked up on her tip toes and back on her heals, over and over
again. I couldn’t take my eyes off of
her as she danced and the whole group danced around her. Finally, as the song ended, I looked around
and I saw that I wasn’t the only one who had been watching her. There were smiles on so many faces as the
dancers and musicians witnessed the moment that a little, 18-month-old girl
fell in love with flat foot dancing and mountain music. My heart squeezed tight as folk clapped and
congratulated her on a job well done.
Never did she crack a smile as she was completely serious about the
whole event. On the next song, one of
the regulars who dances most every week, a very kind man who is encouraging but
never overbearing, reached his hand out to her and she reached up and took
it. From that moment on, they were
partners. The man’s name is Mike and he
with great patience danced with Rory every single dance because she wanted him
to do so. When she got too tired but
still wanted to be on the dance floor, he picked her up (with our permission)
and danced with her. A couple of times, Rory’s new friend Mike
tried to slow dance with a couple of the ladies he knows and dances with
regularly. I told Rory she had to dance
by herself and she went out on to the floor and danced until she saw her friend
and then she reached up, without a smile with one arm and motioned to him that
she wanted him to dance with HER. Mike’s
partner smiled, bowed out, and he took Rory in his arms and danced wit her
instead. This happened more than once
and with more than one partner as Mike tried to dance with his friends. Each time, the women would bow out graciously
and turn their partner over to Rory.
One of the ladies, who is a regular and who had also
patiently shared her time and talents with both Analia and Rory, stopped me
when I tried to apologize for Rory stealing her dance partner, Mike. She said that they are there to share. She relayed that years ago she had entered
Floyd Country Store and an elderly lady had pulled her out onto the dance floor
and taught her how to flat foot, igniting a passion in her that is obviously
alive and strong today. She remarked
that from then on, she has tried to “pay it forward” by sharing what she has
learned with others.
At one point, my eyes filled with tears and I thought that
the swelling of my heart was going to be more than I could control. I blinked hard as I turned to my Mike and
said, “These people are so good. Look at
them with our grandkids. They are just good people.”
Most every day there is something that I read, hear, or
witness that causes me to despair. As I
get older, I no longer have that youthful naivety that makes me feel as if I
can somehow be an instrument to change the world is some grand way. In fact, a lot of days, I just want to hide
away and make this old world go away with all of its pain and negativity. But then, there are these God moments.
There in a little Country Store in the Blue Ridge Mountains
with the sounds of stringed instruments and feet keeping time with the old-time
music on the wooden floor, I felt God just as strongly as I have ever felt him
in a church sanctuary. The goodness of
His children brought me to tears as I witnessed community, acceptance, love and
good will. And, this wasn’t the first
time that I had felt God’s presence there.
People refer to these mountains and these experiences like I
have tried to describe here in my journal sometimes as “magical” and indeed it
does feel that way. Maybe it’s the
atmosphere that sets the stage but the real magic comes from open hearts of
regular people who are brave enough and strong enough to just let love shine
through and who reach out to others and share joy. The magic is in community, in the sharing of
our common humanity. It’s possible. I feel it in the little mountain church that
I attend on Sunday mornings, in the stranger who waves a thank you from the road
after they pick up a dozen eggs from our honor system cart, from folks I barely
know who once stopped to put our cows back inside the fence when they got out,
and from strangers who set their own afternoon aside to teach my grandkids the
joy of flat foot dancing. When the world
starts to gets me down and I begin to despair, I need to remember to turn off
the radio, television and computer, go out and pay it forward with love. There’s the magic.