Them

After over a year here in Reedsville, WV, I finally ran into an unsettling moment, much anticipated but never experienced up until now. I've been, of course, unpacking it ever since. 
I was getting my hair cut, which meant not some hip place on Capitol Hill where no one noticed me but one where ladies' hair gets puffed up real high and sprayed into oblivion. My neighbors -- who are gay women! On a four-house road we are 50%! -- had recommended this place and by god they were right. I got the best hair cut I've had in years and was charged, no this is not a typo: $15. Must be more when you add hairspray. 

But this time our favorite stylist was out on maternity leave so I got the shop's owner. Within a few minutes the air was aflutter with F bombs and bold statements, delivered with the confidence of one who knows it's her shop. 

The guy she was talking to was shaking his head, ranting about somebody who had unfriended him on Facebook, and I paid no attention until I heard: "He called me a racist!" 

I immediately became aware of being trapped in my chair with someone messing literally with my head, and began to brace myself, hoping it didn't go there. It did. I never heard what he actually did to deserve the title but it was a big fight, with a former friend, and while of course he objected to the epithet, what I can't forget is his face. 

He looked completely stricken. 

He said, in disbelief, "and he hates Trump." He appeared to be completely baffled by both being called a racist and that someone could hate Trump.

I waited, aware of my body stiffening and hoping my mouth didn't open for any reason, but also getting a little freaked that I could get so scared just sitting in a hair salon with people just talking.

I keep thinking about that look. Of all the looks I thought I'd see on a real live possible racist, hurt, scared and baffled were not among them.  

He's four.

I can't believe how slow my processing has been because not only do I have a firm belief system but it is built on layers and layers and layers of assumptions that have gone unquestioned probably since my birth.
So the first piece I got was that "racist" is a really strong word. What does it mean exactly? It's huge. It has such a broad and deep spectrum. I've spent so many years exploring the subtlety of north and west coast racism. How insidious and institutional it is, all with a liberal presentation that says all the right things and votes all the ways. And yet so much is right there to see: plain and simple racism. But after you hurl the word then what? Scream it at each other? I mean, what is the goal?

It's very hard to see that look of hurt and not want to do something different. Surely there is something to work with there.

Parts of West Virginia changed hands between North and South during the civil war over 50 times. It depends on who you ask whether the state is The South or The North. As usual, and they are proud of this, it is not one thing but many things. Things that don't fit in a neat straight line; just take a look at the shape of the state itself on a map. 

But other things are hugely important: being nice, giving your kids the best you can, taking care of your family and neighbors, and keeping The Man out of your business. This last part has made me feel so much more comfortable than I ever though I'd be. Keeping out of someone's business is a very difficult thing. Not relying on passive aggressive jabs and "helpful suggestions" and notes left on doors and on and on. What if you just let a barking dog bark? What if someone's car is in the road? What if that stop sign fell down 5 months ago and no one put it back? What if the sign fell down and someone finally did put it back up, only 3 feet lower? What if the hose from the spring that provides so much beautiful, pure water fell into the mud? You come back in a month and someone has fixed it. No government around to be seen or see you.

So it comes down to something like: you may be queers but you're our queers and we'll look out for you, too. We've interacted as a "we" with all kinds of people, every one of them nice and polite and friendly. The hostess at our favorite restaurant calls us "you two" or "ladies" and always seats us at a booth. Her hair is piled up to there and never moves.

So anyway I went looking online for "how to talk to a Trump supporter" but all I found was vicious, hateful rhetoric that looked like it came from Fox news. Yet it was CNN, Slate, HuffPo, etc. There was not one article that suggested how to find common ground, what to do if you get baited, how to not bait, and all the other pitfalls that comprise the polarization that has become the new normal. (Btw, Yes Magazine's latest issue addresses exactly this; I highly recommend it.)

Reading the hate-fueled crap produced by "my own side" caused a small implosion. I was ashamed. And again, realized I had never even listened to anyone about why they thought Trump was a good option. Not really. 

So I started to. Freed from having to argue or convince, I started listening in on a lot of conversations. And all I heard were painful stories of being left behind, made fun of, misunderstood, and more saliently, colonized. Ripped off. Used. Adding insult to injury, one of colonization's best weapons is to demonize the people you're ripping off, the better to justify the crime. Stop me if you've heard this before.

The coal legacy here is deep but there is a distinction between coal miners and the coal industry. There are so many people "all buggered up" as Ann would say, from industrial accidents and lack of health insurance. Kicked out when they can't work anymore, not compensated for loss of limb and life. And then on top of it, made fun of. The money goes straight out of state. 

It has all left me confused. 
And grateful.
And more open minded.
And humble.
And protective. 

Local marching band competition..

I do like things complicated, as much as I often search to make them simple. So I have plenty of things to chew on. And I keep wanting to share them with you, my nearest and dearest and newest. So:

Folks here go to their kids' high school marching band competitions. No matter what. 
Haul people's cars out of the mud.
Rescue animals.
Hunt animals.
Buy really cheap bad food that makes them fat and sick.

Loyal parents

Transport goats in cars.
Attack drag queens. 
Raise hundreds of thousands of dollars for the same drag queens.
Pull off the biggest teacher's strike in the history of the country. 
Own a lot of guns but have THE LOWEST crime rate in the country. 

Confusing.

Goat yoga at the local Arthurdale Heritage Inc, the town founded by Eleanor Roosevelt on a tip from her LOVER Lorena Hickok.

I intend to keep it complicated, or at least not succumb to simplifying. 

Goat transport

Look at those hills

PD Pancake

Birdfeeder season

Since I last wrote I don't think we'd gotten PD. She would be classified as a Helper by a cat shelter. She is into everything and LOVES being inside, a good thing, because for the first time in my life I am insisting on an indoor cat. Her last name is actually Sullivan or Sullicake but you can't beat PD Pancake. 

She loves her Mica

Cabin

It's finally finished! What was supposed to be just a little ol' tiny house became a local contractor's project and we have one solid little cabin!
Fully insulated, better shower than the one in the house, a comfy chair and a full table to write on, a kitchen and fridge and best of all, a lovely front porch!

Before

During

I should have stood someone next to this unearthed stone. It's huge and can only be moved with a bulldozer. 

Big damage to the lodge space, very disheartening.
So Ann painstakingly reseeded it and slathered on hay.

Ready for you to come visit! 

Love and Happiness*

So, I have so much to say but as with most writing, I have been paralyzed at trying to figure out what the angle is. It's about happiness...

 I've just assumed that if everyone could come live with us and in this way we are living they would all be happy. And we've both been wondering how in the heck we could be so rewarded with such a smooth move, such a great house, such amazing timing, healthy pets. etc. Most of it is answered prayers in whatever way you want to think of that, but also, and this is what took me awhile, much of it is because we wanted to live the way we are living. And not everyone does. We wanted what we have now, and we weren't getting it and we just figured you don't get what you want.
We spent a lot of time bemoaning the changes in Seattle and I now realize it was because I was getting up the courage to say:

I need....
I need...
I need:
Here is what I really, really need. And that means I'm going to have to lose my proximity to friends and neighbors. I'm going to lose community. I'm going to lose familiarity. But finally, there was a tipping point and it was... I gotta, because I am really stuck and I am not happy and I'm tired of being mad at too many people and cars and whatever is toxic to me, and so, I am going to have to Move. Jump. Do.
Up until that moment I guess I told myself I didn't need it that much.
All's to say, I have been hesitant to write because not only do I want everyone to be happy, but I want that to be easy for them. And so I will stop telling everyone to move here but instead say, I hope you can get what you really really need.
For Ann and me it was exactly what we wanted, to live out in the country, to be in a place that does not put tech over people, that does not have a lot of rules, that says live and let live and that includes a confederate flag in a few windows and broken-down people with parts missing due to sawmills and mining but always kind and almost always interesting and just so committed to that kindness and freedom that even as a big ol' queer I feel safe.
We also live in the richest part of a very poor state.
Yes there are trailers parked on lawns but there are also mansions; there are Dollar Generals and Auto Zones everywhere but there are also Krogers and the Walmart has high-end gluten free stuff and some of the best Pinot Noir I've ever tasted.
Ann always told me all about this and god knows it's in her beautiful stories, but to really feel it, the broken down and the beautiful, is exactly what makes me feel safe. You, there, with the spikey hair and the tattoos, you are welcome. Even if you do talk funny.

All this time I was a good middle-class person being told over and over again, it's my own mind that is making me stressed, it is my own mind that makes my reality, it is...
But it wasn't all that. For me, it was the culture. And now I seem not to worry about what I look like much anymore, or to make a smart remark about something "inefficient," or to blame myself for being anxious, but rather, to do the best of what I learned in the city, which is to do what I know calms down my mind, but also to just go sit on the porch and listen to the birds and watch the fireflies and somehow, mysteriously, my monkey mind is gone.
I just wanted to share that with you.

Enough lecture, how about some updates

So in my last post, we learned that Ann had heroically saved Bodie from the creek and came home and scrubbed off her whole body vigorously. All fine. Right when I left town the 7-10 day reaction window proved true and she erupted into horrible pustules and weeping sores. It became systemic, meaning even where she hadn't touched the plants she was covered in rash. She would not let me take a picture to her later regret, so I was gonna tell you "Google worst poison ivy ever" but decided to myself, and here you go, this is what it looked like.

 

In patches all. Over. Her. Body.

She used every known thing under the sun and finally, on a visit back to her hometown in Romney to see friends, her best friend's husband Frankie brought out this miracle stuff.

A bit late in the excruciation but helpful nonetheless. Almost completely healed now. Whew.

The next story is: Never doubt how fast you can run - uphill - while not in the best of shape - when you are in danger or pain or both.
A few days ago I was weedwhacking and suddenly felt a sharp burning on my leg and saw it was a  yellow jacket. No problem, I moved away only to realize that there was another on my finger, and on my neck, and under my shirt. And then I realized, more than 2 bees is probably a swarm and
got
the
hell
out
of
there.
But that didn't work! They followed me! I threw down the whacker and ran up the hill. Still they stung and I spun around and ran up some more hills and it was like they were glued on! One was stuck under my shirt and the buzzing was so freakin loud I began to panic, that a whole swarm was on me and would be forever. Finally it dawned on me to turn the garden hose on myself and that stopped all but the stuck one, which Ann calmly plucked off when she and Bodie returned from their walk.
Never saw you move so fast, babe. 
Figured it was a bee.

Thanks, babe. I kept waiting for terrible things to happen but the places just hurt for a few days. But one place, the first the bee had stung, was hugely swollen and kept burning so I feared an allergy. Today I finally saw why:
In that one spot there were seven stings! Bringing the grand total up to 10.

Left ankle

Can you imagine how brave those little souls were to take on a weedwhacker and its handler? So brave!

More: Here is the view from the throne:














Here is the view from the hammock:




















Here's some neighbors checking out the yard:

Wild turkeys

Here's gathering the best water in the world from the spring:

Damn that is some white hair...

Here's what  my girl got me for my birthday!

WV cookbook and a bamboo book holder, plus maple syrup. 

Just discovered a peach tree in the yard...

















Just yer average view:

Loving you all makes me so happy. Even if I miss you like a burning bee sting in my heart.Thanks for writing your encouragement at these silly posts. I think about what I'll write you so often, it actually helps me understand the experiences!
Come visit, y'all!


* You know, by my man Al

Pampered Pets in Peril!

In this week's news, it rained more than it does in 6 months in Seattle, thunderstormed in great, rolling boomingness, Ann mowed more grass than exists in Seattle and can be heard muttering about slopes and ditches, and Caitlin installed two air conditioners that look like shit but work great.
Plus cordless blinds. Oh how I heart cordless blinds! Who knew?!

In addition, the pets proved that they are city-born and raised and are going to have to do a little learnin' to survive around here. (I'm well aware that I will regret that flippancy if anything happens to them.)

So we heard a caterwauling that roused us all from our various spots to find that a local brute whose balls are so big he waddles, had pinned Sailor to the ground without even touching him. Most cat owners know that if you just approach another cat it runs but this one looked at me, like, hey, whaddya doin in my space, I'm beatin up a cat here! (in my account he's from New Jersey).
I got closer and closer and still he just looked at me and I picked up a stick and then all of a sudden thought, geezuz if you're such a communicator, why don't you try that before whacking the shit out of a fellow animal?
So I started talking in my head and out loud saying something to the effect of, go ahead, walk away, nobody will come after you, not even my silly barking dog, and I saw his eyes flinch a little and look away, like cats do when searching for a way out, and I squatted down lower and blinked my eyes slowly and dropped the stick and kept crooning. Then I made the mistake of looking over at Sailor:  his claws were completely gripped into the earth and he was actually shaking. Which prompted, I'm ashamed to say, the impulse to annihilate BigNuts as Ann dubbed him, with my sheer ferocity and will.

But I kept talking and he took a step away and I moved in closer to Sailor in case he got any ideas about chasing and finally BN strolled away, one stiff-legged step at a time, so beautiful and dignified, if waddling. Sailor, unlike any other cat I've know, came right to me and let me pick him up and then curled into my neck as I carried him away from the scene. While I'm glad he's not torn to pieces he's got to learn to at least spray all around the property...
Because I have no pictures of this here is one where Sailor has just eaten most of a squirrel he caught earlier in the week: Note the bulging belly.

Waterline on hair

In a far more serious incident, Bodie the stubborn Chow, who used to be afraid of water, almost drowned in his enthusiasm to get into a deep creek. (I know there are many of you who don't find it fun to hear suspenseful stories that involve animals so I'm telling you up front all is fine.) He has learned that if hot he can get his feet wet, then goes into joyful dancing at the relief. But now that he has a long coat he wants more water so he keeps jumping into shallow creeks, complete with mud, and probably giardia and leeches and slimy things best not discovered. So Ann was walking him, heard the familiar plop of him going in, and then, that tone that every mother fears, a sharp yip of fear. Bodie never expresses anything like that so she rushed to the scene and found him in over his head and trapped behind a kind of under-cut part of the bank and a big root mass. He stared at her with huge eyes and was shaking. She jumped in and turns out the water was up to her neck and she grabbed him but he chose to climb UP her body to the bank.

Which was not the final bank at all so she had to then pick his 53-pound self and lift him up to another bank, then scramble out herself through poison ivy and mucky ickiness and then yes, praise the baby J,  lift him one more time to the final bank. He walked for about five minutes glued to her side but then commenced with pulling on the leash all like, look! A creek! I can jump into it! isn't that cool?

Bodie's launch pad

Ann's electronic keys and wallet took only a few days to dry out...
We have also attended a goat gallop fundraiser,

 
found someone to hay our vast field (even trade), bought more shit at stores than we have in a lifetime, and are loving loving loving life on our little farm that is only a farm cuz it has a barn.

Also, to brag a little about how much unpacking there was and where we are now:

Thanks so much for the cards and phone calls, we are slowly making some acquaintances but miss our friends friends friends!

Love,