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! 

Greeeeeeeeeeeeen Acres

Hello, folks,
Thanks for all the feedback on my last post. Seems y'all like pictures of the country.
So in this week's news, we got through a ton of boxes but anyone who has moved may know this particular phenomenon: You find the soap but not the dish, the coffee but not the scooper, the incense holder but not the incense. WTF?

Can you spot Ann here?

We have had our brains scrambled for so long that this threw us for a bit until we realized that the secret powers of West Virginia have been healing us when we sleep. We don't fall asleep so much as pass out, then rise to the sound of a rooster, a gazillion different birds and um, this character.

Click the link for approximate sound...

Yep, sometimes three in the morning. it always seems to crack us up.

So I had never seen lightning bugs in my whole life except one time in Germany when I was 16.
Here, they are all over our yard every night, especially when it's warm. After a few nights sleeping downstairs in what we thought would be our room we took the mattress upstairs and lo and behold, the window filled with the white oak, full of ... magical lights! If we wake in the middle of the night we can see the whole tree winking. This is roughly what it looks like, I cannot capture them on my phone.

We had been trying to figure out if we should have bottled water carted in or get a filter on the sink. Given WV's history with mines figured it was prudent.
Then the previous owners, whom we love, let us know about a fresh water spring. We found it and filled up several jugs with water! Incredibly fresh. Woohoo!
Yesterday we had to fire up the riding mower as the grass was getting too long. Turns out there's a starter problem - "Oh, you just jump it from your car," says previous owner.
In the best of circumstances I hate using jumper cables and this was a car battery to a lawn mower battery, the usual dangers amplified by the risk of blowing up the smaller one.
Ann and I stood over the mower with cables in hands, going over the mantra. Connect last cable, pull down choke, turn key, step on brake, hope it turns over. A 3D version of rub your belly and pat your head. I don't know how to do this.... we each muttered at various times. But we persisted...
Three times and it caught!
Here's where I threw the jumper cables cuz they were getting hot.

Ann taking off 

Never saw her again. 

I got very excited that the garbage truck would pick up any number of bags, unlike Seattle, in any number of receptacles, unlike Seattle.
Early on Monday morning I saw the truck stop, lights blinking, and then go on down the road. No pickup!
Turns out we had not paid our bill of $19.95/month in advance. Must be buried in this box somewhere...

With the jumper cable incident I was struck with how we were ready to call some guy or the previous owners, but when you're in the country you need to depend on yourself more. Ann already knew this of course but I was always ready to call someone. I was very proud of us for persevering. And of course it poured hard that night so now the pets tracks in huge clumps of cut grass into the house.

Find the cat in this picture.

The pets are deliriously happy. Watching Sailor track every little bug and whiffle in the grass is an argument for taking the risk of liberating a cat. He has a million hiding places and always comes back when I call him. Strange cat. There are more animals than we would have thought including toads and bunnies. He is killing but not eating moles. Ann says they must taste like dirt.

Sometimes it feels like we've stepped into some kind of English countryside.

Thanks so much for the cards in our mailbox! So nice to hear from you! More soon, let me know what you want pictures of, unless it's less of Ann and the pets, in which case you cannot change my mind....
Love from P Road!