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

We're here!

Hi folks,

Photo by Elea Carey

We have landed safely. We are so happy but also exhausted. So the writing will not be great but hopefully evocative. I'm sorry I am not writing individual hellos, I just want to catch you up on the general stuff and then will start checking in.

Ann took off with Bodie and met up with her friend Elea a week ahead of Caitlin and Sailor. While Bodie was a great traveler she was unable to go many places as it was too hot to leave him in the car.



Hence, his utter relief at having his own fenced yard and own cool concrete slab to lie on.

.

















So far, he lies on that much of the time when he's not romping through the fields

Sailor escaped the night before he and I were to fly out. His calming drugs turned him into a maniac. Hence any of you neighbors who heard me calling him from 3 to 4 to 5 to 5:30 when he finally came home, forgive me.

We caught another flight a few hours later and he was largely a good kitty as he eventually realized he was destined to lockup forever in his little kennel without ever seeing the sun again.

He peed twice, but fortunately I had pee pads and my friend Diane advised making a stack of them which I just removed as needed. Smart!




The house is beyond expectations. You may recall we bought it without my ever having seen it before. It feels much like our Seattle house but with two extra rooms and a huge
huge
huge
yard.
Field. Four acres. A big honkin plot of land.

It has its own racetrack and hoceka. We could have our own Dance there!

First meal at home.

We've just learned the truck won't get here till Friday. That means camping some more which is tricky but we're getting used to it. Who brings a card table in her trunk on a cross country trip? Ann Pancake.

We have been to Walmart four times, three times more than I've ever been in my life.



Sailor can't go outside till at least tomorrow. I think he will come back but I know I can't keep him in, that's our agreement for him coming back.

We are checking each other for ticks.

We slept in about an hour just lying in stunned silence touching feet. We made it babe, was the gist of the conversation.

We have not been to Dairy Queen yet.

When a chip reader did not respond, the disgusted clerk said "did it just froze again?

We have a barn and a root cellar and a riding mower.

Okay, here's the most important part. It is a quiet bred of absolutely real living. Yes there are cars going up the road but you hear each of them at a time, no steady droning. The birds are loud and boisterous and happy in the morning. They are free to be.
The air is very fresh and if you get hot you open a window and it immediately cools. There is green everywhere, from trees to grass to bushes.

People are incredibly friendly. It is calm. I feel my shoulders unhunching

Taking over the one surface....

View from the house

Shitake mushroom growing thing

W 

I am going to lie there most of the day tomorrow. 

Still our field.

Where would you look for a light for this hallway? If you said inside the closet you'd be right...

Original coal chute!

View from the field.

House on left, root cellar in the middle, barn on right. 

Daisies Ann had waiting in a cup for me. 

View as you do the dishes.

Sailor freaking out again. 

We miss you. Come see us.