People’s stories are why we know about our history. It’s not the history books, encyclopedias, and the internet that give us our information from the past, it’s from hearing what the people have to say. Sometimes they write the stories themselves, like in literature, poetry, and even hundred-year old notes found in the attic floorboards. If it’s not a first-hand account, our history can be found in the form of a feature story, and I am doing one right now!Continue reading “Feature Writing. Day 126.”
We kept driving, absorbing the familiarity of our beloved North Carolina. Tyler and his girlfriend, Deaven, were waiting at the house for us. We hadn’t met her yet, and I wanted her to be comfortable with us. I remember thinking she must be nervous, and we were about to come in like a few rusty wrecking balls with all our drama, emotions, and creatures. They live about an hour away, so they planned to stay the night and we were so looking forward to spending time with them, especially since we hadn’t seen Tyler in over a year.
Months before our trip, we had our first Christmas away from each other. We put Tyler on the big screen TV in the living room and connected with him via Zoom. I would internally cringe each time there was a glitch, or Tyler’s face froze, and felt myself many times wanting to throw something heavy and sharp at the TV, hating not being with him. We made the best of it, but as I continued driving toward our new home, I fantasized about our next Christmas, one where we would all be together.Continue reading “The Big Move Part III. Day 72.”
Once we realized sleep was not going to happen, we let the dogs out and tried to find the two cats, Gary and Salad, to put them in their crates. We tossed the last of our belongings into the truck, realizing we didn’t even have room for our food bag. Eating was the last thing on our minds anyway. It was time to get the chickens.
We had large bins with wire tops and a ventilated truck bed to take them. Most bins had two hens in them, but some had three if they were smaller. We also had to incorporate two roosters in the mix, including one who is testy. That part actually went quite smoothly. We had a good plan, but they didn’t like it.Continue reading “The Big Move Part II. Day 71.”
Uncle Lee’s face was painted with worry. He spent the day at our house, helping us get it ready to leave for the new owners. He even left halfway through to go to an appointment and came back to help some more.
“Remember, if you see anyone that looks shady, just leave. And don’t stop at any rest areas where you don’t feel comfortable. You may want to carry a gun of some sort, even a small one just in case. Don’t trust anyone and don’t be afraid to tell them you’re Gold Star.” He was sad to see us leave, and we were sad to leave him.Continue reading “The Big Move Part I. Day 70.”
I wrote this poem on a plane a few years ago when I was flying to North Carolina from Massachusetts to visit Tyler. I compare the two states, the two places I love. They both tear me apart with their memories and people. I revised this poem a little to post today which is actually tomorrow because I am writing this on Wednesday.
“Today” I will be or I am in Washington, D.C. celebrating Veterans Day with many special folks and Baylee. My deep breaths are going to get me through, and many tissues, I am sure.Continue reading “CLNC Revision. Day 65.”
“Are the cats locked up?” I asked Max.
“Yes, but let me go check again,” he said.
“Put the collars on the dogs,” I told Baylee. I heard the jingle of their name tags as he grabbed them off the hook on the wall, the click of the plastic collar clasps, and the dancing tick tick tick of the dogs’ nails on the floor in the front room as they anticipated our ride.
I went down to the basement to open the utility room doors and make sure the outside door was closed. I blew out the apple candle, watched the blackish smoke dance its way to the wood ceiling, and added a few large logs to the wood stove. I walked to the basement stairs and looked around one last time to be sure it was satisfactory for a showing.Continue reading “Strangers then Angels. Day 63.”
The drop was at least a hundred feet with few twiggy trees to block our potential fall, and the damp leaves and pea gravel were shifting under my tires. With my navy-blue Converse, I firmly pressed down both the clutch and brake and held them there until my wits allowed me to slowly let the clutch go. Wedged in a small area in a stranger’s yard, I had to attempt, well accomplish, a three-point turn or risk sliding down the hill into the no-cell-phone-zone of beautiful nothingness. We’d gone too far.Continue reading “Asheville. Day 39.”