Saturday at the festival

Larry and I immersed ourselves in the heritage of our county on Saturday.

As many of you know, I’m not one for crowds, and I’m not one to jump when I hear the words “Let’s go.”

But I knew I needed to get out of the house Saturday, so I suggested that we head over to Naruna, an area in another part of our county, and attend the annual Heritage Festival.

The festival documents the history of Campbell County and provides fun activities for children, plenty of music and lots of displays.

I’ll let the photos do most of the talking today.

There were lots of old tools and gadgets on display. This is an 1885 egg beater. You turn the lever, which I inadvertently cut out of the photo, and the beaters turn.

A 1903 milk fat tester.

This was identified as a hair pressing comb. I was never very adept with a curling iron. I don't think I would have done any better with this.

 

I liked the wooden pitchfork on the left.

Old farm equipment was scattered around the grounds.

Tobacco was a main cash crop for Campbell County for many years. My father raised it. I have mixed feelings about this part of my heritage.

Wagon rides behind horses were available.

A display of cornhusk dolls. 

Dancers from the Monacan Native American tribe in nearby Amherst County performed.

One of many quilts on display.

As we were leaving, we stopped to watch a family who started flat-footing to bluegrass music playing in the background. I like the combination of dress shoes, pink boots and bare feet. 

Have you attended any fun festivals this summer?

Visiting the farm

I’ve gone country for this week’s Random 5.

I’m joining in with Nancy of A Rural Journal for Random 5 Friday, where, as Nancy says, “you can share 5 random facts about you, your day, your pets, your kids, whatever!”

Thanks to Nancy for hosting this fun meme!

Note on the photos: I took them in the 1980s with my 35 mm camera. They have faded with time and poor storage, though.

 One

I was a back in Evington on Wednesday. One of Virginia’s gubernatorial candidates for this November’s election was in the county and visited a dairy farm where another politician gave his endorsement.

My editor wrote the story, while I took the photos for the newspaper.

The dairy farmer gave the politicians a tour of his place. It included a walk through a cow lot and a visit to see calves.

I grew up on a farm, and my uncle had a dairy farm nearby. On Wednesday, I smelled things and saw things I haven’t seen in many years. I also picked my way through manure like I haven’t done for a while.

Two

My family lived in a white house with a red tin roof on the farm until I was 10 years old. The farm had been my father’s grandfather’s, then had gone out of the family. My father rented it, and then when he and my mother were first married, they bought it on a five-year note.

It was called Terrace View Farm.

The white farmhouse, my first home,  in a photo taken from the yard of the second house. On the right, you can see the roof of the old red mill across from the white house.

Three

When I was about 5 years old, my father started working for the post office as a rural letter carrier. He kept farming, but eventually, my parents decided to sell part of the farm, along with the house, to make it easier on him.

They built a new house, a brick ranch, in sight of the white farmhouse, and we moved there in 1973, when I was 10.

My parents sold the rest of the farm and the brick house in 1989.

The lower pasture below the brick house. This was a good place to go sledding when we got a good snow.

 Four

Once we moved, my father limited his farming to raising beef cows, Black Angus. But when he was farming full time, he also had milk cows, pigs and chickens, and he raised tobacco as a main crop. My mother made butter and sold it and eggs.

Farming can be a 24 hour/7 day a week endeavor. It’s hard work. I was reminded of that as I toured the dairy farm Wednesday and heard about all the tasks that needed to be done to get the milking done and take care of the animals.

The stable at the second house. The wood was for the woodstove that my parents had in the house.

 Five

My father built the stable and tractor shed at the second home. I put my footprint in the footing of the stable. I wonder if it’s still there?

Old barns and sheds have a smell that takes me right back to childhood. It’s a mix of musty and dusty scents with some oil from the tractor thrown in. I smelled some of those scents on Wednesday.

Community

The road from Altavista to Evington is a narrow, sometimes very curvy two-lane highway, 10 miles of country road.

For a long time, I was never actually sure when I’d arrived in Evington. It’s more of a zip code than a defined place. But the longer I live in this part of the county, the more defined it becomes.

I visited Evington Monday evening to cover a community meeting for the newspaper. One of my regular beats is county government, and one of the issues facing government is how to help people in the county who are experiencing well water problems.

The county has come up with some options to consider, and the meeting was to get some early feedback from residents who would be affected by any decision made.

I’ve already done several stories on the issue, and I looked forward to attending this meeting.

But it wasn’t just the meeting that drew me. Part of the reason I looked forward to going to Evington was because I enjoy the drive.

I was behind the wheel Monday night, so I couldn’t take many photos.

But I noticed the hay and corn fields, the way the land rolled along in hill after hill.

I noticed the round bales of hay out in the field or, in one place, lined up beside the barbed wire fence that ran parallel to the road. I thought of my fellow bloggers who are busy raking and baling hay.

I noticed how the early evening sunshine still lit most of the fields, while the trees at the edges were growing darker green as the light faded.

I arrived at the intersection where the Evington post office is and turned left. That’s where the road becomes very curvy, almost turning on itself as it weaves down to the railroad crossing. 

Then I was at the building where the meeting was held.

Field in Evington, Virginia

I was there for over an hour and a half, but the time flew by. I listened to people express their concerns, for themselves and their neighbors. I saw people from all walks of life, from different backgrounds, discuss common concerns.

I felt community.

One of the blessings of my job is the way I have become more of a part of the community. I’ve met people I never would have met, chatted about the mundane, asked questions about the serious, struggled to capture the essence of a story for the readers.

I’m an introvert. I tend to shy away from anything resembling a crowd. I have depression that sometimes makes me question my reason for living.

But times like Monday night remind me that I’m part of a community—really, more than one community—and part of my purpose lies in those communities. That’s a comfort.

It was a comfort, too, to step outside at the end and look at the beautiful land around me becoming dark. I caught a photo of the red rail car that sits beside the long graveled driveway and then drove back along the same narrow roads. I couldn’t see the fields as clearly, but I knew they were there. I knew the people working hard behind those fields were there, somewhere.

And I went home.

Interview with Grace Peterson, author of "Reaching: A Memoir"

Grace Peterson. (Submitted photo)

I am very pleased to present an interview I did with Grace Peterson, author of Reaching: A Memoir.

I met author Grace Peterson through an online writers’ community called She Writes. That led me to her blog Subplots by Grace, where she blogs about writing, does book reviews, and discusses mental health and spiritual and religious abuse.

Grace also writes about gardening, one of her passions, and has a blog called Gardening with Grace where she shares her experiences among the plants in her garden.

Grace writes beautifully, whether it’s about mental health, memoir or gardening. And she has been a good friend. She has been very supportive of me and of others facing mental health issues and just the hardships of life.

When her memoir Reaching was published by All Things That Matter Press earlier this year, I was anxious to read it.

I was so impressed with Grace’s honesty in writing about her difficult childhood, the years she spent under the influence of a cult leader, and her recovery through the help of her loving family, good therapy and her garden.

And as I wrote in my book review of her book, Grace not only “reaches” out for healing in her book, she reaches out to connect with others and help them not feel so alone.

You can read my review of Reaching on Amazon here.

Grace, Please introduce yourself to us.

Thank you Tina, for inviting me to share a little about myself and my book. I’ve been married to my best friend since 1980 and we have four grown children, a boy and three girls. I live in western Oregon. Writing and gardening are my two passions.

What is your memoir about? How would you describe it to potential readers?

Reaching begins with the story of a very fearful girl tentatively navigating a confusing world. At 14, I have my first of many sleep disorder episodes and an increasing sense of impending doom. By adulthood I’m living a double life, trying to look normal to the world while constantly dealing with panic attacks. When my fourth child is born, I’m convinced that my postpartum visions and impulses are the work of the devil. I seek the help of a modern-day exorcist I call “Brock.” For the ensuing seven years, I am blinded by my cult-like adoration to Brock and his very cult-like teachings. Eventually I seek legitimate treatment for my mental health issues and reenter society.

Why did you decide to write your memoir?

In the beginning, my intention was to sort out my thinking and come to terms with a very difficult time in my life. To do so meant going back to piece together my messed up childhood. Although I have a very good memory, I needed to clear the pervasive fog and look my history square in the face. As I wrote, I realized my project would be good for my kids to read at some point. Eventually it dawned on me that I was creating something more universal and that if I structured it well enough, it could be a best seller. Well maybe not, but hopefully people can relate to it.

What difficulties did you face as you wrote your memoir?

There were a few times when I really had to psych myself into opening the vault. For example, in my earlier drafts, I had decided to skip the Hawaii years altogether. It was just too painful to go there. And also in my earlier drafts, I skimmed over much of the Brock years. Not only was it painful and embarrassing to come face to face with that era, most of it was spent in a stupor so recall was really sketchy. Fortunately I kept journals during those years which helped tremendously. 

What is the central message of your memoir?

To humanize mental illness. It’s all too easy to judge someone based on a snippet of observation. We’ve all seen that person who is a little “off.” We shy away because we don’t know what’s wrong or how to respond, or we’re too busy to care or grossed out. But all human beings have a story and there is a depth of compassion and empathy that comes with knowing the circumstances that surround that person. My hope is that my story, like so many others, will help humanize mental illness.

Did you experience any kind of catharsis or relief after writing your book?

I experienced catharsis at points all along in the process. As I mentioned, I had bolted the Hawaii vault pretty tightly so prying it open was no small feat. I went to the library and hauled home as many books about the Big Island as I could find. Reading about the history of the Hawaiian people helped me understand their animosity towards people who have my physical characteristics. Another form of catharsis was rediscovering the music I listened to during my teen years. I played songs over and over, re-feeling all of those buried emotions. Somewhere along the way, I was able to find closure from that very difficult time in my life which was very cathartic.

What kinds of responses have you received from your readers?

I’ve been extremely grateful for the positive feedback I’ve received and I make sure those kindnesses reach that scared, lonely kid from yesteryear. I’m an introvert by nature so I was a little worried about having my story made so public. Two powerful cult tenets are keeping secrets and not trusting “outsiders.” It’s taken a lot of years to muster the courage to break those tenets and the encouragement I’ve received has been a precious gift. It has restored my belief that most people are decent, caring and generous.  

What’s next for you in your writing life?

A calming counterpoint to my chaotic life was my pursuit of gardening. Last winter I wrote my second book, a gardening memoir. It is a much lighter read as I discuss my thirty years of blisters and blunders and how sweet it feels to have a plant actually do what the magazine says it’s supposed to do. I’m looking forward to sharing it with all of you. 

Thank you, Tina, for inviting me to talk with you and your readers.

Feel free to leave comments and questions for Grace in the comments section. And please check out her book Reaching, and her blogs, Subplots by Grace and Gardening with Grace.

Vitamin deficiency, an unwelcome visitor and other randoms

It’s Friday, and it’s time to link up with Nancy’s A Rural Journal for Random 5 Friday, where, as Nancy says, “you can share 5 random facts about you, your day, your pets, your kids, whatever!”

It’s lots of fun and a great way to meet other bloggers. I encourage you to join in!

Here are a couple of squirrels that visited the yard recently. These visitors were welcome. Read about the unwelcome visitor below.

One

I finally got the results of some blood work my psychiatrist ordered. My vitamin B-12 levels are good. My thyroid numbers are good. I’m not anemic. But my vitamin D is low.

So he’s starting me on a prescription dosage of vitamin D—50,000 units once a week.

He said researchers were learning more about the link between vitamin D and mood and fatigue. And from what I’ve read, a vitamin D deficiency can also cause bone pain, muscle weakness and joint pain.

Larry has vitamin D deficiency, too, and is on the same prescription. So I guess once a week we’ll toast to our health with water and down the supplement together.

Two

Several times over the last few years, I’ve talked with my family doctor and my gynecologist about leg pain. The bones in my legs sometimes ache badly, especially when I’m tired.

The doctors checked my circulation and the exam stopped there.

I wonder if some of the pain could be coming from the vitamin D problem. I wish a doctor had thought to check it before now. I wish I had known to ask about it.

Three

I attended a workshop on health literacy this week for work. I studied health literacy when I was a health educator years ago for the health department. It’s a big interest for me.

This workshop was so interesting. It’s really amazing how having a low level of health literacy can affect people’s ability to take their medications correctly, to understand their doctor’s instructions and to complete medical forms.

Four

My husband and I have been enjoying watching the second season of Longmire this summer. If you haven’t watched it, it’s about a Wyoming sheriff named Walt Longmire. The plots and characters are wonderful, as is the scenery in the show.

The series is based on the books by Craig Johnson. I’ve read a couple of them so far, and they are just as good as the TV show.

If you’re interested in watching Longmire, it comes on Monday nights at 10 p.m. ET on A&E.

Five

We had an unwelcome visitor in the yard this week. Larry saw a snake, a black one with yellow stripes down its sides, near the AC unit in the backyard. It disappeared between the pad the AC unit sits on and the landscaping material that acts as a liner for small rocks we have around the house.

I was not happy when I learned about it. I am not just scared of snakes. I am terrified.

So I have been extra wary as I walk across the yard. I hope the snake was just visiting and has returned to his home—far, far away.

How do you react with you see a snake?

Finding wildlife with a camera, or—Please don’t fly away!

Sunday was very hot and humid. Most days lately have been like that, the same kind of weather that many of you have experienced.

But I’m not complaining. I’m setting the scene.

Around noon, Larry asked me to come out into the backyard to check the position of the frame for the raised bed garden we’re putting in. He had put together the basic frame and while it was still moveable, he wanted to make sure I agreed with where he placed it.

I admittedly dragged my feet. Like I said, it was hot and humid. But I grabbed my camera and went out with him. I wanted to capture some shots of the frame and continue my documentation of our new project.

I noticed the bird bath was dry, so I filled it up from the outside spigot. I hung around, hoping to see some birds, but it remained empty.

Until I went inside.

“Tina, there’s a bird in the bath,” called Larry from the porch.

I picked up my camera and hurried out the back door onto the enclosed back porch, then out the screen door to the yard.

I walked as carefully as I could and got as close as I could.

The bird flew away.

The bird came back.

I snapped some pictures.

The bird flew away.

The bird came back. Another bird joined him.

One flew away. Then the other flew away.

“They can see you standing there,” said Larry.

He went to the porch and dragged out two chairs for us to use to sit in the shade and watch. I captured some more shots.

But I admit I was hot. Sweat was running into my eyes. My nose started to itch with allergies. The birds were staying away. They even left the tree above us.

So we went in.

I put away my camera.

I looked out the living room window. A bird was in the bath, splashing away.

I got my camera and tried to quietly walk out again. By the time I got to the middle of the yard, the bird was gone.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

I stood there, thinking that if I was very still, the birds would think I was part of the landscape and come back.

It sure was hot.

Larry came back out, laughing.

“The birds are texting the cats, and the cats are rolling on the floor laughing,” he said. “The birds are telling them, doesn’t your mom know we can see her?”

(Note: Yes, our cats have cell phones. We’ve never actually seen them. But the cats seem to know everything that goes on. They must have something.)

I went back inside. Sat down with a bottle of water to cool off. Looked out the window. A bird was back.

This time I sneaked out the side door and walked around the house. Once again, I could only get so close and get off a few photos before they flew off.

I need a longer lens. I need to be stealthier. I need a birdfeeder.

On the stealthy side, my cats said they will teach me what they can.

Meanwhile, I suspect the birds are still talking about me. And laughing.

And as a side note, Sunday was a bad day for me with depression. I was feeling hopeless and down. But my backyard nature antics made me feel better. Yes, nature is one of my treatments.

Any suggestions on how to capture wildlife with a camera?

86 years

Today is my mother’s 86^th birthday.

I don’t write a lot about my mother. We’re not close, for many reasons that I won’t go into now. We used to be close, but in an unhealthy way. I’ve accepted that our relationship is what it is.

But I’m thinking of my mother today and considering her many talents that, though I didn’t inherit many of them, blessed me and many others through the years.

I am using the past tense when I speak of her use of her talents because most of these she can no longer do. She lives in an assisted living house and has her meals fixed for her. It’s very difficult for her to do handwork because of the arthritis in her hands. She gets around slowly with a cane or walker.

But I think her talents still live within her, and if she could physically do them, she would again bless people with them.

Cooking

My mother was, as my father called her one time, a “top cook.” I don’t remember ever tasting anything she cooked that tasted awful—unless it happened to be a food that I already detested.

She loved to read cookbooks and experiment with new foods. She seemed to have a sixth sense about what ingredients would work together and produce a tasty dish.

Presentation of food was important to her, too. She liked to transfer dishes from the pans they were cooked in to pretty serving dishes, even for a common supper on a Wednesday night.

If she again had the strength to “put a meal on the table,” as she would say, I would ask her to cook her fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green peas and yeast rolls.

One of the afghans and the double wedding ring quilt made by my mother.

Sewing

My mother is creative and used that creativity to sew many an outfit for me as I was growing up. She made most of the dresses I wore growing up. She almost always made a new outfit for me for the first day of school.

She made her own clothes, too, and shirts for my brothers and father. She could also repair and mend anything brought to her by family and friends.

My mother also quilted. She quilted a blanket that had been pieced together by my father’s sister. Some of the pieces in the quilt are snippets of my grandmother’s dresses.

She also made a double wedding ring quilt for me.

Crocheting and knitting were also some of my mother’s talents. She made many afghans, including a purple and lavender one for me.

My mother walking the edge of the garden in 1988. She usually visited and worked in the garden several times a day.

Gardening

My mother’s thumb is green. Pure green. She was legendary in our community for having a beautiful garden that produced mountains of food, much of which she shared with others. She also raised a variety of flowers and shrubs that enhanced the landscape. She freely gave away clippings to others.

She became a Master Gardener when she was in her 50s or 60s and volunteered her time to help others learn about gardening.

Nowadays my mother enjoys reading, especially mysteries and thrillers. She participates in activities at the home she lives in. She especially enjoys lectures that visitors such as the Lynchburg Museum staff give on a variety of subjects. She goes out to lunch with her sisters. She keeps busy.

Except for reading, I haven’t carried forward my mother’s talents or interests. I don’t cook much, and I don’t enjoy it like she did. I can’t seem to get the hang of sewing or knitting, though I can crochet. I enjoy plants, but I don’t yet have the knowledge that my mother does.

I wish I had the relationship with my mother that I know many people have with their mothers. Of course, wishing for something that isn’t likely to be doesn’t help anyone.

But I do admire many of my mother’s qualities and talents, and I’m grateful for the blessings she’s given to her loved ones and beyond.

Did you inherit any of the talents and interests of your parents or other family members?