As some of you already know, I recently became unemployed for the first time since 2011, so Robbie and I have begun content creating. (He’s more part of the content, and I, the creator.)
I’m not a pro at it. Heck, I’m not even great at it yet—especially the videography part. Interestingly, I lack in the promo part, too. This is odd, because for the past 4 years, this is what I’ve done—either teaching marketing or doing it; however, I’ve never done it for myself.
Honestly, it feels odd.
But if I want our endeavor to grow, I’m gonna hafta.
Wow, This Takes Time
Content creation can be monetized (I’m hoping that ours will supplement my staying at home and being available for Britni 100% of the time), but for it to start earning money, we need subscribers, followers, likes, comments, watch hours, etc. For instance, on YouTube, we need 1,000 subscribers and 4000 valid public watch hours in the last 12 months. Yes, that’s a lot. But not impossible.
Content creation takes time. First, you have to get the video (which, for us, happens after weeks of planning to get to the place where the videos are shot—we have to coordinate Britni’s care with my parents and Baxter’s stay at the resort). I get home with at least a few hours of raw (unedited) content. This is when the real work starts.
Did you know that on average, editing takes about 1 to 1.5 hours per minute of video. My most recent fifteen-minute video on Cool Cruisin’ Nights took about 30 hours to edit. Now, the more I do it, the better and quicker I’ll get, but even professionals would have taken about 15 to 22 hours to edit it. I worked during the early hours of the morning before Britni woke up, and a couple times had some creativity left in me at night after she went to bed to eke out a few more edits. Video editing requires—for me, at least—an unbroken stream of thought. Big chunks. Four or five hour stretches. I’m more of a “morning & earlier in the day” creative person anyway.
None of this is said with resentment or disdain. I love doing this. I’m just sharing what the editing part involves. Mad props to those content creators who are making a living from it—you are definitely earning it! Other places I can monetize are my blog and through my Amazon Associate store. When you order from an Amazon link I post, I earn a small commission on eligible purchases.
Doing What I Love
In 2019, I finally earned my BS in Communications with an emphasis in Public Relations, Persuasion, and Advocacy from ODU (go, Monarchs!) I’m tapping into that degree now…. using what I went to school for…and looking at every avenue for potential income supplements.
And doing it—sharing & promoting—takes a bit more fancy footwork for us than your average folk. Besides Robbie & me, my Mom & Dad are Britni’s only caregivers, and they live an hour away. Britni doesn’t travel well without them with us, so when we make our short trips, she stays with them. For a two-night getaway, we must first ensure they’re available to care for her, then make sure there’s availability for Baxter to stay at Goin’ to the Dogs Pet Resort, then check for accommodations at our destination. As newbies, our outgo is more than our income because we have to spend money to get the content, from which we’ll eventually see a return (you see how I’m thinking positively?).
Makes Me Nervous!
Put $ out to bring $ in? This is way outside of my comfort zone.
But I’m 53.
It’s time.
Plus, the higher the risk, the greater the reward.
And since I’m already out of that comfort zone, I figured I’d go ahead and ask.
Would you like to show your support, and do it at zero cost to you? All it takes is a click or two. A tap on a screen. Perhaps a comment and a thumbs up (I’m not forcing a “like”, but those are much preferred over the ol’ thumbs down). And shares. When you share, it helps us reach people we never would otherwise.
Here’s How
Helping with our YouTube channel is easy. Subscribe, like, comment…and when you set notifications to all, you’ll get an email letting you know when we posted another video. (You can see how to do it here.) The time watched, too, is counted, which goes toward our being eligible for the YouTube Partner Program. Like I said, 4000 watch hours and 1000 subscribers in 12 months is a lot, but it’s not impossible.
Facebook—like the page, like and comment on posts, share on your page. Instagram—leave us a comment, hit that heart.
Just engage.
When you do, it shows these platforms we’re relevant, and they’ll keep pushing our content out there for more people to see. Your engagement doesn’t happen in a silo…it creates a ripple effect. And it is much appreciated. Not only does it help us, we love hearing from you! We love learning what others’ likes and opinions are just as much as we love sharing ours.
If you’re trying to get your business, or your content out there for the masses, feel free to share this information with your audience. Let them know how important these small, quick, and free actions are to you. Things that are too simple often seem like they don’t matter.
But they do.
And for each of you who has read through to this part, and subscribed, liked, shared, and/or commented, we are eternally grateful.
Mom just had her second book published– My Endearing Appalachia–Memoirs of Southern West Virginia Coalfield Life. Even though I am quite familiar with Appalachia & West Virginia coalfields, and know most of the stories shared in her book, I felt I was learning it all for the first time when I read it. The way she weaves the stories puts you right there with her…in those mountains…hearing those trains in the distance…
My Endearing Appalachia
Perhaps some Appalachian stereotypes will be erased after reading Phylenia French’s memoirs. Perhaps some confirmed. Regardless, stepping into that culture and those times through her words on the pages creates a nostalgia. It’s strange to comprehend that an era could simultaneously be difficult and simple, lean and rich.
Mom’s first book–Homespun Yarns; Tales to be Told from the Front Porch Swing–is a sequel of sorts. She shares embarrassing funny anecdotes from adulthood, from learning how to cook to navigating rearing teenagers. It’s not currently in print, but her latest book has resurrected the demand for the first. Hopefully, she can get a second printing!
In Her Own Voice
Radio, too! Ten years ago, Mom was also on West Virginia Public Radio with her Fond Memories of a Mountain Childhood in Appalachia. (I can’t tell you how many friends who aren’t from Appalachia/the south say they love her accent–I don’t hear it, of course.) The next medium for her is television. I’ll talk to her about that.
Even Dad
Yes, my Dad also writes. His story My First Night in the Mines was published in Goldenseal in 1999. You can read a snippet here (just renewed my subscription to the magazine!). He, his dad, and his dad’s dad all worked in the mines in Gary, West Virginia, with the latter having been killed in the mines in the 1930s. In addition to numerous short, historically based stories, Dad wrote So Long, Charlie, about his dad as a young man, and his horse. It hasn’t been mass printed, but it should be!
A chance encounter with a fellow sunset-photographer reminded me of one of the reasons I love West Virginia.
Robbie and I had gone to Pipestem, WV for a birthday celebration weekend. Saturday afternoon brought downpours, lightning, thunder—and while it did shorten our fishing excursion at the lake, it didn’t lessen our enjoyment. As a matter of fact, it added to it. There’s something about thunderstorms and cabins in the woods….
As the rain turned into a drizzle and the sun began pushing her way through the retreating storm clouds, the quickly changing light told us there’s a beautiful sunset to be seen, so we drove to the nearest overlook behind McKeever Lodge. Another lady stood there, phone in the air, taking photos of the continually changing scene. Seeing us drive in like an Andretti, she turned & said with a laugh, “You better hurry up, it’s changing so much.”
I took my place beside her and began capturing the breathtaking scene that changed from fog to fog and mountain to sun to bursts of orange and red to fog and mountain and sun and….
It was like a sky kaleidoscope.
The breathtaking view on a March evening in Pipestem, WV
After about three minutes of silence and reverent appreciation of the scene that lay before us, my photog partner turned & said “I live just down the road.” She gave us her general area, to which Robbie told her that his cousins live there, too, and told her their names.
“Oh, yes! I go to church with them!” We all laughed and agreed what a small world it is. Robbie told her his full name and said, “Tell them you met me.” The lady—even more surprised—said, “I used to work with a man with the same name!”
The world just got even smaller. She worked with my father-in-law 30+ years ago.
In true, West Virginia fashion, we quickly added one another on social media and are now friends.
I love my home state—and this is one of the many reasons. We instantly connect with and are drawn to other West Virginians. No matter how long you’ve been transplanted somewhere else.
Rewind to Friday
We arrived on Friday before check-in time, so we drove to every overlook to take photos. We drove through the campground where I used to stay with my parents & brother in the 70’s & 80’s when we borrowed Pop-Aw’s camper. I pointed out “our spot”, showed Robbie the stretch of pavement where I skated in the rain and finally learned how to turn a bike around while riding it (turning terrified me), the place where—at about four years old–I stepped in a pile of horse poo while wearing flip-flops, and how the smell of toast and the sound of crows always remind me of camping in Pipestem.
I showed him the shelter where we had a huge family picnic one year. Adjacent to the overlook where I captured the sunset photos, this shelter had giant rocks in the woods that we kids (a slew of us cousins) played on. When you’re five years old and you’re standing on a giant rock, you feel you can conquer the world. The smell of charcoal and moss, the sound of a radio playing AM Gold (think Captain & Tennille, Maxine Nightingale, England Dan & John Ford Coley), skinned knees, bottles of pop (glass bottles at that!) and terrycloth tank tops…. all made for a perfect day at Pipestem with family and friends.
The shelter to the right, the “giant” rocks in the center and to the left. Hard to believe it was 45 years ago that I played in those woods.
Back to 2021……
Check-in time arrived. Even though the young lady who checked us in was wearing a mask, I could see she smiled warmly the whole time. Her eyes crinkled. She had that West Virginia accent that has become even more obvious to me the longer I’ve lived away. “If y’all need anything at all, just dial zero from the phone in the cabin and that will connect you with us. We want y’all to have a wonderful stay with us here at Pipestem.”
Welcome to The Neighborhood
We drove the quarter mile to the cabin. Robbie had never stayed at or seen the inside of these cabins, (I have quite a few times), so I was eager for him to see it. When we walked in, he immediately felt at home and was ready to build a roaring fire in the stone fireplace.
It was 72 degrees outside, so I asked him to wait until it was actually cool. He was somewhat disappointed, but agreed.
We had 2 bedrooms, living room, full kitchen, bathroom, deck that overlooked the woods, and my favorite…crank out windows. I immediately cranked every. single. one. out so we could hear the outside and feel the mountain breezes.
Our abode for the weekend
One of the roads in our neighborhood
Our retro living room
I unpacked refrigerated items and began preparing for 4 guests that evening. After that, we took a walk through our weekend neighborhood. The cabin-dwellers to the left of us were unpacking their truck and threw up their hand and shouted a hearty “Hello!” We returned the greeting, to which they replied, “No better place to welcome in Spring, is there? Isn’t this wonderful?” Of course, we agreed. I looked at their tags—Ohio. Welcome to West Virginia, I thought.
Fast-forward 7 hours. We sat on the deck in the darkness, bellies full from a great dinner and roasted marshmallows, and listened to the night sounds. At that moment in time, there was no place I would rather have been.
Saturday morning was sunny. We loaded up the fishing poles and made the hike down to the lake. West Virginia Gold Rush was happening, so I was eager to slay some trout. I was prepared to be exhausted and sore from all the fish I would be reeling in, but I knew it was a small price to pay if I’m going to be a master fisherwoman. Plus, I had Super Duper and Power Bait. It was ON. (You can learn more about WV Gold Rush here.)
I just knew I’d catch Walter!
The walk down to the lake was much easier than the walk back.
Lake fishing
An hour later, not even a nibble. (In my defense, they hadn’t stocked that lake yet.) Didn’t matter though. I still spent an hour on the lake. In West Virginia. With my husband.
And I even bought the sweatshirt.
The clouds gathered and we knew rain was coming. We rode the back way to Hinton (I do NOT recommend it for those not familiar with driving narrow, curvy, partially washed out, on the side of a mountain roads). Hinton is adorable. I want to make another trip just to walk the sidewalks, get photos of the old architecture and brick streets, and eat at one of the locally owned restaurants there. But I digress…
After Hinton, to Athens we went—Moe’s specifically—I needed a pizza pie.
On the way back to Pipestem, hot pie on my lap, the rain poured down. I was eager to get back, listen to the rain in the woods, and Robbie would finally get to build that fire.
Husband was most proud of his fire
The next 4 hours saw pizza, a roaring fire replete with the crackle and pop and hiss, 4 games of poker, one game of Spades, and a fox sighting by Robbie (I always miss the wildlife!). We decided to head to The Black Bear Café, where we had more pizza (those who know me are not surprised) and wings. But first, the serendipitous trip to photograph God’s artwork with the gorge, the mountains, the sun, and the fog.
That night, we climbed into bed at 10:30. We knew more storms were coming in, and eagerly anticipated hearing the rumble of the thunder and the pattering of the rain on the roof. The storms didn’t disappoint. At 3:30 a.m., we were awakened when the thunder shook the cabin. While frightening to some, to me it was a melodic mountain lullaby. What a glorious ending to a magnificent weekend.
We set out on a Tuesday morning, headed north on I-77 for most of the trip. In one vehicle was Mom, Dad, Robbie, the Queen, & me. Meeting us at the hotel from the D.C. area were my brother & aunt Betty.
On the agenda was Moundsville, the West Virginia Penitentiary, downtown Wheeling & Independence Hall, Oglebay Park, and the suspension bridge on Wednesday, and Golden Palace on our way out Thursday. Lots to cram in to one day and one morning, but we did it. I have 854 photos to prove it (no worries—all won’t be posted here.)
All of us are native West Virginians except for the Queen, but she is by proxy. None of us had ever traveled to Wheeling, which is in the northern panhandle. You can create the shape of West Virginia by holding your hand in the air, palm facing you, thumb out, middle finger up, pointer, ring, & pinky fingers down. Wheeling would be at the very top part of your middle finger/northern panhandle. If you tried this, hopefully no one is sitting in front of you, or else you’ll have some explaining to do.
But I digress.
Like clowns in a clown car, all 7 of us piled into the mini-van and set out Wednesday morning (my sweet little mom sat in the very back with my brother and me—bless her heart.) First stop—Moundsville.
Pre-historic musings
Most things historical I’ve even been to have been—at the oldest—250-300 years old. The Grave Creek burial mound was begun somewhere between 250 – 150 B. C. by the Adena people. So when Jesus was across the pond feeding 5000 with some fish & bread, or calming storms & healing the sickly folk, the Adena people’s culture was already on its way out—had already made its mark in what would eventually be called “Wild, Wonderful West Virginia.”
Wow.
From below, I looked to the top & wondered what prompted the Adena people to choose that spot—that particular spot out of all the land around. After traversing a few hundred spiral steps that led me to the top, the 360* view offered a theory. It appeared this was smack-dab in the middle of the valley (I’m in WV, so I have to use our terms and descriptions,) and the view was beautiful. I imagined no roads, no houses, no power lines and bridges and 7-11’s. Indeed, whatever the Adena people’s belief in the afterlife, certainly this was their way of getting their loved ones to heaven just a bit quicker.
It felt reverent. Peaceful. I could have taken in the mountain breezes and soaked in the rays of the sun for hours. What a grand piece of history to experience.
Who knew that a giant mound of earth could blow my mind?
The museum was awesome, too. From Ron Hinkle glass, Homer Laughlin china, Marble King, and Pete Ballard fashion dolls—to dioramas of miniature Adena peoples building huts and killing mastodons and replicas of bones & authentic fossils found in the area on which I stood—all of it was not just educational but fascinating.
And of course, purchases from the gift shop were necessary. A blue “Grave Creek Mound” shirt for the Queen with the state of WV proudly displayed on it, a geode for me to crack with a hammer in hopes of finding crystals, and a WV-shaped magnet with “Grave Creek Mound” on it to display on our fridge were placed on the counter and rang up by a fellow Wonder Woman loving West Virginia gal (kindred spirits, yes?) Our first destination didn’t disappoint.
Next stop—across the street to the West Virginia State Penitentiary. Now, I’ve never really been fascinated by prisons, but this place had 3 things going for it. Location (West Virginia—duh,) architecture, and history. We didn’t expect to do the tour since it was 90 minutes long. We did, however, pass between the barbed wire fence and through the heavy doors to visit the now-gift shop.
It was creepy & cool all at the same time. The first thing you see when you go through the door is “Old Sparky,” the electric chair. Nearly 100 prisoners were either electrocuted or hanged here—which brings the creepy factor. This place was built just after the Civil War and is on the National Historic Register—which brings the cool factor.
West Virginia State Penitentiary
Old Sparky
It opened in 1866 and closed in 1995. In the gift shop, you could see artifacts in glass cases that included a rope that hanged the condemned, a letter from Charles Manson asking to be transferred there, and batons and uniforms of guards to name a few. Huge combo of creepy/cool there, too. (Sidenote: I noticed that while Charles Manson’s handwriting wasn’t terrible, his grammar & spelling were.)
Site number 3—downtown Wheeling, specifically Independence Hall.
Independence Hall, Wheeling, WV
Now, this place absolutely filled me with awe. Our home state was born here. We were enthusiastically greeted outside by a tour guide who was full of smiles and information. Upon entering, we met yet another lady who eagerly welcomed us into the historical site. We first went downstairs to watch a 15-minute movie that was a recreation of how it all unfolded. Made in 1977, the movie had that film-y sound even though it was now on DVD. It was just the 7 of us who sat in the dark on the church-like pews, watching on video the way our state came to be. I learned a lot in that quarter of an hour, information I’d never known in my 46 years. I’ll be completely honest here—I got choked up. The loyalty to my home state runs deep, as it does with most West Virginia natives. Seeing how it all came to be caused my roots of loyalty to run even deeper, my pride to swell even more (didn’t think that was even possible,) and my appreciation of West Virginia and our people to heighten.
After the movie, we made our way up to the first, then second, then third floors, relishing all the history and architecture and thankful for the preservation that has taken place. If I lived in Wheeling, this would totally be a place where I’d volunteer.
After a quick lunch, we headed to Oglebay Resort (locals seemed to pronounce it “Oglebee.”) Regardless of pronunciation, it’s beautiful. It was originally owned by a frontiersman named Silas Zane in the late 1700’s. After changing hands a few times, Earl Oglebay purchased it in 1900 and spent 25 years creating the beautiful estate and sparing no expense. He passed away in 1926 and willed it to the people of Wheeling, so long as they used it for the public.
We didn’t spend a lot of time there—just stopped to look at some gardens, have an ice cream, and buy a couple souvenirs. Oglebay Resort showed us a lot of deer, vacationers, flowers, and of course, provided that cleansing mountain breeze that seems to be unique to my home state.
Fountain & gardens at Oglebay Resort, Wheeling, WV
My only regrets are that I wasn’t there at 11:00 to visit the zoo, and that I didn’t bring any closed-toe shoes. Why? I could have had a hands-on experience with a two-toed sloth. Yes. A sloth. My favorite animal ever. I could barely look at the zoo sign when driving by it because I knew that just down the road there was a sloth.
After this full day, Tim, Robbie & I ventured out on our own and the rest of the crew chilled out at the hotel. The three of us were on the hunt for two things—a spot for me to get night photos of the suspension bridge, and a place to eat. The plan? Find the spot in the daylight. Go eat. Come back after dark. Take photos. Go back to the hotel.
The suspension bridge was awesome. On our way to Wheeling, I said I was eager to go across it. The tour guide at Independence Hall changed my mind, though. When we told her we were going to it, she quickly and emphatically shared that she has been across it once, and never again. A bridge built in 1849 of course didn’t have to pass all the regulations we have today. I quickly changed my mind about crossing it when I learned….
….there’s a weight limit of 2 tons
and
…vehicles must maintain a lengthy distance between them.
Why would they do that if there wasn’t a question about its integrity?
So, I decided I’d remain safely on the shore and take my photos, and cross the large, new, safe bridge that runs parallel to this old, historical, swaying, spooky, scary, unstable one.
Tim, Robbie, & I quickly find a place right by the entrance of the bridge where I’ll be able to set up my tripod and get some long-exposure shots of the bridge & river. Satisfied with the location, I tell Tim we can go on & find an eatery.
I hop in the backseat of his compact car and we pull out. Tim turns left (it’s a one-way street,) then right, then left again. Back toward where we were.
“Um, that road was one way, Tim. We won’t be able to do anything but make another circle.”
He continues on.
Robbie turns and looks at me with an evil grin as Tim drives up to the bridge’s red light (remember what I said about the limits?) There was nowhere to go but across.
My heart sinks, my stomach burns, and doing what all photographers do, I grab my camera. I remove the lens cap and let the two men in the front know that when they find my camera at the bottom of the Ohio River, they’ll see the last photos I ever took. The light turns green. I put the viewfinder up to my eye, and begin screaming, “WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE! OH MY GOSH, WE’RE GONNA DIE!”
Click
Click
Click
We’re All Gonna Die!
I continued taking photos through the bird-doody-covered windshield.
The car felt like it was doing mini-fish tails as we rode across the uneven iron surface. My heart pounded. I continued clicking. By golly, if this was my demise, I was going to document it.
We made it to the other side. My hand was too shaky to get a good smack to the back of my brother’s head, so instead, I called him a jerk—then thanked him. I knew, once I uploaded photos when I got home, I would have said, “Man, I wish I’d gone across that bridge!” Tim said he struggled with his decision to deceive me, buy my sweet husband convinced him it would be okay. (I’ll smack him later.)
We make our way to the Centre Market. Though still daylight, all the businesses were closed except for 2 eateries—“Later Gator” and “Vocelli’s”. We decided to keep looking, made a circle around the Centre Market, and on our way out, passed the local fire department guys outside on the street playing stickball. Next door to the station was a group of college-aged looking kids sitting on the stairs of what once was a church, but the sign outside read “Towngate Cinema,” so apparently it is now a theater.
As we passed, I said, “I wish I could’ve gotten some photos.” Without giving it thought, Tim turned the car around, and that’s what I did. I snapped photos of the firemen (with their permission, of course!) and while I did, my brother chatted with the young folks next door. Conveniently, they recommended Vocelli’s as a great place to eat. Locals always know, so we took their advice.
Wheeling Fire Department guys playing stickball
And they weren’t wrong.
We went inside the small restaurant & ordered, then went outside to dine al fresco. I had a salad, Robbie had a turkey club, Tim had cheese pizza & salad, and of course, Robbie & I had to get pepperoni rolls since we were in West Virginia (Tim had garlic rolls—he’s vegetarian—and he said they were awesome, too.) The pepperoni rolls were absolutely the best I’d ever had in my life. Ever.
Scenes near Centre Market
Dining al fresco
With our bellies full and the sun down, we headed to the suspension bridge so I could get nighttime photos. What an awesome end to an awesome day.
Scariest bridge I’ve ever crossed, but most awesome.
Ohio River as seen from Wheeling Island
Sweet Bessie & Some Peacocks
The next day we left about 10:00 a.m. and headed to The Palace of Gold at New Vrindaban, about 45 minutes from the hotel. The grounds were covered in ornate buildings, two temples, thousands of flowers, a lotus pond, cabins, a vegan Indian restaurant, a gift shop, and a lake. Because of the Krishna’s view of cows, they’re protected (read: tame) and cared for until they die. I was able to do something I’ve always wanted to do—pet a cow. And I did! They were so clean and soft, and they ate grass right out of our hands. Peacocks and a peahen (maybe there were more, but I saw only one,) roamed the grounds by the lake, and bullfrogs were evidenced only by their croaking. The visit was tranquil, and the scenery, of course, breathtakingly beautiful.
We headed south to Morgantown and stopped at Chili’s for dinner. From there, we parted ways—my brother & aunt went back to Northern Virginia and the rest of us to Southwest Virginia. We all agreed we needed another few days to take in the sights of Wheeling & the surrounding area, to show some love to the northern panhandle we’d all but neglected. The area is rich in history. Beautiful in scenery. Full of hospitality. And a sloth lives there.
October 19, 1987 was the most traumatic day in my life up to that point. For 4 weeks after the event I was sick on my stomach, I was depressed, I had bouts of crying. No one could console me. No words brought comfort. Life as I knew it had ended and I felt I was doomed to a life of melancholic existence. What happened?
I moved away from West Virginia.
I vividly remember when I was told about the upcoming M-Day (moving day.) It was a hot July afternoon, I was at my friend Regina’s house (down from the old Finks Cafeteria for those of you familiar with the area,) and Mom called and said that Dad was taking a job in Virginia. I just knew she was joking, for my parents would never uproot me in my junior year of high school. After all, the world did revolve around my 16 year-old life. But alas, she was serious, and to be honest, I remember nothing else after putting the phone down.
I knew the move was a possibility as I’d heard my parents discussing it. I forewarned Dad that if he moved me from Princeton, I would start dating a guy named Spike who rode a Harley and I’d get a tattoo on my nether region. When the move was confirmed, I made a note to self: Look for Harley-riding guys named Spike (with a clause that I’d not told Dad about—he had to have finished school and was also a career man with great morals, ethics and values and loved his parents.)
The move came and went. I traded phone calls and letters with all my friends back home. I anticipated visits with eagerness, but I finally settled in to my new life, my new house, my new high school. I made friends easily and even found myself liking where I was. One thing was for sure, however…..West Virginia would always be my home.
Why West Virginia?
So what is it about the state of West Virginia? Is it the beautiful majestic mountains? No, Tennessee has mountains. North Carolina has mountains. Is it the fact it has 4 seasons in all their grandeur? No, where I live now has them, as do many other areas. Is it the pretty license plates, the unique accents, the tasty mountain cuisine where almost everything is flavored with bacon grease and the pinto bean is a food group? No on all accounts. What is it then? It’s the people.
The state of West Virginia is like one big homestead. Those who make fun of us West Virginians by saying we’re all kin are partially right. While we are not inbreeds (oh how ignorant some can be) we are all a family. All one has to do to experience the familial commonality is visit another state, run into someone from West Virginia while waiting in line at the Burger Chef, and mention that you, too, hail from the beloved state. Inevitably you’ll discover that your great-great Aunt Hazel used to babysit their cousin, who still proudly wears the title of Miss Rhododendron 1951. You’ll also be graced with the information that gout sometimes causes Miss Rhododendron “take to the bed” and she’s not been able to make her famous fried apple pies in quite some time because of it. It’s almost a guarantee that you’ll leave the burger joint with an address and phone number scribbled on a napkin stained with ketchup.
My love for West Virginia is what caused me to dress all my wedding attendants in WVU jerseys. And pay an ungodly amount for a WVU cake topper with the flowers the bride is holding painted Old Gold and Blue. And have “Take Me Home Country Roads” played as our recessional song. Just look at—and think about—these lyrics:
*Almost heaven, West Virginia
Blue Ridge mountains, Shenandoah river
Life is old there, older than the trees
Younger than the mountains, blowing like a breeze
Country roads, take me home
To the place, I belong
West Virginia, mountain momma
Take me home, country roads
All my memories, gather ’round her
Miners lady, stranger to blue water
Dark and dusty, painted on the sky
Misty taste of moonshine, teardrop in my eye
Country roads, take me home
To the place, I belong
West Virginia, mountain momma
Take me home, country roads
I hear her voice, in the mornin’ hour she calls me
The radio reminds me of my home far away
And drivin’ down the road I get a feeling
That I should have been home yesterday, yesterday
Country roads, take me home
To the place, I belong
West Virginia, mountain momma
Take me home, country roads
Is there a true West Virginian out there who can listen to this song without getting teary eyed? Without singing it at the top of one’s lungs? Impossible, I say!
I have wondered if my sentimentality is only because I no longer live there. Robbie, my husband who is also a “transplant”, has the same love for our state. We’re both in agreement that there are no people like West Virginia people.
How do you feel?
I’d love to hear from those who have never left West Virginia—do you feel this way? And those who were born there yet have moved away, do you miss it? Have you found this same loyalty to which I refer? Oh yes, and is there anyone….anyone who can sing along with Mr. Denver and not drop a tear?
I do feel I should have been home yesterday….yesterday….
Hokes Mill Covered Bridge, Greenbrier County
Camp Creek, WV
460 West, Mercer County
Beckley, WV Exhibition Mine
Pinnacle Rock, Mercer County
Bramwell, Mercer County
Pinnacle Rock State Park, Mercer County
*”Take Me Home, Country Roads” was written by Bill Danoff, Taffy Nivert, and John Denver
As some of you already know, I recently became unemployed for the first time since 2011, so Robbie and I have begun content creating. (He’s more part of the content, and I, the creator.)
