celebration of lines

Pat and I recently celebrated our ninth wedding anniversary. We have a tradition most years of spending the weekend in Red River Gorge in Kentucky. We love it there. I am a huge fan of tradition, so going to the same place to do the same thing each year is pretty meaningful to me. Seeing the same incredible rock formations, walking the same paths. (Okay. We tried a new one this year, but we're going to go back to the old rough trail again next time.) This year, I noticed that the enormous fallen tree that had been uprooted my first time there now looks fairly unimpressive. Some things change, I guess.

At one point, I turned the camera around and snapped a picture of myself. Glancing at the picture, I realized my face is to be counted among the "things that change." I hadn't really noticed it. Some of you will say you still don't, but it's happening. I have some places eager to wrinkle here. A couple places have made a habit of it. Part of me wants to panic; part of me wants to just say that the corners of my eyes and my forehead are just settling into the shape that suits them. It's just that I looked pretty much exactly the same for ten years and, well, now I don't.

You may have seen a video circulating that compares the marks children leave on women's bodies to various beautiful marks in nature. Maybe it's because I had seen the video. Maybe it's because I've always enjoyed noticing the lines growing and eroding in the Gorge. Maybe it's because I like taking too many pictures. But I spent a bit noticing the lines of time and change around me that weekend while realizing in a new way how time, growth, impact, friction, and movement leave their marks. Rising up and eroding away, growing and decaying, stretching and shrinking back can have a way of beautifully occupying the same space. Too bad it's a struggle to appreciate the beauty of time on a face (especially our own) in the same way we appreciate the way these forces impact the rest of the natural world. Of course we grow in wisdom and beauty on the inside, but I'm going to choose to believe what happens concurrently on the outside serves only to emphasize the goodness of that inward progression.

Here are my observations on lines of growth and change in Red River Gorge. Lines marking growth, lines of imperfection and idiosyncrasy, lines from holding on, lines from letting go, lines of protection, lines of newness, lines from fading away, lines that help you see, lines marking great feats, outlines of tear-drops, lines of companionship, lines of separation, lines from miles traveled, lines going deep. 

 

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P.S. For another of my gleanings from this time in nature, head over to my other blog: godsmountainpeople

Enriching roots

the family tree that hangs in my grandma's house

I mean the title of this blog in many ways. I like trees and the various parts of them. I like the idea of always stretching higher and never ceasing to grow; I also like being anchored and growing deep in a place. I had the pleasure of sitting down with my Grandma a couple weeks ago to look at old pictures. I had come only hoping for pictures of my Grandma as a young girl. I would never have expected such an exploration of my roots as I got. Since so many generations of my family spent at least some of their lives in the same fold of Black Mountain as I did, I was able not only to look at pictures, but to drive to the places where my relatives lived and worked. I came away feeling even more anchored to the people and the place they called home for a time. It is a wonderful place to grow from.

Last year I started watching and listening to Henry Louis Gates, Jr. explore the family line of various famous people. I've never considered myself much of a history buff, but learning about how individuals came to be who and where they are is fascinating to me. I'm not very impressed by genealogies as a list of names without faces or stories. There is very little for me to connect to in just a name. But back to Henry Louis Gates. I first became interested in watching a documentary on him tracing the roots of famous African Americans, trying to trace them back to Africa. Because that task is so difficult in the case of African Americans, what with the splitting of families and the taking of masters' last names in the era of slavery, I saw what a treasure finding those people (even their names) and their stories truly is.

Alfred and Martha Peters,
my great-great-great grandparents

Right: Ira Peters, my great-great grandfather

Of course, not long afterwards, I reflected that I had never bothered to gather this information about my own family. But there I was, sitting with my Grandma, when it landed in my lap. "This is your great-great Grandpa." (He's the one on the bottom right, with the darker eyes.) His name was Ira Peters. He wasn't originally a Peters, though. We don't know what he was. He was left on the Peters's doorstep as a baby and they raised him. I never knew there was an adoption in my family! I happen to think adoption is pretty cool. Of course, this means I can't trace any medical history back further than Ira Peters, but it's a small price to pay, really. :) This is the family his birth mom knew would take good care of him. Their names were Alfred (1830-1910) and Martha Peters (1830-1900). I don't know any other stories about them, but it looks like great-great-great Grandpa Peters might easily crack a smile.

Lucy (Martin) Peters,
my Mamaw's mom

Lucy (Martin) Peters,
my great-great grandma

So Ira was born in 1861. That means the Peters were 31 when they became his parents. In 1891, when Ira was 30, he married Lucy Martin, who my Grandma calls Grandma Peters. He died in 1908, around age 47.  Lucy, though, lived to be 90. My Grandma knew her and she actually died in the house where we were talking. She was my great-great-grandma. But I knew my great-grandma, Mamaw, so to me this lady doesn't feel far removed; she's Mamaw's mom. I loved seeing pictures of her. She must've been some kind of tough lady. Grandma said that since Ira had died young, she was left to raise (I think it was 6?) kids by herself. So she ran a farm and raised the kids herself. She made sure they all (including the girls) got an education, which was not common back then. I admire this lady. Just look at her. In every picture (and there are several), she looks so spunky and no-nonsense.

Mamaw Sherman in front of her house
up Gap Branch in Lynch, KY

Clifford and Gertrude Sherman,
my Papaw and Mamaw Sherman,
my great-grandparents

So "Grandma Peters" lived to be 90 and had a lot of kids. One of them was my Mamaw, Gertrude (Peters) Sherman. Mamaw was born in 1899, I believe. She lived to be 100, which means our lives overlapped until I started college. She married my great-grandpa, Clifford, and they had 6 kids. I knew each of them to a great or lesser extent. Here are a couple shots of them that I like. (I knew my "Papaw Sherman" too...but I'm just following the women here, for brevity's sake.)
She and Papaw Sherman raised their family up Gap Branch in one of the little houses built by the coal company for its employees. Grandma once called it Shack 11, but immediately made sure to let me know how nice they had made the place. Later, they moved a few miles up the valley to Cumberland, to the house where I was sitting with my Grandma. I remember celebrating her birthday every year in that house with family and a few family friends. We crammed 50-70 people in their house and all tried to come close enough to see the cake when we sang "Happy Birthday."
Mamaw Sherman raised her own six children, who are or were fine people to know and I knew/know them each, since everyone who was ever related to my Mamaw has never stopped getting together for family reunions twice a year. (We usually only make one of them, though.) Mamaw also took in her aging mother for the last five years of her life. When she was 60, she started raising one of her grandsons and did a very fine job.

Juanita Sherman around age 14
my grandma

my Papaw and Grandma when they were dating

One of the children she raised was my Grandma, who was born in 1930. She was a cute little girl from all the pictures. I'm not sharing them all here, but I plan to make good use of them. :) She grew up in Lynch during the Depression. When she was 19, she married my Papaw, Jim Slusher, who was one of the orneriest men I've ever known. We all loved him for it. They got married in 1949 and were married over 50 years before he died when I was in college. They lived in Lynch, too, mostly downhill from where Grandma grew up on Gap Branch. Grandma told me how glad she was to move into their little (but "bigger" to them) house that had two bedrooms plus one that was converted from a little porch. They raised their four kids there -- a fact which amazes us all when we think about it. I think it was around 1992 or so that they moved in with Mamaw and Papaw Sherman to take care of them as they were getting older. (Grandma would talk about when the older generation stopped "keeping house," a phrase I like a lot. It's a good job description.) She has always quietly taken care of whatever needed done, making it seem effortless. She is still very good at keeping house, and we were well-fed during our stay with food she had grown just down the hill.

My dad and his cousins in Mamaw's yard. That's him on
the left in the loud pants. He says I don't understand.

My mom and dad when they were younger than I am now

Grandma's second child and first son was my Dad, James. Unfortunately, I didn't scan many pictures of him on this trip, though this one stood out! My mom thought he looked cute, I guess. They got married 35 years ago and lived in the town between Lynch (where my dad grew up) and Cumberland (where my mom grew up): Benham. I grew up there until 1990. Like his dad, my dad was a coal miner and worked in Lynch. (My great-grandpa, Papaw Sherman, had a job working the trains at the mine in Lynch.) In 1990, my dad was one of many coal miners laid off and we moved to central Kentucky, where I spent the second half of my childhood. My parents still live in the house I grew up in there. We visited the mountains often, since it is where both sides of my family are from.

In 1981, James and Libby Slusher had a daugher: me! Four years later, they also had a son, but he'd be mad if I re-posted the picture I scanned of him here! :) I wonder what parts of all these people ended up in this little face and how much of my personality was handed directly to me from some of the people in these pictures.

little me

I feel so rich! I have all these pictures on my computer to share. I felt rich hearing personal accounts of years and people I never knew. I feel rich being able to talk to and spend time with my Grandma, who still works as hard as women half her age! I feel rich because I knew and remember four of my great-grandparents. I feel rich hearing of the hardship that had to be overcome in order for things to work out for me to even exist! My family is made of people who were born in and who took in. My family was a group of hard-working people from the mountains of Kentucky, largely coal miners and teachers. They lived long lives and each generation cared for their parents in their old age. We raised our own food (still do to an extent!) and loved sharing food together. We weren't rich in money, but each generation did very well with what they had. It is a proud legacy I hope to carry on. Thanks for letting me share some of it with you!

me and my Grandma after looking through all these pictures
(same place as the picture of my dad in those pants!)

Salt in the Mountains

God made the earth. We live in it. We fill it up. We use it. It is a gift. Sometimes we think about being stewards of it, taking good care of it; sometimes we don't. There are all kinds of groups that talk about the use of land, but we don't often see the church involved in the discussion -- at least not the church as such. And I think that's too bad. Individuals in the church may participate or have opinions, but often we think of ourselves as people with opinions instead of as God's people who are given a distinct role as the salt of the earth in the places where we live. Given that we believe earth itself was the first of all the good gifts God gave us, we deserve a place to encourage, pray about, and give thanks for the land we call home.

Anyone I know who was born in Appalachia, no matter how long ago or how far they've been removed from the area, considers that place home. If Mary and Joseph traveled back to Bethlehem for their census, we'd travel there. It is the place we answer to. It is also a place we will answer for.

Because Christians have personal relationships with the creator of the universe, it makes sense that we would have a uniquely valuable voice in conversations about the blessings He has given us. And, though we often praise God as creator, the image conjured up (at least in my mind) is often of the entire cosmos. Just as it would be strange for me to praise God for his overall goodness without praising Him for his specific goodness in my life, so it is strange to praise God for his overall creation without praising Him for the very land we call home. This is a relatively new idea to me, though it is a very old idea -- from as far back as our relationship goes. Maybe it's an idea forgotten to many, since I have yet to run across a forum on the subject. And so I begin the discussion. Well, not I...we.

I have started a new blog: God's Mountain People. I have a couple other contributors already and we are excited to work together on this project. We hope you'll join us. Together, we will be celebrating our heritage and God's gifts that are unique to Appalachia. We welcome all God's Mountain People to join in the discussion. I will be happy to edit and post your stories, thoughts, and words of praise as their own entries to the blog. We welcome all interested in learning more about what it means to be a Christian from a particular local place and time to listen in and comment away! Please share the link and tell your friends. We want as many readers and participants as we can get!

you can say to this mountain....

I think this is take on the impossible week for me. I'll slip into my "disclaimer voice" and tell you I'm involved in things every day that only God can make right. I suppose that's true even just because I wake up in my own skin. But this week, I've been praying for the faith to move mountains -- or, you know, not.

On one hand, I'm trying for faith to move mountains that stand between us and going to see our friends. For that to happen, a girl needs to be strengthened enough to go home and we need over $1000 more dollars. We have been blown away by people's generosity thus far and really moved to tears that people would come together to help make this happen.

On the other hand, I'm fighting against mountains that are being moved -- real ones. And these not by faith, but by big machines run by few people. I came to Kentucky this week to attend I Love Mountains day. My cousin (okay..maybe he's my 2nd or 3rd cousin. What is your dad's cousin's son?) who lives back where I'm from in Harlan County told me about it and was gracious enough to take me with him. I have never attended a protest in my life. And I know there are so many issues about justice that are worthy of being championed. But I've been really impressed in reading a little Wendell Berry with the idea that the best way to solve big problems is to work locally. I feel powerless against so many of the world's problems, but this is my hometown and this is what is happening to it, and this is a problem I am qualified to address. (Bottom image is from the State Journal, the Frankfort, KY newspaper; I couldn't climb that high.)

I don't think I can outline all my reasons for going here in this post, because it takes me a lot longer than that to be succinct. But I'm working on it. What I can say is that I long to hear news of back home and truly desire for it to prosper. I know that coal is VERY important to the people of that area. Coal is truly the only reason any of the towns back in those mountains exist. But I hope there is a future there and I want to encourage people to look for it. Coal is not the future for my hometown. Yes, there is coal left in the mountains, but if you have to actually destroy the mountain to get to it, it is not worth getting to. People cannot afford jobs that cost them their health. You cannot buy your way out of cancer or birth defects. Besides that, I think destroying something like an entire mountain in order to get a stripe or two out of it is prideful and wrong. Sentences like that can sound really arrogant coming from an adult, but the child in us knows it's true.

On the way down, I told Iz why we were making the late-night drive from Muncie to Kentucky. "You remember when we went to the mountains where Granny lives?"
"Yeah."
"Well, there are some people who want to tear down that mountain."
"But WHY?!"
"Well, because people can make money doing it."
"But they CAN'T!"
"Well, yes, they can. But I'm going down there to ask them not to."
"But, they can't just do that!"
The next day, before I left for the protest, I asked if there was anything he wanted to say about the mountains.
"Well, those mountains are good for walking around on, but we aren't going to do that, anymore."
"Why not?"
"Because there aren't going to be any mountains."

The apple didn't fall too far from the tree in terms of realism vs. optimism, I guess. Maybe he just already has a great understanding of human nature and the way of the world. I hope not. And I sure hope he's wrong.

I don't know if we changed anyone's mind by protesting, but we did draw attention to the issue. And we empowered ourselves to be the one who will do something about it. One man (who was walking on stilts) held up the quote about how all it takes for evil to prevail is for good people to do nothing. I try not to make good guys and bad guys in these matters, but there is definitely a hard but right decision vs. an easy but terrible one here. And all it takes for the terrible decision to be made is for the rest of us to feel like there's nothing we can do about it. But I'm doing something. And especially if this is a local issue to you (did you know those of us in Indiana get our electricity from the destruction of mountains?), I want you to know that you can do something about it. I'm no college student and I'm not a hippie. But I can go to a protest. My brain isn't as articulate as it was a few years ago, perhaps, but I can write letters. No one leaves comments on my blog, but I can write entries to influence whoever I can. :) So I do. I'm going to do whatever I can, because it beats doing nothing. And I'm not alone.

saving home

If you know me very well, you know I am not a Hoosier. I am a Kentuckian. If you hear me complain about Indiana, it's because I say it's ugly. I love the people I know here and I know this is where I am supposed to be, and I love it here for those reasons. But in winter when the snow is melted and all you see is brown mud fields or when it's a beautiful day and I have to drive forever to get to what feels like decent hiking, perhaps this will help you understand why. This is the main street where I am from.
And this is a picture I took two summers ago of the street where I grew up. That was my house on the right. How far do you have to go to be out in nature here? Maybe down the street. Indiana can't top that. I found the rest of these pictures online, but I know these places without needing to read captions. I moved when I was only nine, but this is home to me. Both sides of my family are from the same little wrinkle in the mountains.

This is Black Mountain, the highest point in Kentucky that hugs the town where I lived as a kid. This picture must have been taken from Kingdom Come State Park, which overlooks my Grandma's house. I once climbed this slope with my Grandma and her cocker spaniel to sit and look down on our towns from here.


We would cross Black Mountain either once a week or once a month to go to the "big" grocery store in Virginia. I remember this curve well. It's near the top of the mountain. Whenever I get the chance to visit my Grandma at her house, (which isn't very often since it's 8 hours away) I try to drive at least part of the way up the mountain. This is where I learned the difference between right and left, as my dad navigated the turns. One of the last times I visited, my aunt warned me not to drive all the way to the top to see the Virginia side. (The Kentucky-Virginia border is at the top of the mountain.) She said it would break my heart. So I didn't go. I like remembering it the way I remember it.

Today, one of my cousins posted a link to an article that showed the Virginia side of the mountain.
This is strip mining. It is where they strip the mountain down -- of trees, of rocks, of itself -- to rake out strips of coal. Words that come to mind are: rape, pillage, mar, destroy, greed, and instant gratification. I don't want this to happen to my hometown. If the picture doesn't tell the whole story, just think of what this does to the water that currently filters through the mountain! And how quickly this can be done. And how it can never be undone. Not even if the trees grow back years from now. Mountains don't look like this. At least they shouldn't.

So my aunt made a facebook event to encourage people to write the governor. The State Division of Mining already issued a permit to strip mine here. That has been put on hold pending study by the EPA. The article said the decision would end up on the desk of a man named Leonard K. Peters. If you read this and are outraged at the state's decision to destroy this part of our country (and it truly is a national treasure, even if it is a small one. I can go to the Muncie Public Library and check out videos about this place. PBS has done documentaries on it...) please write to Mr. Peters at the link above and the governor of Kentucky here. I'm doing whatever I can to protect this place. Please join me.

7th anniversary trip

This weekend, thanks to the generosity of family and friends, Pat and I were able to get away to our "yearly" camping trip. (I say "yearly" because it has not happened since the kids were born.) For our anniversary, our favorite thing to do is to spend a night camping in Red River Gorge.

This was our first time being just the two of us without our kids. (Yes, we also left them in the capable care of my parents a couple weeks ago, but that was to go to a conference with thousands of people and we shared a hotel room with friends of ours. Not the same.) I was looking forward to being out in the woods -- my favorite woods -- with just me, Pat, God, and the trees. We spent the first night in a cabin, since we arrived after dark. It was a perfect little cabin with no electricity or running water, but a gas stove we could turn on to keep warm. It was glorious waking up in the woods the next morning! I even liked the little outhouse!

~waking up in the woods~

We spent the next day finding a camp site, since ours was taken. Pat kept reminding me that it's not "ours," but I still say it is. It can be a lot of other people's, too, as it obviously was this weekend, but it's still ours. We found a new, nice camp site and went on a new trail, and they were both just fine. But they weren't our favorite camp site and our favorite trail. Pat kept feeling anxious about always doing the same thing every year, and I was curious, too, since the forest is large and there are many trails through it. But after trying the new, we went back to the old favorite trail (Rough Trail, west of 715, for those familiar with the area) the next morning. It's kind of nice to be affirmed in your belief that you had already found the best..for both of us, I think.

I am not sure what I expected from the weekend. We prayed when we got there, inviting God into the time and we tried to listen for Him all weekend. I may have expected to hear something new from Him. I often feel I hear His voice in the rustling of many leaves. But I didn't hear the new direction for the next year of our marriage or anything like that. We read through some of the note cards we received on our wedding day (maybe we even read yours...). We re-read our vows to each other. We talked through some of the bests and worsts of the last seven years. We recounted lives ended and lives begun. We spent time silently being together and listening in some of our favorite places. We listened to music that has been meaningful to us over the years. It was nice.

~where we read our vows~

But I didn't hear anything life-changing. There are things we hope to do better going forward, of course, but nothing crazy. What was apparent, though, in reading cards from people and our vows, is that we're still about the things we've always been about. On the day I first read the cards or first wrote the vows, I may have imagined the life's work referenced in them to happen with that group there rather than this group here or in that way rather than in this way, but it's amazing and comforting that, with all that has changed (neighborhood, church, kids, friends, culture, etc.) there is so much that hasn't changed (working with kids, opening our home to others, being concerned with being good neighbors, and having our life's mission being about reconciliation, which was the theme for our wedding).

So often I feel like I have become merely the things I do. I don't know if it's the work that we do, the fact that we have young kids, or just human nature, but so often I get caught up in "I do this," and "I do that," that I forget that I am a person apart from those things. And Pat is a person apart from the things he does. This weekend, remembering all the things and people we love, we could just be ourselves apart from having to do anything. (And this is even to the point of setting aside the "having" to remember or document to share later!) It was good to be able to get away from responsibilities to just be ourselves, apart from the things we do, with which we too easily identify. It was good to find that we are still the same people we've known and still on the track God apparently had in mind from the foundation of our marriage.

We count ourselves blessed by God's faithfulness and your friendship, for some of you stood with us on that day seven years ago and others of you we had not even imagined! We are glad to be in this together.