finally, some movement.

Check out my new project over at Seeking the Hollows.

17 pounds heavier upon return

So I made it back!  I am not in a ditch or some where off the side of a mountain.

I got to a certain point in my trip where it was time to focus on a lot of other things, and the travel-blog sort of took a back seat.  But, now I am back and going through a lot of processing of what I saw, and heard, and learned already even.  I am not ready to articulate it yet, you'll just have to keep checking back.

At the end of the day (week?), it was an amazing trip.  God is good, and He is very faithful.

I am doing another type of processing as well.  I bought 17 pounds of peaches at one of those pick your own farms on my way back since I had the truck.  Tonight was my first adventure into canning, and it smelled delicious at least.  Peach butter, and then a spiced peach butter, and then a bit of an experiment with spiced basil peach butter.  I am thinking about keeping this up and using the funds to off set future trips.  Let me know if you want to buy a jar!

Zip: 25812; Coal: 72.8%

Well, I am out of energy.  Even though I slept 12 hours yesterday, tent sleeping on a slope is not the most refreshing.  I was seriously out before the sun was gone last night.  

 

So let me give a bit of a summary post tonight:

Notable anecdotes, no online spoilers, you'll have to ask in person: 

-60's Roadside Attraction Military-style Coup

-Jack Spratt & His Wife, and the Grandkids, and Fifi & Bruiser, and the Jones'

-Grafton Supply and Demand

Miles travelled:  approx. 843  (averaging 18 mpg, which is 3 more than expected, Score!)

Money spent:  Let's skip this one until I look at my bank statements...

Gifts acquired on the tertiary goal of trip, antiquing: 3

New hobby furthered by trip: canning

Tonight I am crashing with the cool kids at Christians for the Mountains at ground zero (or one of many ground zeros) for MTR, in Ansted, WV.   They have already been super helpful in the 2 hours I have been here. 

Right.  Time to crash.

Truth: We can't all be bodybuilder Grannys.

Yesterday, I was praying while driving and, I began with, "God, what the hell am I doing?  What is it that I am looking for out here?"  I feel so distracted, when there are all these things I should be doing for this project.  I should be talking to anyone I can about their opinion on and relationship to coal.  Instead my attentions are stolen by daydreaming and judgement.  That led me to my common recited prayer of "God fix A, B, & C that are drawing my focus away from the vision you have given me."  I was racked with guilt about my inability to concentrate on what I thought should me my primary focus.

Then God threw the brakes on.  The message He gave me yesterday was very plain: "Quit fussing."  It was a hard one to hear for me.  A friend in college told me "Jenn, guilt is from the Devil, conviction is from God."  I will take it a step further and say, "Conviction is from God, guilt is from separation from God."  I was definitely feeling guilty, not convicted.  For the sake of you guys who suffer the same self-demand, let me lay it out.

"Quit fussing."   What if I am not broken as I think, or in the way I think?  God made mankind in His image.  All of me.  Those root parts of my being, beyond the superficial layers, the things I really know about myself, they are in one way or another a reflection of God.  Some of my traits might not look like a reflection of God after sin comes into the picture, but the foundation just might look a little like the Lord.  

Anger is not condemned in the Bible, it is just restricted to righteous anger against injustice and defamation of the Lord.  God sees and loves where the stubborn comes from.  He loves and knows the character traits that have resulted in my over-obsession with details.  I am not saying that our human developments on all these things are right or good, but "in the beginning" it was.  

Asking God to "cure" my stubbornness restricts his room to move.   It's like those stories of Granny's lifting cars off little kids; we wouldn't be so amazed if we knew all the Granny's were bodybuilders.  Paul gives this account in 2 Corinthians 12:7-10, 

"To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong."  

In our weakness He is strong.  Not, how I have always read it, "in our weakness He will make us better to show His strength."  Just as God does not promise an easy life, He does not promise to take away our thorns, but promises to use the very things that vex us.  It makes me smile.  One of those exhausted, "okay, fine, you're right again" kind of smiles.

By constantly condemning all the things I think are wrong about me, I have restricted God's room to move.   So much time in prayer is spent praying for my "thorns"  to be removed instead of being drawn closer to God.  But then I remember Julian of Norwich's exertion that our prayers would be best spent simply praising and glorifying God, that the only true petition we need to bring before him is, "God, let your glory be shown."  His promises of clothing us more than the lillies, of never abandoning us, those promises are enough.  When we know them way deep down, as a part of our base understanding of how God works, how our lives work, we don't need to petition God to take care of us.  We already know it and can instead sing praises for the work he is already doing.

Jesus promises to open doors when we knock on them.   He promises, and to say, "Well, it depends if I am at the right door.  And He might not want to open it right now, anyway," is a plain cop out.  You can drive yourself in circles trying to answer these types of questions.  I know; I do.  Instead, I am trying to cling to the truth and promise of Matthew 21:22, "If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer."

God promises to be an active presence, and I believe that He already begun, that He is moving and realigning the desires of my heart to match His own.  Without believing it has begun, at least to some extent, I am left confused and scared about when will it start, and maybe He is waiting for me to be ready, and what about making a living?  The truth is, it's not about my timing; my timing sucks.  I will never be readied for God to come begin His work through me.  God's timing is better than ours, and they rarely seem to match up.

Believing God is already active in me means trusting myself more.  I am led more by intuition than anything else.  And you know what?  I think that that's probably okay.

Blogged from Java Joint, Charles Town, WV-  Zip: 25414; Coal: 72.8%

Zip: 25425; Coal: 72.8%

Here's my profile for tonight.

Well, yesterday was my birthday, and today was the first day of the rest of my life.   Maybe not nearly as dramatic as that.  After driving off and on for 12 hours, it's a slow start, but a good one.

The quick update for the night follows; more tomorrow morning, I promise.

Middlesex, PA for lunch where I tried scrapple for the first time.  I debated if I wanted salty or sweet, and went with french toast on the waitress's (Tamra's) suggestion.  The scrapple was so salty, which might be normal, that it took care of any savory cravings that I might have been looking to satisfy.  Grossly salty, Dan, just gross.  Papa, you might like it, though.

Driving south west after that I saw a sign for Home Depot, where I picked up a few loose ends. 

Gettysburg Apples

Pulling out to hit the highway again, I saw a sign for Gettysburg in the other direction.

Momma had suggested I go, and frankly, I have the time so left it was instead of right.  Two antique markets later, Gettysburg is 6000 acres of "intense" combined with tourist.  Some of the memorial statues were "refreshingly honest". 

Gettysburg, 3rd day battlefield

Then Shephardstown; now Harpers Ferry (not possessive "s") for internet machine and sleeping  by the blessings of a game of 6-degrees to Kevin Bacon.

Phew.

Good to know.

Foiled by the Chicago short "a" again. My apologies.
It's not Apple-aye-chia; It's Appa-latcha.




...I think.


Appal-ay-shun?

My name is Jenn, and I am a romantic.

I know most of my weaknesses. Okay, many of them. (And this is not the invitation to point out what you always thought was wrong about me.) We all have weaknesses, it's just a matter of what we choose to do with them.

My penchant for the romantic, the 18th century "sublime/romanticism" type, not the Danielle Steele type, can sometimes be like blinders. Wholehearted sentimentality is a burden when you sincerely embrace it as part of who you are. I am guilty of founded and unfounded nostalgia alike. And I am a flea market bum. I know all these things, and have thus far not made moves to change them. They are weaknesses to be sure, but are deeply rooted in my values and not likely to change before August first.

Because I recognize this, I am taking active steps to try and neutralize any romantic ideas that have built up over time in me about Appalachia and the people there, primarily created, and now fought, through reading. I want to be fair and have as few expectations as I can. I know I am highly influenced by what I read (another weakness), and have tried to be careful in my reading selection. But last weekend I ran into a complication. I read a academic paper written by two professors, Ronald Lewis and Dwight D. Billings, called "Appalachian Culture and Economic Development". In their argument about cultural perception, they condemn just about every type of literary/poetic expression depicting Appalachia, save Frederick Law Olmsted's edition on the region entitled "A Journey in the Back Country", in which the only distinction he recognizes between the Deep South and Appalachian people is the mountains they live in. "They were just poor people" where ever they were.

Lewis and Billings say most popular portrayals are based on the "myth of Appalachia". The Myth is made of everything that goes into the general stereotype of Appalachian people. You know it, straight out of Deliverance: illiterate, no shoes, less teeth than shoes, drunk, prone to depression. The Myth goes all the way back to the "first" American folk song, "New England's Annoyances". The "Annoyances" is my favorite example used in the report; allow me expansion. Dated circa 1630 the "poem is a self-depreciation of New England's farmers poking fun at Englishmen who regarded the colonists as 'rustic hicks' who lived disheveled lives of grinding poverty". The anti-RedCoat song explains clothing for instance:
"And now do out Garments begin to grow thin.
An Wool is much wanted to card and to spin;
If we can get a Garment to cover without,
Our other In-Garments are Clout upon Clout;
Out Clothes we brought with us are apt to be torn,
They need to be clouted soon after their worn;
But clouting our Garments they hinder us nothing;
Clouts double are warmer than single whole Clothing."
Now for the life of me I cannot understand how that was written as a self-depreciation against someone else, but the point is taken that being known from wearing underclothes that are "Clout upon Clout" (a clout is a patch) is not the ideal way to start for characterization as a region. But if Lewis and Billings are right, then there is nearly nothing "creative" for me to read about the region that will give me an idea of what I am making my way toward.

What a bummer!

I don't even mean creative as in "a creative look at things", but as in, not academic, not scientific; I would settle for "approved" journal entries!

I am not so naive as to think a stroll through the Cumberland Gap is going to lead me to Jodie Foster pushing daises in the eyeballs holes of her dead mother's skull; I am pretty sure she is still alive anyway. I don't know I would have the guts to drink real moonshine if I came across it for fear of lead and adelhyde poisoning. I am right there on board with one pastor from the region when he shares, "A woman from Georgia working with Coeburn on mission projects informed us that some folks in her church would not participate in mission work in Coeburn because "they are a bunch of crackheads." Now we are barefoot, poor, uneductated crackheads who all handle snakes in church. What a picture!"

The stereotypes are outrageous and my whole self-reeducation is about breaking them down, but I do believe in regional distinctions. Anyone who has traveled outside of one area can recognize that the people in Seattle are very different from the people in Georgia. I was raised in the "melting-pot school system mentality" and, sure, we are all much more similar that we are different, but ignoring the differences does a separate sort of harm. More is lost than gained when we loose regional variances and assume homogeny. At the other extreme, yes, everyone is an individual, but very few cases of absolute separatism exist. If they did, we would never know anyway. In this case, both attitudes have their place. Individual people belong to collective groups, no matter how blurred lines get and overlap. I will give that not all, or even probably most portrayals of Appalachia are accurate, but I will not give up on a distinct regional character. Not in one particular person, but in the accurate characterization of a culture and its subcultures.

So, what's a girl to do? I am taking Lewis and Billings for the economic and historiographical analyses, but their literary critiques with a grain of salt and fighting one weakness (vulnerability in reading) in favor of another (preservation of romanticism). Not all weaknesses are bad. Not all vulnerabilities are bad. Sometimes growing we grow passed them. Sometimes they lead us to great adventures.

I'm not looking for "almost heaven" or life "older than the trees", but I would settle for a "mountain momma" or "miner's lady".