Biographical VanitiesGender
Female
Age
39
about me
I'm a would-be poet/college English teacher...I'm a big fan of solitude and I get a lot of that here; I love the outdoors and I live on a 30 acre farm in rural Kentucky.
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My Tribes
Offerings
At the risk of sounding utterly cliché, does God hate me? Seriously. Have I displeased the cosmos?
Wed, June 4, 2008 - 6:40 PM
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So the 7th annual Appalachian Uprising festival is going on in Scottown, OH this weekend. It's held on this awesome bottom at Eden Farm--and we always make camp early because the trip is half the fun (right?) We made camp yesterday in the pouring rain, watched the teepees go up, and closed our camp down when the lightning started flashing. When we got back there today there was traffic backed up ten miles out of the holler--(Do you non-Appalachian people know about "hollers" and "bottoms"?) Water was up over the roads in--I couldn't even get the Jeep up in there. I'm not even sure if our camp is still there! The whole bottom is flooded. We stayed on the side of the road & played music with the other stranded travelers and waited for the water to retreat. Never happened. I decided to come home and make sure the house/dogs were ok. Silver lining: I have two tents & only had one set up...but dammit, huh? Haha. Good thing I like the rain. It is going to be a muddy mess!! I bet the tents are washed away...I'll see in the morning. On a lighter note--here is the festival homepage. Have any of you ever heard John Cowan Band (former lead-man for New Grass Revival) do a bluegrass rendition of Led Zeppelin's "Goin' to California"? It's really, really nice if you're a Zeppelin fan (like I am). www.myspace.com/appalachianuprising (4th song down). Hopefully we can get in the holler tomorrow when the bridges aren't underwater. There are some heller storms circling this area. I don't even have cell service right now--I'm amazed the internet is working! The energy makes me feel restless. I want to be dancing in the moonlight, not stuck indoors on the computer!
Fish Story
Thu, May 29, 2008 - 7:15 PM
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The soul snapped—snarled line— then I was cut loose; (You are gone). Rains come hard—dripping, eroding my resolve I will not cry. I am (not) strong (as I pretend). This face—this same face stoic, smooth water, Mauch Chunk Lake at sunset—crimson-blue spread over us, the rowing boat complacent with our weight—steamed rock, shad cresting the calm— silvered underbellies flash. You told me (forever) there was divination in the rhythm of the rod. Grace, you said—my arms swing ungainly; though my hands replicate—your rhythm evades. That summer, gathering storms fell lightly on your shoulders above mine (no more). Cool elm mist trickling from collarbone, rising—Pooled in blue hollows of my throat (You are gone). My hand (shakes) on the fly-rod, guided in your motion, my lines were true. (I will not cry). This day will string to others; my twin, my self-same soul; your lead weighted good-byes won’t sink me. Cast from your hand my lines fly tight. 
Kentucky Pale
Thu, May 29, 2008 - 7:05 PM
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Morning dawns beige ash-barked trees; cold neutrality, sodden Fall’s last green snow washed— browned blades push against the drip; above imploring elms finger darkening skies. And here we stand Godless spheres of trees, Of soil; we toil here unearthed—Our roots lay bare. The creek bathes pale toes, numbed. Our hands scratch initials into rock.
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