Tag Archives: home

These are my people


Most of the times I come home, I drive my car past my grandmother’s old house and her farm and think nothing of it. It’s just part of the scenery I have driven by my entire life. Today, though, I decided to drive my car on the old dusty path past the red barns and the silo and made a right. My mom told me yesterday that my cow had a new baby calf, and I wanted to see it.

I took my sandals off and walked barefoot through the pasture. The grass was still wet from last night’s rain, and I walked slowly to the fence row to see Survivor. Survivor is my red cow that my dad saved when I was about eight years old. He found her stuck in the swamp on the back of our farm. She was malnourished and close to death.

After he rescued her, Survivor became my pet. I bottle fed her back to health and watched her grow. I gave her shots, and I wanted so badly for her to play with me. I soon realized that cows don’t make the best of pets and that included baby ones, too. I remember I used to hop in her pen with her after I fed her in attempts to pet her. Looking back on that ten years later, I realize how stupid that was. Survivor could have trampled me. Thank goodness she was not too rambunctious for that.

I made it to the fence row today, and Survivor was way far down into the pasture lazily laying under a tree. I couldn’t see her cow from where I was standing, so I guess I will try the next time I am home. Defeated I walked back to my car, and I started to wonder about my grandparents. They farmed the grass and land beneath my feet for more than 50 years. I wonder what they would think of it now. More importantly, I wonder what they would think of me now.

Only my mom’s mom watched me grow up. My dad’s mom was already passed by the time I entered the world, and his dad died when I was seven. I barely remember him. My mom’s dad is only faint memory of Carmelo bars, tan skin and overalls. He died when I was four, so I never got to know the man I watched drive the tractor away to tend the land.

I am so different from all of my grandparents. No one in the family was a writer. I don’t think they cared about commas and grammar and breaking a top news story. I know my mom’s grandparents knew the South. My grandparents herded cows and grew crops. They raised tobacco, too. I remember being younger and wearing my overalls and claiming to be a farming kind of girl. I loved cows, and I always wanted to hop on the tractor with my dad. Occasionally, I got to help build a fence in the scorching June heat, and I remember getting to drive my dad’s old red Toyota pickup through the pasture at dusk to just check on things.

Now, I wear dresses and tights, and my fingers are glued to electronics half the time. My nose is usually in a book studying away, and the only barn I see is the one lone barn on campus for the ag kids.  I claim I am simply Southern. I don’t think I deserve the title of farm girl anymore.

Had my grandparents stayed alive longer than they did, I wonder if I would be any different. I wonder if I would want to live on a farm the rest of my life, or if I would still have the same desires I do now, which consists of writing other people’s stories every chance I get.

I love small town life. I love the fact that I grew up on a farm, and that I still have a cow. At almost 19, however, I am the point where I want to explore the world a little. I want to see and do things my grandparents didn’t have the opportunity to do. I am not sure what they would think of me as I am living on my own in what they would consider a big city. Who knows, they might think I am heathen.

I hope they wouldn’t though. I hope they would see themselves in me what ever little part they contributed. Despite that they are long gone, I know that I got all the traits I have from those before me. My sense of adventure had to come from somewhere. I am going to guess it is from dad’s dad. He was a skydiving, motorcyclist riding kinda guy.

My love for the acoustic guitar probably came from my mom’s dad. Mom told me he used to have one and pluck a string or two every now and then. What I would give to have played a song with him, or even just pick a few chords.

As for all my other traits, I am not sure. I know there is a piece of them within me, and perhaps the more I grow the more I will know what comes from who. Regardless of where I live someday whether it is where I grew up or somewhere else, I am proud of where I came from, and more importantly, I am proud of who I am came from.


All I want for Christmas is stitches


All ornaments made by yours truly

In plugging in our small Christmas tree today, I looked at all the decorations I made throughout my elementary school days. One in particular caught my eye as the afternoon sun made the ornament shimmer. I made this particular ornament in the third grade the morning after my father dropped me on head.

It was normal for a morning in the third grade for my dad to carry me from my pink warm covers to lay on the couch with my Mickey Mouse blanket while he fixed me breakfast.  Still in my sleep coma, my dad always picked up me to deliver me to my seat at the breakfast table. After scarfing down my strawberry Pop-Tart, I lifted my arms up for dad to carry me back to the living room, so I could resume my watching of cartoons.

My dad had a stumble in our thirty feet journey from the kitchen to the living room. The accidentally left open bread drawer at the kitchen counter intersected with our path to the couch. He never noticed it was still open from getting bread for his toast, and off we went. Dad tripped and my head hit the adjoining counter.

I started screaming, but it was not because I was in pain. I was more concerned with my dad who was still trying to scrape himself off the lament kitchen floor. My mom came tearing out the bathroom in her blue bathrobe wondering what the loud thud and shrills were about. She thought my dad had a heart attack until she looked at me.

Blood was pulsing out of my eye brow, and she grabbed my arm and sat me down. Once she cleaned up my face, she kept applying pressure to my face. It didn’t really hurt, but the one thing I noticed was the time ticking on the clock. It was drawing time for mom to take me to school.

“When are we leaving for school?” I asked.

My mom looked at me like I was crazy. Perhaps, she wondered if the fall caused me to think such a crazy thought. I am not sure. She told me I wasn’t going to school.

That’s when I started crying. I think I was even close to sobbing. Not going to school? Didn’t she know what today was? We were supposed to make ornaments and finish our Christmas projects. I couldn’t miss a day like that. Plus, I was supposed to wear my new white Christmas sweater that day. She couldn’t keep me from school.

After much crying, begging, and sobbing, my mother stuck a butterfly band-aid across my eye brow. She tried to convince me that I needed to get stitches. I just kept shaking my head no. I wanted to go to school, and no one was going to stop me. Well of course my mom would have, but she apparently let me go.

So, off in my new white Christmas sweater I went. I managed not to get any blood on my sweater while I put it on. I got to finish my Christmas poster we were making, and I got to finish up all my ornaments to bring them home.

I still have  a scar in my eye brow as a result of the fall. However, that Christmas I remember I got some of the best presents ever from Santa and my presents. Maybe Santa felt a little guilty that my parents dropped me on head.

On your mark, get set…


A week from tonight I will be all moved in at MTSU. And to that I say, I cannot wait. I only have to wait seven more short days until I am out on my own and starting my own life. I am ready to go.

For the past month and half, my life came to a slow sputter. I have not really don’t all that much if anything at all. I am worthless when I am not doing anything, and my life has felt very insignificant.

So, I haven’t really had much to write home about or in this case my blog. When all you do is sit at home and read book after book or watch never ending episodes of NCIS, life can get monotonous quick. I have had no witty thoughts to share or awkward situations happen. No, life has been very slow. Very boring.

When I graduated high school, I dreaded the thought of going to college. I didn’t want to leave everything, and I didn’t want to be left. Three short months later, my attitude has changed completely, and I am definitely ready to stop sitting at home and get on with my life.

Do I know what college is going to be like? No, I haven’t been so I don’t really know what to expect. Very few of my close friends are going to the same school with me, so in essence I am starting over completely.

Last Monday, I met my roommate. A girl whom I do not know and who lives two hours away from where I live now. We met at Starbucks, and we got the opportunity to sit and talk for a coupla hours.

Meeting someone you don’t know can be awkward. I imagine that is what if feels like to be going on a blind date. Except, if I didn’t like her there would be nothing I could do about it. We would be living together.

Thankfully, we hit it off wonderfully. I prayed for a really long time that God would place a good roommate into my life. And I think He has. I will just have to wait and see to know for sure.

So here I sit. It’s my last weekend at home before I move. It’s weird to think about. I am about to be an adult. I am about to be on my own and doing my own thing. And finally I am excited. For the past two days, I have helped two different friends stuff all their belongings into trash bags, boxes, and suitcases.

Now, it’s my turn to be doing all the packing, and I can’t wait.