Archive for Historical

Off The Cuff

February 28, 2007 at 3:53 pm · Filed under General, Historical

Lisa Minney is in Virginia on family business. This column was originally published in The Calhoun Chronicle in 2004.

Whenever I am near the ocean, winter or summer, I make a point to go to the beach and stand at the water’s edge with my arms wide open to the power of the surging waves. I scan the skyline and the view of miles and miles of water, then close my eyes just to listen and make note of the ocean’s message.

The ocean laughs at me like a stranger, a powerful motion that could wash me away. The ocean is like a foreign force.

 

I will not get to visit the ocean this summer, but the last two weekends I have been in Pocahontas County, where the mountain ranges never end.

 

Just as I stand with open arms at the ocean, I stood last week atop a mountain gazing across forested miles with my arms open. I closed my eyes to listen to the message of the mountains. The mountain winds whipped my hair, but unlike ocean winds, there was no taste or smell of salt. Mountain winds are rich with the smell of earth and trees, sprinkled with the scent of wildflowers and pine.

 

The ocean makes me feel small and trivial, but the mountains, as huge as they are, make the world seem smaller, and embrace you as family. The ocean washes sand from beneath your feet, but the mountains lift you up, into the clouds.

 

The ocean may be a stranger, but the mountains are home. When I visit the ocean, I feel flushed clean by the winds, sanitized by the salty breezes, washed of worries and troubles. The ocean makes life seem unimportant, trivial next to its power.

 

The mountains seemed not only to embrace me, but also the troubles and milestones of my life. The ocean knows very little about struggle, because it is such an overwhelming power, but the mountains know of struggle, of rape and plunder, of fire and flood, of erosion and abuse.

 

The ocean laughs at our problems, but the mountains understand.

 

I spent the last weekend in July with my girl friends atop Woodrow Mountain. We sang and laughed and told stories. The ocean would have swallowed up our sounds, drowned them out with its own roar, but the mountains echoed our joys through the valleys.

 

The first weekend in August, Frank and I visited Snowshoe for the W.Va. Press Association banquet, and we stood on the balcony, high above the people. We whispered our accomplishments and successes to the mountain winds, which kept our secrets high above all others and carried them to the sky.

 

The oceans would have washed them away, but the mountain pulled our whispers into its realm.

There were moments when I felt I could reach out and touch heaven. There were moments when I thought, perhaps, the mountains peaked into heaven itself and I was already there as well.

 

The ocean may have the power to wash away signs of human progress and living, but the ocean still ebbs and flows with the tide. The mountains don’t have the active power of the ocean, but do have the sturdiness to stand in spite of all that happens. Scarred, stripped and undermined, the mountains still stand.

The fluid ocean says, “I can conquer you,” but the scarred mountains say, “Do what you will, I will still stand.”

 

I have often longed for the power of the ocean. I wanted to conquer others and conquer life. Now I realize that I also can take a lesson from the mountains–a lesson of unwaivering strength.

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Off the Cuff

February 21, 2007 at 2:47 pm · Filed under General, Historical, News Briefs, Newspaper Announcements

Lisa Minney is in Virginia on family business. This column was originally published in The Calhoun Chronicle in 2004.

 

When I was 22, while on a trip to Florida, a massive storm front came in from over the ocean, spreading lightning through dark clouds that spread from horizon to horizon. The sky was as black as night, and bolts of lightning fractured the darkness as they spread from the ocean sky to invade the land. The water was violent, and the frothy waves clawed desperately at the beach.

I strolled to the water’s edge to view the far-reaching ocean one last time. Drawn by the awesome power of the ocean storm, I spread my arms wide in the whipping wind, and closed my eyes. In my mind, I opened myself to the influence of the elements around me and tried to allow this amazing natural power filter through me.

Many times I have tried to explain the intensity of the moment. I have described how the hair on my arm stood on end, and the lashing, tumultuous wind that surrounded me, but I can never share the experience in words without limiting the boundless natural power to the small, tight meanings of our human language. When I am close to the ocean, I feel close to God.

In comparison to the storm’s power, I was no more consequential than a speck of sand. The ocean roared and the wind growled, and the storm thundered and bellowed. I was minuscule, a fleck of dust in the world. My worries, my dreams–all temporary and brief in a timeline that lasts forever and beyond. I was moved, and when the weight of my desires and worries left me, I felt lifted, and light. I swear to this day, my feet left the ground.

That moment has remained a vivid and inspiring memory for me for 14 years. I have returned to the beach several times since then, always taking a moment to stand at the ocean’s edge, and to feel her power and be humbled. Just as I have learned about the ocean on these visits, I have also learned about myself.

Fourteen years ago, I allowed the storm to laugh at my concerns about college, and waiting tables and rolling change to pay rent. Eight years ago, the ocean played with grief and regret I was carrying after a friend’s death. Six years ago, on vacation from my “good job,” the ocean scoffed at my lamentations about work, and tossed work related stresses to the wind like dandelion seeds. A little over a year ago, on our honeymoon, the ocean yawned at our celebrations, and simply caressed us with warm breezes as we walked hand in hand along her shore to collect sea shells.

This past week, I visited with the ocean again. In my mind, I like to think she remembered me.

“You again?”

“ Hello Ocean,” I said.

“Now what? I am busy you know.”

“Well, I never have enough money.”

“That again? We’ve been through this.”

“I know, but . . .”

“Where are your values? Do you need, or want?”

“I have what I need, so I guess I want.”

“Then you value the wrong things.” And the ocean sighed, drawing my wants away from me in the waves. “What else?”

“Well, I have several issues–all relating to politics.”

“Politics!” She laughed. “As pointless as money! Why do you humans choose to punish yourselves with these silly games?”

“We want to improve our community, our quality of life,” I said. “We want better things.”

“Want, want, want,” she said. “You want to change the world. The world would be just fine, if people had left it alone.” She continued, “if you want a better quality of life, you must be willing to strive for a life of quality. This does not require a change in the world, it requires a change in you. If you want more, you will always want more. If want improvement, improve yourself; then you will grow, and your life will grow, and you will have happiness, not just ‘more’.”

She sighed again, “It’s always the same thing with you, little person. Your wants become needs.”

I looked toward the skyline where the ocean meets the sky, thinking. “Wants and needs,” she whispered, and a frolicking wave trickled up on the sand to touch the toes of my shoes. “Change comes from within.”

I closed my eyes, and spread my arms wide, and let the message of the ocean swirl around me. I thought long and hard about the things I want, and how those things had overshadowed the needs in my life. As I meditated, “wants” separated from “needs” and were washed out to sea.

Outdoing others is a want. I only need to improve on myself. I let the ocean take that “want” from me.

Frustrations with political malfeasance, ignorance and manipulation? My need for patience forces me to want to slap some sense into some people, but I let go of that “want” which leaves more room for me to address my “need.” Patience will allow room for discussion, education, and learning.

When the wants were all gone, I was able to recognize my needs. I need my family. I need my health and exercise. I need to improve on patience, time management, and renew my faith. I need to work with others, and not just want them to work with me.

As a community we need a new town hall. We need to make sound decisions about the way we try to control the power of our river. We need to protect the rights of our children. We need elected officials who are willing to put aside personal wants in order to provide for the needs for the community. We need to work on ourselves to improve the way we live and grow together.

I enjoyed my visit with the ocean. In a few brief moments, I was able to prioritize and simplify my life so I can focus on my needs. I am also glad the visit came so close to the new year, when so many of us examine needs and wants.

I wish all of Calhoun could have visited the ocean with me. It is mentally refreshing to separate wants from needs, and let go of the wants that haunt us. As we set New Year goals for ourselves and our community, we need to remember that our community is made up of us. Improvement and growth in the community starts within each of us.

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BOY MEETS GIRL … IN 1915

September 15, 2006 at 5:27 pm · Filed under County Sports, General, Historical

In everyone’s life, there comes a time that can determine how you will spend the rest of your days. Oak didn’t know it yet, but this was his day. Although it had rained all night, it looked like it was going to be a fine day to walk to church. He wasn’t going to the church across the hill (about a mile away), he was going to walk to Enon to go to church. They were going to have a “Box Social” this afternoon after services and Oak had worked hard for a month to gather together sixty cents for the auction.

Box Socials were a big thing in the early part of the last century. There were no malls, no telephones, no internet, and no way for young people to meet really, except for these events. Local young women would make a lunch consisting of a picnic dinner, which was placed in a hatbox, given to the Pastor and auctioned off to the young men of the community who then got to have a picnic with the maker of the lunch. You were not supposed to know who had made the picnic you were bidding on, but today, as Oak was walking the six miles to church, he spotted the prettiest girl he had ever seen in her arms was a big, Robin’s egg blue, hatbox. She had just crested the hill and the sun was shining behind her head like a halo. He later said, “I thought I was looking at an Angel, and as it turned out, I was.”

He could not sit still through the morning service. He tried to sing the hymns as loud as could, but he wasn’t much of a singer. He was hoping that his “Angel” would take notice of him. Well, a fidgety, loud, off-key singing boy who kept staring at you out of the corner of his eye was somewhat hard not to notice. She smiled in his direction and his heart melted as the snow does after blizzard in April. He knew right then, no matter what it took, he was going to have lunch with this girl.

The service was over. The Preacher’s sermon was about the sin of pride. The bidding was about to start when Oak noticed another boy staring at his Angel. This boy lived in the valley on a big farm and Oak knew his family had money. Oak looked on in despair as he saw his rival pull his hand out of his pants pocket, put some paper money in his shirt pocket and still have a handful of change. Sixty cents might have looked good five minutes ago, but felt like a handful of sand right then. Looking around, he noticed some of the older farmers from his neck of the woods standing at the back of the crowd watching their sons and daughters at the big event. He had worked for most of them from time to time and they all knew he was dependable. Even though he had always sworn he would never go in debt, he now understood that sometimes it was simply unavoidable.

When he told the farmers he needed money right now and would work all summer if need be to pay it back they all laughed at him. None of them had any spare money … they were farmers. When he told them why he needed it, they called their wives over and said they needed the egg money. Women held onto the money in those days, they had tighter grip than the men did.

Altogether, Oak now had four dollars seventy-eight cents and all the prayer his soul could give. The next box up for bid was the Robin’s egg blue one he had seen in his Angel’s arms that morning and the boy from the valley was pushing to front of the crowd. Oak had never felt this way before. The grass was greener, the creek was louder, the birds singing in the trees were calling him forward and the sun was still shining on his Angel standing among the other young ladies. Nothing else mattered.

The bidding started at a nickel and he raised his hand. Valley boy went a dime. Oak went a quarter. Valley boy said “Fifty cents!”  So far, the highest bid all afternoon had been a quarter and that had been high for these times. Oak took a deep breath and yelled out, “One dollar!” The boy from the valley looked him square in the eye and said, “Two.” The crowd had quit milling around and visiting one another by then and they all gasped at such a bid. Two dollars was a lot of money when you could get a sack of flour for a nickel. Oak was in a panic. He had thought that a dollar was more than enough to let the valley boy know he was serious about this. He couldn’t stand the suspense of bidding his way broke so he gathered up all his courage, looked at his Angel (who, by the way, was astonished at this turn of events) and said in a low voice, “Four dollars and seventy-eight cents.”

The valley boy looked around to see if anyone would back him enough to outbid Oak. It was apparent the crowd was for the boy who looked as if he might cry at any moment so he threw his hands in the air and walked away.

Asked later about the lunch Oak said, “It was best meal I had ever eaten, but I couldn’t tell you what I ate. All I can remember was her eyes, her hair, the way she smiled when I picked the cake crumbs from my shirt, the fact we were both born on the same day in 1900 not even five miles apart, and her name, Minnie.”

If you liked this story, which is the way I remember it being told to me on my neighbor’s front porch, let the Calhoun Chronicle know about it by phoning (304-354-6917 or emailing (billbailey85@gmail.com) us. Perhaps I will continue to tell this story because this was only the beginning, not the end.

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