Recovery

On the list of things I never thought I'd see in my community, a FEMA disaster recovery center sign ranks up there at the top. 

I thank God that I do not need to stand in line for hurricane recovery assistance. We never lost electric power, so I didn't suffer like many around me. I don't drive the back roads of the county, so I have no idea of extended damages. I listen to others tell their stories, and yes, even though we are on the edge of major destruction and not as broken as the counties farther west, our people need help. 

For several weeks I have heard helicopters flying over my house, like the one I hurried outside to capture in this photo. These metallic birds of paradise were taking things to other, more needy places. But not to us. We have been helping those more hurting than ourselves. My community is taking survivors food, clothing, and flood buckets, and now blankets and wood for heat since the first snowfall has graced our beautiful mountains in the past few days. 

I've been so concerned about those in the mountains that I ignored my own back yard...people who lost their homes due to trees landing on their roofs...people who had no water because the electricity was off, and therefore their well's pump couldn't operate...people who lost everything in their deep freeze (that was my mother's words for the big, white box in our basement). We are a rural community. This time of year, our freezers are filled to the brim with summer harvests and butchered cows, but the joy of eating the fruits of our sweat-filled labor just won't happen this year for some of us. Food prices are high enough, so my friends who depended on saving money through home-grown deliciousness will not have that to fall back on to stretch the weekly paycheck. FEMA, those people DO need you. Thank you for being here.

As we drove past the main entrance of the county health department (FEMA ground zero) to loop around and take these pictures, I saw a line of cars waiting for the clipboard-bearing workers to bring forms to them. Sad occasion. My heart goes out to them. This, the extension of government for the people, is necessary help for those who are desperate. Tax money at work. 

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

Lingle School

Much of what I write on this blog is about western North Carolina and its beauty, its history, its people. The world has seen all this melt away in one evil swipe from Hurricane Helene. My husband and I were fortunate that we had no trees crush our cars or power lines fall in our street. We didn't lose power, only cable and internet for five days, mere inconveniences compared to what I saw on the news. 

On the third day after the hurricane hit, we ventured out. Our aim was to check on Tuttle State Forest, which we had heard through the facebook grapevine, had sustained major damages. Saddest of all I saw was this schoolhouse.

This is/was Lingle School, established 1867. It was renovated and placed at the state forest for display and safekeeping. Imagine the hurricanes this building weathered in its span of existence. Until now. A tree found its way down and landed square on the roof. With the accompanying deluge of rain, the inside artifacts were damaged. Hopefully some can be salvaged, but for now, no one dares enter the building. 

This view shows more damage, but note that the well beside the schoolhouse survived quite well, as well as a well could do. So did the outhouse behind the school...both well and outhouse are non-functional, only for educational purposes.

   

Not so fortunate, however, was this construction outhouse, that was, on the day before the hurricane, quite functional. 

Tuttle Educational State Forest is in the process of adding a full size classroom building. Fortunately, it had little damage beyond the outhouse beside it for construction workers.

Losing Lingle School is sad, but in the wider scope of the extreme losses in the region, it is a small sadness. No one was killed. No one was injured. The history of the school is preserved in other venues. Perhaps the building called Lingle School will be salvaged to rebuild. Perhaps not. For now, we wait.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

Uplift North Carolina

Thank you Uplift North Carolina for your support of the Gamewell History Museum. I was present yesterday when Justin Vertefeuille, a videographer working with Uplift NC, visited the museum where I have been volunteering. 

In our preplanning stage, I developed a list of shots I wanted him to take in order of priority. How to decide what was more important to our town's history than another, I never figured out, but I made a stab. School wall? Sport center? Veteran display? Family history notebooks? He filmed it all both inside and outside our beautiful one-room museum. We do pack a lot in there.

With the input of many others, I wrote the script to voice over the video. We were limited to ninety seconds. How could I get an overview of two hundred-plus years into ninety seconds!!! I had timed it by reading the script aloud and had to cut out a great deal. I didn't realize I would be the one actually recording it, but I was. The museum itself is located beside a busy five-lane highway, so the noise level was too distracting. Instead, we went inside the town hall into the conference room, which was practically soundproof, and recorded there. The first taping came in six seconds too long, the second three under.

So it's a done deal and in the hands of the editor. When it is finished, I'll post it here for you all to view. I can't wait.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

Friendship

I have been blessed through the years to have an abundance of friends. When I was in Girl Scouts many years ago, I learned a sweet song with lyrics that describe friendship: 

Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, but the other gold. 

I love making new friends. They are silver and I'm not just talking about the color of their hair, but their value. There's another saying about friendship, an Irish Proverb:

There are good ships and wood ships, ships that sail the sea, but the best ships are friendships, may they always be.

But some friendships are simply unique. They are golden in their value. One golden friend has been my BFF since fifth grade. We laughed back then. We told each other secrets that no one else knew. We went our own way after high school, she moved to Germany and then Ohio, but we reconnected later and have seen each other on a semi-regular basis. We still laugh. We still tell each other secrets that no one else knows. 

Another golden friend visited me this summer for a two-week stay. We did have some fun!! 

With my friend Sara

One thing I convinced her into doing was a recording of our friendship. We went to a studio at the HUB, the Hudson Uptown Building and spent a little time with each other and a microphone. We did this courtesy of the Mitford Museum has developed its own StoryCorps program. Read what they say in their introduction:  

Our mission: to help us believe in each other by illuminating the humanity and possibility in us all — one story at a time.

Isn't that a grand aspiration! They are actually preserving history by recording people's stories. I've been trained to run the recording equipment, but I wanted to be on the speaking end of the process to see what it was all about. So when Sara showed up, I announced to her that we were going to record a bit about our friendship. This recording is now with the Mitford Museum's collection. The final product is at the Library of Congress Folk Life Center, and it is  online at the Mitford Museum's site!!! Click on this link to check it out. Okay, so you might find a little TMI while you are there, but you will get to know what a deep friendship is all about.

While you are there, check out the other recordings. I ran the equipment for the two Patterson School selections. They were in connection with the fly fishing books I wrote. The interviewer, Alen Baker, is working with the Patterson School Foundation to develop a fly fishing exhibit at the school.

For those of you who are interested in preserving stories from your past, come on down! Bring someone near and dear to you. It's a simple process, loads of fun, and precious to those who listen for years to come. 

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

There's a New Museum in Town

I have turned into a history buff. Sure, I tended in that direction all along, but now, in my ripe old age, I appreciate the study of the past. It helps me make sense of what is happening now. 

That's why I have been involved with the Gamewell History Committee ever since 2005. To set the record straight, I am not "from" Gamewell, North Carolina. I've lived here more than half my life, so I do feel as if I belong. The community has welcomed me to be one of them, so I assume I can rightfully call it home. 

The committee amassed all kinds of photographs and family histories. We visited graveyards and recorded their histories. We interviewed citizens, many of whom have since passed away, but their words are preserved, there, in notebooks.

From the beginning, we knew there would one day be a building to house what we collected. That day came. We finally have a home for our collection, and here it is. Well, here it was back in the forties and fifties.

This building started as a store called Sunny Side. What better name could it have been? It's a name that warms my soul. It was the local go-to place for various sundry items where children relished visiting the store for their penny candies and men stopped in on the way home from work to pick up fifty-pound flour sacks, saying to jot it down on their bill. They would pay when the furniture factory paid them. They were trusted because that's how people did business way back when.

The store sat empty when the Anderson sisters were no longer able to maintain it. Big box stores in nearby Lenoir and low-cost gasoline drew shoppers away, and no one took over the establishment. Many of the display cases were sold to the famed Mast General store in nearby Watauga County. Most recently shoppers can drop in at either of two Dollar Generals located three miles in both directions. Who needs Sunny Side when there's a Dollar General instead? (Sad question.)

The building next served as the town hall soon after Gamewell was incorporated in 1981. The town outgrew that space and eventually built a beautiful structure adjacent to the store that better fit their needs.

The museum is the flat-topped part of the town hall complex

However, this little one-room former store/town hall perfectly fit the museum's needs. We moved in boxes of accumulated information (might I say boxes and boxes) about the history of western Caldwell County and the town of  Gamewell. People took notice and donated even more relevant items. We arranged displays and set a date for the Grand Opening, April 28, 2024. 

If you build it, they will come!!! 

The Gamewell Museum will be open on the second and fourth Sundays of each month or by appointment. Call the town hall at 828-754-1991.

Next up, Mother's Day at the Museum. I'm hoping mothers will find themselves in the many pictures we have on display and tell the stories behind them. Here's one sample:

Bring your mothers. You might learn something.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen 

An Eclipse to Remember

Eclipses come and go and the world goes on. 

Although I wasn't in the totality range, I was determined to catch my fair share of yesterday's heavenly display. I dug out my leftover solar eclipse glasses from 2017 and made reservations at Grandfather Mountain, a park about an hour's drive from my home, ten minutes as the crow flies. I figured if we were atop a mountain, we'd be closer to the sun and have a clearer view in case of cloud cover in the foothills below. 

Don't let that picture of my husband and me fool you. As the eclipse heightened, the temperature dropped and by the time it was over I was bundled in a flannel shirt and my husband had on a sweater. 

The cold didn't seem to bother these three!

We weren't alone on the mountain since Grandfather decided to take advantage of the occasion and sponsored all kinds of solar and animal-related activities. We rode up the winding (extremely winding) road with good friends of ours, but were stopped halfway at the education center parking lot below the peak. The upper parking lot was already packed with cars and the road blocked. 

So we found a spot in the lower lot and set up a tailgate party with the rest of the overflow. There were car tags from across America, all joining with us in a corporate moment of unity. Humanity was getting a glimpse of the wondrous world of creation.

So was the animal kingdom. My friend and I walked the trail to visit Mildred, the bear, or rather, since Mildred herself died thirty-some years ago, a variation of Mildred. 

Eclipse? What eclipse?

She was sound asleep, as were the cougar and the otters. Was that the norm for their afternoons or did they think night was coming on? The birds certainly did. They roosted and chirped just as they do when evening approaches. The eagle swooped past us on the way to his sleeping spot. 

The highlight of the day was driving to the peak as the eclipse waned. By then those who arrived earlier to grab a spot were long finished with dealing with keeping their children from falling off the cliffs. We easily found a parking spot. 

Years ago I had brought my own children to the swinging bridge that is the major attraction of the park. As I crossed, my son shook the bridge to scare me and I swore I would never again walk on that bridge. 

I did walk out three steps on the bridge before I turned around. Just for perspective, here's the same bridge from the parking lot.

I suppose that lone person left to himself was soaking in the beauty and awesomeness of the day and didn't want to give it up. Another view, from afar:

Bridge and bear notwithstanding, we had a blessed eclipse experience. Using our glasses we witnessed a quirk of nature that is awarded to the world only on rare occasions. It also reminds me that eclipses come and go and the world goes on. We paused yesterday and breathed the beauty surrounding us. Today we go back to our daily routines. Refreshed.

What a blessing!

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

'Tis the Season

One thing I've learned lately, Christmas is not the only season where giving becomes front and center. Although a gracious heart never fails to find the proper time to support a worthy cause, these past few weeks in my area provided many opportunities for donors to contribute and have fun in the process. 'Tis the season for fundraisers, fun being the added benefit. Fundraisers impact the very core of a nonprofit organization's ability to function, depending on the success of raising money for specific projects. The month of March has seen many a creative endeavor to squeeze donations from already thinned-down good Samaritans. 

My husband and I enjoy charity events. They prove to be a double joy, both the fun of the event itself and the satisfaction of donating to causes we support. We work hard on the first Saturdays of each month to serve a fundraiser breakfast with the Ruritan Club. Money there goes to many projects in the community. This March, that first Saturday only kicked off the several events we attended (but didn't have to work).

First up was the Rotary Club's chili cookoff with the individual entry's hotness factor conveniently displayed, ranging from blah to blazing. 

I did find, however, some entrants in the contest claim their hotness factor to be calmer than my taste buds found. My tongue burned, but since it was for a good cause, I played along. At least I had fun going down the row and making my selection. 

Thankfully, this chef left his delicious pot of gold unspiced (is that a word?), and brought sauces in bottles with various spiciness degrees for the individual's taste:

Speaking of a pot of gold, last Friday a good friend of mine accompanied my husband and me to the annual Pot O'Gold fundraiser sponsored by the local medical clinic called Helping Hands whose clients are hard-working adults who cannot afford the high cost of insurance, but don't qualify for government assistance. I wrote a biography of one founder of this organization, Dr. Jane Carswell, in the book subtitled Family Physician, Humanitarian, Friend. 

For a few years now, the clinic's major fundraiser has been a Saint Patrick's Day gala. It's a chance to wear green. It's a chance to eat great food. It's a chance to celebrate the success of the clinic made possible through the many donations. My husband and I got in on the celebrating!

Every NGO, nongovernmental organization, depends on donations. It's their lifeblood for continuing specific altruistic projects. Those millions of us across the country who donate help make the world a better place to live. 

And if they offer a fun moment as a reward for donating, all the better. I'm game.

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

A Basket with a Cause

Every once in a while I have the chance to use my books for a purpose beyond the usual and I recently was honored to do just that. I donated two of my fishing books to the Gamewell Fire Department to use in a raffle for the Burned Children's Fund. What an opportunity to do something right!

The North Carolina Fire and Life Safety Educators (what a grand, significant title) conference was held this past weekend. Sitting there amongst the varied items for their fundraising raffle was this basket:

In case you are wondering what was in the basket, here's the spread, including my two fly fishing books:

All were ready and waiting in a basket for someone to bid on. I often wonder about my books after they are out of my control. Who is the face of the reader holding them in their hands? Was the basket a gift to someone? Did they keep it themselves to enhance their times on the creek? My email is on the back of my book. I hope that person contacts me. 

Earlier this year I donated two of my books to a fundraiser for the local hospital. I have written the life stories of two physicians in our county and gladly donated copies of them to be in their silent auction. 

I am humbled that my work can be used for altruistic purposes to make life a bit better for others in this world. 

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

Happy Leap Day

Is there such a thing as wishing someone a Happy Leap Day? Ready or not, here I come with my wish:

 I hope everyone has as happy a day as this goat who leapt (or is it leaped?) on his owner's car.

For some unknown reason, that goat had to have enough desire to be on top of that car. Was it to escape a predator? Was it to have an observation overlook? Or was it just because he could?

On this 2024 Leap Day, how about taking a leap of faith and doing something completely outside your box. Be like the goat. Take a leap. 

This cat did. 

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

The Vietnam Era from a rearview mirror

While we were scrounging through the mounds of letters my then-future husband and I wrote back and forth to each other in the late sixties, we found these two letters:

If you are from the Vietnam Era, then you know exactly what these are. They are the letters that determined many a future of the young men of America during this time in history. Of course, it's what's inside that counts, usually a summons, or in his case a warning. 

Let me back up here for those of you not of the boomer generation. When a male child is born in America, the parents are/were required to register him with the military branch called selective service. Eighteen years later he must go to the (in our son's case) post office and officially make himself available for service to his country. It's their patriotic duty. The actual term is conscription, but we called it the draft. It kicks in when not enough men volunteer for military duty.

When my husband-to-be registered back in 1965, he listed himself as a full-time student and as long as he was a student, he would not be called to active duty. Married men weren't called either, although that soon changed. Then even married men with children, who had also been deferred, were called. However, the military needed even more boots on the ground in this Vietnam conflict that we called a war and realized many a strapping young potential recruit was avoiding the draft by hanging out in college for as long as the schools would allow them. So the military powers got as wise as these "dodgers" and made a new rule. In order not to be called up, they must be in the top half of their class. Whew! 

That's what one letter was about. Wingate College had sent in the rankings and he wasn't in the top half. So he worked a lot harder, stopped playing College Joe, and pulled up his grades. Then the second letter arrived to confirm his status still as 1-A, but allowed him a deferment to complete his current academic year, which he did, and graduated from the junior college in 1967.

Although he was accepted to Appalachian State Teacher's College as a junior in the fall of 1967, he still had to have his medical examination during the summer and was on his way to full-time military service call-up. Then the rules changed again and he received a deferment because he was accepted in good standing at the school. 

We married the next fall, September 14, 1968, and shortly after, the rules changed again on who would go to war. In the wisdom of those military powers that be, or maybe perhaps the wisdom of the government officials, they decided upon a lottery system. That seemed fair to them. Put all the birth dates in a hat and draw them out one by one. Those drawn first would be called first, and all the way to 366 days (leap year babies had to go too). First date drawn was September 14. Wow, we had just married on that date, but praise the Lord, anniversaries didn't count. Only birthdays.

My husband's birthday is January 23. Lucky draw number 118. Check out the link here and compare your date. Would you have been called up? I'm not speaking to women here...which was a real bone of contention during the women's lib movement and equality for women. 

My brother had already joined the Army and served in Vietnam as a helicopter repairman. I had pushed any memories of his military service to the back of my mind until I read through these then-boyfriend letters and saw references to writing to my brother. I also talked about the Christmas break from school just before he was shipped out to Vietnam and my emotions about that. I understand my mother's dread more now that I am an adult parent.

The war protests on the television tube bypassed me thanks to the no television rule in our dorm. We had to go to the lobby downstairs and watch whatever of the three stations available. Appalachian State was far into the mountains, isolated, and conservative, so no live protests. We even passed rumors about a top-secret military installation under the gymnasium there on campus. True or not, I never learned. 

In the end, my brother survived but he carried the war, and those friends he saw die, with him in his mind and in his heart. My husband was needed in service more to the school system with a teacher shortage than to the army, so he maintained a deferment as long as he was a teacher.

Years later I purchased a Prisoner-of-War bracelet when I was at the Vietnam Wall in Washington, DC. I wore it faithfully, especially during a particularly difficult two years at work. I figured if this brave soldier endured his trials, I certainly could endure mine. It's tucked away now in the back of my jewelry drawer, just like my memories were tucked back in my mind. 

Reviewing memories is a difficult process at times, but seeing the past in a rearview mirror might be what makes a difference in driving into the future. 

Catch of the day,

Gretchen

Shredding the Past Away

Even though Christmas was different at our house on the year without a Christmas tree, we still had a joyous time. Of all the practical gifts available in this world, my husband gave me a stackable washer/dryer. I countered and one-upped him with a paper shredder. Yep, romance sort of took second place...sort of. Read on!

There's a story behind this shredder. Stay with me here.

For years we have told each other that we needed to move the washer/dryer upstairs to the main floor, but we never actually did it. Instead, we dutifully walked up and down the steps to do the laundry in the basement. Nine months pregnant? I walked around outside in the rain to get to the basement carrying a basket of clothes on my hip. Those were the days, my friend!

I thought they'd never end. Up, down, carefully holding to the banister, watching not to trip over the dog, pulling the door at the top of the stairs shut so the cat couldn't get downstairs. And repeating all this to search for that one stray sock that just didn't make it back upstairs. 

Until...back in September, I broke my leg. Those days had to end, my friend. We knew the day would come, yet we didn't expect it to happen so fast. 

We called a contractor for advice and we started the process. Our four-bedroom home is now a three-bedroom home with a laundry room on the main floor. Yippeeee! It all sounds so easy now that we are nearly finished, but let me tell you it wasn't. And that's where the paper shredder comes in.

This fourth bedroom turned laundry room happened to be filled with all kinds of boxes and bags and crates of accumulated married-life junk. Before the contractor could even start, we had to clear out the room completely, no small task. Our very lives unfolded before our eyes. Since we hadn't moved from the house for over fifty years, the piles astonished us with odds and ends of memories.

One thing in the piles was a box of letters, not just any letters, but letters to me from my husband back when he was a student at Wingate Junior College and I was a student at Appalachian State Teacher's College. Yes, we're that old because both schools are now universities. We had just started dating and the letters were filled with cute comments about love and life that we have no intention of their ever seeing the light of day to anyone but us, especially not our children who will be the ones to clean out this mess once we kick the bucket.

So I bought a paper shredder and a bottle of wine, and on Christmas Day we opened the box. We spent the afternoon reading letters aloud to each other, laughing at how immature we were and tearing up as we read about boys on his dorm hall being called up to the draft and VietNam. We time-traveled by the songs of the sixties that he mentioned in his letters and the movies he wrote about that we had long since forgotten. Many of the people he mentioned are no longer living, but they came alive in his descriptions of their corporate antics as college sophomores. 

We did save a few select letters that show our children how much of a true romance we had, but the rest are gone. No regrets. 

Mainly because then the contractor started.

A glance at the room during construction

This week, the washer was installed. 

It's not all that great a picture, but I'm in love with it, and with the man who gifted it to me (to us really) for Christmas. We have a few things to tweak in the room, but we're already using this new blessing. 

It's a wonderful life!

Catch of the day,

Gretchen