I just returned to Santa Barbara from a trip to visit family in West Virginia. I hadn’t been back to my childhood stomping grounds since my daughter graduated from college in 2006. Rarely does anything change in some parts of the country, but a familiar family routine is far better than the chaos of a hurricane-ravaged Gulf of Mexico, the war-torn Middle East or starving and machete-hacked children in Darfur.
I am most grateful for an idyllic childhood and a family that truly loves each other, no matter the little hiccups of personality clashes, differing opinions and ways of going about their daily lives.
Still, I’m glad to be home on the South Coast of California and back into my own routine. I enjoyed seeing my new granddaughter, Isabella Jayde (Belle), and all the kith and kin. My oldest grandchild, Alexis (Lexi), is a lovely and well-behaved little girl who’s very bright and artistic. Carrying her through the woods on my shoulders while hiking about my parents’ property took me back to my own youth and how much fun I had growing up in rural West Virginia.
Here are a few photos of the family at my parents’ home along the Ohio River:
An August visit to Appalachia to see the newest granddaughter
My daughter, Danielle, and son-in-law, James, moved back from Asheville, North Carolina, with baby in tow and though I enjoyed seeing them, immensely, I was equally as thrilled to sit on my parents’ front porch o’erlooking the Ohio River and past the Martin boxes my dad built to see a beautiful bald eagle soaring above the still, glass-like waters shrouded in an early morning mist. This was truly bliss.
That they are proud great–grandparents, grandparent and parent should be apparent
We got up early, each day, to look for it while solving all the world’s problems over coffee as river barges grumbled by and CSX trains rattled behind the house, keeping the cargo moving as we swung in the front porch swing or sat upon the banister, avoiding hungry hummingbirds annoyed at our encroachment of their sugar water turf.
Isabella Jayde – meet your Uncle Chris
A week at home is always a meeting of the minds and a trading of smiles, hugs and love in between playing games or practical jokes as well as eating way too much food for one’s own good, especially the bad kind. I ate more in a week, there, than I normally would in a month, but if it kills me, so be it. I’d rather die in the arms of family than alone, healthy in body, perhaps, but with a decayed heart from lack of proper nourishment.
Getting some baby lovin' as Belle & Papa Scott trade smiles
Speaking of trading smiles, trying to get little Isabella to react was always fun. Here, she’s laughing at my gray hair while I laugh at her bald pate. At least I still have some. She smelled like a baby should and was cuddly soft. I threatened to stuff her in my backpack and bring her out west, but I don’t think anyone else in the family would have appreciated that. Odds are, I could have snuck her past the TSA security while they were inspecting my shoes for a nail file or four ounces of anything not purchased beyond their x-ray machines.
My brother – Doc, Lowe Del and me
I think the whole Homeland Security nonsense is just another scam to ripoff the American consumer rather than protect us from being blown up. I’m waiting for the day that I can’t afford to travel and be with my family, simply because I’m not rich. Regardless, the rich memories I do have always make up for any time apart.
The camera–shy matriarch of the family, Mama Iva
Now, here’s a feisty little pioneer woman who hates having her picture taken almost as much as any native disliked the first photographs that were accused of stealing their superstitious souls. Mama Iva is 86-years-young and still drives, spending time with all her younger brothers and sisters (she’s the eldest) and caring for them, but too stubborn to listen to any of us who want her to take better care of herself. Getting her to do anything you suggest is akin to talking to a stump and expecting it to grow a new tree. Still, she’s 86 and I can’t say that I’ve managed to get that far, yet.
My oldest son's daughter, Lexi, with an Ohio River backdrop
Both granddaughters sat on my lap, of course, though Lexi is getting heavier and harder to bounce, these days. She would constantly call her new cousin Isabelle, though we would correct her saying that it was Isabella. Yet, Mama Iva’s name is pronounced “Ivy” by nearly all family members and friends. It must be something in the Appalachian water.
Working in media for years, I am quite particular about how words sound, so it is somewhere between amused and annoyed that I reside, whenever I hear someone mispronounce a name or word, regardless of colloquialisms. If someone doesn’t maintain a higher standard, perhaps we’ll all devolve into gutteral grunts and a confused chaos of mismatched and misunderstood communication. Ah, when in Rome…
Mommy, Daddy and Baby make three – a happy family
Thanks for stopping by and enjoying a little bit of my journey back to chill with the clan and get some new baby lovin’. Sitting a spell with my past is always good for recharging my batteries so I can forge ahead on a path far from where I took my first steps. I’ve been straddling the country for years and I’m sure I would have made it further down the road, if I didn’t have two left feet – and a heart stuck in Appalachia.
Ya’ll come back, now, ya hear.
The Kat
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